#I tried to find a way to make a Bad Things Happen Bingo fill out of this but it just wasn’t coming together

[lumpofwhump]

Lighthouse whump

(Inspired by @whither-wander-whump’s idea)

Whumpee’s heart pounded in his chest as he hung over the edge of the railing of the lighthouse. The only thing protecting him from being dropped down onto the rocks below, if not into the sea itself, was whatever bit of mercy Whumper had left in her after his attempt to escape. He shuddered, both from the biting storm winds and from the icy look in Whumper’s eyes that suggested that mercy was in short supply tonight.

“Do you really want to see how long you would last out there, Whumpee?” Whumper yelled over the sound of the wind, holding his thin shirtfront in a tight fist.

“N-n-no, p-please, Whumper!” Whumpee tried to shout through chattering teeth, but his voice was almost too strained for him to hear it.

Whumper’s hand loosened ever so slightly, and Whumpee’s stomach abruptly dropped. He frantically grasped for the railing, but it was too far out of reach, and his hands were too shaky for it to matter.

After a couple more terrifying seconds, Whumper abruptly pulled Whumpee over the railing and threw him roughly to the ground. He cowered against the railing, clinging to it for dear life out of fear of both Whumper and the strong winds.

She stared down at his trembling form with contempt before throwing the door back into the lighthouse open and gesturing toward it sharply. “Get in.”

He scrambled in on hands and knees, whimpering every time he put weight on his ankle - sprained, if not broken, from falling down the long spiral staircase in his attempt to outrun Whumper - and quickly huddled against the huge light in the center of the room for warmth.

“No better than when I found you out there,” Whumper sneered. “You wouldn’t have lasted a day.”

After she’d forced him to walk painfully down the stairs to his room, she’d locked the door to the upper level. Still drenched from the storm, he wrapped himself in his thin blanket and looked out the window at the barely visible beacon across the water and through the storm.

If he’d made it as planned, he would be safe and warm in that other lighthouse with his friend. Whoever they were.

When the storm started to clear, the beacon began to blink. A code tapped out with light, carefully spelling out his friend’s concern.

Are you okay?

His foot throbbed as if in answer, and he sniffled and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself from the cold. He felt ever so slightly warmer, though, as he saw the next message come from over the still-choppy waves.

Stay safe. I’ll find you.

--

Continued here.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Just A Little Spice - Dean x Reader

“Just A Little Spice” - Dean x Reader

Rating Teen

Dean x Reader

Tags: Language, Dean Makes Bad Decisions, Dean in Mild Peril, Dean is Infuriating but We Still Love Him

Word Count: 1500

Dean likes to spice things up, but it would be nice if he didn’t have to put his life in danger in the process.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "I would burn down the world for you." dialogue square.

A/N: Something Short and Kinda Cute. I ended up finding a way to tie this to my other Bingo Square “Ice Play.”

Image created in Canva (photo used/found through Google Image Search)

You’d gotten back to the bunker a day later. Exhausted from the heat, satiated by the relief from the iceman. You’d found Sam organizing and labeling ingredients in his witchcraft cabinet. He was going to try a few new spells from Rowen’s bequeathed library. Realizing he needed some specialty items, he had to head up Nebraska way to meet with an herbalist who sourced supernatural spices.

Dean hovered near the cabinet, picking up jars, and mumbling pronunciations to himself. Sitting on a nearby stool beside a podium meant to support hefty grimoires for spellbook incantations, you chuckled at Sam’s constant swatting of Dean’s hands with each new inspection. You stared at Dean with your best telepathic “stop playing with your brother’s toys” look.

He frowned, relented, and placed a tincture back on a shelf. “That dude, Elijah?”

“Yep,” Sam huffed.

“What’s so important you gotta get right now?” Dean shrugged.

“Nothing important. I found a couple of spells that can change atmospheric pressure and manipulate temperature shifts. Was thinking those could come in handy in the greenhouse. Planning some experiments with out-of-season fruits and vegetables or plants that usually can’t grow in our area.”

You smiled. Sam had become quite the gardener the past year.

Sam eyed Dean in a way that cued me in on the fact that they had something private to discuss. Dean shot you a gentle “get the fuck out” request with raised brows and a head tilt.

“Alright, I’m gonna get unpacked.” You slapped your thighs and gave Sam a forearm squeeze as you passed. Dean tapped your ass on your way out.

You closed the door but lingered long enough to hear Sam, “I figured you were still planning something for-”

“Keep it movin’, sweetheart!” Dean bellowed.

You sighed and smiled to yourself. Dean had a surprise in mind for your anniversary.

~

You’d gone along with Dean’s ask for you to head out solo and grab beers and other supplies later that afternoon. Sam was well on his way to Nebraska by then. And, even if you didn’t play dumb well, you could give Dean time to do whatever it was he was doing for you.

Neither one of you was terribly romantic, but Dean could on occasion whip up the softest, cuddliest little moments.

So, two hours later, as Dean had nonchalantly yet specifically detailed for you to return, you stood outside the bunker door and readied for an anniversary celebration for the books.

Instead, after a hefty pull and the rattle and creak of the iron cell-like door, a plume of smoke released and assaulted your senses. Your eyes watered and you began to cough.

Beer and supplies dropped outside the threshold, you covered your mouth and nose with the collar of your T-shirt and darted inside. You crab walked down the stairs, below the cloud of smoke that hovered at the ceiling. Emergency flood lights flickered over the war room, washing it in an eerie red glow.

The bunker door slammed shut when your boots hit the ground floor, but that never happened. Some sort of automatic electrical protocol engaged for a lockdown scenario?

“Dean!” You tried your best shout to carry through the cavernous levels. He wasn’t in the library and the source of the smoke wasn’t anywhere near your current location. You dashed to the kitchen to what you assumed held the source.

You rounded the kitchen entrance. The contents of a heavy stock pot flicked with flames and churned out thick puffs of smoke on the stovetop. Your heart stopped, finding Dean splayed on the floor by the oven. Your eyes widened. Your coughing worsened at the acidic, burning taste filling your nose and mouth.

“Dean!” you called out again between wheezes. In the hazy film of smoke you spotted his head roll at your voice. You surveyed the area in seconds. You dropped to your knees and crawled over to him. You nestled by his side, grabbed his face by the jaw and jiggled. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

His lids flitted open. Upon a deep inhale, his coughing fit began.

You’d freak out and try to figure out what irritant or poison was in the smoke later. For the moment he was alive.

After shielding him from further smoke inhalation, you dragged him by his ankles out of the kitchen unceremoniously up and over a step. The back of his head cracked onto the granite with one of your sharp tugs. He cursed into a terry kitchen towel you’d wrapped around his mouth and nose. About 20 yards into the shit show of a rescue he had enough awareness to flip onto his stomach and urge you that he could manage.

You hopped up, lungs on fire, and ran back into the kitchen despite his yelling and a failed attempt to hook his hand around one of your shins. You grabbed the fire extinguisher in the kitchen corner, pointed the nozzle at the pot, and, from a safe distance, sprayed the flame retardant all over the stove.

The fire was finally out and with it the smoke production.

A familiar smell wafted through the heat now that the flames had dissipated. Roasted Pork? Barbecue?

Arms dropped to your side. They were heavy and searing from the exertion. Tears poured from your eyes. Through blurry blinks as the scene cleared, you spotted a tiny glass jar a few feet from where you’d found Dean.

The extinguisher clattered to the floor. You picked up the jar, examined it with a sigh, accompanied by many more coughs, and trudged your way back to Dean.

He was sat on the floor, back against one of the hall walls. He clutched the towel that had been wrapped around his face. He looked up at you with tear-streaked cheeks beneath the flashing red floodlights. “Thank Christ,” he wheezed out.

“You alright?” you asked and fell to your knees beside him. One hand steadied yourself on his thigh.

He nodded.

You waited a few agonizing minutes with him, gaze steady on each other. The air cleared as each second ticked by, enough for you to both begin to breathe with some regularity. The coughs subsided. His hand clutched yours and squeezed.

You pulled your phone out and dialed Sam.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sam.” You swallowed, throat dry. “Got a question for you,” you rasped.

“Yeah, sure. You okay?”

“Just peachy.”

You watched Dean’s face begin to redden for another reason.

“Curious, what’s this firecracker pepper do from your stash?”

Sam’s silence on the other end didn't bode well. “Why?”

“I’m guessing it’s not an herb you’d use for culinary experiments.”

After three more beats. “He didn’t?”

“Yep, he did.”

“Holy shit! That stuff is highly combustible! It’s meant to oxygenate a fire and sustain it for a prolonged period.”

“Gathered that. Anything we should worry about with substantial smoke inhalation?”

“Nothing more than the usual. I can be back in a few hours.”

“No, no, we’re good. He’ll clean up his own mess.”

Dean frowned.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. You enjoy your time away from us.”

Sam sighed. “For fuck’s sake. Never a dull moment.”

“Not with your brother it isn’t. Talk soon.”

You ended the call and stared at Dean. Hard. “Dean?” you prodded.

“We were out of pepper!” His shoulders lifted and met his ears.

“I was out getting supplies!”

“If I’d asked you to get pepper you’d have known I was cooking!”

“I already knew you were cooking for our anniversary, Mr. Not Subtle!”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he murmured. “We missed celebrating the way I’d planned because of the hunt. I was making those spicy pulled pork sandwiches you love with all the extra chiles. I tossed some of the pepper in and this fucking flash bomb happened. I jumped back and lost my footing. Hit my head and that was all she wrote.”

You leaned in to feel the knot on the back of his head. “You probably have a concussion.”

He shrugged. “Nothing new there. I’ll be fine.”

You fumed, nostrils flared. “How can you be so, so-” you tossed your hands in his direction, “-this!”

He dared to toss you a cheeky grin.

“Dean, it’s not funny! You could have burned the bunker down and who knows what could’ve happened to-”

He grabbed your face with both hands. Quietly, he stated, “I would burn down the world for you.”

“Don’t do that.” You whispered. “You aren’t gonna get out of me being mad at you.”

He smiled. “Good. That means we can finally have angry make-up sex.”

You pursed your lips together and swallowed down a laugh.

His expression turned serious. “I made a mistake. It happens. I’ll clean up the mess in the kitchen.”

The thunder in your chest faded away. “You can be so careless sometimes.”

He nodded.

“You just act first, think later.”

He nodded.

“Well, you're right that you’re cleaning up all that mess and whatever the hell you did to the bunker.” You pointed down the hall to the kitchen and up at the lights.

He nodded. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine! You can kiss me now!”

He repeated. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”

[malum-forev]

For your bingo, can I please request Fight (verbal)? Maybe it could be Bucky & reader’s first fight and it happens because she does something that makes Bucky mad or upset and she tries to apologise but he’s so butthurt that she starts thinking that maybe she fucked up so bad that they will break up but then there’s a happy ending. 🥲

Hiii I switched this up a liiiittle tiny bit because I love a slutty bucky! Hope that's okay! and hope you like it! <3

Everyone had advised you against it. A workplace relationship never worked. You never thought you would even be in this position, until you saw those blue eyes. Shining like beacons calling you to shore. 

Bucky didn’t mean to start a relationship either, he thought he wasn’t qualified to have one. He was you superior, it was wrong in every single way except it was also good. Very good. He thought back to the first time the line blurred. 

Bucky never wanted a team, he was happy tagging alongside Sam. Somehow, he’d been convinced and now Bucky was stuck filing paperwork late at night. He heard you before he saw you, some rustling down the hallway in the locker rooms. Bucky turned the corner quietly, thinking someone had sneaked in. It was way past the appropriate hours but there you were, zipping up your tactical suit. He caught a glimpse of how your chest looked pressed against the metallic zipper and the tight fabric, a breath got caught in his throat. 

You turned around with a yelp. “I-I’m sorry, I thought no one was here anymore.”

Maybe it was the way your squeal made his dick twitch or maybe it was because he caught you gawking at him once or twice while he sparred but whatever it was, made him do the most irresponsible thing he’d done in years- decades maybe. 

Your back was against the wall and your leg was hiked up to his waist. Your hands roamed his hair, pulling at whatever you could. Trying to get some relief. 

“This is wrong.” Bucky’s chest heaved, his eyes glued to the zipper on your chest. With one simple tug, he could get what he’s wanted for months. “I’m your boss.”

You pushed your chest closer to him. “Does it turn you on?”

The past couple of months had been filled with secret escapades. You’d sneak into his room late at night and leave before morning or he would stop by your room after everyone had left for the weekend. There had even been a couple of quickies in the quinjet. 

But something happened two weeks ago, it started when he asked you to stay the night. 

“What if someone sees me leaving here tomorrow morning?” You asked quietly, debating whether you should start looking for your underwear he’d roughly discarded or not. 

Bucky shrugged his shoulders casually. “I’ll go out first, make sure the coast is clear.”

Then there was that time he’d asked you to dinner, just the two of you. Followed by the movie night he’d organized in his room. Bucky even bought you your favorite candy and changed his sheets- quite a big deal for him.

But something changed, Bucky pulled you into his room as you passed the hallway. You hissed at the way he threw you onto the bed. 

“I know you like it rough but can I at least get a warning?” You laughed but once your eyes met his, it died down. 

Bucky paced his room with his arms tightly crossed over his chest. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we were supposed to meet tomorrow, not today.” You tried to lighten the mood. 

“You think this is funny?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “We agreed this thing- this stupid thing that wasn’t even supposed to happen- would stay between the two of us.”

“Wasn’t supposed to happen?” You repeated his words back to him. 

“You, me, this.” Bucky pointed between the two of you. “Meaningless sex. No one was supposed to find out. And you go and mess it all up by telling someone, someone on the team!”

His words hurt you. “Meaningless sex, huh? Then what the fuck has been going on? Because last time I checked, you don’t buy someone you don’t care about flowers.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You were sick, what else was I supposed to do.”

“I thought I was talking to a friend,” You explained. “But I guess not. I’m sorry for trying to get help understanding you and this huge mess you made.”

“The one that made things messy was you.” His words like knives. “You got your heart involved when I specifically told you to not read into things.”

“How the hell was I not supposed to think there was more happening when you asked me to stay the night!” You threw your hands up. 

“Don’t get it twisted,” Bucky came closer to you. “I only asked you to stay for my peace of mind. I didn’t want to feel like an asshole by letting you leave.”

“You wouldn’t feel like an asshole if it was just sex.” You spat back.

“Well for me, it was just sex.” Bucky’s jaw tightened. “A stupid mistake I made when my dick was hard. A mistake that now has me explaining the situation to Sam.”

The way Bucky kept repeating the word mistake made you feel foolish and small. Like you were back in grade school, professing your love to a crush who’d never look your way.  

You pushed past him, he would not have the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

A month after your fight, and the last time you had spoken to Bucky outside of what was absolutely necessary, you found yourself working late. You’d been assigned the task of forming a new team for Bucky to take to missions. 

You were working on showing them a presentation when the usual tired chatter suddenly stopped. You looked up from the computer to meet with the pair of eyes you never expected to see. Your eyes trialed down to the bouquet of flowers in his left hand. 

“I wanted to see if you had a minute.” Bucky cleared his throat. “But I can see your busy.”

“Guys, we can continue tomorrow. Go get some rest.” You dismissed the agents. 

You’d never seen them leave a room so quickly. All of their heads hung low as they passed by Bucky. 

“I came here to apologize.” Bucky brought the flowers closer to you. “I acted like a jackass and I was scared that I had feelings for you- have, have feelings for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m going to need you to try harder.”

“I let my insecurities get ahold of my emotions and I drove you away when I clearly wanted more. I asked you to stay that night because I hate the feeling I’m left with when you leave. I want to hold you and kiss you and become something more- if you’ll have me.” Bucky’s eyes softened but you still weren’t convinced. 

Bucky placed the flowers on the table and brought you close. Taking you by the waist and setting you on the table. 

Bucky dropped to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let me show you how truly, deeply, sorry I am.”

Heat rushed from your face to your core, the sight of this man prepared to express his sorrow was enough to make you come undone.

“Buck- what if there’s someone around?” You whispered, looking around the empty building. 

“Then they’ll get the show of a lifetime because I don’t care, I want everyone to see you’re mine.” He said with a devious smile. 

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <33

And you can find the Bingo master list and what prompts are still available here!

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour

[goldenavenger02]

for your ‘bad things happen’ bingo, i’d love to see maybe katara (atla) w the common cold? i never see katara sickfics around, and she seems like a character who’d be very prone to overworking herself into illness !! (any caretaker is okay ^^)

<3, sunny

As much as he wanted to believe his words, as much as he wanted to blindly hope that Aang knew exactly what Katara had been talking about and could find it easily, he couldn't allow himself to do so.

Not when there were Fire Nation soldiers still trying to find them

Sokka knew that something was wrong when he woke up and the makeshift campsite was silent despite the fact that the sun was high enough to be nearing midday.

Katara and Aang had still been awake when he turned in the night before, eagerly using the full moon shining above them to train their strengthened waterbending, but the moonlight made his heart ache in a way that he wasn't comfortable with Aang witnessing; it didn't surprise Sokka that he was still asleep against Appa's soft leg.

What was surprising was the fact that Katara was still asleep; even if she had been awake until the early morning hours, she still would have gotten up before him in order to pack away her things and start on breakfast so they could continue their journey as soon as Appa was ready to go.

Sokka got out of his sleeping bag to investigate, not bothering to roll it up and walked the few steps to where his sister laid asleep; she looked peaceful to the eye, but it didn't take long for him to catch onto the slight shiver under the bedroll and the way her face was pinched even in sleep.

He knew she was feverish before he gently brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and rested his palm against her forehead, but he hated being right about this.

She wasn't overly feverish which was only a small relief as he stood back up; he wouldn't be able to do much until she was awake and could actually voice just how sick she was, but he could at least use the last of their arctic hen to make some soup.

Sokka quickly started a fire from the remnants of the one last night, grabbed the large soup pot and filled it with water and some salt before sending up a quick, "Tui and La, keep me from burning this" as he put the last of the hen in to boil.

…

Aang woke up twenty minutes later, probably from the smell of the soup that was now on a low simmer if Sokka had a guess, and immediately punctured the silence by asking, "why are you cooking?"

"Katara's got a fever."

"Is she okay?"

"I think so, but I'm letting her sleep," Sokka tried to reassure the very clear panic in Aang's eyes, even though his own heartbeat had filled with the same agonizing beats when he had woken up to the odd silence, "between the late night waterbending and doing stuff all day, I'm not surprised she got sick."

"Oh."

His quiet response was full of guilt, but before he could do anything to comfort the twelve year old, a series of hard coughs rang out that could only be from Katara.

Sokka didn't hesitate to scramble over and lift her by the armpits so she was sitting before firmly rubbing her back; he had memories of both his father and gran-gran doing the same to him in the midst of coughing fits, but as she let out the last few weak coughs and leaned heavily against his chest, he looked up to see Aang's gray eyes filled with concern.

"Katara? Are you okay?"

"Aang?" She whispered hoarsely, wincing as she made eye contact with Sokka, her blue eyes watery and red around the edges, "Sokka?"

"Yeah, it's us," Sokka assured her as he pressed his palm to her forehead, relieved that the heat plaguing her hadn't risen, "you're sick."

"I can tell," Katara said around a sniffle with a dryness in her tone that even had Sokka smiling for a brief moment before worry overtook him, "we aren't near any markets, right?"

"Yeah, we're pretty far out," Sokka confirmed, knowing that their plan for that day was to get to a village or town to restock on supplies, "I'm using the last of the hen and vegetables to make some soup, but we're really low on a lot of things."

"We should head out then, after we eat lun-" Katara started, only to be hit with another rough fit of coughing.

"Katara, I don't think the altitude is gonna help with this," Sokka explained while firmly rubbing her back again, "you need to rest and get better."

"I can see if I can find more frogs." Aang offered, but he shuddered at the memory of sucking on frozen frogs whilst in the midst of delirium and shook his head before providing an explanation as Katara's coughing died out again.

"This isn't the same virus, I don't think that'll work."

"What about echinacea?" Katara suggested, her voice growing more hoarse with every cough that fought its way out of her lungs.

"What about it?" Sokka pressed, not even sure if he was fully aware what she was pondering about and if her stuffy nose was causing her to sound different to the point where she was saying something else.

"That one plant that gran-gran has so many cans of, that she makes ointments out of," Katara stopped to pull in a deep sniffle before adding, "but it can also be made into tea to help sickness. We're in between the North Pole and Omashu, it should grow around here."

"Okay, but how are we gonna get-"

"I'll go find it," Aang cut him off as he stood, "Katara, what does it look like?"

"It's a pink flower with an orange center."

"Okay, I'll be back soon." Aang insisted and Sokka wanted to tell him to wait a second, that he shouldn't go alone, but at the same time, they needed to get those flowers for Katara and that unwavering look of guilt and worry in Aang's eyes had him staying silent as he pulled out his glider and flew off.

"It's gonna be okay, Katara." Sokka insisted as he gently helped her lay back down so he could get her a serving of the soup.

"I know. I trust Aang."

Sokka paused for a moment to swallow down his worry before walking back towards her with the steaming bowl, kneeling down beside her before pressing the bowl into her feverish palms, "I trust him too."

As much as he wanted to believe his words, as much as he wanted to blindly hope that Aang knew exactly what Katara had been talking about and could find it easily, he couldn't allow himself to do so.

Not when there were Fire Nation soldiers still trying to find them and definitely not when his sister was this sick., even if his only choice was to place his full trust in Aang, he still made sure that his boomerang was at the ready after Katara had fallen back into a fevered sleep.

…

Hours passed; Sokka dumped the soup after spoon feeding Katara two more bowls of broth, making sure Appa and Momo got enough and managing to stomach his own alongside the worry that had settled deeply in his gut, knowing that it wouldn't keep.

He was thankful that they had chosen a spot near a river so he could continue to wet the rag that was very slowly lowering Katara's fever.

When the sun began to dip and be replaced by Yue's soft glow, he could have sworn that he heard Katara mumble something about missing their mother but her eyes were shut when he turned to look at her and tried not to focus on her flushed cheeks so he just added, "I miss her too," before turning away again.

Every rustle under the setting sun had Sokka flinching and grabbing his boomerang, only for him to let out various sighs that ranged from relief to annoyance when Momo or some other creature would poke its head out of the bushes.

But as the last few rays of sunshine started to disappear and he knew that it was growing less likely for the Fire Nation to launch an attack, that was when he was met with the familiar woosh that could only belong to Aang's glider.

"There you are!" Sokka exclaimed as soon as Aang's feet touched the ground, only to notice the large satchel tossed over his shoulder that he knew for a fact didn't belong to any of them, "what is that?"

"I couldn't find any echinacea in the fields, so I flew to a nearby town. One of the healers there gave me a tin of tea along with some food," Aang stopped rambling to pass Sokka the tin of tea leaves, "where's the teapot?"

Sokka wordlessly passed over the teapot, allowing Aang to start brewing it before taking a look in the satchel that was full of various nuts, dried and fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, and some bread.

"Did you have to pay this healer all of our money or something?"

"No, he just said that it's best for sick people to eat consistently and wanted to make sure we could do that."

Sokka swallowed; it had been awhile since they had been the recipient of that much unwavering kindness from strangers.

"Sokka?" A hoarse voice cut through his thoughts, forcing him to look up at Katara propping herself up on her wrist while coughing into her other elbow.

"Hey, I'm right here," he insisted, standing up and walking towards her before sitting beside her and resting his hand on top of hers, "Aang's back, he's working on that tea that's supposed to help you and the healer he found gave us enough food to last us a couple of weeks, so now you have to get better."

"Is that an order?" Despite the congestion in her voice, her tone still had that teasing nature to it that felt like a weight being removed from Sokka's chest.

"Yep, you don't get a choice," he insisted, pulling her into a quick hug, "that's my role as the team leader."

"Who made YOU the team leader?"

Despite the coughs interspersed with her laughter as the two of them argued the pros and cons of all five of them being the team leader, Sokka couldn't even find himself actually being angry at any of hers and Aang's good-natured insults, finding himself looking up at the moonlight and whispering quietly enough that neither of them could hear him over their giggles.

"Thank you, Yue."

[usermischief]

♚ Pairing: Sterek ♚ Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Kate Argent ♚ Tags: established relationship, alive! Hale pack, Emissary!Stiles, kidnapping, choking, injuries ♚ Words: 1849 ♚ Bad Things Happen Bingo - Tortured for Information ♚ ao3

---

die for him

---

Stiles spits out blood and leans his head back a little, taking a deep breath. His vision is fuzzy. There’s not a single part of his body that does not hurt, even twisting his fingers sends a spark of pain down his spine. His left ear is ringing.

“I should just kill you.” Kate’s voice sounds muffled as if she’s talking through a pillow. 

Stiles grins through the pain. “Great,” he says or slurs. It’s hard to tell. His own voice, his words just sound wrong in his own ears. “I’m getting bored.” He’s not sure how long he’s been here. It could be days. It could also be a week. There’s no way of telling what time it is. This room is always dark, and Kate comes and goes at random intervals. That’s what Stiles believes, anyway. He’s in and out of sleep when she’s not trying to torture Derek’s location out of him. 

Snarling, Kate steps closer. “You think this is funny?” 

“Hilarious.” His split lips make speaking a torture in and of itself. Half the time, Stiles feels like crying, but he’s refusing to show her. “You can’t find Derek with me. You won’t find him without me.” He swallows, feeling sick at the metallic taste on his tongue. Considering everything he’s been through, the sight or taste of blood shouldn’t get to him. His stomach turns regardless, and he takes a deep breath through his nose. “Let’s just get this over with, Argent.” Stiles would like to say he isn’t giving up, but that would be a lie. He’d never tell her where the Hale pack hides. He wouldn’t even sell out anyone from his pack; not even Peter, and especially not Derek. 

It’s just—

He’s tired. He’s tired of the pain, tired of nightmares. There’s no way for him to get out. Stiles can’t get past her, can’t kill her. Not in his current state, not even under normal circumstances. Kate as a human was a monster. Kate as a werecreature is something worse. 

Kate grabs his throat. Her claws are digging into his skin. The pain is not the worst thing he’s felt in his time here, but Stiles would still scream if she weren’t cutting off his air supply. “I will break you,” Kate tells him in a low voice, smiling a sinister smile, and lifts him off his feet. “Tell me where Derek is.”

Stiles yanks on the chains. The skin on his wrists tears open further. As tired as he might be, as hopeless as this situation feels, he’s not ready to die. Far from it. But he’s at her mercy. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, struggling for air. “No,” he gasps. His head feels like it’s about to explode, making him blind to the rest of the pain in his body. He curls his fingers into tight fists and tries to get the ground back underneath him. The tip of his shoe helplessly drags over the dirty stones. Every fiber of his body wants him to beg, but he won’t. His vision darkens. Stiles can barely see her face any longer, despite forcing himself to look her in the eye. 

Until he finds himself on the cold ground, gasping for air. Black spots dance in his vision. He’s trying to breathe, but it feels like no matter how deep he inhales, it’s just not enough. It’s not enough. Panicked and with effort, he brings his hands to his throat. Even the smallest touch stings.   

Muffled laughter fills the room. Kate grabs his chin and pulls him close enough that they’re sharing the same air for a few seconds. “Sooner or later, you’ll tell me where your mate is. They all do.” With another sinister smile, she lets go of him and stands up. 

Stiles collapses to the ground, hardly stopping his head from banging against the unforgiving ground for the umpteenth time. His vision blurs further. He can’t make out Kate’s boots. He’s not even sure if she’s still facing him. Stiles sucks in a breath. “Fuck you.” Speaking hurts. His voice is nothing more than a rasp, barely even audible to himself. 

But Kate heard him. Without any warning, she kicks him in the stomach hard enough he skids across the ground and slams into a wall. 

A violent scream is ripped from him. The sound is broken, clawing at Stiles’ throat. Pain floods his mind, echoing through his body with every beat of his heart. Consciousness is slipping away from him rapidly. Stiles is trying his best to keep his eyes open, but his body is giving up on him. 

— — — 

Stiles glances at his phone. “I’ll be there in 40 minutes.” Unless his jeep is dying on him, which does not seem that way. It has been behaving wonderfully ever since he left for Beacon Hills hours ago. It’s a rare opportunity, but it does happen. 

Derek lets out a breath. “It’s late. You should have stayed at a motel.” 

“Where I couldn’t have fallen asleep?” Stiles taps a finger against the steering wheel. “You and I both know it’s better if I just keep driving. Besides,” he continues, setting the blinker, “I wanna be with you.” As much as he loves the FBI program, he hates being so far away from Derek for long periods of time. It’s making him nervous. Beacon Hills always brings new horrors to town whether Stiles is there or not. Derek and the others are strong, but he prefers to be around for the fight and especially the aftermath. 

Another beat of silence, and another reason why he hates being away from Derek. Talking over the phone isn't fun because Derek is terrible with words and Stiles has too many of them. He needs to see Derek's face. But they can't always have a video call. So, sometimes Stiles talks Derek's ear off, and other times, well, no. They aren't really other times. Stiles is terrible with silence. 

"Come on, big guy. It's not like people are on the road at this time of night." Stiles shifts in his seat and glances in his rearview mirror. A long stretch of darkness is all he can see. Come to think of it, Stiles doesn't remember how long ago he'd seen the last car. People don't like the night in Beacon County. Hard to blame them. "I'll be fine. 35 more minutes! Enjoy the silence until then." 

Derek huffs, but it sounds suspiciously like he's trying to bite back a laugh. 

"I love you, Sourwolf."

"I—" Whatever Derek replies is drowned by bright lights, metal crashing into metal, and then there's nothing.

— — —

Stiles is ripped out of his dream. He winces as he's pulled into a sitting position. His ribs, his head— his whole body feels like it's on fire. The world around him feels wrong, almost out of balance. His right ear isn’t ringing any longer; it’s roaring. He takes a deep breath, blinking his eyes multiple times. His surroundings, however, don’t get any clearer. Kate’s face, no matter how close, is a blurry mess just like everything else in the room. 

“We’re not done here, little emissary," she smiles, fingers curling tightly around his chin once more. Her voice sounds strange, and distant like she's standing on the other side of the room instead of crouching right in front of him. “You’ve still got secrets to spill.” 

Stiles wants to punch her, but his arms refuse to cooperate. Every part of his body refused to move. His eyes flutter shut despite his best attempts at keeping them open. 

Kate pats his cheek. 

A moment later, Stiles’s arms are ripped above his head. He lets out a whimper, too exhausted to even scream. The chain around his wrists tightens, dragging him across the floor and onto his feet in the middle of the room — right back to where he woke up the first time what feels like weeks ago. It seems like he cannot escape it. 

"See, Stiles, I don't want to hurt you." Kate brushes her fingertips over his cheek. Even this slight touch stings. 

Stiles forces his eyes open and swallows. “You’re never going to find him.” His split lip opens up again. Every single word feels like it’s torn from his throat, but Stiles refuses to back down. He looks her in the eye and wishes he had the energy to headbutt her. All he can now hope for is that he’s not passing out. 

The smile on Kate’s lips is replaced by a smile. “Oh, I will,” she snaps, clearly at the end of her patience, “even if I have to use parts of you as bait.” 

“Good luck.” 

Sighing theatrically, Kate lets go of the chain. Without the support holding him up, Stiles collapses. His legs refuse to carry him, and he’s not fast enough to move his arms. The fall stops abruptly, his head banging against the ground in an explosion of pain and light. Stiles sucks in a deep breath, panic, and pain battling for the upper hand. There are hands on his body. Someone moves him. 

A face appears above him. Blonde wavy hair frames a smile. Her lips are moving, but Stiles can’t make out the words she’s saying. He knows her, but Stiles’ brain refuses to connect a name to her face. He blinks and he’s in the air, arms wrapped around him with no recollection of how he suddenly got there. Stiles draws his brows together, trying to place the familiar stoic expression on someone he knows.

Stiles blinks again. This time, bright light burns his eyes. He squeezes them shut instantly. People are talking, throwing around words he’s sure he’s heard before, yet they refuse to make sense. Slowly, he opens his eyes again, this time prepared for the harsh lighting above him. The world starts to piece together around him. Breathing is easier despite the odd pressure around his mouth and nose. 

“Welcome back, sweetheart.” A woman smiles down at him. Her face looks unfamiliar, but he’s not worried about her. As long as it's not Kate, he’s safe. 

When the woman vanishes from his field of vision, another face appears. 

One he could never forget. 

“Derek.” Stiles smiles. His split lip hurts like hell, but right now that’s the worst pain. “It’s not—” Talking is almost impossible. His voice still sounds weird, and his throat hurts whenever he tries to. Still, Derek needs to know. “It’s not… not your fault.” He wants to reach out, but his left arm feels too heavy to move. 

Derek kisses his hand, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. There’s a slight tremble in his fingers as they press a little harder against Stiles’ skin. For a second, Derek holds onto him then he takes a shaky breath and looks at him again. He tries to smile, but it fails spectacularly. His eyes are red-rimmed, almost as if he’s been crying. He shakes his head. “Don’t talk.” 

Closing his eyes, Stiles nods slowly. “Love you.” 

Fingers brush over his forehead. “I love you too.”

---

[bcdrawsandwrites]

[ID: The first image Psychonauts fanfic banner on a black-to-gray gradient background. On the left in white text it says “Prompt #4: Rescue Mission” On the right is a pink animated figment of a thought bubble, inside which is a donut with frosting and sprinkles.

The second image is a Bad Things Happen Bingo card. Various prompts are marked with a half-brain (prompt requested but not filled) or full-brain (prompt requested and finished) symbol, while the “Rescue Mission” prompt specifically is marked with a full brain symbol. /end ID]

Okay so I hate the way Tumblr crops these so I’m putting the banner above the bingo card. I hope that’s okay, @badthingshappenbingo ​! (also I promise the figment in the banner makes sense for the fic)

I am currently NO LONGER OPEN FOR REQUESTS. I have enough to work on to get a bingo! I MAY decide to reopen prompts later if I want to keep going after finishing these fics, but for now, requests are closed!

This request comes from @echoing-interests​! Hope you liked my take on this. \o/; Thanks to @jaywings​ and @of-science-and-stars​ for beta-reading!

Prompt: Rescue Mission Characters: Sasha Nein, Milla Vodello, and Razputin Aquato Warnings: None

---~~~---

Status report. Dustpan?

Listening to conversations at the water coolers, darling.

Have you gathered the intel?

No, just gossip. It's quite juicy, but I'm keeping an ear out for our target. What about you, Shoehorn?

Searching the trash bins. Sasha flipped through another folder in the file cabinet. The Gastronauts are still terrible at... recycling, so this is taking longer than expected. Eggbeater?

I'm still wondering why we have to use our code names when we're talking through telepathy.

Because the devices Egg Carton gave us to counteract the disruptive waves the Gastronauts put around their base are still experimental, and we don't know that they aren't listening in.

...Are there really devices that can listen in on psychic thoughts?

We don't know yet, darling.

Do you not recall our briefing?

I uh... Raz's mental voice faltered. I... was kinda so excited that we were infiltrating an enemy base that I... forgot to listen.

Sasha's brow furrowed, and he let out a hum. It's a good thing this isn't a more serious mission, or you would be in danger.

Sorry.

Darling, do you at least remember our goal?

Oh! Yeah, got that one. Find the blue—wait! We weren't supposed to relay that over telepathy, were we?

Correct. Can you relay your position?

Affirmative. I'm still in the air vents and looking for the office, as instructed. Over.

Let's resume. Let me know if you find anything.

With that, Sasha TK'd another stack of papers out from the filing cabinet, quickly sorting through them, his eyes darting over the dates. Annoyingly they seemed to jump from January, to March, to November, to May of last year. Either they never referenced their files or they just didn't care how disorganized they were, and he wasn't sure which was worse. Frowning, he slid the papers back into their places and moved onto the next drawer. This went on for some time—there were a grand total of ten filing cabinets in this forsaken clerk's office with four drawers each. This combined with how awful the Gastronauts' bookkeeping was certainly did not make it easy for Sasha to find what he'd been looking for.

At the very least he had a bit of time—this clerk, he'd discovered, liked to take his sweet time with his lunch break, sometimes taking longer than the time allotted. Plus, if their telepathy was intercepted, then whoever tried to investigate them would be looking in the wrong places. Typically for something like this they would've used encrypted telepathy, but Raz had yet to learn it, and the agent that usually taught it was out on a lengthy mission, so they had to fall back on simpler methods. This, at least, was something Raz had no trouble with.

Eggbeater is quite enthusiastic, isn't he? came Milla's voice over telepathy. It was a message sent to him alone, a familiar psychic whisper.

Yes, but his enthusiasm can be a bit... misplaced at times. Finding this stack only had papers from three or four years ago, he sighed and moved on. He needs to pay attention during briefings.

He'll get the hang of things soon, Shoehorn.

I'm sure you're right. Stooping down, he opened the last drawer to find it only had one folder within. He TK'd out its contents, looking them over. Eyebrows raising, he put a hand to his temple. I've only found worthless things here.

That's terrible! We'll have to move on, then, Milla replied with an excitement that did not match her coded words.

Sasha smiled, waiting for Raz's equally-enthusiastic response. As he quickly folded the paper and shoved it into his jacket, however, no reply came. Eggbeater? he asked. Please confirm you received the message announcing my failure.

Perhaps he's forgetting things again, Milla suggested.

Frowning, Sasha sent a stronger signal. Eggbeater? Respond.

His telepathy was met with the almost-physical thud of psychic energy striking against a barrier. Sucking in a breath, Sasha straightened his back. Dustpan, send a message to Eggbeater immediately.

Several heartbeats later, Milla sent an uncharacteristically quiet response: His signal was... blocked.

Change mission objectives immediately. Retreat to base.

Instead of heading for the exit, however, Sasha scanned the darkened office he'd been sneaking around in. Its owner had been out to lunch, but... He hurried up to the desk, spotted a pen, and put his hand on it before shutting his eyes.

Immediately his view was replaced with that of a half-eaten plate of french fries and ranch dressing. (Eugh.) With a subtle suggestion he made the person look up, granting him a better view of what appeared to be a cafeteria. Several other workers were milling about, chatting with each other and eating food. With a few quick uses of clairvoyance, he jumped from person to person, taking a moment to listen to their thoughts.

Ugh, that report is due tonight, gonna have to work overtime.

Can't believe they caught that listening device! That took months to plant.

Man, why are the fries always cold?

While Sasha could feel the anxiety tugging at his mind at finding no information on Raz's whereabouts, at the very least none of these people were aware that there were intruders, meaning that perhaps only a few people had found Raz. The fewer people they had to deal with, the better.

Finally he caught someone that was heading out of the room, and CV'd into her. Meanwhile an encrypted message reached him, and he quickly untangled it: Sasha, have you found anything?

He replied with an encrypted message of his own: I'm currently employing use of clairvoyance to check around the base. A note on the listening device we found in the Motherlobe, but nothing on Razputin.

I'm searching for ripples as we speak. This shouldn't take long.

Yet even now it already felt like they were taking too long. The woman whose head he'd hopped into was walking to the restroom, so he moved from her to a man that was exiting the men's room and striding down another hallway. This one only had a stack of paperwork on his mind, so he jumped from him and over into a person lingering in the doorway of an office. There was nothing of note in there other than a very tired worker holding his head in his hands while the woman in the doorway rambled about the latest football game. The man at the desk finally raised his head. "Rhonda, I know, I know we lost. Man, I can't believe I stayed up to watch that mess." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm so tired I think I'm hearing things—I swear I heard a kid in here earlier."

Sasha gave a start.

Sasha, Milla's encrypted voice came over telepathy. I've got something.

I may have as well.

"Seriously, like, did Jakob bring his kid in again?"

"Nah, we would've heard from Morter if he did."

"True..."

Quickly Sasha compelled the woman in the doorway to glance out into the hall, and from there, jumped into a different person's head through another open door. Some people here may have heard Raz's voice, he replied quickly. I may be close to where he was taken. He took a moment to listen in on the worker's thoughts, and upon finding only an extreme longing for donuts, he jumped to the next worker he could spot. What have you found?

I may have pinpointed where Raz was taken. Raz's signal is blocked entirely, but I've found a man who's very intently focused on a child, in a storage room...

Sasha's stomach dropped, his mind racing to several different conclusions, none of them positive. Perhaps a secret interrogation room, he thought frantically, compelling the man he'd jumped into to glance around the hallway. Sure enough, he spotted a storage room, but the door was shut. Frustration gnawing at his astral consciousness, he tried to send a subliminal urge to the man to grab some files that had definitely been put in that particular storage room.

What? the man thought. Where'd that come from? That one doesn't even have files in it, that's in the one on the second floor.

Gritting his teeth, Sasha sent another subtle signal: Someone left a very important file in there and it will get lost if I do not grab it.

...Oh yeah, Elliot dropped his report in there last time. Ugh.

With a sigh, the man fished in his pocket for a key before moving to open the door.

"Uh-uuhhhh hang on, occupied!" a frantic voice came from inside, followed by a lot of scrambling and clanking.

"Wha'd'you mean, 'occupied'?" the man outside asked. "You're in the device storage, Morter, not the bathroom!"

"Look I'm—I'm conducting something in here, okay?"

"Conducting... what, exactly?"

"An... interview?"

The man outside groaned. "Man, why don't you interview applicants in your office? What've you got one for if you're just—"

"R-Rhonda wouldn't shut up."

"...Ah, got it." Sighing, he shook his head. "Look, did Elliot leave his report in there?"

"I... oh. Huh, he did."

"Just hand it to me, and I'll leave you and the new guy alone, okay?"

"R-right."

Sasha readied himself, and the second the door cracked open, he jumped into the man—Morter's, apparently—head. Sure enough, once the man turned around he found himself staring at a dimly-lit room with shelves and shelves of boxes and strange devices he didn't have time to analyze.

And in the middle of the room was a metal chair, with Raz sitting on it, bound and gagged, a look of fear and worry in his eyes. The counter-device Otto had provided him with was sitting on the floor a distance off, too far away to properly block the disruptive waves around the building. He jumped into Raz's head, taking a quick read of his thoughts.

Oh no, oh no, please don't come back here, this isn't good...!

He'd seen enough.

Don’t worry, Eggbeater, we’re on our way.

Without waiting for a response, Sasha yanked his consciousness back to his own body, shutting his eyes against the dizziness it brought. He pressed a hand to his temple, fingers digging in so hard they hurt. I've found him. He's in danger.

There was silence on Milla's end for a moment. When she replied, her mental voice was cold. We've known the Gastronauts could do questionable things... but placing a child in danger...

There's no time to waste.

Nothing more needed to be said. Sasha levitated up into the ceiling vent he'd initially come out of, closing it behind himself and crawling through. He'd come to this place a number of times for routine missions, but he was less familiar with the location of the device storage. He'd seen the cafeteria before, so if he could remember where that was from his current position, and build a mental map of where he'd gone to find the door to storage...

It wasn't the first time he'd had to do something like this, yet for once he was having trouble focusing; the longer he took to do this, the more likely it was that Raz could get hurt. How he was being hurt, he wasn't sure, and not knowing only worried him more.

A hand—one that wasn't truly there—gently rested on his shoulder before squeezing it. Sasha, Milla said, and he shook his head, bringing himself back into focus. Silently he crawled through the vents, heading in a direction just west of the cafeteria. Milla, meanwhile, was disguised as a Gastronaut herself, and navigating the building below him, moving over to where she'd felt the waves. Sasha could feel the frustration bubbling on her end when an actual Gastronauts agent stopped her to ask some questions, but he moved on, heading closer and closer to the storage room.

A wailing noise, distorted through the vents, made the hair on his neck stand on end.

It was coming in the direction of the storage.

Sasha was over the vent cover in moments, and with a single psi-blast knocked it off its screws and sent it crashing to the ground. He followed seconds later, landing a bit more roughly than usual, one hand to his temple. On the opposite side of the room, Milla slammed the door open, her presence filling the doorway.

Both of them stood partially crouched, one hand to their temple... until they took in the sight before them.

Raz was still sitting on the chair, no longer gagged, while the man that Sasha had caught a glimpse of earlier was now lying on the floor, hands covering his face as he sobbed. Between them sat Raz's Psycho-Portal. Upon seeing Sasha and Milla barging into the room, Raz whipped his head around, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Oh! Hi, guys!"

Slowly Sasha and Milla straightened their backs, lowering their hands as they both stared at him.

"...Razputin. What."

Raz shrugged sheepishly. "I felt your CV earlier, but I was kinda preoccupied with helping Morter, and I was also really worried that his coworker would come in here and see us. Which, speaking of—Milla, can you shut that door?"

Blinking, Milla stepped into the room and shut the door softly behind her. "Who's... Morter?"

"ME!" the man on the floor cried, scrubbing the snot and tears from his face.

"But don't worry! We've got it all settled now. D'you mind untying me, though? I was gonna ask Morter, but..." He lowered his voice to a stage whisper, "I think he's kinda having a moment right now."

Sasha felt oddly lightheaded as he stepped up to Raz, using telekinesis to untie the ropes that bound him. "So you're not hurt?"

"I feel a little stiff now that you mention it," Raz said as he hopped down. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his legs. "I think I can walk it off, though."

"We... may have caused a bit of commotion," Milla remarked, glancing back toward the door. "I think we should take our leave."

"Already?" Frowning, Raz snatched up his Psycho-Portal, hurried over to Morter, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I gotta go. Sorry I couldn't stay longer. But you're gonna stand up to Jakob from now on, right?"

Morter raised himself up onto his knees, scrubbing at his face again. "Y-yes!" he sobbed. "I will!"

"Great! Glad to hear it." Giving him a positive thump on the back, Raz stood up straight and hurried over to Sasha. "Are we heading back through the vents?"

"...Yes."

"Okay, got it. See you later, Morter!" He paused. "Please don't rat us out to your bosses, okay?"

"I-I—I won't!"

"Thanks!" Grinning, Raz hopped up onto his levitation ball and bounced up into the vent. Sasha and Milla exchanged bewildered glances before following.

Once they were out of the building and heading back to where they'd arranged for Oleander to pick them up, Milla finally spoke up: "So... can you tell us what happened in there?"

With a wince, Raz ducked his head. "Yeah, so, I kinda got caught..." Then his head shot back up, and he held up his hands. "But it's okay! 'Cuz Morter took me into that storage room—he wanted to interrogate me, I think, but I saw he was all stressed out, and I asked him about what was wrong, and he talked about how he's this office worker and this one agent keeps bullying him and dumping all this work on him and making him watch his kid at work, and... I kinda... asked if he'd like me to take a look around in here." He tapped on his head. "He was actually kinda curious about how we do that kinda stuff, so he agreed, and... I... kinda helped him sort things out from there." Raz paused, then screwed up his face. "His mental world was a daycare."

Sasha laughed, quite a bit louder than he'd intended, and Milla and Raz stared at him. "That's... quite remarkable, Razputin."

"You think so?" Raz smiled, only for his face to fall as he glanced aside. "I was... kinda worried that I wasn't doing as well on this mission, especially since I missed so much of the briefing."

Milla stooped down closer to him to give him a grin. "You did amazing, darling!"

"Awesome! Man, for a bit there I was worried we weren't gonna pull that mission off."

"Well, about that..." Frowning, Sasha pulled the paperwork he'd found out of his jacket. "I did find the new employee paperwork, but we weren't able to secure the blueprints for their newest device."

"...Oh, yeah! Almost forgot. I did get taken to device storage, so at one point while Morter's back was turned..." Glancing over his shoulder, Raz TK'd a rolled-up sheet of paper out of his backpack.

Sasha and Milla exchanged glances, both of them giving a relieved smile as they looked back down at Raz.

"You really are something, Agent Aquato."

[fl4tlines]

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Bruises

@badthingshappenbingo ┆ Square Fill #5

「⛧」 OCs: Kayde de Angelis ⅋ London Friar

「⛧」 Content: Captivity┆ Cursing ┆Threats ┆Implied Beating

⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ A finger on the trigger is a crutch; // Time to press eject, it's a feeling in your gut; // It's a heartache in the making; // It's half post lonely; // Deadbeat promises, for your eyes only. ❞

⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧

London could feel the static of Kayde’s anger, even from across the room. From the way he adjusted his sleeves to the way he eyed London.

“I’m not in the mood,” London mumbled.

“Who was it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

London sat with his back against the wall and rested his head slightly to the side, against the radiator. But kept his gaze locked straight ahead.

“Tell me. I’m going to find out anyway.”

A veiled threat that wasn’t directed at London, for once.

“You already know. You sent him in here. I’m not a snitch. Quit playing saviour.”

Kayde crossed the room and sat on the floor, opposite London, who, in response, angled his gaze downwards to the floor.

“I know you’re not a snitch, London. This isn’t a trick question.”

“Sure as hell feels like it.”

“It’s not.”

“How many days?”

“What?”

“How many fucking days, Kayde?”

“Twelve.”

“You’re fucked in the head.”

Kayde didn’t seem to be able to give an argument for that. It was almost as if he agreed. Almost as if London’s damp hostility didn’t come as a surprise.

“We’re done.”

“Done?”

“Someone I trust screwed with you. I can’t just let that happen,” Kayde seemed reluctant to explain his thought process further. “So we’re done.”

“So, what? One of your guys beats the shit out of me, and I’m suddenly able to go home?” London narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“No. I put you in the position where he was able to. I made you vulnerable,” he did his best to smother the concern that edged his tone. “I put you in danger.”

London didn’t open his mouth to deny it. Or at all. He stayed silent. Instead, he trailed his fingertips over bruises on his arms — the ones that he could see — and over bruises he had yet to see. Just under his eye. Along his jaw. Trailing down his neck.

He knew they were there.

“Do you want me to grab you some ice?”

“You’re hours too late for that.”

“It won’t help?”

London shook his head, ignoring how his hair fell in his face. Greasy. Streaked and stained with dried blood”

“I mean, maybe it will. But don’t waste your time.”

He closed his eyes as his head rested against the harsh metal of the radiator. Because the company — he could tolerate that. But the pity? That was just a twist of the knife.

“How was court?”

“What?”

“I said, how was court?” London repeated himself without lifting his head.

“Court? You — why are you asking?”

“I assume you got off. Because you’re here. But how did it go?”

“You’re asking me about court?” Kayde clarified. “Just so we’re on the same page.”

“Yes. Court. Felony assault with a deadly weapon. Ringing any bells?”

Kayde huffed acknowledgment but didn’t speak for several drawn out moments.

“The shitty lawyer brought it down from a felony to misdemeanour charge because I have no prior convictions.”

“Good,” London shifted slightly, still resting against the radiator. “You took a plea deal?”

“No. The asshole couldn’t positively identify me. Acquitted on all charges.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” London opened his eyes glanced in Kayde’s direction. “Hm?”

“Couldn’t,” Kayde narrowed his eyes. “Why do you even care?”

“I’m bored,” London tried. “Your friends aren’t much in the way of conversationists, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Bull. Why do you really care?”

“I was worried about you,” London made the confession with very little resistance. “You’ll get what’s coming. I get that — obviously I know that but —”

“That’s —”

“Stupid as hell?” London interjected.

“Yeah,” Kayde eyed him carefully. “Really damn stupid.”

The two sat together as silence settled into the space between them. A comforting silence, for London, at least. Void of pity and sympathy.

“How can I help?” Kayde finally asked. “How can I make this right?”

“Kayde — don’t. Don’t bother.”

“Don’t play hard to get,” Kayde muttered, getting to his feet. “Because I’m not playing with you. How do we move forward?”

“There isn’t a forward,” London’s brows furrowed, ever so slightly. “I’m not sure you’re getting that.”

“This is my olive branch. Take it or leave it.”

And London had to confess, he hadn’t pinned Kayde down as being one to ever concede. Irregardless of circumstances. Irrespective of fault.

“Y’know? I would just about kill for a shower,” London admitted, lifting his head to tentatively meet Kayde’s eyes. “If you’re offering.”

[5raysofsunshine]

I Don't Want To Be Alone Anymore - Emily Prentiss x Fem Reader

Hi friends! This fic is for @sweetprentiss 's birthday bingo, filling spots "it's not as bad as it looks" and "love confession". It's hurt/comfort with a dash of angst, but don't worry there's a happy ending! Hope you enjoy! :)

Description: Set after Minimal Loss (4x3). After Emily comes back to the east coast after being stuck in Utah for two days, she calls to tell you she's okay but confesses she's been hurt. She argues that she doesn't want you to see her, you argue back that she needs to stop pushing you away. When she finally let's you come over to see her, something unexpected happens.

Rating: Explicit, but only because there's a couple F bombs and other curse words. Tw and cw for bodily harm and aftermath of a physical fight, but if you've seen 4x3 you'll know what to expect.

Word count: 4,006 (this is the longest fic I've written so far!!!)

Tagging @ssaagentemilyprentiss @themoontaxi @sweetprentiss @dalexandriag16 @its-soph-xx (if you want to be tagged in my fics lmk by asking and/or filling this form out)

---

The melodic tune of your ringtone catches your attention while you're in your car, stopped at a red light. You reach over the center console and dig around in your bag to find your cell phone. With a flick of the wrist the phone flips up and you press it to your ear, holding it between your head and shoulder as you move the steering wheel to make a left turn. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," Emily says through the phone.

“Hi baby!" You happily exclaim. You hadn't heard from your girlfriend in two days and were starting to get worried. When Emily is out of state on a case she at least tries to call you once a day, even if it's only for a couple minutes, just so you can hear her voice. That didn't happen this time.

Usually Emily will mirror the tone of your voice, happy to hear your greeting. But she doesn't, she sounds a bit anxious instead. “Sorry to call, I know you’re at work.”

“Oh, that’s okay! I’m actually on my way back to the office now. I had a late lunch. Went to Saggio’s, that Italian place with really good gnocchi soup. You jelly?”

You hear a very small chuckle on the other side of the line, “Very.” 

“Are you still in Utah?” You ask as you attempt to parallel park your car outside your office building. Emily had to travel to Utah for work. She said they were just going to interview some people and gain intel so they could build a stronger case, the details of said case were kept hidden from you for the most part so you only had a very vague idea of what Emily was working on. Before she left, she assured you that she’d be in and out of Utah, but you assumed by Emily's radio silence that her assignment must have gotten more complicated than originally planned.

“No, thank fucking god." Emily says, "We landed back in Virgina about two hours ago.”

“Oh good! How’d it go?"

There's a moment of silence before Emily answers your question. “Well... we were hit with a lot of... unexpected trouble.”

You frown at Emily's response as you shit off the motor and sit back, wanting to wait a few minutes before you have to walk across ice covered pavement to return to work. “Oh no! I’m sorry to hear that, honey.”

“It's..." Emily sighs harshly, "it's alright babe. I just wanted to call so I could hear your voice. I’m sorry I couldn’t call you earlier, I was... tied up. With the case. Had to deal with some really fucked up people who made things so much worse then they should've been. But-um... anyway, I wanted to let you know that I’m okay.”

“Oh... okay.” You say hesitantly. Redflags are beginning to fly around in your brain, your curiosity tempting you to ask Emily what happened over there, because you can tell that something is wrong. “I was worried when you didn’t call, but I just figured you were focussed on work, so I didn’t want to disturb you. But I’m so glad you’re back! Just in time too! I was starting to worry that I’d have to tell my parents you weren’t going to make it... again.” For the past couple weeks you’ve been trying to arrange a time for you and Emily to have dinner with your parents, since you and Emily have been dating for a little over six months and things might be getting a little more serious. Somehow, Emily has managed to get pulled into work at the last minute, causing you to have dinner with your parents alone or not at all, but hopefully the fourth time’s the charm. “I can’t wait to go to dinner tomorrow! I talked to mom this morning and she said, and I quote, ‘I can’t wait to finally meet that gorgeous girlfriend of yours.’ Are you excited or what!” The grin on your face is so large it makes your cheeks hurt. Sadly, it doesn't stay on your face for very long.

“Wow, that’s uh... I’m-uh... I’m really sorry to do this Y/n, but I don’t think I can make it.”

“Again?" You ask, already frustrated because this dinner had already been rescheduled for the third time already. You open your car door and step out, slamming it behind you as you begin making your way towards your office building. "Emily, I thought you didn’t have to work this weekend?”

“I don’t, I still don’t. But I have to stay home and rest for the next couple days.” 

“You have to stay-?" You quickly realize what Emily means. Something happened in Utah. Something bad. "Wait, what happened? Are you hurt?”

The silence on the other side of the line gives the answer away before Emily starts talking, “Yeah... I got roughed up a little. But I’m okay though, I’m okay. I just..." Emily's voice trails off. Your heart is racing, panicked by the idea of Emily getting ‘roughed up’ by anyone. From time to time since you two started dating, Emily has mentioned incidents when she would get hurt out in the field, but it wasn’t something she liked to talk about with you. Even while you’ve been dating, if Emily came home with a couple bumps and bruises, she would tell you to stay away and give her space for a day or two. She claims that she doesn’t want you to deal with the aftermath of a bad case, that she preferred to handle it on her own. You knew it was just Emily’s way of shutting you out, her fear of being vulnerable, her fear of you not being able to handle the bad parts of dating an FBI agent. You hope this time she’ll let you see her, let you be with her as she recovers, but you’re doubtful. And that frustrates you.

You can't help but lose your patience with her. "Just what, Emily? What's going on?"

"Y/n, I don’t want to meet your parents when I... I have a black eye, and a bruised jawbone. And a lot of scratches on my hands and arms.” Emily says, sounding embarrassed.

You stop in your tracks and immediately regret losing your patience, your frustration dissolves and is replaced with shock and concern. “Oh my god, baby! What?!”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine! I'm okay! Calm down!”

You can't calm down. Your eyes are wide in panic, your chest is tight. Even though you’re two feet away from your desk, all you want to do is turn around and walk back to your car so you can rush over to Emily's apartment. You have to see her, you have to see your girlfriend. Your poor bruised girlfriend. “Are you home? Can I come over?”

At this point your coworker who sits across from you is awkwardly glancing at you, trying to figure out why you’re so shaken. You wave to them before sitting in your rolly chair, trying your best to ignore their look of concern. Your only focus is listening to Emily's voice. 

“No, no Y/n. I don’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want you to...” Emily keeps talking, but you stop processing what she says. Mainly because you’ve heard it all before. You’ve heard all of the excuses and defensiveness that come out of her mouth when she’s like this. And you’ve had enough.

“Well, Emily? That’s too fucking bad. I get that you want to protect me from all the big bad scary shit you go through. But if we’re gonna make this relationship work? Then you’re going to have to stop trying to shut me out. You have to stop thinking that I’m gonna take one look at you and be like, ‘Oh, this is too much for me, nevermind’ and leave. You know that’s not what I want to do Emily, you know that all I want to do is be there for you. We’ve been dating for how long now, over half a year? How am I supposed to get used to you coming home to me after getting hurt out in the field if you won’t let me see you? How am I supposed to make this work if you don’t want to let me be there for you, like good girlfriends are supposed to do!”

“But Y/n, I-” Emily tries to argue, but you're not having it.

“No, don’t 'Y/n' me. You don't get to keep hiding yourself away every time you get hurt, Emily. Especially now when I haven't heard from you for two days. Every time you’re gone, I wait for you to come back, and then when you come back you don’t want to see me. It’s bullshit, Emily.” You say defensively. Your co-worker clears their throat, causing you to look up at them with an awkward grimace on your face. They awkwardly grimace back at you. Slightly embarrassed, you sink down into your desk chair.

“I know, I know it’s bullshit, Y/n. But this is what being with me is like. My job takes a toll on me, and when I have bad days, bad weeks, I just- I don't want you to be subjected to that. I just wanna be alone. You have to understand.”

You can't help but roll your eyes at Emily's words. She still doesn't seem to understand that the whole point of being in a relationship is to support each other through the good and the bad. And when it comes to Emily, there’s always gonna be something bad. You try not to blame her for that, you know that she loves working for the FBI, and you’re always so proud of her for kicking criminal ass and protecting innocent people. But it seems to still cause a strain between you two, especially when Emily refuses to let you near her when she’s in physical and mental anguish. 

"Oh I understand, babe. Totally understand. If you really want to be alone, then fine. I’m not gonna stop you. I’ll just tell my parents that they’ll have to give up on trying to meet you because this relationship isn’t going to progress anymore than it has since you don’t want me around.” Tears are building up in your eyes and your chest is so tight you’re struggling to breathe. You know you’re being slightly unreasonable and dramatic, but you don’t care. You need Emily to understand how frustrated and hurt you feel.

Emily sighs heavily, her breath blowing into the receiver and making a loud sound that makes you cringe slightly. "Please, baby. Don’t do this. I’m sorry. I understand you’re upset, I understand why you’re upset with me, but I don't want to fight with you. I've been punched in the face and kicked in the ribs and I’m very very worn out. So please, I'm really sorry... Okay?"

Taking the time to acknowledge that Emily is trying to talk to you despite having gone through something traumatic, you nod and try to center yourself. "I'm... sorry too,” you say begrudgingly. “I'm sorry, I know you're in pain and I'm just making you more upset and that’s totally unfair.” You’re genuinely sorry, and you want Emily to know that you’re not angry at her. You can never truly be angry at her. Frustrated to the point of crying? That’s a different story. “Listen, I just want to see you. I want to make sure you’re okay. Please, Em. Can I come see you after I get off work? Or... do you want to be alone tonight?” You ask, acknowledging that Emily might still want space after whatever she's been through, even though you’re internally begging on your knees that that’s not the case.

“No, no-um... you can come over.” Emily says, “I’d love to see you.”

"Yeah?" Her answer surprises you and makes you feel instantly better about the whole situation. You’re sure Emily is uncomfortable with you seeing her in whatever condition she may be in currently, but this is her trying to prove to you that she wants to let you in, that she does indeed want you around even after a really bad case. This is a tiny but also huge step in the right direction.

"Yeah. I’m sorry for shutting you out, you don’t deserve that. I don’t want you to think that I don’t want to be with you. Because I do, I really do. I really missed you, Y/n." Emily says warmly, the way she says your name makes you melt just a little.

The corner of your mouth perks up , “I missed you too, Em. I’ll see you in a couple hours, okay?”

“Okay. See you soon.” Emily replies.

After you hang up the call and put your phone down on your desk, you glance over at your coworker. They look back at you and shake their head slowly back and forth, “I have no idea what that was about, but if you wanna grab a cup of coffee real quick to spill the tea, I’m down.”

You chuckle and roll your eyes lightheartedly, “No tea needs to be spilled, I’m pretty sure you heard enough anyway.”

They turn back to their computer and nod, “Hmm... fair enough.”

---

When Emily first opens the door to greet you, it takes you a couple seconds to recognize her. It nearly brings you to tears as soon as you see the dark colored bruises and the butterfly bandage holding the cut on her chin closed. Her skin looks more pale and pasty than usual. She’s wearing a large hooded sweatshirt and leggings, trying to hide as much of her body from you as possible. You’re not sure what you were expecting to see when Emily told you she was hurt, you thought you had prepared yourself enough on the drive to Emily’s apartment. But after seeing the black eye and the bruising on her jaw and neck, you suddenly realize how wrong you were.

“Can you come inside please? I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.” Emily pleads, her eyes nervously glancing from side to side. You can tell that she’s embarrassed by her appearance.

You quickly snap back to reality, having realized you’ve probably been standing there for a good thirty seconds just staring at her like an idiot. “Oh my god, yes. Sorry. I’m- I’m sorry.” You quickly step inside the apartment and take off your coat. 

Emily smirks, “You have snow in your hair.” She reaches her hand up to your head and ruffles your hair before smoothing it out, combing her long fingers through it. You can’t help but stare at her face, your eyes locked on the blue and purple bruising around her left eye. Emily notices of course and backs away, “It’s- um... it’s not as bad as it looks.”

This is when you finally speak up, “N-not as bad as it looks? Emily, I- Who did this to you?” 

Emily huffs and begins to walk away from you, “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? All you need to know is that the guy who did this to me is dead now and we saved a bunch of people. I did my job.” 

You follow her into the living room, observing the way she’s walking stiffly and with a slight limp. Your mind is racing with a million questions you want to ask, but you know that it’s better if you don’t. Emily sits down on her sofa and holds her head in her hands. You slip your shoes off your feet and approach her slowly, joining her on the sofa. You make sure to leave some space between you two, not wanting to crowd her. You can’t imagine what Emily is feeling, what’s running through her mind. You want to help her so badly but you don’t know how. You don’t know what to say. You’ve never been in this situation before.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so so sorry that this happened to you.” You say, fidgeting with your hands because you’re scared to reach out and touch her. “I know this is a stupid question but... is there anything I can do? To help make you feel better?”

After a few long seconds Emily lifts her head and tilts it to the side to look up at you. You notice the tears right away, which triggers your eyes to tear up as well. She sniffles and wipes her nose with the sleeve of her shirt, “I don’t know. I’m... I’m sorry.”

“No, honey. Please don’t apologize, you don’t have to-”

“No, I need to apologize. I need to tell you this before I lose my nerve, so please, just listen to me.”

You nod your head, crossing your arms over your chest. Emily takes a deep breath in and rubs her palms against the top of her thighs. “Okay. I know that when I’m upset or hurt, I usually just want to be alone. And I tried to pull that crap earlier today, but... I really didn’t want to be alone. I was just really freaked out and letting my insecurities get in the way of us, again. Y/n, I don’t- i don’t want to keep doing that to you. I don’t want to be alone anymore, you know?” Emily's brows furrow as chews on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering, her demeanor changing to show her sudden determination as her tears begin to subside. “I don’t want to keep pushing you away when shit like this happens. I know you just want to be there for me and support me, but I don’t... I don’t know how to let you do that Y/n. I don’t know how to trust that you won’t get scared and run off when things get rough. When not seeing me for days at a time is too hard for you, when seeing me like this is too hard for you.”

You begin to speak, “Emily, I-” But you’re quickly cut off by Emily saying something that you definitely weren't ready to hear.

“I love you.” 

All you can do is stare at her with your mouth agape, eyes wide with surprise. This is the first time those three words have been said out loud. You figured you were going to be the first to say them, coming close a couple times in the past few weeks before stopping yourself out of fear and doubt that Emily wouldn’t say it back. But now here you are, being told that your girlfriend, Miss Emily Prentiss, loves you, for the first time ever.

“What?” You ask, dumbly.

“I love you, Y/n.” Emily repeats, “All I could think about when I was in Utah getting my ass kicked was, ‘Oh my god, if I don’t make it out of this alive, Y/n’s not gonna know that I love her. She’s not gonna know how much I want to be with her for every free moment I have. She’s not gonna know, and she’ll be left alone.’ And that only made me want to do everything in my power to get through that stupid fucking disaster so I could come back to you. Even if that meant you seeing me all scratched up and bruised.” 

Emily scoots closer to you and reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear, cupping your face and rubbing her thumb across your cheek to wipe away the tears you were unaware you were shedding. “I know being with me isn’t easy, baby. I know my career makes things extremely difficult and stressful for us. I know I make things difficult and stressful for you. And I am so deeply sorry for letting you think I didn’t want to be with you, that I didn’t want you around, that I didn’t care about you and our relationship. Because I do. There are gonna be times like this where I’m gonna get really hurt out there, or you’re not gonna hear from me for more than a day because something bad happened at work. I’m sorry if that scares you, it scares me too. I want you to know that no matter what happens to me, I’m going to try my best to make sure that I don’t leave you alone anymore. I need you to know that I will always want you around. That I want you to be here with me when I’m upset, even when I’m hurt. And I’m going to do better at being there for you when you need me too. Because you matter so much to me, Y/n. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you in it. I love you so much it scares the hell out of me because I’ve never had a partner like you. I’ve never truly cared about a partner like I care about you."

You’re barely processing Emily’s words because you’re so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, but you can tell by the way Emily’s eyes are boring into yours that she’s being very serious about how strongly she cares about you. How much she loves you.

“I’m really sorry that I told you that I love you for the first time like this. This probably wasn’t the right time and I-”

“I love you too!” You exclaim to Emily, smiling awkwardly as you try to stop yourself from crying. 

A massive grin grows on Emily's face, her eyelashes flutter. “Yeah?” She asks sheepishly.

“Yeah." You say reassuringly, nodding a lot and mirroring Emily's elated expression. 

You both gaze at each other, reveling in the significance and sweetness of the moment. The impulse to give Emily a big hug and kiss begins to make itself known, but you stop yourself before you make a move. “God damn it Emily, I want to kiss you so bad but I don’t want to hurt you!” 

“Oh come on! Don't worry, I can take it. Come here, kiss me, please!” Emily pleads as she pulls you closer to her face by the collar of your sweatshirt. Your two smiling mouths meet and your whole body relaxes. Any tension that you had in your shoulders, any tightness in your chest, dissipates as Emily's lips move against yours. You wrap your arms carefully around your girlfriend’s chest, making sure not to squeeze her ribs.

Suddenly a thought pops up in your head, a reminder more like. "So. I hate to bring this up right now. But um..." You mumble against your girlfriend's mouth. She begins trailing kisses down your neck so you can continue speaking. "I should probably call my parents and tell them that dinner is-"

"I think we should still go."

"What? Babe, no!" You shake your head, accidentally bumping your jaw into Emily's nose. 

"Ow!" Emily says, her hand shooting up to hold her nose.

"We're not going! Your face is broken!"

"So? I know this dinner has been pushed back more times than you'd like, and I'm sorry about that. Let me make it up to you. Let's do dinner tomorrow. Your parents can come here so we don't have to go out, I'll have Rossi give me a recipe to make. Come on baby, I want to meet the parents of the woman I love. Even if my face isn't as gorgeous as your mom says it is."

You chuckle at Emily's reference to your mom, "Oh my poor baby! You're still gorgeous to me even with your boo boo eye." You coo in Emily's ear before pressing butterfly kisses all over her face. "I appreciate you wanting to do that, Em. We'll talk about it in the morning, okay? Right now, I just want you to keep kissing me."

Emily's lips land on yours once more and she smiles against her mouth before mumbling, "Mmm... fair enough."

[calaofnoldor]

In Your Dreams

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean, Garth

Words: 7,393

Summary: In a world where your dreams are your soulmate's memories, a call to Garth for backup changes Sam's life forever. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: heavily implied smut, angst, the slightest allusion to ptsd, flashes of huffy!sam (is this just a thing in all my fics now??), fluff, language as always, also i was deep in my sam girl feels when i wrote this so please proceed with caution.

A/N: written for @idabbleincrazy’s "what do you mean this is classic rock?" 1k follower celebration! my prompt was the song "are you gonna be my girl" by jet and the quote "oh, come on!" which is bolded in the fic. also written for @swiftlymoniquesblog’s 300 followers celebration, for which i chose the song "confident" by demi lovato from her playlist.

congratulations to both you lovely babes!! i am SO sorry that this is incredibly late and probably not what you wanted lol. it really got away from me and i didn't know how to deal with it so here's 7k words that literally no one asked for 😂

Square Filled: Soulmate AU for @spnfluffbingo; Garth for @spnmixedbingo; Mistaken Identity for @girl-next-door-writes’s make me feel bingo; Soulmates for @samwinchesterbingo

MASTERLIST

It played out like a movie scene. Sam’s breath halted the minute the rusty ‘78 Ford Ranchero pulled up to the motel, frozen as he watched the passenger side door open in slow motion, making way for one black booted foot after another to step out onto the pavement. Attached to them was the most beautiful pair of legs he had ever seen, and Sam was only vaguely aware of his continuously drooping jaw as his eyes roamed up the rest of your figure, utterly and unprecedentedly thunderstruck when you flung your hair over your shoulder like a model in a goddamn shampoo commercial.

You oozed confidence, which was sexy as hell, but it was much more than that. Something deep within him startled awake, and it wasn’t just his man parts twitching with interest, though that definitely happened when you adjusted your daisy dukes and caused your top to ride up ever so subtly. God, you must’ve been the most sublime being to ever cross his path. Sam could hear Jet’s “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” playing in the background, but it was impossible to tell whether the sound was coming from the car speakers or his own head.

Either way, the music was cut short when Garth killed the engine and sauntered around his coupe with a winning smile. “Heeey brothers! I brought backup! Allow me to introduce you,” he offered excitedly, throwing a casual arm around you when he got to your side, a gesture that seemed to send Sam’s heart leaping off a cliff, “Guys, this is Y/N and Y/N, these are the Winchesters, Dean and Sam.”

Sam tried to smile but you seemed so comfortable and content beneath Garth’s touch, he really wasn’t ready for the sour taste of envy that rose inside him, filling his throat like acid reflux.

“Garth, you wily son of a bitch!” called his brother from beside him. Sam didn’t need to look over to picture the smirk of approval Dean was sporting, and the thought alone brought forth more bile, which he desperately tried to swallow down with a couple violent bobs of his Adam’s apple.

“Oh Deano,” Garth shook his tilted head as he genuinely professed, “you always say the nicest things to me.” And as he launched himself towards Dean with puppy-like fervor for a somewhat one-sided hug, Sam felt bad about the groundless feelings of resentment he’d began to harbor for the scrawny yet respectable hunter. Still, he couldn’t help but try to catch your eye during the reprieve, only to find your soft gaze fixed on Garth’s back while the slightest vestige of a smile ghosted across your divine features.

She’s taken, Sam. Soulmates most likely, with the way you’re looking at the guy, his brain augmented bitterly. Damn it, Garth really was one lucky son of a bitch.

“And don’t think you’re not getting one too, Sam!” the oblivious bastard let go of Dean and came at Sam with open arms and nothing but love, so with a forced smile and mind full of warring thoughts, the younger Winchester had no choice but to awkwardly accept.

“So did you get us rooms yet?” Garth asked when he finally pulled away, “You know I’d love to bunk with you guys but ever since Y/N’s gotten used to my snoring, we’ve kinda become a package deal, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, I sure do, buddy!” Dean exclaimed with a lewd grin, “Yours is Room 4B, but we’re right next door in 4A so try and keep that in mind when you’re uh- snoring it up, will ya?”

Having long since grown accustomed to Dean’s base brand of humor, Sam was surprised when he realized his usual reflexive eye roll had been supplanted with a deep breath and forceful clench of his teeth.

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise we’ll be quiet as mice through the night!” Garth’s good-natured retort felt like a twisting blade through Sam’s chest. He pulled his brows together and placed a large palm tentatively above his heart, unable to understand why the involuntary reaction felt so tangible as he watched Garth set off.

Following suit, you grabbed some luggage from the Ranchero’s cargo bed and made for your room. Sam knew he should try to stay away from you, but like a magnetic field, you pulled him in, so when he turned around to see you strutting by, Sam fumbled to help you with your duffle. But the fierce glare you shot him quickly stopped him in his tracks and he only barely managed to stay upright as he backtracked and scurried out of your way, big feet and long legs suddenly forgetting their own size.

“Woah, get it together, little bro,” Dean sniggered as soon as you were out of earshot, “You alright there, kiddo? I’ve never seen you fall so hard so fast… almost literally,” he teased, ignoring the bitch face Sam sent him in response, “Think you can make it through this hunt without jumping Garth’s girl?”

This time Sam did roll his eyes, though he left the question unanswered, feeling a bit skeptical himself.

“You think they’re soulmates?” Dean wondered aloud, turning to look off in the direction you’d gone, “Not sure how else to explain that. But either way, damn, did Fitzgerald hit a home run there!”

Sam was speechless as he stared alongside his brother, choked up on the unshakable yet impossible suspicion that you were somehow… his. But that couldn’t be, could it? Even if you weren’t with Garth, there was no way for him to know for sure. The demon blood Yellow Eyes had fed him as a baby inhibited his soulmate bond so not once could he remember dreaming of their memories, and Sam had never been more disappointed by the fact.

The case was cracked with almost no help from Sam, as his ability to focus on anything other than you proved a hopeless and desolate enterprise. Paired with the way his impetuous attempts to connect with you in any sense were harshly rebuffed by that gorgeous yet venomous get back stare of yours, and Sam was a complete mess of shaky hands and pained smiles. So when you announced you’d be retiring early for the night, claiming to want catch up on some rest before the big monster showdown the next day, Sam was both crestfallen and relieved.

“Have a good night,” Garth gave you a meaningful look that Sam couldn’t begin to decipher, a cruel reminder of the inexplicable nature of soulmate connections.

“So… what’s up with Y/N?” Dean asked whilst Sam was still gazing in vain at the door you’d left through.

“Oh, she’s uh… she’s complicated,” Garth responded slowly, nodding along to himself as an uncharacteristic expression of melancholy replaced the grin on his face, “Most people think she’s outta her mind… I mean, she’s not! …But it’s a pretty common misconception,” he shrugged in a ‘what-can-ya-do’ type of way, but the Winchesters’ frowns prompted him to continue, “She’s just… had it kinda rough, ya know? And the people around her haven’t exactly been empathetic about it all so she’s put up some walls over time and she comes off a bit strong and standoffish to most, but her heart’s in the right place and she really is a fantastic hunter so you don’t have to worry about her having your backs out there tomorrow, eh?”

Dean seemed to subscribe to this explanation, but the hunt wasn’t what Sam was worried about. Now, on top of the need to be close to you, he was also experiencing a compelling urge to hold you, understand you, and comfort you in whatever way you needed. His entire body throbbed with the desire to run to the adjoining room and kick the door in just to breathe the same air as you again, while his fingers itched to touch you – brush the hair from your eyes, caress your cheek, envelope your hand, explore other areas… Maybe in your dreams, Sam... He almost laughed at the ironic mockery of that saying, but instead pushed the corners of his mouth up as sincerely as he could before proceeding to ponder his inner dilemma with his elbows on his knees.

FIVE HOURS LATER

You awoke to your own scream, bolting upright and gasping for air. Shit. That one had been particularly bad; you’d probably made a lot of noise. Glancing over at the other bed in your room, you weren’t surprised to find Garth starfish-ing above the sheets and blissfully unconscious. That was part of why you liked the guy: he could sleep through just about anything, that and he’d never once judged you by the nightmares that plagued you since birth and reflected your soulmate’s preposterous life thus far.

Wait. As you blinked, you realized something felt different. On impulse, your eyes fluttered shut, but the flashing image of a malicious face that appeared behind your eyelids had them flying open in an instant. That was weird. You never remembered the faces from your dreams.

The names and faces always became blurry as soon as you woke up, but it’s said that once you meet and identify your soulmate, it all comes rushing back to you through a mental, movie-like recap of their life story up until that point, although exceptions to this rule weren’t unheard of, and many believed that every soulmate connection was unique.

Regardless, there was one thing you could never forget about your dreams, and that was the way they made you feel. Or was it the way your soulmate had felt? Starting from a tender young age, you’d dreamed nearly every night, so frequently they were beginning to feel like your own memories. You knew the in-depth tale of your soulmate’s existence, shared just about all of his experiences. From waiting alone in crummy motel rooms as a kid, overcome with the fear and anxiety of not knowing when or if his dad and brother would ever return from a hunt, to being physically and emotionally tortured and violated within a magical cage where time and the limits of the human body adhered to no laws, and his abuser wore a smile that could light his veins on fire, as you’d just had the pleasure of envisioning.

More often than not, your dreams were nightmares, and you’d make sounds of protest as you slept. It was why you had chosen to hit the sack early, with the hopes that their drunken hunter rowdiness might help mask your shouts. But it hadn’t been easy to walk away, harder still to fall asleep. Something had been eating at your subconscious since you got here, or rather someone. Most of the time, you avoided people at all costs, so often that it’d become instinct, but you found yourself actually wanting to be around that stupidly tall Winchester, to the point where it almost hurt to pry yourself away from him. And now that you’d recalled a face from your dream for the first time in your life, you couldn’t help but wonder…

No. Don’t get your hopes up, Y/N. There was no way. Sam was far too… normal. Besides, you’d imagined what your soulmate might look like before, and even in your wildest concoctions, he hadn’t looked that good. You’d kept your defences up until now so you weren’t about to let them drop just because you ran into a pretty boy. You really did need to stop thinking about him though, maybe grab a glass of water to soothe your sore throat.

Sam couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing as he laid atop the scratchy covers and stared at the ceiling. If the hunt went well tomorrow, you’d be riding off into the sunset in Garth’s Ranchero without so much as a ‘goodbye’. He couldn’t let that happen, not when every atom of his being was propelling him towards you, screeching at him to get his girl. But you weren’t his. You were with Garth. So why couldn’t he just respect that?

With a sigh, Sam let his eyes fall shut, squeezing them tight in a pointless effort to erase the image of you from the backs of his eyelids, but they shot wide open again when he heard your voice cry out from the next room.

Sam was up before he knew what he was doing. There was only one thing of which he was certain: you didn’t sound like you were in the midst of pleasure. You sounded like you were in pain, and that set every hair on his arm erect.

He noticed his breathing was harder than usual as well when he quietly got to his feet and crept toward the shared wall between your rooms, although he couldn’t seem to constrain it. Pressing his ear against the peeling wallpaper, he listened to your whimpers and wails crescendo until they peaked with a harrowing yell that made his heart feel as if it would burst through his ribcage. Dean grumbled in his sleep and rolled over but Sam was frozen in his spot, despite the erratic pumping of blood through his lengthy vessels.

It wasn’t until he heard the creaking of your bedsprings turn into running water in the communal dining area when Sam finally moved, drawing a deep breath and wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He didn’t know what to say to you, but he knew he had to try, so he made sure to let his footsteps carry sound and make himself appear as small as possible as he opened the back door and walked into the kitchenette.

You were standing by the counter, facing away from him, but before he could take another step, you’d whirled around with a gun in your hands, aimed directly at his heart.

Sam’s hands shot up before he whisper-shouted, “Whoa, whoa! Hey, it’s just me! It’s me!”

Advancing toward him without lowering your gun, you produced a flask from out of nowhere and threw its contents on Sam’s face before he could react.

He blinked the wetness away as you finally dropped your weapon, shrugging through a half-hearted apology, “Sorry, you can never be too careful on a demon case,” you explained lowly, flashing him the label that read ‘holy water’ before tucking the silver flask back into your pocket.

You took a moment to examine him, aggrieved that he somehow looked even better when he was wet. Trying to be cool about it, you crossed your arms across your chest and waited as he wiped a huge hand down his face.

The first words to come out of his sinful lips after your unceremonious attack took you by surprise, “Are you OK?”

“What?” It sounded harsher than you’d meant it and you had to remind yourself to stand down. He’d given you no reason to get combative; on the contrary, something about him just screamed… good.

“I- I heard you… it sounded like you were having a pretty bad nightmare.”

You gave him a slight nod, gulping your usual defense mechanisms back down your throat, “Oh, yeah… my soulmate has um… been through some things.” It was impossible not to huff at your own dramatic understatement.

“Right, yeah, I’m sure Garth has seen his fair share of monsters and other ordeals in his life.”

“Wh- what do you mean, Garth?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

“Sorry, I just assumed that you guys were soulmates with the way you are and… everything,” Sam confessed with an adorable cock of his head.

You nearly laughed out loud, “Garth isn’t my soulmate. I mean, I wouldn’t be upset if he were, but we’ve exchanged dreams before and our souls definitely aren’t tied together.”

“Oh,” he heaved a sigh that seemed to emanate relief, “So the whole uh… ‘snoring’ thing is-”

“A cover. He knows I get loud during nightmares, and we room together because he has the unique ability to sleep through an entire torture sequence being played out in my head, as he just proved again tonight.” Shit. What are you doing, Y/N? Stop talking. “Oh, I should probably apologize for waking you. You can go back to bed though; I’ve gotten enough sleep for the night.”

Sam’s eyes were wide as he shook his head emphatically, “No, you didn’t wake me! I- I couldn’t sleep anyway. But please, don’t apologize for something you can’t control,” he beseeched with soft, imploring eyes that you immediately dreamed of letting yourself melt into. “Y-you said you were being tortured in your dream?”

Forcing a deep breath through your nose, you slowly conceded, “Well yeah, or at least remembering it the way my soulmate does, I guess… if he even exists.” The last four words were added sourly beneath your breath, but Sam caught them right away.

“You don’t think your soulmate exists?”

You looked up to find his eyebrows drawn together, color-changing eyes fraught with genuine concern. You weren’t sure why you were still talking to him but something about the guy made you feel safe, impelled you to open up to him, “I find it hard to believe he’s still out there functioning like a normal human being with all the shit he’s gone through... I mean, if I’ve been ostracized just for telling people about my dreams, I can’t imagine how he’s survived.”

“You’ve been ostracized because of the things your soulmate remembers?!”

The way he seemed almost offended for you buttered you up even more, “Yeah, Garth is pretty much the only friend I have left,” you admitted with a quiet, sardonic laugh.

There was pity in Sam’s eyes now, a reaction that had always irked you virtually just as much as the fear and revulsion, but it was clear that his was forged out of empathy rather than the usual disdain. And it didn’t stand alone among the emotions displayed across his face. His expression seemed to say ‘please, tell me more,’ and you did.

“I was raised in the suburbs by conservative folks who knew nothing about the supernatural… so they thought I was out of my mind the first time I told them about my dreams, took me to a soulmate bond expert and everything, tried to ‘fix’ me. When they couldn’t, they ignored me, soundproofed my bedroom walls while telling everyone I was crazy. Pretty much disowned me as soon I turned eighteen, fearing I might bring home a sociopathic serial killer one day. Word got around and people avoided me like I was a ticking time bomb. When I started hunting and finally made some friends in that community, I thought they’d be more understanding, but it turns out some things aren’t normal or acceptable even on hunter terms. So, I never really told anyone again, never tried to make friends again. Until Garth came along, that is.”

A small smile took hold of your lips, as it always did when you thought about the lanky and lovable dork, “He never judged me by my nightmares, never treated me any differently, never looked at me through a lens of apprehension.”

“Well, I’m glad you found him,” Sam said, a closed-lip smile of his own peeking through the stubble. Then, after a pregnant pause, “I don’t mean to intrude, but h-have you ever considered breaking your bond, you know, just to stop the nightmares?”

“Never.” Your response was instantaneous and adamant. “I couldn’t. If I-… He’s overcome odds of impossible proportions, suffered fates that no one should ever have to endure, despite doing nothing wrong, been blamed for things that were either completely out of his control or that he was manipulated into doing through a kind heart and good intentions-” you had to stop yourself before you got too riled up.

“You talk like you’re already in love with him,” Sam observed.

“Well, it’s hard not to be. It’s also why I stopped giving a fuck about what other people think of him. I used to try and hide it, lie about what I’d dream of, but they’d always find out. And then I realized it didn’t matter to me because I’ll always side with him, and having narrow-minded people in your life is such a chore anyway.”

“But how can you be so sure of someone you’ve never met?” There was no malice in his tone or body language, only earnest curiosity, and it made you wonder how someone so large could be so very cute.

“Because if he exists, he’s a hero.”

“Well if he’s so great, why does everyone in your life run away from the idea of him?” Sam chuckled lightly, but you thought you heard something that resembled envy within his words. Maybe people were right, maybe you really were out of your mind.

“Because he’s done things that most people can’t even begin to imagine, not even a hunter. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you half the things I’ve dreamt of.”

Though you didn’t expect to be rewarded with another glimpse of those splendid dimples, you were nonetheless grateful as they seemed to fill your chest with unfathomable peace and irrefutable joy. “Try me,” he said, with a beckoning grin.

“Well, I mean for starters, he’s been through literal hell.”

Sam’s jaw suddenly hung a littler looser, but you’d encountered far more theatrical receptions.

“Yeah, he’s been dealt some real shitty cards,” you started, “Been tormented by pure evil in more than every imaginable way for longer than any conceivable human lifetime, been stripped of his bodily autonomy and rights more times than I can count, been used and manipulated by a demon since he was a literal baby, and that’s on top of losing nearly everyone he’s ever loved including both parents at a young age… But did I mention he managed to stop the fucking apocalypse?”

The surprise on his face was more palpable now, and you almost laughed at his frozen expression.

“And we haven’t even gotten to the bizarre stuff yet. Would you believe me if I told you he’s died more than once? Or that he’s met a prophet who writes books about he and his brother’s lives? Oh, he also once traveled to an alternate universe where his doppelgänger was the actor who played him on a TV show. And, there was even a period of time, about a year ago, when the dreams got all fuzzy, which I later learned was because he was-“

“Soulless.” Sam finished your sentence with such gravity, it felt like the entire earth lurched beneath your feet.

“H-how did you know th-“ But even as you spoke the words, it dawned on you: that there was a reason you’d felt drawn to him, that he was in fact the answer to everything, the person you’d been dreaming of your entire life. And in that moment, you discovered that the stories were true, because your question was both interrupted and answered by a sudden onslaught of images flashing through your head, a fast-forwarded montage of every memory you’d ever dreamed, in chronological order, with the names and faces all filled in.

You doubled over and closed your eyes as Sam’s life replayed itself in your mind, unaware that you were panting loudly and clutching at your head until his beautiful yet distraught voice faded back into the forefront.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you OK?!”

Sam’s hand instinctively reached out for you, but when it made contact with your arm, his brain was instantly flooded with moving images of a young girl, developing rapidly into the woman standing in front of him through what must have been every momentous memory he’d been denied the privilege of seeing, forcing him to recoil and mirror your startled stance.

So when you finally reopened your eyes, it was to see Sam bent nearly in half, close-eyed and open-mouthed, while big hands grasped at the luscious mane on his head.

“Guess I should be the one asking you that,” you laughed, but the way his chest visibly rose and fell when he straightened back up made you feel breathless again, “Did you just-“

“Yeah,” he exhaled, shutting his eyes once more before blinking repeatedly, as if he could still see the images, “And I’m guessing you also-“

“Yeah,” you parroted, glancing up at Sam with an awestruck expression that unwittingly floored him with its beauty, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

The elaborate fortress you’d built around your heart and soul after an entire lifetime of facing scorn and neglect and repugnance from nearly everyone around you had effortlessly dissolved at his touch, and as you fully came to terms with the giant revelation before you, something within you gave way, letting every emotion you were feeling appear written across your face.

“You’re real?” Your whispered words sounded just as much a statement as they did a question, though in reality, they might have been a plea.

Taking a small, wary step toward him as your eyes flickered between his, your hand – with a mind of its own – slowly reached up to embrace his chiseled jaw, and your lips were incapable of resisting their joyous quirk when his light stubble tickled your palm and the skin beneath it proved warm and solid.

His long fingers wrapped around your wrist reverently, “Yeah, baby, I’m real.”

Your breath hitched at the gorgeous depth of his voice. “How are you real? And so fucking gorgeous?” you breathed, fingers dancing across his cheekbones before reveling in the silky softness of his hair, “And tall? I mean, I kinda guessed you’d be on the above average side with the way most people look up at you in your memories but jeez... You’re perfect.” Your body moved on its own accord as it traveled the short distance to anchor itself against his, wasting no time to pull him down and kiss him with every ounce of ‘you’ you could muster, to which Sam instantly and eagerly responded.

It was easily the best kiss of your life, decades worth of anticipation that balanced a delicate pendulum swaying between hope and desperation, combined with the fierce love you already felt for this impossibly perfect man poured through you until it found its release in Sam’s mouth.

He slid his fingers into the hair behind your neck, cradling the back of your head, while his other massive hand settled in the valley of your waist, pulling you snug into him until you could feel the lines of his abs. “You’re pretty damn perfect yourself. Been dreaming of this since I saw you step outta that damn car.”

“Yeah?” The single, slightly smug word was all you could articulate.

“Fuck yeah, that’s why seeing you with Garth felt like such a cruel joke, especially since I’d never had a single dream of your memories until I touched you just now, so there was no way for me to gauge anything.”

“Right, I guess I should’ve been more alert, but I figured brothers hunting together wasn’t all that uncommon. Can’t believe I couldn’t smell the co-dependency though,” you giggled but Sam shut you up with a swift kiss. “Mm, well now that you have seen some of my memories, what do you think?”

“I think you’re everything I could’ve possibly dreamt up and more.”

“Wow. I didn’t take you for the cheesy type,” you deadpanned.

“I’m just being honest.” Sam’s dimples broke through with a mirthful smile and already you knew they‘d become one of your favorite things in this world and beyond.

Biting your lip, you nodded, “OK, well in the spirit of honesty, I have to tell you that it was way more arousing to see you make those monster kills in that director’s cut in my head than to dream about it from your perspective.”

Sam’s smile turned into a smirk, “Yeah?”

You trailed your hands down his impressive torso, relishing every ridge and groove, mapping out the thick cords of his long neck, grazing the taut nipples beneath his cotton t-shirt, and lingering within the deep trenches of his V-line as you made your way down to the waistband of his jeans. Hooking your fingers into his belt loops, you tugged him toward you with a force that seemed to both surprise and excite him, if his quiet grunt and darkened pupils were any indication. “Fuck yeah,” you echoed before pushing your lips back against his.

Having waited much too long for this, you couldn’t hold back. Sam must’ve felt similarly because he pushed back just as hard, until you were forced to grip him tighter, digging your fingers into his muscled back just to hold on. His own fingers applied a similar pressure to your butt cheeks, squeezing them with a rough hunger that only spurred you on more.

But just as your tongues began to get acquainted – though it felt more like lovers reuniting after an unspeakably long and unbearable period of time – Sam somehow managed to retreat an inch from your hold, hissing through his teeth with crinkled brows and closed eyes. His chest heaved into yours a few times before he spoke, sounding about as regretful as you felt, “Wait… Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I’ve already ruined your life by being your soulmate. I can’t be good for you.”

“Sam, you do realize that our souls are literally bound together, right? And there’s nothing you could say or do that would make me stay away now that I’ve finally found you.”

“Y/N, I started the apocalypse!” Sam swore it took almost as much willpower to untangle himself from you as it had to overpower Lucifer in that godforsaken cemetery. He backed up in fear that your pull was stronger at closer distances, though he still couldn’t look at you, choosing an unfocused spot on the speckled floor to eye instead, as the shame and guilt began to cloud his mind.

“No, you thought you were saving the world!” you countered immediately, feeling the fiery mass of restrained ire you’d been carrying inside you for years blaze alight, as if with the click of a switch, “And then you did! By risking and sacrificing everything! Not to mention there were sixty-five other seals that had nothing to do with you!”

“Well how 'bout the fact that I was addicted to demon blood?” Sam’s voice grew louder. There was nothing like recounting his own sins to get him fired up. “I had a sexual relationship with a demon! Surely, you’re not OK with that?!”

With a scoff, you dismissed him, “You think people don’t have sex before they find their soulmates? I mean, yeah, it was a weird thing to dream about, but I’ve always felt what you felt, remember? So I know it started because you were desperate to save Dean and I know the weight of the grief you were feeling when you were with her. I know how you thought you were helping people by exorcising demons instead of killing their meatsuits. I know all of it. You can’t scare me off, Sam!”

While he was finding it surprisingly hard to dispute your claims, true to his Winchester genes, Sam was much too stubborn to give up. You were brilliant and beautiful and deserved so much more than anything he had to offer. “What about all the things I did when I was soulless?” he tried again.

But you had a retort on the ready for that one as well. “Sam, don’t you get it by now? That was out of your control. The same way you wouldn’t blame someone for all the things they do when they're possessed. Besides, as your soulmate, I’m not too concerned about your douchey behaviour when you were literally missing your soul.”

That seemed to shut him up, but the confliction swirling within his prismatic eyes told you he wasn’t convinced. “Look,” you sighed, “you always think you’ve got this darkness inside you, that you’re not ‘clean’… but you are.”

As you let that sink in, you smiled to yourself, “You know, you and Garth actually have that in common: you’re both good to the core. You’re clean, Sam. You’re the cleanest, purest soul I’ve ever known, but baby, you’re not normal.” Shaking your head apologetically, you resisted the temptation to kiss that disbelieving, forlorn look off his face. “I know you’ve always wanted to be but you’re anything but. I mean, you saved the fucking world, Sam! When the world has done nothing to deserve you. You suffered nearly two centuries of torture by the devil himself to save it, and not only did you never get any acclaim, but the whole thing has left you racked with wrongful blame and unreasonable guilt!? And I know you don’t think you do, but baby you have every goddamn right to be mad, to be furious.”

Your soulmate’s ridiculously puppy-like gaze almost had you leaping to wrap him up in your arms, but you willed yourself to continue, “But in the end, all the bullshit crap you took didn’t make you jaded; it didn’t make you violent or vengeful or bitter. No, you turned it into love, and strength, and empathy. You still care so deeply, still carry on saving everyone you can, still manage to find hope. Fuck, Sam, you’re the only reason I kept fighting. Cause I figured if you could do it, then I had no fucking excuses. You were always my light! There’s gotta be a reason we’re soulmates. I know you never felt the bond but I-”

Sam’s lips cut yours off with a forceful kiss, the first one he’d truly initiated and my god did it feel good. So good that you weren’t even embarrassed when you let out a soft whine as he pulled away tragically soon. At least his hands were still cupping your face.

“I did. I did feel the bond,” he declared, forehead resting on yours so you could feel the truth of his words through his breath on your skin, “I knew you were mine the moment I saw you, but I tried to push it down because I thought you were with Garth and every time I tried to reach out… you shot me down with that look.”

“What look?” Your fingers found their way to his thick and vascular forearms for it seemed unwise not to touch him whenever you were given the chance.

“You know, that get back stare.”

“A get back stare?” You pulled away slightly to shoot him a somewhat amused, questioning glance.

“Yeah, it was really hot but also very off-putting when you’re trying to get to know your soulmate.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you suppressed your laugh into a smile, “Well, it’s not my fault I’ve had to learn to defend myself and my misunderstood soulmate from nearly everyone in the world. And sometimes that means playing offence,” you admitted with a shrug.

Said soulmate’s giant hands glided down your arms to take hold of your significantly smaller hands, and his eyes, teeming with resolve and vivid remorse, were fixed on you as he said, “Well, I hope you know you don’t have to anymore now that you’ve got me.”

Sam was undeniably surprised and frankly a bit hurt when you snorted a chuckle in response, “Yeah, I highly doubt that. If anything, I might become more menacing.”

Though he didn’t pull away, you could tell by his expression that you’d bruised a somewhat masculine part of his ego. Sighing at his misinterpretation, you dropped one of his hands in favor of grasping the other with both of yours, fiddling with his gorgeous fingers as you began, “Hey, just because you’re all big and strong doesn’t mean you can’t also be a victim or ever need protection. You’ve been abused, Sam. And not just by the devil and every other monster. Sometimes the worst of it came from the people in your life, and I swear to god, there were times when I wanted to rip them to pieces!”

You looked down when you felt his free hand land on yours, its thumb running gentle circles along your skin that instantly calmed you and made you aware of how tight your grip had grown around his fingers. When you lifted your gaze again, Sam’s features were alight with awe, staring at you as if he were shocked that anyone could ever love him so much. It brought you back to how adorably sweet he’d been when you first met, not even twenty-four hours ago. That humble and innocent demeanor had led you to assume he couldn’t be your soulmate, the one who’d been through hell and back.

“I still don’t understand how you seem so… well-adjusted. I mean, after everything you’ve been through and never getting a chance to properly recover from or even address all the trauma.”

He raised your conjoined hands and kissed your knuckles while smiling softly at you. “It hasn’t been all that bad… you’re making me sound way more heroic than I really am.”

“Sam, your life was a prophecy from the very beginning, but you changed it. It was your destiny to destroy the world, but instead you saved it. Do you not realize how incredible that is?” Catching the glassy look in his beautiful eyes, you hurried to change the mood. This day would undoubtedly become one of the most important in your lives and you didn’t want to commemorate it with tears, so you released his hands and wound your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as you lowered your voice to ask, “Or how sexy?”

Your soulmate closed his eyes and breathed you in, strong arms automatically pulling you closer, until his nose caressed your cheek, “Fuck, what did I do to deserve you?”

“Do you want me to recap the things I just said, or do you want a comprehensive list of it all? Because that might take a while and I really wanna kiss you again,” you moaned across his jaw.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam exhaled into your skin before your mouths met in a passionate exchange of love and acceptance. This time, it was completely mutual and felt like a dream come true in every sense of the saying. What’s more, kissing your soulmate felt like a big ‘fuck you’ to the rest of the world, it felt like celestial invincibility and dazzling euphoria. But most importantly, it felt like home, and you never wanted to leave.

Though he still found it hard to believe this was really happening, Sam knew he could never let you go now. He just didn’t have it in him. Kissing you felt like rapture, better than any high demon blood could grant him and infinitely more satisfying. There was a healing component as well, as if the simple touch of your lips could cleanse him of his wrongdoings and wipe away his self-contempt. All his life, he questioned what it was he’d fought so hard for, and this was it, right here in his arms.

Even within his boggled mind, one thought rang consistently clear: that you and this bond you shared must be cherished. So Sam kept the kisses slow, deep, and sensual as he backed you up into the wall, pressing a large hand against it to temper your blow. Wet and wanton slurping sounds filled the room, interspersed with muffled moans and shortened breaths. His soft lips and talented tongue wouldn’t release you until his lungs were begging for air, forcing him to pant into your mouth as he gazed down at you with unrestrained wonder.

You stared up at him with an equivalent expression as you caught your breath, that stunning, miniscule trace of a smile he’d first seen you giving Garth, now pointed at him and loaded with a whole other level of fondness.

Wordless communication must’ve been a part of your soulmate connection for the two of you seemed to know exactly how to move together, where to touch, and how to feel, like you’d been doing this since the beginning of time. Sam believed every nerve in his body sparked to life as you hooked a leg behind his knee and pulled him close, so close that each bulging curve of him pressed seamlessly into each gorgeous nook of you.

The loudest harmony of moans yet pierced the air and reverberated through him, and Sam knew right away that he would spend lifetimes chasing that sound. He felt himself respond in ways he never knew possible as your lips moved from his jaw to his collar bone, and your delicate little hands roamed eagerly across his shoulders and back.

“Mmm, it makes sense that you’re so big though,” you mused into his heated skin.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Sam couldn’t hide the smirk in his voice.

“How else would you fit all that bravery-“ you paused to plant a kiss on his upper chest and continued to work your way up his neck after every subsequent word, “compassion… strength… forgiveness… devotion… and love?” This time his lips met yours in a tender kiss. “Not to mention brains.”

Sam was dizzy with joy. He had never felt so loved, so understood, or so appreciated. “You know, I’m starting to think we were made for each other?” Your smile stretched so big against his own, he wanted to drown in this moment forever. “And you know you’re incredible too, right?” Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, he chuckled at your suddenly bashful disposition, such a stark contrast to all those glares you’d sent him throughout the day. “Baby, you’re so strong. I mean, at least I almost always had Dean. You were alone practically all your life, thrust into this world you knew nothing about, with no one to teach you or guide you, and yet... Garth tells me you’re one hell of a hunter. And even if I hadn't seen those badass memories, just with the way you pulled that gun and holy water on me earlier, I’d be very inclined to believe him,” Sam joked.

It earned him a subtle roll of your beautiful eyes and a loving peck. “Well that’s not exactly true because I did kind of have someone to teach me… in my dreams. You might even say I learned from the best,” you whispered seductively whilst leaning up on your toes to run your nose across his cheekbone and your fingers through his hair.

Closing his eyes at the feeling of your gentle nails along his scalp, Sam released a content sigh as his hands found their way to your hips, squeezing lightly. “You know, you’re probably gonna get even more shit from all those people for actually being with me?”

“Screw all of them. They don’t understand that my soulmate isn’t just the boy with demon blood; he’s the man who saved the fucking world.” Your words were a low growl in his ear, and he just about jumped when he felt you rubbing up against his crotch to emphasize them.

“Oh fuck! Ungh, you really know how to talk me up, you know that?”

“We’ll see about that,” you answered with a wink.

And that was why when daylight rolled around, bringing with it a chipper Dean and the scent of bacon, both were greeted with the sight of Sam half seated on the table against the wall with you stood before him, chests nearly melded together and legs intermingled, both topless and groaning the other’s name.

“Oh, come on!”

The wafting aroma of breakfast had done nothing to alert you of Dean’s presence and you gave a little yelp at the abrupt outburst while Sam’s bulky arms hastily wrapped themselves more securely around your back, pressing you tighter to his chest in an attempt to hide yours. You huffed a laugh and nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and Sam couldn’t help but smile at how right it felt to hold you in his arms, in spite of the awkward circumstances and pending conversation.

Before he could answer his brother, however, Garth walked in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he peered up at the unfolding scene. “What’d I miss?”

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis @carryonmywaywardbucky​​​ @swiftlymoniquesblog @moosewinchester @sams-sass @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​​ @writingforthelonelysoul @turtletaylor98 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @peridottea91​​ @allys-creative-bubble @idreamofplaid @samsgirl2020​​ @katwed​​​ @asgoodasdancingqueen @austin-winchester67​​ @nerdyfangirl67 @fangirlxwritesx67​​

TEAM MOOSE: @mind-of-a-girl​​ @samfreakingwinchester​​ @regainedworld @sam-winchester-love44 @maddiebwrites​​

@lovealways-j​

please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed/moved :)

[holylulusworld]

Uptown Boy (1) - Little runaway boy

Square filled for @spnfluffbingo​: car broke down

Title: Uptown Boy (1) - Little runaway boy

Summary: No money. No parties. No friends. Can he survive on his own? Stranded in your small hometown Dean Winchester tries to navigate his new life.

Paring: AU!Dean Winchster x Mechanic!Reader

Word Count: 1,8 k

Rating: Teen

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of arranged marriage, Dean is a spoiled brat, and a playboy too, cocky reader, mechanic!reader, arguments, arrogant Dean

A/N: This is the alternative version to: Uptown Girl. I was wondering what will happen if the tables turn.

Uptown Boy masterlist

2022 SPN FLUFF BINGO masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

“Another round for me and my friends,” you lean against the bar counter, watching the girls take over the dance floor. “Go and show those guys how to dance.” You chuckle as Jo gives you a wink. It’s Friday night, the weekend is there, and you want to relax.

“Hey, can you answer my question before you stare at the girls?” a guy next to you grunts at Benny, the bartender at your favorite bar. Well, it’s the only bar in town. “I asked you if I can use your landline half an hour ago.”

“Dude, let me serve drinks first. I told you,” Benny angrily grunts, “I need to wait for Ellen to take over my shift. I cannot leave the bar unattended to bring you to the office in the back. Give me a break.”

“And I told you I got to leave this town,” you dip your head to glance at the unfriendly guy, making a face. He’s one of those spoiled rich guys believing they can do anything only as they are wealthy. “What? Do you want me to pay you for using the landline?”

“Benny told you to give him a break. His shift ends in ten minutes. Don’t get your silky panties in a twist,” you click your tongue, smirking as the arrogant guy turns his attention toward you. He’s not too bad to look at. If you ignore the posh way he’s dressed. Wearing a smoking at a bar is just...yeah, not your style.

Well, at least he’s got nice eyes… plump lips…and big hands…

“Who asked you?” the guy cocks his head, eying you up and down. “I politely asked this man to help me out. I even offered money for his service.”

“Oh pretty boy,” you lean closer to look the stranger deep in the eyes, “I bet you must pay for the service all the time, huh?”

“What? I—” he splutters as you grab the ordered drinks and wink at Benny. “Hey, wait! You can’t just say things like that to me.”

You walk back toward your friends, laughing as Jo calls for you. “Bitch, did you let us wait for a new guy?” she ogles the unfriendly trust fund prick up and down. “Not too bad to look at. Nice ass, broad shoulders. Just a little over-dressed for a bar.”

“Babe, he’s not your type,” you sip at your drink, eyes drifting toward the man who still argues with Benny. “I bet you must do all the work if you want to cum. He’ll order you around and ask you to clean up afterward. A spoiled rich guy. Not my type.”

“You are ogling him,” Bela wraps her arms around you from behind to rest her chin on your shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind working that body.”

“He’s got a nice ass, though,” Meg nods to herself. “But he’s not my type. I like a certain blue-eyed dude more.”

“Let’s have another drink…” turning your back on the guy and Benny you try to focus on your drink.

“Babe. Why don’t you go over there and ride his dick?” Meg slurs in your ear. “It’s been weeks since you got laid. You got to get dick before you forget how sex works.”

“Months, Meg,” Jo chirps as she sits next to you. “Right? It’s been a few months since you got laid.”

“How long, babe?” Bela whispers in your ear. “Do I need to find a guy for you? Do you want me to call someone?”

“It’s not the end of the world to not get laid,” crossing your arms over your chest you hide that you are not even looking for a guy. One too many times you got your heart broken and now, you are afraid to let a new guy in.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” you roll your eyes as the guy from the bar stands in the middle of the road, waving his hands. “I can see you idjit. Just get off the street for fuck’s sake.”

“HELP!” you slow your tow truck down to park in front of his expensive car. A Porsche, of course, it's a Porsche. “Hey, my car broke down.” He knocks at your window, and you are tempted to just leave him there, in the middle of nowhere. “Get out of the car and—”

“And what, pretty boy?” rolling the window down you smirk down at the arrogant prick. “Do you want to call someone else? Huh? I am the only mechanic in this shitty town.”

“You are the mechanic I called? But—but there was a guy on the phone. His name was—” he knits his brows together, not remembering the name.

“Bobby,” you sigh deeply. “Yeah, that’s the former owner of my car repair shop. He helps me out once in a while. Now, how can I help you?”

“I-the engine or,” he shakes his head, sighing. “I don’t know what’s wrong with my car, to be honest. I got people taking care of things like that. Or had people taking care of it.”

“Let me check on the engine,” he steps aside to let you get out of the car. “Did it make an odd noise? What happened before it broke down?”

“I tried to reach my brother on the phone and then the car made an odd noise. I think it was a screeching sound and then, it just stopped,” he explains, fidgeting with his phone. “I-uh, do you have a phone? Mine doesn’t work anymore.”

“You’ve got a broken car and phone,” you dip your head to look at him. “Did you drop it?”

“It just stopped working. I mean…I think my father...” he clears his throat, shaking his head. “Never mind. The car is more important. I just need to call my brother.”

“Okay. Here,” you hand him your phone, groaning as he eyes your old phone with amusement. “What?”

“Uh-it’s dirty, greasy, and still got buttons. How old is that thing?” he asks, looking at you with curiosity.

“Dude, I work on cars. My hands are greasy all the time. “Well, pretty boy. Try to type on a display with greasy fingers,” you snarl, sizing the arrogant man up.

“Clean your hands then.”

This,” pointing at your phone in his hands you grunt, “works perfectly fine. If you don’t want to use it, fine by me.”

“Why do you call me pretty boy?” he purses his lips.

“I can call you prissy boy if you want me to. I just thought pretty boy suits you better,” you hold out your hand. “Now give me the keys and let me check on the car.”

“Do you know what you are doing?" he dares to ask. “I mean, can you find out what’s wrong with my car?”

“No, I came here to make you some pie,” you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want my help or not? I can get back in my truck and leave you alone. Maybe someone else will come around to help you in the dead of the night. I had better things to do than driving out here.”

“Okay, okay,” he raises his hands in surrender. “Have a look at it then,” he throws the keys at you, huffing. “It’s not as if I have better things to do right now.”

“Why so sad, pretty boy?” you open the hood to have a look at the engine. “What are you doing here, in the middle of nowhere? Not many people come through this sleepy town.”

“That’s none of your business,” he waves you off, but steps behind you to watch you check on his car. “Do your job and leave me alone.”

“I changed my mind,” you slam the hood shut, grumbling under your breath. “Prissy boy suits you better. Your engine is a mess. Did you let anyone check on it lately?”

“No. I had better things to do,” as you turn around the arrogant man eyes you up and down. He hums to himself, wondering what you are hiding underneath the dirty overall, grease, and the old cap on your head.  

“I can imagine,” just now you realize he’s not wearing a normal suit. A bow tie hangs loosely from his neck and there is a rose pinned to his jacket. “I assume you do not wear a wedding suit to have a drink at a bar.”

“Long story,” his features change for a moment. There is something in his eyes. Uncertainty, or fear maybe? “What now? Can you repair my car or not?”

“Not here, and not tonight,” you explain. “It’s getting cold, and it’s in the dead of the night. I can tow your car, bring it to my car repair shop, or you can wait here for some other mechanic to save you.”

“I’ll take option number one,” he reluctantly follows you toward your truck, mumbling something under his breath. “Do you often work this late? I mean, isn’t it dangerous for a girl.”

He gapes at you when you press a knife to his throat. “No, it’s not. You see, I’m not the kind of girl you usually meet. I bet you never had a backstreet girl, pretty boy. If you mess with me, I got Betsy, my shotgun hidden under my seat too.”

“I,” he carefully wraps his hand around the hand holding the knife to his throat. “I didn’t mean to offend you, miss. I was simply worried.”

“Y/N, that’s my name,” you jerk your head toward the passenger seat. “If you never call me miss again you can come with me.”

“Dean,” he holds out his hand, frowning as you don’t take it. “Sorry, I just…”

“My hands are dirty, Dean. I don’t think you want to get dirty,” Dean takes your hand, either way, holding it a little longer than needed. “Now you are dirty too.”

“For how long do you live here?” Dean asks as you slowly drive back to town. You focus on the street, not the man beside your side. “Okay, no conversation then.”

“I was born and raised in this sleepy town. I left for college but came back to take over Bobby’s car repair shop,” he nods, eyes glued to your hands on the steering wheel. “I got my master’s in automotive mechanical engineering, you know.

“That’s kind of cool for a girl,” you huff at his words, shaking your head. “What?”

“For a girl? Seriously. It’s the twenty-first century,” you growl. “I guess the girls around you don’t lift a finger. They all got a nice trust fund.”

“You don’t like me, huh?” he muses, glancing at you. “You don’t even know me. I got more in my life going on than parties and trust funds.”

“Can we stop talking now? I will drive you to town and you can sleep at the hotel. You will be out of my hair soon enough and forget about me, this town, and the people.”

“You didn’t ask why I’m wearing a wedding suit,” you shrug, not wanting to know more about the man next to you. “Why?”

“Not my business, Dean. I’m not the kind of person who asks people to talk about personal stuff. I don’t like to talk about my life either,” he chuckles. “What?”

“I ran from my wedding,” he admits, glancing at you. “Uh, I didn’t leave my love at the altar. I’m not a cruel man messing my wedding up. It was an arranged marriage. Now I’m kinda on the run…”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[amatchinwater]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Oh man, this is...okay, asking a self depreciator to appreciate themselves...I can do this!

How to Court a Spark: (Steo, explicit) Stiles and Theo are roommates in college and are very obviously mates, but they're idiots about it at first.

Wolves with a Spark: (Sterek, explicit) Stiles moves in with the Hales after his father passes away. Presenting as an Omega and then a spark years later. He's hopelessly head over heels for Derek and wants to be his mate, but it almost certain the Alpha doesn't feel the same way about him so he says nothing and pines from a distance. Talia asks if Stiles would like to train to be an emissary to the Hale pack and Stiles agrees.

The Color of Your Eyes: (Steo, explicit) Stiles offers Theo his spare bedroom after seeing the chimera again for the first time since the Wild Hunt. Theo, being mostly reformed now, earns Stiles' friendship. Meanwhile Stiles still harbors a massive crush on Theo and now has to live with him. Pining bullshit ensues, Lydia tries to play matchmaker. Also, it takes two months of living with one another for Stiles to finally see Theo's real eyes and it's not the color Stiles expected.

I Want it Bad: (Steo, explicit) Stydia is a still a thing out of comfort than still having romantic feelings, so they agree to an open relationship to try and find happiness. Insert Theo, an Alpha werewolf desperate to have Stiles and give him the love he deserves. Lydia ships it.

Do You Love Me?: (Steo, teen and up) "Do you love me?" "No." "You will." Or: Theo kidnaps Stiles after killing Scott and becoming an Alpha to keep the human for himself. Bad Things Happen Bingo fill for mind games. Stockholm Syndrome and making Stiles believe he's had a terrible nightmare when it was really just a set up.

[kiuda]

I'm finally done!! After many drafts, fighting my lack of motivation and just life, I present to you a quick one shot of the phoenix Punz AU!

Dedicated to @deadboyslove for being so supportive and his amazing, incredible art!

warnings: mentions of blood (not many)

Punz was a new name. Chosen recently, just after his rebirth. It was perfect. Unusual but welcoming, having the feeling of a hug from a long lost friend. They liked it. Just like they previously liked ‘Luke’.

His new life began in a cage, a rusty metal thing made from pipes and chains. They didn’t like thinking back on those days spent in darkness, waiting for help. He was still too weak back then to help himself. Still too tired after the Burning. So they waited. And waited. Until anyone but them came.

The demon hybrid introduced himself as ‘Bad’.

And wasn’t that funny? Because the demon was as far from being bad as possible. He took him in. Cared for him and gave him a place to stay. A home. And a family.

Sapnap and Dream.

Two very hyper boys. A demon and a human. Two very different but very similar kids.

Sapnap immediately bonded with him over their shared fire powers. The demon was happy to show the phoenix his tricks - how he could breathe fire and make the flames take complicated shapes. Punz couldn’t remember the last time they met a fire whisperer as proficient as the young boy. He promised himself to always take care of him. To not let anyone put his fire out.

Dream was less trusting. He was a shy kid, hiding behind a simple wooden mask. The young human was fast, agile and confident. When Bad suggested they take Punz to play for a bit, he muttered something about a ‘manhunt’ and ran towards the trees, with a laughing Sapnap trailing after him.

Punz turned towards Bad, sending the older man a silent question.

“Manhunt! It’s a game Dream and Sap made up. There are no rules besides getting the target and not hurting them!” Bad looked relaxed, it seemed like the game wasn’t dangerous, no matter the lack of rules. He smiled at the phoenix encouragely. “Go on! Find them! And please remember to get back before sundown!” He shouted at the already running away teen.

Punz didn’t know these woods. He supposed he didn’t know any woods yet. Maybe they knew some before. Maybe one of the previous names prefered the shadows of the trees to the cobbled paths of villages. There was no way to know.

He took a deep breath. They remembered being a hunter, searching for fugitives, chasing them through cites, lands and woods. Remembered what to look for. What to ignore and what to notice.

They closed their eyes and listened.

First he heard life. Birds chirping, communicating with each other in melodic tones. Foxes, hopping around and yipping in happiness. Bees, going back to their hives from their adventures. The forest was alive. It was filled with noise.

Then they listened to the wind. How quiet it was, how it stroked the highest parts of the trees gently.

Punz took another breath. Tried to tune out the forest, the trees, the animals, and the wind. He was searching for faint footsteps, yells and shouts of young boys, for-

“Dream!” Bingo.

They opened their eyes and ran towards the sound. They jumped over roots and small holes, sidestepped trees in their way and ducked under low hanging branches. The thrill of the hunt felt familiar. It felt good.

He stopped, when the yells turned frantic.

“Dream! Hold on!” Sapnap’s yells betrayed his fear. Dream was in trouble.

Punz sprinted towards the voice. He had to help them. He promised Bad to keep them safe.

“Sapnap! Dream!” He shouted, running into the clearing. They saw a lone figure at the edge of a ravine. It wasn’t hard to guess what happened - Dream must have slipped while running along the edge. The demon child turned towards them with a fearful face.

“Punz! Please help! I can’t get him up!” The phoenix ran up to the edge carefully, trying to assess the situation. The sight wasn’t pretty. Dream was hanging just beyond Sapnap’s reach and his hands were bloody, probably damaged when he tried desperately to slow down his fall. He must have been close to letting go.

Punz had to get to him quickly.

They looked around the clearing, searching for anything that could be helpful - some rope, a sturdy stick… a line! There it was, hanging from a lone jungle tree. How did this tree get here? They asked themselves, but quickly went back to the task at hand. They had to help Dream.

“Sapnap! Get the liane from that tree! Quickly!” he added, seeing the hybrid hesitate. He needed to prepare Dream for the rescue. “Dream, listen to me.” He saw the golden locks of his hair move and looked at the scared, bare, face of the human. He must have lost his mask. “I’m gonna go down to you and help you up, okay? You will have to climb on me. You’re going to be fine.”

“...promise?” they almost missed the quiet voice from the hanging human. Their face softened.

“I promise.” the answer seemed to calm Dream a little, determination filling his face just as Sapnap ran back with some lianes.

“I picked the ones which looked the strongest!” he assured, handing them over to Punz, who started typing them around his middle.

“Thank you Sapnap. Can you go and tie the other end on that tree?” He asked gently, showing the boy the tall oak tree growing nearby. Sapnap nodded and ran off again, tying the end of the rope that Punz would literally hang his life on in a moment.

They looked down towards the ground. The ravine was deep, with the bottom hidden in darkness. It was hard to tell what layed there. Punz just hoped they wouldn’t have to find out.

He took a deep breath and started climbing down slowly, trying not to accidentally brush against the weakening human. It was hard to maneuver around the uneven wall and the sharp edges of the stone, but he managed.

They lowered themselves carefully as close to Dream as they dared to and spoke up. “Okay Dream. You need to let go very carefully and grab onto me, okay? I’m gonna get us out.” Dream looked at him with barely hidden fear in his green eyes. The human met them today. And now they asked him to trust them with his life? But he had no other choice.

Dream let go of one arm slowly, panicking for a moment when his foot slipped, but caught himself in time. He grabbed Punz’s jacket tightly with his free hand, trying to get as close to them as possible. He looked at his other hand again before sending the phoenix a silent question.

“Ready?” asked Punz. He was preparing to let go of the wall and dive after the boy if something went wrong. Maybe his feathers could help slow down the fall.

Dream nodded. He let go of the ledge and reached out.

For a moment Punz thought they weren’t going to make it. The sudden weight made him slide a bit, but he grabbed the wall tighter, feeling blood running down his arms. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Dream.

“Sapnap!” he called out to the other boy. “Can you help us get up?!”

“Yeah! Give me a second!” Punz prayed the second wouldn’t be long. They could feel their hands starting to cramp. Turns out two teens hanging on one part of a stone wall wasn’t the safest place to be. Fortunately they felt the rope around his middle tighten and they started climbing out, trying not to jostle Dream too much.

They both let out sighs of relief when they got back to the surface. Punz layed down on the grass, breathing heavily.

“Dream!” shrieked Sapnap, tackling the human. “Please never do that again! You scared me dude!”

“Ooof. I wasn’t trying to fall you idiot!” retorted Dream, his voice breaking at the ‘idiot’. The usually offensive word was filled with fondness, with love. It meant something to those two.

“...hey Punz?” the phoenix raised his head to look at the human. “Thank you. Thank you for helping me.”

A small smile grew on their face. “You’re welcome.” They stood up and walked over to the hugging boys. “You are my little brothers now. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

The three of them went back to a very worried Bad, who, predictably, scowled them before helping Dream and Punz take care of their wounds.

And if he talked to the phoenix later, thanking them for protecting his boys… well. Nobody had to know.

(The mystery of the jungle tree growing in an oak forest wouldn’t be forgotten. Punz asked all of his new family members how they think the tree ended up there. None of them ever gave him a straight answer.

Until one day he figured it out himself.

But that’s a story for another day.)

[spencers-renaissance]

this heavy humanness

Summary: Spencer leaves the oven on overnight, and Derek - whose pent-up emotions get the best of him - loses it, exposing secrets neither of them expected to be spilled, for two very different reasons. They get there in the end.

or; Spencer's suffered far too much abuse in his life and Derek knew about none of it. He shouldn't have found out like this.

Tags: est. rel., past abuse, arguing & making up, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, hurt spencer TW: implied/referenced - child abuse, abuse & csa. trauma response that could be perceived as dissociation. misplaced frustration at neurodivergence. nothing graphic but message me for more info if needed.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This fills the "Domestic Violence" square of my Bad Things Happen Bingo. It's a heavy one folks so please heed the tags, but fear not, as always we have a happy ending ahead of us! <3 Title by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Spencer knows it’s ridiculous. Derek will not hurt him: this much he knows for certain. Derek is safe, he is home, he is his person. Derek would die before laying a hand on him.

This objective knowledge does not stop the fear from building in his chest, fizzling through his veins until his whole body is alight with it, simmering under the surface of his cold skin as Derek shouts, his face contorted in anger. Spencer might know that Derek won’t hurt him, but that doesn’t mean he can forget what’s happened in the past when he’s put that same expression on crueller people’s faces.

“How could you be so irresponsible, Spencer?”

He doesn’t know. The sinking feeling of failure, of disappointing someone he loves so much settles deep in his stomach as he watches Derek pace up and down the living room while he stays firmly planted on the sofa, pressed as far into the corner as he can.

He didn’t mean to leave the oven on overnight. Again. It’s just that sometimes he gets so lost in his head, in the studies he reads just before bed that getting ready for bed happens on auto-pilot, and small things like turning the oven off slip through the cracks. Derek’s never got this angry over it before, but that’s probably because he’s never said “yes” when Derek’s sleepily asked him if he remembered to turn it off, not when he actually didn’t.

He answered on auto-pilot. He didn’t mean to lie, but that doesn’t seem to matter that much to Derek as he wears down the living room carpet with his pacing, visibly seething. He tracks him with his eyes. He can’t afford to not see the blow coming.

The blow isn’t coming, he tries to tell himself. It’s not all that convincing when Derek stops mid-pace, turning to look at him dead in the eye.

“We could’ve died, Spencer! Does that mean nothing to you?”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He wants to, he really does, but the words are stuck in his throat, choked by fear and confusion and emotion and regret, God why didn’t I turn off the oven, I should’ve been better, it’s all my fault—

“Do you seriously not have anything to say?”

Spencer stares. He has so much to say. All of it is trapped in his throat, tangled in a mess of please don’t leave me and please god don’t hit me.

“You know, I can’t deal with this right now,” Derek mutters, throwing his hands up in the air, “this is unbelievable.” Spencer watches as he shrugs a coat over his shoulders, pulls on his shoes, pauses only to grab his wallet and keys, and walks out the door without looking back.

The door slams behind him and Spencer jumps at the loud noise, jolting out of his fear-ridden stupor, wincing as he’s forced out of his head and thrust back into reality. It’s only ten past ten in the morning; a nice, sunny Saturday in late Spring, and maybe in a different universe, Spencer and Derek are packing a wicker basket with a picnic, heading off to their favourite park to feed each other strawberries and enjoy jam-filled sandwiches.

In this universe, though, Spencer drags his heavy bones to the bathroom, and peels off his clothes. He feels weighed down, tied to some point of gravity far below his feet as he avoids the mirror at all costs and lets his pajamas lay where they fall instead of gathering them into a ball and throwing them into the hamper like he usually does. He turns the water on and steps under the spray, allowing himself to revel in the warm rivulets of water caressing his cold skin.

Shampoo bottles stand untouched in the caddy to his left. He’s not there to get clean, he’s there to forget and to think all at the same time. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall as the water cascades down his front, but not before he turns the heat up. It’s a small comfort: the water just on the right side of too hot running down his face and his torso and his legs, pooling at his feet momentarily before sliding down the drain, never to be seen by him again.

Today shouldn’t have started like this, and it’s a hard pill to swallow that if he hadn’t left the oven on, it wouldn’t have. Derek would have smiled when Spencer stepped into the kitchen, pulled him into his arms and kissed him gently before making them pancakes while Spencer sat on the counter-top and told him everything running through his head. Derek would listen, enthralled, whether to the sound of Spencer’s voice or the words he’s saying, and he wouldn’t shut him up, not even when they sat down to eat.

They’d finally get ready for the day late in the morning, they’d decide what they would do that day, and they’d make a point to steal as many kisses as they could; making up for the affection lost during long cases.

Spencer knows this because it’s happened so many times before. They may have only been dating for just over six months, but they already live together, having fallen hard and fast; Emily teases them for it, calls them her favourite lesbian couple, and they don’t care because they’re in love.

Despite that, though, Spencer still hasn’t told Derek.

There are nights he lies awake pondering how unfair that is. He’s held Derek as he sobbed over memories of Buford, as he spilled every awful detail of the abuse he endured; he’s comforted him after he’d tried and failed to bottom, falling into a flashback every time, no matter how much he wanted to try it.

But Spencer stays silent. He doesn’t tell him about his dad beating him, or his mom getting confused off her meds and smacking him, shoving him, even punching him that one time. He doesn’t tell him about Matthew, his first real boyfriend, trapping him in an abusive relationship that took him months to get the courage to leave. About how when a third person hurt him, he began to wonder whether it really was his fault. Whether that was the only kind of love Spencer Reid deserved.

He stays silent now, staring at the shower wall. The fear has left him now the threat has too, and a cold type of numbness replaces it, and even once the water runs cold, he doesn’t leave. He traces the same four tiles with his eyes, drawing the same pattern with his gaze over and over again as his thoughts turn to an endless cycle of he’ll leave me, he’ll stay, he’ll hit me, he won’t, until he’s not really sure what he believes.

Derek is a good man, but Spencer knows how he can be. He messes up, he forgets things, he doesn’t read situations right, he doesn’t behave the way people think he should, he doesn’t think like a neuro-typical person does. And a good man can only put up with that for so long.

The proof is in the pudding, after all. Derek has always been understanding of things like this in the past. He’s given him a hug and told him not to worry about it, that mistakes happen, and no one can be expected to remember small things like this all the time. But this morning, he was furious. Spencer’s not sure he’s ever seen him so angry in all his years of knowing him, and it was directed at him. All because of an oven left on.

Eventually, a sound from the upstairs apartment drags him from his head again, and he’s suddenly aware of the cold water, of the way his body is trembling and his fingers are pruning. He pulls himself out of the shower, turning the water off, but he stands in the middle of the bathroom, aimlessly, for a long time. By the time he finally has the sense to wrap a towel around his body, he’s basically dripped dry. His hair is soaking wet and the dripping water is freezing, but he doesn’t have the energy to find a towel for his head, too, so he leaves it.

He walks towards the bedroom and climbs into bed, pulling the fluffy duvet over his damp skin and laying his wet hair on the pillow. It feels awful, being wet and damp under the dry bedding, but he doesn’t have the energy to move, so he stays there, towel still wrapped around his legs, hair still soaking the pillow, and he stares at the wall.

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he doesn’t know when Derek will come back home. If he ever will.

⭐️

Derek slams the door behind him as he storms out of the apartment, rage consuming his every move, his every thought. The force of it rattles the door frame, echoing down the empty corridor, but he can’t find it in him to care as he marches towards the elevator. The buttons are pressed with perhaps a little more aggression than socially acceptable, but the woman already on board takes one look at his face and has the sense to stay quiet.

He gets in his car and steps on the gas, the squeal of his tyres against the floor of the garage as he speeds out satisfying him more than it probably should. His jaw is locked and tight as he drives through the streets of DC, his thoughts going a million miles an hour, quieted only when he turns the radio up loud, a blasting soundtrack to his ferocious getaway.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he speeds down the highway, heading out of the city towards Baltimore. He doesn’t have a destination in mind: he’s just driving straight. Straight away from the apartment. Away from Spencer.

It’s after more than an hour of driving that his jaw finally loosens and the anger that had simmered in his blood so fiercely fades into reluctant rationality. He’s somewhere in the middle of Baltimore, and the traffic — the tangled road system he actually has to focus on — drags him from the absent headspace the highway had allowed him to slip into.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and turns off the road he’s on, onto a quieter one. As soon as he’s able to pull over, he does, and he hits the steering wheel angrily. “Fuck!” He leans forward, pulling off his sunglasses and burying his head in his hands. It’s not the same kind of anger he’d felt earlier, no. This time it’s directed purely at himself, fuelled by dismal regret.

Before he can stop it, his brain replays the fight with Spencer over and over, the wall he’d put up to block it out crumbling down as images of his boyfriend flood his mind. He hadn’t registered it in the moment, but looking back, God. There was something on Spencer’s face, something so broken, so scared and he feels nauseous at the realisation that he put that there.

Over something as fucking stupid as an oven.

Truthfully, he wasn’t really angry at Spencer. Waking up to see the oven left on again, even after Spencer promised he’d turned it off, was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He’d fought with both his mom and Penelope yesterday, and he went to bed feeling like an utter failure, made even worse when Spencer had declined to join him, deciding instead to keep reading the series of papers he’d started earlier that evening. He woke up in a foul mood, and not even the sight of his peacefully sleeping boyfriend could make him feel better.

It’s his own fault. He should have communicated with Spencer: he should’ve told him about letting his mom down and saying the worst thing he possibly could have in his conversation with Penelope, but he didn’t. He silently stewed, and felt irrationally angry that Spencer wasn’t reading his mind. He knows for an absolute fact that if he’d asked Spencer to join him in bed last night, he would’ve dropped his studies immediately, and cuddled him until he felt better.

But he didn’t. And then he’d screamed at Spencer, in a way he never has before, over something he simply forgot to do. Derek swore to himself that he would never shout at or put Spencer down for his neurodivergent traits. Not in the way he’s seen so many people — regrettably, far too many of them on their own team — do before.

He’s always been understanding in the past, kissed Spencer’s hair and promised that it wasn’t a big deal, and he has always meant it. Because as dramatic as he’d been this morning, leaving the oven on wasn’t really the end of the world. He remembers ranting about the electricity bill, about how they were going to afford the house they were going to buy if he kept this up, about lying to him — even though he knew that was clearly an auto-pilot thing — about how dangerous it was. It’s a fan oven. They were never really in any danger.

What a god-awful way to let off the steam he’d built up and chosen not to let go.

As if he’s not already feeling shitty enough, though, his mind won’t stop circling back to the fear on Spencer’s face. The way he shouted back, but instead crammed himself into the corner of the sofa, never taking his eyes off him as he paced angrily back and forth.

He feels sick.

He digs his phone from the pocket in his sweatpants. He’s still in the clothes he sleepily pulled on in the dark this morning, and he hadn’t thought to bring his phone out with him, but luckily he’d picked it up off the kitchen counter that morning.

He clicks on Spencer’s name, listens to it ringing out as he desperately begs him to pick up. “Come on, baby, please,” he whispers, ignoring the tears burning behind his eyes. “Pick up, please.” He tries three more times before throwing it angrily on the seat next to him, allowing one more second of feeling the blind panic and the fury at himself before forcing himself to calm down.

Reaching over to his phone with one hand to turn the ringer up, he turns the ignition on and pulls back onto the road, heading back towards DC.

The traffic infuriates him, cursing as it takes thirty minutes to get back on the highway, but finally he’s back on the open road. It takes everything in him not to speed past the other cars, knowing that getting pulled over would only slow him down in the long run. He doesn’t turn the radio on. He just replays the fight again and again, each time remembering something new: something he said or something Spencer did.

He doesn’t wipe the tears away as they fall, lets them slide uncomfortably down his neck, under his collar, lets them drip into his lap, lets his nose run. It’s the only punishment he can afford himself right now.

Finally, finally, he pulls into their apartment building’s garage, finding their spot and parking roughly, abandoning the car as quickly as possible in favour of sprinting towards the elevator. He curses at the slow moving carriage, but it eventually spits him out on his floor, and he’s walking down the very corridor he stormed down just a few hours prior.

He pushes open the door to their apartment, closing it behind him softly. Suddenly, the nausea swimming in his gut isn’t just borne from regret, now fuelled by nerves and dreaded anticipation.

“Spence?” he calls softly.

He doesn’t know what to expect: he doesn’t know whether Spencer will be sad or angry, whether he’ll be screaming or crying. The kitchen and living room are empty, and the bathroom door is wide open, so he ventures into their bedroom.

Whatever he was expecting, it isn’t this.

Spencer’s tucked up in bed, duvet pulled up to his neck, facing away from the door. He doesn’t move so Derek thinks he might be sleeping, but when he circles the bed to check, he finds his eyes wide open, staring vacantly at a fixed point on the wall. They don’t flicker or blink or move when he steps into his field of vision, and Derek’s heart sinks, panic beginning to grip his chest.

“Spencer? Baby?”

When he still doesn’t move, Derek crawls onto the bed, and the movement or the sound or something must finally catch his attention, because all of a sudden his eyes are widening — in shock, surprise, fear, Derek doesn’t know — and he’s shifting under the covers.

“You’re back,” he says, and it’s so uneasy that Derek wants to cry.

“Yeah, baby, I’m back,” he says gently, “and I’m so sorry about earlier, I—”

He cuts himself off, because when he reaches to tangle his fingers in Spencer’s damp hair, he flinches. His hand freezes, but his stomach twists, because this is the confirmation he was both expecting and dreading. This is the confirmation of everything he prayed he had wrong, everything he wished he’d misinterpreted the whole drive home.

“Spence,” he whispers brokenly, withdrawing his hand, “I would never— never do… I’d never hurt you, God, I—”

A choked sob cuts him off this time, and another follows when he sees a tear sliding down Spencer’s face. A previously blank, emotionless canvas, his face is now full of sadness, tinged with the fear and guilt Derek hates himself for even suggesting was warranted in the first place.

“Derek,” he says softly, and his voice is so mangled with emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher, it breaks his heart a little. He doesn’t say anything more though, eyes sliding shut instead as tears continue to stream down his face.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. “Anything, I— anything you need, you can have, Spence, I’d give you the world, you know that.”

Spencer’s quiet for a long time, and Derek sits there on the bed anxiously awaiting a response while trying to summon all the patience he doesn’t have as he stares at Spencer’s crying face.

“A hug,” he decides eventually, and Derek almost collapses in relief because, God, he can do that.

He crosses the small space between them, and carefully folds Spencer into a hug, sighing in relief as he melts into Derek’s side, placing his head on his chest and cuddling into him. Their legs tangle together and Derek holds him as gently and as closely as he can, carding his fingers through Spencer’s damp curls while his other hand rests on his waist, his thumb caressing the bare skin there.

He’s still in his towel, he thinks sadly. He didn’t have the energy to properly dry himself before crawling into bed. As if Derek could possibly feel shittier.

They lay like that quietly for a while before Spencer finally speaks. Derek wishes he hadn’t. The words “I’m sorry”, uttered so brokenly, so miserably, have no business leaving Spencer’s mouth.

“Baby, you have nothing to apologise for,” he says fiercely. “This is all on me. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I’ve ever been, Spencer, because this is completely my fault. I wasn’t actually angry at you, that’s the first thing you need to know, and I know that makes what I did so shitty, because you hadn’t even done anything wrong, but I was so pent up and frustrated with myself and I didn’t communicate that with you and— fuck, I’m doing such a bad job of explaining, I just. I need you to know, Spencer, that I’m not angry, okay? And I’m so sorry for losing it like I did, that never should have happened.”

He pauses and takes a breath in, burying his face in Spencer’s hair as he holds him even tighter, trying to keep his grip as gentle as possible.

“I never told you,” Spencer whispers after a couple beats pass.

Derek’s heart seizes tightly and he swallows. Prepares himself. “Never told me what, sweetheart?”

“My dad, he… he wasn’t a good man and he… you know, he hurt me a lot. And then my mom, when he left and she stopped taking her meds completely, she’d get so confused,” Spencer admits, voice so quiet as he murmurs into Derek’s chest that he has to strain to hear him. “She didn’t mean to, but she’d… And then my last boyfriend, he—”

He cuts himself off as a heaving sob that seems to come out of nowhere strangles his words and it’s all Derek can do to hold him tightly as Spencer cries, whispering every reassurance he can think of through his own tears. It shouldn’t be like this, he thinks. I shouldn’t know this just because of an argument we had; just because I lost control. Spencer should’ve been able to tell me on his own terms, in his own time.

He tries to cry as silently as possible, but it’s not easy when the grief of knowing the pain Spencer’s suffered in his life is weighing heavy on his chest, and the acidic taste of guilt abounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Spencer’s hair. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He’s sorry for so many things he’s not sure he could list them all out, neatly and coherently, if he tried.

Spencer fists his hands in the soft cotton of Derek’s t-shirt. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

Derek balks at the guilt in his tone, as if he actually believes he has anything to apologise for. “Baby, you could’ve waited until we were old and grey to tell me and I wouldn’t be mad, okay? Trauma like this… it comes out in it’s own way in it’s own time. I’m not sure how or when I would’ve told you about Buford if everyone hadn’t found out the way they did. And if I’d waited to tell you, you wouldn’t be mad at me, would you?”

Spencer shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry that I triggered you the way I did, Spencer,” Derek says seriously, gently twirling a loose curl around his fingers. “It was inexcusable, and it was a problem of my own making. I know you didn’t mean to leave the oven on and I know you were operating on auto-pilot when you told me you turned it off last night, and nothing I said was true. I was mad about stuff that happened yesterday and I failed to communicate that. It’s all on me. Nothing about this is your fault, you hear me?”

“Really?”

The way Spencer cranes his neck to look up at him, the trusting innocence in his eyes both breaking and warming Derek’s heart. “Really.”

“I want to tell you, Der, it’s just—” He sighs. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone, and it’s hard. I don’t… I don’t know where to start.”

“We have all the time in the world for you to tell me, baby. You can tell me everything all at once, or drop tiny pieces of information when you feel like it, or never tell me anything else ever again, and any of that is perfectly okay. I just need you to know that what happened this morning will never happen again, okay? I promise you.”

Spencer shifts, moving from his position curled around Derek to prop himself up with one arm, facing his boyfriend properly. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, before leaning down to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby. More than anything.” He kisses him again before moving the duvet and making to get up. “Now, how about I order us some pizza for lunch and we spend the afternoon in bed. You can read or we can watch some documentaries or a movie, whatever you want.”

A small smile crosses Spencer’s face, and nothing’s ever felt more like a win.

“I think that sounds like a plan.”

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @moreidtrash @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @enbyspencer @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby

[rafael-silva]

lean into me, I’ll catch you: a tarlos fic

The 126 paramedics get called to the scene of a bar fight, tension rising during the drive. The chaotic scene is cluttered with police presence, TK spotting Carlos’s patrol car upon arrival. Once inside the bar, TK gets thrown a sudden and painful curveball.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + hidden scar

hurt carlos reyes, worried tk strand, paramedic tk, hurt/comfort, emotional/hurt comfort, kisses, whump, comfort, angst with a happy ending

6.5k | rated T | on ao3

*****

The call comes in a little after lunch.

The crew had just finished cleaning up, all of them hanging out in the common area, keeping busy with various activities. Tommy is chatting with Judd in the corner, while TK, sitting on the kitchen counter, is engaged with Nancy in their own conversation. They restocked the ambulance after their last call and after making sure everything was on track there, relaxed and fell into an easy exchange filled with their usual playful banter and quirky back and forth. TK laughs at one of Nancy’s statements, his eyes wrinkling at the corners which elicits an equally hearty laugh from his partner.

Then the bell goes off, calling the paramedics to a scene of a bar fight with multiple injuries. TK hops off the counter and he and Nancy meet Tommy in the ambulance bay, TK sliding into the driver’s seat, Nancy into the passenger one, Tommy closing the doors behind her as she gets into the back. The sirens blare loudly as TK presses down on the gas petal and drives towards the heart of downtown Austin.

Halfway into their trip, the ambo radio springs to life.

“Be advised,” a dispatcher starts, “incoming report of an officer injured on scene.”

“Copy that,” Nancy replies into her radio. “We’re five minutes out.”

She looks over at TK and notices his grip on the steering wheel tightening and his facial expression hardens as he squares his jaw at the new information. She knows what’s going through his mind.

“We don’t know that it’s him,” Nancy says in a low, calm voice.

TK replies with a firm nod, swallowing. Having no further information on the identity of the injured officer or how bad the injury is, TK feels his head spiral towards the worst case scenario.

Silence falls upon the rig, the atmosphere turning sharp and tense and TK makes no indication of speaking or doing anything besides driving, really, his focus solely on arriving at the scene.

He tries his hardest to control his thoughts, but all the what ifs tug at him and feed into his fear of losing Carlos. He wills his heart to stop thumping against his ribcage as he rounds the corner, the bar in sight now. They’re so close, yet it feels eternities away.

TK parks next to a couple of other ambulances that have responded, the common red and blue lights bouncing off the buildings around. TK jumps out, making quick work of grabbing the medkit as Nancy shoulders the lifepak and Tommy emerges from the back. He’s fast on his feet, making his way through the bystanders and police presence and into the bar, Tommy and Nancy hot on his heels.

The scene is chaos, and it’s almost like a tornado had ripped through the bar. Broken chairs scattered around the space, turned tables, shattered pieces of glass littering the ground, crunching underneath TK’s boots as he strides in.

He pushes all that aside, heart hammering in his chest again as he holds his breath, and having seen Carlos’s patrol car outside moments ago, immediately scans the wrecked place for the officer.

Relief floods his body when his eyes land on Carlos standing with Officer Mitchell near the bar stools, both of them talking to two men, one wearing a red jacket and the other a baseball hat, as the officers attempt to calm them down and diffuse the situation. What little relief TK felt is quickly replaced with concern then, reading the tension in the air and knowing that his boyfriend is quite literally in the middle of it.

It appears those two men are the origin of the havoc, judging by the amount of cops hovering near them, taking statements from people around. TK notices how Carlos’s shoulders are rigid and his face stern as he speaks, sharing a fast look with his partner before returning his attention to the man in front of him.

TK looks away for a moment, to where the other officer is injured and that second is all it takes for a roar to erupt behind him and all hell breaks loose again.

TK isn’t exactly sure what happened as he turns around, but Mitchell jumps into action to keep Mr. Baseball Hat back while Mr. Red Jacket yells heatedly at the other man, scrambling to free himself from Carlos’s hold.

It takes TK’s mind a second to catch up with what’s happening and his heart sinks further seeing Carlos in the middle of the brawl.

TK wants to push through and pull Carlos to safety but he’s suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. He doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Tommy. She most likely had read his mind, his team knowing him so well by now, as she anchors him next to her.

TK is vaguely aware of Nancy saying she’ll check over the hurt officer, but his eyes never leave Carlos, watching with drawn eyebrows as his boyfriend attempts to move Mr. Red Jacket backwards to separate to two angry men. He feels helpless standing there, although he knows deep down that he can’t get involved in the middle of this fight, that he doesn’t have the training for this, he wishes there were something he could do to protect Carlos. To make sure Carlos is okay and safe.

TK trusts that Carlos can handle himself, but it still doesn’t make this situation any easier. The two men don’t appear to be slowing down, fueled by rage and adrenaline, it appears that they’re overpowering Carlos and Mitchell.

Officers rush over to aid Carlos and Mitchell, but they reach them a little too late. TK feels his heart drop as he watches his boyfriend’s face morph into a wince, his eyebrows drawing together and eyes going wide at a realization. Carlos is momentarily frozen in place as the two men are taken down around him. But he doesn’t move after, blinking slowly now. And that’s the thing that keeps TK on edge.

TK himself stunned, remains in place, his eyes moving with Carlos as the taller man searches the crowd, eyes hazy, not really looking for anything in particular. But TK sees a spark of recognition when Carlos’s eyes eventually land on him.

TK can tell that Carlos relaxes ever so slightly, his brown eyes meeting TK’s worried green ones. The world narrows to the both of them, the sounds around them mute, movements in slow motion, and TK tries his hardest to understand what just happened. Because something isn’t right, Carlos not having moved an inch and is seemingly unaware of what’s happening around him. TK sees Mitchell speak to Carlos over her shoulder as she hauls Mr. Baseball Hat away, but Carlos makes no indication of having heard her.

And then TK gets his answer, catching the slow movement of Carlos’s hand moving to his stomach, and TK’s eyes widen at the large patch staining the officer’s uniform there.

It all clicks together then.

Stab wound, TK’s mind supplies.

The paramedic is all too aware of his quick breathing now, and his heart dropping into his knees as he watches Carlos sway dangerously to the side as he loses his balance, the patch getting bigger with each passing second.

And the way Carlos’s arm weakly reaches out towards him has TK springing into action, fleeing from Tommy’s hold as he pushes through the crowd to catch Carlos.

“Carlos is hurt!” He yells over his shoulder to his Captain, his heart in his throat now.

TK gets to Carlos just as he’s tumbling forward towards the dirty floor. TK drops his equipment as both arms instantly reach out to steady the officer, Carlos falling against his chest but TK, ready for the impact, keeps their balance as he takes on Carlos’s weight.

“Hey, hey,” TK says softly. “I got you, I got you.”

TK gently lowers Carlos down, the sudden appearance of the paramedic and Carlos nearly toppling over capturing the attention of the officers around as they regain their collective breath from handling the two men.

“Reyes?” TK hears someone call from above as he places his palm over Carlos’s stomach and applies pressure, receiving a groan from Carlos.

That grabs Mitchell’s attention and she turns around, grip still on the man and her eyes go big at seeing TK and her partner on the floor. She hands him off to another officer before she’s rushing to their side.

“Carlos! What the hell happened?” She asks TK, her voice filled with shock.

“He’s been stabbed,” TK replies, eyes not leaving Carlos’s face, who’s growing paler by the second. “Hang on, Carlos. You’re okay, just hang on.”

Before anyone else can speak, Tommy’s voice echoes.

“Coming through!”

TK only looks up then, seeing Tommy and Nancy crouch next to them and open the medical bags.

His attention back on Carlos, TK’s breath catches in his throat when he sees Carlos looking at him, eyes glassy, doing his best to focus on TK.

“TK?” Carlos breaths, his voice frail, almost afraid that he’s imagining the paramedic.

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m right here,” TK is quick to comfort him, reading between the lines.

TK gives Carlos the best smile he could muster, hoping it’s not as shaky as it feels to him.

“Hurts,” Carlos wheezes, shutting his eyes when he feels added pressure on the wound.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, babe,” TK replies. “We gotta control this bleeding.”

Carlos sighs, face rolling to the side as he peels his eyelids open, finding TK again amidst the fog that is his vision.

The blood seeping through his fingers bring tears to TK’s eyes, and he swallows against his dry throat, trying to keep the tears at bay. It feels like Carlos is slipping from him, and he’s overcome with so much fear, visible in the shaking of his hands. His whole body feels like it’s on fire, heart racing and sweat rolling down his neck and back. He shakes himself out of it, knowing he has to stay strong and calm, for Carlos’s sake.

“You’re okay,” TK sniffs. “Stay with me, baby. Focus on me.”

“Always…you,” Carlos murmurs.

“TK, I need you to remove your hands for a moment,” Tommy instructs.

He meets her gaze with wide eyes, frantically shaking his head.

“I can’t—he’ll—he’ll lose more blood, I have to keep applying pressure,” TK responds, a tear escaping his eye.

“I’ll be quick,” Tommy promises. “I need to inspect the wound.”

After a moment, TK reluctantly pulls his hands back, immediately taking note of how Carlos’s face relaxes a little once the pressure is removed.

TK holds his breath, hand finding Carlos’s and gives it a squeeze, a reassurance that he’s right by his side. Carlos uses all the energy he could muster to return the squeeze.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” TK says as Tommy works, Nancy taking Carlos’s vitals.

Once Nancy finishes and reports Carlos’s numbers, which are low, she hands TK a large piece of gauze and then secures the IV line she started, prepping Carlos for transport.

“Okay,” Tommy nods once she’s done, moving back and TK doesn’t waste a second in covering Carlos’s wound with the gauze and pushing down.

The almost lack of response from Carlos is alarming, and TK looks at Tommy with broad glistening eyes, fear radiating from his green irises.

“He’s going into shock. We need to move now,” Tommy instructs.

A gurney seems to materialize next to them out of thin air, but TK minds no attention to where it came from as he and a couple of other officers lift Carlos off the ground and onto the gurney. The crowd parts as they move, TK keeping constant pressure on Carlos’s abdomen. Mitchell trails closely behind them, clutching her radio as she speaks into it.

They push Carlos into the ambulance, Tommy following and TK getting in after her.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Mitchell tells TK.

He nods as Nancy slams the doors shut and races to the driver’s seat.

The ride to the hospital is agonizing. TK watches as the oxygen mask Tommy placed over Carlos’s face fogs and clears with each weak breath he draws in, his face ashen and skin clammy to TK’s touch. The bleeding had slowed down a little, but there’s no way of knowing what kind of damage has been done internally.

Tommy discards the blood soaked gauze in favor of a fresh one, placing it over Carlos’s stomach and the pressures earns them a hiss from Carlos.

“You’re okay, babe, you’re okay,” TK says, running his thumb along Carlos’s knuckles. “We’re almost at the hospital, everything is going to be just fine.”

“Tired,” Carlos’s voice filters through the mask.

“I know, but you gotta say awake. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Carlos would do anything for TK, so he obliges with a small nod. He sucks in a wobbly breath, and lets it out slowly, eyes latched onto TK. There’s so much worry and fear engraved into TK’s forehead, the height of his fright on full display and Carlos wants to ease that pain and wants to wash away TK’s panic. So he gives TK his best smile, its small and uneven but TK understands.

“You’re okay,” TK nods.

They reach the hospital a few minutes later, the ambulance coming to a halt at the Emergency entrance and the doors are torn open a moment later.

It’s a fury of action from there, Tommy and TK pushing the gurney as Carlos fights against the darkness threatening to take over. He’s semi-aware of Tommy passing the information to the medical team as he’s being wheeled through the hospital hallway, then he directs all his attention to feeling TK’s hold on his hand, warm and steady, strong and reassuring. He sees TK’s face in his line of vision a few seconds later, he’s speaking but the sound doesn’t reach Carlos’s ears.

Then TK’s face is gone as quickly as it had appeared, along with his grounding hold.

A shiver runs through Carlos’s body and he realizes just how cold he is at the loss of TK’s touch. It’s the last thing he’s aware of as he loses the battle with the impending darkness, his eyes slowly slipping shut.

TK feels a piece of his heart being violently torn from him watching the team wheel Carlos away and into an elevator, taking him straight to surgery.

The doctor had reassured them they’ll do everything they can for Carlos, and those words weigh heavily on TK’s shoulders. He knows nothing is guaranteed, knows no promises can be made.

His head falls forward, his chin hitting his chest as he pleads and pleads that Carlos’s time isn’t up, that Carlos won’t be ripped away from him. Because this can’t be Carlos’s end, this can’t be their end. They’ve only just begin, there’s still so much he wants to do with Carlos, so much he wants to see and experience with him.

TK pleads that the I love you he just spoke won’t be the last time, or the last thing, he tells Carlos.

TK is looking at the elevator long after the doors have closed and he feels a hand land on his shoulder, the same way it had earlier at the bar.

“Come on, TK,” Tommy’s speaks in her motherly tone. “They said we can go to the waiting room on the surgical floor.”

TK nods, but makes no indication of movement. It’s when he sees Tommy and Nancy move towards the elevator that he does move, but in the direction of the stairs.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll take the stairs,” he says.

“Okay,” Tommy nods. “The stairs it is.”

TK turns to see Mitchell rushing over, and she quickly notices the drop in the paramedic’s shoulders.

“Is he…”

“They just took him to surgery,” TK tells her.

She nods, the concern for her partner clear on her face.

They climb the floors in silence, the echo of their boots on each step the only sound until they reach the surgical floor, easily finding the waiting room near the nurse’s station. They file in, TK dropping into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and resting his elbows on his tights. He leans forward, his hands folding into each other and he closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath.

He opens them and stares at his hand a few moments later, his stomach churning unnaturally at all the blood coating his skin, Carlos’s blood. He shudders and looks up when a few wet wipes appear in his vision.

Nancy is standing in front of him, holding them out with a sympathetic expression on her face. He gratefully accepts them and starts wiping the blood, the wipes turning pink with each stroke.

Once he’s finished, Nancy disposes the wipes in the trash, returning and taking a seat next to her partner. TK’s leg starts bouncing, his nervous energy palpable and evident in his movements and in the way he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I, uh,” TK breaks the silence, his voice small and low. “I need to call Carlos’s parents. I’ll be right back,” he gets up and walks out of the room, and with one more look in the direction of the operating rooms, makes his way downstairs and outside.

The sun is still hanging high in the sky when TK steps out of the emergency room entrance. It hasn’t been an hour since the paramedics arrived at the bar, but it feels like it's been a lifetime for him. It’s hot and the atmosphere is sticky with humidity, his Austin Fire t-shirt under his uniform clinging uncomfortably to his body.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and opts to sit down on a nearby bench, opening his phone contacts and finding Andrea’s. His finger hovers over her name for a few moments as he steadiest himself, bringing the phone up to his ear once it starts ringing.

The line comes to life after a few rings, and the words get caught in TK’s throat.

“TK!” Andrea greets, her voice cheery and upbeat. “How are you, amor?”

“Mrs. Reyes,” TK starts and then pauses, letting out a shaky sigh. “Andrea…”

Andrea immediately picks up on TK’s broken tone, the concern hugging her next words. “TK, are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m okay, it’s…” TK’s voice quivers. “It’s Carlos. He…we were on a call and he got hurt.”

“Dios mio,” Andrea breaths out and TK can hear hustling in the background now. “What happened?”

“It all happened so quickly…we got called to a bar fight, and PD was already there, and Carlos and his partner were talking to two men. It seems like the fight was over but it suddenly started again and Carlos was in the middle of it,” TK sniffs, letting the tears run down his face. “We’re at the hospital now, I don’t—I can’t—” he hiccups.

“Breathe, TK. Take a breath,” Andrea guides him.

TK can hear the strength in Andrea’s voice, but he can also tell it wavers a little, the worry apparent alongside the steadiness.

“I’m sorry,” TK recovers. “I’m okay.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, TK. And Carlitos will be okay, too,” Andrea replies. “He’s strong.”

TK holds onto her words with everything he’s got. He knows those words are for him, just as much as they are for her, as well.

TK nods, and it momentarily slips his mind that Andrea can’t see him. “Yes, ma’am. He’s the strongest person I know.”

“That’s it,” Andrea says. “Now tell me, which hospital are you at?”

TK returns to the waiting room after hanging up with Andrea, his eyes going a little wide with surprise when Owen and Judd get to their feet at his reappearance.

“Dad? Judd? What…” “I called them,” Tommy supplies from her seat. “It goes without saying that you’re off duty now, and we thought Owen should be with you.”

“But doesn’t your shift start soon?” Owen shakes his head. “I’m staying right here, Judd’s going to be Acting Captain during this shift.”

Deflated and drained, TK doesn’t find it in him to argue.

“I was on the phone with Judd when Tommy called and when I told him,” Owen starts.

“I wanted to be here to see how you were holding up, and to be here for Carlos, too,” Judd continues.

A ghost of a smile passes over TK’s face. “Thanks, Judd. That means everything.”

“Always, brother,” Judd replies, wrapping TK in a warm embrace.

TK feels like a little boy in Judd’s arms, holding onto the Texan and drawing strength from him. Judd tightens his grip on TK, knowing the younger man needs it and pats him on the shoulder a few times. TK nods against Judd’s shoulder in understanding.

*****

“I’m sorry.”

TK frowns, turning to face the source of the words.

“What are you talking about?” TK asks Mitchell.

They’ve been alone for twenty minutes; Judd had to leave for shift, while Tommy and Nancy got a call soon after and left, but not before TK promising to call or text if he needs anything and to update them on Carlos’s condition. Owen had left a little after that, on a quest to find food. Which had left TK and Mitchell sitting in silence.

“This is all my fault,” Mitchell shakes her head. “I didn’t see it, I was right there and…I let Carlos down, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no,” TK gets up from his seat and moves to the one next to her. “This wasn’t your fault, and you didn’t let him down. I know you always have his back, and that makes it a little easier watching him go to work every day. This…this is only one person’s fault, and it’s that man’s who intentionally hurt Carlos.”

Mitchell’s gaze remains on the floor, unable to look into TK’s eyes. “I was right there,” she repeats. “I should have seen it. I was right next to him. I can’t help but wonder if I had just been quicker…”

“It was chaos, everything was happening so quickly and it was a blur. I don’t even think Carlos saw it coming. It…came out of nowhere,” TK sighs. “I was watching you both and I looked away for one second, and I keep wondering if I just hadn’t looked away…maybe I would have seen it,” he confesses. “I was further away, maybe I would have caught it. The man moving to grab the knife or something.”

Mitchell does raise her head then and looks at TK, finding identical unshed tears in his eyes as in hers.

TK sighs again. “The truth is, what ifs aren’t going to help us now, and they won’t make this any easier. They’ll just drive us down a spiral that has no end, trust me, I know. All we have to focus on now is Carlos. He’s going to be okay.” TK turns to look out into the nearly empty hallway. “He has to be,” he whispers.

He sees Mitchell nod from the corner of his eye.

Mitchell was gone by the time Owen returns, carrying a couple of brown paper bags and three cups of what TK can tell is iced tea.

Owen frowns when he only sees his son there. “Where did Officer Mitchell go?”

“She had to leave, their Captain called. He needed her at the precinct to take her statement about what happened,” TK answers. “She’ll be back as soon as she can.”

Owen nods, setting everything on the table in the middle of the room and hands TK a cold cup.

“Thanks,” TK gratefully accepts the beverage and takes a small sip, reveling the coolness running down his parched throat.

“You should eat something,” Owen gestures to the paper bags.

“Maybe in a little bit, I’m not really hungry,” TK shakes his head.

Owen purses his lips but doesn’t push, instead he settles for a nod and a gentle pat to TK’s shoulder.

TK is nearly done with his iced tea when hurried footsteps break the drape of silence that had fallen on him and his father.

He looks up and sees Andrea through the glass window, a moment before she’s stepping into the room, her handbag clutched tightly at her side, brown eyes wide and face heavy with worry.

“TK, Owen,” she pants as both men get to their feet. “Any news yet?”

Owen shakes his head. “He’s been in there a while, we should be getting an update soon.”

Andrea nods and throws a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the big swinging doors. She sighs, turning back to look at TK, but he isn’t looking at her.

Instead, TK is looking down at his hands hanging in the air at his middle, busying themselves as he anxiously runs his fingers over each other.

“TK,” Andrea says softly as she approaches him. “Look at me, amor.”

Slowly, TK lifts his gaze to Andrea’s, a tear rolling down his cheek.

She gives him a small, sad smile and cups his face, wiping away the fallen tear. “It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

That’s all it takes for the dam inside TK to break, a sob tearing from his throat as his body shakes with the force of his tears.

“Come here,” Andrea whispers, placing her hand at the nape of TK’s neck and gently pulls him towards her.

He goes easily, returning the embrace as she wraps him in a hug and soothingly runs her other hand up and down his back.

“I got to him as fast as I could,” TK says, voice muffled against Andrea’s blouse.

“I know in my heart you did everything for our Carlitos,” Andrea replies as she pulls back, but keeps TK close.

“I wish,” he sniffs. “I wish I could have done more.”

“From what Tommy told me,” Owen’s voice comes from behind them, “you did everything in your power for him, TK. You saved his life.”

TK drops his head. “If I had seen the knife…maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Carlos would be safe, not in surgery.”

“You can’t put that weight on your shoulders, TK,” Andrea says.

TK then realizes that Andrea doesn't know the details of what happened. He meets her eyes and after a moment, explains. “He was…stabbed in the middle of that fight. I was far away from it, I didn’t take my eyes off him the whole time but I looked away for one second and that’s all it took. Maybe if I hadn’t looked away…”

Andrea is shaking her head, a tear sliding down her face but she keeps her attention on TK. “You got to him as quick as you can, remember? I hate that Carlitos got hurt, it aches my heart, but I’m glad you were right there, and I’m glad it was you, that you were by his side, doing whatever needed to be done to make sure he comes out of this okay. From what I’m hearing, it’s true, you saved my mijo, TK. And he’s going to pull through.”

TK nods and moves in for another hug, he and Andrea taking comfort and support from each other, leaning on one another. Their strong hold on each other is the only thing keeping them from shattering right then and there.

***** The silence, save for the beeping of the heart monitor, is eerie and daunting in Carlos’s hospital room.

TK’s been sitting by Carlos’s bedside for a little over ten minutes, but he hasn’t been able to utter a single word since falling into the chair situated by the bed.

It was two agonizing hours after Andrea’s arrival that a very exhausted doctor entered the waiting room and called for the family of Carlos Reyes. Perhaps TK’s silence had something to do with him still digesting the doctor’s report.

It was touch and go for a while but he made it through. Significant blood loss. Concerns about infection. Low blood pressure. Part of the colon was perforated but was successfully repaired. Jagged entry. Will leave a scar. Expected to make a full recovery with time.

TK focuses on the expected to make a full recovery portion of the report, not daring to believe any other outcome. It’s difficult, though, watching Carlos so still in front of him. The officer is a calm sleeper, but there are always small movements here and there, a soft sigh, a little twist and turn, an arm thrown over TK’s middle that pulls him close, and the absence of any of those movements is unnatural. Even his breathing is different.

TK takes small comfort in the fact that Carlos is breathing on his own, but it’s nothing like how he breaths while sleeping in their bed. The rhythm beats to a different drum, it’s not relaxed and peaceful in this hospital bed, it’s strained and on edge.

TK steadiest himself,  reaching out and taking Carlos’s hand into his own, giving it a light squeeze, hoping the officer can feel it.

“Hi, baby,” TK starts but abruptly stops, taken a little aback by how gruff and heavy his voice sounds. He clears his throat before speaking again. “I’m right here, and you’re okay. The doctor told us everything went well and that you’ll be back on your feet in no time. Your mom is here, in the waiting room and your dad will be here soon, too. I…I really need you to pull through, babe. I need you. And I miss you. Come back to me, ‘Los,” TK brushes a soft kiss to Carlos’s forehead.

TK can’t help the disappointment that brews in his gut when he doesn’t get a response.

A gentle knock an hour later breaks TK from his haze, he looks to the door and sees Andrea and Gabriel standing there, meeting TK’s eyes for a moment before they drift to their son.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reyes, please come in,” TK says as he gets to his feet, hand still holding onto Carlos’s.

“How’s he doing?” Gabriel asks, his usual strong voice a little frail and low. The Ranger’s shoulders are fallen, too.

“He’s hanging in there,” TK reassures him. “His vitals are holding and he’s regaining color, all good signs.”

Andrea nods, stepping closer to the bed and cards her fingers through Carlos’s curls.

TK doesn’t want to leave Carlos’s side, but he knows his parents want and need some time with their son. Making up his mind, he looks at Andrea and then Gabriel.

“Please stay for as long as you need,” TK says. “I’ll go home to freshen up, change and pack a bag for Carlos and I.”

“TK…” Andrea tries but TK is quick to gently shake his head.

“You need some time with him,” he says with a small smile. “And I’m sure he’d love to hear your voices.” TK leans down and plants a kiss to Carlos’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit, babe.”

Gabriel squeezes TK’s shoulder when he walks by him, and TK replies with a nod in understanding, smile still on his face.

“And TK,” Andrea speaks before TK leaves the room. “Please try to eat something, too. You barely touched the food your father bought earlier.”

“Yes,” Gabriel agrees. “You have to keep your strength up, for your sake and for Carlitos’s. To take care of him.”

TK gives them another nod and his smile widens a little. With a last glance at Carlos, he leaves.

*****

The sun is climbing in the sky when it happens.

TK had given up on sleep, opting to walk around the room for a while to stretch his tired muscles before settling back in the chair next to Carlos’s bed. He’s scrolling aimlessly through his Instagram feed when his eyes catch the movement.

At first, he thinks his brain is playing a trick on him. Or maybe it’s the not sleeping. But then it happens again, and that has TK sitting up straight in his place, leaning forward towards Carlos.

“Carlos? Baby, can you hear me?” TK speaks, his voice a little rough around the edges.

He holds his breath as he watches Carlos wrinkle his nose, as he sometimes does before waking up. A few moments pass and then Carlos is slowly opening his eyes, finding TK’s through his blurry vision.

“TK?” Carlos whispers, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah, I’m here, baby, I’m right here,” TK smiles at his boyfriend, eyes beginning to fill with tears. “You’re okay.”

TK reaches out and cups Carlos’s face, tenderly caressing his cheek. A tear rolls down TK’s face when Carlos leans into his touch, and feeling Carlos’s warmth against his skin lights up the flame inside him, the one that was dimmed the moment Carlos got hurt.

“What…” Carlos trails off as he swallows.

“You got hurt on a call, babe, but you’re okay now. You’re safe. I’m right here, I got you,” TK reassures him.

“You…always do,” Carlos gives TK the strongest smile he could muster.

“And I always will,” TK promises. “Get some more rest, baby. I’ll be right here when you wake up again.”

Carlos nods weakly. “I love you,” he expresses as his eyes begin to close.

“I love you, too,” TK reciprocates, bringing Carlos’s hand up to his lips and brushes a kiss to his knuckles.

And for the first time since he watched Carlos sway at that bar, TK can finally properly breathe.

*****

“Looking good, babe,” TK smiles from where he’s standing in the doorway of their bedroom, leaning against the doorframe.

Carlos smiles back, catching TK’s eyes in the mirror in front of him.

“Fits the same,” Carlos says, adjusting his name tag pinned to his uniform.

TK nods and steps into the bedroom, walking over to his boyfriend and wraps his arms around his middle from behind, pulling him into his chest.

Carlos leans back, placing his arms over TK’s as TK rests his chin on the officer’s shoulder.

They watch each other in the mirror as a comfortable silence settles over them and then TK moves his head slightly to place a kiss to Carlos’s clothed shoulder.

Then TK’s eyes roam down to Carlos’s stomach and he can almost see the hidden scar underneath the layers of Carlos’s uniform.

“I’ll be fine, Ty,” Carlos whispers, knowing very well where TK’s thoughts are taking him. “Everything checked out and I’ve been cleared for active duty.”

TK nods, but his eyes remain fixed where they are, and now TK can see the scar in his mind, etched into his memory along with the fear of almost losing the love of his life.

It’s his day off, and TK had hoped he’d be working the day Carlos went back into the field, just for the possibility of seeing him on calls and making sure he was okay with his own eyes.

The weeks following Carlos’s injury weren’t easy, for either of them. A bad infection had set in shortly after Carlos had woken up, which warranted a few more days at the hospital. Once the infection was treated, Carlos was cleared to go home, with strict instructions to take it slow and easy and  to have someone with him for at least the first week of his recovery. TK took time off, staying by Carlos’s side, and still shaken up himself, didn’t stray far for both their sakes. He, too, needing to make sure Carlos was okay, that the worst was over and behind them.

He had to return to work eventually, Carlos constantly telling him that I’ll be okay, I’ll call if I need anything. I don’t want to keep you from work, from people who need your help more than I do now. Which TK promptly replied to with I’m exactly where I want and need to be, babe.

TK and Andrea worked out a schedule a week later, to make sure Carlos was always taken care of and someone was close by as he healed.

Carlos did eventually begin to lean on others and to ask for help when he needed it throughout his recovery, which made Andrea and TK breathe a little easier.

It was hard for TK to leave him, his mind constantly on Carlos when they weren’t on a call. He always looked forward to going home to Carlos and taking him into his arms.

After a few trips to the doctor’s and reassurances that Carlos was healing up well, he was assigned to desk duty. He wasn’t the biggest fan of it but he was glad it meant one step closer to getting back into the field.

TK had his own reserves about that, trying to breach the conversation with Carlos but the words seemed to always stop in his throat. Until one night, while cuddling on the couch watching a movie, the words just spilled out of TK’s mouth.

I’m scared for you. I’ve always been scared for you but that day…I mean, knowing it could happen and actually seeing it happen are two different things and babe…

Carlos understood. I know how scary it was that day. I was scared. And there are no guarantees, in both our lines of work. I can’t promise that nothing is going to happen, but I can and will promise that I will always fight my hardest to come home to you. Every day.

After a final check up and a physical exam, Carlos was cleared for active duty two weeks later.

Which is how they find themselves wrapped in each other’s embrace, Carlos getting ready for his first shift back out there.

“Just…be careful, please,” TK says, lifting his eyes to meet Carlos’s beautiful brown ones.

Carlos breaks out of TK’s hold then, turning around to face the younger man and takes his face gently into his hands, both thumbs running over his cheekbones.

“I promise,” Carlos vows.

Carlos leans in, closing the distance between them with a soft kiss. It’s not urgent or heated, it’s calm and grounding, filled with reassurance and love.

TK smiles against Carlos’s lips as he returns it, getting lost in his boyfriend, soaking up everything Carlos is offering and giving his own.

Their foreheads touch when they pull back and they breathe together. They feel each other and their love, anchoring each other.

TK’s hand gravitates to Carlos’s middle, to the location of the scar and his fingers brush lightly against the fabric covering it. Like his own bullet scar, it’s a reminder of how close he and Carlos had gotten to losing each other, how close they had gotten to losing this. But thinking back to that moment on the couch, TK takes comfort in knowing he and Carlos would do anything and everything in their power to come back to one another.

TK believes in them, believes in their love. And while he gazes into Carlos’s eyes now, getting lost in his captivating brown irises, knows beyond a doubt that Carlos does, too.

That knowledge gives TK the strength to brush another soft kiss to Carlos’s lips and then pulls back, making sure his boyfriend’s uniform is pristine.

“I’ll be right here when you come back home,” TK cups Carlos’s cheek.

Carlos seals the promise with a kiss to the inside of TK’s palm.

[idontblushsrry]

Itadori Yuuji Boyfriend Headcanons

A/N: Reader is from America and a black female. Idk why i decided to write this but I think that Yuuji would be a fun boyfriend lmao. I don’t entirely know what the reader’s cursed technique should be so lmk if you have any ideas. Until then enjoy Yuuji and reader being 2 idiots in love. Spoilers for all the eps of jujutsu kaisen up to about episode 11, nothing past that though as I want to finish the show first before reading the manga, so please be respectful of spoilers and label them (and tag if necessary) in the comments. Also srry if this cuts off abruptly bcus of the point the show is at. This is also like, all over the place but whatever.

(also sorry this was posted later than usual oops)

Word Count:  1943

This dork-

He is so sweet and kind and considerate 

But also a dumbass but also like he’s your dumbass

You and Yuuji are both equally stupid like bless yalls hearts

You and Yuuji met during his time at the Tokyo Academy when you transferred from America

The moment this man saw you walk up with Gojo-sensei he was smitten

Like your skin was glowing??? how???

And you had a slight accent but like he loved it too

And when you came up to greet him and shake hands you smelled so good and your skin was so soft

((He would later come to find out that the root of that was the shea cocoa butter lotion you used))

But yea mans was smitten and he is fully in love with you lmao

Will do literally anything you ask

You hungry? He’s prepared a 5 course, michelin star meal

Want new clothes? He’s been training for the day he could hold your bags for you

Ran out of hair products?? He’s already back with a special box of your products that he had imported from America

To this day you don’t know how he was able to get those products so quickly

He is loves when you tell him things about you from your day, to your times in america, to how your cursed energy works

Yall are the couple that does stupid shit together

Like one time you showed Yuuji one of those life hack videos and he was like 

“We should totally do that” 

And you were like “Bet”

Needless to say Fushiguro was very confused at the sight of bandaids on both of your fingers the next morning

“???What happened?”

“Well you see, I told Yuuji that I should use the glue gun because he didn’t even know where to put the glue stick. And he said nah, I got it and um yea so I fell and the glue gun was plugged in and then he tripped over me and so now we look like this.”

Gojo and Kugisaki thought that this was hilarious while Fushiguro decided that he’d store your guys’ glue gun in his shadows from now on

How yall manage to get through missions you go on together alive is a miracle

Speaking of missions, you eventually ask Yuuji what’s his deal because you feel a powerful aura coming from him but he never uses cursed energy, always cursed weapons

Cue Sukuna’s mouth popping up on the side of his face like “Hey mamas”

(You can’t tell me that Sukuna isn’t the type of guy to ask where his hug at)

“YUUJI WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

“Oh, I guess you haven’t met Sukuna yet, huh?”

So he sits you down and explains how he ate Sukuna’s finger and you're sitting there like ‘mhm mhm mhm, sorry you what?’

For like 3 days after he told you that you couldn’t bring yourself to kiss him just because you were processing the fact that Yuuji ate someone’s nasty old ass finger and would have to eat 19 more

And the fact that he’s the vessel of like the worst curse known to man 

During those 3 days, Yuuji’s pouting because he’s like ‘I fucked up, now she doesn’t wanna kiss me let alone talk to me because of this monster inside of me :(’

Meanwhile you’re just like ‘why would anyone eat some random mummified finger?’

Eventually you get wind of Yuuji’s bad mood and immediately, you rush to smooth things over with him.

You knock on his door and hear blankets rustling before he goes, “I’m not in the mood to play fight right now Kugisaki’

“Can I come in baby?”

You immediately hear the most comical almost cartoonish amount of noise ranging from a cup falling over, sheets falling off the bed, and what sounds like Yuuji falling flat on his ass before he opens the door

When he does, you’re laughing and it’s like the sky is no longer grey and the world is filled with color

You smile at each other before your moment is interrupted with Sukuna going “Finally, full offense, his whining was getting annoying”

You step inside his room and apologize for ignoring him, explaining that you just needed time to process things, explaining that you should’ve told him that before dipping

He just grabbed you in a bear hug and lifted you of the ground and spinning you around laughing happily, after all he wasn’t even upset with you, he just missed you

And thus begins the honeymoon phase of your guys’ relationship

Fushiguro is actually really happy for you guys and is the most supportive of your relationship but if anyone asked him to admit that out loud he’d actually apparate to the nearest marooned ship

Nobura doesn’t hate you guys but she thinks all couples are disgusting, so while it’s nothing personal, she does gag when you and Yuuji do so much as make goo goo eyes at each other

Gojo is actually like the main cheerleader of your relationship. 

He is the teacher that changes the seating chart to put students he ships together

He was always pairing you and Yuuji up on missions and placing you as sparring partners like ur not slick

If Gojo is the cheerleader, Sukuna is an actual antagonist

Like the man goes out of his way to CHOOSE violence

Like on time you kissed Yuuji’s cheek on a date and when you pulled back, your lip was bleeding and Sukuna’s mouth was smirking at you

Another thing he likes to do is tell you all of Yuuji’s simp^tm thoughts

Like all of them

Now Yuuji isn’t ashamed of how much he loves you and is in fact very open with it, but he doesn’t need Sukuna telling you that the only reason he bought x mouthwash was because it made your breath smell like “sunshine” and he had to see if it would work on him

Speaking of dates, good luck

Now I stand by the fact that Yuuji would never half-ass a date and things with him are certainly never boring

But he’s also like a country boy in the city and his tourist tendencies tend to get the best of him

Like you’ll be trying to find a spot to eat and when you look back Yuuji’s gone

((Prolly to buy another I <3 Tokyo shirt so you can both match))

He always catches up with you ad you eventually learn that but like the first few times be havin you ready to put up a lost child signal on the loudspeaker

He’s very sweet and this is where his thoughtfulness shines through

You and Yuuji plan dates in the same way one plays bingo

Like because you never know where you’re going to be r when exactly you’ll both be free (especially with Gojo-sensei and his bare minimum ass information) you two tend to go ‘ok well if we’re here we’ll go here and if we’re here, we’ll go here’ and so on and so forth

But Yuuji always remembers such little one-off details about you that make your dates.

Like you mention wanting to try a sushi train and he’s already scrolled through multiple yelp reviews and watched every youtube restaurant review like 9 times

But every high has a low and Yuuji and your’s low comes suddenly and it brings you crashing to the ground with no warning and nothing to slow your descent

When your class of first years were sent to exorcise the special grade cursed womb

When Yuuji’s hand got blown off and he told you to run you froze, your mind racing faster than your legs could even start

“(Y/N) RUN!” Yuuji’s voice broke you out of your fear-based trance

“I- I...can’t...I can’t leave you!” you cried out all your rational senses screamed at you to go, run, he had Sukuna and you were barely a grade 2 sorcerer. But your intuition told you if you left him you wouldn’t see him alive again.

You were trapped in a paralysis of indecision but the choice was made for you when a sticky tongue wrapped around your midriff and you were gulped into the mouth of one of Fushiguro’s frogs

“Goddamn it Fushiguro! Let me go! I need to... save... him.” You were outside the building before you could even finish arguing.

You glared up at Fushiguro but your eyes softened some when you saw how beat up Kugisaki looked.

He gave you this look that said he did what he had to do and he didn’t care what you had to say about it 

You and him waited in the rain for Yuuji or Sukuna to exit the building

You tried to focus yourself and save your negative emotions for your cursed attack

When Sukuna inevitably appeared, one finger stronger, you were fully prepared to fight him

However, he didn’t seem interested in fighting you and more engaged in fighting with Megumi

You tried to urge Fushiguro to wait it out, eventually Sukuna would lose control, but when Sukuna took Yuuji’s heart hostage, you both knew you’d have to fight

You and Fushiguro gave it your all but when Yuuji came back he still died 

It took all your strength to not completely fall apart after his death and the support from the second years as well as Kugisaki and Fushiguro helped

You’d tried to visit him at the morgue but Shoko only told you that she didn’t think it’d be a good idea.

You still slept in his sweaters and the things that smelled like him from time to time, trying to make the idea of him last, but after a month, the smell of him had started to fade

Everything about Yuuji’s memory seemed to become leached away with time, from his smell, to the wear present on things he’d given to you

You couldn’t help but feel resentful towards yourself but also to Sukuna, he’d taken Yuuji from you with the same care that one would throw litter on the ground

The pain in your chest didn’t wane either, it only became ignorable to a degree as training for the exchange with the Kyoto students became more intense

Fushiguro is a comfort to you as well, aside from you, him and Yuuji were the closest to each other and so he gets a lot of what you’re going through and doesn’t push when you become more withdrawn

He also lets you pet his demon dog too but when you ask him why he’s letting you pet it he just says ‘because no one would believe you if you told them’ lies

The bastard really just does it because he knows you’re sad and he doesn’t want you to be sad

Speaking of the Kyoto students, Zenin Mai and Toudou Aoi are permanently on your shit list

You’re relieved that Panda, Maki, and Inumaki came to your guys’ aid but like if you had your way Mai wouldn’t even exist

Anyways Maki has Panda physically restrain you while she tries to calm you down 

“(Y/N), you can kick her ass at the exchange!”

When you calm down, Panda puts you down and even though Mai’s long gone with Todou to go get his handshake, you make a promise that carries through the wind

‘Zenin Mai, pray that the next time you run across me I’m feeling kind, because if not-’, the last word is lost as the wind picks up but Mai feels a shiver rack through her body that more than ensures your message.

[metalbvcky]

Bucky Barnes Bingo 2021 Fill Masterlist

This was my first bingo since I prefer relaxed events instead of bigbangs, so the @buckybarnesbingo was super fun and stress-free for me! I wish I could've done a few extra squares, but my brain is firmly latched on my current series lol. Still, I managed to write four fics! I'm definitely gonna go with a kink card next round :P Clearly that's what I like to write nowadays lmao

B4: Shrill Wails That Steal The Air Rating: Mature Words: 4,257 | Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Bucky Barnes Feels

“Please wake up— scaring me—”

His head writhed on the pillow as he swung his arms, making contact with a short oblong object. Glass shattered and the object made a loud thump against the floor. Whatever it had been, hadn’t hurt. He felt a strong, large hand taking hold of his left arm and forcing it down. His eyebrows furrowed at the light squeeze. The touch was soft with care, though. Not bad, not like the unwarranted hand from before.

“Name— James Buchanan Barnes—”

Bucky shot up with a choked up gasp, unable to focus his senses beyond the sound of his breathing that filled his lungs. His dog tags clink noisily, the thin strand hanging from his neck. A fine sheen of sweat dampening his skin, his face beet red from the distress he’d been under. He stared out in space as he tried to get a feel of his surroundings.

The firm bed, the soft sheets, the ticking of the wall clock, the hum of the heating unit, and—

Steve.

K4: ravioli ravioli give me the dickuoli Rating: Explicit Words: 4,221 | Smut, Crack, Spongebob References, Top Steve/Bottom Bucky

Bucky knew that Steve could be oblivious, but he didn't think he could be that much of an idiot. After several months of obsessive flirting, Bucky set out a plan to get himself laid. It just so happened to be related to the show he'd been watching, a yellow sponge cartoon with a distinctive laugh.

The purple and green shorts are skin tight, practically formed to his ass with his fishnet-covered thighs on full display. His coral tank top is nearly the same, chest muscles bulging out of the fabric and biceps more solid than ever. The five-inch boots, however, stands out beyond the rest.

Bucky smiles at himself in the mirror, hands perched on his hips. This will defiantly catch Steve's attention.

MEATBALL, MEATBALL SPAGHETTI UNDERNEATH, RAVIOLI RAVIOLI GREAT BARRIER REEF—

Y5: Love Covered Beneath the Snow Rating: Mature Words: 14,039 | Shrunkyclunks, Cabin Fic, Strangers to Lovers, Huddling for Warmth

Moving out in the middle of the woods wasn't exactly Steve's new years regulation for the upcoming year, but neither was becoming a doctor over ten years ago. He could hardly believe that it was almost 2024, yet here was, trying to enjoy the life he carved out for himself. He had more than one thing to complain about, though the biggest was the absence of a certain someone he'd been searching for way too long.

Oh, and the tree limb that collapsed against the bridge and obstructed his way back to the cabin. Now he'd have to find a different route to bring the tree he'd cut inside. His boots protested underneath the thick and heavy snow, the wind whipping in his grey, combed-back hair.

Before long, he found himself kneeling beside the body he spotted in the distance.

The first thing that caught Steve’s eye was the torn sleeve exposing the boy’s reddened skin, the early stages of frostbite settling in, then the soulmark on the center of his bicep. A soulmark, which was identical to the one that was over Steve’s heart.

“Oh god,” Steve said aloud, taking a second to stare at his soulmate, raking his gaze across that innocent face.

C3/Free Space: His Precious Primrose (also apart of the Bloom series) Rating: Explicit Words: 4,121 | Modern AU, Married Steve/Bucky, D*m/S*b, Christmas Smut

Steve takes the steps one at a time, his cotton, calf-length robe grazing the railing. He walks slowly, with no rush at all, when a gift wrapped up in front of the lit fireplace slips into the corner of his vision.

That gift, of course, being his gagged, blindfolded, and bound sub with a giant, red bow tied right on top of his ass. A red jewel shines between two thin strings hanging from the single looped bow, a plug to match the thick, green ribbons that are linked into a hogtie.

Steve comes to a full stop beside the credenza, mere feet away from his gift, and gives a low whistle at the breathtaking sight.

“My, I must have been good this year to receive something as...” He steps forward, picking the riding crop off of the couch and gently grazing his sub’s naked back with the narrow edge. A muffled whine slips through the ball gag, causing Steve to smile. “Delicious as this.”

--

You can check em all out on my AO3 :3