#a separated shoulder and broken hand though? man that’s serious

[rattray-stan]

[ID: a screenshot that reads: “Boston, as Courtney Kessel said, "ran out of gas." They were also banged up.

Marmer said star defenseman Megan Keller played through a separated shoulder (AC joint sprain), stemming from the second period of Game 2 against Montreal. She played 40:49 in that triple-overtime win. For the rest of the run, she remained her minute-munching, physical self while compromised.

"She has so much courage and compete and heart," Marmer said.

Brandt, whose dramatic winner April 27 in Minnesota kept Boston's playoff hopes alive, struggled to hold her stick in the playoffs. She broke her hand during the Montreal series, and broke a finger on her other hand against Minnesota.

Marmer said a handful of players are due for surgeries.” End ID].

Equality! These women are also playing through horrible injuries at great risk to their long-term health because ... championship!

[pollymorgan]

Ex-husband Negan Part 5

Warnings: An asshole named Negan and a woman who can't get over him.

Luckily, nothing serious happened to David, except maybe the scare of his life. Negan really pulled himself together. Maybe he has finally become sensible. I had actually given up hope.

When my daughters miraculously went to school on time and Negan left the house with them, I took a deep breath.

What had happened in the last few hours?

I really feel that as soon as my ex-husband is near me for longer than five minutes, he throws my whole life into absolute chaos.

Inevitably, I had to think about the last night and my pulse immediately accelerated. It was just madness. This man still knows my body better than I do. No one can touch me the way he does. Instantly, I felt that tingling in my stomach again. That damn feeling that has often led me into misery.

19 years ago

Even though I had left my old home eight years ago to build my own life in New York, I kept in touch with my best friend Harper. Harper and I spent our entire school years together, and our connection never broke despite the distance. We used to be a trio, but Scarlet unfortunately became one of the main reasons why I had moved away so hastily.

God, I was so stupid back then not to recognize the signs and always make excuses for Negan and her. But sometimes you are so blinded that you only realize it when you see it with your own eyes.

The fact that Harper has been dating Negan's best friend Simon for a few years was, admittedly, really strange for me at first. After all, I tried with all my might to erase Negan from my life, but by now we had been separated for ages and the anger had subsided over the years. The anger, yes, but unfortunately not all the other feelings I felt towards him. If I was honest with myself, I immediately compared every new man in my life to him. Even though I didn't want to, I thought so often about our time together. Everything reminded me of him, even though I lived in a completely different city, but you can't run away from feelings.

Whenever Harper happened to mention something about Simon and Negan during our hours-long phone calls, I immediately became quiet and absorbed every piece of information. Of course, I never asked directly, my pride was too great for that, but it seemed that this guy would remain my weakness forever.

This is also how it came about that Harper invited me to her birthday. I was very excited for the house party at her place and took a few days off to fly to my old city.

After we were both incredibly excited on the phone that I would be able to follow her invitation, Harper suddenly became quite serious at the other end.

"Negan will be there too..." she said calmly.

Immediately I was speechless. Why would he show up there? After all, it's my best friend's birthday, not Simon's. I cleared my throat briefly, but then I absolutely did not want to spoil their, or my, mood.

"Yes, of course... it's totally okay! I'm looking forward to seeing him again after so long... Oh man, we were teenagers and now you're already 28, you old hag..." I joked, even though I didn't feel like joking at all, thinking about my ex-boyfriend who had broken my heart in such a brutal way.

"Yes, yes ..first get to my age! At 27, you still talk so easily." Harper countered.

Until the day of the party, I managed to push the thought of seeing Negan again out of my mind. However, when I rang her doorbell, the nervousness crept up on me. Is he already there? How will he react to me? And how will I react to him? Does he still think about me sometimes? Does he even miss me occasionally?

When Harper greeted me with the words that I was the first guest, a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Of course, postponed is not canceled, but in that moment I felt a strange relief.

We embraced joyfully and I congratulated her from the bottom of my heart. Then I handed her a bottle of her favorite Prosecco and a self-made voucher for a weekend in New York. She had wanted to visit me so many times, but the plans always failed and in the end, I was always the one who visited.

The greeting with Simon was a strange mix of a handshake and a hug, so I was glad when Harper asked me if I could help her in the kitchen.

It was my first visit to the two of them since they had moved into a shared apartment. The whole thing was really strange for me, everything seemed so adult, almost bourgeois. Not at all like I knew her. Okay, we had grown up, but somehow time seemed to have stood still for me. Since I went to New York at the age of 19, not much had changed in my lifestyle. Except that I had a steady job and earned my own money.

Harper's kitchen was full of modern appliances, while at home, I was happy if I could find a sharp knife.

But before we started preparing the rest of the food, Harper opened us two beers and within seconds, everything was just like old times. We joked and laughed about the most trivial things, and soon the first guests arrived. The doorbell kept ringing, and then Simon opened the door to let the next ones in. People would then show up in the kitchen after a few seconds, congratulating my friend on her birthday. Some of them I knew from before, while others were new acquaintances, mainly her coworkers. Mentally, I tried to match the names to the stories that Harper had told me during one of our phone conversations.

Superficially, I played it cool, but inside, I was boiling. A thousand times, I played in my mind how I would react if Negan walked in through the door. I kept envisioning that one scene that made me startle every time the doorbell rang.

I opened another beer and then helped Harper set up the buffet. The salads were piling up, she had prepared so much. Everything was planned down to the smallest detail. The color scheme of the decor matched, and the dishes were all from the same brand.

With my arms crossed on my hips, I admired everything. "Wow, I have to say, you've really become the perfect housewife, while I..."

"While you still have the hottest ass in all of America... Damn, just look at her. God bless America!" a very familiar voice interrupted me.

Amidst all the commotion around us, I hadn't even noticed that Negan had entered the kitchen. Being surprised by his presence made it even harder. I took a deep breath and then turned with a smile on my face to face him.

He was already so close to me that there was barely any space between us, and his face put on that typical grin. I hadn't seen him in so long, but his green-brown eyes looked familiar to me. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss on my cheek.

I literally inhaled his scent, a mixture of rugged aftershave, cigarette smoke, and his own unique scent. Instead of letting go immediately, he held me much longer than necessary, and I was frozen in his arms.

"It feels unbelievably great to finally feel you so close again..." he whispered in my ear, and I immediately got goosebumps all over my body.

None of the prepared lines came out of my mouth.

He hadn't forgotten how to charm me, if anything, he seemed to have perfected it.

I stared at him wordlessly until he suddenly leaned in even more. Bewildered, I evaded him, and he grabbed one of the beer bottles that were right behind me.

Amused by my reaction, he winked at me and clinked his bottle against mine. Then he disappeared into the living room. Suddenly, a former classmate approached me and hugged me to greet me. She immediately started talking a mile a minute, but I couldn't follow her words as I kept thinking about the recent situation with Negan.

Some time passed before we all decided to move to the living room. Negan and Simon were standing by the window, smoking a cigarette. I tried my best not to stare at him constantly, but I caught myself doing it repeatedly.

Harper introduced me to Daniel, one of her coworkers. The three of us sat down with a few others at the living room table. The conversation was already in full swing, so it was easy for me to just join in.

I was in the middle of telling the others about the most unique restaurants in New York when I suddenly felt someone sit next to me on the couch. Without looking, I could tell it was Negan. Immediately, my heart rate increased, but I tried not to show it and continued talking.

Negan started a conversation with Daniel, who was still sitting next to me, so I leaned further forward so they could talk better. Negan leaned even closer behind my back to his conversation partner, and suddenly, I felt his hand on my hip. A bolt of electricity shot through my body, but I tried not to show it. As if that wasn't enough, my t-shirt had ridden up slightly in this position, and Negan began gently stroking the bare skin of my back with his thumb. God, how I had missed this feeling. I pushed all doubts aside and just focused on his tender touch and what it was doing to me.

It was only when I heard my name that I was snapped out of my trance.

"What?" I asked, startled, looking at Negan, who straight ened and then smiled knowingly at me.

"The beer at Dawson's is a disaster..." he laughed.

I leaned back against the couch and then looked at Daniel.

"Oh yes, terrible... gave me the hangover of my life," I tried to somehow join the conversation.

"That was probably more about the quantity than the quality..." Negan noted amusedly and reached for my thigh. His hand stayed there for the next while, until I loudly declared that I needed to visit the restroom and disappeared there.

Upon reaching the bathroom, I straightened up in front of the mirror and looked at my reflection questioningly. Where was all of this leading? I didn't have an answer.

As soon as I opened the door to go back, Negan was standing right in front of me. Lost in my thoughts, I bumped into him.

"Hey... not so hasty! Is it already midnight, or why are you in such a hurry, Cinderella?" he said, holding my upper arms.

"Would you search for me if I lost my shoe?" I asked, looking at him inquisitively.

"I may not be a damn prince, but fuck, honey. I would turn the whole world upside down to find you..." he replied.

I'm not sure if I was the one who took a step back, or if he led me back to the bathroom, but suddenly we were there. Negan closed the door behind him and locked it, not taking his eyes off me.

"And what would you do when you find me?" I asked innocently, nervously biting my lower lip.

Negan pulled me towards him abruptly and kissed me just as passionately.

"Exactly this..." he whispered into my open mouth before our tongues touched. In that kiss lay all the desire and the incredible longing that had been dormant in me for the past years. I clutched onto the hair at the back of his head as if I never wanted to let go.

Slowly, my mouth traveled along his jaw, his beard pleasantly scratching my lips, and when I touched his neck, I felt his Adam's apple slightly vibrate.

"I was such a damn idiot..." he now whispered softly.

"Oh yes, you were... I think now would be the right time to make things right..." I said, as I was already undoing the belt of his pants.

Negan grinned at me, "If we stay in here any longer, everyone outside will know what we've been up to in here."

"Very good..." I said with a smile and was about to kneel down, but he stopped me.

"Stop, we don't have time for that now..." as he said that, he turned me around so that my back was to him, then crossed his arms in front of me and pulled me close to him. The feeling of his strong body made me even more unrestrained.

"Baby, believe me, I'll do anything you want, but first, I just need to feel your sweet pussy around my cock... I've missed you so incredibly much..." he growled in a deep voice directly into my ear and pushed me towards the washing machine, until I eventually leaned against it.

The lower arm of his left arm landed on my back and gently pushed my upper body down. While holding me in this position, with his right hand, he pulled down my jeans and underwear, and I excitedly helped him until they were hanging around my knees, presenting Negan with my naked behind. His hand traveled up the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and I spread my legs as much as I could. Then his flat hand landed directly on my center. Gently, he ran his fingers through my folds, and just the feeling made me moan.

"Please, I need your cock..." I pleaded.

With the hand that had just touched my most intimate area, he gave me a light spank on the behind.

"And let no one say dreams don't come true..." Negan exclaimed enthusiastically.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FINCH'S FRENZY (IV)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER V ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.7k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, guns & shootings, canon typical, death, vulgar language, gore, arguments, self-destructive behavior, PTSD, fluff at the end? Maybe?

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*  

Vividly, you remember the first time your father brought you into the Museum. You’d only been little, then, no more than ten but old enough to form lasting memories that would stick with you. Key moments in the spanning woven tapestry that grew and spread like roots with colors named ‘Happy’ and ‘Sad.’ A memory bank of images that never leave the screen behind your eyes. 

The statue had only been there because of the fire. 

Made by men’s hands, it really wasn't the responsibility of a Museum of Natural History, but this was a special case. The other, sister, building to this one was far off into the city and had been completely ablaze not a week prior by unknown circumstances. Your father’s friend had burned, along with many priceless artifacts that were housed there. But not this. 

The stone statue of the woman. Only here because it needed a place to rest before being sent out of state to a more… appropriate facility. They had flocked to her—marble scorched and covered in ash. Yet beautiful. Heavenly. Long arms reach up, a tiny bird held in the clutch of her stiff hands, presenting it to a far-off sky.

Cameras flash and eyes water.

“They’re calling her dīvīnā, Little One.” You had looked up at him, clutching onto your father’s shirt sleeve in wide innocence. He smiles softly.

“Di–” Your lips sputter and face heats, “Di-ven-a?” A small chuckle makes you huff, your expression souring. The man kneeled down, gripping under your pudgy chin and teasing.

“Not quite. Dee-veen-uh.” 

“What does that mean?” You stubbornly shake your head, confused, “why are they calling her that?” A kiss is planted on the top of your head, your father standing back up and laughing, as you once more look at the statue with wonder. Your eyes glitter.

“It is Latin, my Little Love,” that stone bird in her lifeless hands has a broken wing, yet still she prompts it to fly; as if she knows it can even though it’s impossible. “Divine.”

To be loved like a woman in stone was a rare thing. 

You’re not quite sure why you remember that when you turn a swift corner, slamming a shoulder into it as bitter tears track your cheeks. The bloody hand that steadies you leaves a trail of crimson behind as evidence. You don’t slow, not even when Gaz’s hat threatens to fly off your head at the break-neck pace you set yourself on.

“The park,” you breathe raggedly, frantic slams of your shoes bouncing off the corralling buildings at your side as you dart out of the tree line and into the city streets. If you had been focusing, you’d realize you have no idea where you are; utterly alone while the violent sounds of firing guns and screams continue to bounce off airwaves. Too close. Too loud. “Oh, God, the people.” 

Cold couldn’t begin to describe your temperature. Frigid perhaps; shaking with frozen terror that makes you lose feeling in your limbs. Buggy eyes snap to shadows and trash in the alleyway like they were grabbing at you with phantom intentions. 

You don’t know when you lost Kyle—when you’d taken a turn too fast and completely disappeared or something else along those lines. But in your chest, your stiff ribs almost welcomed the solitude. You had looked into his eyes. Stifling a loud sob, you increase the pace as the screams behind you loom over your head like a cloud. 

Amber. Meadows. Deathly serious.

“No, no, no…” How had the attackers known you’d be out in the city? On campus? That white Sudan…How? 

You miss the rapid calls of your name in the background, equally as desperate as your instincts. Loud and distinctly British. Separated by stone and mirky puddles. You increase your velocity; moving farther and farther away. Run, you just need to run. From everything. From everyone. 

But when you rush one last corner, the large form that stands there isn’t a made-up phantom of the past. It isn’t a statue.

Skirting to an immediate stop, your legs quiver from the force and the dragging of your heels; your fingertips wrenching into your aggravated injury in retaliation. Gasping, your leaking eyes widen even farther at the covered face. The few feet of precious separation from the man that also surprised at the sudden arrival. 

A dead second of slow-motion thoughts and nothingness that seems like a year ensues. Not a single atom bounces. Had he been waiting for you?

You slowly look down with white eyes to notice the assault rifle in his shifting hands; the nervousness of hips as they rotate weight into a form that would remind you of a football player if you bothered to engage with that thought. The air is stuck in your nose. Blood pressurizes itself forward. You swallow tersely, one shoe shifting to take a step back carefully. No words, no exchange of sentiments. 

Only a target and a man holding a gun. 

“I…” You trail, lips not responding as the rabid pulse in your ears threatens to drown you with blackness. At the click of a safety, you’re running like a rabbit again, darting back down the same way you came as bullets explode through the corner you rampage past. 

“Gaz!” The call bounces to the sky, ringing off buildings. Was it possible to die from adrenaline? Everything burns a bright shade of red in the corner of your vision. Shouts ring from behind, a race of scarlet and duty now taking place with feral implications. 

This was what being prey felt like, and you had thought you'd only have to experience that feeling once. 

“Gaz!” You scream again, ripping vocal cords, and ducking as a round goes directly above your head, slapping your hands to the cap with gasping fear. How many were out there? Had they set a perimeter if you decided to run? 

This was a level of professionalism you never expected from terrorists. 

Sprinting past an open turn, a hand snags out, jerking you by the jacket collar as a second covers your mouth. Screaming, you bite down as your heart stops, mercilessly slashing out an elbow into hardened ribs. A sharp hiss meets your ear before the shadows of the inside of a doorway overhang swallow you. 

Your back is slammed into the barrier, breath on your forehead as your hand snaps to the pen knife in your pocket like a whip. The shock of electricity down your spine is inconsequential to the hand that flies over your mouth. It tightens before your eyes can adjust properly through the tears; fingers flinching fast past layers of cotton canvas. 

Lips dance over the shell of your ear. “Stop moving.” 

The struggling of your limbs halts, eyebrows slightly losing the agonized furrow. Heat wafts from the body pressed into your own—great bouts of natural warmth that you hadn’t felt in years from another human being. Your heart skips for it; muscles lessen. 

Goosebumps raise the hair on the back of your neck.

You blink rapidly, staring into the nose of Sergeant Garrick with a shuttering inhale behind his grip. Sensing your slowing pulse, his hand lowers, moving back immediately. Long fingers find his lips, signifying silence with nothing more than a tap and a frown. There’s still blood over his visage, splattering up his stubble and along his cheeks like paint as his jaw clenches with meaning. 

Wheezing, you shake with both fear and a sliver of ease even as your back aches from the force that the Brit had exerted to drag you back. You swallow down saliva and nod a number of times; completely out of it. 

You’re moved behind him with a firm push—a part of you flinches at the sudden chill that overtakes you once more—as the yelling gets closer from beyond your hidey-hole, a bulky thumping over the concrete ground like hail. You stare at Gaz’s neck as he grabs the pistol from his belt, leaning on the part of the wall that juts out with a single shoulder and barely peeking out. 

He blinks slowly, not even looking at you as his lips thin. He looks merciless and loose at the same time.

The man sprints past, barely making it a few feet from where you watch with stilled breath before Kyle separates from the wall. One shot is all it takes, and the stranger doesn’t even scream before he hits the ground; a last round being driven between his skull plates to silence any sound. 

It all falls silent after the reverberations cease—gunpowder in your nose and burning your throat. But it doesn’t even matter, because you’re already being forced along with a heavy hand on your shoulder before the blood can pool over the ground.

“C’mon.” He speaks blankly, whatever sly teasing and amusement from earlier today completely gone. “Exfil point is a block away—we need to move.”

You can’t do much more than follow, your head screaming at you. 

“B-but what about…” Wanting to ask about the people who are back in the park, not quite understanding the horror yet. 

Sensing this, Kyle knows it’s better to respond briefly. 

“They’re dead.” You flinch at the truth, hearing the bitter reality settle in coupled with the man’s bluntness. Gaz sends a side-eye your way, looking down at you from his lashes. 

While not willing to offer any comfort at the moment, he twitches his nose and simply states, “You need to stay focused,” while noticing the far-off look in your eyes; the rapid pulse under his grip. 

Humming under his breath, he leads you on ever faster, knowledgeable of the quickly dwindling bullets in his mag. As you both speed walk, he speaks through his earpiece, telling Kit the streets before the far-away man replies with the correct route to the Exfil point. 

“How’s the VIP?” Kit asks, and Kyle grunts, not giving anything more than a quick response.

“Alive. We’re nearly there.” He inhales slowly. “Multiple civilians down in the park.” 

“Copy, 2-6. Keep en route.” Gaz scoffs under his breath, surveying his surroundings as the wails of sirens fly over buildings. This never should have happened.

This brought him back to Piccadilly Circus; the start of his entire counter with 141 and subsequent approval into their ranks. He’d seen many things over the course of his deployments to the Middle East—when he’d put a target on his back when disrupting Opium supply lines. He shouldn’t be here. He should be with his comrades. 

Not with a girl that seems to want to put herself in every dangerous situation known to man.

Even with all the mental strain and uncomfortable scenarios he’d been in…watching innocent people die never got any easier. 

He moves you along; muscles wound and gun in a tight grip. Gaz tries to tell himself that you couldn’t have possibly imagined this happening and with how you were acting that would be the truth with no doubt. He’d told you, though, hadn’t he? That’s what really gets his jaw stiff.

I told her. And she didn’t listen. Didn’t even try to think it over.

You shake under his grip, and a part of him feels pity, honestly, but right now the severity of the situation is more important. 

“Take a left,” he utters, forcing you on with hardened brown eyes. You nod again, throat closed so tight you’re unsure if speaking is the right decision. 

Everything is a mixture of hot and cold—fingers burning yet arms shaking from a lack of heat; teeth chattering. 

The both of you were close now, only a few more winding turns left and the van should be waiting with the driver; authorities taking care of the shooters left in the park still searching for you. But these alleyways were like a rat’s maze. 

“Keep close,” Kyle offers, “We don’t know who else is—”

“Right!” Your yell makes him turn sharply, knife barely grazing the flesh of his neck as he weaves. Brown eyes flair with anger, gun in his grip just as easily coming up to the armed assailant. 

The covered face held no weapon besides a combat knife; another person intent on taking your life. How many were out here?

“What in the…?” Gaz grunts, but before he can bring the pistol up to pull the trigger, the man’s other hand is grabbing his wrist, twisting it to the side mercilessly and away. 

The Brit hisses, throwing out his other arm to block the knife from once more coming down to settle in his neck. These people were many in number, but how was it that they were so rusty? Anyone with combat sense knew it was best to go low before going high when attacking with a knife. Before he can swipe the Bastard’s legs out from under him, locked in that familiar battle of wills, Gaz hopes in his head you don’t run off again. 

Starting to gain the upper hand with gritted teeth and sparking eyes, there’s a swift thunking of metal meeting flesh moments later. Blinking wildly, Kyle’s face goes confused, slightly losing grip in that mere second of oddity. 

Then he sees it.

“Bloody Christ.” Gaz gasps, gazing at his own reflection in the hilt of a small pen knife stuck in the eye of his attacker who subsequently begins screaming wildly, trying to back up until the Sergeant shakes out of his shock. 

The gun levels with a chest, and it was done before the killer could rip the blade from his eye.

Only one bullet was fired until the small click of an empty barrel signaled that Kyle had used up his last round. The man falls into a heap and lays on the floor, a puddle of crimson leaking from his guts as he gasps and coughs. 

Breathing heavily, there’s a pause in the air. Gaz looks back at you slowly, eyes wide with astonishment. 

You stare back, right hand quivering and twice as bloody then it had been before. You had made a mirror slice on your palm by holding the blade and releasing it to hurdle forward loyally. Not that you knew that. 

No words are exchanged as the gurgling from the body falls silent, only the air speaks in brushing breezes that ruffle your jacket. 

“2-6,” Gaz’s earpiece speaks, but for a moment he’s stuck gazing into your eyes as you stare at the body, lips parted and jaw slackened. You’d just… “2-6, do you copy? Extraction is waiting for you.” 

Brown eyes snap away, feet quickly shuffling to rip your penknife out from the socket and place it in his pants pocket. Later.

“On it, Actual. Keep ‘em ready—we’re coming in hot.”

“Rog. Laswell’s been informed, expect request for a full security unit comin’ the lady’s way.” Frowning, Kyle doesn’t respond, having to physically turn your body away from the scene and move you forward. 

His X12 is slipped back into his belt, useless entirely. 

“Love,” Gaz speaks to you, trying to see if you’d respond, but your eyes stay blankly ahead; tears frozen in time on your cheeks yet the hysteria is shown in the stumbling of your legs. The racing pulse under your skin makes the Brit concerned. A stiff sigh is released before a decision is made with creased eyes.

You’re being lifted with little warning, carried into a bridal hold as if you weighed no more than a piece of paper. You gasp briefly, sense coming back in a flash of a thrown knife and a wide brown gaze. 

“H-hey!” The exclamation is met with a click of a tongue and increased footfalls, Kyle keeping you close to his chest with wind whipping past your ears. But you can’t think beyond the defining moments. The bodies in the park. The man you helped kill. Had killed. 

You force down the bile in your throat as Gaz’s warm body encompasses you. 

I didn’t…I didn’t do that, did I? You hadn’t thrown that blade. Couldn’t have. That would make you…

Your face tightens, brows creasing like tin foil. 

The van was torn open with a loud bark of ‘get us the fuck out of here,’ and a dumping of you onto the back seat only three minutes later; you didn’t have the thought capacity along that short run to tell Gaz to keep his hands off of you, or to stop sending you those glances with his hidden thoughts. All you could do was try and keep back the flooding hysteria. 

Kyle shoves himself into the car, slamming the door.

“Go!” He hits his fist on the back of the front seat and the driver peels out of the open alleyway with a screech of tires. 

Breathing heavily, you blankly look outside to watch the rushing police cars and ambulances dart past in the opposite direction. The streets were so condensed with fleeing people that they were having a hard time getting through, the flickering flashes of red and blue lights trapped behind your eyelids even as you blink and shake your vision away. 

Jesus, how many people are dead right now? How many were dying?

“Take us back to Base,” Gaz’s harsh accent drives a spike into your ribs. Focus on that. Focus on hating him. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the knife.

You force out through a shaking diaphragm. 

“Fuck no,” the air flips; driver sending a wide-eyed glance through the mirror as Kyle’s wound body stills like a flag on a stagnant day. You persuade a sneer to your lips.

Just make him angry. Make him yell at me—distract me. A vile form of self-destruction, sure, but you can’t start thinking about anything that just went down. 

You know how it would go if you had time to process. How the first year went after your father met his fate. You’d…You’d…

The Sergeant’s tone comes out in a snarl, “What’s that?” 

You’d never thought his file was true about that part. The hardheadedness and the opinionated side. When he was with you he always seemed level-headed; calm. Now though, it was like you didn’t have a grasp on his character like you thought you did. 

In the driver’s seat, Private Clancy clears his throat and grips the wheel tighter, not sure where to go.

“You heard me,” he had, Gaz’s ears had twitched at the curse—vulgar language not common from your tongue. “Fuck. No.” Eyes hard on his knee, you glare through very obvious fear. Kyle stares with venom lacing his silver tongue, lungs inflating. “I’m going home.”

“Home?” The Sergeant asks immediately, the car taking a left turn quickly. “Oh, my apologies, then,” he shakes his head, “Do you mean the exact place you’d be ambushed? Perhaps giving yourself up would be more your speed, Ma’am. Private,” Gaz glares into the rearview mirror, “Base, now.” 

“You do not get to dictate where I go, Garrick!” You scream, ripping his hat off your hair and pointing a finger with the same hand. A flash of amber replays in the back of your mind. Stop. Please, stop. “I am not going to the damn—!”

“People are dead!” Flinching, your shoulders hunch in faster than someone can blink, and brown eyes burn at you, jaw tight and teeth bared even as self-restraint tries to hold back a more poison-coated octave. The thin line between the two of you breaks. “Civilians!” You see Kyle take down a deep breath, his hands clenching. The next sentence is slow, but deep, “I don’t care what you bloody want because I’m not asking. I’m taking you in and getting a full Unit assigned.” Your heart freezes, lids going back in shock as sweat trails down your back. Gaz scoffs, turning away from you to run a hand over his hair. “Never should have agreed with Laswell and taken you on. I need to be with my team. You don’t listen!” 

Opening and closing your mouth, you stutter for an answer. 

“Take me home, Kyle,” your voice is breaking, but Gaz doesn’t even look in your direction; his lips firmly sealed as he glares at the headrest with his resting fist tapping periodically on his chin from the window-ledge. “Kyle.” 

He shakes his head to himself, and in a fit of infectious rage, you chuck his cap directly at his skull with a strong arm.

“You fucking pathetic twat! I just goddamn killed someone trying to save your useless life!” You bare your teeth and feel your throat constrict, eyes red and holding back a weeping deluge. Kyle growls under his breath as the hard brim slaps his temple, snatching it back mid-air. But his snapping reply stills on his lips when he meets your gaze head-on. His breath halts for a brief moment, recognizing the dwindling sense of control. Your words give him pause, and he doesn’t think you realize you’re looking into his eyes again as you rage. “I should have let the bastard tear your throat open—at least he’d be getting to do what I’ve always wanted since the moment you put a fucking gun to my head! For leaving my family a mess of blood and pain! Do…do you expect me to be thankful? For what?! All of this is your fault! Don’t you dare try and put the blame on me.” 

You’re sobbing, and the Sergeant watches silently, lips slightly parted as the driver gets more and more anxious. The car sputters along at a slow pace; everything relies on who wins this volatile battle. Brown eyes are stuck on the blatant brokenness of your gaze, for the first time able to study them without side-eyeing you or sneaking glances when you regard him by looking at his lips or nose. 

He’d never seen eyes like yours.

Blame? He didn’t blame you. Not…not entirely. But he was angry at you.

“For the love of God, I will chuck myself out of this car and sprint home—I don’t give a shit if I get shot at, Garrick. You and your little Task Force can go and fuck yourselves. You left my father with a hole in his head; made my mother leave me in a decaying house all alone and expected me to be okay with seeing my dad slump dead and feeling his blood drip off my chin. That fucking house.” Hands weaving through your locks, you wrench your eyes shut and the connection is severed in an instant, Gaz blinking back to the car with an unsteady inhalation of breath. His body is as still as a stone statue, fingers twitching when you finish with, “Fuck!” 

Foot stomping to the floor, you hunch forward, wailing in earnest as the blood on your hands makes you want to barf. Your head burns. Your throat aches. Everything felt like you were being rocked back and forth on a violent wave of self-loathing and hatred.  

“Stop it,” you rest your head between your knees, mouth open with desperate pants of air, “Fuck, p-please just stop it.”

No one knows what you’re referring to.

The car had parked a while ago—sitting in the parking lot far away from the park. Once a moment has passed, the Private only taps the wheel in the strangled moment of relative silence, and asks above your wet sobs, “Sir, I…Where are we going?” 

Kyle stares at you, opening his mouth to speak before it freezes and falls back shut. He swallows down the saliva in his throat before licking his lips, not looking at his cap before numbly putting it over his head with two hands.

“...Mansion.” The tires peel out slowly.

You don’t hear anything above the ringing in your ears; see above the red curtain settling. All you breathe down is death, and all you can think about is what went wrong. 

“It is Latin, my Little Love,” that stone bird in her lifeless hands has a broken wing, yet still she prompts it to fly; as if she knows it can even though it’s impossible. “Divine.”

Your nails dig into your scalp harder, lips trying to strangle back sounds of a breaking mind. But you can feel his eyes on you as your face burns, digging deep when ruffling fabric makes you tense. 

Everything is so loud—too bright. You can’t focus on calming down…you…you need to—

A bomber jacket settles over your head, the sides draping down to your ankles as you blink back with panic. You’re about to scream before you realize where you are. 

Park. Car. Gaz.

The penknife.

Darkness surrounds you, and body heat suggests someone sits close. On the ground, you see a combat boot peak in from the makeshift shroud, shifting from time to time with unease and an inability to stay still. A blessing and a curse. Your bursting lungs begin to slow as you take count of the laces, studying the color and the shine. Letting the calming low-light seep right into your brain as your fingertips loosen. 

A throat lightly clears, and they tense again. 

 “We…we’re nearly back, Ma’am.” You don’t answer. Gaz sighs quietly under his breath, pressing to the earpiece sitting in his canal. “Actual, change of plans. I need a full Unit to sweep the entire VIP’s property—we’re heading back now.”

“I don’t think Laswell will go for that, 2-6.” Kyle peeks at your hidden form—the way you shake so violently he was afraid you’d shatter like glass. He thinks about what you said, not able to peel his eyes away. Even as he tries to force it down, his heart hurts.

“Do it. I’m not takin’ her to Base.” The Sergeant tits his head down, hand clenched. “It’ll make this worse than it already is.”

“...Rog. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Copy, Mate. Keep me updated, yeah?” 

Gaz thinks back to the alleyway and the penknife in his pocket feels heavier than stone. He hadn’t needed help. That wasn’t pride, that was just a fact. The Brit wasn’t as large as Soap—certainly not Ghost—though he was still well above average for what a regular workout would give you. Even if he did value integrity far better than brute strength he wasn’t like a dull blade. 

He’d had it under control. 

So why had you done that? Even you had expressed confusion over the action. For all intensive purposes, you should have wanted the terrorist to win. It seemed like you did.

“Hell,” Kyle whispers, bushing off the dried blood on his cheeks with the back of his hand as the city falls away to a slower-paced town. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the internal guilt was beginning to form. 

He hadn’t meant to yell. 

It had been a while since he’d worked Protection, had forgotten how much he should regulate his emotions. Gaz was used to strong bands of brothers—tight-knit groups that went in like a shadow and left with nothing but a whisper. That was One-Four-One; his brothers. 

But…brown eyes slowly rove to stare. Listening to the struggling breath like an animal being choked by a collar. 

You’d already gone through so much, and although he could grab you by the arm and shake with all his might, it wouldn’t change the fact that you didn’t know how this worked. 

He needed to keep his gentle approach, not force you back into the hole you were intent on keeping in. Gaz needed to fix this. Tell you. Show you. 

He’d do it tonight and if his honesty didn’t work even a smidge then he’d send in his offer for re-assignment. He’d made a mistake, and he was never one to let that stand.

By the time the van was pulling into the iron gate, held open by a black-clothed soldier, the property was already swept and cleared. Gaz opens his door and steps out, leaving it open on the off chance you would follow him. You didn’t, of course. 

“Sergeant,” the man’s face was covered with a balaclava, large of shoulders and chest. A hand is presented, and Kyle takes it with a soft greeting.

“How’s it looking?” 

“Everything’s in order, Sir. Laswell took the time to set us up back in town,” there’s a glance sent your way, and Kyle restrains himself from sidestepping and blocking the man’s view. His instincts were still rampant and he shifted his legs restlessly. “Figured the Lady wouldn’t be too keen on letting us stay here—can’t do anything without the inheritor's permission.”

Gaz blinks at that but only adds it to his databank. He knew you had control over who you allowed on the property, but hadn’t known you were the inheritor. 

Why hadn’t the estate gone to the wife? 

“Good to hear,” Kyle smiles slightly, tapping the side of his fist with the soldiers. “I can take it from here, yeah? See to it your men are comfortable and keep the radio up—we don’t know what else might be going on.”

“Copy, Sir.” When Gaz switches weight, looking into the interior of the car he’s already addressing you with a calm demeanor; ready to coax you out with a good chunk of his gut filled with apprehension. 

“Love…can you—” The car was empty, and before Kyle could begin to snap to attention, the black of his bomber jacket slashes his wide vision. A deep sigh falls after a second of exasperation, sarcasm about to be called over the air. Hands rub over eyes before itching at his cheek with a muttered, “Keep it light, Garrick. Sky’s not falling just yet.”  

He follows, concern growing steadily. 

You had killed a man. Lived through your first shootout. How was he supposed to make this work? You already hated him…what could he say? 

Gaz knew for a fact that it hadn’t fully hit you yet, and when it did, he was afraid you would break apart even more. But why was he so conflicted about staying or leaving?

Your feet carry you to the house quickly, head down and extra jacket over your shoulders that you don’t bother to flick off. Shoving past leaving soldiers that give you stiff looks as you pass makes your lungs hitch. You didn’t want them on your property—you didn’t know them. 

“Love!” Kyle calls your name from behind, and you hear his jogging feet catching up as your fast-snapping eyes find the black void in the bushes. 

The cat. 

Green eyes brush against your, slitted pupils corralled by overgrown foliage. It blinks slowly, and you force your head forward once more; un-cut hand snapping to your mouth to keep down the frantic way your lungs jump. 

Doors were of no obstacle to you, you shove through them with a hunched shoulder, letting it swing open and hit the wall with a defining bang of oak. 

“Hey! Slow down, would you?” Ripping your shoes off, you speed across the foyer, heart distressed. Before long your body points you down the hallway. 

Gaz rushes after, heart beating fast as your form disappears down a sharp corner that he grabs to swing himself past.

The black of his bomber jacket is a temporary sight before the barrier of a door slams shut, swallowing you whole. 

“I need to…!” Kyle halts to a quick stop, arms at his sides as his button-up stays rolled up at his elbows. Brown eyes close tightly.

“...Apologize.” He places a hand on his head, tilting back his neck, “Shit.”

—

By the time you realized you weren't in your room, it had already been too late to turn back around. 

You gradually come back into reality after a fitful anxiety-induced fatigue on your father’s office couch. Hours had passed, judging by the pitch darkness of the room; the temperature was already colder than you usually were used to. 

Eyes stare at the ceiling for what seems like an eternity, and it’s sad to think the only time that everything in your head calms down is when you can listen to the pipes in the walls. Creaking wood. Forcing yourself up, you hiss sharply, lids wrenching shut at the zinging pain up your right arm. 

Ripping your hand up, you blink rapidly through the achiness of your red eyes to stare down at the dried wounds. The twin gashes across your palm crack as you flex your fingers, crimson lines opening. Even as your sigh builds, you only watch them begin to bleed at the movement; not relaxing your muscles for the single purpose of not caring enough to. 

The skin was agitated. Itchy as well. 

I sent a knife into a man’s eye. You still, lips parted and numb. I watched people die one after the other because I went outside. This is…this is my fault. 

Kyle had been right. You don’t listen. You’re stubborn, vengeful. 

“But I can’t be anything else.” Whispers bounce off the walls; the coffee table ahead of you and the gargantuan desk behind where you’d play hide and seek in the gaps. 

You’d run to your father's office to try and find comfort you know you’d find nowhere else. Pull it from memories considering it was all you had left. 

But you can’t pull comfort for this. Part of you wants to put on the news—know the count of the dead. The other part says that would be worse. 

“Because of me.” You mumble, standing on unsteady legs that threaten to buckle. Your body is sore from all the running; fleeing from bullets. 

No, not because of you. 

Sucking in a slow breath and listening to the creaking of the house, the ghosts, you clear your throat to dispel the mucus. 

Because of your father. Mind racing, this event puts a hammer into the stained glass that was your family legacy. Before you could deny it—you could say it was Samson Row that was judge, jury, and executioner; while that was still true, what kind of people would fire on innocent bystanders to try and nail a single target? 

Turning, you think back to Laswell as your tongue licks at the dryness of your lips and your eyes move to attempt and paint a picture. You stop to look at the desk.

“Your father had sensitive information that searches of his shipping lot and museum office didn’t offer any leads on. While you’re spending more time at your home, I want you to look for them. Anything that involves other dealers or a location to a hub.”

Taking down a slow breath, the walls were suddenly suffocating you. Your father didn’t…he…he couldn’t have.

Your right hand pulses mockingly. 

Without knowing, your feet pad over the floor to his desk quietly, standing behind the chair and over the dust-hidden mahogany. The old lamp on the corner; the strewn papers that have faded ink and old script haunt you as you slide your vision over them. 

Museum exhibits that never got installed, bank statements, and more important documents pertaining to his job. You skim over them, bloody fingers leaving streaks in their delirious acts. 

Feeling the fiber under your flesh, you push them aside one by one. 

Nothing of interest. 

Your throat closes for no reason, skin goes slick with perspiration dribbling down your brow. Nothing, see. 

Blood drops down to the table as you hold your hand over it, loose and limp at the wrist but violently quivering. You watch. And then you start to open the drawers with a heated fervor, wiping at your forehead and leaving streaks of crimson. 

“There’s nothing.” You gasp. “Nothing. They’re dead because of nothing. I killed a man for nothing.” 

Guns fire in your mind; people scream like you had when sitting in that chair in a basement. Gaz’s eyes boring into you. You’d looked into his eyes not once but twice—the second of your own volition.  

“Nothing?!” Folders are grabbed and slammed to the desktop, exploding with a poof of dust that leaves you turning and sneezing violently before you stifle yourself. 

You’re ripping them open one after the other, burning in the back of your nose. A knife keeps releasing from your hand. A shove on your shoulder as a bullet hits a trash can that was used for cover. 

The black bomber jacket that had fallen off in your slumber and was now sitting in a heap on the floor. 

Innocent people. 

Fuck, they were screaming at you.

“There can’t be nothing.” You seethe, trepidation both your drug and your double-edged sword…what if you did find something? “There needs to—”

“Love…?” Air silences. “Are you alright in there?” 

There’s a shadow under the door, barely discernible over the darkness as you shiver. How long had he been there? How…how long had you been in here? 

Your fingers stop their aggressive tossing and you blink through the dizziness of your brain. Stumbling back a step or two, your hip bumps into the chair. Instantly, the large thing skids over the floor with its wooden legs as an ear-ringing screech as you grab onto the arm to stop from falling. Your skull pounded. 

Quick, loud, knocking starts. 

“Ma’am? Ma’am!” Breathing quickly, your body shakes at the noise, the sound so similar to the sounds in the park. 

“S—,” your voice breaks, “Stop fucking knocking!” 

It stops instantly, and you pause there for more than a few moments glaring at the floor; brows tight and teeth biting into your lip. The quiet sound of a hesitant voice echoes after a minute.

“Could you open the door for me?” Gaz clears his throat as you stare at the wooden barrier with glinting eyes. An attempt at a kind chuckle. “...Been getting cramps in my neck from leanin’ back against the wall all night. And I, uh,” you close your eyes, “I think we need to have a conversation, Love. A real one, if you follow me.” 

You were tired, incomparably so, but even you knew he was right. What he had yelled at you in the car was true. All of this had gotten put into place with as much consideration as a mallet gives a nail. 

And Kyle had known all along what would come of it. A sliver of guilt stabs you. 

You didn’t have to like him—didn’t have to forgive him, because you probably never would—but you had to begin to listen. That didn’t mean stop pushing back, it just meant that his expertise was needed for the safety of the city as a whole. 

The city with the museum that your father had loved dearly.

Feet shuffling, you move around the desk, side-eyeing the now bloody contents atop with a numb expression as you move to the door. You had locked it, apparently. 

Not that you remember. 

Hand stuttering above the handle, you stop and listen with straining ears. A shifting body calls to the Sergeant’s anxiousness at your non-visibility. The erratic behavior. Resting your forehead over the wood, you truly wonder if there would ever be a time you were used to someone else living in this house. 

This house. Your house. 

It didn’t feel right for anyone to live here. 

“Are you there, Ma’am?” You open the door stiffly. 

Kyle’s face is tense, you can tell just by looking at his chin; how he holds his shoulder back like that. There’s a split-second where you both study each other—you, noticing how he’s still just as dirty as you, and him, seeing the focal point of the streak of red blood on your forehead. 

“What, Garrick,” you speak as he sees the ruffled nature of your clothes. Defeated muscles. “Here to tell me you were right?”

His legs cease their movements, mouth half-open with apologizing sentiments now snapping shut with a click of teeth. But not from anger. Concern. Why were you bleeding? Had he missed you being injured? Kyle had sworn you were alright—no shots had ever met their mark.

He’s touching you before he remembers to ask first.

You’re being swept back into the room and plopped down on the couch with no warning, and you don’t fight it. Warm hands grip your shoulders and squeeze quickly.

“Bloody hell,” Gaz rushes to the desk to flick on the lamp, “Why didn’t you tell me you were hit?!” Your eyes snap shut, blinking rapidly at the light.

Rays cascade over the room, the dust in the air being sent into dance classes with how they flew. Lids narrowed at the floor, your socked feet shift over the old rug, but you offered no answer over a soft shrug of your shoulders. 

Kyle gawks at the back of your head, rushing back over to check you over as he bends on one knee. Hesitating for only a moment, he first looks at your head, tilting it back and forth with a hand under your chin and the other by your ear. You’re cold under his grip and that makes him even more nervous.

How much blood had you lost?

“I need you to tell me where it—”

“Hand.” He blinks, staring at you for a second with surprise. Gazing down he sees the spasming limb with a small inhalation of air. 

You let him slowly move back, all digits moving to encompass the afflicted area. But he pauses. 

Frowning, you rub the side of your face into your shoulder as you hear the man suck down a sigh. Confusion lingers in your heart, but you care little at the moment. 

“May I?” In between the brief palpitations of your most important muscle, you forget for a second who’s in front of you. You forget the Sergeant. The Brit. 

Your face softens.

When had someone last asked you that? 

Your lids slide open and closed in surprise as Kyle waits, outwardly patient with an internal raging heart. 

“You’re already here, aren’t you?” The room is bathed in warm light and quiet creaking. Two people who don’t know how to act around one another suddenly suffocated with too many words. So they say nothing. 

Kyle grips your hand so softly that you have to hold your breath in order to keep sane. You want to rip it back from how warm he is.

“Christ, Love, you’re freezing.” It’s a low comment, passing more for a whisper as brown eyes snap up to you. But slowly he shifts your flesh with the dig of his firm fingers, running over the bone to check for internal damage until he flips it over entirely to see the real problem area. 

He holds in a sharp gasp. Tries to keep his cool as you stare at his bobbing neck.

“That…this’ll need stitches.” You hum. Gaze sliding to his face you say what first comes to mind as you draw a comparison to his twin scratches. You end up wondering if you’re drunk again.

“We match.” you point casually to Kyle’s left cheek. His were smaller than yours, of course. 

Gaz focuses on your eyes even as you choose not to look at him directly. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He attempts a weak chuckle, still holding your hands with the hope that you might take some of his heat for your own. Why were you so cold? “I suppose we do. Why don’t you come with me and I can get you all cared for, yeah?” 

You weren’t acting right, and for an instant, the Sergeant misses your snarky attitude. Anything was better than that bitter nothingness living in your expression. He was shocked. The woman who he’d had this iron impression of was using a chisel on it every instant she could. 

It only made him feel more and more like a prick. 

Fucking hell, Garrick. This is a whole different game. 

“How’d you get them, then?” You were in shock, speaking whatever came to mind with a far-off stare dunked in alarm. Kyle had seen it all before and it didn’t matter who it was plastered on. It was his duty to help. 

“Tell you what, Ma’am,” he stands, helping you up by the arm and sending a soft smile your way. “We’ll get you all proper again, and I’ll tell you all about my days in the police force. I wager you’d like that. History and all.”

“I like old history,” leading you out the door with a hand over your back that rubs small circles, he traverses the darkness and leads you to the shining light of his room one step at a time. 

He sends an amused glance, “That’s my old history. Pretty good, too, in my opinion.” 

You shiver again, and Kyle draws you a little closer, frowning tight. Your eye bore into the ground with cold sweat on your temple. He moves for a second to wipe it away but stops himself with a tight closing of his lids.

“Why would I care about that?”

“You just asked me, Love.” He reminds softly, turning the corner slowly as the two of your feet make the floorboards scream. This house was never quiet was it?

“Humph,” your sound bounces off the walls when Gaz makes it to his chosen room, the door already open and the light on.

He moves you to the cleanly made bed and lets you sit down while he walks to one of his bags by the wardrobe. A medical kit is pulled out, yet he keeps sending looks behind him to stare at you. 

Legs hanging off the bed, you can’t really tell if you’re here or if this is some strange point between delirium. For certain, though, you don’t feel good. 

Bleeding like a stuck pig and trying to keep your vomit down. It was all a state of far off sea-water. A roaring of waves in the back of your head. But there was a realization as Gaz shifts in front of you once more, face creased.

It is the realization that no matter what you do or what you try and change, you will always just be this. Stuck; stationary. Left to waste like the mansion itself—breaking down year after year until all that’s left is rotting wood and shattered stone. Blades of grass in the cracks and termites with fat bellies. But what was even worse was that you didn’t know how to function without this decay in your skin. The quiet rage pulled down beams of sanity. The agony a network of scuffed floors and dented walls. Shut curtains. Abandoned rooms and memories that shutter with every gust of wind. Ghosts in the hallways. 

Was it all real, or was it just a pigheaded attempt to find something to relate to? There was truth to it—there had to be.

This was home. 

This was you. 

This would always be you.

“You asked how I got my scars,” Kyle speaks and you notice his hand back in yours, skin tingling not from the medicated wipe he runs over your palm like a feather, but rather from the sensation of touch. 

Warm. It was a blanket of pure silk. A stuffed animal set into the dryer. How had you ever forgotten what that felt like? 

You hum an acknowledgment, flinching when the chemicals start to turn your hand numb. Gaz lightly shushes you, squeezing your wrist. 

For some reason, your nose starts burning at the action. 

“It’ll be okay, Sweetheart.” He stands, grabbing a chair from the corner table and bringing it over to place in front of your knees. The medical bag is placed beside you, various contents being taken out as elastic gloves are pulled over long fingers. “Where should I start then,” Kyle stares at your sad-tilted eyebrows. “The moment it happened or how I put myself into that bloody stupid situation?”

“Situation?” You utter, scoffing without venom, “Sounds pretty serious there, Sergeant.”

“Oh, trust me it was,” the way he places your hand in his lap is deeply intimate, disgustingly so, but even as you want to rage and shove him off, it hurts to think too deeply. “Terribly serious—I was undercover, y’know.” 

His soft expression holds you as the first stitch pierces your flesh. Pressure, no more. You frown, rubbing your eyes with your free limb. He pauses and glances your way, finding no pain, he continues on with the second, deft hold creating perfect knots.

“Ever done that, then? All your snooping around, I wouldn’t be surprised.” A smirk comes and goes on your lips. “Certainly seem the type, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Can’t say I have.” 

“Hm, well,” he chuckles. “Anyways, you see, it was a drug bust during my third year with the Blue. Opium. Sizable Mates running that whole operation. They found me out two bloody weeks in.” You blink to slight surprise, shoulders losing their hunch as you now have something else to draw your attention to. “Hoped to at least last a month, to be honest with you.”

“You’re insane.”

“Ah, probably, Ma’am.” Taking notice of the blood staining Gaz’s cap from earlier today when it was on your head, you bite your lip as the story continues. “I was held up in a shipping crate for a whole damn week, and this one fellow,” Kyle moves one hand up and your vision snaps to it, seeing him motion to his chin with a ‘U’ shaped hold, “proper beard on him, tells me I need to give up who I was.” 

“...Did you?” Lip quirking, the Sergeant finishes off the first row of sutures, grabbing another wipe and cleaning the area. He was happy you were focusing, at least, but you were still too shaky for his liking.

“Hell no—Bastard sucker-punched me. Happened to have a nice ring on his finger. Can only pray for whoever was married to the bloke. Ripped my cheek open something nasty, enough to make it scar over.” Both of you are surprised by the huff of laughter that jerks your chest. 

A pause as Kyle feels his chest go loose. That wasn’t a bad sound at all.

“Well, that’s it,” Gaz admits softly, halfway done with the second, smaller cut, “can’t say it’s all too amazing.”

“Because getting tortured by drug lords isn’t what you consider amazing, apparently.” You cough through your embarrassment, feeling slightly back to normal. Taking down a deep breath, you stare down at your palm as it gets sewn back together again. Hearing how the skin squelches.

“Well,” the Brit holds you delicately, a swelling of pride in his chest, “I’ve done a few bigger things than busting the likes of them. Stuff that meant a great deal more in the moment.”

The rest of the sutures and cleaning is done in total silence, and your lungs are suddenly able to work properly again. Kyle places a thick gauze pad atop the marks, holding it down while taking a roll of bandages; beginning to unravel them. 

His thumb is holding the end down when he whispers.

“Why didn’t you want my help?” You ran from him in the park—hid away when you were injured. None of his teammates would do that.

She’s not them. 

With a skip to your pulse, you hold your lips shut with an iron rod. That was the question, wasn’t it? You had run from the only person in the world that seemed to care whether you lived or died.

Peering at your palm, you speak the only truth you know, “Because then I’d have to admit something was wrong.”

There are more things you want to say to him—horrible things; pleas and nonsense—but in the end you just turn to stare at his neck with blood on your hand and stitches stuck in your flesh. 

Kyle’s eyebrows peel up, holding your hand in his own and suddenly more in tune with you than he ever had been before. 

“I…” He starts but doesn’t finish. Not for a long while. “I’m sorry, Love. For all of it. But you need to start listening to the things that I tell you—I’m here to keep you alive. It’s my first and my only priority. You need to be able to live with that.” 

He wasn’t sure there was more he could say. Your lips pull in, pressure living in your chest like an infection. 

“I hate you,” you say, eyes watering. Blood on your forehead.

“I know,” he responds, slowly, softly; wishing for a moment you’d look into his eyes again so you’d realize he’s finally starting to understand. 

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[velvet-paradox]

Vulnerable

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: König x Female reader Summary: somethings just don't stay on the battlefield. Length: Long Warnings: NSFW, 18 + ONLY, canon typical violence, blood, death, established relationship, explicit content, strong language, sexual assault, oral (m receiving), L-bomb, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up, you know the drill), creampie, smut.

Vulnerable.

König hates the word. Seethes it, loathes it, spits it out like broken teeth in a skin tearing fight. He knows the feeling well. He's missing four of his own (just a couple in the back, nothing too serious) and the front left one is chipped. It might worsen if he keeps tonguing it behind his mask though.

He's been here before. Not in this exact warehouse or chair but he'd been in a familiar position.

The mission was supposed to be a crystal clear cut and dry recon. Get in, get out, get the job done quietly and go the fuck home. Only to find out, the hard way, that himself, you and Ghost had stumbled across what was supposed to be a closed off base of operations. You were just looking for stolen black market weapons; not fucking terrorists.

Ultimately dispatched and taken hostage, they separated your company. The way your head knocked back when one of the men who'd grabbed you after giving your cheek a good blunt hit with his gun, made König wince. Anger, so much anger boiled deep in his belly, even more so when he watched them drag you limply into a different room.

The sound is deafening. His gloves feel too tight, his eyes are too hot, he's sweating and taking notes of how the other three men are pacing rhythmically behind him.

The main guy in front of König tilts his head to the radio attached to his shoulder, after it alerts to the room and he smiles sickly before tuning it to another channel. 

"Has he talked yet?" 

"Not yet. But he will." The bearded man crossed his arms over his lithe chest.

"See if this helps."

König grinds his jaw and flexes his fingers when he heard you in the background, your breathing is heavy and ragged and a multitude of scenarios are bouncing off the walls of his mind. And none of them are any good, each one more devastating then the last.

"Now you have a real audience. So speak up, cupcake." The other man speaks and scoffs when your reply is a spit. In his face, from the sound of it.

"That's cute."

König squinted when you are clearly slapped in the face, a wheeze of air leaving your throat.

"Let's try this again, hmmm?"

"You're not going to break me." Your voice crackles through the speaker. König shifts, as if he could make himself small enough to fit through the device and to where ever you were.

The man in your room laughs, mocking you. "Is that so? I'm going to tell you something now, sweetheart. The ones with fight, especially the broads with spunk, like you... are the best to break," König flared his nose at the enemies words. He'd seen what unhinged men were capable of. "Cut it off."

Your shouts of NO!, creaking and distress coming from you and whatever you were tied to came through, loudly. That got the attention of the three vultures.

The man in front of König chuckled darkly, turning up the volume some more. 

"Well look at that boys, she's been smuggling melons under all that gear!"

König growled against his restraints, scuffing his boots against the cement floor.

"Are you going to talk now, big guy? Your little girlfriend is getting a nice little once over from the boss himself. One should be such obliged," his grubby hand on his shoulder had him biting a chunk of cheek as he listened further. "I almost feel sorry for what he's going to do." 

"Don't fucking touch me! Don't you fuck-"

The man abruptly turned off the radio, which was a blessing as much as it was a curse. On the one hand it was enough to hear your assault, what he could and didn't want to imagine happening in a room similar to the one he was locked up in. But then he wanted to hear more, make sure you were alright, in one piece. 

König knew for years you could handle yourself accordingly but something like this, caught off guard in an ambush was a whole other can of worms.

"Now do you feel like talking?"

König's laugh lacked humor, he was already a cluster fuck of anxiety and emotions, you, the fucking love of his whole life were being tortured, traumatized, assaulted. He didn't have anything to lose from the jump, what would it take for him to just lunge forward and take a bite, rip out this guy's larynx like the feral animal felt caged in tactical gear and issued boots, that he was?

"You idiots..."

"Oh! So you can talk!" The man exclaimed, slapping his knee as the other men moved around him, one had the fucking balls to push König's head as he did so.

He snapped his teeth.

"We got you good, right where we want you. Locked up, tied up, nowhere to go. Tell us big fella'," one of the quieter men poked him in the shoulder, what was meant to be hard and stern König guessed by the smug look on his face when he did it. "We've been hidden away for months, then all of a sudden three military cunts like you just so happen upon our operation. Who are you? Who do you work for?"

Now that all four men were in front of him he could really work on his restraints. As soon as he woke up from being knocked out, similar to you, he realized the rope wasn't as tight as it could've been. 

Which was good for König; bad for them.

"I work for no one."

"Then how did you find us so quickly?"

"Just lucky I guess," König shrugged, focusing on the task at literal hand, and how to get to you. "Good thing we did though. It's been fun but I think I've had enough."

The main man laughed, the other soon joining, not realizing König was nearly free. 

"Oh man, there's four of us and one of you."

König smiled beneath his hood, eyes twinkling. "I like those odds. How simple minded of you, how one dimensional." König laughed, this time with humor, dripping and stinking with it. "You have no idea who you dealing with, do you?"

"What makes us stupid then, big guy? You're the one tied up."

His smile deepened, he could feel his own dimples indent against his sharp teeth. Another chortle. "Because you think you have me locked in here with you but buddy, that's a big mistake," his accent thickened as he dropped his tone and chin, looking up at his captures sinisterly. "You all have willing locked yourselves in here with me." 

König rose to his feet, inch by inch to his full weight and stature. To them he must've looked like a behemoth rising from the depths of the ocean and for most, he certainly was. In shock, in awe, in amazement they shouted obscenities and couldn't get a hold of their weapons fast enough. 

König gripped the sides of the chair before turning fast enough to knock one of the guys to the ground with it.

He swung it the opposite way making the others stumble backwards or to the floor, he couldn't tell until the rope slipped from one of his wrists. König lunged and grabbed the closest man, grappling with him as he coiled the rope around his neck and pulled him up and up. He used his body as a shield when they opened fire, lighting up their comrade. 

König threw the now limp and bloody body at them, he ducked and grabbed the chair, breaking off a leg hastily, the jagged wood found its new home in the groin and gut of another enemy. Another series of shots rang out in the room but for a man of König's size, he was quite cat-like. 

He grabbed the arm of the last one, twisting it behind his back before taking the gun from his hand and shot the man across from him followed by two executions shots to the one in his grip. The men dropped to the floor like flies, the smell and spray of blood and gun powder weren't foreign but in the small dank room, it reeked like battery acid.

König checked their ammo and weapons, along with his own they had taken, he cocked his shotgun before leaving the room. Red lights flickered above, close enough to his head, he figured the darker the exterior the better and bashed each light that stood in his way. After rounding a series of dark corners he heard the trigger of a gun and stopped in his tracks.

"She with you?"

Ghost. 

König paused and shook his head.

"Fuckin' hell." Ghost huffed and joined him.

This place was a maze, barrels of some greasy substance, weapon crates full and strapped together, metal tables stained with blood and what remained. 

Some dark shit was going down here and Captain Price would need as much intel as possible when they got back to base. By the look of it, this was a far bigger deal than the three of you could snuff out. Strewn crude tools that made König's heart slip up his throat, if anything more than what he'd heard earlier, were to happen to you he'd--

A guttural scream echoed off the cement walls.

Ghost touched his shoulder and signaled to pick up the pace, that you were nearby.

The scrape of metal had them stopping outside of a rusty, tetanus looking door. Ghost gave a nod and König charged the door with his shoulder once, then again, on the third thrust he broke it down, twisted on its old hinges.

"Fuck!"

"Shit!"

When König's eyes adjusted to the brighter room he was shocked by what he saw.

Two men had their guns trained on him and Ghost, the third had his gun pointed to the back of your head. But that was to be expected under the circumstances. What wasn't was the state you were in. 

Bent over another metal table, thankfully no tools were to be seen but there you were, pleading, your tact vest and gear were gone, so was your compression shirt and bra. Naked from the waist up, a split lip had joined your busted cheek. Tears had clumped your lashes and had stained your face, your eyes were wild when they had settled, locking eyes with your sniper. Your pants were at your thigh, thankfully your underwear were still on. That didn't mean a damn thing though as König readied his gun. 

No one said anything.

They didn't have time to.

The two men suddenly crumpled from two precise head shots before them, stunning everyone in the room. You managed to shift and duck under the filthy table, safely out of the way.

Sergeant Soap McTavish joined him and Ghost, looming into the room. "Well, finish 'em off! Wheels up in ten."

König made short strides to the last man as he scrambled back against the wall, his gun had jammed and König kicked it out of his hand anyway. He stomped on it actually, he could feel the knuckles pop as the man yelped. He'd threatened you, your life, your dignity and for what? 

König snorted and grabbed the son of a bitch by the throat, both hands clasped as he dragged him up. He squeezed. Tighter and tighter, his green eyes bulged and squinted in terror as the life was slowly leaving his body. The last thing this bag of bones would see was König's dark, narrowed eyes, avenging you within minutes. König dropped him when he saw nothing left behind them.

He finally looked at you, Simon doing his best to search for your gear while Soap attempted to lure you out from underneath the table.

You had your face pressed into the tops of your knees, shielding and covering your exposed skin.

"Little maus." 

König may have just killed several men, had their last breath and blood on him but he offered his hand to you gently as the name he called you.

You rose your head, anguish making your face pouty.

"Come on maus, you're safe now." König took off one of his gloves then offered it to you again.

This time you took it, he brought you carefully to his chest. Once on your feet you hugged him tightly, trying your hardest to press yourself into him, like you wanted to be apart of his armor, apart of him. He held you as you sobbed and stained his vest. You cried harder when he told you to watch your face, didn't want you to bust it up anymore against the straps and items on his person.

"It's alright maus. You're safe in my hands. Always." 

....

Once the dust cleared König could make you out, taking the stairs two at a time, L.T.'s distress call through the radios got your ass moving. You called for König, alerting him to your location.

You'd thrown yourself into mission after mission after that Russian snafu. He didn't blame you. None of them blamed you.

You blamed yourself though. 

König remembered leaving the debriefing room soon afterwards, waiting outside the door. He frowned under his hood when you made it a point to apologize to Price.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry? And jus' what are you sorry for, solider?"

Your voice wavered and König could only imagine you wringing your wrists like you did when you got anxious. "It's my fault we had to abort the mission. We should've know it was an ambush."

Price chuckled, lightly. "And how we were supposed to know that, hmm? That bit was a surprise to us all, Y/L/N. They weren't supposed to even be there."

"Still... I know how important this was. I mean, you really stuck your neck out for me to be apart of this mission and I blew it."

"You didn't blow a damn thing, don't even talk like that in my presence again, understood?" Price was stern on you and it made König fidget and cross and re-cross his arms. A few other soldiers gave him a nod as they walked past. "Simon did mention an-- indiscretion. When you're ready to talk, we have plenty of staff at your beck and call. Take your time."

You wasted none of it.

Several gun shots brought him to the smoky building, he followed the direction he'd seen you take off in, making sure he had an extra magazine at the ready.

....

One thing about König is that he'd sensitive. Inside and out. Everywhere. Hence the full gear, skin fucking tight so not even a breeze can tickle the fine hairs on his arms, his thick legs or back of his neck. He gets the chills often, shouldering off the feeling.

You like to bring up the first time you accidentally tickled him in the weight room. How were you supposed to know he was as touch starved as he was? And all you'd done was pat his rear when he wavered on a dead lift.

Or the first time you sucked him off.

It was an out-of-body experience for the Austrian. He'd kept his compression shirt on, covered his eyes with his forearm as he tried desperately not to whine and jerk around while your mouth explored his midriff, thighs and sac. That didn't last long though.

Thinking back on it, as he was now, while you teased the crown of his cock with your nimble little fingers had him already bucking into your palm.

You said you wanted to keep yourself busy, occupied so your brain didn't just short-fucking-circuit back to that mission. It would haunt you sometimes, make you lash out. Make you mean. Caused nightmares and shouts in your sleep. Those nights he'd gently stir you awake, pull you to his chest and let you cry it all out. 

Laswell helped with the talking bits, König (your König) got the behind the scenes stuff.

"I can't-- fuck me... I can't take much more." König choked out, his mouth went slack when your snicker of control reached his ears.

"Oh sure you can, big boy. I've had you in worse positions then this." You shushed him before taking a bite of his thigh, the inner, softer meat was so sensitive he jumped. You were right though as he trembled beneath your ministrations.

You've had the big guy in a tapestry of ways, unraveling like an old sweater. You caught him staring, made him nervous, even more anxious when you wouldn't look away. You jerked him off once in a storage closet, he'd somehow not managed to crack his head on the low door frame. You gripped the front of his hood to keep him low and quiet as he came in your hand. The high pitch hum that came from his throat for the first time, startled both him and you when you swallowed him down in your room on base. The way you moved your hand from what you couldn't fit into your drooling mouth, smoothed your saliva down your chin then proceeded to cup your throat. You gave it a flash-in-the-pan squeeze, he could feel you grip his cock through the skin and muscle of your skin. He jerked and almost kicked you in the face.

The way you looked up at him from your sniper lay on his bed, reminded him of the look you gave him when you had him in the best position yet. Sitting on his kitchen counter, just in one of his ratty shirts the morning after a few rounds, caged behind him like some sort of spider monkey. One hand jerking his cock as slowly, toying with him as you pleased while the other held his chin, holding eye contact to save his fucking life while you pumped him to the fucking edge.

He fondly remembered how you matched his moans, breathy and exact as you coaxed him to completion.

....

"No... no don't."

König sighed in his sleep, he moved his leg just in time as yours came crashing into it. He jolted awake then when you whimpered and yelped, thrashing about in his bed. Caught up in his own sheets, he couldn't move his hood faster to see you making that terribly sad face, eyes scrunched tight, mouth open and shaking.

"Liebling, wake up."

You whined and coiled around, muttering somethings he couldn't understand. "Please my love, my maus. It's just a dream." König moved closer, careful of his groin when you kicked out again. His large hand held your wrist, easily rolling you over onto your side to face him. Your other hand balled into a fist when he scooted back.

"No no not again..."

"Bad dream, maus. Just a bad dream. I'm here, you're here." König touched your face, bringing his forehead to yours. "Breathe maus, breathe with me. I know you can hear me in there." This had worked before when nights were bad, like he could siphon himself into your consciousness, become as a real of a safety net in your dream-world, as he was in real life.

"König..."

"I'm here maus, I'm right here."

You suddenly opened your eyes and immediately tear up, your eyebrows making that shape he hates so much because it means you're upset, your hurt.

"I'm here." 

König hasn't cried in six months but he can feel himself cave in towards the water works if he looks at you any longer. So instead he grabs you, holds you against his chest, one of your legs automatically going over his hip to bring you as close as possible. He holds your head as you shakily sob into his neck.

"I'm s-o-orry. Bad dream. I hate this." 

"I know. They'll go away eventually," König soothes, slipping his hand now underneath your sleep shirt which used to fit him but just swamps your entire body. He likes it that way, says it looks better on you than it did on him anyway, joked that if you really wanted to, you could cinch in the sides and make it into a dress. "I've had my fair share of night terrors too, maus."

You wetly mumble against his skin.

"What was that?"

You swallowed and shakily answered with your hands against the bottom of his hood. Your eyes glistening as you tried to explain yourself in the dark. "I sa-a-id, I said... what would I do without yo-ou."

König was touched, his cold heart growing warmer with each look of your eyes, touch of your hand, your skin on his skin, your mouth on his, every laugh had built a hammer strong enough break down the highest of walls he'd built. Little cracks had formed in his healthy foundation but now they were threatened by your...

"I love you."

König blinked. Had he heard that right? Anxiety started to swirl and make his head spin.

"Maus--"

"I love you so much," you professed and gripped his mask tighter, hooking your ankle a little more above his hip, heart to heart. "I just h-hope you know it. If it weren't for you... even before you saved me. My mom was right; when you know, you know." You shrugged with a watery smile and little sniffle.

The big man was at a loss for words, drawing blanks on his tongue. So he did what he felt was right.

....

Lifting his mask to kiss you gently yet deep and with the most meaning, was on the table. How he'd managed to say 'fuck it' between kisses, had him lifting it further until it was off his hot head all together. Exposed to the elements of the room, to the night; to you.

You slipped your tongue into his mouth, sighing into him as a hand snaked under your shirt, running his fingers up and down your back, over your shoulder blades, down your vertebrae. He wanted to mold himself to you, fit inside your molecules, become one with you.

You nodded, rubbing your noses together when he asked, begged to be inside you. Show you he loved you too even though he couldn't bring his voice to let those three words escape it's cage.

König had moved the sheet, eyeing you as you lifted your hips to get rid of your sleep shorts, bare for him to breach your entrance. Which he did, slowly, surely. Holding and pressing just the tip of his cock against your folds, rutting just a little against you, more and more as you wrapped yourself around him. You stared into his eyes, unmasked and for the first time König  didn't feel scared or anxious about how you'd feel about his face, his scars, his insecurities. 

He was content.

"Take in a breath for me, maus. Can you do that?" He rushed, the blunt crown of his thick cock lay waiting and nestled against your hole.

"Yes."

You did as he asked after a few, your fingers tightened in the hair that rested against the base of his neck as he pressed forward. You mewled and huffed out his name. 

You moved together, in a rhythm neither one of you had intentionally set yet here you are, rocking together, fucking away the pain.

König bit his lip watching you writhe against him, his free hand ghosted over your hip pulling you back and forth against the rod that was plunging deeper and deeper into your gummy walls. The push and pull, the suction of your wet pussy drawing him back had left his throat dry with desire. 

Your mouth popped open and before you could make a sound he captured your mouth with his own, groaning against your tongue. He matched licks to your mouth to the thrusts you were chasing.

He held your leg and rolled you over, keeping his steady pace, caging arms around your head when you touched his bare face. He flinched and throbbed inside you. Nuzzling his jaw to yours.

"I don't even know where I end and you begin." König sat up a bit, giving you a chance to catch your breath, he arched and hit a deeper spot in your pussy that left you barring your teeth. Your hands moved up to touch his wrists.

Somehow you ended up in his lap, long legs dangling off the end of the bed, perched perfectly in an embrace; inside and out. He held you up with one hand on the back of your neck, looking over your pretty face, his throat itching to scream Ich liebe dich auch! Ich liebe dich auch!. He let the other one leave his own thigh to touch and rub your swollen clit. You yelped and wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

"I need you. Don't... don't let me go, König. Please baby, don't let me go alone."

He thought you might cry again until he realized what you meant. You took a bite out of his shoulder.

"Never. I'm with you maus, my little thing. My precious girl I'm right behind you, keep going like this and you'll drain me dry."

You shivered at that.

König chuckled in your ear.

"Together. Please cum with me, baby, please!" You wailed when his fingers, though thick and calloused were nimble and soft, knew how much pressure you could take before you snapped in his lap. Just a little more, a little more.

" 'm right there, I'm right there," König grunted your name, breathed out obscenities and thrust up when you rode down. "I can feel you squeezing me, let it go, maus. Let go. Give it to me, share it with me."

You cried against his neck, little puffs of  love you love you tattooed against his skin, your nails in his back, your hair in his face. Your scent and whimpers of your slippery climax pushed König over the edge. He pressed a lingering kiss to your head as you fell limp against his chest.

Once dislodged from your cunt, your joined juices that had stained his sac and the fitted sheet below, he'd laid you down, your back to his chest. You sleepily fit your fingers between his. His chest swelled at your gestures. 

You fell asleep soon after, your little hums and flutter of lashes on his forearm made him smile behind you, curling his massive frame around you like a shield. He whispered in your ear that you were safe, no more bad dreams, no bad men, no wrong.

Just you and him, safe in this bed and finally his throat relaxed enough to say those three words.

Ich liebe dich auch = I love you too Tagging: @synnersaint @kaplerrr

[shiroi---kumo]

the internal debate on whether or not to put my perception of your OCs into one ask or multiple ended in me getting distracted and checking my emails.

eventually (30 seconds ago) i decided that they would be a little of both (broken into categories) so buckle up friendo.

also buckle up for the fact i will be holding no punches in my very totally professional analysis

because somehow this ended in me checking my emails (which is productive), i will start with aamun's associated group (the soul binds, who i propose should henceforth be known as ✨ the sparkle squad ✨)

valo:

oh man oh boy i perceive him alright. he's keeping so much to himself for the betterment of others. he's always "i'm just tired today" but it's more than just tired. beyond that, he's such a kind person. he's a warm person. he seeks to understand but not really to be understood - i have to wonder what made him think in the patterns he does. i have to wonder what or who made him think he can't open up. he has such good control on himself and it's him that i'd be afraid to truly fuck with for that same reason.

palo:

it is impossible not to perceive her. she is loud, boisterous, funny - but what else is there? she became a doctor, an inventor, she wants to help others and save lives, she's sworn a life oath... all these things are serious, but often she's not taken too seriously. i think she should be. i think she'd be someone's worst nightmare if anyone laid a single finger on her liege or any of the others. she's a force to be reckoned with. scary.

sydän:

she's vibing. but she's also stuck in the same loop as her brother and there's no avoiding it - they are constantly compared or treated as one entity in some regard or another. in a way, it makes her a perfect teacher for someone like pilvi, whose expectations aren't something he can separate from himself. and in the same way, it also makes her a great advocate for usva. she's someone who understands a bit where people are coming from without much effort and she's someone who can and will argue effectively against all the bullshit. i feel that she's calculated because, in a sense, she has to be able to tear others' faulty logic apart in order to be anything at all outside of hollow labels and others' assumptions.

aamun:

lonely by twelve, barely held together by people kind enough to take him in. the world is harsh for many military kids, and aamunkoitto is absolutely no exception. there was likely no room and no time for him to be soft in the sense some others are, but he's so loving in his own ways. there is absolutely nothing he wouldn't do for those he cares about, and if anyone is able to see what somebody needs, it's definitely him. there's a lot more there than he would ever let on, and i feel like he shoulders much more blame than he's actually owed. people tend to see a tall, grumpy man who's very no-nonsense, but those same people would run to him in a heartbeat for comfort and safety. like the dawn he's named after, he is reliable and subtly comforting.

revon:

if anyone flipped to the word 'effort' in the dictionary, there would probably be a picture of revon. he is the definition of "just doing his best", and yet he feels somehow it just isn't good enough. he pushes himself to the sideline, watches over these people who love him so much, and never realizes just how fiercely he is loved in return. he would do anything to protect them and measures his self-worth in this sole trait, though the people he's so focused on worrying about think of him as so much more than that. this man deserves the world and he thinks, truly, his whole world are the handful of people he keeps close. how beautiful and tragic a character he is.

How do you perceive my OC || Accepting

AKA Theo attacked me with positivity again

✨ The Sparkle Squad ✨ you kill me. Theo you slay me and just this overwhelming love for them pouring out from you just makes me so much more excited about them and to write them. It makes me excited to write in general. I love you so much. You see them. You see them so clearly and who they are and just Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh Theo you're wonderful, thank you for loving my babies. Thank you for believing in me and my creations.

Thank you.

You see them. You see them all so clearly and I'm so glad they're coming off the way I intended. Ahhhhh yes good.

[seungkwansphd]

fixer upper

pairing: minghao x reader wordcount: 9.5k summary: you love your friends dearly, but do they really think that they can match make for their resident matchmaker? minghao’s certainly interesting, though, so maybe you can fix him up with someone else instead. genre/themes: s2f2l. “beg” minghao. LOTS OF PLOT with eventual smut. slow and i mean SLOW burn. some member slander(affectionate), lol. set in the ‘we get along infamously’ universe.

a/n: i have nothing to say for myself regarding the length of this.

    You tapped the bartop impatiently as you waited for your blind date to show up. You couldn’t believe that Danbi had roped you into this, but you had lost the game of darts fair and square. As a result, you were here waiting for a man named Minghao to show up. Part of you really wanted to skip out on this, because you just did not trust Danbi’s romantic sensibilities. She had dated a string of truly boring and strange people for months before you had finally set her up with Seungcheol. There was no way this Minghao was going to be anywhere near suited for you, but you were a person of your word, so you would do the date and be done with it.

“Hey, are you YN?” a voice called from above your left shoulder. You turned your head to see a tall, lanky individual with dark hair looking curiously at you.

“Yes, are you Minghao?” you sat up straight, fixing him with a smile. He wasn’t your usual type, physically, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome.

“Yes, nice to meet you,” he smiled, taking the barstool next to you.

“So how do you know Danbi?” you asked after he had ordered with the bartender.

“Ah, so,” Minghao looked almost sheepish, “I helped Jeonghan get together with the person he’s dating now. One of my close friends! And so I met Seungcheol and Danbi through Jeonghan.”

“Oh?” you calculated the degrees of separation quickly in your mind. “So you don’t really know Danbi at all, then!”

“Not well,” Minghao shook his head. “I was kind of surprised when Jeonghan told me that she wanted to set me up on a date.”

“I-,” you laughed, somehow relieved to find out that this hadn’t been any serious effort on your friend’s part. “Honestly, thank god! No offense to you, I obviously don’t know you, but Danbi historically has not impressed me with her taste in men.”

“No offense taken,” Minghao chuckled, bringing his cocktail to his lips for a quick sip. “So does that mean you’re the resident matchmaker in your friend group as well?”

“Very much so,” you nodded, “So I’m not sure exactly what Danbi thinks she’s up to, trying to take my title. In fact, I bet even I could set you up with someone better! And I don’t even know you at all!” you blustered.

“Oh really?” Minghao’s eyebrow raised. You were funny.

“What, you don’t believe me?” you furrowed your brows at him.

“I mean, no one is a better matchmaker than me, so my bar is pretty high,” he replied smugly. “I’ve only ever had one couple break up, and it was due to one of their jobs making them move away.”

“Out of how many?” you found yourself curious.

“...Eight?” Minghao had to tally in his mind quickly.

“Hah! That’s nothing!” you waved him off easily, “I’ve successfully set up eleven couples and none of them have broken up yet!”

    Minghao smiled, amused by your bright and confident energy. While you clearly weren’t suited for him, he found himself wanting to beat you at your own game.

“Set me up then,” he invited confidently. “But I bet I can find you a match sooner than you can find one for me.”

“Oh?” you grinned at his gamelike proposal. Before you even knew it, the words came out of your mouth, “You’re on!”

    Minghao laughed, shaking your hand enthusiastically. You spent the rest of your “date” exchanging phone numbers and excitedly reviewing each other’s basic likes and dislikes. Minghao wasn’t your type, but he certainly was interesting! He worked in HR for a tech company, had interests in art and fashion, and also had trained in mixed martial arts as a child? Quite a strange array of hobbies, but you were so going to win this thing!

…

“So, how did it go?” Minghao’s voice sounded slightly tinny through your headphones.

“Not good,” you were almost excited to report on how badly the date had gone. “I would rate your matchmaking skills like a 4 out of 10 right now!”

“Excuse me?” Minghao stopped in his tracks. Surely he had misheard you.

“Four. Out of ten.” you repeated yourself, grinning at the way you could tell he was surprised by your feedback.

“No, that can’t be right.”

“Allow me to elaborate,” you pressed on as you decided to take the long way home so you could regale Minghao with every last detail of why your date with Wonwoo had not been stellar. “First…could you have found someone more quiet or disinterested to have set me up with? You’d think I was trying to pull his teeth out!”

    Minghao squeezed his eyes together. He and Wonwoo had built up their rapport over many years and he’d somehow forgotten just how tight-lipped his friend could be when meeting someone new.

“Also his only hobby seems to be gaming? I don’t know anything about that nor do I have an interest,” you continued. “Ah, it’s so nice out!” you commented as an aside while you pulled a pink bloom to your nose to inhale.

“Oh are you outside?” Minghao couldn’t help but ask.

“Yep, I’m walking home!” you nodded, “Oh I’m glad I took the long way! I forgot how much I like this park.”

“It is a nice day out,” Minghao looked out the glass panes of his office. He was painfully close to the end of his day and truth be told, he was excited to run out the clock with you on the phone. “So anyways, where are my four points coming from, because I haven’t heard anything positive yet.”

“Oh, well, I mean. I’m going to chalk that up to Wonwoo’s looks, really. He’s unbelievably handsome. Almost too handsome!” you threw your hands up in the air, drawing a few odd looks from other pedestrians.

    Minghao laughed. It was true, Wonwoo was probably his most conventionally attractive friend, so it wasn’t a surprise to hear you say it too.

“Okay, so then…very cold on the personality traits, but very hot on the physical features. I can work off of that,” Minghao nodded, scanning through his mental roster of friends. Luckily, Wonwoo was probably the most introverted of them all, so it could only go upwards from here.

“Yep. Oh which! I have a candidate for you,” you clapped excitedly as you waited for the crosswalk to turn green. “My friend Yena!”

    Minghao nodded contemplatively as you rattled off the list of compatible points that you saw for him and this Yena. He had his doubts, but he put your proposed date and time in his calendar. A deal was a deal.

“Okay, I’m almost home, so I’m going to hang up now! I’ll text Yena to confirm! Eee, I’m excited to hear what you think!”

“Okay, bye,” Minghao laughed, glancing at the clock again. It was officially quitting time, so he packed up his bag and headed out of the office. You’d been right, it was a beautiful day out, so he decided to switch up his commute as well. As he walked, he found himself wondering which park you had passed through on your way home.

…

[yn]: ‘sooooooo…………yena?!?!???!’

[minghao]: ‘6/10’

    You narrowed your eyes in disbelief. Six out of ten?!

[yn]: ‘BE SO FUCKIN FR RIGHT NOW’

[minghao]: ‘no, I actually really liked her, but she said she doesn’t eat chinese food?! i can’t live like that’

    What? Surely you had eaten Chinese food with Yena before, right? You racked your brain, but unfortunately came up empty handed. You had to admit, that was a big blind spot on your part.

[yn]: ‘.........i guess that has never come up before. my bad! i know that’s important to you’

[yn]: ‘i’m still up 2 tho! 6 against your 4.’

    Minghao threw his head back to laugh. You were so competitive.

[yn]: ‘ok feedback on other qualities tho! plz & thank u’

    Minghao waited, an amused smile on his lips, for your three dots to vanish before providing your requested feedback. As he had said, overall he had quite enjoyed meeting Yena. She had been a little quiet and shy at first, but had opened up quite a bit as the date went on. They shared an interest in art and had had quite a nice discussion before she revealed that she did not like Chinese food. Normally an aversion to specific food wouldn’t bother Minghao so much, but after moving, it was important for him to continue to engage with his culture and food was a major way in which he did that.

[yn]: ‘ok, got it, got it. that makes perfect sense’

    A soft smile settled on his lips. Minghao was glad that you weren’t taking too much offense to his negative feedback. Part of him was glad that the date hadn’t gone that well and he was sure that it was just his competitive nature. It would have been humiliating for him if you had actually found him someone perfect on the first try.

[minghao]: ‘what are your plans for the weekend?’

[yn]: ‘theres a textile and apparel exhibit opening at the folk art museum that i wanted to check out’

[minghao]: ‘oh?? i was planning to go too! when are you going?’

    You cocked your head curiously at your phone. That was weird. But you realized it would be very helpful to observe Minghao in the wild so as to do a better job choosing prospective dates for him. Then you could review your roster of candidates for him after the museum, so it could be a productive time! With a fluttery feeling in your chest, for whatever reason, you chose a meeting time to visit the museum with Minghao. Together.

…

    You tapped your fisted hands against your hips as you scanned the crowds for Minghao. It had been a few weeks since you had first met him in person and you had an unreasonable worry that you’d forgotten what his face looked like. Glancing at your watch, you wondered if you had gotten the time wrong.

“YN!” a clear voice caught your attention.

“Ah, there you are!” your face cracked into a smile up at Minghao. “Ok, I’m glad I decided to dress up!” you exhaled with relief after taking in his outfit. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he was interested in fashion.

“This outfit is very cool,” he nodded approvingly, eyes raking over you. An unreasonable warmth spread across you at his assessment. You had spent longer than usual picking and re-picking necklaces to match the hardware on your boots. It was nice to see that it was appreciated.

“Thank you!” you beamed up at him, eyes creasing into semi-circles. “Now let’s go!” you gestured forcefully at the museum entrance.

“Okay, okay,” Minghao chuckled goodnaturedly, allowing you to lead the way.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed, hands fisted in excitement as you peered closely at the thread and beadwork on a contemporary bobbin lace exhibit. “Unreal.”

    Minghao had to do a double take. Your mouth had fallen slightly open, enthralled, as you took in the detail and your eyes were as wide as saucers. You looked like a cartoon frog.

“You’ll catch a fly like that,” he teased, slipping two fingertips under your chin to snap your mouth shut.

    You narrowed your eyes at him. If you’d learned one thing today, it was that Minghao was quite prone to teasing. It was a good thing that you had agreed to this museum trip after all, because otherwise your list of next candidates would’ve been wildly out of order.

“Do you want to see the other exhibits too? Or are you only interested in fiber arts?” Minghao asked, looking up from the museum layout map.

“No, I’m interested in all mediums!” you nodded at him. “I just think textile arts have been woefully excluded from the mainstream art world because, you know, misogyny,” you rolled your eyes theatrically at him as you followed his lead. “So I am particularly interested when museums put together exhibits like that!”

    Minghao’s lips pinched slightly in amusement. He agreed with you, of course, but he found your animated enthusiasm in high contrast to the serious backdrop of the museum hall. He led the way to one of his favorite areas and you two passed the rest of the afternoon walking through the displays in contemplative quiet.

“I’m hungry,” you frowned as you left the museum.

“Me too,” Minghao grabbed at his midsection. “Let’s go find something to eat!”

“There’s a Chinese restaurant around here that I like! Let’s go there!” you suggested. Minghao nodded furiously, stomach grumbling insistently at him.

…

    You glanced at your date out of the side of your eye as you wondered how rude it might be to just leave. While Joshua was certainly your physical type, all arms and chest, you quickly found out that the contents of his brain were just not for you. You weren’t religious at all and if he broke out into song, singing ‘Sunday Morning’ at or near you one more time, you might actually run away.

    After going through the motions of saying goodbye, you pulled your phone out to dial Minghao as soon as you started walking home.

“Hello?” he answered, sounding slightly groggy.

“I need to understand your thought process with this one,” you shook your head in disbelief.

“Huh?” Minghao rubbed his eyes, pulling his phone away to check who had called. “Oh, hey! Sorry I just woke up.”

“Oh, did I wake you up?” you paused, “Shit, sorry! You didn’t have to answer me!”

“I didn’t know it was you! I also hadn’t meant to fall asleep,” Minghao chuckled and you heard some rustling of sheets in the background. “Sorry, what did you ask me again?”

“I need to know why you set me up with Joshua,” you frowned. “Do I give off a vibe that he’s my type?”

“Is he not?” Minghao wondered, “He’s more outgoing than Wonwoo, still handsome, and family oriented.”

“Okay, those things are true, but he’s also super religious, which I’m not. And I do not like to be sung at in public…or at all, I don’t think.”

“No, please,” Minghao started laughing, “Did he? I didn’t think he’d bring that out on a first date!” Minghao couldn’t stop laughing, practically kicking his feet in delight at the absurdity of it.

“Yeah, several times, in fact,” you rolled your eyes.

“Why are you so difficult to match for?” Minghao found himself asking. He was partially teasing, but also somewhat serious. People generally threw themselves at both Wonwoo and Joshua, so to hear you be so turned off by them was surprising and confusing.

“I’m not difficult! I think my expectations are more than reasonable,” you nodded firmly to yourself.

“Okay, elaborate on these expectations, please, because I’m clearly missing the mark.”

“Hm, well, okay. Someone funny and intelligent with a wide variety of interests or knowledge. Someone who would challenge me in ways that make me grow. Someone who also can understand that I should have my own endeavors and activities without feeling insecure. I dunno, someone who just gets me!”

“Very reasonable,” Minghao’s flat voice came back across the phone.

“It is reasonable!” you stamped your foot. You felt like he was teasing you again, but it was hard to tell over the phone.

“No, that’s helpful!” he clarified.

“Why are you asleep at 8pm anyways, you old man?” you suddenly remembered.

“Ugh, it was a long day,” he groaned into your ear, “I had to get to work early to prepare onboarding materials for new hires and then when I got home, I just passed out I guess.”

“Ah, well, do you want me to let you go? You should go back to sleep and catch up on yesterday.”

“No, I’m up now,” Minghao shook his head, reluctant to end the phone call. “Tell me about the restaurant, was the food at least good?”

    You smiled, happy to stay on the line with him. The food had indeed been good and you described your meal and cocktails to him in vivid detail. You were now in your second month of knowing Minghao and your relationship had evolved into a tentatively comfortable friendship. Between all of the set up activities, you’d actually gotten to know him a bit and grown used to discussing and sharing other aspects of your lives. Minghao was definitely an introvert, but he was well balanced with an energy and enthusiasm that ensured you were never bored.

…

“Wait, I’m confused. You told me that the date with Minghao didn’t go well, but you’ve stayed in touch with him?” Danbi’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“What are you confused about? That’s exactly right,” you returned her confused look.

“Why would you stay in touch with someone you don’t like?”

“I never said I didn’t like him!” you shook your head, confused at her statement.

“You liked him, but the date didn’t go well? Why wouldn’t the date go well if you like him?”

“I can like him as a friend and not want to date him!”

    Danbi narrowed her eyes at you. She didn’t think you were that petty, but it was almost as if you were purposefully maintaining a distance between yourself and Minghao just to spite her.

“So what do you two talk about?” she was curious.

“We’ve been setting each other up on dates! Supposedly he’s the friend group matchmaker, like me, but he’s pretty bad at it,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “But we talk about other things too! He likes art and fashion. We went to the textile exhibit opening a few weeks ago.”

    Danbi shook her head; she was lost. Wasn’t that just a date? Luckily she knew you better than to prod too much further.

“Well that’s good! It’s always nice to make a new friend,” she smiled at you, “He should come to Soonyoung’s housewarming party next week!”

“Should he?”

“Yeah, of course! Jeonghan will be there and I think he invited a few of his coworkers too so see if Minghao wants to come!”

“Ah, I guess so,” you nodded, somehow nervous, “I’ll ask, but no promises.”

“Sure!” Danbi laughed, “Now let me show you some pictures of Doyun with Jeonghan and his new partner! Who you also have to meet!”

You giggled happily as Danbi flipped through her photos. Doyun had always looked more like Seungcheol as a baby, but now that he was getting older, he was taking on more and more of your friend’s features.

“Ah, he looks so much like you there! Ahhhh!” you shook your fists excitedly.

“He does look more like me recently, doesn’t he?” she beamed proudly at you.

    For all the headache you had posed to her with this Minghao situation, she did love you and was grateful towards you for gently nudging her towards Seungcheol many years ago. You were very astute at reading others and as a result, she now had a wonderful husband and son. It had always interested and amused her that your insightfulness didn’t quite extend to yourself.

…

“Eeeee!” you and Soonyoung clapped your hands together excitedly after you’d sunk another ping pong ball into a plastic cup.

“Just perfect! Look at that technique! You duds don’t stand a chance!” he crowed, jeering at Seungcheol and Seokmin excitedly.

    Danbi giggled excitedly at her husband’s rotten luck, to which Seungcheol pouted.

“Ya! Who are you even cheering for?!” he shouted playfully, leveling an accusing finger at his wife, inspiring another round of giggles.

“Me, of course! I can find her another husband, she can’t find another me!” you laughed, jumping up and down in delight at the way that Seungcheol fumed.

“You’re dead!” he furrowed his brows at you, “You’re so dead!” He made a show of stretching his neck and shoulders before taking his next shot at beer pong.

“Hah!” you shouted and shook Hoshi excitedly, collapsing into a puddle of laughter as Seungcheol’s ball ricocheted dramatically off of the rim and bounced anticlimactically across the ground. “Oh no, oh Cheol please I’m crying!” you hiccuped, wiping your eyes.

    Minghao had slipped in quietly while you were taunting Seungcheol and he was shocked at the way you did it so loudly and unapologetically. He didn’t know Seungcheol quite that well yet, but he had been under the impression that he probably shouldn’t be messed with too much. A smile toyed at the corners of his mouth before he moved away to grab a beverage.

“You made it!” Danbi appeared at his side while he popped the cap off of a beer.

“Hi Danbi,” Hao smiled kindly at her. He had met Danbi through Jeonghan a while ago and for whatever reason, she had really taken a shine to him.

“Did you find the place alright?”

“Yes, YN’s instructions were very easy to follow.”

“Great! Let me know if there’s anyone here that you haven’t met yet, but I think you may know them all!”

    Minghao nodded. Looking around the room, it did seem like he knew most of the attendees. Jeonghan and his girlfriend were flanked by a few of their other coworkers. By some miracle Seokmin and Seungcheol had both managed to find babysitters tonight, and so were able to attend with their wives, Hana and Danbi. Joshua was on another date, after he and YN had not managed to hit things off, so Jeonghan’s friend group was short just one of the usual count.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” you laughed with Hoshi after winning yet another game of beer pong. You and he had been nearly undefeatable since college and it was nice to see that this hadn’t changed, even after he had moved away for a few years. “Oh pink?” you wondered aloud when you spotted Minghao chatting with Jeonghan over a beer.

“You’re here!” you interrupted their conversation easily, fingers itching to touch his pink hair. “Is this a fade out color?”

“Yes,” he laughed, “The murder scene every time I showered was starting to get old.”

“I can’t believe your hair hasn’t just fallen straight out of your head,” Jeonghan’s girlfriend shook her head with a laugh.

“Hah!” you laughed heartily, struggling to imagine Minghao bald.

“I’d love it if you didn’t curse me with this foul energy,” he rolled his eyes at all of you.

“Did you all see how I swept the floor with Seungcheol? Again?” you crowed excitedly to Jeonghan.

“Yes, yes, very good,” Jeonghan rolled his eyes at you. You were always such a braggart about pong.

“I can’t believe he lets you tease him like that,” Minghao gestured to Seungcheol incredulously.

“Ah, I’m a lovable scamp!” you shrugged, sticking your tongue out at your newest friend.

“That’s true,” Hao laughed, a soft smile crossing his face.

    Jeonghan and his girlfriend both looked at Minghao with interest while your attention was pulled elsewhere. Danbi and Hana summoned you from across the room so you gave everyone a small wave before you left.

“So-,” Jeonghan opened his mouth to dig, but his girlfriend stopped him with a quick shake of her head. She knew Minghao would not respond to anything that direct, so it was best to meddle gently.

“What is it?” you asked once you were close enough to Danbi and Hana for them to hear you.

“We were wondering if Minghao had set you up on a successful date yet?” Hana asked, “If not, I actually met this kind of cool guy at the school yesterday.”

“Oh, no, not yet. I actually need to follow up with him on that,” you shook your head.

“Follow up? You’re being so project manager-y about this,” Hana laughed.

“I mean…it is a project that I’m managing,” you flushed, already knowing that you would say no to Hana’s proposed guy.

“Well, what do you think? He came to service the computers, so he works in IT. He’s tall, pretty broad, and has a very nice smile.”

“What’s his personality like?” you queried. It didn’t make any sense at all, but for whatever reason you felt guilty of the idea of being set by someone other than Minghao.

“I didn’t get to talk to him too much, but he seemed nice! He volunteers at an animal shelter.”

“Aww,” Danbi cooed excitedly.

“You’re going to make fun of me for saying this, but I don’t think I care,” you inhaled deeply before rejecting Danbi’s proposal. “It feels weird to think about going on a date with someone that Minghao doesn’t pick for me. So I kind of want to see how things play out with that?”

“I’m not going to make fun of you!” Danbi looked at you indignantly.

“I am!” Hana made a face at you, “You are so attached to him, like come on YN!” she gestured forcefully at you.

“Of course I’m attached to him, we’re friends!” you shrugged. “I’m attached to you doofuses too,” you gestured back with your palms up. Hana and Danbi laughed. Your love language was, indeed, teasing and they’d grown used to it long ago. You were watching them whisper to each other suspiciously before Danbi jutted her chin out, pointing at something behind you.

“Oh, JESUS!” you jumped after realizing Minghao was standing behind you. “Snuck up on me, fuckin’ hell,” you mumbled curses as you put a few paces between him and yourself.

“Let’s go play beer pong. Apparently you’re unstoppable and I need to witness this for myself,” he smirked, giving you a disbelieving once over.

“Don’t…,” you found yourself shivering under his gaze, “Look at me like that! I will win,” you let yourself think that you had recovered smoothly.

    With each ball that Minghao sank into your cups, you stood up just a little straighter and your expression grew just a little more baffled. You’d never been in such a closely matched game of pong before and, honestly, you didn’t care for it.

“Hey, let’s make this more interesting,” Minghao spoke up when you were each down to one cup. You raised an eyebrow at him, gesturing for him to proceed with his idea. “If I win, I take you out on a date.”

“I-,” you choked, heart clogging your throat momentarily. “What?”

“For research purposes,” he clarified, triple checking his foot placement as he squared up his aim. “You can give me feedback and that’ll help me better tailor my matches for you in the future.” He launched the ball into the air and it sailed into your final cup easily.

“I-, wait,” you stuttered, partially in disbelief over your loss and partially for a reason that you weren’t able to identify yet. Your mouth opened and closed a few times before you could accept it.

“What, are you scared?” Minghao stepped towards you. He felt a perverse joy in the way you were reacting to his win. Something about seeing you flounder tickled his brain very specifically.

“You lost fair and square!” Soonyoung waved you off to make room for the next players.

“What exactly would I be scared of?” you blustered as Minghao herded you away from the table. “A date with you?”

“Scared you’ll like it,” he laughed, peering down at you, stepping into your personal space just slightly.

“Hah!” you let out a honking laugh. That was absurd, right? “Fine, take me out on our little date. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of feedback.”

“Great,” he grinned at you, patting you on the head condescendingly.

    You were baffled. You could tell you were blushing and you weren’t really sure if you could just blame it on the beer pong loss. You snuck a glance at Minghao, whose attention was back on the party, watching Soonyoung trounce Seokmin quite soundly. He was right, you were terrified for this date.

…

“Ugh you look so cute!” Hana squealed excitedly, “It’s such a shame it’s just for a practice run!”

    You chuckled. Sure, it was true that this date with Minghao was just for research purposes, but it hadn’t stopped you from thinking of it as if it were real.

‘wear a dress or skirt. something short or unrestricted at the bottom and shoes you can move in’ was all of the instruction that Minghao had given you.

“Maybe he’s taking you dancing?” Hana wondered aloud. “It’s kinda romantic that he’s keeping everything a surprise!”

“So romantic,” you parroted at her sarcastically.

    You didn’t know why, but you felt quite nervous about this one. You had been on more than your fair share of first dates recently, so it really didn’t make sense to feel this way about the fake one. Probably just because everything was a surprise.

“Ya! Why am I nervous!?” you jumped up and down aggressively, shouting at yourself.

    Hana shrugged, even though she knew the answer. Best to let you come to your own epiphany. She fretted and cooed the appropriate amount as she helped you finish your makeup and hair. You were satisfied when you looked in the mirror, but that didn’t make your armpits any less sweaty. Thank god for prescription grade antiperspirant.

“Ready?” Minghao greeted you at your door with a bouquet of flowers around half an hour later.

“I think,” you eyed him suspiciously, still irked that he hadn’t spilled a single clue about your activities.

“Put these in water so we can go!” he thrust the bouquet at you impatiently.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered. You scanned the blooms quickly and were pleased and surprised that all of them were cat safe. He’d remembered. You grabbed an empty jar and plunked the stems into it before returning to Minghao. “Is this outfit acceptable?” you paused to check, turning in a full circle so he could inspect.

“Yes,” he nodded, eyes full of something you couldn’t quite place, but it vanished just as quickly. “Now let’s go! We need to be on time.”

    Minghao shepherded you into the car and drove towards your destination. You were, strangely, at a loss for words and so spent the time inspecting his car and marveled at how clean it was. Usually you couldn’t stop yourself from babbling about nonsense at him, but this simulated date seemed to have rendered you speechless. As he pulled into the parking lot, your eyes lit up reading the sign.

“Hana was right!” you grinned at him triumphantly. “It is dancing!”

“Yes,” he chuckled at your expression. It wasn’t like you were the one who had guessed right, but he’d never know that with the way you beamed at him. “Intro to Rumba! I thought it’d be fun to try something new together.”

“Rumba?” you thought hard. You weren’t well versed in ballroom dance styles, but the name rang a bell. You had definitely seen it on a ‘Something-est Things To Do With Your Partner’ kind of list. “I don’t know how to dance,” you whispered to Minghao as the other students filtered into the class.

“That’s why it’s fun,” he grinned down at you.

    After beating you at beer pong last week, Minghao had been itching to get the upper hand on you again. While he wasn’t very skilled at ballroom, he did have some dance experience from his past. Rumba was also fairly sensual in nature and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to watching you squirm and be flustered over it.

    With your hands tucked behind your back, you watched intently as the instructors demonstrated the short routine that you would work on during class. You did your best to keep your cool, but you felt like everyone probably heard the sound of your loud gulp as you registered just how close together you would be with Minghao. There was probably technically some distance between the instructors, but not that you could see with the naked eye.

    Minghao blinked a few times as he watched the demo with you. This was closer quarters than any other style of dance he had ever tried before and he wondered if he had made a mistake.

“Okay, right hand to left hand. Leading partner’s right hand on the following partner’s waist. Following partner’s left hand resting gently at the back of the leading partner’s neck,” the instructions came.

“Okay, right hand here, left hand here,” you muttered to yourself as Minghao clasped his left hand into your right and you hooked your left hand around the back of his neck. You managed to follow the first set of steps without tripping over yourself too spectacularly, but the next combination threw you for quite the loop.

“So now comes a sexy part,” the instructors grinned mischievously, “Leading is going to spin the following out and then pull them back in to face them. And then following partner is going to drop in a slow and sexy wiggle, their hand trailing down the leading partner’s chest.

    Oh. Your lips pursed as your mind painted the mental picture of what that would look like. You resisted the urge to glance furtively at Minghao, pink rising in your cheeks.

    Next to you, Minghao blinked. Once, twice, and then one more time for good measure. He had been so busy considering how this class might affect you that he hadn’t even thought of himself. The idea of you trailing your fingertips down the centerline of his chest made him want to shake his head furiously.

“Five, six, seven, eight!” The rapid counts snapped both of you out of your thoughts. “Spin out!”

    You held onto Minghao’s fingers tightly as you spun away from him.

“Fancy arm!”

    You flung your arm out theatrically and were inordinately pleased to make Minghao laugh.

“Now tuck your arm as you spin back in!” the instructions continued.

    You bit your lip to keep from laughing before you brought your arm back to your center and spun into Minghao’s chest. Slowly, your hips drew figure eights as you worked your way down into a squat and your eyes followed your hand’s slow trail down his chest. Like watching a train wreck.

    Minghao looked to the instructors for the next directions, desperate to be not looking at you. He wanted to groan. Even in this wordless touch, you were mischievous, not drawing straight down, but rather trailing a wavy line, timed with the movement of your hips on the way down.

“Now leading partner, you are going to pull them back up! Forceful! Dramatic! What are they doing down there? They’re up to no good!”

    You had wanted to laugh, but when Minghao dragged you back up to your feet and looked deeply into your eyes…all of that went out the window. For a moment, the directions barked by the instructors faded into the background and all you could hear was a soft buzzing in your ears as you held his gaze.

“Very good, very good you two!” the instructors clapped excitedly as they walked towards you. “Tension! Eye contact! That’s what the rumba is all about, excellent!”

“Thank you!” You almost shouted. You were so excited to be able to rip your eyes away from Minghao that you plastered a wide grin across your face and gave an awkward thumbs up to the whole class.

“How do you do this dance without falling in love with each other?” another student wondered aloud.

“You don’t!” the instructor replied with a laugh. “Every so often you get a pair that falls in love and gets married, but in general you break up but you keep dancing together because you have good physical chemistry.”

“Yikes.” you turned to Minghao with a bemused look on your face. You were relieved to see that the tension seemed to have dissipated and he found your instructor’s comments as strange as you did. The rest of the class passed with relative ease, but the feel of his fingers resting at your waist and nipping into your hips certainly lingered longer than was ideal.

“What’d you think?” Minghao asked as he started driving to the next destination.

“That was fun,” you nodded after some consideration. “Definitely out of the box and a new experience for me. Also a very good way to gauge physical chemistry. Honestly a very good early date activity. Ten out of ten.”

    He preened under your compliment. You wondered what your next activity would be, but knew that asking would get you nowhere, so you tried to fill your brain with other thoughts. After a while, you ran out of things to think about and your eyes decided to regard Minghao as he drove. His right hand lingered at the gearshift, fingers tapping every so often as his eyes stayed glued to the road. You shifted in your seat as you watched the tendons of his forearms flex in a very distracting way. The way he looked when he was focused was…unfortunately attractive.

    Minghao could feel your eyes on him as he drove. He struggled to keep his attention on the road as his mind played back snippets from class. Namely, the moment when he had pulled you back up to your feet and locked eyes with you for just a little too long. Your eyes had widened and your lips had parted just slightly as you gazed back up at him and rational thought had almost left him completely.

“No, Minghao! Really?!” you squealed excitedly as he pulled into the parking lot of the botanical garden. “You remembered!”

“Of course,” he nodded, parking the car. You had mentioned the Poisonous Plants special exhibit off-handedly a few weeks ago and he had filed it away in his brain. He liked the botanical garden too.

“Look how beautiful!” you gasped as you looked at the Atropa belladonna, or Deadly Nightshade. “I can’t believe a flower this beautiful is also poison! Isn’t that cool? Such a good name too.”

    Minghao chuckled. You were making your little frog face again. He didn’t know if he thought of poison as cool, but he enjoyed seeing your excitement over such a morbid topic. The expression you made when you were enthralled by something was painfully endearing to him.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you wrapped your arms around him excitedly as you headed towards the exit archway of the garden.

“You’re welcome,” Minghao was surprised by your sudden physical affection. “You’re such a nerd, I’m glad you had a good time,” he teased as his arms folded around your waist naturally.

    You wrinkled your nose at him playfully. You couldn’t help the slight hitch in your breath before you pulled away, looping your arm in his happily as you walked through the other areas of the garden. This closeness grew less and less foreign as the day went on and was directly correlated to your concern for your own sanity.

…

“So…what do you think?” Minghao inquired after you had settled in at your table at a rooftop restaurant and bar. He really enjoyed the ambiance here and thought you’d enjoy the food as well.

“Of?” you replied blankly, having been busy reading over the menu.

“Our date?” his brows creased together, he had not been expecting that response.

“Oh! Good! Really good, actually,” you nodded, trying to speak of it in a detached way. “You did a really good job picking activities and this restaurant. This menu is so interesting! But at the same time, I feel like you are at an unfair advantage because you know me pretty well by now. I don’t think this is a reasonable expectation to have for a first blind date. I also probably wouldn’t agree to so many things in one day with them, because what if we didn’t hit it off? Also wouldn’t let them drive me because what if they’re a murderer?”

“You think I’d set you up with a murderer?”

“You never know,” you shook your finger at him playfully, “People are full of surprises, unfortunately.”

    Minghao watched you as you watched the sunset. He agreed with you, this had been a really good date. For whatever reason, you had leaned into the physical affection at the botanical garden and it had made his brain go haywire. He found that he not only didn’t want this date to end, but he wanted a second and a third (maybe to infinity) with you. He wanted to watch you try really hard at things that you had never done before and wanted to watch you make your little cartoon frog face when you were delighted by something.

“What?” you asked, turning back to meet Minghao’s lingering gaze.

“Nothing. I’m just having a really great time with you today,” he smiled back.

    Your smile faltered as your heart pounded. You searched his face for some hint that he was teasing you, like usual, but it wasn’t there.

“Minghao!” an excited voice pulled your attention away suddenly. You turned to see two men, one tall and muscular and the other slighter and shorter.

“Mingyu, Jae,” Minghao waved at them easily, “Coworkers,” he explained to you as they approached. “This is YN.”

“Oh, are you on a date?” the taller man’s eyes flitted between you and Minghao, slowly coming to a realization.

“Wait no. YN. No, they’re not dating!” the other man interjected as he connected his brain cells, “Jeonghan told me about this! You two have been setting each other up on dates, right? Or something like that?”

“That’s right,” you laughed, “So sorry, who’s Mingyu and who’s Jae?”

“Ah, sorry, yes,” Minghao chuckled, “Mingyu and Jae,” he gestured towards them respectively.

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, unable to help the way your eyes raked over Mingyu. He was your exact physical type and his eyes sparkled obviously at you when he talked.

“Well, we’ll get out of your hair! We were on our way out,” Jae nodded at you after not too long.

“I hope to see you again sometime,” Mingyu smiled at you, leaning down for another handshake before they left. Minghao bristled.

“Him,” you turned to Minghao, oblivious to his irritation. “Set me up with him, he’s my exact type!”

“Mingyu?” Minghao’s nose wrinkled slightly. “You don’t even know him.”

“He’s so hot though,” you exhaled theatrically, not really caring what his personality was like when he had a body like that. “That’s what a blind date is for, right? Blind to the red flags that I don’t want to see.”

    Minghao scoffed at your absurdity. On the one hand, Mingyu was a perfectly nice guy. Maybe too eager and bubbly for you, but he trusted that he could treat you well. On the other hand, he had just been grappling with the idea of wanting you for himself, so the two sides of his brains clashed violently and he really had no explanation for the next word that left his mouth.

“Beg.”

“Excuse me?” you must have misheard him.

“Beg me. And I’ll set you up with him,” he leaned back, smirk playing across his lips as he teased you mercilessly.

“P-please?” you stuttered, thighs pressing together inexplicably at the look on his face.

“Cuter,” he goaded you, tongue tracing across his lips as the flush rose in your cheeks. Your heart threatened to stop.

“Hao, please?” your eyes became doe-like and your lower lip pouted out just slightly. You didn’t even know why you were humoring him, you’d never let a man make you beg for anything before.

“There, see? That wasn’t so hard,” he sat back up, clearing his throat slightly as he glanced away. “I’ll set it up,” he nodded, heart sinking in his chest.

“Great,” you smiled, chest feeling tight. Your heart was racing.

…

    You found yourself perplexed and kicking a small pebble down the sidewalk after your date with Mingyu. It wasn’t that it had gone poorly, no in fact just the opposite. You were surprised that he had even been available to be set up because he was, on paper, perfect. He was funny, sweet, eager and all in that body? It was simply unfair.

    No, the thing that you were confused and frustrated about was that you didn’t really want to go on another date with him. For whatever reason, the only feeling you could muster for him was a lukewarm fondness and it really made you mad. Typically, you would call Minghao to debrief, but you were mad at him too! Your date with him last week was the reason the bar was so unreasonably high now, after all.

“Damn,” you sighed to yourself as you gave the poor pebble another swift kick.

…

    Minghao glanced at his phone, irritated to see that you still hadn’t messaged him with any updates. Dinner had to be over by now, right? Normally you at least snuck away to text him from the bathroom, so for his phone to be this dry could only be a sign that the date had gone well. Probably too well.

[mingyu]: ‘dude! YN is wonderful! thank you for setting this up!’

[hao]: ‘ah, so it went well?’

[mingyu]: ‘i think so! she’s cool as hell man’

[mingyu]: ‘she makes such a cute face when she gets excited’

    Minghao saw red for a moment. The intensity of his jealousy caught him by surprise and he had to reign himself in before he replied to Mingyu’s text.

[hao]: ‘yeah, i like her too, lol’

    Minghao threw his phone onto the sofa. Stupid idiot.

…

[hao]: ‘are you ever going to admit defeat or are you going to just ignore me forever?’

    You had been doom scrolling in bed when his text appeared and before you knew it, you were calling him.

“Hey,” his voice was soft when he picked up. The way his heart had jumped when he’d seen your incoming call was unreasonable.

“Hi,” you greeted him, your voice sounded small.

“So…,” Minghao waffled. He didn’t really want to talk about Mingyu, but he wasn’t really sure what else to talk to you about. “Mingyu said he liked you.”

“Oh, did he?” you chuckled, “He seems like the type of person that likes everyone.”

    Hao laughed because you weren’t wrong.

“It went well, though, right?” He wished that, like all the other dates, this one had been a dud too.

“It was okay,” you shrugged, “I don’t see myself going on another date with him though, to be honest. He’s a little too…I don’t know?” you trailed off trying to explain.

“Oh?” Minghao’s voice piqued with interest, “Well I’m starting to run out of friends,” he joked.

“I don’t think I want you to set me up with any more of your friends,” you sighed. “No more first dates for a while, I think.”

    Minghao froze as he saw his opening. He knew he would forever be kicking himself if he didn’t take the shot now.

“Are you home?”

“Yes?”

“Okay, I’m in the middle of errands, but I’ll be there in ten. I have to ask you something in person.”

“Oh okay.”

    Minghao didn’t leave much more room for discussion as he hung up and turned the car around, driving towards your place. You checked your appearance nervously as you waited.

[hao]: ‘here’

    Your pulse pounded in your ears as you opened the door for him, more nervous now than you had been for your date.

“Hi,” he greeted you from under a black baseball cap. It was annoying how he looked so good in it. “Can I come in?”

“No,” you joked as you opened the door for him.

“So no more first dates, does that mean you’re officially tapping out of our game?” he asked, looking down at you.

“N-,” your instinct was to push back, but he was right this time. “I mean, yes, I guess so. I’m tired of this meeting people business, I just want to spend time with people that I already like.”

“Would that include me?” he grinned, stepping towards you and until you backed into the kitchen counter.

“I-, I have mixed feelings about you,” you answered honestly, unable to meet his gaze.

“Can I take you out on a second date?” he ducked his head towards yours, hands coming to rest at your hips.

“I-,” you squeezed your eyelids together. In the past you would’ve panicked, but this closeness was now familiar to you and you only wanted to sink into it further. “Maybe you should beg this ti-,” you raised your brows, flicking your eyes mischievously to his.

“Ah!” Minghao cut you off sternly. “I’d think twice about that.”

“But-,” you couldn’t help yourself.

    He cut you off with a firm grip at the base of your throat. His longer fingers tapped against the side of your neck as he regarded you sternly. “Will you behave?”

    You knew you should say yes. Part of you might have even wanted to say yes, but you were you to your core. “Maybe.”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” he teased you in a sing-songy voice. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“There,” you pointed to a door towards your right. Without so much as a warning, you found yourself being hauled and plunked onto the edge of your bed.

“You have been driving me crazy for months, so let’s see if I can return the favor,” he looked down at you, tongue poking in his cheek.

“Months?” you wondered, thighs squeezing together nervously.

“Yes, months,” Minghao reached out and patted you on the cheek condescendingly. “So picky and difficult about every single person that I set you up with. Were you doing it on purpose or did you really not notice?”

“Not on purpose! They just…,” you trailed off sheepishly.

“What’s that? Speak up.”

“They sucked cause you’re bad at picking,” you squinted at him defiantly. You hated that you loved the way he was treating you.

“Try again?” he grabbed you around the jaw, his fingertips pressing your lips into an unflattering fish face. You could see in his eyes that he wouldn’t humor you for much longer.

“They weren’t you,” came your muffled reply, your lips moving in an exaggerated manner between his long fingers.

“One more time?” Minghao’s eyes danced at you, fingers relinquishing their grip. He wanted to hear it again, clearly.

“They weren’t you!” you replied, sickeningly sweetly eyes creasing into sarcastic half moons as you smiled at him.

“Tch,” he scoffed, pushing you back onto the bed and climbing over you. “You are so difficult,” he shook his head as his eyes raked across you, admiring your shape. “You’re lucky I like you.”

    You let out a simpering sigh as his lips nibbled from just behind your earlobe down to your collarbone. His teeth nipped roughly as his fingertips trailed from your knee to your hip and gripped tightly.

“Hao,” you sighed, “Kiss me?”

“Hmm, do you deserve that?” he rebutted, pulling back to look in your eyes.

“Please?” you pouted, tugging at the front of his shirt. “I’ll be good.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” he laughed, his lips grazing yours.

“Minghao, please,” you insisted and he indulged you.

    Minghao brought his lips to yours, kissing you thoroughly. His hands kneaded possessively at your hip as you nipped at his lips. Your kisses were peppered with soft moans and exaltations.

“You make such desperate sounds,” he teased appreciatively. You flushed at his description, but he wasn’t wrong. “Lay back and let me appreciate you,” he pressed a kiss to your temple before helping you undress completely.

    Starting at the bottom of the bed, he trailed soft, plush kisses from your ankles to your knees and then from your knees to your hips. He nipped, bit, and sucked his way up your inner thighs until you were glistening and slick for him. His fingers pried your legs apart, allowing him to taste you for the first time.

“Hao!” your thighs closed instinctively around his ears as he lapped long, leisurely strokes with his tongue. You heard him chuckle as he gripped above your knees, holding you open for him. He teased you with his hot breath, enjoying watching you shift and writhe, just for him.

“So gorgeous,” he rested his cheek against your thigh for a moment, enjoying the way your chest heaved with shallow breaths as you came down from the edge for the second time.

“Ming-hao!” you squealed as he brought his lips back around your clit, sucking with a torturous pressure. “I-, I-, I,” you malfunctioned, hand gripping his hair tightly as you came hard against his lips.

“Very good,” he grinned up at you, his lips and chin glossy with your slick. “Can I finger you now?”

“I mean, yes?” you laughed nervously, a little concerned at what his hands would be able to achieve after experiencing his mouth alone.

“Don’t cum until I say so,” he directed as his fingertips slid through your wet folds. “You are so wet,” he commented offhandedly as he pressed two fingers in a v-shape against you, squeezing around your swollen clit. Your mouth formed a silent ‘o’ shape as he ground his fingers against you, avoiding direct contact where you wanted it most.

“Hao,” you cried, hand resting around his wrist as you squirmed helplessly under him. “Why are you torturing me?!”

    Minghao paused for a moment. He supposed he was going a bit more out of his way to undo you than was typical for him. It wasn’t fair, but his pent up jealousy was manifesting and you were there to pay the price.

“Are you telling me you don’t like it?” he asked, cocking his head at you.

“Well, no,” you blushed, sinking into the pillow shyly.

“Then let me torture you a bit, sweetheart,” he grinned sweetly at you, fingers pinching together firmly around your clit again. “You’re so incredibly wet, just for me?” he marveled rhetorically as he slid two fingers into you, parting your wet, warm walls.

“Yes,” you nodded, pressing your hips up to meet him. You rolled your hips, desperate for as much as he would give. “More,” you begged until he added a third finger, stretching you slightly.

“Look at you,” Hao cooed appreciatively, nipping at your upper thigh as he stroked his fingers in and out of your deeply. The scrape of his teeth oversensitized you suddenly and you became a whimpering, desperate mess quickly.

“Hao, please, darling,” you clutched at him urgently, “I need, please let me cum!”

“Cum for me, darling,” he cooed the pet name back at you as he kept up the pace until you had collapsed into a pile of mush for him. “So good,” he praised you, pressing soft kisses along your jaw as you recomposed yourself.

“Blurple?” you asked, now that you had the presence of mind to register his hair color. “This is pretty,” you grinned, running your fingers through the colorful strands.

“You’re pretty,” he nuzzled you gently, fingertips trailing across the underside of your breasts.

“Oh,” you flushed.

“You are.”

“You are…wearing too many clothes,” you observed impishly, fingers tugging at his waistband. He laughed as he helped you shrug off his layers.

“How would you like me?”

    Minghao visibly thought as he slipped on a condom. “You would look absolutely gorgeous on top of me, riding me,” he smiled.

    You flushed, grinning at his flowery praise as you straddled his hips, grinding yourself along his length. Your hands splayed across his chest and you took a moment to admire his lithe physique. “So handsome,” you whispered before lowering yourself onto him slowly.

“Fuck,” he hissed as you took him in completely. The tendons in his neck were taut as you drew back up and back down.

“You feel good, Hao,” you breathed, holding onto him for support as your hips found a comfortable rhythm. Each stroke, each intrusion made you shudder with pleasure and the wet sounds were joined by your soft moans and Minghao’s tense hisses.

“You feel incredible, petal,” he grabbed you tightly around the ribcage, bringing you down on him with slightly more force. You faltered at the additional impact.

“I’m so close,” you leaned forward, looking directly into Minghao’s eyes. Nodding, he gripped your hips, grinding your clit against his pubic crest as he bucked up, deeply, into you.

“Come with me, YN,” he coaxed breathlessly. The way he purred your name undid you. An anguished wail left your lips as you clenched around him, triggering his release as well.

“So did I earn a second date?” Minghao teased as he folded you into his chest, cuddling you closely.

“I think you might have,” you grinned up at him, pressing a soft kiss to his nose.

“Danbi is going to be happy when she finds out about this,” Minghao chuckled into your hair.

“Oh we’re never going to hear the end of it,” you moaned. “Maybe let’s no-”

“Ah,” he reached to press your jaw shut and you stilled. You delighted at this subtle, domineering action. Quite a match indeed.

[0ladyred0]

AVATARTWOW

~FAN FICTION ONE SHOT~

[Miles Quaritch x chubby f!Human reader]

<hello again! Thank you for the votes you make me inspired! Didn't actually think people would enjoy this but here I am! >

Third person:

You have finally made it to your destination as the creatures around you yelp in danger. That wasn't a good sign because they were alerting the Na'vi that we were here which is not good.

"Give me a minute, then we have to go imidietly" you said as you putted a syringe in vein of the plant to test if they are the right ones.

Quaritch signaled the others to keep watch. He wanted to be close to you no matter what.

"Imidietly? I thought you loved to be outside" He said so confidently. 'Loved?how does he know that i enjoy the outside? ' you thought.

"Haven't you learn anything from the past weeks outside?" you said getting a knife to cut the plant quickly. Quaritch noticed your worried face and got into serious mode.

"You heard those call right? They're altering the Na'vi that's we're he-" right before you could finish you saw arrows coming from the tall trees. Everyone rose up and pointed at the trees and started shooting. An arrow was coming your, you could feel your heart stop and knew that this was the end. But Quaritch's instincts kicked in, he pushed you out the way making the arrow land on the ground.

You felt thanked that the man saved you, but sadly you and Quaritch we're separated from the others and had to run the other way.

While Quaritch was faster and stronger, he knew that you were no where near his speed, and so he picked you up by the backpack and started carrying you on his shoulder which made you shoock. You knew he was bigger than you -literally- but you felt yourself blush because of the nice feeling being carried. Quaritch on other hand wanted to get far away a possible because he already counted how many Na'vi we're there, and he was outmatched. He didn't know where he was going, but as he turned to see if they were following him... He slipped and fell off a cliff with you on him still. Both of you started rolling down and getting injured but it eventually stopped and the both of you started to loose consciousness and fainted.

[Y/ns] perspective:

I woke up after the fall, I sat up and groaned because of the immense pain I felt after on my back and neck. You looked at my arms and legs and we're bruised up pretty bad. You thought for a second...

'QUARITCH!!' I screamed in my head. I stood up pretty quick for someone who has just fallen off a damn cliff and started to look around. Didn't scream his name because of the possibility of being heard by the Na'vi.

I spot his injured back and started to walk realizing that I had slightly broken left leg. I kneeled towards him and turned his body towards me to see if he was still alive. He looked unconscious. I putted my head on his chest to hear any heart beat and checked his pulse after.

Third person:

You loudly signed in relief that he was still breathing. You looked at his body more closely and spotted damaged stomach, face and shoulders. He had only a few wounds because of his avatar body, but you could barely walk. You had to do something, you realised it was getting dark and there was no sign of a helicopter. You checked the tracker on your neck and it was broken. You checked Quaritch's tracker 'damn it! ' his was also broken. You looked around yet again and spotted a little cave. You got the courage to get up and grabbed the stuff and started to walk towards the cave,it way far away and it hurt when You stepped.You had the samples luckily so it was important that they were safe.

You walked back towards courage and looked at his body. 'Damn' you though. You needed to carry him. You kneeled down and grabbed him by the arms and slowly started to drag him. You felt your left injured leg started to bleed. 'Shit..' looks like you weren't gonna make it. 'I need to give him a safe spot to wakeup' that incouraged you to eventually get him to the cave. You fall on your ass, exhausted of the long walk. You got his back pack to get bandages and but realised there weren't any!! You panicked, in response you knew you had bandages in your bag and reached for it. When you pulled them out of your bag you thought about bandaging him, or yourself. There wasn't much and so it was hard to decide. You glanced at him and thought how much more of a strong and more important person he was. You couldn't let your... Crush die... So you started to bandage his head. His waist was hard to wrap around because by God was he heavy to turn!

When you were done you went back to his head to keep it comfortably in place. You looked at your injured leg and started to realise that you were breathing heavy and feeling dizzy. You got your body underneath Quaritch's head and placed it on your stomach because it was the only thing you can think about to keep him comfortable since the bags were damaged and torned apart. You leaned back, feeling your eyes getting blurry and finally closed your eyes, thinking if Quaritch will make it...

Minutes have passed, and finally, Quaritch gained consciousness and woke up. He felt his head on something soft and so he reached his hand to see what it was. His hand trailed on the squishy rock. He felt confused when he reached a small hand, he shoot his body up when he realized what has happened before and looked behind him.

There you were, sleeping peaceful. He reached around his waist and saw the bandages, but they weren't e avatar bandages... They were humans! He looked at you and looked back and realised that you rather save him that yourself. He blushed at the thought of your caring personality. His ears perked up when he heard a helicopter coming his way, he stood up and started to walk in the open field. He saw the plain and started to wave to get it's attention. When the plain was coming towards him he Imidietly goed back to you and lifted you up, but this time he carried you bridal style. While the plain landed, he looked at your stupidity of how you should've bondaged yourself than bandaging him.

End of part 2

<Wow what a twist in environment, hope your enjoying this one because that other one will be the last one. And it will get heated, but not only in an argument ~>

[dameronology]

you have my number {bucky barnes x reader}

summary: bucky barnes' memory is a little selective, thanks to all the brainwashing - but one thing he'll never forget is his love for you, even if you're a complete & utter pain in the ass. his ass. (based on deja vu by olivia rodigro)

^even tho this fic refers to bucky as having a new gf, the reader is still g.n :)

this is spoiler free! enjoyyy

- jazz xx

Your relationship with Bucky Barnes had been nothing short of a train wreck.

And frankly, that was putting it nicely.

It had been a short & passionate affair; intense and sweet and filled with so much emotion in such high concentrations that you'd both almost drowned in it. For every euphoric moment, there had been one so low that you'd scraped your knees on the ground. Climbing a ladder to heaven whilst simultaneously digging your own graves had taken its toll on you both, and eventually, you had no choice but to go your separate ways. It had been for your own sanity, really.

So there he was, tucked away in a neat little box in your brain, labelled don't touch, ever. Even when you were completely wasted, surrounded by your friends and their respective lovers, you never dared to venture back down that particular memory lane. Forgetting all the bad parts and selectively remembering the good parts was easy enough to do, but you had the common sense to remember why you'd broken up in the first place. Because Bucky Barnes, despite being easy on the eyes and having a charming sense of humour, was a pain in your fucking ass. He managed to press every one of your buttons without even trying and his ability to bring out the best in you was completely and entirely wiped out by his tendency to bring out the worst. That wasn't even getting started on his emotional hold-ups; a can of worms neither of you had dared to open until it became the very reason for your demise.

Six months had passed, and you'd managed to expertly avoid him. You worked different missions and Sam Wilson, god bless his sweet soul, went the extra mile to ensure your paths never crossed in a professional sense. On a personal level, however? That was a little more difficult. New York City felt a lot smaller after your break up. You found yourself occasionally ducking under your hood when you saw him on the F-train, or rushing to cross the road when you saw him coming towards you on the street.

That was when you had the whole city to lose yourself in; streets and shops and little food carts to distract yourself with should you need to. Being confined to the same room for a work party was a different story entirely, and one you didn't want to read. Yet, thanks to some insistence from your boss and a little grovelling from your colleagues, you found yourself rocking up to the former Avengers tower on a Friday night.

"So you do exist outside of your work uniform?" Sam Wilson greeted you with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah - nice to see you too, Wilson."

Despite your initial attempts to elbow him in the rips, he wrestled you off of him and pulled you into a tight hug. Sam was one of your favourite colleagues and oldest friends - he'd witnessed the rise and fall of your relationship with Bucky, and been there for you both during the break-up. That had been an exhausting few days, running between your respective apartments in an attempt to offer emotional support to you both.

"D'you want some champagne?" He asked.

"I'm good, but thank-"

You froze, eyes widening at the sight of James Barnes across the room. He looked quintessentially the same, bar for the fact his hair was a little longer and he had a fresh, pink scar under his left eye. Having ditched his usual attire for a black blazer, he looked good. Annoyingly so, in fact. It made you secretly grateful that you'd chosen to dress up a little more than usual too.

"- on second thoughts." You took the flute of champagne from Sam, also grabbing a shot of vodka from the same trey. It was gone in seconds.

"Need I ask?" Sam gave you a playful frown. His brown eyes followed your gaze over his shoulder, landing on the man you'd been staring at. "Ah. I need not."

"Sorry." You murmured. "We haven't actually spoken since, y'know."

"Since you had a break-up that made Ross and Rachel look good?"

"I don't think Bucky has ever seen Friends." You quipped.

"His loss." Sam shrugged. "You should talk to him."

"Nope." You snorted. "Absolutely not. I don't even know if he's moved on."

"Judging by the pretty blonde on his arm, I think he has," Sam replied. "Would you look at that! They're headed right for us."

That was a lot of information to process at once. You would have needed a week alone for your poor, tired brain to deal with the fact that Bucky had someone else on his arm, and a further three days to big yourself up enough to talk to him. Alas, that was not the case tonight. Instead, you had about five seconds between Sam finishing his sentence and your ex-boyfriend reaching you. It was just as well you found the energy within that timeframe to down your champagne.

You could see the woman on his arm clearer now. To give credit where credit was due, she stunning. She looked like the sort of girl who smelt of strawberries and Chanel, and grew her own vegetables on the fire escape. The kind of person you swore to be with every New Year that came, but quickly ditched after a week, returning to drinking coffee from the Starbucks under your apartment rather than going to the organic, vegan place a few blocks over. There was an ethereal glow about her and fuck. You were mad.

"Sam!" Bucky called out to his friend - for a minute, you thought he was ignoring you, before you realised he genuinely didn't recognise you. Your name rolled off his tongue with a tone of uncertainty, as though he was learning a new language and still learning how to pronounce things. "Wow. You look...different."

"So do you." You shot back. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Katie." He awkwardly smiled. "My...my girlfriend."

"It's nice to meet you." You forced an equally pained grin, taking her hand in a shake.

"How do you and Bucky know each other?" She asked.

"Work." Bucky quickly said. You thinned your eyes at him, almost in disbelief.

"So you're an Avenger like these two?" Katie asked, clearly not picking up on the tension. "That's so cool."

"Not in an official capacity." You replied. "But they'd be fucked without me."

--

The night only got longer from there, really.

There wasn't enough champagne in the world to help the void in your soul. It was a gaping wound that Bucky Barnes had both filled and widened - and tonight, he was doing the latter. It sounded as though him and Katie were having a grand ol' time of it. From the parts of the conversation that you'd actually bothered to listen to, you'd gathered that she'd arrived in New York from London just over three months ago. That meant she had a fucking accent. Of course she did. It made everything she said a thousand times more interesting.

"We were in Paris, in this little cafe. What was it called, babe? Maison de vie?"

"Maison de l'amour, doll." Bucky corrected her. It had only sounded right when he was calling you that.

Your eyes shot up from your drink, immediately staring daggers at them both. The slimy bastard. You had been the one to show him that place. You'd been in Paris for a mission, and after realising it was your four-month anniversary, you'd taken him there for pancakes. It had been a slow morning, filled with hazy eyes and pink skies, and it had ended with him dropping the L-bomb for the first time. The photo you'd taken of Bucky, sat beside a pile of pancakes the same size of him and with whipped cream on his chin, had been your phone background until the day you broke up.

"I've been there." You didn't break away from his gaze, holding cold blue eyes in a trance that he found to be almost suffocating.

"Oh, nice!" Katie beamed. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah." You sniffed. "The company was shit, though."

"Oh, man." She replied. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not your fault." You gave her a sweet smile - to Bucky, it was a look of venom. "So, tell me more about your trip to Paris."

He quickly cleared his throat. "We didn't do much. Just a weekend getaway-"

"- are you forgetting that we saw Billy Joel?" Katie cut him off with a laugh. "The Billy Joel!"

"Right." It looked as though his mouth had gone completely dry.

"He told me he loved me for the first time to Uptown Girl-"

"-excuse me for a moment." You shoved your glass in her hand, before backing away from your little huddle.

Your brain was focused on getting away and only on getting away. The room suddenly felt a thousand times hotter, and a thousand times smaller too, as though the walls were closing in on you. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if they'd just collapsed around you and swallowed you fucking whole. Anything to get away from this situation.

Making a beeline for the balcony doors, you elbowed them open and stepped outside. The cold air of the rooftop gardens was a welcome contrast to the stuffy indoors, biting, night air hitting your face like an icy hug. The sounds of the city rung below you - sirens and yells and tourists - and tangled into the faint sound of the music, all parts of a world that your brain was working overtime to block out.

You focused on the city instead, using the bright lights of the surrounding buildings to anchor you to reality. None of it really even made sense - you were over Bucky. Had been for a long time. It was just the thought of him doing all the things that he'd done with you, with someone else. It made you feel a little bad for Katie, too.

"I was going to tell you about Billy Joel."

You glanced over your shoulder, giving a derivative snort. "Piss off, Bucky."

"I'm serious." He ignored your demand, cautiously approaching you.

"I brought you those tickets!" You turned around to face him. "We were meant to go together. Billy Joel was our thing."

"We broke up!' He reminded you. "Like I said, I was going to tell you that we went together-"

"- I don't care." You cut him off. "I genuinely don't care."

"That was a lot of storming off for someone who doesn't care."

"Okay, maybe I care a little bit." You huffed, taking a seat on a bench. "It's not even that you're with someone else, it's that you're doing all the things we did. The nicknames, the pancake place, the concert."

"I..." Bucky took a seat beside you, pondering for a moment.

"And declaring your love for someone to Uptown Girl is fucking weird." You muttered.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Vienna, obviously."

"You're such a pain in the ass." Bucky replied. "But for what it's worth, I wasn't thinking of Katie in that moment."

You glanced up at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"D'you remember that morning when we were in New Orleans?" He asked. "And we had a few hours to kill before our flight, so you started dancing around the hotel room to Uptown Girl?"

"I remember." You softly smiled.

"That was when I realised I loved you." He admitted. "I was replaying that in my head at the concert, and it just kinda came out, and Katie heard."

"Damn." You muttered. "Sucks to be her, huh?"

"I like Katie." He said. "Truth be told, doll, I'm still stuck in the past a little bit. With you, and with what we had."

"We fucking hated each other by the end, Buck."

"I know, but I mean all the stuff before that." He explained. "You were the first person who saw me for who I am and not what I've done. The first person that actually made me feel loved and worthy."

"I do try."

He lightly elbowed you "I'm serious. I think I'm just projecting my longing for what we had onto my current relationship."

"You're being painfully honest tonight." You observed. "It's fucking weird."

"Who taught me to be painfully honest?"

"Right." You rolled your eyes. "So this is how Frankenstein felt when he created his monster."

"You're the worst," Bucky muttered. "I genuinely am sorry, though. I shouldn't be recycling our memories. I should make new ones.'

Dusting off your trousers, you stood up. "You're right."

"Thank you, though."

"For what?"

"For finding me first," He replied, "and for teaching me what love is."

"Well, if you ever need to be reminded? You have my number."

[write-nerdy-to-me]

~ destiel fic, hurt/comfort, 1k words, for @castielsdisciple​  

“Be still,” Dean murmurs to Cas when he flinches away again. He’s tried to minimize how much he pokes and digs, knowing what a bitch it is to be on the business end of pliers, but he can’t help that some of the shards are buried deep. He waits patiently as Cas takes a large swallow from the whiskey bottle he’s clutched like a lifeline, then Dean picks out yet another broken glass piece and drops it into the cup next to his hip.  

It couldn’t have just been a cut-and-dry D-list case, because life — this life especially — doesn't work like that. It was inevitable for shit to go sideways on them, and it’s laughable, fucking inane Dean ever dared to think otherwise. (“Good things do happen, Dean,” Cas said to him once. Dean’s still not convinced that's true.) 

Dean doesn’t know what it is about Cas, but the monster, like, fixated on him. The whole night, no matter how hard Dean fought to get the ugly bastard's attention, it kept going after Cas. Then monster grabbed and fucking bodily tossed him out the window and let out a roar that felt like it shook the whole house; Dean's only felt his heart leap into his throat like that a few times. He didn't get time to even process what happened because the monster, having taken out one opponent, turned and advanced on him. Dean had to finish the job alone, not knowing if Cas was even still alive. He ran to find Cas lying on a patch of wood chips, shattered glass surrounding him like a halo. Those few short moments felt like several lifetimes as he slid to his knees next to Cas, who was winded and aching and breathing. ("You alive?" Dean asked, and Cas huffed out a pained laugh and flipped him the bird. "Yeah — yeah, you're alive, you asshole.") 

Dean could swear that Cas has a deathwish or something because the reckless motherfucker refused to be checked out at the hospital. Dean insisted that he needed to go, as only so much could be done with the sparse supplies they had. They argued, and in the end, Cas’ stubborn glare won out. If he was gonna be like that, then Dean figured the sooner they get a move on and save Cas from his own bullheaded stupidity, the better. The last thing they need is Cas getting an infection. And the way he climbed into the Impala, slow, graceless, hiding his winces and grinding his teeth, only further proved that they should head to the hospital, but Dean held his tongue.

The ride back to the motel was, to say the least, unpleasant. In their room, it’s not much better. 

For the past hour now, Dean’s painstakingly removed a myriad of embedded glass and wood shards from Cas’ back, wiped away the blood, and applied ice to the welts that have already turned angry and dark. Cas hasn’t said a word since their fight— that disagreement back at the old farmhouse, but Dean's talked plenty for the both of them. He’s lost count of how many times he’s repeated this mantra: Be still, be still. How many times it’s followed by tiny plinks of glass and wood into a plastic cup. Dean would think Cas finds it patronizing — insulting, even — if it weren’t for the way the coiled tension in Cas’ shoulders starts to ease whenever he speaks. If it makes this process easier for him… well, then who’s Dean to deny him?

“Be still. I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Another glass piece. Plink.

The A/C unit in the corner kicks over with a wheeze. Cas says, “I don’t deserve this,” in a voice so hushed Dean would’ve missed it if he wasn’t sitting right behind him. 

Dean’s hands stop, just for a moment. Plink, plink. “What are you talking about?”

Cas sighs. “I don’t deserve this. Your attention, your care, your lo—” He cuts himself off, arms coming around his middle and shoulders hunching away from Dean’s hands. A soft hiss escapes his lips as the motion tugs sharply at his wounds. He sounds like wishes he could take back the words the second they leave his mouth and hates himself for it. “Your kindness. I don’t deserve it.”

How could Cas think so little of himself? Believe himself so unworthy that he shouldn’t even receive the most basic care? But Dean gets it, maybe more than Cas realizes. “That’s bullshit,” Dean says mildly. Plink. 

“Dean...” Cas starts to shift further away from him, and that won’t do, because he needs to listen, needs to hear what Dean’s telling him, and he won’t if he’s already sinking into himself. 

“Don’t, I’m not finished,” Dean admonishes quietly. “I’m serious. Don’t move.” He touches Cas’ waist and— and he just stills with a shaky breath. If this were any other time, Dean would dwell on how Cas caves at the slightest touch initiated from him, how he always just lets him.

When it seems like Cas isn’t on the verge of bolting, Dean says, “I know there's something about this case that got to you bad — don’t think I didn’t notice, man.” Hunts aren't easy, and unexpected bodies turning up are never something a good hunter takes lightly, but Cas seemed to take each one like a devastating blow. Dean tried to press Cas about it, and he shook off Dean’s worry and pretended that everything was fine. Dean doesn't have to be a good hunter to know Cas was lying. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Cas turns his face away. “There’s nothing to talk about.” A beat. Then, “I think you’d be better off hunting with Sam again.”

The fuck? Taken aback, heat starts to crawl up Dean’s face. Part of him wants to be angry — hell, he kinda is, underneath the hurt — but he takes a breath and lets it out slowly, for once grateful Cas is facing the other way. “I like hunting with you. Besides, Sam's got his club going on, and anything with Eileen he likes to be involved.”

“Maybe you should have a different partner. One that doesn’t fuck up.”

“Everyone fucks up,” Dean says defensively. “Cas, if this is about what you did, you’re already forgiven for that—” 

But Cas isn’t listening. The dam's busted open. “I’m supposed to— I used to be an angel. My powers, I could... I could help you, I could help Sam, but now I can’t — I can’t even do that.” Cas covers his face with his hands, rakes them roughly up through his hair. “I’m — I’m useless.”

Dean’s heart clenches sharply. He knew that the fading powers and subsequent loss of them had been hard on Cas, but Dean didn’t know it was affecting him this badly. Then he feels like an asshole, because of course this was, for fuck's sake. “Cas…”

Cas turns around, winces as he moves too quickly. He touches Dean’s face with gentle, hesitant fingers. There are scrapes and cuts Dean hasn’t taken care of yet, too occupied with making sure Cas doesn’t get a damn infection. Cas’ eyes grow sad; his brow furrows. “I miss— With a touch, I could heal you. I wouldn’t need you to care for me this — this way.” 

“Cas, man, you gotta know that it’s never been about your powers. You’re not a-a tool, Cas. All I want— It’s just you. I told you, man. I’d rather have you. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

Cas is quiet for a minute. “Your faith... I've always admired it. How you put your trust in people. You're a good man, Dean."

"Yeah, well." Dean clears his throat. "Gotta make up for all the bad shit I've done, right?"

Cas hums, unconvinced. He grabs the damp rag that held the ice, shaking out the remaining pieces. He doesn’t seem to care where the ice landed. "Let me?" 

Dean almost says no, he's fine, but something in the way Cas looks at him... "Okay."

Cas wipes away the dried blood on Dean's face. Lately, he and Cas would be arguing, if they weren’t busy giving each other the cold-shoulder. It’s not the first time they’ve been at opposite ends or had disagreements — Dean refuses to say they bickered — not by a long shot. It’s just... been a while. Dean thought they were past petty fights. Now, though, they fall into a comfortable silence, for once not thick with tension from the unsaid. 

Cas’ thumb traces over the scar on Dean's chin, and he says, a hopeless look in his eye, "I love you. Did you know that?"

Dean just breathes and touches Cas' wrist. "Cas..."

"You don't have to say anything. I just thought you should know."

Dean tugs the rag out of Cas' hand. His mind is taking a second to reboot. But he knows — he knows he needs to kiss Cas right now. "C’mere," he mumbles and cups Cas' face between his palms and presses their mouths together. When they separate to breathe, Dean says, “It’s always you, Cas. You know that.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I love you.” The smile Cas gives him is soft and crooked and still sad. Dean’s not stupid; he knows things with Cas are rocky at best, but it’s a start. “Now turn back around so I can get the rest of the junk out, asshole.”

[deannaroxannewrites]

Tropetember Day 8 - 5+1 / 3+1

You're in my sickbay again...

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x GN!Reader

Fandom: Star Trek (I was writing it as AOS but pretty sure it works for TOS as well if that's your jam)

Rating: Teen and up

TW: Mentions of torture, mention of injuries

AN: Day 8 of @tropetember. Not a massively in depth fic, more like snapshots of situations that occur through the relationship.

3 times Dr McCoy didn't want to see you in his medbay and 1 time he did

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 1.3k

1

While you hadn’t been expecting to be beamed directly into the quarantine suite in the Medbay of the USS Enterprise, after three months working with Captain James T for Trouble Kirk, it wasn’t totally surprising either.

Kirk had been invited to a celebration feast in a system you were exploring, but had only been allowed to bring one guest. As Chief Security Officer or CSO, you had been volunteered for the position.

You had done everything you could to keep the Captain away from anything questionable. Sadly, conversations with him usually went something along the lines of:

“Jim, no”

“Jim, yes”.

It was something you regularly discussed in your sessions with the ship's newly appointed counsellor.

Since quarantine procedures were only instigated when the transporter detected an anomaly in the crew members being transported, and assuming it was due to Jim, you just sigh to yourself and shake your head.

“I told you to watch him closely!”

The southern drawl didn’t soften the accusation, even deadened as it was by the plexiglass divider that separated Quarantine from the rest of the medbay.

“I did! I don’t understa…”

You trail off as you have a sudden realisation and groan.

“I found him with his tongue down the Princess’s throat.”

Dr McCoy gives a long suffering sigh.

“I’ll have to run tests on both of you. The transporter team couldn’t definitively tell if you both have it.” He pauses and looks you up and down. “I expected better of you Lieutenant Commander”

“Yeah, cos you’re so much better at this than I am. It was Orion herpes last time, wasn’t it?”

The CMO just smirks and tells you to stop pointing fingers before sauntering off towards the storage cupboard. You respond by flipping him off. And you maybe watch his ass a little.

Turning to the Captain, who has been uncharacteristically silent until this point, you channel your inner McCoy.

“Goddamnit Jim!”

Jim decides that you and Bones are spending too much time together.

2

When Scotty had called to warn Dr McCoy of an incoming victim of an explosion in engineering, he had not expected it to be you.

“You’re in my sickbay again sweetheart.”

He uses a sing-song tone that he doesn’t employ with the rest of the crew. Nurse Chapel, who is at the other side of the bed, takes note to check in with the Captain as to the state of the betting pool. She believes she may have lost.

You nod in response to the doctor’s enquiry. You’re in far too much pain to think of anything more complex than that in response.

“What were you even doing in Engineering?” he grumbles to himself, moving around in the space to grab hypos, bandages, burn salve and a dermal regenerator. “You’re almost as bad as Jim and Spock.”

You try to focus on him but you’re struggling to stay conscious. It’s not aided by the painkillers he dumps into your system.

McCoy gently moves you to be laying on the bed. He’s concerned at the extent of the damage done and the nerve trauma to your arm. To ease your pain, he hits you with a sedative and you’re out like a light.

-------

You groan as you come back to consciousness, the light of the medbay hurting your eyes.

“Welcome back darlin’” you hear.

Smiling despite yourself, you squint in Leonard’s direction.

“I was helping with the repairs on the lower decks. I assumed it was safer than an away mission. Apparently I was wrong.”

Surprised laughter bubbles from the grumpy doctor as he agrees.

“Well, get yourself rested up. I’m serious this time. I don’t want to see you back in my medbay.”

“Sure” you agree, both of you knowing it won’t last for long. Occupational hazard. “Dinner and a movie on Saturday if the mean Doctor lets me go?”

3

It made a change for a mission to go wrong due to something Spock did but in a culture that valued feelings as much more important than logic, it was not that surprising.

Most of the crew had made a successful escape but yourself and Dr McCoy had been taken hostage during the initial skirmish. You’d been thrown in a cell together and that had been that.

Or at least, so you’d thought.

You’d been dragged from the cell, questioned and beaten in front of McCoy in an attempt to find out details of the Enterprise and it’s crew. You hadn’t broken, but by the time you’d been rescued, you definitely had at least a couple of broken ribs, a black eye and various assorted cuts and bruises.

Len was quiet as he helped to repair your injuries. Where you were black and blue, his torture had been psychological. He couldn’t get your screams out of your head.

Noticing his distracted state you grasps his jaw gently, disguising the wince it bring when it pulls a little, and raise his eyes to yours.

“This isn’t your fault.”

His eyes dart away but you stay firm.

“I am trained for this, Len. I’d do it again to protect you. But you’re going to need to let the guilt go.”

He sighs heavily.

“I’ll try.” He pauses to run the regen unit over your upper arm. “You’ll need to do me a favour though.”

“Anything.”

“Go on a date with me?”

Mr Spock had been on his way to apologise for the consequences of his actions but is distracted by the fact that he has won the betting pool. He better inform the Captain and come back later.

1

You’re still not sure how it happened. As CSO, your main responsibility was the Captain and when things went wrong, his safety was paramount. You couldn’t check on everyone else. You just had to trust that your team was doing their job.

You hadn’t even realised Len had been hit until you landed on the transporter pad.

There had been so much blood.

Now, you were pacing outside the OR. It had been hours since the beam out when finally M’Benga pops his head out.

“He’ll be ok. He won’t be working for a few weeks but he’ll be ok.”

Your knees give out from under you and you land heavily on the chair behind you. Tears of relief escape without your permission and you drop your head into your hands.

M’Benga gives your shoulder a squeeze, letting you know where Len is being moved to and giving you permission to stay with him, before heading off to finish cleaning himself up.

You take a deep breath and approach Len’s bed. His larger than life presence is softened in sleep and you can’t help but notice how fragile he looks.

Taking his hand, you place a kiss on his knuckles and then rest your head against the mattress. After nearly 36hrs awake, you’re out like a light

-----

You wake to the feeling of fingers running through your hair which you automatically nuzzle into. It’s nice. Comforting.

It takes longer than you’d ever admit to orient yourself, but when you do, you raise yourself and meet Len’s eyes. He has a soft smile on his face that you can’t help but mirror.

“Sorry for dropping in, I know you didn’t want to see me in your medbay.” It’s a cheeky comment but it widens his smile into a grin. You pat yourself on the back for lightening the atmosphere.

“I’ll let you off this time.” His voice is a bit scratchy from lack of use but it sounds like the finest music to your ears. How could you have been so close to never hearing it again? He continues, “care to join me for dinner? I’m afraid there’s only jello.”

You laugh at the silly grump of a man in the hospital bed. Your best friend. Your favourite person. The love of your life.

“I’d love to.”

[perlukafarinn]

sequel to this fic (read it for context. or don’t, i’m not the boss of you). i blame @hermywolf for this.

Things were tense for a while. 

Now, Dean knew why he was awkward. He’d offered himself up as Benny’s personal human juicebox and something in his fucked up, wires-crossed brain had gotten so turned on by the act, he’d been about point three seconds away from grinding on his friend like a sophomore at prom. 

He wasn’t sure what to make of Benny or Cas acting so weird.

Benny, and there was no other way to put it, had gotten really touchy-feely. Dean hadn’t realized how rare a non-violent touch was in Purgatory until it wasn’t anymore, until Benny kept putting his hands on Dean’s body, on his back, his shoulder, even his knee as they sat by the fire pit at night. Every touch casual and yet rife with some meaning Dean couldn’t comprehend, and every single one leaving Dean yearning for more. 

And then there was Cas. When he wasn’t hovering over Dean, constantly appearing between him and Benny, he was lingering somewhere behind them, sour-faced and glowering off into the distance. 

So yeah, tense. 

It was the first time Dean was actually thankful for the unending stream of monsters in Purgatory. The near constant combat didn’t leave much time to worry about anything else. Dean was almost convinced that they could get past this whole episode without mention, given enough time and distance and distraction by monsters.

Then Benny had to go and get hurt again.

It wasn’t life or death this time but it was close enough, a lucky swipe from a werewolf nearly tearing a hole open in Benny’s chest.

Cas got to him first again, heaving Benny to his feet and easily holding his weight when it turned out Benny’s legs couldn’t quite support him. Dean got there second, a few moments later, heart pounding as he surveyed the damage.

He met Cas’ eyes.

“Dean, no,” Cas said, catching on almost quicker than the idea had passed through Dean’s mind. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Dean said, face growing warm for reasons he really didn’t wanna examine. “You’ll heal me after, right?”

Cas sighed. “You know I will.”

“He’s right, cher,” Benny spoke up. “Gimme an hour or two to heal, an’ I’ll be fine. You don’t gotta do this.”

Dean ignored him, stepping in close and pulling down his collar. “Shut up and let me help you.”

Benny laughed, low and strained. “If you insist...”

He leaned in and Dean closed his eyes in anticipation, one hand grasping Benny’s shoulder to steady himself. It wasn’t enough, the sudden pain of fangs sliding into flesh sending him stumbling against Benny until an arm wrapped around his waist, holding him still. 

Heat stirred in Dean’s gut and he quickly tried to focus on the pain, on the unnatural pull of Benny’s mouth, on his knees still aching from the earlier fight.

It didn’t work. Somehow, the pain just threw the pleasure into sharper relief. It was all too much; Benny’s warmth against his side, his mouth hungry and insistent, his fingertips digging into Dean’s skin as he tried to pull him even impossibly closer. 

Dean opened his eyes and oh, big mistake. Cas was right there, inches away, still holding Benny upright as he drank his fill of Dean’s blood, staring into Dean’s eyes with a look that might almost be mistaken for hunger.

Dean should have looked away but he couldn’t. He felt trapped, pinned down by the monster at his throat and the divine creature staring him down.

A pained gasp escaped Dean’s lips as Benny pulled away his fangs. He didn’t back off completely though, mouth remaining at Dean’s throat as he carefully licked up every drop of blood. Dean shivered, knowing he should be recoiling in disgust and not fighting off every instinct to lean in closer. 

Finally, it was Cas who put an end to it, grabbing Benny by his hair and pulling him off. “Enough.”

Benny shot him an annoyed look over his shoulder. “Easy there, chief. Can’t a man enjoy a meal in peace?”

He wasn’t being serious, Dean knew. He was just trying to rile Cas up. 

Did that make it more or less fucked up that hearing Benny refer to him as ‘a meal’ kind of turned him on?

“You are not a man,” Cas said, voice low and dangerous. “And Dean is not yours to consume with reckless abandon.”

Holy fuck.

Dean glanced between them as they now stared at each other, Cas all righteous anger, Benny stubborn as a mule. The moment stretched on, tension building, and as Dean was sure something was about to snap, Benny looked away.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, laughing breathlessly. 

Dean shot him a curious look but he didn’t say anything else, letting go off Dean and backing away. Dean stumbled on unsteady legs but Cas was there in an instant, arm around his lower back and hand raised to cover the wound on his neck.

It was too much, too fast. Dean’s head was spinning, still trying to comprehend everything that had happened in the last few minutes and drawing a blank on any plausible explanation. He felt lightheaded too, the blood loss finally catching up with him, and as warmth poured from Cas’ hand, healing him, all he could think was

Have Cas’ hands always been that big?

*

The third time it happened, it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination necessary. 

Still, Benny had broken his leg. Even if it would only take a few hours to heal it would still slow them in the meantime. And even if he could still fight in this condition, why make an already difficult situation even worse when they had such an easy solution?

Cas didn’t protest this time. He took one look at Dean and sighed, sounding defeated. “If you must.” 

Guilt stirred in Dean’s chest, strangely enough. “It’s easier for all of us this way, right?”

Cas didn’t look like he agreed. “Let me know when you need me to heal you.”

And he stormed off. Dean watched him go, the guilt growing stronger. Which was ridiculous, what the hell did he have to feel guilty about? Cas healed him without complaint after any other kind of injury. What made this so different?

Dean looked at Benny, who was sitting on the ground with his broken leg, watching the proceedings with an odd look on his face. His expression softened when he met Dean’s eyes.

“I hope you don’t feel obligated to do this,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything, you gotta know that.”

“I know.” Dean swallowed, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I just wanna - it’s not a big deal.”

He walked up to Benny, kneeling down on the ground next to him, straddling one thigh as he tried to find a comfortable position.

“You keep saying that,” Benny said. 

He put his hand on Dean’s waist, steering him closer as if it were second nature. 

“Cause it’s not.”

Benny hummed, eyes hooded, gaze unfocused and hungry as Dean leaned in. “It is to me.”

He bit down, lighting fast, saving Dean from coming up with a response. Dean didn’t bother to silence his whimper or to resist the urge to sit down on Benny’s lap fully, drinking in the touch of him as Benny drank his life’s blood in slow, deep pulls.

He didn’t take much this time, barely giving Dean time to get used to the pain before he was pulling his fangs out again, laving his tongue over the wound to soothe the sting of their exit.

“This isn’t a one-way street, you know,” Benny muttered, lips still pressed against Dean’s neck. His tongue darted out again, licking up a stray drop of blood. “I’m sure there’s something you want I could give in return.”

And Dean didn’t doubt for one second just what he was implying. It was hard to, really, with Benny’s dick growing hard against his ass, feeling impossibly hot even through the layers separating them. 

It was tempting. No one had touched him that way in far too long and Benny was willing, more than. He wanted it as badly as Dean did and they were already half-way there, practically dry-humping on the cold, damp ground of Purgatory.

But… “Cas.”

Benny sighed. Pulled away and Dean missed the warmth as soon as it was gone. “Yeah, of course.”

“Sorry,” Dean said, not really knowing what he was apologizing for.

“Don’t be.” Benny looked up at him, a teasing glint entering his eye. “You know, he wouldn’t have to be a problem. I wouldn’t mind him joining in on the fun.”

A fuse blew in Dean’s brain. He shot to his feet, nearly stumbling over Benny in the process.

“That’s - I don’t -” Dean stuttered. “He wouldn’t!”

Benny gave him a meaningful look, though what meaning was completely lost on Dean, and got to his feet. 

Instinctively, Dean held out his hand. Benny grabbed it, grasping it tight even as he got to his feet, steady as if he’d never gotten hurt at all. He leaned in and Dean didn’t even think, staying perfectly still as Benny kissed him. 

He tasted like copper, blooming bitter on Dean’s tongue. 

“Offer still stands,” Benny said, pulling away with a grin. “If you change your mind.”

Dean stared.

“Now go find your angel and get patched up.”

An order. Okay, Dean could follow that, even if his mind was becoming more of a jumbled mess by the minute. He walked away, going in the direction Cas had disappeared to and finding him a short distance away, standing in the middle of a clearing.

He looked up as Dean approached, opening his mouth to speak but whatever he had to say dying on his tongue. Dean stopped a few feet away, suddenly feeling wrong-footed and uncertain. 

Cas closed the distance between them, slowly walking up to Dean, into his personal space and then closer still. He raised his hand but he didn’t reach for Dean’s neck, for the still-bleeding wound just below his jaw.

Instead, he softly cupped Dean’s face, placing his thumb on his lower lip. Dean froze, breath caught in his throat, heart beating wildly against the cage of his ribs like a frightened animal.

“Did he-” Cas started then stopped. 

He dropped his hand. Dean followed it with his eyes, spotting the dark smear of blood on Cas’ thumb. Dean’s blood, left on his lips by Benny.

Oh.

“Be careful,” Cas said, finally placing a hand - his other hand - on Dean’s neck and healing Benny’s bite. “Behaving recklessly in Purgatory has too steep a price.”

The warning rankled something deep in Dean’s chest. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to disobey, to lean in and smear his blood on Cas’ lips like Benny had done to him. 

He ignored it. Reckless or no, Dean wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew a rejection when he saw one.

[trashcanfanfics]

Hmm, Angel Dust with an S/o noble overlord who managed to break Angel's contract with Val and take him away from him. fluff mixed with a little nsfw :)

I'm gonna be honest, whenever I think about Angel, all I wanna do is get him tf out of Val's reach

Also, only slight nsfw because I'm not confident in my abilities to write a full on scene for that, I'm sorry :(

Angel had come home, covered in bite marks and his own blood again. You watched from the couch with your book in hand as he walked in through the front door. It worried you, that he would come home like this, broken and defeated.

"Welcome home, my love," you spoke softly as you rose up to go greet him, setting the book aside. He mumbled out a half assed greeting in response. As soon as you were close enough, you hugged him tightly. Angel wrapped both sets of arms around you and let out a shaky sigh. It sounded like he was ready to cry.

"Would you like a bath? I'll draw you one." You gently let go before you grabbed his lower left hand to lead him to the huge bathroom centered around a giant clawfooted tub. Refusing to let go of his hand, you turned the knob to start the water and waited for the right temperature before plugging the drain.

Once the tub was full, you stood, facing him and gently helped him take off his clothes. You barely grazed your hand across one of the marks, making him hiss in pain. This made your blood boil. You were sick of this. Angel coming home beaten, marked, and in despair. You won't stand for this anymore. He had begged you not to get involved, said that it'd be worse if you intervened. You helped him into the tub once he was fully undressed.

"Ya not gonna join me?" He asked in a small voice, he was tryng to sound playful but it came out sad, defeated. You smiled weakly and shook your head.

"No, I thought I'd just wash you tonight, if that's alright with you." You liked doing this after he came home like this, offering him a choice. Giving him the freedom to ask for what he wanted. There was a sneaking suspicion you had that said he just wanted to wash off and sleep. The bags under his eyes helped this theory.

"That sounds nice." He sank deeper into the tub as you turned the knob off and helped him clean the blood out of his fur. The gentle motions of running your hands in his soft hair was enough to let his shoulders droop in relaxation. Your mind drifted off while you cleaned him. You kissed his head, healing his wounds, a habit now.

Valentino will no longer hurt your beloved. You would not allow him to do this anymore. These past few weeks you've been researching and studying dealmaking. The processes, terms, and ways to look into loopholes. All you have to do is get your hands on the physical contract to see what you can find. If you couldn't find anything, you'd just set the contract on fire and hit Valentino before running away.

After Angel was fully clean, you grabbed his favorite embroidered towel and helped him out of the bath. Once again grabbing his hand, you lead him to your shared bedroom and helped him into the softest pajamas he owns. He laid down under the silky sheets on the plush mattress and snuggled into it. You changed into your own pajamas before snuggling in with him. Your fingers gently brushed through his hair as softly sang him to sleep. You ran your thumb across the slight purple under his eye, noting how exhausted he looked even in sleep.

~*~

You woke up to the early birdsong of the morning glory in your garden and gently disentangled yourself from Angel's many armsnd made your way over to the edge. There, you stood straight and rounded the bed quietly to place a soft kiss to his forehead. With one last glance, and a whispered "I love you", you turned off the light and left the room, down the hall, out the front door. You're going to pay that bastard a visit.

~*~

Angel woke up feeling better and less sore than he expected. He sat up and looked over to his loving partner's side of the bed only to frown. They weren't there. Getting up, he stretched and decided to look in the kitchen. Maybe they had gotten up already and were making breakfast, though they usually would have the staff take care of it. He didn't know why, they were an amazing cook and it was always a treat when you did make meals.

"S/o? Ya in here, babes?" He opened the door to see the cooks already making breakfast, one handed him a coffee when they passed by to get to some more ingredients, but you weren't there. They looked pretty busy, so he decided to take his cup and search elsewhere.

He checked the dining room, library, living room, their study, parlor, hell, even the garden (saying hi to Nuggets in his own little mansion on the way), but they weren't in any of those places! Where are they? He was getting worried now.

"Uh, excuse me, sire?" Angel looked to the speaker of the voice to see a small demon that reminded him slightly of Niffty. "My liege has left a note for you, sire." The demon handed him a small piece of paper, bowed, and then skittered off. Angel will never get used to the treatment here. He shook his head and focused on the paper.

"My dearest love, I will be out for a short while, but don't fret, I'll be home soon with a surprise and a gift. I love you very much, S/o." He read aloud. "Aren't gifts and surprises the same thing?" He decided to not worry about that and smiled as he imagined when you'd be back.

~*~

You entered your home tired and frazzled, but with a smile beaming with happiness. You had successfully gotten rid of the contract between Valentino and Angel. Now it was time to tell your lover and give him the gifts you bought him.

"My heart? I'm home!" You called into the foyer as you went deeper into the house. You checked the living room and parlor before you were wrapped up in an embrace of four arms.

"Babes! Where were ya? I woke up an' you were gone," he mumbled in your ear. You smiled and pat one of his arms to release you. He let go and you turned to face him, holding out all the gift bags you were carrying.

"S/o, what the fuck happened to you? You're bleeding!" At his exclaimation you look down to actually take yourself in and realize he's right. You were so caught up in finally setting him free and getting him gifts that you didn't notice the small cuts. Laughing, you wave your hand and fix yourself up with your abilities.

"So I was, thank you, lovely. Now, here!" You, once again, offer him the gift bags. He takes them in his lower set of hands and uses the upper set to hold your shoulders.

"We ain't gonna roll past that you were hurt, even if ya can heal them. Who did it?" There was murder in his eyes. Your gaze softened and you laughed softly.

"I was going to wait until you opened the gifts and ask 'what's the occasion?' But you seem so eager," you paused to reach up and hold his face in your hands, "Anthony Messina, you are no longer under contract with the overlord Valentino. You are a free man, my love." The expression on his face was nothing short of shock.

"What? Are you serious?" His eyes fill with tears as he breathes and realizes you're right. Angel wouldn't be able to feel Valentino's chains anymore. He was free. "I can't believe it." He lets out a laugh and the tears fall, ruining his make up. Angel lifts you up and kisses you hard.

"My star," you whispered when you parted. He kissed you again with more passion. Your hands travelled through his soft locks, relishing in the feeling.

"Caro mia." He kissed you again, longer this time. The bags fell from his lower arms which then made their way to your thighs, wrapping them around his waist.

"Shall we take this to the room, sweetling?" You asked when you separated again. Angel nodded vigorously and carried you, all the while kissing you.

In the room, you hear him kick the door closed and then lock the door with one of his arms. You continue to kiss and run your tongue along his bottom lip, asking for entrance, which he happily gives. Hands found their way to the other's clothes, ripping them off in urgency to feel each the naked bodies beneath.

You wiggled your half naked form from his arms and separated the kiss. Before he could complain, you grabbed his lower left hand and yanked him over to the bed, effortlessly throwing him onto it. You crawled on top of him and kissed him lovingly, caressing his face and then down his chest and finally resting on his hips, giving a small squeeze. Parting from his lips, you said a sentence that set his body on fire.

"I'm going to show you what a true claiming feels like."

[wisewidow]

Hello, Your Parents Want Me To Have Your Babies

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

SUMMARY: Melina, my workplace’s neighbour, wants to set me up with her daughter.

I'd only ever hear about Natasha every couple of weeks, when her adoptive father, the mechanic that owned the garage workshop beside my father's cafe slash bar, met up with my uncle for beers one day last year. Ever since then, our families have been loosely intertwined, friendly but not too close. Alexei fixed my mom's wrecked car for a cheap price, in return I let his youngest daughter Yelena have free coffees whenever she pops over.

From what my father told me, Alexei's entire family, including his wife, were all involved in the family business of repairing cars, except for his eldest daughter: Natasha, who turned out to be an FBI agent living in Quantico. Dad says they're proud of her but they miss her.

"(Y/N)," my brother calls from the kitchen. I put down my phone and find him balancing three plates of sandwiches and a salad in his spindly arms.

He opens his mouth to explain the orders, but I cut him off.

"Alexei," I say, pointing to the bacon and egg sandwich. "A salad for Melina. The tuna and tomato roll is Yelena's. Did they want drinks?"

Peter nods. "Four coffees and a large bottle of water, they already have them."

I ruffle his hair to thank him and grab the plates, balancing the third on my forearm until I can place it on a tray. I carry it outside, years of waitressing practice keeping it balanced, and head towards the garage.

"Melina?" I call. Moments later the raven haired woman slips out of the office and smiles. She yells something in Russian that causes Yelena to slide out from under a silver BMW, covered in black grease. Alexei appears moments later wielding a spanner.

They hound me for their orders, gratefully patting my shoulder and carrying their food away to their separate stations. Yelena disappears into the shadows with her sandwich, and her father to his desk, but Melina simply brightens and says, "(Y/N), have you heard? Natalia is visiting."

"Yes!" Alexei yells around a mouthful of bread. "Family, reunion! Grandbabies!"

Melina hisses something in their mother tongue. I laugh, and then ask if Natasha was bringing her kids, though I wasn't aware she had any.

"He means nothing of it, Natalia is focused on work at the moment. Too focused, I think. No babies. No partner."

"Tell her about her penthouse!" Alexei encourages.

Melina flaps a hand at him in irritation. "Yes, well, she has broken up with Bruce, the shy scientist from work. And then Sharon, charming field operative, also from work. And now she refuses to date. Because of work."

I chuckle nervously. "Where are you going with this?"

Melina smiles innocently. "Nowhere. What happened to your last girlfriend, again? Your father mentioned something about . . ."  The look in her eyes is enough to egg me on, though the subject is one I rarely speak of these days.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, "Carol left to travel Europe."

"Shame," she nods sympathetically. "You don't seem bothered. Are you not looking for a relationship?"

"Not actively, but I'm sure another troublemaker will find me. I don't have a good track record of steady relationships," I admit.

"Neither does Natalia!" Alexei shouts.

"Oh!" I say. "Does she want Carol's number? Or my friend Harley, she's not looking for commitment."

Yelena snickers. Alexei frowns. Melina chuckles. "No, no, Natalia needs someone she doesn't work with, and you need someone serious, and we need grandbabies before we die, since Yelena neglects it."

I flush a bright red. "Grandb— I'm— okay, first of all, neither of us have the equipment for that—"

"Neither did Dad," Yelena pipes up, referring to the fact that she and her sister were adopted.

"Hey!"

"(Y/N)!" Peter calls, rounding the corner. "Ned's coming over to pick me up, we need to finish our physics project. Uncle Ben should be here soon, can you manage the bar until he gets here?"

I jump onto the excuse and yell back affirmation, say a quick goodbye to Melina before speed-walking back to the cafe.

Peter leaves with Ned soon after, and Ben arrives at around the same time. I move to the kitchens while he takes over serving our regulars, as he's friendlier with them than me.

I work on making more sandwiches and tapas meals until four, when my shift ends. I kiss Uncle Ben on the cheek and head home.

The smell of paprikash greets me as I unlock the door to my apartment, which I guess means that my roommate is home. I call out a hello to her and head to the shower.

I groan happily as the hot water rains down on my front. I close my eyes and lean my head back, thinking over how strange the day had been, and lose myself in a trance of relaxation.

"(Y/N/N)!" Wanda barges in. I jump and almost slip grabbing the shower curtain to cover my body as I peek out at her.

"I'm naked," I hiss.

She ignores me and holds up two clothes hangers. "Pantsuit or dress?"

I push my wet hair out of my face. "Uh, are you bar-hopping with Vision or going to a family dinner?"

"Get together with some friends," she explains. "Vis, Sam, Steve and some guy named Bucky who I'm informed we're supposed to be pretending Steve isn't in love with, do you know him?"

"Nope."

"Okay, well, he's bringing some friends, so I'm bringing you. Don't make that face, you know almost everyone."

"I don't feel like getting drunk," I complain.

"Good! You can be the designated driver. Pantsuit or dress?"

Grumbling, I tell her, "Dress."

"Okay, thanks, you wear the pantsuit, be ready by seven. May the Force be with you!"

She ducks as I throw my shampoo bottle at her. We bicker and mock and tease as I pat myself dry and she changes into the scarlet dress.  While she braids her hair, I carefully slip into the navy and white striped pantsuit, and we move into her bedroom to make use of her vanity, since the sun's lowering position in the sky shone straight into the window while my room would be encased in dimness by now. I sit in the chair and she leans over me, brushing her eyelashes with delicate mascara.  We fall into our normal going-out-getting-ready rhythm, periodically handing each other different brushes, comparing lipstick shades, and commenting on our days. She tells me about her brother's latest shenanigans and I make the grave mistake of commenting on Melina's attempted set-up earlier today, much to Wanda's entertainment. The two had never met but they both shared the pure ecstasy that came with matchmaking involving me.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Wanda wonders.

"I've seen photos," I shrug. "She's a redhead. Yelena says she changes hairstyles often."

"That doesn't answer my question! Pretty redhead or no?"

"They were baby photos, Wanda! I didn't have an opinion on her looks past the Wonder Woman pajamas."

She hums, and turns to draw a small heart under my left eye with her gel liner pen. "It would be nice if you wound up with her, but if you do fall madly in love with her beautiful red locks and decide to move to Washington to marry her and have her babies, I will murder you. You pay your rent on time and you're fun and please, please do not make me move back in with my brother."

"Why does everyone keep bringing up babies?" I yell.

An hour later we're pulling up to the bar in the back of  a cab arguing about getting a cat. The debate of whose bathroom would host the litter tray is interrupted by Wanda spotting Vision through the window and quickly smacking my arm and hissing at me to hurry up and pay so she can sneak in and scare him. Unfortunately, I can't locate my purse inside my bag.

"(Y/N), (Y/N), go, go, go . . ."

"Wanda, Wanda, going, going, going . . . Aha!" I pay the driver and find myself being ushered inside before I can put my purse back in my bag.

Sam, a friend of Wanda's from college, ends up foiling her evil master plan by pointing her out as soon as she walks in the door. Vision, being a good sport, pretends to be startled when she yells "BOO!" in his ear. As she cackles manically before sliding into the chair beside him, I notice the only free space is by the pretty blonde woman beside a man with brown hair pulled into a bun.

"Oh, look who I dragged out with me!" Wanda exclaims, taking a sip of Vision's drink and making a grand gesture with her hands. "(Y/N)!"

I'm greeted with a chorus of hello's. I bow and grin as I sit by the woman and offer a polite smile. Steve leans over points to the brunet man. "This is Bucky, we were close as friends. As kids. We were close as friends, when we were kids."

Sam snorts into his beer.

Steve clears his throat awkwardly. "And this is his partner from work, Nat."

I get a closer inspection and my eyes widen in shock. "Natalia?"

"Her name is Natasha." Steve corrects.

"I thought her name was Natalie?" Vision frowns.

"She goes by Nat, who cares?" Sam shrugs.

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova?" Wanda yelps. "(Y/N)! You didn't tell me this was the Natalia!"

"The what? I— Do I know you two?" Natasha asks, bewildered.

"Not me!" Wanda says, and then makes a motion for zipping her lips shut.

Everyone turns to me. I chuckle nervously. "I should probably explain. Hi, I'm (Y/N), your parents want me to have your babies."

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

happy getting hitched day! 1.9k, (sort of) ft. this

Most days of the year, Sam's the optimist.

It doesn't usually fall on Dean to keep the spirits up in times of war anymore. Or worse, loss. And Dean, well, he thinks himself as enough of an in-the-moment kinda guy to not wallow when everything's not going to shit, right friggin' then.

Sam, on the other hand?

Beacon of light when there's a little Hell to raise, harbinger of hope when there's a God to defeat.

And losing his shit entirely when there's an aisle to walk down, leading to the girl of his dreams and the best decision of his life.

"Dean."

Dean fusses around Sam in compact little semicircles fixing his already perfect tux, while his brother panics in a way Dean only remembers from before the kid stopped having to look up at Dean.

But he's looking down at Dean now, wide-eyed and sweaty like the very first time Dean saw him off on a date when he was fourteen — with supple, bullshit eighteen-year-old advice, he bets — and thirty eight year old Sammy is, clear as day, losing his shit.

"Yeah?" Dean channels all the calm he's got into it.

"What if I forget my vows?"

"Well," Dean lifts his eyebrows, and picks up a linen thread from Sam's shoulder that caught his eye. "First of all, would kinda serve you right for writing six pages worth of them."

"Stop being a —"

"Front and back, Sammy. Front and back."

"Dean." Sam glares, more indignant than mad. Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam continues, replacing the look immediately with a troubled one that reflects the dilemma in his voice. "I mean, I've learned them, of course. At least I think I have — I practised twice last night, once this morning — but what's to stop me from fumbling, or forgetting —"

"Your gigantic nerd brain?"

"This is serious." Sam frowns, levelling another look at Dean like he's the one with the stellar proverbial cold feet. "Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean throws back immediately, and pauses in his shuffling around for effect. "Also, no. No, it isn't." And Sam goes to argue with a bitchface already surfacing, but Dean keeps going, sterner, more confident. This is something he's been doing all his life. He can probably talk the kid down from a panic high like this in his sleep. "And you're going to stop being a dumbass, and listen to what I'm saying."

"'M not a dumbass." Sam mutters.

"Yeah, you are." Dean shrugs, completely nonchalant, and Sam laughs in spite of himself, nervous, but a welcome improvement as he waits for Dean to proceed. (Big brother voice never lets Dean down.)

He's still got it.

"Here's what you're going to do. You're going to get out there," Dean continues, smiling now. "You're going to hold Eileen's hand while the minister marries you. And approximately ten to fifty minutes later, when he asks you to, you're going to look into her eyes, and you're going to say your vows. All stupid six pages of them, verbatim, 'cause I know you, and you're going to that's why."

"They're not stupid."

Dean hums in consideration, then smirks. "There's bravery in acceptance. They probably are."

"Cas called them exquisite." Sam crosses his arms, and Dean uses the opportunity to pick up a hair from his sleeve with a disapproving look.

(Dean had offered to give him a haircut seventeen times and gotten turned down, and now Sam was shedding.)

"Yeah, well, he's a walking-talking scrabble board with good manners, what is he supposed to do?" Dean rolls his eyes but instead of the expected response of Sam snarking back at him, bitchfacing him or something, Sam sighs.

The air thickens with something that's probably a bigger deal than having to wing a couple paragraphs of page three of the vows.

Dean watches Sam fidget with the buttons on his cuff.

"How did you know, Dean?" Sam asks, subdued, after a pause. "How did you know that Cas wasn't — that Cas wasn't making a horribly wrong decision."

Dean's almost halfway to making a joke about the other shoe but he stops himself.

Because this?

This, he gets.

This feeling of thinking — knowing — you're not good enough, that you aren't right for the one you love, that you're somehow deceiving everything that your life has stood as proof of, in allowing someone else to bind themselves to you, forever, when you know that everyone who's ever meant something to you has lost, and died, and hurt.

And that is exactly why he also knows what to say.

"Because I trust him, Sammy."

Sam's eyes start glazing over. "I trust her too. I just, I'm just so scared —"

Dean winces at his words.

(That's Sam, but it's Sam in Dean's shoes. It was Dean's job — for better or for worse — to keep him safe. And he's failed, failed repeatedly, and now Sam — well, he's as broken as Dean.)

"I love her too much for anything to go wrong, Dean, and something — no, everything, always goes wrong." Sam grits his teeth, and Dean puts his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Squeezes. "I get it. I swear to you, I do. But I also promise that you might regret the things we've done, and the things that have been done to us, but you're never going to regret this."

Sam nods jerkily, eyes downcast.

"And I get being scared. Hell, I was more scared than you the entire week, dude. But you know how — and why, I pushed through?" Sam looks up again. "Because at the end of all of this, there's something more important than the promises of eternal happiness, and forever, and the Celine Dion lyrics I know you've stuffed in your vows. There's them. The ones we love."

Dean swallows.

"And who love us too, because our fucked up heads be damned, I've seen the way she looks at you, Sammy." Sam's face breaks into a small, wet smile. "So you better believe she does."

"I do." Sam slowly nods, again, eyes brimmed with tears.

(Probably about to start spilling. The only consolation for Dean is that at least his tears don't fall. Means as long as he doesn't mind a blurry view of everything, he might as well ignore their existence like he means it.)

"There, was that so hard?" Dean laughs instead, although it's weak until Sam joins in, surprised, and only then registering the words he just spoke.

"Thank you, Dean."

Is all he says, and anything Dean might've wished to say (or wisecrack) back at him is dismissed immediately because he's being pulled into a full Winchester hug by his door-sized little brother, and all he can do then is hold onto Sam as tight as he's holding him, and hold on.

(Because they made it.

They found free will, they found love, and they found their happy ending.)

Because Sammy's getting married today.

And they don't just get to be okay anymore. They get to be happy.

Sam doesn't pull back from the hug for at least a whole minute, but Dean doesn't mind, because the tears welling up in his eyes are gone when he finally smiles at Dean, earnest. "I'm —" He starts to say, but gets interrupted by Cas walking up to them with a cluster of carnations in his hand, wearing a rich navy blue tux (the same as Dean's) and a wide smile.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," Cas beams, knowing exactly what he walked in on, and Sam shakes his head courteously while Dean battles the weirdly overwhelming need to kiss him right there — Cas is almost ridiculously beautiful when he's happy.

(He doesn't, though.

Cause he and Sam may've just had a moment but it's not like that means he'd be any less likely to be a pain in the ass about urgently requiring brain bleach and therapy, if Dean did.)

Cas carries on.

"Actually, Eileen's friend, Cara, brought her flowers and she suggested I should bring some to you."

"A corsage." Dean realizes out loud, beginning to grin at once, while Sam resorts to ducking his head like an overgrown teenage girl on her way to prom. Doesn't mean that Dean absolutely doesn't put on his best chickflick Dad voice (after he's taken over pinning the flowers to Sam's pocket from Cas, cause he was doing it wrong) and pat the corsage when he says, "Get 'er home by ten."

"The dynamics of that are all wrong." Sam points out with a traditional Sam smirk, and yeah, he's okay.

"The dynamics of your face are all wrong."

"Great comeback, yeah." Sam snorts, and Cas smiles. "Points for effort. I think."

"Whatever, you're the one wearing flowers right now."

"Dean, you wore an ascot on our wedding day."

"Ascot trumps flowers!"

"No, it doesn't." Sam bitchfaces, and Dean turns to Cas, and —

"No, it doesn't."

And Sam lets out a victorious "Hah!", and high-fives a (only slightly) confused looking Cas before pulling him into a sasquatch-sized hug as well, while Dean rewards the entire ordeal with a heartfelt eyeroll and absolutely doesn't look on at two of the most important people in his life while he pretends to be bristled about being ganged up against on his special day as Best Man.

Cas and Sam separate sooner than Dean and he did, and just in time for Jack to poke his head out the church door and remind them they're ready.

Then, Cas leaves to get Eileen, with another big smile and a signed Congratulations at Sam, and a fleeting cheek-kiss for Dean.

Then, Sam and Dean get in position behind the door and Sam refixes his tie.

(Then, Dean has to stage-whisper "Jack!" about seven times before the kid realizes he's being cued — the band had just started playing, he makes it a point to try to explain to Dean afterwards — and the great, wooden doors finally swing open to reveal a beautiful white aisle, and dozens of their friends and family smiling from both sides of it.)

And then, Dean finally walks the kid he's raised and the brother he's saved the World with countless times, down the aisle.

*

(Sam only messes up once in his vows. It's the last verse of Thank You, by Celine Dion.

Rumor has it, it was intentional.

Something about the first time they met.

Dean tells Sam, "You're welcome", the next time he sees him.)

[everythingisawayoflife]

sooooo, my first post about sickfic tropes just kinda sat collecting dust until recently when it blew up like crazy so, i guess i’m gonna make another one? i might repeat some stuff but here are more tropes that make me gush :) oh and tw for emeto just to let you know.

i saw a post about this earlier but when A has a chest cold and B tenderly rubs their chest to sooth the aches or rubs Vaporub on them like thats very sweet

something about the line “I don’t feel good” or “I don’t feel (very) well” is so adorable (bonus pts if A cuddles up to B while saying so)

when B dotes over a slightly annoyed A but B only does so because they’re worried

when a fever slowly overtakes A and makes them sicker as the hours go on (like they wake up fine but around noon they feel like absolute shit)

When A starts crying over a tiny little thing that frustrates them and when B goes over to comfort them, they realize oh shit they’re really sick

A being carried bridal style to a bed or couch or something when they pass out or if they’re too sick to walk

A being too exhausted to do anything

A apologizing for being sick and B quickly reassuring them it isn’t their fault

BREAKFAST IN BED OR ANY SORT OF MEAL IN BED WHILE B SITS AND CHATS WITH A

When B initally assumes a stand-offish A is just tired but when B sees them asleep on a couch and gets closer to A, B realizes that A is actually very sick

A waking up B in the middle of the night by coughing super hard and not being able to contain it (bonus pts if B rubs their back while they suffer the worst of their coughing fit)

B waking up to realizing A isn’t in bed with them and finding them crouched over the toilet, extremely nauseous

picture this: B is standing besides A’s bed while taking their temperature and A just leans their fevered forehead into B’s stomach while B runs their fingers thru A’s sweaty hair

when A is so congested, they talk funny

when it HURTS TO BREATHE (is that violent)

Let’s say A is crazy delirious and B has been tending to then all day and out of nowhere, A mistakes B for someone else like a mother or father figure and it just tugs on B’s heartstrings seeing A in such a vulnerable position

When A has to steady themselves on something so they don’t fall over

AFFECTIONATE NICKNAMES (baby, honey, my love, my darling, dear, sweetheart, etc)

examples: “oh honey, you don’t look so good” “you’ve got the flu, baby” “Stay in bed, sweetheart, I’ll be right back” “It’s okay, dear. It was just a fever dream” “You look pale, darling, are you sure you’re okay?”

y’all better be taking notes on these

B talking in hushed tones so they don’t make A’s headache or migraine any worse

shivering (bonus pts if the sick person feels freezing but to someone else, they’re on fire)

when A is super pale with the exception of this feverish blush across their face

FLU SEASON

when A is the type to be like “psh no I never get sick” and while that has been true, their streak is broken and they refuse to admit it

or, alternatively, A never gets sick but when they do, it’s very bad

“Will you stay?” “Of course I will.”

When A says “I’m so tired” in a very dry tone before passing out

A has a sore throat and when B looks to check it, their throat is all red and swollen (i’m a squeamish person but I like very good descriptions of someone who is sick)

When B says to a crying and feverish A, “Hey, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. Don’t cry, you’re only gonna make yourself sicker.”

B absolutely refusing to leave A’s side while they suffer, even though they’re barely getting any sleep

“You need to lie down.”

“Shh, stay down, your fever is too high.”

If you’ve heard the song “Wonderful Tonight” by Eric Clapton, it’s actually a somewhat whumpy song (covering this in the next few bulletpoints)

It’s based on something that happened with Clapton and his wife before going to a party thrown by George Harrison, I believe

The lyrics detail a man telling his wife she looks “wonderful tonight”. First when she’s getting ready, next when she asks him if he’s okay and he says he feels wonderful, and thirdly, he tells her while he is bedridden that she was wonderful tonight

The wife asks him if he feels alright and he responds with that he feels wonderful but later goes home due to an “aching head”—now he could just be drunk but I like to picture it as that he is sick and denies it throughout the night but they go home early because his wife realized how sick he was and drives him home because he’s too ill to do it himself and she later puts him straight to bed

that’s just my interpretation and it’s probably an incorrect one but I like to think that this is the case when I listen to the song

A claiming they are just tired the night before and then waking up the next day feeling and looking horribly

A being covered in a ridiculous amount of layers because they’re so fucking cold

or alternatively, they kick off everything that’s on them because they’re boiling

A deliriously telling B “you take such good care of me” with a dopey smile on their face

B helping A sit upright since they can’t do it themselves

Another picture this: A and B go to this party (separately, they aren’t together yet) and A finds themself feeling worse as the night goes on and eventually decides to take a nap on the thrower of the party’s couch because they’re “just a little tired, that’s all”. B wakes up in a completely different place only to find out A drove them to their place and tended to them through the night

i feel like no one talks about ear infections enough? i had one when i was little and even though i don’t remember much about it, i remember crying because it hurt a lot and i never wanna go through that much pain again

when B initially makes fun of A for being congested and having a funny voice and then becomes more caring and serious when A takes a turn for the worse

“I’b not sick *loud snort*”

when B makes A tea with honey to soothe their sore throat (or chicken noodle soup)

cold washcloths for a hot forehead

“You’re running a temperature”

“You’re burning up”

When B still wants to cuddle and touch A despite A protesting that B will catch whatever A has

When A’s sleeping and B throws a blanket over their shoulders

B forcing A to sit or lie down by pressing on their shoulders

When B’s hands move up from A’s neck to cheeks to forehead when checking for a temperature

i said this before but kissing A’s forehead to check for a fever

A being like “B, I think I’m gonna—” before taking off the find the nearest container to vomit into

or alternatively, not being able to make it in time and throwing up on the floor and feeling really guilty for it

A curling into themselves when they have an upset stomach or just really bad aches and cramps (bonus pts if they’re near tears or are already in tears)

B using homemade remedies to try and make A feel better and not being able to make it like “mom/grandma used to”

A walking around the house, hunched over and dragging a long blanket around the house

[r0zyp0zy0zy]

✾❃S.H+D.K- A Bisexual Mess✶

Make a request!

Master list

Warnings: Smut, threesome, spit roasting, suggested poly relationship

Words: 3407

Pairing(s): Kaminari Denki x Sero Hanta x FEM!reader

Summary: Being attracted to your friend is weird, and your boyfriend having a crush on him too is even weirder. 

Ok so I might’ve gotten carried away and prepared a basket instead... oops. Enjoy!

Part two

===NSFW UNDER THE CUT===

Sero Hanta always bragged about you to his friends, which wasn't a secret by any means. Well, not a secret to anybody except you. What can he say? You're perfect to him, and who's he to keep that information to himself? He would spew everything he loved about you and more, infuriating Bakugo and making Kaminari jealous.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, really! Well, not at first. Buuut... your pretty little boyfriend mentioned your name in his conversation with the Bakusquad, and you couldn't help it. You stood quietly outside of your home office— the only place in the house you allowed Hanta to smoke —and leaned as close to the door as you dared.

"She's just so perfect," you broke into a smile at Sero's words.

"Will you stop bragging about y/n-chan?" Kaminari groaned dramatically from within the room, "I almost can't take it anymore! You know that I like her. Stop making me jealous on purpose because I can't have her!"

Your eyes widened slightly at Kaminari's words. He did? Since when? Well, that was a silly thing to think; Kami has probably had a crush on everyone in high school at one point or another. But the fact that he just admitted it to Hanta was straight-up bold.

"Yeah I know," you heard Sero smirk, "ever since you've heard about her magic mouth you've wanted a piece."

"-wha? Wrong. I've had a crush on her longer than that!" Kaminari argued. You could hear Mina in the back cracking up.

"Will you two shut up?!" Bakugo yelled, rattling the door. "Every fucking time I'm here is all 'y/n this' and 'y/n that' ok we gET IT, THE TWO OF YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH HER!"

You stood in their silence for a moment, trying to process that holy shit, the Mega-Virgin Kaminari has a crush on you, even before you sucked Hanta off for the first time! What was happening?

"K'mon, bro," Kirishima chided, and you heard the slap of his hand land on Bakugo's back. "Chill out, take another hit. Y/n-san might pop in if she hears too much noise."

"Whatever, 'tch," Bakugo huffed, "kinda wanna go home anyway, you nerds don't have anything interesting to talk about."

You quietly hurried away to your shared bedroom at the sound of footsteps, pretending that you hadn't just heard Hanta openly talk about your 'magic mouth', and Kaminari's confession. You could still feel the flustered blush on your cheeks as Kirishima and Bakugo walked down the hall to the front door, the latter grumbling about "those damn nerds".

"Wait, guys," Mina called to them, "I don't want to be stuck with those love-sick idiots!"

After Kiri offered to buy the pink girl an Uber home and the front door was shut, all you could hear was the muffled conversation a room over. You snuck back to the office door, and pressed your ear against it.

"-s-stop!" You heard Kaminari stutter.

"Never! It's so fun to make you flustered over my girl," you playfully shook your head at Hanta's words. Typical Sero move.

It was silent for a few minutes, broken soon after with a, "dude! What the hell?" From Hanta.

"I- it's- it's your fault!" Kaminari retorted, apparently spinning around in the squeaky office chair.

"You-," Sero burst out laughing, "you got hard just from me talking about her! Bet it was the part I told you when y/n and I were at that one restaurant-."

"S-shut up!" Kaminari squeaked.

Your face flushed considerably pinker. Right here, right now, were two boys that were sexually attracted to you on the other side of the door. You felt your stomach flip and twist in excitement at the new feeling.

"It's kinda cute that you're so into her," you heard Hanta tease. "You're always a blushing mess, and just stuttering over your words."

"Damn S-sero," Denki said grouchily, "stop making fun of me."

You couldn't help but press your ear completely against the door, the two boys inside were too high to notice the shadow under the door anyway. Was Hanta... Flirting?

"I'm not making fun of you," Sero paused. "I'm just calling you cute."

You drowned out the rest of their conversation with your thoughts, trying to connect dots together. Hanta was a little suspicious at times from what you could see over his shoulder. Suspicious of what, exactly? Being gay, or at least bisexual. You saw him close tabs of soft-core gay porn occasionally, and you even accidentally stumbled upon Sero's old diary from years back. You didn't worry too much about it, but now... was he suppressing his feelings? Was he about to cheat on you?

Your heart dropped at that thought. Hanta was a nice guy and he wouldn't do that to you, right? He wouldn't lie about loving you. Not after what you heard earlier. Or was that just to fluster Kaminari? You shook your head in an attempt to clear your mind, and tuned back in on the two boys.

"-AH—! Wait!" You heard Sero panic, "I didn't- I shouldn't've-!"

".. shouldn't have kissed me?" Denki squeaked quietly so you had to strain to hear.

What on Earth did you miss while you were spaced out?

"Well- I was just thinking about h-how cute you are, and I forgot that I can't kiss someone who isn't my partner!" Hanta stressed, "god why do I have to love both of you..."

Your eyebrows raised at that, and listened in a little harder. Did you hear that right? Sero had a crush on Kaminari?

Honestly you couldn't blame him when the blond was so undeniably attractive, especially with the smudged black eyeliner on the corners of his eyes and the lightning bolt streak in his hair. You wouldn't lie that you liked him a bit too, but you suppressed those feelings for Hanta.

"I- I can go if you want," Kaminari mumbled, voice cracking slightly.

"Er- if you want. I don't mind chilling with you a bit longer. Just— don't tell y/n what happened. I- I'll tell her later when I figure out what to say," Hanta said.

"You sure she won't get mad at you?" Said a concerned Denki. "I know how much you love her, and I don't want you two to break it off.."

"Weeelll," Sero dragged on nervously, "y/n is very understanding, a-and I also need to tell her a few other things anyway."

You headed towards the living room, hearing all you needed to. You honestly didn't exactly know what to think about what just happened. Hanta kissed Denki, who likes you, and you that likes Hanta who also likes Denki. What even.

You sat comfortably on the couch, watching the last of the sun meander under the horizon. You nervously tapped on your phone after playing games on it for about an hour, waiting for Kaminari to leave so you could talk with Hanta. You finally heard the office door open, and you turned your head. Sero shuffled towards you with a sleeping Denki in his arms. The blonde's mouth was wide open and snoring lightly, drool going halfway down his chin.

"Uh," Hanta said awkwardly, "help."

You giggled and jumped up from your to help your boyfriend position Kaminari on the couch, who immediately latched onto a pillow mumbling incoherently.

"Whatta dude," you stated, fists on your hips.

"Yeah..." Hanta scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, I have to talk to you about something. It's pretty serious so we can wait until later if you want."

"Nah," you shook your head, "you've seemed off lately, and I'm guessing you just need it off your chest."

"Well, if you don't mind," Hanta plopped down on the love seat. You kneeled over to lean your head on his knee as he sucked in a shaky breath. "I- Um. I- I think I'm Bi."

You nodded your head understandingly, taking his hand in yours. "Ok, baby. Thank you for telling me."

"—there is o-one more thing I-I have to confess," Sero shook, "just please don't hit or yell at me."

"I would never, baby. I'm here for you," you looked up at him encouragingly, giving him a smile.

"O-ok. Uh, I kinda, well... I kinda kissed Kami. O-on the lips," Hanta's eyes looked away from yours, floating to the floor.

"Do you regret it?" You asked, keeping a calm exterior.

"Uh- I dunno. I do because I'm with you.. but... I- I think I don't," Sero looked incredibly guilty, and he squeezed your hand, "I love you, b-but I also have a crush on him..."

"That's ok," you reassured, reaching up to turn his head back to you, "I don't mind if you want to be in a relationship with him too, separately or not."

Hanta looked incredibly surprised, and a smile split his face, "really?!"

"Yes really," you giggled, kissing his cheek. "I can share you."

Sero, being the genius he was, suggested introducing Denki into the relationship with a threesome. Totally not skipping a few steps or anything.

"Are you sure he'd be willing to do that?" You had asked. "He's a virgin to basically everything."

"Oh, he'd be willing alright," Hanta smirked. "I'll message him about it then?"

"Mhm," you nodded, "it'll be fun. We'll get to tease him."

Denki was freaking out. Actually, he was more than freaking out. He was freaking out and jerking off. Multitasking. He could not believe his eyes when he opened Sero's text message, four glorious words: 'wanna have a threesome?'

Of course, Denki had asked if his friend had been joking or not before opening up his mind to fantasies. He got off rather quickly, though who could blame him. He swore that his libido was abnormally high, because even the thought of you, (and Sero as well), would get him flustered and he would pop a boner.

The next day when he came over, his teeth brushed and pubes trimmed, he stood outside your apartment door for at least a minute before knocking. His mind would keep circling the same thoughts: 'Sero just wants you to embarrass yourself in front of her', 'he told y/n about your crush and now they want to laugh at you', 'holy fuck is this actually happening', and 'I hope Sero actually doesn't mind sharing'.

"Sup, man," Hanta grinned as he opened the door for his blushing crush, a far too casual greeting for the situation about to unfold.

"H-hey," Kaminari grinned back, shuffling inside and slipping off his shoes.

"Y/n's just making up a snack so we can chat before uh, y'know," Hanta held back his blush, already nervous because damn, did Denki put on eyeliner or something? He looked hotter than usual.

"Take a seat in the living room, I'm almost done!" You called from the kitchen as you poured one last cup of tea. You carried the tray of tea and homemade cookies to the coffee table, and sat yourself down on the love seat. You couldn't lie— you were nervous as shit at the moment. You looked up as Hanta led a very flustered and anxious Kaminari behind him, and you gave a comforting wave.

"H-hi," Kaminari squeaked, sitting himself on the couch in front of you. He rubbed the sweat off his hands on his pants, trying to avoid your gaze.

"Hey!" You greeted kindly with a smile.

"Alright so now what," Hanta stated, plopping himself beside Denki only looking slightly nervous.

"We discuss boundaries!" You said cheerfully. You reached over for your cup and took a sip. "Any hard no's?"

"Kaminari's not fucking you," Hanta crossed his arms. "Not yet, I want it to be more special than this..."

Denki choked on his drink, sputtering on his tea.

"Kami, any hard no's?" you steered. 

"U-uh not right now," the electric blond stuttered, eyeing Sero nervously.

"Ok great!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands together, "the safe word Hanta and I use is 'soy sauce'."

"That's two-."

"Yeah same difference," you waved Kaminari off. "Anyway, my hard no's are just don't hit me, don't degrade me, and don't choke me out."

The two boys nodded anxiously.

"Holy fuck," Denki muttered as he watched Sero kiss your lips, palming his dick through his jeans. He admired your half undressed state as he feverishly threw off his T-shirt.

Without looking, Hanta held out his hand in a 'come hither' motion, and Kaminari steered over to his friend. Sero pulled away from you for a moment, guiding Denki's shaky hands to your bare waist. Once the two of you continued kissing, Kaminari hugged your waist closer and kissed the side of your neck. Your encouraging moans excited him, and he kissed your skin harder.

Denki's hips couldn't help but rut against your backside, drawing out a soft groan from him. He peered his head up to Sero, who turned to give him a gentle kiss, and Kaminari could feel your saliva on his lips. You turned to face the blonde, leaning forwards to propose a kiss. Denki filled the gap quickly, and met your lips with his. It was a messy kiss, but neither you nor Kami cared. You heard Hanta grumble in your ear, nipping at the cartilage carefully.

Honestly, Denki thought he was being spoiled rotten. You were so soft in his arms, and he swore he could stay like this forever. Sero's nimble fingers snuck to the back of your bra and quickly unclasped it, making Denki suck in a jittery breath.

"Hmmh," you sighed as Hanta cupped your breasts gently, waiting for Denki to desperately ask for a turn.

"You can touch her, Denks," Sero chuckled, leaning over and kissing his friend again.

Denki mumbled into the kiss, and shakily moved to grasp your tits from behind. His cock couldn't help but twitch in his pants as he massaged your nipples softly, his lips still locked with Hanta's. Kami pulled back with a gasp, strings of saliva still attaching them.

"Oh so good," Denki whined as he humped your ass, breathing heavily into your ear.

"Mmm, Denki~ take your pants off for us, won't you?" You licked your lips and watched as Kaminari hobbled out of his skinny jeans.

He looked at you with wide eyes as you sat on your bed, with Sero following suit. Denki moaned when the two of you started making out again, and nervously edged closer to the bed. You smiled at him encouragingly and reached out a hand to play with the elastic of his boxers. A whimper left his throat as you trailed a finger up his clothed shaft, and he eyed Hanta guilty.

"It's ok!" The smiling man replied, helping you get into a better position. "Let loose a little, dude."

Denki wasn't sure he could do that since you were slowly pulling down the hem of his underwear, his cock springing up to slap his stomach before standing straight out. He slipped down his boxers and kicked them away, having full attention on you and your beautiful e/c eyes.

Hanta was massaging your ass cheeks as Denki experienced your mouth for the first time, and he pulled down your panties, (which were soaked, by the way). You moaned against Kami's cock as Sero rubbed the inside of your thighs with his warm hands, causing Denki to let out a lewd groan. His eyes kept switching from you, to Sero, and back to you again.

"So wet for me, y/n," Hanta mumbled, "if I knew you were into this stuff I would've invited Kami over earlier."

You hummed in response, too busy indulging yourself with Denki's dick. You enjoyed making him squirm in his stance, licking over the glans of his cock and the underside of his shaft. You swore you could see his eyes start to water up.

Kaminari was wide eyed as he watched Hanta strip out of his briefs and give himself a few pumps. Denki's mouth opened in a silent moan when Sero lined up to your entrance and slowly inched inside, letting out a low groan when he bottomed out. You hummed diligently on the cock you were sucking and grabbed Denki's hand to put on your head, letting him grasp your hair like reins.

The electric blond babbled quietly as he watched Hanta pump into you, forcing Denki's cock further down your throat. The way your mouth contracted around him made Denki's legs shake, and he got red in the face trying to keep his hands from urging your head deeper.

"You look like you're having a good time, Denks," Sero commented as he admired the blonde's teary eyes. His hips rolled forwards in a new rhythm and you griped pleasantly as you fisted the sheets under you.

"Fuuuck yeah," Kaminari grumbled, catching up with his friend's rhythm. He was over the moon, and was just trying not to cum prematurely so he could enjoy this moment longer.

"Don't be afraid to fuck her face," Hanta said smugly, repositioning his hands on your hips. "She loves choking on cock, ain't that right beautiful?"

You wept in agreement, looking up at Denki with soft, pleading eyes. You bobbed your head faster in his loose grasp, gagging and sputtering on spit and precum. The man above you groaned with satisfaction and fisted your hair and forced his dick deeper into your tight throat. His thrusts came in a perfect rhythm with Sero's, and whenever you moved, you were getting impaled from either end.

Your limbs shook as you struggled to breathe with the cock in your mouth, and your pussy clenched around Hanta desperately. You felt tears stream down your cheeks as you sobbed for breath, enjoying every moment. You nearly squealed as Sero pressed a vibrator against your clit, and your vision fuzzed a bright white.

"Gonna cum, baby?" Hanta egged on, panting for oxygen. "C'mere Den, kiss me."

You whined loudly as you heard the two men kissing above you, and your stomach tightened and rolled around pleasantly. You gurgled on Denki's cock as you came, pussy pulsing with need and delight.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Kaminari moaned in tune with his thrusts, so close to the edge that you could practically taste his cum already.

"Oh shit, y/n. You're so— tigHT," Hanta groaned as he rutted against you one more time before you felt his warm cum fill your insides.

Right on cue, Denki hit his peak right after Sero, moaning about how good your mouth felt and how hot you were, "god, Hanta, she looks so fucking good like this."

Denki let out a choked whine as he finally let his orgasm take over his body, and he held your head in place as his semen ran down your throat. You choked it down before Kami pulled away, and you opened your mouth to reveal strings of saliva and cum.

"Holy fucking shit," Denki said, exasperated, "I feel like I'm not gonna go soft for a week."

"You alright, my love?" Hanta said softly as he let you fall onto your chest, ass still up.

"Hell yeah," you mumbled, your voice scratchy and sore from being face-fucked. You watched Kami stand awkwardly as Sero wiped you down with a warm cloth, taking care between your thighs.

"Denki, go get some water please," Hanta instructed as he rolled you over. "You did so good, baby. The best."

You hummed softly in response, already feeling your eyes flutter sleepily. Kaminari held out a straw to you, and you sucked down the cool substance thankfully.

"That was the best blowjob ever," Denki sighed happily, watching Hanta scoop out the cum from your cunt.

"It was your only blowjob, Kami," you mumbled teasingly, a soft smirk on your face.

You felt yourself drift into a calm state, and you could only hear the muffled voices of your boyfriend, and... your other boyfriend? You fell into a comforting, dreamless sleep, and you knew that Denki would make a great addition to your relationship.