#everyone is giving him some side eye about knowing coding terminology

[dabeth-is-dead]

Gotta love when Mulder gets to be a total geek

[sisterspooky1013]

Damsels, Chapter Four: First Day

By SisterSpooky1013 / Read Previous chapters here

Rated E / Tagging @today-in-fic

Angel leads Scully out of Ricky’s office and back down the hall, pointing to various doors.

“Here are the customer bathrooms, we don’t use these. That’s the exit to the lobby, but we have our own door in the back. Through here is the floor.”

Angel makes no mention of the other, unmarked doors in the hall. She pushes the “Enter Here to be Dominated” door open and they walk into a large room with the floors and ceiling painted black. To the left, there's a long bar that covers nearly the entire wall with at least twenty stools butting up to it. Directly across from the bar on the right wall, there’s a small round stage with a gold pole erected in the center. A shallow counter, just wide enough to set a cup, runs along the entire perimeter of the stage with chairs neatly pushed in against it. A mental image of herself on the stage while men look on flashes in her mind and she shakes her head gently, forcing it away. Along the back wall are several small partitions; little rooms constructed out of dark red curtains that are currently pinned open to reveal a loveseat and table in each one. The rest of the room is filled with small black tables and chairs, and can probably seat upwards of 100 people. Angel leads Scully to the left, approaching the bar.

“Back here is the bar, obviously, and this is Queenie, our lead bartender. Queenie, this is Diane, Ricky just hired her,” Angel continues.

A tall Asian woman stands from behind the counter holding a case of Jack Daniels. She has wide, round eyes and a diamond-cut chin, her full lips painted dark red and her black hair tied into a high bun.

“Hey,” she replies, “is Diane your stage name? You’re getting soft, Angel,” she teases, casting Angel a flirtatious smile.

“Oh, no, we actually haven’t gotten that far yet,” Angel replies before turning to Scully, resting one elbow on the bar top. “So while you’re waitressing, you’ll talk to Queenie a lot. She can make any drink under the sun. Tip her out twenty percent of whatever you make.”

Scully nods and wishes she had something to write all this down. Between the new terminology and rules, she's already getting confused and is bound to make a mistake. Angel leads her to the other side of the room and climbs gingerly up onto the stage.

“This is the stage, duh, and this is the pole. We call him Paul, the pin to make it spin or stationary is down here,” she leans and points to a small pin at the base of the pole.

“Oh!” Scully exclaims, “I guess never realized the pole spins.”

“Common misconception,” Angel goes on, wrapping her knee and elbow around the pole and spinning a couple slow rotations as she speaks. “But that’s why you don’t want to put oil or anything slippery on your legs or arms. You need to be able to get a good grip, especially while the pole is spinning. We’ll talk more about that later, come up here.”

Scully baulks and looks around, but climbs onto a chair, then the drink rail before finally getting to the stage itself. The room looks even bigger from up here.

“So, just from a Bird's Eye view up here,” Angel continues, “those seats against the wall back there at the end of the bar we call the rock section. Dudes just grab a seat and order a soda and then nurse it all night. Never pay for dances, never come to the tip rail, nothin’. Just sit there like a damn rock. It can be a fun challenge when you’re waitressing to try to get them to buy more drinks, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Tip rail?” Scully asks, sensing that this will be something she has to do a lot.

“Right, these seats right here,” Angel points to the seats that are lined up along the perimeter of the stage, “are the tip rail. You have to sit here or be close to it in order to tip stage dances, hence the name. Something else you’ll hear is doing a mini-lap, which is just when you let a guy at the tip rail motorboat you or put his face in your ass or whatever. Usually you’d do that when they give you a really fat tip.”

“I thought Ricky said the men aren’t allowed to touch you?” Scully clarifies, subconsciously rounding her shoulders and crossing her arms protectively.

“Ah, important distinction. WE can touch THEM, but they can’t touch us. So like, I can rub my tits on a guy's face, but if he grabs them, he’s toast. There are some limits to that I’ll tell you about later, but you can’t give a good lap dance without touching so we definitely touch, it’s just always us who does it, not them.”

Scully is impressed by the degree to which Ricky seems to embrace the “women in control” model, but she’s curious to see whether it’s all talk.

“So that middle part with lots of small tables,” Angel is now pointing to the middle of the room, in front of the rock section, “that’s usually where the whales sit, like Mr. Keane. They’re too classy to sit at the rail but you can still see pretty good from there. And lastly, over there,” she now points to her right to the small curtained rooms, “those are the VIP rooms. We’ll talk more about those later too when we talk about the rules, but they’re basically where customers can take a girl for a private dance.”

Scully feels a pit in her stomach. No matter what rules they have in place, there is no way she can be safe behind a curtain with a man who is paying to access her body. Her distress is interrupted by music suddenly pouring from the speakers at an obscene volume, making them both jump. It cuts off as quickly as it started, and Angel turns to look at a small raised booth behind and to the right of the stage.

“What the fuck, Ben?!” she shouts, raising her arms in an angry gesture.

“Sorry, Angel, my bad!” A thin Asian man with a narrow face and a goatee waves down to them apologetically.

“That’s Ben, the DJ. He’s not usually so obnoxious,” Angel says to Scully, then turns and shouts up to Ben. “This is the new girl, Diane!”

“What the fuck kind of stage name is Diane?” He calls back down. “Also, hi, I’m Ben,” he adds, waving again. Scully smiles warmly and waves back.

“We haven’t picked her name yet!” Angel shouts back. “We really need to pick your name, girl, this is getting old fast,” she says to Scully.

“Um, this may be a strange question,” Scully starts, “but, is everyone who works here Asian?”

Angel looks off into space for a moment, lost in thought. “No, but everyone here right now is, huh?! That’s a weird coincidence. Anyway, Asian is a big group. Denny out front is Samoan, which is actually Pacific Islander. Queenie is Vietnamese, and Ben is Japanese. And Ricky is white as fuck,” she bursts into a fit of giggles at her own joke.

“And what about you?” Scully asks her.

Angel turns and starts to walk away from her, casting a coy glance over her shoulder. “I’m whoever you want me to be, Baby,” she says with a flirty lilt in her voice, before adding “come on, I’ll show you the back.”

“The back,” accessible by a door just behind the stage, is a long hallway with restrooms, a staff locker room, a break room with a kitchen, and a dressing room for the dancers.

“So, I’m gonna show you the dancer’s room now, just so you have an idea what you’re working towards, but just FYI that they really don’t let the waitresses come back here. After this I’d keep your ass out if you don’t want to get torn a new one,” Angel advises her.

The dancer’s room is modest in size with mirrored stations set up along two walls and a small bank of four more in the middle of the room. Each station is slightly different, but most have a makeup kit, hair products, and a box that locks with a code to store cash tips. Three of the stations sit empty. Along the back wall are four doors, and along the left wall is a double-height clothes rack full of straps, sequins, lace, and mesh of all colors. While the floor had smelled like cleaner on top of stale beer and sweat, the dancer’s room is sweet and perfumed with hints of vanilla and cinnamon.

“What’s through those doors?” Scully asks casually.

“The second one on the left will take you outside, that’s the one we can use to come and go without having to go by the customers,” Angel answers. “There’s another one of those at the end of the hall out there you can use while you’re waitressing. The door on the far right is a single stall bathroom. The other ones are storage or something, I don’t know. They’re locked.”

Scully gives no reaction to this information but makes a mental note of it for later. After they look at the general staff locker room and the kitchen, Angel plops down at a table near the fridge and Scully follows suit, taking the seat across from her.

“So, before we go grab lunch, let’s figure out your stage name so we can introduce you to people properly,” Angel begins. “There’s kind of a tradition here that your stage name starts with the same first letter as your real name. I don’t know why, and people will say it’s not a ‘rule’ per se, but if you don’t do it it will probably seem weird.”

“What’s your real name, if that’s okay to ask?” Scully inquires nervously. Not having real names will make this whole investigation a lot harder.

“Oh no, it’s fine. They aren’t a secret or anything, we just don’t like the customers to know our real names. My name is Ann. So Ann/Angel, both A’s. Queenie’s real name is Quyen. You can ask any of the girls and they’ll tell you their real name if you want. Except maybe Lexie, she’s a stuck up bitch. So I’ll just tell you now, her real name is Leanne.”

Scully laughs good-naturedly, though she has the passing thought that a lot of people may describe her as a stuck up bitch too.

“So, something that starts with a D, what suits your fancy?” Angel asks. Seeing the worried look on Scully’s face, she makes some suggestions. “You could go with a classic, like Diamond. Something a little more stereotypical like Destiny. Oh, what about Desiree, that’s really pretty, and it suits you.”

Scully considers it for a moment. Who she’d really like to be is Dana, on her way home from this insanity. Given that isn’t an available option, Desiree isn’t so bad.

“Yeah, I think I like that,” she says with a shy smile.

“Great, can I call you Desi?” Angel asks excitedly.

“Sure,” Scully responds, and then follows a very spirited Angel out into the afternoon sunlight in search of something to eat.

They end up at a little Mexican restaurant a short walk from the club. It’s the kind of hole in the wall place that only locals know exists, with tacky pink paint on the booths and dusty Cinco De Mayo flags criss-crossing the ceiling.

“So, Angel, how’d you end up working at Damsels?” Scully asks as she drags a tortilla chip through the watery salsa. She’s highly motivated to solve this case and get the hell out of here, so there’s no sense in wasting time.

“Oh, I just met Ricky through mutual friends and he told me about his club. I was a dancer at a total shithole before, so coming here was such a huge relief.” She stabs at the ice in her drink with a straw, breaking it up into smaller pieces.

“Are you working towards something else, or is there something else you’re hoping to do?” Scully asks next.

“I might ask you the same, Desi,” Angel returns with a slight cock of her head, and Scully realizes that was a rude question.

“Sorry, I guess I still have a lot to learn about the social nuances of this job.”

Angel shakes her head dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a question you get asked a lot as a dancer, as you’ll find out. Everyone thinks you’re just stopping here on the way to something better, something more legit. God forbid your life plan is to show your ass for cash, right? I mean, that is true for some of the girls; Tibet is getting her masters and Magenta has a day job as a therapist, but I honestly just like it.”

Scully is more careful with the wording on her next question. “What do you like about it?”

“Well,” Angel takes a bite of a chip and chews thoughtfully, “I grew up with really judgmental, uptight parents who basically made me feel like I was dirty and disgusting for existing, and for being female. I was always really ashamed of my body and when men looked at me, I thought I was doing something wrong to bring it on myself. After I moved out, my friend took me to a strip club and I was totally blown away by the confidence the women had with their bodies. Men were looking at them, but not like they were gross and sinful, just like they were…beautiful. And they looked so powerful up there commanding all that attention. And I just wanted to be up there like that, celebrating my body and deciding what happened with and to it. And here I am.”

Scully sits quietly, absorbing an answer that she wasn’t expecting to hear. She thinks about her own upbringing and the “good girls don’t” mentality that tainted her early sexual exploration. Even as a fully grown adult in consensual, committed relationships, she couldn’t shake the underlying guilt that she was worldly and sinful for desiring and having sex outside of marriage. It bleeds over into her relationship with Mulder, she knows. She can accept any physical attention he bestows upon her, and in fact wants it desperately, but for her to initiate it would mean…something. Something she isn’t ready to admit, even to herself.

Angel speaks again, interrupting her thought. “What about you, Desi, what brings you here? I showed you mine, you show me yours…or whatever.”

“Oh,” Scully says, scrambling to bring her cover story forward. “Um, I, uh, I got divorced recently, or I’m legally separated, anyway. I just got my own place after living with my husband for seven years and I haven’t really worked that whole time, I just supported his work. So, I don’t really have any marketable skills.”

Angel smiles. “Shoot, that ass is a marketable skill, girl! Those titties are hella marketable.”

Scully blushes, unused to anyone talking about her that way, and is surprised by how flattered she feels by such a crass compliment. Their server arrives and sets their plates down, and Angel’s demeanor shifts a bit as they dig into their meal.

“Okay, so down to the nitty gritty. Like I said, there are rules for us as dancers, and for waitresses too. Ricky mentioned his feelings about heroin and meth, right?”

“Yep, that will not be an issue,” Scully says confidently, spearing a bell pepper with her fork.

“Good, so also don’t get, like, super drunk or super high while on shift. A little to take the edge off is okay, but a drunk stripper is just pathetic. Like I said, the men can’t touch us, but it’s okay for us to touch them, EXCEPT we do NOT do extras at Damsels. No hand jobs, no blow jobs, and definitely no fucking, not even in VIP. Not in their car outside, not behind the dumpster, it’s a very hard and fast rule, no pun intended. Ricky will fire even his best girl in a heartbeat if he finds out she’s doing extras. Oh, and no kissing.”

Continue Reading on AO3

[sunjaesol]

ok this may be cliché and corny but ballerina!julie and street dancer!luke....kind of like step up 1..........ill shut up now

Not cliché or corny at all! I’ve made some riffs in a group chat about this because I LOVED the idea! 

(Sidenote: Moose wasn’t in Step Up 1, but Moose was my favourite and definitely my first crush - oof.) 

I’ll put what I wrote under the cut <3

"One, two, pas de bourré and slide and pas de chat, three and four and-" Halting in her steps, she shot the boy a look. "Why aren't you following?"

Luke blinked and snorted, incredulous. His baggy trousers looked ridiculous in the studio, but he refused to wear tights. Not even joggers! It honestly felt sacrilegious.

"You think I know what-" he motioned at her "-all that just was?"

"I explained it."

"Yeah," he puffed. "But you didn't teach."

Julie frowned. "I did. I showed you the moves, now you do them."

Coming to stand in front of her, he gave her a pointed look. "Not everyone has been getting dance classes with daddy's money since we were four, you know. You gotta teach me, or else I'm quitting."

Her jaw clenched. This guy knew shit about her life, but she couldn't delve into it. They weren't exactly friends or something.

"Fine," she gritted.

***

Slowly, Luke learned bits of terminology and got the hang of it, as well amused her by attending some baby ballet classes to work on his flexibility and alignment. It was unexpected, but... sweet. He wasn't as bad as he loved claiming he was.

With his newfound techniques, the making of the choreography went smoother too. He wasn't afraid to give his own ideas and, frankly, they made the dance better. It was fresh and new and exciting. It had been awhile since Julie felt such a thrill dancing, always thinking about making it perfect and clean, that she'd forgotten what it essentially was about.

Telling a story through movement. And Luke was the essence of that. He bounced on his heels when he was thrilled or told a joke. His knees sunk to the floor when he started teasing her about something, wanting to be on her level. His arms flailed around when he made an impassioned speech about his friends and community.

His vivacity made her feel so... alive.

And when his smile lingered on her a beat longer than necessary, she knew it was a bit more than just 'alive.'

***

"And then-" she puffed, wiping the sweat from her brow "-then, uh- then-"

"Hey," Luke interrupted, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her gaze got ripped from the mirrors, eyes glazed over from exhaustion.

He wasn't as tired, but Julie looked ready to nap for twelve hours.

A smile formed on his lips, tender. "Let's get something to eat, yeah? Wrap it up for the day."

"But-"

"You're tired, Julie."

She nodded, forlorn. "Right. Yeah. Thanks." Matching his smile, she patted the hand on her shoulder. "Let's get some food."

***

"Hey," she quipped between gulps of water. Her heart thrummed in her chest, working up the courage as he turned towards her.

"Yeah?"

"After rehearsal... some of my friends and I are going to a dance bar." A hopeful smile grew on her face. "Do you want to join?"

His brows raised in surprise, staring outside to the darkening sky and then back at her, carefully nodding. He matched her smile and relief filled her lungs.

"Yeah. Sounds cool."

"Cool."

***

"C'mon," she drawled, wrapping her hands around his arms and dragging him on the dance floor. "Relax! Have fun!"

He laughed, finding the spot on her waist he's been holding her for weeks now, and felt her hands tighten around his biceps.

She leaned in, coy. "This is salsa. Think you can handle it?"

He smirked. "Lead the way, Jules."

They danced the entire night, high on a sugar buzz and giggly from being so near to the other. There was something more, Julie knew, but she wasn't sure how to approach it. He was first and foremost her dance partner and she couldn't fuck that up. Dance would always be a priority.

But right now? She just really wanted to kiss him.

After saying goodbye to their friends, Luke proposed to walk her home. It was said all suave and cool like he always did, but Julie had a keen eye for Luke-isms now. Scratching the back of his head, dropped eyes, slight bounce in the heels. He was nervous.

They walked side by side in silence. Every so often, she felt his hand graze hers, but nothing more happened. Did she misread everything? That couldn't be it, right? Just as she was falling down a spiral of insecurities, his hand brushed against hers once more and then stayed. He locked their fingers together, twisting till he held her securely.

Julie's smile widened, trying to bite it back and looking out at the city skyline. Squeezing his hand, he did the same in return. For the rest of the walk, that was their way of communication - like Morse code. It was weird and cute and Julie's heart felt like bursting with glee.

They arrived at her house, only faint light emanating from the porch.

She smiled, shy. "Thanks for, uh, walking me home."

"Yeah," he mumbled, low. His eyes trailed across her face, as if he was unable to focus on one thing. "No problem."

It fell on her lips. Her hold tightened.

He met her halfway, relieved grins splitting their cheeks as they kissed. It wasn't a perfect one, but maybe that made it better. She got to kiss his perfect smile.

Luke sighed, free hand slipping up her jaw. "Thanks for letting me walk you home."

Julie giggled. "No problem."

Whatever barrier or tension there was between them previously, was now gone. Julie thought them kissing would cause complications in the dance, but it was the complete opposite. They were in complete synchronicity.

Wherever she was, he was one step behind. He was closer than before, easily lifting her into stunts and not needing to take that extra step. Ideas flowed as easy as flirting, a new move nothing more than a way to endear the other.

And yeah, it helped that he tried a little harder to do well. She still wanted to win the summer intensive at Julliard.

Luke also loved touching. Like, in general. It wasn't just using movement for him to express himself personally, but towards her too. He hugged her and slid his hands up and down her arms whenever she got vexed about a move and sneaked kisses to make her smile. And it worked. God, it worked.

The music was blaring from the stereo as they went through the variation for the fourth time. Both were tired, though giving it their all. Her eyes were on Luke through the mirror. His immense improvement gave her so much pride. He was a great dancer. Maybe... even great enough to be part of this school. They could definitely use his edge.

They stuck their final pose, chest to chest, and felt a grin blooming on her lips as he heaved out an excited holler.

"That was amazing!" he yelled, squeezing her shoulders.

"Yeah!" she giggled. "Yeah, it was! You're amazing, Luke."

He shook his head and kissed her, chaste. "Cause of you."

A brow quirked up. "Trust me, some people just cannot dance. You have talent. You-" Swallowing the fear of a possible, confused frown, she continued: "You should think about joining. For the next semester."

The frown came, but it wasn't confused. More so intrigued and... hopeful? "You think?"

A languid kiss was his reply, Julie's arms slung around his neck. It buzzed with heat.

He sighed, lips ghosting hers. "I'll think about it."

[orionsangel86]

“I Think It’s Time For Me To Move On”

...And Other Things That Have Destroyed Me This Weekend...

So there is this common trope within love stories which generally happens at the end of the second act in which everything goes wrong and we all think that the lovers are doomed to failure. Its pretty much standard in every Jane Austen novel, every romantic film every made, every single bloody love story. Go ahead, name one. I guarantee you the break up moment is there.

Within the epic love story of Dean and Cas, there have been many break up moments, and all have had their emotionally devastating impact on the relationship and the show...

But THIS was a different level. 

(For a nice summary of Destiel break up moments and understanding of this trope, @tinkdw​ wrote about it here.)

I didn’t think that there would be another moment within Dean and Cas’s relationship that could hit me this hard. The mixtape in 12x19, the wrapping of Cas’s body in 13x01, and the return of Cas in 13x05 are moments that I consider to be the very top of the scale in making this pairing undeniably romantic. Moments that pushed it beyond a platonic interpretation. These three moments have been the things I cling to when the show has otherwise made me doubt any conclusion to the DeanCas story, and since there hasn’t been another one of those moments since 13x05, until now I have been somewhat nervous that the story was dropped, or being forced back behind a platonic screen. 

15x03 has ripped that screen away. 

Emotional meta under cut...

This entire episode was an emotion fuelled dramatic roller-coaster that killed off three characters including our beloved witch queen in a scene that almost stole the show and practically canonised the SamWitch ship. Rowena’s death should have been by far the most torturous moment for viewers to endure, and it was extremely torturous and had me sobbing on a plane 3 hours into a 7 hour flight. That incredibly heartfelt moment between Sam and Rowena will probably go down as one of the top tear-jerking moments on this show. It was tragic in the best way - the way Supernatural is famous for.

But lets not gloss over the fact that in an episode where THAT should have been the climax, where THAT should have been the emotional highlight and end point, instead we get a further MORE dramatic stand off between Dean and Cas that pulled focus and ripped all of our hearts out just as violently as poor Ketch in the first act (a very clever and smug piece of meta foreshadowing there Mr Berens).

On a meta level, this is HUGE as a writing choice because they MUST know how this looks. This was the climax of the third episode of the finale season. The way Supernatural has always structured itself since Carver era is that the first three mytharc episodes of each season establish the direction of the story and set the foundations for the character level focal points and dramatic key notes to come. 

That the writers have chosen to end the foundation episodes with a DeanCas break up moment that was more dramatic than a Spanish Telenovela has just stunned me and left me reeling because I just can’t see how else this can go. This break up scene absolutely DEMANDS a huge reconciliation of the sort that will be part of the A plot of the season - the FINAL SEASON. Guys. Part of the reason I have been so quiet and so disillusioned with the show during late season 13 and season 14 was because they pushed any Destiel plot into non existent territory - it became kinda irrelevant and Dean and Cas just acted like friends (homoerotic friends yes, and sometimes like an old married couple, but it was mostly played as an afterthought imo), so for this to suddenly be brought to the forefront of the emotional story again is excellent news for us. 

The thing is, like with those huge moments I listed above, the break up scene is basically undeniably romantic when you break it down to its components:

1. It’s only Dean and Cas. 

Once again we have another scene of high stake emotions that excludes Sam. In a platonic reading of the show, it makes zero sense for there to be such a hugely disjointed relationship between Cas and Dean and Cas and Sam given he has known them both for so long now that if they were all “just friends” then surely Sam would also feel the impact of Cas’s choices as heavily as Dean. In a platonic reading, Dean comes across as an asshole, Sam comes across as being weirdly uncaring about his friend of 10 years, and Cas comes across as not even bothering to get Sam’s opinion before leaving. A romantic reading makes sense because quite literally THIS IS A ROMANTIC BREAK UP.

2. The words spoken. 

“Well I don’t think there is anything left to say.”

“I think it’s time for me to move on”

From Cas’s perspective at least, name one time in a piece of media where such language has been used for a platonic breakup sincerely? There have been heartfelt break up songs that use these exact words. (I should know I’ve spent the last 24 hours listening to them all).

That last line in particular is so heavy. It’s the last line of the episode and nothing about it is platonic. This is relationship terminology my dudes. “I need to move on, and get over you.” This is Cas’s bloody Adele song. My heart breaks for him, but if I was his sassy and fabulous best girlfriend right now I’d be sitting him down, sipping a cocktail, flipping my hair and telling him “Babe, you’re too good for him. Good Riddance. Let’s go out, have some cocktails, something pink and fruity. No dive bars for us darling. I’ll take you to Heaven... the fun one in London.”

In all seriousness though, from Cas’s perspective, this was him admitting defeat and giving up the fight for love. How anyone can possibly say Cas isn’t in love with Dean after this, well I just don’t know what show you are watching. This is the face of a heartbroken man who has just accepted that his love is unrequited. 

3. The many faces of Dean Winchester

On the other end of the scale, Dean was mostly silent after his poisonous words “And why does that something always seem to be you?”

Forgive the terrible gif quality I’ve no time for fancy gif work!

Look at his face here. He knows what he said was fucked up and he immediately regrets it. The way he swallows around that regret and then turns away.

and after Cas says that devastating final line and walks away? We get THIS reaction from him:

The jaw clench as he looks down. The sorrow on his face as he realises he has well and truly fucked this up. LOOK

Finally, he looks up, makes himself look up and watch Cas leave. If that isn’t the face of a broken man I dunno what to tell you. Anyone who thinks Dean is totally heartless and uncaring right now needs to reassess because this is NOT the face of someone uncaring. This is the face of someone who has just lost everything. Again. 

4. The FUCKING MUSIC

Seriously. The sweeping heavy drama of the low strings that come in right after Dean says that horrid line, that carry the weight of the look of horror and heartbreak on Cas’s face as they amplify the emotion there. As they blend seamlessly into the slow and subtle version of the Winchester family theme behind Cas’s heartbreaking speech and Dean’s stubborn stoic face hiding a multitude of emotion, until the violin dominates as Cas says “I think it’s time for me to move on” and the Winchester Theme swells to its climax, ripping all our hearts out just like poor Ketch as Dean watches Cas walk out of his life surrounded by darkness. 

I MEAN.

A friend on Twitter reminded us all of this point about the importance of this theme via @justanotheridijiton​ here which is essentially:

“The Winchester theme is not simply an aural marker to let the audience know when and how Sam and Dean love each other (any Supernatural fan knows that is the baseline of their relationship), but to provide narrative information, especially when the image and dialogue are incomplete or inconsistent with the true situation...  Seasoned fans will recognize the theme and its history of being paired with images indicating deep emotional bonding and a desire to do the right thing by the Winchester code. Here we trust our ears over our eyes to reveal the truth.”

So here is yet another key indicator that any surface read that this is actually an ending between Dean and Cas and that Dean really is just an angry asshole is utter bullshit. 

Honestly, this was PAINFUL, but it was painful in the best way. It was 13x01 levels of pain, but this time it was Cas choosing to walk away which makes all the difference. Dean’s greatest fear isn’t his loved ones dying on him after all, but of his loved ones choosing to leave him. This was exactly the kick up the ass Dean needs in order to win Cas back, classic love trope style. 

Hence my excitement at what is to come. Yes we won’t see Cas again until 15x06, but in the meantime I fully expect a good helping of angst and wallowing from a depressed Dean who has to deal with the fact that he has just lost the love of his life and it is all his fault. That he just pushed away the one person who promised they would always stay by his side. That has got to hurt. 

So yeah, this episode emotionally destroyed me, and I’ve only really covered the primary reason, let alone all my feels over SamWitch, Rowena’s death, Belphegor’s taunting of Cas over his deepest fears and then having to suffer through smiting a creature wearing the face of his son until his body was nothing but a burnt corpse... I wonder if Bobo had a bet going in the office over how much he could hurt us all? He was certainly enjoying scrolling through the Supernatural tag on Twitter and liking everyone’s reaction tweets including some brilliant Destiel related ones. I do love Bobo. Our Angst Goblin King. 

If anyone had asked me a few weeks ago what my thoughts were on the chances of getting explicit canon Destiel by series end, I would have said somewhere in the realms of 30-40%, considering it a battle of wills between DabbBerens and CW studio execs who I still feel are against it in general. I would have considered everything that happened after 13x06 as the writers getting a big NO on Destiel from the network and therefore having to pull back on any Destiel related plot points (purely my own speculation on BTS matters of course).

Now I am wondering if Dabb kept fighting the network? If he managed to wear them down into begrudging acceptance? I’m currently up to around an 80% chance of textual canon DeanCas if we continue on this path. If Dean is clearly shown to be mourning and hating himself over Cas next episode, and if this DeanCas dramatic plot line continues to be a focal point of the emotional story arcs... well...

I’m side eyeing 15x07 a lot right now. Only in my wildest dreams would I think that they might actually introduce an old boyfriend for Dean in a “coming out” episode, but the placement, timing, and potential is all there and I’m kind of once again donning the clown mask because I’m just in awe at everything that they are doing. I guess we’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, I’m gonna paint my face in red and white and wear my rainbow wig and listen to break up songs on Spotify whilst trying to shove my heart back into my chest where Bobo Beren’s gleefully ripped it out with his hands like the demonic angst goblin he is. Wish me luck, I’m not sure I’m gonna get through this season with my emotions intact.

[wafflefries13]

The Consequences of Late Night Calls

Happy birthday to the world’s best blasty boy! 

This is the first fic I’ve written for tumblr, so let me know what you think!

Warnings: None, I think. Some cursing, some guy talks smack for a bit. 

Genre: Fluff

~~~~~~~~~~

The call shocked you out of a deep but impromptu sleep. You jerked up from the noise, a page of lecture notes sticking to your check. It fluttered back to the desk covered in its own mess of loose leaf documents, used textbooks that cost more than a weekend trip to Disney World, and a laptop missing three of its letter keys. 

You dragged your tongue against your teeth, trying to get rid of the cotton feel coating the inside of your mouth. Rubbing stars into your tired eyes, you wondered when exactly you had fallen asleep. Was it somewhere near memorizing the latin terminology for court rhetoric or around reading the case file and trial records you were going to be tested over on Monday? Deciding wondering was basically pointless, considering you had pretty  much forgotten all of it anyway, you pawed blindly around for your phone. 

“Hello?” You answered, eyes still closed, although it probably came out and more of a mumbled groan than anything else.  

“(Y/NNNNNNNNN)!” 

You pulled the phone away from your ear, wincing at the sudden loud noise. Blinking bleerally, you looked down at your phone. You had taken the caller ID picture a year ago, at a sorority Halloween party you barely remembered aside from the copious amounts of alcohol consumed followed by an ill-advised scavenger hunt that ended with a call to the police and the dean’s car somehow ending up in the agriculture department’s greenhouse crowded with Jack-O-lanterns. It was a profile shot of Bakugo Katsuki, his mouth opened in a mid-yell scowl, as was his standard expression, and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. One hand extended to try and block the camera, the other clutching a brown bottle. He was wearing a fantasy barbarian king costume, chest bare to show off the taut muscles he worked so hard for all of high school to get. When he’d shown up in it, or, rather, when Kirishima had dragged him along in his own dragonborn costume, you couldn’t believe he still had it. You remembered sitting in your basement in 9th grade, pricking your fingers with a sewing needle as you and the rest of your newly formed D&D group, Bakugo and Kirishima included, spent way too much time and effort into creating your costumes. 

Rubbing at the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to chase away the headache you could already feel forming, you brought the phone back to your ear. You could hear the low thump of bass heavy music in the background. 

“Hi, Suki,” You said, trying not to sound condescending, but it came out like that anyway. 

“Hey!” He said sharply. The rest of his reply was slurred smooth. “I told you not to call me that.” 

You smirked. “It’s cute.” 

“It’s embarrassing! ‘M not cute.” 

“No, you’re calling me at-” You pulled the phone away again to check the time. “Katsuki, it’s like two in the morning, what the hell?” 

You heard someone shout something on the other side of the line that Katsuki mumbled a reply to. To you he said, “Was thinking about you.” 

You felt yourself blush despite yourself. “You were thinking about me?” 

There was a clunk and a bump. You could imagine him falling against a wall and sliding down to sit until the room stopped spinning. “Yeah. I don’t like it.” 

You ignored the jab in your heart. “Well, thanks.” 

“It keeps happening. I’ll just be, like, doing stuff, and then I just think, ‘What would (Y/N) think of that?’ ‘I wonder what (Y/N)’s doing right now.’ ‘(Y/N) would know what to do now. She’s so smart. And her hands look so soft. And her eyes are so pretty.’” He was quiet for a second. “It’s annoying. I can’t stop thinking about you. And it’s worse when you’re here.” There was a shuffling as you heard him try to stand up then give up again. “Why aren’t you here? I want you here.” 

You were wide awake now. You clenched and unclenched your hand, trying to process the information your obviously drunk friend had just confessed. Your stomach churned in a mix of anticipation, anxiety, and straight up butterflies. 

What the hell did all of that mean? Well, of course you knew what it meant, or you knew what it meant when spoken by a sober person of sound mind and body. But there was no way, you tried to rationalize, that The Bakugo Katsuki, the guy you’d known since freshman year of high school when he’d punched a guy who had flipped up your uniform skirt on the first day, the guy who had surprised just about everyone in home economics when he busted out a three tiered cake like it was no one’s business, the guy whos ego was big enough to have its own gravitational pull, was confessing his feelings to you in a drunk rant at two in the morning. 

“Katsuki,” You said in a soft voice. “I-” 

There was a retching sound from the other end of the line. Katsuki coughed, tried to say something, then threw up again. “Aw, fuck.” 

That headache was back with avengence now. You sighed, looking for your keys. “Katsuki, where are you?” 

“Uhh, on campus? At the Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever house. There’s a party. Why aren’t you here?” 

“You know I hate all the Greek life bs. Stay where you are, okay? I’m coming to get you. You’re completely wasted.” 

“‘M not. I can handle what I drink.” There was another pause before he wretched again. 

“Did you just throw up again?” 

“...No.” 

“Cool. I’ll be there in ten.” 

You didn’t wait for him to respond before hanging it. You didn’t think your heart could take it if he kept going on like he had been. Grabbing your keys and heading out of your crowded studio apartment, you hopped in your car to go save your drunk friend from making any other ill advised decisions that night. 

You realized that you were probably over thinking the whole phone call as you drove through deserted streets. You couldn’t help it, it was a bad habit you had formed as a kid that now  made you obsess over court documents and testimonies in class. But now, instead of helping, it was picking you apart. What did Katsuki’s tone imply when he was talking to you just now? Could you trust the tone of an inebriated person? What did he mean when he said he thought about you a lot? You’d known each other for years now, being involved in almost all the same activities. Wouldn’t it be natural to think about someone you spent so much time with? But you’d known Kirishima for just as long, not to mention the rest of the self-named “Baku-Squad.” You’d never gotten a late night drunk call from any of them. Heck, Katsuki had known Izuku way longer than he had known you, and you were pretty dang sure Katsuki had never called him going on and on about how he always thought about him. 

Stopping at a red light, you pressed your forehead into the soft faux-leather of your steering wheel, willing your thoughts to calm down and just come to a rational conclusion already. Expect, you know, a rational conclusion that wasn’t that the guy you had carried a torch for for almost as long as you had known him might actually have feelings for you back. 

You turned on to the street lined with sororities and fraternities across from the main campus. You had to slam on your breaks almost immediately to avoid running over a tipsy, giggling co-ed who was stumbling out into the road. She didn’t even look up at you. 

You didn’t know exactly which house Katsuki was stranded at, considering you could see at least three different parties all going on at first glance. His “Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever” wasn’t very helpful, either, considering all the Greek letters adorning the houses blended together in your mind at some point. And you really didn’t want to tramp through a bunch of different houses tonight. 

Thankfully, you were saved the trouble when you saw Kirishima’s 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle park half off the curb in front of one of the houses. You’d know that car anywhere. Kirishima had dragged your group to various scrap yards and auto-repair stores all summer after he got his license, the first of you all to do so, in an effort to fix up the worn down Chevelle that he’d bought for a hundred bucks and a turkey sandwich. 

You parked on the other side of the street then jogged across to the house that was practically vibrating with heavy music and Greek life energy. Stepping over a semi-conscious frat boy laying in the doorway, you scanned around the house for any sign of Katsuki’s pomeranian-puff-ball hair. 

You spotted Denki lounging on a couch, a lampshade on his head and a tangle of phone chargers clutched in his fist. His hand sparked every now and then as he used his quirk to recharge the collection of phones. 

You lifted up the edge of the lampshade. “Hey there, Pikachu.” 

“Heeeeeey~” He said, giving you a thumbs up. You could already tell he was too far gone, although you didn’t know if it was from drinking or the over use of his quirk. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard a voice call behind you. A body fell heavily against your back. Sero wrapped his arms around you in a backwards hug. “Where you been? We missed you!” 

“Studying. I’m boring, remember? I’m looking for Katsuki, you seen him around?” 

Sero snickered. “Bakugo, huh? He’s been looking for you for a long time, right, Denki?” 

“Heeeeeey~” 

You swallowed hard. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

Sero snickered again, flopping on the couch next to Denki. “Can’t tell. Part of the bro code. And he said he’d kill me.” 

“That does sound like Katsuki.” 

Sero covered his eyes with his arm, head leaning back. With a wide smile, he waved his hand in the vague direction to the back door. “I think he’s out by the pool or something.” 

You waved bye. “Thanks, I’ll go check it out. You guys take care of yourselves, okay?” 

“Look at ‘em go,” Sero said to Denki as you left. “You think they’ll have a spring wedding?” 

“Heeeeeey~” 

*~~~~* 

You managed to weave your way through the crowd of bodies clogging the house to finally spill out into the back yard. You had no idea how people were able to stay this energized this late into the night with this many other people around. You remembered once being stuck at another party, early on in your college days. When it became super clear you didn’t want to be there, overwhelmed by the noise, the crush of bodies, and the suffocation of social enterprise, Katsuki had dragged Kirishima over to you, planting him in front of you as your ‘extrovert shield.’  He’d stayed with you behind the boisterous redhead for the rest of the night. 

You wondered if Katsuki remembered doing that, if he remembered any of the small nice gestures he did for you over the years. And now, with his call, with what Sero said, with your over analyzing brain, you were dissecting every interaction you could remember. Was the time he opened a door for you a signal? Was the reason he would ask to study with you for chemistry, when he was way better in practically every subject than you, just so he could be close to you? Were the times he had given you his jacket when you were cold meant to be a more intimate moment? 

God, you were going to go crazy. 

Walking around the pool, you finally spotted the hot-headed blond. He was sitting slouched over on the end of one of the reclining pool chairs, forearms braced on his knees.  You almost called out to him, stopping cold when you saw the girl behind him. She had draped herself over his back, chin rested in the crook of his neck, one had massaging his shoulder, the other conspicuously sneaking under the hem of his shirt to rub circles on his abs. 

You clenched and unclenched your hands, worry gnawing at you as a headache at the back of your skull. Had something changed between the time he had called you and now? Had there been nothing there to change at all? Had you been misreading this situation the whole time? 

Katsuki looked up, his permanently affixed scowl even deeper. The second his jewel-red eyes met yours, you felt your heart skip a beat. He jumped to his feet so fast the girl behind him fell back against the chair. He tried marching over to you, which was made only slightly less intimidating by the drunk sway to his step. 

You didn’t remember him being so tall. You’d just seen him this afternoon. There was a flushed blush across his face, adding a surprising softness. Were his arms always that strong looking? Were his eyes that piercing? Was his jaw that strong? 

“You came,” He said, voice rough as whiskey soaking into gravel. 

You spread your hands. “Well, you said my name three times, so, here I am!” You laughed nervously, trying to ignore how his gaze pinned you down. 

He took another step towards you, hand reading up. “(Y/N), I-” 

His cheeks turned from pink to green. Lurching to the side, he vomited into the pool. You tried to help him back up, hunched over and trying to catch his breath. The crowd of people around you groaned in disgust before rolling in to sarcastic applause. Katsuki flipped them off. 

“Alright, Suki,” You said, rubbing his back. “Let’s get you back home.” 

He grumbled, leaning his full weight against you. You almost stumbled and fell with the sudden shift of balance. Katsuki slid his arm around your waist, hand firmly grasping your hip, as if he was the one trying to prevent you from a drunken stumble. His fingers felt like fire through your clothes. 

You decided to go around the house instead of trying to push your way through it. Soon you were making your way across the street. It took some maneuvering to unlock and open the passenger door. You practically dropped Katsuki in where his head fell back with a groan. You grabbed his seat belt and stretched across him to fasten it. It wasn’t until he started petting your hair that your realized your position of half-way laying across his lap. You jerked back, some of your hair getting caught in his fingers. He made a disappointed sound at the loss of it. 

You slid back into the driver's seat, trembling hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. You had to take a few steadying breaths before you were ready to start the car. Pulling out of the neighborhood, you glanced over at Katsuki. His eye brows were furrowed, eyes closed, mouth pulled in a small frown. 

God, he looked adorable. 

You hit the break harder than you meant to at the light. Adorable? Where the hell did that thought come from? He’d probably be furious if he knew you ever thought that. 

But…

You risked another look at him. When he let his face relax like this, you could see the slight chub that still clung to his cheeks. Another thing he would hate to know that you thought was how much you loved the softness that it leant him. It was cute. 

Almost without your realizing it, you lifted your hand. You were overcome with the sudden urge to poke his cheek. A car horn blared behind you when your finger was less than an inch from his face. You let out an undignified squeak, hands slamming back to the wheel. Katsuki grumbled and turned in the seat, head resting against the window. You could feel the blush burning up your face. 

A few minutes later, you pulled back to the apartment complex. You both lived in the same building, Katsuki directly below your own unit. And now you were overthinking his reason for not living on campus. 

When you opened the passenger door, Katsuki almost fell out. You jerked forward to catch him then dragged him out. He half woke up, as feeble on his legs as a newborn horse. 

You lugged him through the lobby. He was muttering under his breath, but most of the words you could make out were curses. Not unusual for him. You pressed the button for the elevator repeatedly. It just blinked back at you. You sighed in frustration. They had been doing maintenance on your building all week, but now might have been the absolute worst time to do the elevator. 

You shook Katsuki’s shoulder a little bit. His head jostled like a bobble-head. “Suki, I’m gonna need your help here for a minute.” 

His head lolled forward, forehead coming down to press to yours. In a quiet voice, he whispered, “I’d do anything for you.” 

You shoved him upright, face burning. “Then walk up the damn stairs yourself!” 

Despite that, you still ended up half-carrying him up four flights of stairs. You were uncomfortably sweaty when you reached the door to Katsuki’s apartment. The two of you had traded copies of your apartment keys when you had moved in. “In case something happens to your dumb ass and I need to come save you,” He had said. He would frequently stop by, usually when you were hours deep into an all-nighter. He’d bring his laptop and work on whatever 12 page essay way due on your bed while you poured over case reports. You’d sit in silence, just together, sharing the same space, content with nothing more than knowing the other was nearby. Or he’d bring you real food to make sure you weren’t just eating ramen all the time. In turn, you’d pull him out for game night with the squad, make sure he’d actually call his mother once in a while, and lend an ear to his semi-nightly rants on whoever he decided to hate that night. 

You fumbled with the keys, jamming the key in the lock then pushing it open with your shoulder that wasn’t currently occupied by a half-asleep, full-drunk boy who had at least 50 pounds and ten inches on you. 

There was always an expectation with the rooms of single college boys. Greasy pizza boxes, empty bottles of booze displayed like expensive decor, at least one poster of a half-naked girl somewhere, probably a basket of clothes that should have been washed weeks ago. And while you knew plenty of guys who fit that description, Katsuki defied expectation. His apartment was always immaculate. His shoes were lined neatly by the door, a calendar above his desk  color-coded with assignment due dates, bed made. Katsuki may give off the persona of a punk, but you knew he was a straight-laced nerd through and through.  

With the last of your strength, you lugged him across the room, dropping him on his bed. With a groan, you stretched your arms up until you heard a satisfying pop in your back. Hands on your hips, you watched as Katsuki moaned, burying his face in his pillow and pulling his feet up from the floor. You sat on the end of the bed, tugging his feet to you to unlace his shoes. You let them fall haphazardly to the floor, too tired to care about his level of neatness.  

You grabbed a bucket from his hall closet, putting it next to the head of his bed for when he inevitably woke up vomiting in the morning. Checking his bathroom, you put a couple of painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand with a post-it note saying “Drink Me.” 

Brushing your hands off, you looked around and checked your work. Satisfied that he wouldn’t kill himself between now and when you would inevitably check on him in the morning, you decided it was finally time to head back upstairs and get some well deserved sleep. 

But… 

You turned back at the door. Katsuki was splayed like a starfish, gently snoring with his mouth wide open. You also noticed his blushing red fluffy cheeks. 

You tapped the door knob a few times before sighing in surrender to temptation and turnin back. You knelt down next to the bed. For a moment, you just watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful now. You reached out. Your index finger sunk into his cheek like it was a marshmallow. You couldn’t believe you had never done this before. God, he really was adorable. 

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off as Katsuki’s hand shot up and grabbed your wrist with an iron grip. With a shriek, you tried to scramble backwards. Katsuki lazily opened his eyes, not at all bothered by your struggles. With seemingly no effort on his part, he tugged you forward. Off balance, you fell into his chest. Katsuki wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug, slinging a leg over yours, trapping you on the bed. 

“Katsuki!” You hissed. You squirmed in his hold, not getting any extra room. He just hummed, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You were pretty sure your face was hot enough to start a fire. “Katsuki, let me go!” 

“No,” He mumbled. His voice rumbled against your skin sending shivers through your whole body. 

“Katsuki!” 

“You can’t leave. If you leave, you won’t come back.” 

You stopped struggling. “What are you talking about?” 

He squeezed you tighter. “I’m loud. I get angry real easy. I fight a lot. And you…” He trailed off, his breath catching and rattling in his chest. “You’re so much better than me. You’re nice and smart and talented and pretty and caring and… and…” You could feel the hot tears landing on your skin. He was starting to shake. His grip had loosened enough for you to get out, but instead you brought your arms up and pulled him in closer. “If I let you go, you’ll see how much better you are than me. And you’ll leave. You’ll leave me because you’re better and you deserve so much better. But I’m a selfish bastard and I just want you for myself because I love you so damn much.” 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You wiggled your hand up, threading your hand into his hair and tilting his head to look up at you. 

“I love you too,” You said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Katsuki crushed you to his chest, letting out another loud sob. You could feel hot tears pressing against your eyes. You had no idea Katsuki felt this way about anything; about you, about himself, about your relationship. 

But one thing you knew for sure: You loved Bakugo Katsuki. 

~~~

The first thing Katsuki noticed when he woke up was the head ache. His head felt like he had a railroad spike jammed through his temples. God, what did he do last night? There was the party at Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever house. It’d been fine for a while, hanging out with the guys, playing beer pong, winning some extra cash from freshman in poker (where did he put that money anyway?). And then…

And then someone had said your name. He’d heard it across the room, an amazing feat in and of itself, but his ears were trained for any news of you. He’d jerked up right when he heard it, missing his shot at the beer pong table. He gladly took his drink and went prowling through the house. Who had said your name? Were you here? Were you coming?  

It might have been selfish, he knew how much you hated loud crowds, but damn it, he wanted you here. He remembered the last Greek life party you had been at. He’d lost you at some point between getting into an argument with that damn Deku and pulling Denki down from a keg stand. He’d finally found you huddled into some back corner, looking like a rabbit about to dart from a hungry fox (he wouldn’t mind being that fox, honestly, he could eat you right up.) You’d lost the color in your face, hands shaking as you clutched your red Solo cup almost hard enough for your nails to pierce the plastic. 

He snatched Kirishima by his collar as he carved a path through the room. He planted the extroverted red-head in front of you, creating an extrovert shield between himself and the love of his life you. He’d spent the rest of the night talking to you. Nothing special, he couldn’t even really remember what about. But he did remember the relaxed slope of your shoulders, the spark in your eyes, the smile that played on your lips at whatever lame joke he had just made. 

Back in the present (or last night, whatever), he was still stalking through the halls looking for whoever had mentioned you. He heard it again, the tail end of your name, coming from the living room. 

“-(/N) never had it so good.” There he was, lounging along the bottom stairs with a smug look on his face as he regaled the small crowd he had attracted. Katsuki recognized him as one of those legacy kids, the one who showed up to the first day of orientation in a sleek black Bugatti and took up three parking spaces, talked in almost every one of his classes when he even bothered to show up, and was, without a doubt at every party on or off campus. 

And now he was telling a story about you. What were you ever doing with an asshole like him? 

“You would never guess it from how she dresses, you know,” The guy continued, lazily waving his half-empty beer bottle. “But she is stacked.” 

Katsuki tensed up, his heart jumping into his throat. He pushed aside the crowd until he stood right in front of the bragger on the stairs. “What did you just say?” He asked through clenched teeth. “You're talking about (Y/N) (L/N), right?” 

He lazily swept his gaze up, grinning wide when he saw Katsuki. “Yeah, (Y/N)? You know, she comes across as a frigid bitch, but let me tell you, she’s an incredible lay.” Katsuki’s vision went red. The crowd started to subtly shuffle away, feeling the cold change in atmosphere. “Not much besides that, honestly. Thank god her tits and ass are amazing, cause her face sure wasn’t doing it for me. Super boring, too, heard she’s failing her classes. Oh, well. Hey, I could use a side-piece when I’m running my own firm, you know?” 

The asshole never saw it coming. In the span of a heart beat, Katsuki had grabbed his designer jacket and hoisted him off the stairs, pinning him to the wall so his feet kicked to try and reach the ground. 

“You listen to me, asshole,” Katsuki hissed. “You never talk about (Y/N) again. You never look at her, you never talk to your shit-stain friends about her, you sure as fuck never tell another lie about her, or so help me, you’ll get to find out what color your liver is.” 

Katsuki was half-way sure the jerk had pissed his pants. He dropped him in a heap, landing in the puddle of spilled beer on the floor. He brushed his hand off on his jeans, eager to get whatever germs the gossip had off him.  

He was almost out of ear shot when he heard the rich kid spit and say, “Fine. She’s probably crawling with it if you’re dicking her down.” 

The kid’s head made a dent in the wall as he richoched back from the impact of Katsuki’s punch. He would easily have a black eye and a broken nose, the chipped tooth would just be a  bonus. 

Katsuki’s head was fuzzy with rage, stalked through the house, bee-lining it to the nearest source of inebriation. How dare he? How fucking dare that absolute ass-wipe ever even think of saying such horrible things about you? He wasn’t even worth knowing your name, much less saying it. Not to mention the fact he must be blind to think you were anything less than stunning. Ever since he had known you, you had been nothing but kind and smart and caring and funny and…

“Baku-bro, you doing okay?” 

Katsuki didn’t realize how tight he was holding his fists until he relaxed. His nails had made half-moon indents in his palms, his knuckles brushed red from the punch. 

Kirishima had his mouth pulled down in that stupid puppy dog pout. “I’m fine,” Katsuki brushed him off. He grabbed a beer out of an iced cooler, twisting off the cap in a single motion and chugging half the bottle. 

“Well, that’s good, cause I don’t think Tim Flood is making it out of here without a few stitches.” 

“Good.” Katsuki finished the beer and chucked it into a recycle bin. He grabbed another and stalked out of the room. Everything felt too hot, too tight. His head was pounding. If you were here, you’d get a bag of ice and press it against his forehead. You’d probably call him an idiot for getting into another fight, that he needed to learn how to manage his temper better. He’d call you a dumbass but let you lead him away somewhere dark and quiet, away from all the other more insufferable dumbasses. You’d find some pain killers, get him some water, because that’s just the kind of caring person you were. Maybe you’d bring him upstairs, lead him to an unoccupied bedroom. The two of you would sit together on the bed, maybe just a little too close. You’d hand him the water, his hand would brush against yours. You’d look down, shy, blushing cutely. He’d lean forward, thread his hand through your incredibly soft hair, angle your face up to him. Your plush lips would part slightly and he’d lean forward and - 

“Are you sure you’re good?” Kirishima asked, abruptly cutting off Katsuki’s impromptu fantasy. “Cause you don’t look so good.” Katsuki bit his tongue. “Is it because of what that guy said about (Y/N)?” Katsuki whipped around, glaring daggers. Kirishima smiled and put his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, bro, it’s okay! No one believed him, anyway.” 

Katsuki scoffed, taking a swig of the beer. “(Y/N)’s too good for him anyway.” 

“I bet you think (Y/N)’s too good for everyone here, right?” 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you need to hurry up and tell (Y/N) you like her!” Sero shouted, jumping in out of nowhere. 

Katsuki dropped his bottle, Kirishima catching it just in time, and grabbed Sero by the front of his shirt and lifted him up. Sero just grinned his stupid, wide grin. 

“Come on, Katsuki,” Denki said, slinging an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders. “We all know you’ve had a thing for (Y/N) since high school. Why don’t you just put us all out of our misery and tell her already?!” 

Katsuki felt his face heat up. “I don’t- I haven’t - Fuck you!”  Katsuki couldn’t remember why he was friends with these three idiots as they all burst out into laughter.

 He snatched his bottle back and pushed through the crowd. He needed some air. He heard Sero yell after him, “You have to tell her eventually!” 

And… That was mostly it. Katsuki’s memories of last night sort of started to trail off after that. He knew that he drank, he drank a lot. At some point he ended up by the pool. And maybe he’d called someone? Oh, hell, he hoped he hadn’t called someone. 

His eyes snapped open at the soft groan. There you were, just inches away from his face, fast asleep and tucked in his arms. You were pressed close, breasts pushing against his chest, legs tangled with his, one hand clutching his shirt. Your lips were parted ever so slightly, breathing heavy and even. 

And you were so fucking close. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His arms tightened around you and he tensed. How the hell did this happen? Did you actually come to the party last night? When, and why? What had called you down there-? 

Oh. Oh, the call! He had called you last night? Some time in his drunken haze he must have figured out to bypass the timed lock he had put on it specifically to avoid calling people with a too-honest tongue. But had you…?  Nervously, he looked down. He sighed in relief. You were both still dressed. At least that was one mistake he knew he hadn’t made. 

Alright, that was one problem. Now, on to the next one: How was he going to get out of here without waking you up? Craning his head around, he checked out the room. Wait, this was his room. He was in his apartment! A picture of last night started to form in his mind. He’d called you, blabbering God knows what, and then you’d been a good person (why were you such a good person?) and had come to get him, to make sure he was okay. And then what? He’d somehow seduced you into his bed? No, it was more likely you had stayed to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit, maybe sat on the bed because it was the middle of the night and you were exhausted, and then… This. 

Okay, okay, no, this was fine, he could fix this. He could slip out, let you keep sleeping. He’d make some breakfast in the kitchen and then you’d wake up, wander in rubbing the sleep from your eyes in that cute way you did when you pulled an all-nighter studying. He’d chastise you for lugging his drunk ass up here, for being out so late at night. You’d wave him off, compliment his cooking, tell him to take better care of himself, and then smile up at him with that blindingly beautiful smile and sparkling eyes. 

“Morning.” Katsuki yelped at your greeting. He stared, wide-eyed, down at you, as you look back up at him lazily with those sparkling eyes. “It’s kinda hard to breathe here.” He realized then just how tight he was holding you. He jerked backward, his shout of surprise cut off as he fell off the bed. He rubbed his sore hip, looking up when he heard your giggle. You were leaning over the bed, smiling shyly when he caught you staring. 

He gulped hard, feeling his face burning up. “Hi.” 

You tucked a loose threat of hair behind your ear. “Hi.” 

He should say something. He needed to say something. God, why wasn’t he saying something? 

“I-“ Katsuki stopped with an incomplete thought in his mouth. He suddenly felt uncomfortably hot, his stomach clenching and throat going dry. Your face dropped as you lunged forward, dragging a bucket in front of him (where did that even come from?). He surged forward, clenching the sides of the bucket in a white knuckled grip, and threw up. 

You slid off the bed and knelt next to him. You rubbed small circles in his back, whispering small comforts as he coughed up bile and alcohol and who knows what else. You reached over behind him and grabbed a glass of water from his nightstand. 

“Here,” You said. “Rinse and spit. Don’t swallow or gargle, it’ll just mess with your gag reflex.” Rubbing the spike of pain growing in his forehead, he did what you said. When he caught his breath, he accepted the pain killers you had and dry swallowed them. You really had prepared for everything, huh? 

Katsuki shoved the bucket away with his foot, leaning back against the bed. “Fuck…” 

You hummed in response and scooted to sit next to him. “So,” You said. 

“So,” He said back. 

“I don’t suppose you remember much from last night?” 

He clenched his jaw, mouth going dryer than it already was, if that was possible. He tried to laugh, but it sounded forced and strained, even to him. “Hey, we’re both still wearing pants, right?” You didn’t laugh back. 

“So that’s a no then?” The seriousness with which you said that made him pause. 

“I, uh, think I called you?” 

“MmHmm. You didn’t sound too great, so I came to pull you out.” 

“Huh. Thanks for that.” 

“Yup.” You paused for a second. “Do you remember… anything else you said?” 

Fuck. 

“Uhh, I owe you breakfast?” 

You looked away. “Is there anything you maybe told Sero that you wouldn’t want him to tell me?” 

Double fuck. 

“If this is about Halloween last year, Mina was the one who brought the Ouija board.” He smirked at you, waiting for you to laugh with him. Instead you didn’t even look up, staring a hole in the carpet with the intensity of your gaze. 

You let out a sigh through your nose, pushing off your knees to stand. “I’m gonna head out,” You said, rubbing the back of your head and still not looking at him. 

Katsuki jumped up, immediately regretting as his head began swimming. “(Y/N), wait-“ He cut himself off with another surge of nausea and lurched towards the bucket. 

“Katsuki,” You said, sounding frustrated. “Look, I…” You sighed, running a hand through your hair and turning back to him. “We’ve known each other for a long time now, right? And for all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been stubborn and pig-headed and aggressive and just, you know, you. But still, in all that time, despite everything, I still…” You pressed your lips, looking for the right words. “I’m happy when I’m around you, Katsuki. I feel at ease, I feel protected, I feel like I can be better at anything. And I’ve thought about this a lot, so much that it makes my head spin and my heart hurt, but through all the trouble I still think it’s worth it. Because at the end of the day it means I still get to be with you and sometimes I just feel like that’s enough, but now I…” Your lip was trembling, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. Katsuki wanted nothing more than to take a big step forward and wrap you in the biggest, tightest hug of your life. Finally, you sighed in defeat. “But if you can’t say it, if the One and Only Katsuki Bakugo can’t say it, then how the hell can I?” 

Your voice broke on the last word. Katsuki was so stunned and suddenly pinned with guilt that he couldn’t move when you spun on your heels and rushed out of his apartment. 

Oh, fuck. 

~~~

“Idiot,” You murmured to yourself as you fled up the apartment stairs, furiously wiping at your eyes to get rid of the oncoming tears. “Idiot, idiot, idiot.” By the time you reached your apartment and slammed the door behind you, you weren’t sure if you were talking about Katsuki or yourself. 

You felt sick. Anxiety gnawed at your mind like a starving coyote. Had you really just confessed your feelings to Katsuki? Had you really just confessed your feelings to Katsuki like that? Would he ever speak to you again? Would things just become too awkward that you’d be edged out of your friend group? They had known Katsuki much longer than they had known you, after all. God, what if he was calling Kirishima right now and telling him about the disaster of a morning, after you had taken advantage of his blitz out state and slept in the same bed with him? 

Well, no. Kirishima was probably still knocked  out from his own night of heavy imbibing. Not to mention that even he, the most kind-hearted and patient person you knew, would have to draw a line at listening to Katsuki rant while dealing with a massive hangover. 

And no, Katsuki wouldn’t do that to you. Despite his rough deminor, his abrasive personality, and his profane tongue, Katsuki was actually a sweetheart deep down. Maybe really deep down, but still. He wouldn’t be so intentionally cruel, even if you told him that you shared all of his baby pictures of him playing in his All Might onesie online. 

So then why were you still huddled on a heap on the floor, back pressed against the front door, crying? Why was this pit of loneliness blooming in your chest?  

You yelped at the sudden banging on the door. Who could be here so early in the morning? You had paid rent this month, right? You sniffed, rubbing your eyes and smoothing out your clothes. You hoped your cheeks weren’t the blotchy red they got whenever you were upset. You took a deep breath to steady your voice for whoever was outside. 

Opening the door, you looked up at a wide-eyed Katsuki, panting hard with determination set on his face. You groaned internally. 

“Katsuki,” You began,” About what I said, I’m sorr-” 

Without waiting for you to finish, Katsuki surged forward. You tried to take a step backward, almost falling, but he caught you, a strong grip on your shoulders. Without waiting for you to get your bearings, Katsuki leaned in, smashing his lips against yours. 

It wasn’t a graceful kiss, all clashing teeth and urgency rather than romance. His eyes were screwed closed. He stayed pressed against you, not moving, grip so tight on your upper arms you thought there might be a mark later. 

Just as suddenly as he had come forward, he jerked back, but kept his hold on you. You both breathed heavily, eyes locked. Your mind whirled, a hundred voices shouting at the same time. For once, you decided to ignore them and let your body do what it wanted. 

You reached up, wrapping your arms around Katsuki’s neck and pulled him back in. This kiss was controlled, soft and sweet. His hands dropped from your shoulders to wrap around your waist. He pressed in harder, adding desperation in the kiss, as if he thought you would vanish any second. When you both pulled away this time, he leaned his forehead against yours, noses bumping into each other, sharing the same breath. 

His voice was rough. “Sorry,” He said. “I had to brush my teeth first.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Since requests are open, could we get a Deku with a chronically ill darling? To where maybe he started off as your caregiver (no quirk AU) and slowly finds himself in love?? Hits close to home. I love your work, btw!!!

Alright, I kinda translated heroes or doctors/caretakers, so… roll with it, everyone. I make the rules here.

TW: Emotional Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drugs, Implied Rape

In the morning, Izuku woke you up with a kiss.

It was a subtle, soft gesture, more often on the forehead than the lips and rarely anywhere lower. He’d always be smiling, grinning, just so happy to have you close enough to touch, close enough to care for properly. You never argued against it. Sometimes you didn’t want a kiss, some sometimes you didn’t want to wake up while the air was still chilled and before the sun had a chance to rise, but you’d never tell Izuku that.

He was your doctor. Doctors cared for their patients. If he did something, it was obviously for your benefit.

After that, he’d give you a small, orange pill, and you would wonder what it was supposed to help. You had medication, medication that worked, but Izuku insisted that it was necessary, going on about how your condition was getting worse, or the symptoms your showing, or how he thought you’d been a little stressed, lately. At first, you refused to take it. But, when it became apparent he’d just crush whatever you were supposed to take up and mix it into your drink, you figured it would be better to see what you were swallowing, at least.

The rest of the morning would be filled with domestic, trivial tasks, none of which were particularly important. He’d carry you into a shower, washing your hair and lathering you in affectionate touches, saying that this was normal for couples, normal for caregivers. You’d sit at the table as he made breakfast, chatting idly about which wing he was working that day, how that sweet nurse who’s always snuck you an extra dessert was doing, whatever came to mind. Letting him feed you by hand was never something you remembered agreeing to, but Izuku didn’t have to ask, for these things. He knew you got sore when you moved too much, this was just his way of making sure you weren’t in pain.

It’s why you weren’t allowed to walk, either. Because your legs might give out, you’d fall and hit your head, or they’d… apostrophy? Amputee?

Atrophy. You were never great with the terminology.

You’d be tired again, at that point, and Izuku would take you back to bed, laying you down and laughing as you clung to his arm and attempted to drag him down with you. He told you he’d be home soon, but you would still whine as he got dressed, only giving-in to your own exhaustion when he kissed you good-bye. He’d leave two white pills out on the bedtable, to take if you woke up while he was gone. You never remembered taking them, but they were always gone at the end of the day.

You weren’t sure how long his shifts lasted, sometimes eight hours, sometimes sixteen, with the occasional twenty-four hour emergency. Part of you knew it wasn’t healthy to sleep that much, but you never felt like you had. There were still bags under your eyes, your body constantly heavy and on the verge of collapsing, even if Izuku promised you were ‘flourishing’ under his care. You certainly weren’t healthy when you’d come to him, but you were never this… tired, either. And yet, anytime you found yourself staring at the mirror a little too hard for a little too long, you just reminded yourself Izuku was taking care of you.

This was probably just part of the recovery process. He warned you this might happen, when he offered to switch you into a more personal program, so he must know what he’s going.

When you woke up (for the second time, you think), the sun would be setting, Izuku at your side and unconscious, more often than not. You would curl into him, simply playing with his hair until he woke up, when he grudgingly took another shower and discarded the less than sanitary scrubs he’d come home in. It’d take some effort for him to move on with his day, getting him out of bed something more easily said than done with a man who lugged you around like a toddler carrying his favorite stuffed animal. It’d take coaxing, promises of an entire night of holding each other, but eventually, you get him out of bed. It might just be the monotony, but… god, you’re not sure how anyone can like sleeping, anymore.

Sometimes he helped you change, sometimes he didn’t. You used to do it yourself, relishing in the simple joy of dividing your day into two different outfits, but after Izuku pointed out how strenuous it must be to do something like that all on your own, you stopped. It wasn’t worth the fight, and… your arms kinda hurt, anyway.

Dinner was already prepped and cooked within the next half an hour. It was the one time you were allowed a few minutes in the kitchen, if only to see the locked cabinets and all the cutlery you weren’t allowed to use, Izuku having deemed them ‘too dangerous’ for unsteady hands. This time was also when he let himself talk about you, about how much he loved you, about how well you were doing with him, about how beautiful you whenever he got to see you. It always almost always a tangent, a sleepy ramble that didn’t require a response. You wouldn’t provide one, either way. You’d just sit and listen, trying to ignore all the times he mentioned adding something to your IV, or when he’d laugh about weak you'd be, without him.

You never really liked dinner.

Izuku would spend an hour or two doing chores (you’d offer to help, but any tasks he gave you were more out of pity than a genuine desire for you to help), and if he was feeling lazy and affection, there’d be more cuddling. You were allowed to read or watch something or play on one of his old hand-helds, the kind you didn’t know they even made anymore. Izuku was content to rest his chin in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin, occasionally commenting on whatever you were doing. Whenever it looked like things were going to escalate, Izuku feeling a little more playful and energetic and loving that day, he’d give you a big, round, squishy pill. That one was always your favorite, out of everything he’d give you.

Izuku was happier than usual, when you woke up the next morning. 

And you were happy for him.

But, normally, he’d carry you to bed, kissing your nose or rubbing your cheeks together or doing something sickeningly sweet before laying down at your side. When he first switched to home-care, there’d been physical therapy, Izuku helping you to stretch and maintain some of the mobility you used to have. There wasn’t, now, Izuku just saying you didn’t have to move, not if he was there to take care of you. You were just left to lie awake until the sun rose and Izuku, once again, woke you up with a kiss.

You used to think about how your life had been, how doctors didn’t kiss their patients, or keep a four-digit code on their medicine-cabinets, or cry when their clients mentioned wanting a second opinion. When your mind was clear and you didn’t think Izuku was attempting to read your thoughts, you would start to wonder if you’d ever told your family where you were, or how long it’d been since you’d talked to someone besides the physician who probably wasn’t supposed to get so excited when you came down with something incapacitating. You’d mull over everything he said, everything he did, every lingering touch and needy kiss, and in the end…

You’d tell yourself not to think about it.

Izuku was a doctor, and you were his patient. He was trying to help you, he had to be trying to help you.

Even if you only seemed to be getting so, so much more helpless.

[spnsmile]

Title: Burn out this Love

Summary:

Complete blackout in the Bunker during a stormy night has TFW2.0 setting up candles in the war room except Dean accidentally lights one of the cursed candles that extracted a part of himself that believes he loves Castiel. A shaman comes to help but not really, resulting in the angel’s short temper and taking matters in his own hands to make Dean remember. Dean did not forget his name after.

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 9390

Tags/Warning: non/Con, dubcon, Curses, Fluff, Domestics, Established destiel

Written for @supernaturalpromptchallenge March prompt: Element: fire-candle

It was a precarious move, so Castiel silences everything of the earth’s natural orchestra always playing by his ears. From the nonstop spatter of rain on the muddy ground to the howling wind beating against the fort’s thick walls. The electrical hum silently permeating the stone confines to the droplets of water from the sink.

He narrows down the sound to the light tapping of Sam Winchester’s fingers on the keyboard. Jack’s distinct swallows of anticipation beside him. And Dean humming contentedly across the table, waiting for the next course of action to transpire.

Castiel opens his eyes. He raises his left hand with two delicate fingers like pincers and with precision, jabs it at the wooden block of his choice in the second level of the towering pile of Jenga he, Dean and Jack had been huddled around.

There’s a second of everyone holding their breath. Even Sam’s fingers have stopped typing. Dean’s eyes are so round, breath held, Castiel can almost feel his controlled excitement. But he got this.

He meticulously extracted a brick in one pull without making the almost 24 cm tower tumble. Dean sighs with a small, biting his bottom lip to keep whatever he wants to say while Jack’s mouth drops as Castiel stacks the brick up the tower deftly. He then beams at Dean and Jack when the tower remained steady.

“That wasn’t so hard. This indoor game is actually quite entertaining. Humans really are creative when left in their own devices being stuck inside their homes.”

He clasps both his hands on the table then stares at Dean.

Stuck that afternoon because of rain with no case at hand, they were easily convinced by Jack to play Jenga. At first, Dean didn’t want to participate, but one look from the angel gets him to agree. He vowed to destroy Castiel teasingly before they begin.

Except Cas isn’t prone to losing this one yet.

“Your turn, Dean.” Jack says, “Those blocks on the second and third level looks very shaky.” Dean glares at Cas

“Yeah, because somebody insisted on taking out all the foundation on the get-go. Ten minutes later and welcome to Pisa.”

“Rules of Jenga states that you have to remove a brick from a layer other than the top—”

“Like heck I’ll give you top even in this one, babe.” Dean cuts in slyly.

Castiel’s eyes narrow at his boyfriend who looks really fine with his finger-combed hair straight from the shower. He could tell by the strong smell of the hunter’s shampoo pervading the air. He is wearing his soft green top that always matches his eyes. Castiel prefers those one-color coded than the flannels, though he would never be averse to any clothing as long as it includes Dean.

Dean takes a shot in the middle of the tower, then seconds later extracted another brick.

“I got one for tops in ten seconds. Gonna get your ass next, Cas.”

Castiel only deadpans. Dean is obviously flirting with him now but he doesn’t know what to do except stare. He doesn’t remember when this had become a battle of position but he returns the intent gaze with usual deadpan.

“I was using my non-dominant hand.”

Castiel raises his left with an eyebrow up, smiling. Dean huffs in disbelief and was about to put the brick on the top of the tower when Castiel’s phone suddenly rings.

Dean yelps in surprise and knocks the entire tower, sending bricks on the table and the floor with loud thudding sounds. Castiel catches one brick on the way to the ground, watching everything fall apart. Dean groans and smacks his fist on the table while Jack smiles all cheeks like he’s been waiting for it to happen.

“I’ll help get them.” He says instead.

“Who’s callin?” Dean says grudgingly.

They all look at Castiel who’s fishing inside his coat. He shrugs at the look Dean gives him as he takes his phone out. “Oh, it’s my contact—one of the angels.”

Dean makes a face and grumbles.

“Looks like your top didn’t make it, Dean.” Sam remarks lightly from the end of the table.

“Shut up.” Dean snaps, “I’ll win Cas one of these days.”

“A foreseeable future in an alternate universe.”

“Shut up, you want me, Cas.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow scathingly

“No, but I need you to help pick up the wood, Dean. Yes, hello? Uh… yes, you did call inconveniently, I was in the middle of something—”

“My my, this wood’s hard.” Dean kneels on the floor with the voice loud enough to be heard on the angel’s phone.

“Dean,” Sam says in warning.

Giving Dean an intense look, Castiel nods on his phone then hangs up. He stands up and walks to the hunter, kneels in front of Dean who freezes at the sudden approach till Castiel reaches out and tilts his chin up. Sam looks away pointedly.

“Bad boy, Dean.”

Dean’s whole face flushes as red as a tomato.

“I understand it now.” Comes Jack’s voice, severing the spell the two had fallen under when the Nephilim appears behind the angel.

“What did you understand?” Castiel takes the bricks from the boy, feeling Dean’s eyes hot on his back. Jack nods with eyes round.

“This game is much like when people try to reach the top of heaven, but god punished them by taking out what makes them stronger together one by one. Like in the Tower of Babel.”

Dean resurfaces from the trance, blinking.

“He’s all yours.”

Castiel smiles. “It does appear to be all interrelated when you stop and think about it, though, in reality, the prophet of the lord during that time was a bad drunk who was trying to dispute ownership over a windmill farm from his brother. Eventually ending their relationship. Only because his brother refused to speak with him, thus context. But it’s more of the lesson of the story, Jack, rather than the myth behind it. I need to go.”

Dean’s head snaps up from the table.

“Why? Where are you going?”

“To meet my contact? That’s why he called, you heard him, Dean.”

“I heard him destroy my chances of topping.” Dean frowns. Castiel can see the argument rising from his face so he chooses his words carefully.

“He requires my assistance.”

Dean blinks, “Okay, wait for me I’ll go get my coat—”

“Uh, no, Dean. You can’t accompany me.” Because like most angels, this one is also wary of Dean Winchester. All angels—all Supernatural beings are.

“Stop joking around.”

“I’m not. I think you know when I am.” Castiel says drily.

 “What— you serious? But we had an agreement not to go out of the house without—"

“Um… Bunker hall pass?”

Sam snorts while Castiel hesitates when he sees Dean frown deeper.

Hall pass as he understands means something about … Winchesters want to do something private which basically is like the loophole in the whole agreement. It’s that pass where they do stupid stuff or deals or meetings without the others knowing.

They all agreed to never go out of the Bunker without a partner according to Dean. If it’s a hunt, it’s usually Sam and Dean together. But if it’s grocery shopping or Dean needing to have some fresh air it’s always Castiel on tow. Castiel doesn’t necessarily require the same attention, though he treasures Dean’s company to a fault.

He doesn’t understand the confused expression on Dean’s face.

“Cas, unless it’s a date you wanna get laid at, geez, I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not. Listen to me, Dean. You really can’t tag along.”

“But it’s raining.” Dean points. Castiel tilts his head, wordless. Dean stares at him, shifting from one foot to another before his expression closes into a grim.

“Fine. Go then.”

There’s nothing much left for Castiel to do when the man leaves.

Castiel quietly watches him go. No sooner than he left, the angel heard a distinct exploding sound somewhere far and the entire Bunker is enveloped in darkness.

***

Castiel stares blankly at the wall of the kitchen to the dancing shadow of Dean Winchester. He followed Dean ten minutes later and stationed himself by the door watching Dean busy himself by the sink, washing his hands with the flashlight of his cellphone, his sleeves pushed up his elbow and humming Led Zepp Castiel is already quite familiar.

“Dean.”

“What.”

“There’s been a massive blackout,” Castiel informs him.

“Don’t I know it? What are you still doing here? I thought your gonna have a date n stuff?”

“I don’t date.” Castiel rolls his eyes. “At the very least if their name is not Dean Winchester, I do not bother.” He sees the visible tension disappear on the man’s shoulder. It gets him talking more to get on Dean’s good side again. “I’ve decided not to go. It’s raining and I don’t want my boyfriend upset even though it’s ridiculous to be jealous—”

Dean coughs several times and swings to face the angel with the back of his hand on his lips. His ears are pink, Castiel can tell even from the dark.

“B-boyfriend?” he blurts out in shock.

“Unless you prefer that I call our engagement with different terminology. I believe the word ‘boyfriend’ is what this century is calling it nowadays. Or would you prefer to be my ‘beau’?” he narrows his eyes. To be honest he will prefer anything as long as he can tell their relationship is special. But Dean—

“N-no, I like boyfriend.” Dean stammers, turning back the sink and washing the frozen meat from the fridge. Castiel smiles and walks to him. He likes it when Dean gets all flustered because of something he said. Dean’s always been like that from the beginning.

Wrapping his arms around the hunter, Castiel sighs in contentment when he inhales Dean’s scent. Dean tenses in front of him but Castiel kisses the back of his neck, urging him to relax while he presses Dean back on the counter, body solidly against each other.

“Stop getting me a boner, Cas.” Dean chuckles.

Tag: Explicit

“Mmm. Why not?” Cas smiles, brushing his hand on top of the hunter’s fly. He can feel Dean’s body going rigid, his breath hitching. “I thought you said this is what boyfriends do?” He bites Dean’s ear. Too irresistible not to do it.

“Dammit, Cas—"

“I like it when you get angry with me.” Castiel whispers, unzipping Dean’s pants and snaking his deft hand inside his boxers. Dean is hard. The way he can easily turn Dean on is mesmerizing. “Because I know you’re worried. I know you care a lot. I’d prefer it anytime than you uncaring. Love it when you’re jealous.” He nips on the smooth skin, running his tongue back to Dean’s lobes and sucking hard.

“Now you’re tripping me—fuck!”

Dean squirms back against Castiel’s body, his ass pressing hard against the angel’s hips. It’s all sensual to him, all because Dean is a very sensitive man. It’s not physical alone, though that’s what draws Dean to Castiel at the beginning while Castiel is the exact opposite.

He saw Dean’s soul first and fell in love. Gradually, they were able to piece themselves together and now what’s between is both. Castiel understands that now. Dean is turned on sensually, emotionally and it’s mutual between them. It’s everything Castiel loves about Dean. But body contact is not to be undervalued either—Dean strives to be touched, hungry for it always, he spent the rest of his life seeking company on lonely nights. Now he’s with Castiel—responding to every caress because only Castiel knows how.

So, when he strokes Dean, they both know it’s more than just touches. Dean breathes like all the air is leaving his lungs. When Castiel presses his thumb on the delicate slit in the middle of the pulsing cock, they both know the running pleasure is multiplied by the thought of who is doing it. Castiel is. To Dean.

And Cas knows how to serve him. Grabbing Dean’s hair with his free hand, he presses their heads together, his lips on Dean’s ear. “Are you going to come for me, Dean?”

It’s enough to get Dean convulsing on his palm.

“Cas— shit—” Dean's hand grapples the edge of the sink while his other grasped behind him to Castiel’s hips. His knees are wobbling against the angel. “C-Cas I’m almost—”

His voice just breaks in the most arousing way. Castiel turns Dean’s head and kisses him hard, enjoying the heat coming from the hunter’s lips, the way it’s so open in submission as dominates their exchange. He pumps Dean harder in the middle of his release, shooting off the sink’s ceiling and on Castel’s hand.

Dean groans and falls back weakly on the angel but Cas got him. He embraces Dean. Plants soft kisses around Dean’s salty throat, his hand still slowly stroking Dean’s cock till he feels it soften in his palms. Dean is breathing hard and Castiel feels a little proud to the one to do that. Things had been very peaceful around them since they both woke up from the idiot dream after their confession of love. Castiel will never forget it.

“Can I help with anything else?” he asks after thoroughly cleaning Dean with his grace and tucking his cock back in before unzipping his fly.

“You just jerked me in front of my bacon.”

“I cleaned it.”

“You just took advantage of me cause it’s dark here.”

“That is true, but you also did say that’s what humans do in the dark with four walls and blankets. We don’t have blankets—do I need to get one?”

“Unless you want to fuck me on the table?” the way Dean sounds hopeful gives Castiel a headache.

 “We’ll have that when we can. For now, if you’re done fixing dinner, I will go call Sam and Jack so we can all be here. I’m sure they found the candles by now.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Candles? What are they—kids? No, use flashlights, the candles are last resorts. I have flashlights in the cabinet. Or make em use their phones.”

“I do not think that’s a good idea considering you might need your phones to communicate outside if the blackout persists.”

“Uh… You’re right.” The hunter smiles smugly all of a sudden, “Then can you be like my lamp now? You know—badass angel glowing light in the middle of the room—

“Umm, if I do that the entire Bunker will be enveloped with pure light and since it’s dark outside, the possibility of getting detected by your world’s ‘space cadets’ as you call them is at risk. So now. I do not believe it’s very smart to use my grace at all, Dean. Let’s reserved that for a real emergency.” Castiel glares.

“Geez, alright.” Dean laughs, wiping his hands with the towel hanging by his left shoulder. “Hang on, I’ll go with you to get the flashlights. Their only under the Ham radios.”

“Okay.”

“Wait— Cas!”

Dean surprises Castiel when he suddenly pulls him back, cups his face and catches his lips into a mouth to a kiss with the hunter leading.

Castiel smiles. He likes it when Dean is spontaneous like that. He lets Dean take him. When they pull away, Dean is looking at him with eyes full of love. Castiel nudges his nose on Dean’s lips and sighs. Together, they walk back to the library, all tensions obviously have been released away.

“But, really, candles?” Dean says in the dark.

Castiel uses the opportunity to pull Dean forward. “So, you can ask them. Let’s go.”

“Don’t make me trip on you—”

“You’re the one who keeps pushing—Dean!”

“Sorry!” Dean laughs, “Was that your ass or what?”

Rolling his eyes, he lets Dean pat his ass again until they reach the corridor. Sam’s laptop screen is on, the only light amidst complete darkness. In front of it, Sam looks up with Jack waiting beside him. “Finally decided to appear now, huh?”

“While you guys are playing another set of ‘Are you afraid of the Dark?’ episode?” Dean is clearly looking at Sam who rubs his forehead and nods at Jack.

“We’re waiting for Cas.” Jack explains brightly, eyes on the. “The candles are still unlit so I was thinking if you can use your grace them get them light up.”

Castiel doesn’t quickly answer but throws a look over Dean instead.

“It’s raining and there are candles. Add a cat and we’ll be calling out Sabrina. I can’t even see the candles!” Blinking hard with brows furrowing, he and Castiel steps to the table, casting looks over the place

 “I’m not sure I can light all, Jack.” Castiel says solemnly.

“Sure you can.” Jack encourages.

“Just makes sure you don’t make any light bulbs burst and eyes burn.” Dean chuckles.

Castiel glares at that. He notices Dean emerging from under the table and pulling a box under the table to duck from his glare. Huffing, Castiel snaps his fingers and—

The fire flickers out of thin air from the four candles in the middle, lightening the whole war room with the dancing flames, sending their shadows tall on the walls. Castiel sees Jack beam and it made the effort worth it.

“And this,” comes Dean’s voice. Nobody saw him put another candle on the table. They found him already with a matchstick at hand, scraping the corner and tipping down the thick wax candle with an X-mark—

“Dean—wait—!” Sam begins, but too late— Dean lights the candle. The moment the flame flickers on the candle, Dean’s eyes roll back with white balls showing and he drops on the floor out cold.

“DEAN!”

“It’s a cursed object, obviously. Are you sure you’re with proper hunters? One look of the object and—”

“It’s a long story—there’s no electricity when you need it. I could power it up, but Sam says— anyway, just come here—I don’t care if it’s raining. I want to make sure he’s going to be okay after the candle dies out—” Castiel listens to the shaman’s mundane complaints while the angel stands outside the corridor right outside Dean’s room.

His body is still shaking as he relieves the memory of Dean fainting after lighting the cursed candle. Saw something leave Dean’s body that made him reach for the hunter and clutch him close. Protecting Dean at all costs. In the end, after determining it was a cursed candle from the box that Jack brought in the room unwittingly, Castiel resorted to calling his only resource for magical objects, The Shaman, Sergei.

After sending a photo of the nasty candle he wants to melt, his opinion changed drastically upon learning that Dean’s life force is connected to the candle. Now it became the most important thing for him.

“Be quick, I’m warning you, Sergei.”

Castiel hangs up and sprints back to Dean’s room. He can still feel his heart wild against his chest anxiously. The way it happened— he saw something get sucked away from Dean’s body when he lit the candle. Sergei only confirmed his suspicion which didn’t make him feel any better.

But at least it wasn’t any candle about death….

Sam brought his rechargeable lamp in the room that lit the entire vicinity conveniently. Sam looks up questioningly when Castiel comes in and Cas had no choice but to give him a curt nod.

“Yes, Sergei says it’s a curse.”

Sam’s face turns pale. “And? What kind of curse?”

“I don’t know… Sergei’s not sure but he says it could be of Japanese origin but apart from that we still have to wait for Sergei to confirm. He still wants to come over and see for himself.”

“Okay, that’s a plan.” Sam stands up and palms his face. “But I’m still going to search around lore books about Japanese curses then. I don’t trust Sergei. Do you?”

He frowns up at Sam. “I have every reason to doubt Sergei. He will be under my watch once he’s here. He should not be left with Dean. And even if it is the only threat of the cursed candle, I still would not relax until I see Dean as himself again. I’m afraid so trusting Sergei is the only thing we have for now.”

They all look at Dean fast asleep on his bed with the candlelight burning over the table by his wall.

Everyone knows it is Castiel who will be watching over Dean for the rest of the night. Sam left the room to do research in his room and see what else he can find with an extra flashlight at hand. Jack decides to let Cas and Dean alone and once everything is quiet, Castiel naturally focuses on Dean.

He sits beside the hunter’s bed, eyeing every feature of Dean he’s already memorized by heart. One look and he can tell something is missing, though whether it’s for the best, he is not one to decide. He places two fingers on his friend’s forehead and sighs. He closes his eyes, heartbreaking again when he could not reach onto Dean’s soul.

Castiel stays inside Dean’s room for the better part of the night, watching for any slight changes or disturbance over the hunter’s peaceful slumber. There’s none. In fact, Dean barely stirred on the bed unaware of the raging weather outside. If it was not for his chest moving steadily, Castiel would worry about his life.

He spends an hour like that, just staring at Dean’s face for the rest of the evening, recounting his freckles, noting those that faded and delighting himself in finding new ones.

He touches Dean’s forehead from time to time, let his fingers run down the soft hair. Let’s his warmth fill the empty vessel of his boyfriend. He knows it’s unnecessary, but he could not stop. Won’t. He’d do it even with a hairbreadth of grace left in his body.

He stares at Dean.

Achingly. Longingly. Willing those eyes to open for him again. So, he waits. He always waits for Dean. It only seems proper because it’s Dean who made him realize how waiting can sometimes be unbearable. Time is a concept no angel understood before.

Until Dean.

Nightmares didn’t visit Dean that night. Dean does not have any reason to fear, Castiel is beside him. The true nightmare is waiting for Dean alone in the silence of the night. So, if someone asks Castiel if he has any fear at all, Castiel will think of this moment and tells them he does.

***                                          

The Shaman arrived around half past nine, two hours after Dean’s collapse. By then power was still absent, making it difficult for Sam to use his laptop. The Bunker’s generator hasn’t worked since the last invasion in the fortress.

Descending from the metal stairs with wet shoulders from the rain outside, he cast his eyes at the faces waiting for him by the war table looking like a phantom in black apparel, the lights of candles whipping in his presence.

“Has he woken up?” Sergei asks deadpan.

“Not yet.” Castiel shakes his head, “It’s only been two hours. Are you sure the lasting effect of the candle is only 7 hours?” Sergei looks pass Sam to the entrance of the corridor eagerly. He turns to Castiel again.

“Yes, unless you use the other two candles then the curse will continue.”

Castiel and Sam exchange looks. The Shaman raises an eyebrow.

“There are three candles for the shrine ritual,” he begins slowly, “together the three can have significant influence over the balance of nature. Do you mean to tell me—?”

“I kept the other candles in the box.” Sam presses his lips.

“Very well, please bring them into the room. Castiel? Can you lead the way?”

Castiel did not say anything. The look Sam gives him is meaningful, but since the hour is dire, the two decided to do as the Shaman says. Castiel leads the way to Dean’s room while Jack accompanies Sam to the storage room.

Once they reach the hunter’s room, Castiel quickly checks on Dean. The hunter is still fast asleep with no sign of any disturbance in his absence. Sergei doesn’t wait. He slides past Castiel and takes a look at the hunter from head to toe, then walks to the candle still burning bright by the table.

Castiel watches Sergei’s movement with his brows slowly furrowing.

“Will he be okay?” he stands beside Sergei, expression softening at Dean’s sleeping form.

“I need some time alone with him. The spell for—”

“No.”

He meets Sergei’s eyes but the final word is apparently with the clouding of his face.

“Fix him.” He says sharply, “And don’t do anything suspicious or I’ll smite you.”

Sergei quirks his eyebrows. “Always the Russian method with you.”

Castiel doesn’t like it. Truth be told, he’s wary of repeatedly asking the Shaman for help. He’s been pushing Sergei to the limits, always asking for favors they both know would never be compensated. It’s only a matter of time before the Shaman gets back to him. Sam shouting in the corridor at the top of his lungs seems to be the cue.

“Your other Winchester needs you.” they both look at the door but Castiel did not move from

“What are you not telling me, Sergei?”

“CAS!” Sam appears by the door, breathless. “Cas! Don’t let him near Dean!”

Castiel doesn’t ask why. He grabs Sergei by the collar and lifts him up the air before Sam can even finish. He’s been alert from the beginning— expecting danger lurking around and with an unconscious Dean, he’s not about to put his guard down.

Sergei is clutching his wrist tightly, choking as he writhes against Castiel’s hold. Castiel whose eyes gleam darkly, fixing the Russian with his penetrating stare.

“What…” he says, dangerously calm, “are you not telling me?”

There’s a groan on the bed. Castiel distractedly looks down at Dean stirring. Sergei chuckles and presses something hot on his hands. He feels his whole body becomes rigid—the ability to move gone from whatever the Shaman did.

“No!”

Sam comes forward, lunging at Sergei who was leaning on Dean’s side. He grabs him by the shoulder to take him out but in the middle of the struggle, everyone sees him rise from the bed.

Castiel swallows hard. He feels his grace trying to reach out to him but couldn’t—his grace is locked away. But it’s not this that gets him worried.

It’s Dean. Dean is now fully awake, staring at Sergei with unblinking eyes.

“Shit.” Sam whispers.

That doesn’t bode well for Castiel.

Smite. Absolute smiting.

This is the only thing Castiel can think about when he heard the truth about the curse on Dean and Sergei’s intentions for his friend.

Apparently, the cursed candles are used in Japan’s ancient, most famous and terrible curse-a ritual done mainly by jealous and wronged lovers. The three candles are only part of the instruments— as Sam reads.

“…dressed in white and a trivet worn like a crown with three candles burning in the night, a doll made of bound straw and wooden hammer or long iron spikes… They would have in their possession a part of the victim they want to curse—a hair, skin blood, fingernail, even photographs and perform the ritual by any Shinto shrines and time to the Hour of the Ox, witching hour where yurei and yokai spirits come haunting…”

Castiel is only half listening. No. He is emitting a certain air of danger for the Shaman bound by the chair in the war room. Dean is still in his room with a headache while Jack stands outside his door. Half of Castiel’s mind is with Dean, sensing his every movement but he could not. He knows something is different and it’s that he will extract from Sergei by force.

He points his blade menacingly at the Shaman who pulls away from the pointed blade as far as he could. Castiel doesn’t mean to make contact. He can only see blood.

“That’s not the entire story behind this, is it, Sergei?” Castiel glowers. Sam joins him with arms crossed, glaring at the Russian.

“The candles have been used before and was stashed away with the remnants of the curse left in it. What I don’t understand is why lighting one would be harmful to anyone who uses it.”

“Not harmful, of course not. You do not understand the power of words entangled with pure hatred and love, do you?” Sergei begins hooded eyes on the hunter.

Castiel jabs his knuckle on Sergei’s jaw. It connects—Sam doesn’t even bother stopping the angel whose glinting blue eyes burned on the Shaman.

“Tell us everything before I kill you.”

“Cas…”

Sergei harkens a laugh but obliges. “Dead spirits linger on earth, you know, because of their attachment to the mortal world. And when I say attachment, we speak of their sentiments. Very dangerous even for mortal people to possess. Anger, hatred, injustice… bound to materialize when given too much power over poor souls. Now, Japanese witches, they have different sources of power with their deeper connection to the pagan gods their culture have embraced. More resources, more creativity when it comes to Witchcraft you in the West would never achieve.”

“What about you?” Cas asks.

“I’m Russian. Shaman, Castiel. A chosen profession by necessity. We do not need to keep the Supernatural hidden in the East. We bask in them. The people worship them. Acceptance of the Supernatural passed down from generation until, well. The invasion of West insisting on their god.” He looks pointedly at Castiel who continues to glower in his direction.

“What has this got to do with Dean?”

“The three-candles-curse stand for hatred, jealousy, and intent to harm. If passed on, these emotions are also transferred to the next caster. It doesn’t matter if you light the three, put it on your head like a crown. Once lit, the emotions will flood the caster and urge them to continue the curse till done. Your boyfriend—” he nods at the door, “who only lit one will only be affected by the chosen candle. The question here is which one did he light? The one for hatred? For jealousy? Or the intention to harm? We’re about to find out.”

Castiel hears the quiet footfalls of Dean followed by Jack coming from the corridor. Sergei sees them too, standing at the door with the hunter’s gaze quickly falling on the Shaman. His face is pale, Castiel can see dark lines under his eyes. But above that, he sees Dean’s soul has been clouded. Dimmed. He grits his teeth then pulls Sergei’s collar.

“It doesn’t make sense. If those negative emotions will transfer to him then why—why are you getting involved?”

“Ah, I did not say it will affect him in the same way.” Sergei says with a malicious glint in his eyes, “For if a person does not intend to do harm nor feel any certain hatred over another… if this person only accidentally lights the candles without any then what’s left will be the root of the magic which is—”

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean growls, frowning. “Get away from him.”

Sam steps forward to meet Dean halfway while Jack follows behind the hunter uncertainly.

“Dean, this guy doesn’t want to help you, okay? He’s here to screw with us!”

Dean frowns. “What are you talking about? He won’t hurt me. Get out of the way, Sammy.” His green eyes swim towards Sergei, the dull eyes slowly gaining fire of determination. Castiel stands his ground as he understood how Dean’s eyes melt softly—and to the angel’s horror—

“I love him.” Dean reasons.

The blade falls on the floor with a solid thud.

Castiel takes a lungful of air, eyes not leaving Dean’s. Beside him, he hears Sergei’s dark voice, “Be careful, angel. The curse is twice bound. You don’t want to burn him, do you?”

What is the root of all curses that spark from emotions…?

Of course.

Love.

Dean is left in his room alone, cuffed and all after punching Sam for getting on his way. He was only stopped when Castiel and Jack take him too and locked him away.

“Don’t kill him yet, Cas,” Sam says before they part. Sergei has just smugly admitted he wanted to get back on Castiel even for just 7 hours by taking Dean’s affection. He knew this was gonna happen and its only Sam who’s stopping him from burying his angel blade on the Shaman. Sam takes care of Sergei, promising to throw him somewhere far where Dean would never reach him. Castiel is left to take care of Dean, so take care of Dean he will.

The lasting effect of the curse is until the candle dies out which Castiel left in Jack’s care. He trusts Jack. The fire wasn’t in any danger of dying its fire soon anyway. His heart breaks at the thought, but he can’t be weak. Dean needs him now. As long as the man doesn’t start proposing to Sergei, that is.

Sam told him to clear off Dean until the next five hours but Castiel made no promises. He knows the curse will be lifted on its own yet, he can’t. It’s Dean and no sooner than Sam left the Bunker around dawn, he finds himself traipsing down the hallway to the end of the corridor

Dejected atmosphere greets Castiel when he opens the door of the room. Dean has fallen silent with his wrists cuffed together on the table. He looks up when Castiel enters, but his green eyes swiftly look behind the angel-like he’s expecting someone there. Disappointment fills his expression and Castiel mirrors him. That is. Until he gets a hold of himself.

Sam said they will be laughing this out after the five-hour mark. That Dean would be so embarrassed to declare his undying love to the Russian Shaman who he will hunt for the rest of his life. Castiel doesn’t find it amusing. He saw Dean back there— he saw how Dean’s innate ability to love was robbed of the man.

If Dean was going to hunt for Sergei in the future, he better does it quickly before Castiel gets there before. He closes the door behind him and locks it.

Dean sits up with wary anticipation on the bed. Castiel eyes him predatorily. He sheds his trench coat first, folding it carefully at the back of Dean’s chair.

Dean in love with someone else? Now that’s laughable.

Dean is his.

Dean belongs to him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Where is he?”

Castiel’s lips thin. He wants to say the Shaman is dead. Sergei will be once Castiel gets Dean’s heart back. He runs his hand on his tie before carefully pulling it away.

“Sam escorted him out of the Bunker. For your safety.” He says very quietly.

“Gee, thanks. Way to keep me in line, keeping away the only person who can straighten me out.” Dean kicks the side table enough to make Castiel finally look at him.

“Stop it. Destroying things won’t make you get your way. You’re only hurting yourself.”

“You know what the best way for me to actually not hurt myself?” Dean sneers, “Is for you to let me go!”

“I’m afraid I can’t let that happen, Dean. No. You’re only going to follow Sergei.” Castiel’s eyes are cold. “No, you stay here. With me.”

The man huffs angrily like it’s the last thing he wants in the world. If only his Dean can see himself now. Refusing Castiel’s company in the same room they’ve shared many times. What irony… but Castiel’s not about to let that stop him.

There’s a reason why Dean is locked here with him. He begins to unbutton his shirt, eyes gleaming when he sees Dean watch him warily.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Have you really forgotten our little secret, Dean?” Castiel asks, walking to the bed in two steps and stops in front of the man.

Dean looks up defiantly and Castiel finds himself like that. The number of times he and this man had gone against each other from the first time they met, Dean shines brighter like that. But when cornered like this like a prey, Castiel would rather Dean be a fighting soldier than a trapped animal.

The thought of Sergei touching Dean sets stone-cold dominance in his being. A possessive feeling of ownership takes him. Castiel suddenly becomes afraid of where it will take him as he touches the hunter’s chin and lifts it so the can peer him in the eyes, albeit a little dimmed, are still gorgeous green.

“I won’t let anyone, have you. Not by force.” He strokes Dean’s cheeks which turn the deepest shade of red. Dean still responds to him. At least, his body remembers this.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean swallows, eyeing Castiel’s open button shirt revealing a mass of strapping muscles like he’s never seen it before. But Castiel sees it. That look Dean reserves for things he wishes to taste but daring not to take—he’s seen that numerous times.

“We’re different. You and I…we’re—”

“Connected?” Dean meets his eyes and strange enough there’s a glint of hunger in those green that Castiel never expected to see—not until the curse is lifted, but it’s there.

“You seem to understand it, Dean. That you are under a curse and whatever you feel for Sergei—”

Dean sighs, his head tilting back. “I don’t feel the same about you.”

Castiel freezes, his heart falling on the floor. He needed to remind himself that this is not Dean talking. That Dean—his Dean— would never say that to him. That once this is over, Dean will apologize and Dean will want him again.

No… this Dean wants him.

He has to believe in that.

Leaning down, he tugs the cuff when he stretches Dean on the bed, pulling on his leg till Dean’s arm stretches above him. The hunter growls at the sudden prone position, but his eyes widen when Castiel unbuckles his own pants and let it slip down the floor. He feels Dean’s eyes follow his hard cock—because Castiel will always be hard for Dean—so when he crawls on top of Dean, he knows he’s got attention.

Dean has told him many times how he is fucking turned on when Castiel is naked waist below while still wearing his white unbuttoned tops. Dean’s fantasies Castiel is always willing to oblige. He casts his eyes down on the hunter when their faces are leveled.

Dean doesn’t move, it’s him breathes that rapidly changes. With eyes bulging, breathe hitching, Castiel feels his heart thumping at what’s about to happen next.

Heart leaping as he recognized Dean’s soul trying to reach to him, he takes hold of Dean’s shoulders and grips him tight. He doesn’t look away and the hunter remains silent.

Slowly, he pushes Dean on the bed, falling with him till Dean is on his back, breathing heavily, the lump on his throat unsteady as it bobbed up and down. Castiel straddles him, melting Dean with the amount of hunger in his eyes.

“You remember this, don’t you?” he whispers, stripping Dean from the lovely green shirt. Castiel tosses it and begins on Dean’s black undershirt when a hand jabs on his chest suddenly. Dean is blinking at him with fear and uncertainty.

“It’s not you I…Sergei—” Dean suddenly struggles to say.

Castiel doesn’t show his dismay. He conceals it. He knows Dean is fighting, knows Dean wants him to help him, to fight with him. So whatever doubt he has about what he needs to do next, he pushes it down. Dean’s clear eyes begin to cloud. It’s the curse.

He’s losing Dean.

Oh, a shaman is really going to die.

Castiel’s eyes bulge as the realization hits him hard.

Whatever Sergei said about wanting Castiel to be jealous—because that’s what he means when he told Castiel ‘Be careful, angel. The curse is twice bound. You don’t want to burn him, do you?”

He figures it out that instant—that Sergei’s intention is not for Dean but for him. Dean will be under this love spell for seven hours, crying for Sergei’s name in his sleep. Something that is truly unforgivable for the angel who then will have to suffer intense jealousy.

This… here right now… is extreme jealousy and hatred within him… the intent to harm all because of love. Castiel’s heart dies inside him. He is an angel, a heavenly being. He is not supposed to be bound by such negative emotion and yet—

He closes his eyes. It was too late to go back now.

Sergei has succeeded in cursing him through Dean.

His fingers curl clutching the hem of Dean’s black shirt. That’s not gonna happen. Dean looking at him like he’s a stranger even when his body is reacting, that’s not what they promised. It was stolen from Dean.

No… Dean was stolen from him.

He knows he can wait it out, knows there’s actually no reason to do this but just the thought of Dean thinking he’s in love with someone else sends fearsome anger rippling all over his body. With a growl, he pushes Dean’s black shirt up roughly, brushing the mound of muscle with the heel of his palm. He begins kissing the hardening bud ever so sensitive under his mouth.

“No…” Dean grunts, hands clutching the angel’s shoulders “Get off— I want Sergei!”

The name awakens something primal inside Castiel. Jealousy or what not— innate possessiveness or what not—this is torture!

 “You’re not putting much of a fight.” He sucks Dean’s nipples hard, making Dean squirm but Castiel stays one hand on his other pectoral, rubbing the unattended nipple with his fingers. Dean’s cries are so pleasing and both painful as Castiel faithfully continues his ministration for the next five minutes, rolling and flattening his tongue until the bud is hard. He grazes his teeth on the erect bud making Dean yelp and squirms beneath him. He applies the same suction on the left nipple, feeling the hunter writhe on the bed, trying to free his leg until Castiel grounds their hips together. He presses hard on Dean. The man groans softly.

Castiel frowns and looks down Dean’s pants to find the only possible reason is Dea still wearing his pants. Smiling, he gets up, straddles him and begins working on Dean’s belt.

“Wait—Cas…” his voice whimpers when Castiel pulls his pants and boxers down in one swift movement and throws it on the floor. Dean tries to hide his cock by crossing his legs, but Castiel is taking none of it. Pushing Dean’s legs apart, hands firm on his thighs, he let his palms ground Dean’s legs on the bed. Dean moves his ass, his cock twitching beneath him where he couldn’t see.

Sighing, Castiel slides both palms from the hunter’s knee caps down to the root of his cock. Both hands take it, Castiel’s body follows as he leans in, elbows keeping Dean’s leg open till the tip of his mouth touches the head of Dean’s cock.

There’s a stifled groan from Dean. Castiel closes his eyes. He erases the thought that Dean’s not thinking about him. That Dean is thinking of that dead-shaman walking. He digs his fingers on the man’s smooth thighs, sucks the top of his cock, before burying himself on Dean’s hole. He eats Dean, takes pleasure in the man’s cries until he can feel the live wire ready to explode. He takes Dean’s cock again to his lips, kisses the head gently before stroking him twice, eyeing Dean’s reaction.

“Cas—I’m—oh fuck!”

Castiel pulls away and sternly gazes up the hunter who whimpers and looks down in confusion. Tears slide from the corner of Dean’s eyes.

“Say my name,” Castiel commands.

“What…” Dean blanks out.

“Say my name. Tell me to fuck you, Dean, or I will leave you here for five hours—”

Dean’s eyes widen. He begins to tug on his cuff.

“Don’t—Cas, I—” he breathes out unable to say it. He shakes his head when Castiel begins to rise, “Cas—Cas please—” tears spring up from his eyes, “don’t—Cas, please—”

Castiel sighs. He strokes Dean’s cock, relaxing when Dean responds with trying to fuck in his hand. It’s easy to swallow Dean’s cock this time feeling like they are back to normal. He gets Dean to call his name again and again. He doesn’t need any release or Dean’s hand on his cock. He only needs Dean to say his name, all the while making his silent apologies.

He gets off with swallowing Dean’s cock straight down his throat and sucks, tasting Dean’s salty tang so different from his sweat. Feeling Dean’s familiar cock inside his mouth makes him forget everything. This is just him and Dean showing love and affection. Nothing has changed. He wishes that because now he understands he is taking Dean against his will.

He sucks Dean harder, making him scream and thrust in his mouth. He drags his mouth slowly across the hard length, pulling up only to kiss the reddening head before diving down again. He sucks Dean dry as only he could. Making Dean clutch on the wrinkled blankets with unbidden lust driving him to the edge.

“Cas… that’s enough, I’m—coming…!”

Castiel buries his nose deep the curls of Dean’s cock. He chokes and nearly pulls back but Dean closing his knees at the back of his head urges him to take him again.

Dean’s dirty sound fills the room as well as his cock swelling inside Castiel. He feels the turbulent sensation in Dean’s stomach and pulls up a little as Dean’s come shoot inside his mouth. Dean cries to the last spurt as Castiel sucks him through his orgasm.

He pulls out with smacking sound of his lips, eyes glowing with Dean still writhing under him. He holds the hunter’s softening shaft and stroke him again.

“Unggg…”

“Dean. Say my name.”

“Cas…!” the hunter complies tearfully.

Dean won’t stop calling his name after that. Not when he flips him to his stomach and licks his hole, not even with three fingers inside Dean, he doesn’t. It takes a while before Dean’s pliant body is ready for him. Castiel raises Dean’s hips from the bed and sets a pillow under his torso. Dean breathes heavily on the bed but did not say anything, probably in fear of Castiel leaving him in the middle.

“Don’t worry, Dean…” Castiel says, letting Dean feel the head of his cock, sliding between his cheeks, rightfully filling Dean with lube. “I got you… just… just keep calling my name. Please, Dean.”

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Dean makes a small sound but Castiel did not wait. He presses himself inside Dean, watches the muscle around Dean’s hole contract as he slowly slices him in half. The feel of Dean’s tight ring makes Castiel groans until he is sliding deeper and bottoming in.

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck! Cas!” Dean’s breathe catches.

Castiel doesn’t let him think. Closing his eyes, his thrust become wild. Dean cries his name when the jolting of their bodies becomes too intense and Castiel is wrapping his body around Dean’s back, a hand taking hold of Dean’s cock because that’s how the hunter wants it.

He fucks Dean for an hour and more—doesn’t even care if he heard Sam knocking on the door. He covers Dean’s mouth until Sam walks away, most likely getting the point after he hears Dean’s moans when Castiel hits his prostate again and again.

“Good boy.” Castiel whispers, pounding Dean, spooning the hunter with his cock deep in Dean. He drags the fucking to torturous slow, then catches pace again, breaking Dean’s moans and cries of pleasure. And all that while, Dean can only call him.

Castiel did not stop—not until the fifth hour where he has Dean on his lap resting. Keeping Dean so close seems to be the only way to make sure the curse passes without any glitch. That Dean is still with him. Sam did not bother him anymore. Castiel hopes he’s got Jack distracted not from all the noise Dean has made in the last five hours.

The hour strikes.

Dean lifts his chin from Castiel’s shoulder looking worn out and confused. Castiel quickly sits up straight but the hunter did not make any attempt to climb down his lap. He just stares hard at the angel, eyes large and disbelieving.

“Dean—?”

“Cas?” The hunter rubs his eyes. “Hey, babe…”

Castiel’s eyes fill with tears.

“Cas? Cas, what’s wrong?” concern fills Dean’s face. It was over.

The angel shakes his head and wipes his eyes. He’s just glad. “How are you, Dean?”

“You’re asking me that now? Why are you crying?” Dean gets on his elbow and pulls Castiel’s head to his chest, cradling him lovingly. “Cas, babe, talk to me.”

Castiel sniffs. “I… I made a terrible mistake.”

“Huh?”

“I… I fell under a curse. Curse of jealousy, Dean.”

Dean’s face relaxes as he wipes the tears from his angel’s cheeks resting on his naked lap. “Are you kidding? I feel jealous when it comes to you all the time—if you call that curse then lemme tell you again—I’d rather have you, cursed or not!”

Castiel takes a moment to take that in, and then slides his arms on Dean’s waist.

“Me too, Dean… I love you so much…”

“Me too, babe I—no wait— fuck! I just remembered that fucking nightmare!”

“What—” Castiel stares up but Dean just grabs him closer and snuggles on his neck. “I thought I lost you! You weren’t there in that dream!”

“Dean?”

“It was so dark and I couldn’t find you… but I knew you were there, I could hear you calling my name… you made me want to call you…”

 “Dean…” Castiel’s eyes water, settling his hand across the hunter’s body, “I’m sorry.” Castiel cries and Dean holds him close. Confused and a little afraid, Dean pulls from him looking scandalized at the tears streaming down the angelic face.

“Cas—d-don’t cry! What happened?”

Castiel controls his emotions and explains about the candle, the curse and the Shaman who is about to die by tomorrow. Dean looks aghast after the story, his hands clutching tight on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Dean—" Castiel looks devastated. He keeps pulling Dean closer, keeps putting his head against his boyfriend’s chest afraid of Dean’s answer.

Dean pats his head gently.

“Don’t be an idiot. So, you ravished me. Ain’t that our deal?” Dean tells him. He cups Castiel’s face so they look deep in each other. “Well, fuck. I get fucked by my boyfriend and I loved every second of it.”

“Dean…”

“Cause if not, and this body rots waiting for you? I think I’d really go mad.”

Dean pulls the angel in a hot searing kiss with their tongues meeting. Castiel moans in the kiss and let Dean lead, gently putting arms around him and pulling him down so the hunter is on top of him.

Dean pulls back as he perches on the angel’s chest, his eyes twinkling.

“Can I top?” he asks, tone of excitement unbidden.

Castiel blinks. “But aren’t you tired? We just—”

A finger pressing on his lips stops him from talking. Dean’s face is red and he’s looking around Cas body with hunger.

“Cas, with you babe on the meal, I’d never required sleep ever again.”

***

“I hope you understand your dead the next time I see you.”

Castiel rumbles on the phone that evening. Dean is tucked tightly on his right arm, cuddled beside him so closely while he sleeps peacefully. The only time that day when Castiel can relax with the curse finally lifted. He was staring on Dean’s face quietly, remembering all the expressions when his phone rings and an unregistered number of flashes. The angel knew at once who it was.

“What can I say? It is sweet revenge—”

“You’re dead.”

“Come now, Castiel—”

“I have. Many times, inside Dean.”

There’s silence on the other line.

“I shall try to remember this then, your weakness is quite spot on.”

“If you mean Dean is my weakness, then yes.” Castiel looks away, teeth grinding, “but he’s not weak. Dean is stronger than I will ever be, but if you hurt him again—”

The phone gets snatched from his hand. Castiel turns to see Dean sitting up with a dark look on his face.

“Listen up, asshole. Call Cas again and I’m gonna be after you for the rest of your life. If you’re the maniac intent on death—fuck you—I will get you. And this is not even what you did to me. Show yourself here and I’ll show you the meaning of evil spirit.”

He doesn’t wait for the answer. Dean hangs up and threw the phone away.

“Stop talking to the guy!” Dean scowls downcast at the angel who’s staring at him quietly.

“Are you okay now?”

Dean rolls his eyes. He pulls next to Cas and drops his head on the angel’s shoulder.

“Are you?” he asks, wrapping strong arms around Castiel’s torso and heaving a deep sigh. Castiel copies him and buries his nose on the hunter’s hair feeling mildly content now that Dean is beside him and awake.

“I’m fine now. You’re in love with me again.” He whispers before cuddling Dean with both arms now clawing around him. Dean chuckles, tilting his head up so he and Cas can look at each other.

“Told you the only times I won’t love you is when I’m dead or—”

Castiel embraces Dean closely, their cheeks pressing warmly together.

“It’s okay. I just want you to love me now.”

Dean falls silent for a while before he crawls up on top of Castiel and begins kissing him gently. The angel lets him, a contented sigh slipping from his lips.

“I’m not just in love with you, Cas. I’m also a sucker for you, babe, also very much crushing on you now and horny.” Dean whispers when he gets around Castiel’s ears and begins licking inside. Castiel sighs. “If this aint my kind of love, I don’t know what else to call the urge to tie you up and just make you mine forever. Okay? So, cheer up.”

He pulls back, arms stretching from where he keeps both his hands on Castiel’s nape.

“Stop crying. I don’t want to see you crying just for fucking me. In fact—let’s keep the fuck and forget that asshole. Bleh… just imagining you thought that I—”

“It wasn’t the nicest thought I ever had.”

“Well, he’s not touching this hole any time soon.”

“I’ll soon be out of words to describe how dead he is when I see him.”

Dean finally nods and they cuddle for a few moments. Until Castiel flushes when Dean grinds his ass straight on his soft cock with a sly grin on his face. The man is just so happy to tease him after learning of Castiel’s tendency to get jealous. Dean watches intently, his tongue licking the topside of his lips.

He grinds harder, smirking. “So… did you just let me top?”

“I did but it’s a one time offer.” Castiel smiles holding Dean’s waist.

“Change your mind, I’ll never ask a hall pass ever again.”

“Dean, I am not that possessive.” Castiel narrows his eyes.

Dean smiles at him meaningfully. He smiles back and they snuggle closely again.

Castiel understands that this was not even a condition but an offer. He wonders before why humans are prone to jealousy. He understands now. It roots from loving. This is also where other evil stems from. Where all the curses gather around.

In time. He thinks. He’ll make up for that mistake—of being too human—maybe when he faces his own time but right now, Dean Winchester is here who says he’s still gonna take him, cursed or not.

[sunriserose1023]

Lovely, Deep, and Dark

WARNINGS: ANGST, hospitalization, surgery, medical situations/terminology WORD COUNT: 7034 AUTHOR’S NOTE: Part Four of my “When You Come Back to Me Again” Marvel Angst series. You can catch up in the link below. I’m playing with the timeline of this story a bit in this chapter, if you’ll allow me. I set this story after Age of Ultron and just before Captain America: Civil War, and I hope that knowledge will help you as you read the story. 

MASTERLIST

“Good morning, Miss Ross.”

Betty smiled at the nurse—Anastasia was her name—and made her way down the hall. Anastasia hurried to catch up with her and spoke softly.

“Dr. Palmer is here. She’s in with your sister now.”

Betty stopped walking, turning to look at the nurse.

“Palmer? I thought we agreed on Dr. Strange.” “Palmer is his colleague.” “That doesn’t—“ “Miss Ross?”

Betty closed her eyes, letting out a breath before laying a hand to her chest. When she looked back to the nurse, Anastasia gave her a soft smile.

“Dr. Strange is a big gun. You don’t want to call out the big gun unless you really need it.”

Betty crossed her arms over her chest.

“And Palmer is … what, a little gun?”

Anastasia smiled.

“She’s the one who can tell us whether we need to call out the big gun or not.”

Betty sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. She nodded, then began walking down the hall again, with Anastasia right beside her. They stopped at the door to the intensive care unit, and Anastasia typed in the code to open the door. Betty walked through the doors once they’d opened, then stopped at a small sink to tie her hair up and wash her hands. She slid a yellow paper gown over her clothes, slipped blue gloves onto her hands, and let Anastasia cover her hair with a blue paper cover. Betty closed her eyes as Anastasia fit a mask over her mouth and nose and once it was tied, she nodded. Anastasia pressed a button and the sliding doors of a patient room opened.

Betty gave a shaky sigh, heart thudding in her chest when she looked at the bed. Three weeks and it still jolted her to see you like this. Betty glanced away from the bed and met the blue eyes studying her, an iPad in the woman’s hands. Betty gave her a nod.

“I’m Betty Ross. This is my little sister.”

The eyes, nearly the only thing visible over the mask covering the woman’s face, went soft.

“Christine Palmer. I’m a colleague of—“ “I’m sorry, Dr. Palmer. I don’t want to be rude, but … we asked for Dr. Strange. Dr. Stephen Strange. We were told he is the best, and he is supposed to be the one to take my sister’s case.”

Christine gave a slow nod of her head.

“Dr. Strange is … very busy. He simply could not leave the hospital to make this trip. But I work very closely with him and I assure you, I am going over your sister’s case with a fine-tooth comb.”

Betty sighed, hanging her head before stepping to the bed. She reached down and took your hand, giving it a squeeze, closing her eyes when she felt nothing in return.

“Miss Ross—“ “Betty, please.”

Christine nodded.

“Betty … could you tell me what happened? I mean, I’ve read her chart, but I … I want to hear it from you.”

Betty sighed, laying your hand back on the bed and crossing her arms over her chest.

“It was an accident.”

Christine nodded.

“What kind of accident?”

Betty turned away from her, looking out the window at the drizzling rain. She closed her eyes, that sick feeling coming over her when she thought about what to say.

“It was an accident. If you’d just touch Wanda’s hands, she can—“ “I’m not getting anywhere near her or any of them. You steer clear of them, too.” “Dad, please, just—“

Thaddeus’ eyes flashed as he stepped closer, crowding Betty until her back hit the wall.

“No more. The Avengers will not touch my daughter—either of my daughters—ever again. I don’t even want them mentioned around Y/N.” “What are we supposed to say?”

Betty swallowed, giving a shaky breath before answering the way her father had coached.

“A car accident. She always wears her seatbelt, but she … I don’t know. They said her phone was in her purse in the backseat, so maybe she unbuckled to try to get it? That’s all I can think of. The impact threw her forward, and she hit the steering wheel, which … that gave her the, um …” “Blunt force trauma.”

Betty nodded.

“Blunt force trauma to the chest and abdomen.”

She closed her eyes, squaring her shoulders before she schooled her expression and turned to face Christine again, speaking from memory now.

“Both of her lungs collapsed, so they had to insert tubes on either side of her chest. Her pelvis is broken, as are two vertebrae in her back, but her spinal cord appears to be intact. However, she hasn’t moved for us to test that.”

Betty bit the inside of her cheek, then continued.

“She has a grade three laceration to her liver, but they repaired it. They had to remove her spleen and one of her kidneys, but the other kidney is working fine.”

Christine nodded, and Betty crossed her arms over her chest before she went on.

“Once they stabilized her and did all the surgery they needed to, they put her in a medically-induced coma to help her stay still long enough to allow her spine to heal. But then her … her brain started swelling and they had to do surgery to release the pressure and … now she’s in a coma they can’t wake her from.”

Betty huffed out a breath.

“Dr. Palmer, I don’t know, okay? I’m a scientist. I deal with cells, not … brains. Not bodies like this. I’m out of my element here.”

Betty blinked back the tears that came to her eyes.

“This is my baby sister. I just …”

Betty sniffled.

“I need you to fix her, please.”

Christine slowly nodded her head, stepping closer to the bed. She studied your sleeping form, then gave another nod.

“Give me a few minutes. I need to make a call.”

Betty nodded and Christine left the room. Betty let her shoulders fall and hung her head, trying and failing to blink back the tears. She walked to the chair beside your bed, sitting down and taking your hand.

“I’m sorry. Honey, I am so, so sorry. I never …”

Betty sniffled, then leaned over, whispering softly as she slowly caressed your cheek with the back of her gloved fingers.

“I couldn’t tell her the truth. Dad’s … god, Y/N. Dad’s lost it. He’s rounded up all the Avengers he could find and arrested them. They had to drag Steve out of here. Natasha was literally kicking and screaming until they tased her. And then the press conference …”

Betty sighed, staring at the white bandages covering your head.

“Dad has forbidden anyone to even mention the Avengers anymore. The car accident scenario was his idea. I mean, it’s plausible. Your injuries could have happened from a car crash.”

Betty sighed, shaking her head.

“And if anybody can fix you, it’s Dr. Strange. He’s the best.”

Betty gave a soft laugh.

“I know, I know. What the hell kind of name is that for a doctor, right? It’s like one being named Dr. Hurt or Dr. Pain.”

Betty sighed as she gently cupped your cheek in her hand.

“As soon as Dr. Palmer comes back, we’ll get some answers. And hey, if Strange does agree to the surgery? He works out of Metro General in New York. I doubt he’d be bothered to fly here. He’s got a bit of a reputation, but that happens when you’re the best. And you love New York City.”

Tears came back to Betty’s eyes and she hung her head. She sniffed and lifted her head as Christine walked back into the room. She glanced at the monitors beside your bed, studying the steady beeps that had driven Betty crazy at first, but that she had now grown accustomed to. Christine nodded, then met Betty’s eyes.

“I went over your sister's case and he’s agreed to do the surgery.”

Betty closed her eyes, and Christine went on.

“We’ll have to set up transport to get your sister to Metro Gen, but as long as her numbers stay this good, we could have her there tomorrow.”

Betty’s eyes widened, but she nodded.

“Great. That … that’s great.”

Christine gave her a nod.

“I’ll start getting everything set up.” “Dr. Palmer?”

Christine turned back and Betty gave her a smile, tears gathering in her eyes again.

“Thank you.”

Christine nodded again, then left the room. Betty smiled as she leaned over, fingers gently touching your cheek again.

“Did you hear that? New York, New York, here we come.”

Betty’s smile slowly slid from her face as the tears came more forcefully, and she leaned over, gently kissing your bandaged forehead through the mask on her face. Then, she laid her head on your bed as she cried.

Two days later in New York, Betty paced another waiting room as Dr. Strange worked his magic on you. She prayed with every step she took, glancing up at every person who walked by, hoping one would be her father.

But he didn’t show.

His secretary had finally answered one of her calls a few days ago, just to tell her that he was being kept up-to-date with Y/N’s condition. He simply could not take the time to be there, because all they would do was wait, and he was very busy.

Busy prosecuting the Avengers.

Betty sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared out the window, wondering what was happening in both your surgery and with the trials.

Thaddeus had used all of his pull as Secretary of State to put the Avengers on trial now, instead of dealing with the usual delay in court proceedings. Wanda Maximoff and Sam Wilson had been prosecuted first, and were both found guilty. Betty had watched in shock as Wanda and Sam were completely railroaded, not even able to even speak a word to try and defend themselves, the guilty verdicts handed down as soon as possible.

Betty had a sick feeling that these “trials” were nothing but a laughable formality, nothing but a media circus, since everyone was already guilty and deserving of punishment in Thaddeus’  eyes.  

The trials had stopped being televised when, after an almost clueless Scott Lang had been declared guilty, Clint Barton started yelling words Betty had never even heard before, causing the censors to go berserk and the trials to be taken off the air.

News outlets were still reporting, and Betty pulled her vibrating phone from her pocket to see a notification from a news app that a decision had been made to try the rest of the Avengers as a group, and they had overwhelmingly been declared guilty. Except for Tony Stark, who had apparently gone into hiding.

Betty blew out another breath, propping her elbow on the windowsill and resting her head on her hand.

“Miss Ross?”

Betty lifted her head to see Christine Palmer before her in dark blue scrubs, a tall man standing next to her. Betty walked to them and Christine introduced them.

“Betty Ross, this is Dr. Stephen Strange.”

Betty nodded, holding out a hand for Dr. Strange to shake. She pressed her lips together, and he began to speak.

“Miss Ross, your sister’s case is a remarkable one.”

Betty blinked and he continued.

“The injuries she sustained … I’m going to be honest with you. She should be dead right now.”

Christine closed her eyes, blowing out a breath. Betty lifted a hand to her throat and he nodded.

“I know it’s hard to think that way, but … she’s a fighter. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone with a spirit like hers. I believe the surgery was a success, but we won’t know for sure until she wakes up and can tell us herself.”

Betty couldn’t stop the smile, and she nodded as tears filled her eyes.

“When … when can I see her?”

Christine spoke softly.

“She’s in recovery now, and she’ll be in the intensive care unit for at least a week.”

Betty nodded, and Christine laid a hand on her arm.

“I’ll send a nurse to come and get you as soon as Y/N is ready.”

Betty nodded again, sniffling before she spoke.

“Thank you. Dr. Strange, thank you for everything.”

He nodded, shaking her hand again before turning and walking back down the hall. Christine shook her head and Betty gave a soft laugh.

“She’s going to be okay.” “I’m sorry for him. He’s …” “A man. I’m used to it.”

Christine gave a soft laugh, and Betty nodded.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Palmer.”

Christine smiled, patting Betty’s shoulder before she walked away. Betty closed her eyes, letting her head fall back as she sighed, relief flowing through her veins.

“I don’t understand.”

Christine shook her head.

“Honestly … neither do I.”

Betty swallowed, staring down at the bed, at your unmoving form. Christine stepped to the monitors, looking from the screen to the chart in her hands.

“These numbers are good. There’s no clinical reason as to why she hasn’t woken up yet.”

Betty pressed her lips together, shaking her head.

“You said this procedure would work.” “I said it could work. As Dr. Strange and I both went over with you, this was an experimental procedure.”

Betty shook her head again, looking to the doctor.

“So … so now what? We just … we just sit and wait?” “Your sister’s injuries were … catastrophic. Maybe her body just needs some time to heal. It’s not unusual for individuals with traumatic brain injuries to need more time and rest than others.”

Betty swallowed.

“This is a traumatic brain injury?”

Christine sighed, but nodded.

“As soon as Dr. Strange visualized her brain, he made the call.”

Betty closed her eyes.

“What is she going to be like when she wakes up? Will she … will she be able to talk? Will she know who I am?”

Christine slowly shook her head, sorrow and pity in her eyes.

“I don’t know. We won’t know how extensive the damage was until she wakes up.”

Betty ran a hand over her face, then sighed.

“Then I guess we’ll wait.”

“You know, I’ve always wondered what a blackout would look like across New York. All those lights in all those buildings. ‘Hello, darkness, my old friend.’”

Betty gave a soft laugh as she lifted a hand to touch the window. Pulling the cardigan she’d borrowed from you long ago and never returned closer around her, she glanced over her shoulder to smile at you.

“Hey, do you remember the time the network did a blackout crossover? It was like a whole night of it on a couple different shows. The blackout started on … god, what show was it? Mad About You, maybe? And then it carried over into Friends.”

She turned from the window, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You loved it. You’ve always loved corny gimmicks like that. You laughed so much.”

The smile slid from her face as she walked to your bed, gripping the railing and leaning over until she was almost in your face.

“I want to hear you laugh again. Wake up. Y/N Ross, do you hear me? Wake up right now. This is has gone on long enough. We’ve been here a month. How much sleep do you need?”

Betty waited for you to respond, and when you remained still, your only movement the steady rise and fall of your chest, Betty let go of the rail, sitting down in the chair beside your bed and putting her head in her hands.

Betty sat in the chair, holding one of your hands in hers. The risk of infection was significantly lower now, so she wasn’t as decked out in hospital attire as she had been. She still wore the gown and the hair cover and the gloves, but not the mask anymore.

“Dad’s pitching a fit to get you back to D.C. I’ve tried to tell him you need to stay where your doctor is, but it’s not like we ever see Strange. Palmer’s been here every day, though.”

Betty sighed.

“She’d probably be relieved to get rid of us.”

Betty gently caressed your hand as she spoke.

“The orthopedic surgeon came by this morning, said you’re healing nicely. No surgeries needed for your pelvis or spine. You’ve still got the reflexes you’re supposed to have, or … something like that. I didn’t really pay much attention.”

Betty looked up to your face, shaking her head.

“Honey, it’s been almost four months since the accident. Why aren’t you waking up? What are you waiting for?”

Betty stopped, blinking hard.

Steve.

He had to be what you were waiting for.

The only problem is, thanks to your father, Steve and the rest of the Avengers were imprisoned somewhere unknown to the public, and since Thaddeus refused to talk about the Avengers around you, Betty had no idea where they were either. The most horrifying thing to Betty was the way Thaddeus was somehow slowly—successfully— erasing the Avengers from history. All their good deeds had been swept under the rug, and any mention of the Avengers were cast in a negative light, and Thaddeus used every chance he could to bring up the immense devastation they’d caused.

Once the trials had ended, Stark Industries almost went under, until Pepper Potts, the new CEO, announced a humanitarian partnership with the people of Sokovia to help rebuild. When King T’Chaka of Wakanda gave her his support, Stark Industries’ stocks slowly crept back up.

Betty looked to your face, speaking softly.

“I don’t know where he is, honey. I’ve tried to find him. I’ve tried to get him here. I thought Dad was going to throw me in jail when I asked him to let Steve come and see you.”

Betty swallowed.

“Y/N, you’re the only one who can set this right. Dad’s on the warpath because you’re his baby, but if you just wake up and talk to him …”

You didn’t make any sort of movement, nothing but the steady rise and fall of your chest as you breathed. Betty closed her eyes, lifting your hand to press it against her forehead.

“I hope the ride wasn’t too bad. I know they had to keep the pace of a turtle because of the snow.”

Betty shook her head as she fussed with the pillows on your bed.

“I know, it’s too early in the year for snow, but tell that to the meteorologists. Oh wait, they don’t make the weather, do they? They just predict it.”

Betty blew out a breath and shook her head. She pulled a chair closer to the bed and pulled the blankets back, revealing one of your legs. She started gently massaging your muscles as she spoke.

“I know you’re probably wondering why we brought you back here. Dr. Strange had a terrible accident. They weren’t sure if he was going to make it, but he did. He just … if what I heard was true, he’ll never be able to do surgery again.”

Betty shook her head, moving her hands to your calf.

“Dr. Palmer came and spoke to me a few days ago, filled me in as best she could. Company line, and all that. She said there was nothing more they could do and released you from their care, signed off to let me bring you home. Dad’s pleased about that, I know. Not that he’d come around to tell you.”

Betty rolled her eyes.

“I’m so … I’m angry with him. He hasn’t been to see you not once. I’m the one who’s always here. I’m the one who’s taking care of you, trying to make sure all of your damn muscles don’t atrophy.”

Betty hung her head, laying your leg back down before putting her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry. Honey, I am so, so sorry.”

She leaned over you, taking one of your hands in hers.

“I’m not mad at you. None of this is your fault. I’m just sick to death of Dad acting like he’s our hero when he hasn’t even stepped foot into the hospital. Gives some bullshit excuse about how he can’t bear to see you like this. And he thinks I can? That I enjoy this?”

She shook her head, then sighed. She looked back to you and pitched her voice lower.

“He doesn’t know about what we did. When you made me your power of attorney and vice versa. He thinks he’s making all these decisions, but he’s not. It’s me. They come to me and I’m the one who takes care of you, and when you wake up, I’m going to be sure you know that.”

Betty blew out a breath, sitting back in her chair and tucking her hair behind her ears. After a moment, she stood up, dragging her chair across the room to the other side of your bed, picking up your other leg and starting to massage it.

“Oh, and you’re not sick enough to be put back into the ICU. That’s a good thing, but now we have to break in some new nurses.”

She laughed, moving her hands up your calf.

“Anastasia still comes by to visit, though. But I think the new nurses’ name is Grace. She’s really nice. And you’ve got a cute night nurse. A male nurse, and I have to say, I’m a little jealous when he starts massaging on you. Have you noticed how I come around more at night now?”

Betty wiggled her eyebrows, glancing up, the smile slipping from her face when she saw your eyes closed, no movements except your chest as your breathed. Betty blinked, shaking her head, focusing on massaging your leg.

“What do you think, Grace? Cajun Shrimp or I’m Not Really A Waitress?” “If we’re going solely based on names, I’m Not Really A Waitress is amazing.”

Betty laughed, picking up the bottle of nail polish remover. She wet a cotton ball with it, then rubbed it over your fingernail, removing the dark purple polish she’d painted nearly two weeks ago.

“OPI is my favorite because they come up with the best names.”

Grace made a few notes on the chart she carried in her hands, then licked her lips.

“Miss Ross?” “Yeah.”

Betty dipped the brush back into the polish, carefully painting one of your fingernails in the deep red polish. In the silence, she glanced up at the nurse, then sat back in her chair.

“What is it?”

Grace sighed.

“A social worker is going to come by later to talk to you about long-term care.”

Betty blinked.

“What do you … I mean, are we there yet?” “It’s been seven months since the accident. There’s really nothing more we can do for her here in the hospital.” “So … what? They want to put her …”

Betty shook her head and Grace sighed.

“There are some excellent long-term care facilities in the tri-State area.”

Betty closed her eyes.

“Nursing homes.”

Grace glanced away and Betty shook her head.

“I can’t do that.” “Miss Ross—“ “I can’t do that to my baby sister who is only in her late twenties. I’m sorry.”

Betty lifted her head.

“No, you know what? I’m not sorry. She’s not going anywhere. And whoever it is that’s coming to talk to me about it? You better tell them to steer clear of me. It’s not happening.”

Grace opened her mouth, closing it again when Betty picked the polish up again and went back to painting your nails.

“Happy Halloween, pumpkin head.”

Betty shifted the plastic pumpkin on the table, turning the painted jack-o-lantern towards your bed. She took the witches’ hat off her head, setting it beside the pumpkin. She walked to you and smiled as she bent down to study your face.

“They came in and got you, huh? The eyeliner looks like it ends in spiderwebs at the corners of your eyes.”

She pursed her lips and smiled.

“I may have to copy that myself for the ball tonight.”

Betty blew out a breath, shaking her head as she took her seat in the chair beside your bed. She took your hand, smiling at the orange polish on your nails, the smiling triangles making a jack-o-lantern on your middle finger.

“Dad’s making me go to this shindig tonight. Some fundraiser for some … thing I don’t know or care much about. He wants me to go and charm everyone, but how am I supposed to do that when I feel the exact opposite of charming?”

She shook her head, rubbing your palm with her thumbs, moving her hand to grip and massage your wrist.

“I just want to stay here with you. I don’t want to be around Dad or people or anybody but …”

She swallowed, glancing over her shoulder before leaning closer to you and whispering softly.

“I spoke with Bruce. I’ve been trying to call him ever since the debacle with the trials. They’re searching for him, but not too intensely. He already knew about everything and he’s trying to keep a low profile, but God knows how that’ll work when the Other Guy’s always threatening.”

Betty shook her head.

“He was talking about Siberia, or a remote village in the Andes that he’d found. Said he didn’t know when he’d be able to talk to me again.”

Betty shook her head again, pushing a hand through her hair.

“Honestly, the less I know is probably better.”

She blinked back tears and gave a shaky sigh.

“Why is this so hard? Why can’t Dad just chill the fuck out? Why can’t you wake up?”

You didn’t respond, and she shook her head, laying your hand back on the bed and sitting back in her chair.

“Ugh, these green beans taste like shit.”

Betty shook her head, spitting the bite she’d just taken into a napkin and tossing it into the trashcan. She nodded towards you and picked her fork back up.

“The turkey’s good. A little dry, but … that just means someone didn’t babysit it like they should have. Remember when you did that a couple years ago? You got up … what was it? Every two hours to baste that bird?”

Betty shook her head again, a smile on her face.

“It was so good, though. You and I were pigs that day. Especially when Dad bailed on us at the last minute. I thought you were going to throw it all away and cry and we could get drunk, but you didn’t. You and I ate more than our fair shares, then you packed the leftovers up and we took them to the homeless shelter down from your store.”

Betty glanced down, that soft smile still on her face.

“You kept a plate behind, that I assumed was for Dad, even though he didn’t deserve it. But … it was for Steve, wasn’t it?”

She looked at your face, the bruises finally faded, not even a single scar visible on your face or hands, your long lashes almost brushing your cheekbone. She smiled, reaching over to grip your hand.

“Happy Thanksgiving, little sister. I miss you.”

“What do you think? Maybe a little to the left?”

Betty walked to stand beside your bed, tilting her head to the side before nodding.

“Little to the left.”

She walked back over and moved the tree slightly, walking to stand beside your bed again.

“Better.”

She walked to the box she’d brought, which was full of red and silver and gold decorations. She shook her head and moved from the box, picking up her phone and tapping until music began softly coming through the speaker. She laid the phone on your torso, humming along as she pulled a long piece of garland from the box.

“I wanted to bring in a real, live ten-footer, but I thought Grace might freak. Plus, it would have to be like bent in half to fit in here.”

Betty checked her watch and smiled, setting the garland down and grabbing the remote control for the television. She turned it on, flipping through channels before stopping on one.

“Look, honey. It’s Charlie Brown. That’s your favorite.”

Betty sat in the chair beside your bed, smiling as the Peanuts gang was ice skating, singing that Christmastime is here. Tears came to her eyes and she sniffled, reaching over to take your hand.

“I need you to wake up, because I will stand up and dance all by myself to the music. Think I won’t?”

Betty turned in her chair, tears slipping down her face as she held tightly to your hand. She reached over and brushed your hair back.

“I don’t know what to do, honey. They keep pushing to move you to another facility and I keep pushing back. But I … I don’t know. Maybe we should move you.”

She shook her head.

“Dad won’t take my calls. I talk to his damn secretary more than I talk to him. It’s almost Christmas and he’s in Istanbul or something. Whatever. I really don’t want to be around him anyway.”

She sighed, looking back to your face.

“This would be so much easier if you’d just wake up.”

You didn’t make any movements, save for the steady rise and fall of your chest. Betty pushed a hand through her hair, sniffing before she wiped that hand over her face. She forced a smile, lifting your hand to her cheek.

“Merry Christmas, baby sis. I miss you.”

“Welp, I did it.”

Betty walked into the room, setting her purse on the table. She shrugged her coat off, brushing the snow from her hair, draping the coat over the chair.

“Did what, you may ask? I’m so glad you did.”

Betty giggled as she dragged the chair closer to your bed, taking your hand.

“You’re so warm. It’s frigid outside.”

She sniffed, then smiled.

“Anyway, back to me. Dad sent me a fucking invitation to the governor’s ball for tonight. New Year’s Eve, you know? I had to RSVP, and I did. Told them no.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I wanted to tell them how their precious Secretary of State who milks the ‘grieving father’ routine every chance he gets has been by to see you all of one time in the year you’ve been here.”

Betty shook her head and sighed.

“I sent an email back that I ‘respectfully decline’ the invitation. Guess Dad will find out when he goes tonight.”

Betty smiled.

“I asked Frank to bend the rules a little bit tonight and he agreed. I’m sticking around ‘til next year with you.”

Betty let out a laugh, the smile slipping from her face.

“And I … I talked with Grace and Anastasia and a few of the other nurses. Couple of the doctors who do rounds on you. We think … we think it’s best if we move you to a long-term care facility.”

She gave a ragged sigh, shaking her head.

“It’s not a nursing home. It’s not. I’ve been searching and I think I found a good one for you.”

Tears came to her eyes and she shook her head.

“They say it’s unlikely that you’ll ever wake up. I mean, miracles happen, but … I’m sure there are sick people who could use this bed. So on January second, we’ll be moving.”

Betty made herself smile, blinking as she sighed. She lifted her other hand to rub at her eyes, using it to cover her mouth as she stared at you.

“Okay, honey bun. Five minutes to midnight. Wait, isn’t that a song?”

Betty shook her head, putting a hat on her head and sticking a noisemaker in her mouth. She gently placed a hat on the top of your head, smiling as she ran her hands through your silky-smooth hair.

“Okay. Get ready, because I want the nurses running in and telling us to shut up.”

Betty giggled, turning her attention back to the television, watching the celebration in Times Square.

“Rest in peace, Dick Clark.”

She rolled the noisemaker to the other side of her mouth and shot a smile back your way.

“Two minutes!”

Betty blinked,  eyebrows furrowing when she noticed your arm resting across your torso. She shook her head.

“Wasn’t your arm just by your side?”

You, of course, didn’t answer her, and Betty sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

“I’m getting too old for this, I’m afraid.”

She yawned, then laughed softly, eyes widening when the countdown began on the television.

“Here we go! Ten, nine, eight, seven—“

Betty yawned again, laughing as she shook her head.

“Three, two, one! Happy New Year!”

Betty blew her noisemaker, holding it between her teeth as she looked back at the bed. She gasped as the noisemaker fell out of her mouth, eyes wide.

“Y/N?”

Betty’s entire body trembled as she laid her hands on your bed, leaning down. You blinked slowly, and tears filled her eyes.

“Oh my god.”

Your eyes locked onto hers and your lips slowly curved into a smile. Betty shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“You … Y/N. Oh my god. You’re awake.” “Hap … happy new year, Betty.”

Betty gave a sob at your hoarse voice. You hadn’t used it in a year, so it was really no surprise at the low, hoarse tone. Betty shook her head, smiling through the tears.

“Oh, sweetheart. Hi.” “Hi.”

Betty laughed, reaching to grab your hand. You gave her hand a weak squeeze and she shook her head again. You gave a long exhale, closing your eyes. After a few seconds, you opened your eyes again, shaking your head.

“What happened?” “Do you know where you are?” “It … looks like ... a hospital.”

Betty nodded.

“Let me call the nurse.” “Betty.”

She looked over and met your eyes, and she gave a shaky laugh as tears slid down her cheeks. She gave your hand a squeeze and nodded, smiling when she met your eyes again.

“I’m so glad to see you.”

Frank stepped back, dropping the penlight into his pocket, shaking his head.

“It’s remarkable.”

You blinked, looking over to your sister. Betty stood with one arm on her torso, the thumb on her other hand running across her plump lips. You looked back to Frank, who bent to where you and he were face-to-face. He smiled at you and you smiled in return. His voice was soft and gentle when he spoke.

“Can you tell me your name?” “Y/N Ross.” “What year is it?”

You shook your head.

“I don’t … I’m not sure. It’s New Year’s today, right?”

Frank nodded.

“Where do you live?” “Washington, D.C. Is that where we are?”

Frank nodded.

“Who is this?”

He pointed across the room and you smiled.

“That’s my big sister. Betty Ross. Elizabeth, if we’re being technical.”

Betty gave a watery laugh, putting her face in her hands. Frank nodded as he stood up, walking over to pat Betty on the shoulder.

“I’m going to go wake up her docs and let them know she’s awake and lucid.” “This is …” “Nothing short of a miracle, Miss Ross. Both Miss Rosses. Excuse me.”

Betty nodded, and Frank left the room. Betty looked back to you and you smiled.

“He’s cute.”

Betty laughed.

“Yeah, we’ve had coffee once or twice.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Go, big sister.”

Betty shook her head, walking to sit beside your bed. You moved your hand and she took it, holding it tightly. You took in a breath, letting it out slowly.

“What happened to me?”

Betty swallowed, shaking her head.

“You don’t remember?”

You shook your head.

“No.” “What’s the last thing you do remember?” “Elizabeth, is it true? She—“

You and Betty looked to the door, seeing your father come to a hard stop in the doorway. His eyes were wide as he stared at you, and your lips curved into a smile.

“Hey there, General.”

Thaddeus blinked, staggering forward and gripping the end of your bed.

“Y/N?”

You nodded.

“Hey, Dad.”

He closed his eyes, moving to the opposite side of the bed from Betty, sitting on the edge. He reached out a shaky hand and took hold of yours, blinking furiously.

“When … when did you wake up?” “When the clock struck midnight. It’s poetic, really.”

You gave a soft laugh at Betty’s words, giving her hand a squeeze. Thaddeus shook his head.

“And you’re okay?”

You slowly nodded.

“What year is it?”

You rolled your eyes, looking to Betty, and she smiled.

“Dad, she just woke up. And on New Year’s, at that. She’s still trying to gain her bearings.” “Well, who’s the president, then?” “Your boss.”

Thaddeus nodded at your answer, and you gave a sigh.

“Now, can someone please explain to me what happened as to why I’m in here and why people keep asking me weird questions?”

Betty swallowed as Thaddeus turned to face you.

“You don’t remember?”

You shook your head.

“No, I … my head’s starting to hurt.”

Thaddeus nodded, moving to cover your hand with his.

“You were in an accident, honey.” “An accident?”

He nodded.

“It was … terrible. Horrific. You had massive internal injuries, head trauma. You’ve been in a coma for a year now.”

Your eyes widened, blinking a few times before you shook your head.

“A year?”

Thaddeus nodded, and Betty did the same when you looked to her. You leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

“What … what does that mean?” “What, honey?”

You looked to Betty.

“My … I’ve been out for a year?”

Betty nodded.

“What does that mean for school?”

Betty tilted her head to the side.

“What school?” “College. I’m … am I still going to graduate on time? If I lost a year, then … that’s two semesters, right?”

Betty sat up straighter, sharing a look of concern with your dad. You looked from one to the other, shaking your head.

“What?”

Betty blinked, scooting to the edge of her chair.

“Honey, what year is it?” “Betty, you said it earlier. It’s New Year’s. And if I’ve apparently been out for a year, then …”

Betty looked at your dad and you shook your head.

“2007? 2008?”

Betty’s mouth dropped open and Thaddeus ran a hand down his face. You looked from one of them to the other, shaking your head again.

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

Betty licked her lips, speaking softly.

“How old are you, sweetie?”

You narrowed your eyes, and she smiled.

“Just humor me, honey.” “I’m twenty-one. Well… twenty-two now? Or …”

You swallowed, shaking your head and Betty gently patted your hand.

“Easy, sweetheart. Just take it easy.” “What’s going on?”

Thaddeus stood up, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Dad?”

He swallowed, then looked to you and gave you a soft smile.

“You, uh … sweetheart.” “What?” “It’s 2016.”

You blinked, looking over to Betty, who gave you a gentle smile. You shook your head.

“No, it … no.”

Betty pulled out her phone, your eyes widening when you saw it, blinking until she pulled up her calendar app and showed you the date. You shook your head again, looking from Betty to your father.

“Eight years? I don’t … I can’t remember the last eight years?”

There was a knock at the door, and Betty’s eyes widened when she saw Christine Palmer.

“Well hello, Miss Ross. It’s nice to see you awake.”

Betty stepped up and whispered to Christine, who nodded, then smiled at Betty and your father.

“If you’ll just excuse us for a minute, I’ve got some tests to run.”

They nodded, stepping out into the hall, leaving you in Christine’s capable hands.

In a room down the hall, Betty shook her head, fingers touching her lips. Thaddeus stood with his back against the wall, watching Betty as she paced back and forth.

“Elizabeth, will you calm down?”

Betty gave a harsh laugh.

“‘Calm down?’ You want me to calm down? Dad, she’s missing eight whole years of her life. Details that I can’t exactly fill her in on.” “You won’t be ‘filling her in’ on anything.”

Betty went still, glancing over her shoulder.

“What?”

Thaddeus shrugged.

“Don’t you see? This is … a miracle.” “Dad.” “She doesn’t remember Rogers or any of the rest of them. What she remembers is even before Stark became such a pain in my ass. We can keep it that way and protect her from any—“ “Protect her?”

Betty shook her head, stepping closer to him.

“I know you hate him, Dad, but she loves him.” “No, she doesn’t know him.” “And you think that won’t change? You think she won’t eventually remember him?” “There’s no guarantee she will.” “There’s no guarantee she won’t! Dad, she will never forgive us if we keep him from her.”

Thaddeus turned his head to meet Betty’s eyes, a cold, calculating stare in his eyes.

“Elizabeth, let me make myself perfectly clear. If you ever breathe one word of Rogers or any of those … degenerates to Y/N, I will personally make sure you never see her again.”

Betty’s eyes widened.

“Dad.” “I don’t want to do it, Betty. I know how much she loves you. I don’t want to have to separate the two of you.”

Betty’s eyes filled with tears as Thaddeus stepped closer.

“But make no mistake. I will do whatever it takes to keep my daughter safe.”

He turned to leave the room and Betty spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

“I’m your daughter, too.”

Thaddeus nodded, turning back to look at her.

“Don’t ever forget that.”

He walked out of the room and Betty held out an arm, grabbing onto the armrest as she sank into a chair. She covered her mouth with a hand, shaking her head and closing her eyes as the tears fell.

TAGS:  @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan, @captain-rogers-beard, @bionic-buckyb, @deaniebeanie666, @shynara51, @wolfarrowepz, @captain-s-rogers, @m-a-t-91, @lovemesomepietro, @dudahmoraesevans, @the-obsessive-fangirl, @winchesterenthusiast, @katecupcakekate, @iamwarrenspeace, @until-theend-oftheline, @evansrogerskitten, @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @jjsoccer11, @theotherplath, @unapologeticallymimi, @the-obsessive-fangirl, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @geek-and-proud, @shynara51, @moonlessnight14, @xhoneybearsx, @achishisha, @castellandiangelo, @stressedandbandobessed7771, @get-loki, @theladybiers, @patzammit, @maddie-laufeyson, @queenoftrash97, @xxashy999xx, @oliviaadamswrites, @theunofficialduke, @mizzzpink, @sergeantliz, @sea040561, @nerdy-bookworm-1998, @potteryourotter

[ellipsesarefun]

it’s just like any other day, really.

FOR @hoetabekaltin for @otayuriwcgiftexchange !!!! :D

A/N: Just casual talking and some otayuri. This is kinda my first fluff? haven’t written in a while.. but I had fun writing this, so I do hope you have fun for a short? haha (I really hope it’s to your liking <3)

Fresh summer air and warm sun kisses on a long break is one of those days that Otabek looks forward to. Sure, he's still rearranging his notes from his classes in color-coded pens, but he's not in a rush. He's thoroughly enjoying his learning despite the cold small texts and the mindless terminology and his spirits are lifted further with Yuri by his side.

Yuri. His friend.

Almost everyone knows that one blond and green-eyed beauty who flaunts a scowl at almost everyone but has a soft spot for animals and some certain special people in his life, like his grandfather (and Otabek but that would be too much of a stretch). He was supposed to be working by the cashier today but, as usual, decides to skip altogether just to study (laze around). He even gets away with it by flirting with (threatening at) their coworker to cover for him (not that he's jealous or anything; just saying).

And so here he is, tending to his lecture notes while listening to Yuri's rambling on some old bald guy (his brother) and some pork cutlet bowl insanity (his brother's boyfriend) and their crazy shenanigans (it's only just his brother buying flowers for his boyfriend; nothing special) and how wrapped up this old bald guy is into pork cutlet bowls (he doesn't want to know what that means). Some part of him indulges the thought of Yuri actually wanting that kind of intimacy his brother's love life has. That train of thought only continues to choices he's uncertain to make. But suddenly, fuck it. It's a lucky day and he's in a good mood to shut Yuri up.

It's only when he interrupts with, "I could do anything for you, Yuri." as casual as possible that it jolts him Yuri to a stop. Otabek looks up from his readings and he swears that Yuri might have some magic to look deep into his soul and is catching on to what he's planning. But that's a stretch.

"So you'll give me anything I asked for?" Yuri prompts, taking a seat. There's a twinkle in his jaded eyes, yet Otabek ignores it and casually takes another bite of his sandwich without leaving his focus away from his textbook. Whatever he’s thinking isn’t going to hurt him. This is a game they’ve played for awhile and Otabek has lost several times to know anything better.

"Sure, whatever you ask for." He repeats, waving a hand at the blond before tousling his undercut, "Give me your best shot." A stillness lapses between them and Otabek pays no heed of the chatter from the people around him. His obsidian eyes run along the paragraphs, while his hand notes down the key details.

"I want a lion." Yuri says, shuffling closer. Pssh. Easy. Otabek stays rooted to his posture, not once lifting his head. Yuri has to try much harder than that. It’s not everyday for him to feel as though he has the upper hand.

"A real lion." He emphasizes, twirling his blond locks, "That I can see with my own two eyes." He pauses, trying and failing for a dramatic effect. He was answered with a flip of a page, a sip from the cup, and a nod of his head. Yuri really isn’t trying that hard at all.

"Done." Otabek replies a minute and another turn of a page later. Somehow his lack of reaction goads his crush into frustration once more as he hears Yuri puff out a breath before speaking again.

"If I die young, I want you to bury me with knives." He says, careening his head forward in search of an obvious reaction. If he could laugh out loud, he would. But then he’d lose. He has to keep this up for three or four minutes before Yuri shifts his attention to something else. Maybe a bribe of some sort would be a rewarding gift for his victory.

"Alright. I have a collection. I can prepare a will for you if you want." Otabek replies in that same monotone, and even from his perfect dark eyebrows, he hopes that Yuri can't know whether or not he was joking.

“How about throwing my brother and his stupid pork cutlet bowl into the lake?” Yuri sidles closer to the point his vanilla scent reaches Otabek’s nostrils. The urge to plant his lips onto his is strong but he steels himself against it, knowing that the action itself would ruin whatever they have.

“You’re not trying very hard, are you?” Otabek asks and his absolutely certain that the capricious glint scintillates once more in those gorgeous irises.

“That’s because I have another agenda in mind.” He’s grateful for his strong resistance against the charms of Yuri Plisetsky. He could stop everything and take a silver lining of a chance his best friend is seemingly throwing at him but again, where is the fun in that?

“And what agenda would that be?” Otabek keeps the charade instead, maintaining his gaze on his text and jotting down the notes he’s already familiar with so as not to arouse suspicion that he isn’t studying at all.

“Oh you know.” He doesn’t even have to look up to know Yuri is now looking at his nails, “Something that can fuck up that impenetrable stoic mask you fucking put up with all the time.”

He guffaws, straightening his back but keeps his head low enough to read the text (and avoid Yuri’s sultry gaze). Ah, Yuri and his colorful words, “I doubt there’s anything that would-” he says, but his words were silenced by a heated gaze that can bend the will of an emperor and soft skin that met his lips.

It barely lingered, however, for all that remained was gone in a second and Otabek was back to his textbook and Yuri... Yuri was beside him like it’s just an ordinary day and a kiss was just simply a kiss to fuck up that impenetrable stoic mask Otabek fucking wears all the time. And it worked. An unexpected agenda planned by none other Yuri Plisetsky.

Well.

“We could go on a date.” Otabek says after a minute of staring at the word “membrane potential”. What are membrane potentials again?

“Yea?” He flips a page. Nothing comes to mind but kisses, kisses, and more chocolate kisses. Because casually asking someone on a date--Yuri Plisetsky no less (how many times has he said his name again?) is just like discussing the genetic expression of a certain cell organ after three dreaded hours of lab work.

“Yea.” Otabek confirms as he scribbles three more bullet points about some certain topic he’s supposed to remember (membrane potentials or genetic expressions of mice uterus? what?). It’s in perfect cursive though he’s not sure if he really wrote that (too blinded from the kiss, he supposes).

“No flowers.” At this rate, he has no will to write anything more than a bunch of shit he’s memorized but he keeps his eyes away from Yuri still.

“Flowers are pretty but not practical and can wilt. Unless you want it pressed and preserved.” And at this rate, he’s going to end up rambling about this in case Yuri’s turned off by his smart-assery.

But the blond says,“I like your thinking.” Otabek hears a pause and he already has figured out the next sentence, “But I want something edgy.”

“The amusement park? A ride on my bike to the beach?” He can no longer fight his own smile as he finally looks up at his gorgeous lab-partner-friend-something-more. He’s rewarded with a shit eating grin that totally says everything and more.

“Maybe.” Yuri says, slightly closing the gap and pressing his forehead against his, eyes gleaming, “If we hold hands and make out under the sunset, yea, I’m in.”

Otabek smiles, “Deal.”

Other prompts used:

1. “I want a lion”

2. “If I die young, bury me with knives.”

[jinxedncharmed]

Have i ranted lately about how much I fucking love “City of brass?” I fucking love this book. I don’t know how many times I’ve reread it. I’m slowly annotating it. I have “kingdom of copper"s release date on my calendar. Why isn’t everyone talking about this book? It’s incredible and pushes all my book buttons. I can’t even express the reasons I love it in full depth. I can’t like adequately convey why I love it and how much I love it. I mean, broadly speaking, one reason I do is the setting. Unique, you don’t see a lot of western fiction setting its stories in 1800 Afghanistan, with characters both nonwhite and Muslim. I haven’t read many fantasy stories about a realm inspired by Islamic and Arabic folklore and myth. "Aladdin,” of course, Scherezade, and I’ve read some Conrad and Kipling, and HR Haggard, and probably a random short story or two, but not a lot. And of course given our political climate, why risk featuring anyone Muslim at all? So it’s great to read a fantasy featuring PoC and an amazing pantheon of mythic creatures and stories that I’m not familiar with. Second reason to love it is the incredible story. So much political intrigue! There are so many mysteries remaining at the end of the book, driving me nuts! What is the truth behind Dara’s ring, is it just his enslaving charm or is it a counter to the seal? Is Nahri actually Menizheh’s daughter, or Menizheh in disguise, or not related at all? We dont even know if she’s a shafit or a daeva. Was anything the king said to Nahri and Dara in their first meeting true? Was Menizheh his lover? Was she really a friend? Or is he just playing the game, making the soothing remarks expected by constituents who wait to hear what a politician says about a dead rival? How’d she fake her death? Or did she? Is Ali the king’s true son? Did Zaynab try to murder Nahri that first night, not just get her drunk? What’s Nasreen’s real story? Is Jamshid secretly a Nahid? Are all Daevas now descended from the Nahids, as part of a rebellion plan? This isn’t even like a tenth of the questions I have. Very engaging and entertaining story. Related to that, the writing is, in the technical sense, near flawless. The narrative technique of alternating point of view characters per chapter is nothing new, but it is utilized to great effect, allowing chakraboty to control the pacing of the book, and boy does she, keeping readers on a roller coaster of cliff-hangers and gasp-inducing betrayals. Textbook tricks of conflict-driven storytelling, such as misunderstandings, just-missed-each-others, deliberate sabotage, multiple players with unique motivations, and plain dumb luck, are employed perfectly, keeping the story realistic and playing fair with your reader, keeping them guessing with misdirection that would be the envy of any master magician. The catty politics are deliciously indulgent, better than anything on daytime soaps. The players are all so clever, and sometimes they’re devious and sometimes they’re shameless, and it is fun! The way it is written is phenomenal, the way that writing tools are used is perfect. Like, when you’re teaching writing, use “City of brass” to illustrate what those tools are, how to use them successfully, and how to tweak but not break them. Now well I will say this, that I thought some of the dialogue, particularly regarding the syntax and vocabulary of the speakers, is sometimes anachronistic. There is also a lot of information that is tough for a reader to absorb, such as unfamiliar/made-up terminology, unfamiliar character names, and a complex and unfamiliar setting. I caught and better understood a lot more of the various plot points and political thorns in my second read-thru, thereby further enriching my experience of the story. So all that world building exposition can be overwhelming and move a bit too fast in some places. Another huge reason to love this book is its morality. For me, this is a book where it’s hard to label your hero and villain. Who’s in the wrong, and who’s in the right? Was it wrong for the Nahids to murder shafit? Their covenant to Suleiman was to leave humans alone, and they were terrified to let the djinn breed with them, so does that justify killing shafit? Is Dara right when he says in his time the shafit were treated like animals, as subhuman? Does that justify his prejudice, if that was all he was ever taught? Sins of the parents passing to children and all that; bigotry learned from parents’ example? Are the Qahtanis morally justified in overthrowing the Nahids in order to protect the shafit? Or is that last disqualifier a dealbreaker, and they overthrew the Nahids for their personal benefit, not for the shafit? Does it matter whether they give the former or the latter as their reason? If they aren’t morally justified in their coup, is Dara ethically right to start a rebellion? After all, Qathani killed his family well not personally. Was Dara right to take his revenge on his human masters, after he was enslaved and heavily abused? Why or why not? I love that I can’t parse out in a logical, moral process with empirical evidence, which party has a legit grievance and which’s being a drama queen. I really applaud chakraboty for pulling off this immensely difficult technique in creating a true morally ambiguous story. She does it better than Rowling, as in HP good and evil were the usual cliched stereotypes and people were easily sorted into the correct side, good or evil. The gray morality is a massive plus for the book. And finally, the characters. I have strong feelings for these characters, and that's what writers want, for readers to react in some way any way to their character. I like Nahri, she’s clever and jaded and trying to survive political machinations, and I want to know who wants her and why, who her family is, why she was abandoned. I want her to come out the winner in this trilogy, whatever that means. And I ship Nahri/Dara, it is the OTP, as is Muntadhir/Jamshid, Jamshid on top, shut up its my headcanon. I hate Ali, and it’s fun but also a little shameful to do so. He is the oldest 18-year-old ever. Hes a sanctimonious prick, a holier than thou cultist. But boy does he have a rough time, everything goes wrong for him despite his nauseating piety and seriousness, and at first it’s funny to see him get suckered but then the stakes go up and you sympathize with him. I’m interested in his emotional development, what the psychological arc is going to be for him. I mean he needs to get fucking laid so bad. Also he’s like half crocodile now so we’ll see where that goes. And of course Dara. I fucking love Dara so fucking much. He’s just so extra all the time. Raising those shedu, breaking that glass table with his bare fist, calling the king a sandfly to his face, tipping over his teacup and pouting, the way he killed the rukh, the way he reacts to nightmares. Dry and witty, and more clever than you think, and cunning. Unbelievably fucked in the head. Fragile, outrageously delicate, like two triggers away from a complete and murderous breakdown. A serious PTSD sufferer with mental trauma from an actually horrible life, even before his 14 centuries of slavery. That boy has suffered, and it’s made him hard and focused and isolated, even while his high intelligence keeps him spewing shrewd insults and nailing his power moves, and his emotional self remains a soft gooey ball buried deep inside. Honorable, racist, judgmental, a man who follows his moral code with integrity, arrogant, powerful, a hero, a war criminal, a legend, a demon, a scourge, a victim, a pawn, a master of his own destiny, clever, rude, obstinate, dead?, genuinely kind, noble, grieving, dignified, mysterious, gentlemanly, depressed, and dangerously fucked up. Oh I love it, ahhh, the angst tastes so good, i'm creasing my eyes in pleasure lol and the hurt/comfort aspect, ooooooh it just hits every nerve ending in a perfect ping. It won’t be a happy ending for him, a tragic hero like that always dies, ask Shakespeare, but I really wish he would make it, not just live but have a fucking happy ending, he gets the girl, he gets the throne, he gets a therapist and a bottle of Cymbalta and a recommendation to smoke one joint twice a day. Please he deserves a happy ending, what with all his suffering. The way Sirius and Remus both deserved happy-ever-afters. The way Gen does too, in the “Queen’s Thief” series, and which he also probably won’t get. But oh man I want Dara to be happy, whatever that means. Anyway, this book rocks, dying for the next one, everyone should read this book, it is fucking fun.