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moonstruckme · 7 months ago

Note

Hi Mae!! I was wondering if you could write something where reader is in the hospital for something and maybe another doctor or nurse doesn’t realize she’s remus’s gf and is being rude to her. And doctor!remus overhears and saves the day lol<3

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: reader who menstruates, mention (not really description) of severe period pains, healthcare gaslighting

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 632 words

“Have you tried taking pain medications like ibuprofen?”

You clench your jaw. “Yes, I have.”

“And how long has your period lasted?”

“It started on Tuesday.”

The nurse looks up from his chart, unimpressed. “So it’s only been a few days.”

“Yes, but the pain started before that. And this has been happening for—”

“Are you aware that many women experience period pains before the start of their periods?”

Your skin feels hot. Frustrated tears threaten to clog your throat, and you fight the urge to bend over to relieve some of the pain in your abdomen. “Yes. I know that.”

“One a scale from one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”

“Eight.” Your voice nearly breaks.

Your nurse pushes out a sigh. “I’m sorry to tell you, but that’s not uncommon either.” He sets down his chart, leveling with you. “Listen, we treat a lot of really sick and hurting people here. We have lots of patients to get to today, so if you think what you’re experiencing could be normal period pain—”

“Excuse me?” The nurse falls silent as Remus pulls aside the curtain, stepping into your little room. You have to shove down the urge to cry just for seeing him. He looks between the two of you, seemingly confused but obviously displeased. “What’s going on?”

“Hi,” you offer meekly.

Your nurse turns to Remus with a long-suffering look that’s nearly conspiratorial as well. It’s clear he expects to be agreed with. “Doctor Lupin, sorry to waste your time. You’re welcome to check her out, but after an initial interview we’re fairly certain she’s experiencing regular menstrual cramps.”

Your face flames at his use of we. You hadn’t agreed to any of that.

“It’s not a waste,” Remus says, clipped. “I asked her to come here, because her menstrual cramps are abnormally severe and prolonged, and I’ve already ordered an ultrasound to find out why. Are you in the habit of deterring our patients from seeking care?”

Your boyfriend’s tone grows increasingly agitated as he speaks, and you watch with a guilty sort of satisfaction as the blood drains from the nurse’s face.

When he offers up no answer, Remus’ expression hardens. “I’ve got it from here. Find me later, please.”

You barely get to see your nurse leave. Remus steps closer to you, eclipsing your view, the anger in your boyfriend’s expression melding into concern.

“Hi, honey.” His hand wraps around your arm. “How is it today?”

You feel your face crumple under his caring gaze. “A little better,” you manage.

Remus makes a sympathetic sound, thumb sweeping gently over your skin. “Still nauseous?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he ask you to rate your pain?”

“Mhm.”

“And what did you say?”

You shrug. You’re never sure how accurate you are with these scales. “I said an eight. It might be a seven, though, I just” —your voice cracks— “wanted him to believe me.”

“Oh, baby.” Remus wraps you up in a hug, cupping your head to his chest. “I’m sorry he treated you that way, sweetheart. It was completely out of order. I’m not going to let it happen to anyone else, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say tightly. “I’m fine, and it’s not your fault.”

Remus makes a tsking sound like he doesn’t quite agree. “Why didn’t you tell him you were with me?”

You shrug, a bit bashful. “I didn’t want to, like, name drop you.”

Remus smiles, shaking his head in astoundment. “You’re absurd.” He gives your cheek a loving hold. His eyes lock on yours, steady and earnest. “We’re going to sort this, alright?”

“Oh, don’t involve me, please. Talk to him after I’m gone.”

“I mean your cramps,” Remus laughs. He presses a kiss to your forehead. “But yes, after you’re gone.”

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brbsoulnomming · 6 months ago

Text

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

“Freak's looking at you.”

There's a nudge to his shoulder that makes Steve jerk up, snapping out of the daze he'd been in.

“Huh?” he asks, looking at Aaron with his brow furrowed.

Aaron nods towards a spot halfway across the cafeteria, and Steve shifts his gaze over to see Munson standing on top of one of the tables, watching him expectantly.

Shit.

“Can you repeat that, if you're expecting a response?” Steve asks. “I drifted off somewhere around comparing the swimming pool to a goldfish bowl.”

He's being honest - it's still harder to concentrate, and he saves it for classes and practice and tends to zone out when he doesn't need to pay attention - but it makes the people who were clearly listening in laugh.

Steve catches Munson's gaze and rolls his eyes, giving him an apologetic little shrug.

He's not really sure how Munson takes it, because he just bemoans the attention span of the average jock and clomps down from the table, but no one's looking at either of them anymore, so he guesses it doesn't matter.

Steve's almost disappointed. Might be kind of nice to see what Munson's like when no one's watching them, he thinks.

—

Things are okay, with him and Nancy and Jonathan.

His gaze doesn't automatically seek Nancy out in a crowd or anything - mostly because he'd always been at her side, before, so it's not like it's even something he's used to - but he still catches her gaze sometimes, still smiles and nods and doesn't say anything.

They share study hall together.

He and Nancy shared it before, of course, and logically he knows that Jonathan had it at the same time they did, but now - now they all have it together.

After the first few times of him or Nancy awkwardly veering sharply away from their previously shared table when they'd seen the other one was already there - one day they just didn't.

They don't say much, but the three of them sit together, exchanging class notes and books. Sometimes Steve sees the pinch in Jonathan's eyes and gives him a bottle of water and some ibuprofen, and sometimes Jonathan sees him squinting too hard at something and copies the passage over in bigger handwriting, and Nancy checks over both of their notes, and it's -

The jagged black cut in his heart scabs, fades, scars. He'll always love her, he thinks, but sometimes he thinks if they can get over the hurt -

Sometimes he sits with the two of them and it's the closest he's ever felt to being understood. Sometimes he thinks it's what he wanted with Tommy and Carol, all those years ago.

It's a start.

—

He runs into Munson after school, sometimes.

They don't say anything either, but after practice gets out and after Munson is done with his theater club or whatever it is, they'll see each other.

Sometimes, if Munson's selling, Steve will linger.

He doesn't really think Billy's stupid enough to point fingers at Munson, and most people are too afraid of him to do anything, but it still makes him feel a little better to keep an eye on him.

It kind of feels like no one watches out for Eddie Munson, not the way he watches out for his fellow freaks.

“What?” Munson demands one day, sidling up to Steve and slamming his goodie box down on the bench. “What're you looking for here?”

Steve frowns at him. “I told you.”

Munson's brows furrow. “You were serious about that shit? You think you're protecting me?”

“Why not?” Steve challenges.

Munson's eyes go flat. “And what's this protection going to cost me?”

Steve thinks about being offended, for a moment, before he wonders if other people have tried to make deals before, keep the other assholes of Hawkins High away from him in exchange for free weed or something.

He softens. “I haven't asked you for anything.”

Munson scowls. “Yet,” he counters. “Whatever you're thinking, if you're trying to get me to owe you, it's not happening. Fuck off, man, I don't need protecting.”

His heart clenches as he hears an echo of Max saying the same thing, and before he knows it he's reached into his chest and pulled out his heart.

The scowl melts into confusion for a brief moment before it's back in full force. “I'm still not showing you mine,” Munson retorts.

“I still haven't asked,” Steve counters. “I don't want anything, man, all right? Just looking out in case Billy tries something.”

Or anyone else, now that Steve thinks of it, but even with his heart pumping in a steady truth, he's not sure Munson'll believe that.

“Just like that,” Munson says flatly, after a moment of watching Steve's heart. “And what do your knights of the round table think of this?”

Steve's nose scrunches. “What?”

“Your knights.” Munson waves his hand dismissively, but - his tone isn't mean, isn't condescending. “It's a King Arthur reference.”

It's nice, that he isn't being shitty about Steve not understanding something.

“Right. So that makes me King Arthur, and you're - what was it again, the court jester?” Steve asks, giving him a little smile to show he's teasing.

“If we're doing King Arthur, I'm going with Merlin,” Eddie says.

“The old guy with the beard and pointy hat?” Steve asks.

Eddie puts his hands on his hips, fluttering his eyelashes. “You think I couldn't pull it off?”

Steve plays along, making a show of looking him up and down. “You know what, sure, you've got the right look for gray haired old man.”

“Asshole,” Eddie tells him, but he doesn't sound pissed anymore. “You know you're cutting into my profits, right? People see you lingering and they're less likely to come buy.”

Steve's brows furrow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. Only the desperate want to make illicit purchases under the watchful eye of Hawkins High's once and future king.”

Steve's quiet for a moment. “I'll stand farther away, make myself look busy.”

Eddie glowers. “Seriously? You're not giving this up?”

Honestly - Steve probably should. But he's stubborn, and Eddie throwing a fit about it kind of just makes him want to do it more.

“Who looks out for you?” he asks instead of answering.

Eddie looks thrown. “What?”

“That's why you do it, right? Why you started walking on tables and making yourself a target. It takes attention off of the guys younger than you.” Steve's trying to make a point, so he slides right over the fact that they both know everyone's younger than Eddie - this is his second senior year, after all. “So everyone watches you.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, a little bit of an edge back in his voice. “You watch me, Harrington?”

“No,” Steve replies, blunt and honest. “Not really. Not before.”

“Not before Billy Hargrove tried to blame me for bashing your head in with his fists?” Eddie asks.

“He smashed a plate over it, actually,” Steve shoots back. “But yeah, something like that.”

Steve's heart gives an erratic beat. It wasn't a lie, but apparently it wasn't enough of the truth, either. Eddie gives him a pointed look.

“There's these kids I babysit,” Steve says, slow and careful. “They're into the same things you are. They're gonna be in high school next year, and I won't be here. Neither will you, but it just made me think - I'd want someone like you looking out for them.”

Eddie watches his heart for a moment.

“What are their names?” he asks. “Yeah, I won't be here, but Jeff will be. I can tell him to look out for them.”

Relief swoops through Steve, and he doesn't even care when Eddie gives him a funny look after he includes Mike and Will along with Dustin, Lucas, and Max.

He won't admit it, but it helps.

—

The next day, Eddie sits next to him at lunch.

He makes a big deal of it, hamming it up as he hops over the bench and plops down, pulling out a sandwich and some chips and flattening out his lunch bag to make a plate for them.

Steve's sitting with the swim team today, and he watches some of the guys side eye Eddie like they're not sure what the joke is and who the punchline is supposed to be. He watches some of them look at him with disgust, too, and those he carefully files away to keep an eye on later.

“My liege!” Eddie announces cheerfully. “How fair you and your knights of the round table on this fine afternoon?”

“Your king is doing just fine, as long as you keep your boots on the ground and away from the top of the lunch table,” Steve retorts.

“Is this like when Carol used to call her and Tommy Duke and Duchess?” Jacob asks.

“Are we doing that, are we knights now?” Dorian asks, his eyes lighting up a little.

Dorian gets straight A's, Steve remembers that. English is his best class.

“Sure, why not?” Steve says, shrugging carelessly, even as he shoots a smile at Dorian. “You can be Sir Galahad.”

Michael groans. “Don't encourage him, this is stupid.”

Tanner snorts. “From the guy who calls his girlfriend princess.”

Michael flushes. “Shut up! It's just so Ashley will stop whining.”

“Uh-huh.” Jacob elbows him. “We've all heard you at Tina's parties pledging to be her knight in shining armor.”

They have, apparently, completely forgotten Eddie's existence as they fall back to ribbing on each other.

Steve turns to him, finding him watching the table with a narrow, calculating gaze.

“Eat your lunch,” Steve says. “My knights don't give a shit.”

These ones, anyway, and as long as Steve's there, but he's not going to say that.

They both know it.

Still, Eddie keeps it up. It's not every day, or every other day, or in any kind of recognizable pattern, but he'll plop himself down next to Steve's side like he belongs there whenever he feels like it.

Steve largely treats it like he doesn't give a shit, and most of the people he tends to sit with follow suit, if a couple of them can't seem to resist making snide little comments.

It's always the ones who make snide comments to everyone, the kind of assholes that Steve can't wait to get away from, so he mostly ignores it.

The sixth or seventh time it happens, Steve drops his apple on Eddie's folded over lunch bag.

Eddie stares at him.

“What?” Steve asks. “You're going to get scurvy if you keep eating nothing but bologna and Doritos for lunch.”

Eddie snorts. “I look like an eighteenth century pirate captain?”

Steve makes a show of looking him up and down again. “You look like something,” he replies.

Completely unexpectedly, Eddie flushes a little, picking up the apple and taking a comically large bite out of it.

Steve grins.

—

Steve's at swimming practice after school when Nancy and Jonathan show up.

The second he sees them hovering near the back door, he hauls himself up out of the pool, barely pausing to grab a towel on the way.

“What's happened?” he asks immediately, low and quick.

Jonathan's expression is a mess of worry, like he's trying not to panic, as he says, “I can't find Will.”

“We're supposed to pick him and Mike up from the AV club,” Nancy cuts in. “But they're not there, and they're not at any of their usual places at school.”

“Or at home, or anyone else's place, or the arcade,” Jonathan adds.

Steve's chest tightens. It's stupid, kids go off to places they're not supposed to be all the time - especially these kids - but given their track record, that doesn't mean they're not in trouble. “Let me grab my stuff, I'll be right there.”

Practice is almost done, anyway.

He shrugs into his windbreaker and grabs his backpack, darting out the door to follow them. He's already digging around in the backpack to pull out the walkie talkie Dustin gave him by the time he gets to them.

“Little shit better answer,” Steve grumbles, thumbing it on. “Dustin, you there?”

There's a tense pause as they wait.

“Dustin?” Steve tries again.

Nothing.

Jonathan's face goes a little paler, and Nancy's jaw clenches.

“Hey asshole, you're the one who made me carry this around, the least you could do is respond,” Steve bitches.

This time, the walkie flares to life.

“You're supposed to say over when you're done talking, Steve!” Dustin bitches back. “Otherwise I won't know it's my turn! Over.”

“Are you serious right now? It wasn't obvious enough?” Steve asks - then, because he wouldn't put it past Dustin to be a little shit about it, and he knows Jonathan is beyond worried - “Is Will with you? Over.”

“Yeah, he's right here. Why?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

Jonathan sags with relief.

“Was he maybe supposed to meet his brother somewhere?” Steve prompts. “Over.”

Whatever Dustin had been going to say in response to that is drowned out by a chorus of “Oh shit!” and “You said you were keeping track of the time!” and “Don't tell Mom, we'll be right there!”

Nancy rolls her eyes, taking the walkie from him. “Five minutes,” she says into it. “Or we're leaving without you and you can bike home. Over and out.”

Steve's pretty sure he and Jonathan both know that she doesn't mean that, but the kids don't know it, so he's equally sure that'll light a fire under their asses.

“Hey, Dustin, do you and Lucas need a ride home?” he asks once he gets the walkie back.

“And Max?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

“And Max,” Steve agrees, assuming that's a yes. “I'll meet you out front of the high school. Over.”

He shoves the walkie back in his bag, looking up to exchange a relieved look with Nancy and Jonathan.

“See you tomorrow?” Nancy asks, though Steve gets the feeling it's more to fill the silence that's gone a little awkward, now that the potential danger's passed.

“Sure,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Jonathan tells him, eyes fixed somewhere at his left cheekbone like he's not entirely sure where to look.

“Any time.” It comes out too flippant, though, and Steve makes a face at himself as Jonathan turns to leave.

“Hey.” Steve reaches out, fingers curled loosely around Jonathan's wrist. “I mean it, okay? Any time.”

This time, Jonathan's eyes lock on his. After a moment, Jonathan's cheeks go a little pink, and then he nods before he follows Nancy down the hall.

Steve watches them for a moment or two, then drops his backpack down on a bench a little harder than he probably should, digging around for his sweatpants.

“I don't get it.”

Steve looks up as he's halfway through putting his pants on to see Eddie sidling up next to him in the hall.

“Don't get what?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods towards where Nancy and Jonathan just were. “The three of you.”

Steve shrugs. “We're friends, not a lot to get.”

He goes back to fighting with his sweatpants, wishing he'd dried off a little more before pulling them on over his speedo. They keep sticking to his thighs.

Eddie's gone quiet, though, and when Steve glances back up, he sees Eddie staring at him.

Steve cocks one eyebrow. “What?”

Eddie flushes, looking away. “Didn't figure you'd be so comfortable with the girl who broke your heart and the guy who stole her away, is all. Or hey, maybe she's putting out for both of you, maybe Byers is-”

“Hey,” Steve cuts in, tone sharp and firm in a way he hasn't had to do since he stopped hanging out with Tommy and didn't have to hold him back when he'd gone too far anymore.

But Eddie isn't like Tommy. Maybe he doesn't know Eddie all that well, but Steve gets the feeling he only lashes out when he's feeling cornered.

“Don't be a dick, man,” Steve says, voice softening a little. “They haven't done anything to you.”

Eddie looks back at him, a little surprised, before his expression goes contrite. “You're right,” he admits, easy as anything. “Sorry. It's good that you’re friends with your ex.”

Steve's sort of friends with most of his exes, but that's not the same. None of them were ever Nancy. “I do better as part of a trio,” he says instead of anything else, because it's kind of true.

Then, because he doesn't actually want to field any questions about that -

“Besides,” Steve adds. “If you've heard the rumors, you'd know that's not the kind of threesome I'm into.”

Eddie snorts inelegantly, like he's trying to cover up a laugh. “You telling me I should be putting stock in all the rumors I hear about you, Stevie?”

“Of course not. But the ones about my skills in the bedroom?” he shoots back. “Every word is truth.”

It's not, really. Or, well - not the one about the threesomes. Steve doesn't think sitting between two girls on the couch at a house party and going back and forth between kissing them counts as a threesome.

But it'd never been a hardship to combat that particular rumor, not when it meant he could take his time reassuring the girl he was with that no, he didn't want anyone else there, when he could spend a while making sure she felt important, felt good.

He thinks he'd kind of like spending some time making Eddie feel important.

Steve has no idea what the hell he's supposed to do with thoughts like that.

But he does know the way Eddie's eyes have lingered over his thighs and the line of his stomach and chest peeking out from his open windbreaker, and he-

“You want to find out which rumors are true, you just let me know,” he hears himself say.

Eddie doesn't bite, rolling his eyes and shoving him before he heads off, but Steve isn't deterred.

He hadn't missed the way Eddie's hand had lingered, either.

—

Steve and Eddie have free period together.

Well. Steve has a free period, at least. He's honestly not sure Eddie isn't just ditching, but it doesn't really matter.

They hang out together anyway.

They don't really say much, just - exist in the same space. Sometimes in the smoking area, sometimes at the track, sometimes at the picnic table, sometimes somewhere else in the woods.

They sit too close together when they're in the woods, shoulders or knees always touching.

A few times, Steve takes out his heart, lets himself breathe.

Eddie always glares at it, mutters, “I'm still not showing you mine, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs, tells him he still hasn't asked, and that's it.

Steve'll miss it once he graduates.

—

He graduates, and doesn't go to college, doesn't see Nancy or Jonathan or Eddie much anymore, and it's - it's fine.

He still hangs out with the kids, starts putting in job applications, and it's fine.

He's fine.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 5

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #background jancy

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graciedollie · 3 months ago

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Caught a fever oof so stay at home wife, who got sick overnight and has the most awful cough whenever she takes a bigger breath who's cooking dinner from leftovers and grayson comes home unaware she's sick and find out through hearing this diabolical cough?

Sickness and Health

pair: grayson x housewife!reader

summary: Unbeknownst to you, a brewing cold would rain terrible unfortunate onto you—especially with the most god awful cough you’ve ever experienced and your wife is quick to care for you <3

warnings: none !!

a/n: mind you…this was asked all the way back in january. (forgive me y’all) and this may be a little short

You felt like pure shit.

You’ve been feeling like this all day and even last night—figuring that something happened to sneak in your body and just make you feel like shit.

Lucky you.

It was the bright morning of the day and Grayson was already gone, but you knew she left a couple kisses all over your cheeks while you slept—she always did, it was pretty much routine at this point and you always cherished it. However, you miss her presence more than ever now that you had this godawful cold, but you held your own as you were used to it by now.

Your movements were sluggish and slow as you got of the comfort of your bed, making you groan and whine dramatically loud in the comfort of your own home—which is understandable. I mean, who would wanna feel like this anyway—especially at the ass crack of the morning. Worse of all, each time you took a big breath, you were met with those worse cough you’ve ever had.

Hell, it even surprised you.

But you were gonna get through this.

Somehow…

Plus, saved you trouble and time since it wouldn’t be long till she got back anyway.

The day felt like it was moving in literal slow motion and it made you aggravated to the MAX—making your day even more worse and the pounding headache that banged at your head. “God this is killin’ me…how much ibuprofen does a bitch needa take for this?” You grumbled harshly as you stood over the stove, slowly stirring some leftover meat in with some rice, deciding to make a quick and simple meal that both you and Grayson loved.

It was going well so far…until you got interrupted with the mixture of both horrible sneezes and cough—all at the same time. Nearly took you out. “Jesus…” You sniffled harshly, rubbing your nose over your shoulder before sniffling once more. The door soon creamed open and shut with a thud, following some footsteps that landed behind you before you felt warm arms wrap around you.

“Mm, hey baby..”

“Hey angel…”

Her words brought comfort to your headache, smiling wearily as she buried her face in the crook of your neck; peppering the sweet, loving kisses across the delicate skin. Your body practically melted into hers as you sighed softly until…

the most godawful cough ruined it.

It left you and Grayson literally flabbergasted.

“Love, why didn’t you tell me you were feeling under the weather, hm? You know I would’ve tried my best to make it back home to you..” she scolded gently, turning you around to make you face her—seeing how puffy your eyes and nose were and the way your throat bobbed with each snort. “I know…but I just didn’t want you to miss work cause I know how they’re on you’re ass, Gray.”

“I can deal with that, right now, you need to be in bed, love.” She took the ladle from your hand and settled it down on the counter before turning the stove to a medium heat—making sure the food wouldn’t cook too fast. “Gray, I got it—it’s just a cold, baby.”

“And I said bed.”

You knew she was gonna let this go, so you just let her carried you to bed bridesmaids style—not minding your disheveled state. She loved you in each and every way, even the ways that weren’t so nice. But even so, you were her wife regardless and she was gonna take care of you—just as you would for her.

Through sickness and health ۶ৎ

hope you enjoyed this bby <3 (hope this wasn’t too short for anyone’s liking:( ))

taglist 🏷️!!! @abbysdollie @thesevi0lentdelights @absfemme @aveli-li @madewithsilk @shanesevikasfuckdoll @supalcina @madsxh1022 @vleflain @bumbling-a-bee @vesperassh @maneskinwh0re @justhereforsubsevika @lovespotion9 @itsjustt-elli

#graciedollie ᯓᡣ𐭩 #https://graciedollie #lesbian #gracie talks!!#wlw #wlw blog #arcane #gracieasks!!#arcane league of legends #grayson arcane

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jimmyscanongf · 5 months ago

Text

returning the favour

Mouthwashing - Jimmy x reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Jimmy calls upon you to care for him after you infected him.

Content warnings: fluff, Jimmy, he’s too sick to be much of a bitch in this one.

i wrote this directly in the post editor because im still fucking sick. and sickness is just on my mind. i think he would be adorably pathetic if he were sick. anyways enjoy <3

After the click of the deadbolt unlocking, you opened the door and met with Jimmy’s face- pale and colourless save for the feverish splotches across his cheeks, all chapped lips and puffy, watery eyes, scruffy beard even scruffier than usual. A ratty, well-worn comforter wrapped around his slumped shoulders. His hand retreated underneath to clutch the loose edge closed again as he turned away from the door, went back towards his couch, the slow shuffling gait of an old man with back pain.

“Look at wh-” He started, voice deep, clogged and croaky, but the words caught in his throat swiftly and he devolved into a deluge of coughs, dry and painful sounding. By the third time he tried catching his breath only to start hacking again, you dropped your bags and went to his side, rubbing his back as he doubled over, as his whole body heaved with each attempted expulsion. Though there was nothing to expel from his lungs, you knew that well enough, having gone through the same thing the week before.

“Relax, Jim, relax. Try to breathe slow. It’s that tickle in your throat, huh? It’s awful, I know.” Your own voice was still a little raspy, still recovering from your own week of hell. He caught hold of his breath, each respiration shaky. You felt him tense underneath your hand again but he stopped, wrestling down the autonomous instinct to cough.

“Look at what you’ve done to me…” He moaned at last, soft and weak, and gave a thick sniff through his nose as he stood up, turning his red-rimmed gaze to you. A look of betrayal playing on his face.

“Oh…” You intoned in mock insult, but softened. “Okay. I take full responsibility. But I’m here now to help. Go sit down.” You waved him over to the couch and he flopped down, slumped over on his side and curled up under the blanket, knees to his chest. You shed your outerwear, hanging your jacket on the hook and lining your boots up neatly on the tray. He groaned as you went to bring the bags closer to the couch.

“I’m freezing… I can’t get warm,” he mumbled. “And I’ve never ached so bad in my fuckin’ life…”

“I’ve got you some medicine, don’t worry.” You rifled through the bag, and placed a rattling bottle of Advil and the same bottle of NyQuil he had brought you, now half empty, side by side on the coffee table. “Advil will help with the aches, the NyQuil is for everything else. Let me go get you a glass of water.”

You got up and headed to his kitchen, bringing the crinkling brown paper bag with you, the savoury smell of fried food wafting about. “Are you hungry, Jimmy?”

“No… But I know I should eat. I haven’t really had anything today.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a little plate. You should have something if you’re taking ibuprofen anyways.” After placing the bag on the counter, you opened it, staples tearing strips out as you recalled his feeble voice over the phone: “…and could you go to the fried chicken place? With the good mac and cheese… And fries, and coleslaw.”

You smiled with warm affection, how cute he could be without even meaning it. This was definitely less nutritious than his soup he had so graciously made for you, but it was calorie dense, at least. You took a glass and a plate, and a fork from his cupboards and spooned out a small portion of everything, selecting a prime piece of chicken, and filled the glass with water from the tap. Then, brought both back to the living area, setting them down in front of him.

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. He was sat upright now, shivering under his blanket. He had poured himself a dose of the cough syrup and knocked it back with expert skill. Opened the Advil and shook out two little reddish brown pills, swallowed them down with a sip of water.

You went back to your bags, pulled out a big rolled up blanket, and unfurled it, the electric cord hanging from the corner falling to the ground with a plastic thud. “I went and dug my electric blanket out of storage, just for you,” you sang with a grin.

All folded in on himself, pale and clammy, with dark bags under his eyes, he looked so small sitting there, listlessly eating from his plate. It tugged at your heart. “Aww, you look terrible,” you kissed his messy hair as you wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, taking the cord and plugging it into the wall socket next to the couch.

“Thanks, babe. You looked fresh as a spring rose when you were all snotty, hacking your lungs out,” he muttered sarcastically through a mouthful of food, while he took the control for the blanket and clicked it up to high.

You just smiled, gently scratched his scalp with your fingers as you passed by on your way back to the kitchen. “I’m gonna make myself a plate. Hang in there, Jim.” He just hummed. You heard him flicking through channels on the TV behind you as you walked away. Coughed a little, though not as intense as he had when you came in.

When you came back, there was some documentary playing low, and Jimmy was laid down, curled and trembling under the heated blanket, eyes shut, shuddering breaths passing his lips. His plate was abandoned, half eaten on the coffee table, though he had drank the water down. The only free space was at the end of the couch by his feet, so that’s where you sat. Jimmy stretched his leg out, just enough to make contact with the sole of his foot to your thigh. You pulled the edge of the blanket over to cover him and keep his body heat in. Then you started eating, half-watching the documentary that you couldn’t really hear, time punctuated by the occasional cough or groan coming from him at the other end of the couch.

When you were finished, you got up, and Jimmy’s legs retreated back further under the blanket with a low whine. You took both plates and his glass and went to the kitchen, scraping the leftovers into the trash before leaving the plates in the sink. You refilled his glass and returned to the living area.

“…I’m really cold… and it hurts so bad…” Jimmy whimpered, eyes still closed, and you pouted, feeling so sorry for him as you looked down. You set the glass down, and pressed your palm to his forehead.

“Hopefully the meds kick in soon. You’re burning up.”

“Yeah I bet,” he murmured as your palm went from assessing his temperature to caressing his face. You moved to sit back down where you were before, but he stopped you. “Wait- c’mere,” he looked up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes. “I want- I need your body warmth…” He pleaded. He sounded so sweet when he pleaded with you.

“You want me to cuddle with you?” You asked in clarification.

“…Yeah…”

“Alright, Jim. Let me in then,” you agreed. It wasn’t a hard choice. “Sheesh, and the way you fought against cuddling me…” You teased in false hurt.

“I hadn’t been sick with what you had yet. But you’ve already been sick with what I got now, so it doesn’t matter,” he lifted the blanket with his one arm and hissed through his teeth, shuddering with the other arm pressed close to his chest while you crawled underneath. You pressed your body face to face with his. He dropped the blanket over you and drew that arm in close to him, crossing them between your bodies for as much warmth as he could. You moved your own arm, prompting him to lift his head so you could slip it underneath and cradle him in your arms. You rubbed soothing circles into his back and he sighed, still trembling slightly in your embrace.

You bent your neck down to kiss him on the forehead, giving little scratches on his scalp through his hair. “You’re gonna get all sweaty and then I’ll get sweaty,” you complained, light and unserious.

“Worth it.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause I’m always worth it, aren’t I, darlin’?” He mumbled, voice heavy with exhaustion.

You sighed. “Can’t argue with that.” Certainly it was worth it, at least to be the one holding him in your arms instead of the other way around. Jimmy didn’t like to feel weak, or small like that. It was a precious, rare moment for him to let himself be held, cradled and comforted so softly while he curled up and pressed himself close to your warmth. “You are worth it, Jimmy.” You kissed his forehead again, and he only hummed in response.

It was nice. He rubbed his leg against yours, up and down, and gradually his shivering stopped, all while you caressed his back and his hair. His body relaxed against yours, his breathing gradually slowing until you could tell he was asleep.

Your heart softened, an aching outpouring of love flooding through your chest. “I love you, Jim,” you whispered, and closed your eyes. Not much else to do here but sleep along with him, and wait for him to wake up, damp and scrambling to cool down in the open air. But you were perfectly content to lay with him until that moment came.

#I DUNNO MAN #mouthwashing x reader #jimmy x reader #mouthwashing jimmy x reader #mouthwashing #mouthwashing jimmy #x.writing

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strawberryforks · 2 months ago

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cops & chaos // tim bradford x f!reader

part 3/3

warnings: violence, guns, blood, hospitals

a/n: last part! the next fic i’m throwing up is actually COD 🤭🤭 pretty excited tbh it’s been twirling around in my mind for awhile. ANYWAYS, enjoy and have a lovely day!

The plan was to wait until it was dark and the veil of darkness would aid you in slipping away (relatively) unnoticed. Sure, you would have to bypass a few obstacles but it would be fine. Malik would be gone: he was now but for shit, such shit reasons. The plan was great and now it was in the wind. You really planned (ha) to follow it. You had bided your time. Been patient, cautious, careful. And now? You had to disregard all that tedious planning. Being tied up had given you lots of time to think—to consider all the possibilities and you thought you did so meticulously. This, however, was not one of the possibilities you went over.

The rope that your wrists were wrapped in had been cut and you were free–kind of. You were pretending that the binds were still there and doing their jobs and for thirty minutes, while those tasked with guarding you made pleasant, mindless, slightly-scared conversation you played another part: the part of perfect hostage; perfect prisoner (whatever it was you were supposed to be) for just a bit longer. When they sat down, backs to you, leaning against a crate, you let the rop fall away. Cold air touched your skin and as you slowly bent down and untied the rope around your legs, you were so incredibly grateful that even in your injury slash exhaustion laden state you possessed a certain finesse, a stealth. You stood up and a new plan bloomed while your achy limbs protested. They could protest later. Save the complainants for someone who cared; for someone who had the option to listen to their body, lie down, and pop a few ibuprofen.

Sliding behind a support beam, you tried to decide what to do. The warehouse was an old, crumbling, classic evil-villain lair and you debated searching for a sledgehammer and knocking it the fuck down. No time, though. Tim was in danger. Your options were: sneak out weaponless and hope or fight and steal.

You didn’t hope for much. Oil barrels were beside you now. Bracing your back against a pillar you kicked one over and waited. Chaos: ensued.

“Holy shit! Where did she go!”//”How did she get out?”Not important. She’s over there!”//”Call for help?”//”She’s just one girl and boss will kick our ass–”

The one that ran past the pillar, searching for you received a wrench to the head. You wrapped your arm around his throat and drug him back behind the barrels. After choking him into unconsciousness, you emptied his pockets and grabbed the gun from his waistband.

The second man found you–he had a gun too. A bullet split the skin on your shoulder and then your gun, fired twin shots to his kneecaps. Leaning against the wall, bleeding, panting, kindness wasn’t in your vocabulary. It hadn’t been in his. The man cried out, sobbed, as he curled in on himself. You bent down, grabbed his gun. Two was better than one, right? The more the merrier? It was something like that. You walked as fast as you could, drug your body to the best of your ability; followed the new plan.

….

“We have a location!”

They drove to the warehouse, sirens blaring, because Malik was a coward - dishonorably discharged (shocker, you would say) and as much as Grey was hoping for an arrest Tim was hoping he would run–give me a reason to shoot, he thought.

Malik didn’t run. But he did wait. He knew Tim would come; knew he would find him so it was no surprise that the asshole parked himself on the roof with a sniper. He would die after: suicide-by-cop but he would take Time Bradford with him for all the trouble he caused. As the police cars pulled in and Tim stepped out, he adjusted his scope. He leaned in, took a deep and shuddering but gleeful inhale, his sights set, finger pulsing over the trigger and…

“AHHHHH FUCK!” he screamed, “WHAT THE FUCK!?” was shrieked at the same time another shot resounded. He turned around, hand on his ass, where blood sept from twin bullet wounds, to find you, bleeding too, and staggering towards him. When you were close enough, you lunged. You slammed your gun (one of them) into his head twice and another shot went off. By now, everyone knew there was a firefight on the fucking roof. “You crazy bitch! You shot me in my ass!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you in the face!” you spit, (no, literally, you spit blood on him)

Duct tape was around your neck still, hanging there limply like a slate gray necklace. He rolled you off of him, attempting to choke you out with the slippery metallic material, and you shot him again, bullet in his kneecap this time—your aim was true; you didn’t visit the shooting range as often as you did to not be phenomenal.

Eventually, you wrangle him onto his stomach. You tie his hands together with the duct tape debating mumbling something smart about it being his turn but finding you didn’t have the energy.

Malik is bleeding heavily and good—you’re glad—until you realize you are too. Tit for tat, karma, whatever it is, it’s kicking your ass. You slump against the ledge and your eyes are half-lidded when the door to the roof slams open. Thorsen runs towards you, Harper beside him and… Tim runs past them both. He slides of his knees, so he’s right next to you and his hands fly to your cheeks. He cradles your face, then all of you and he starts shouting. His words blur together–you know that’s bad. Really bad. But you look into his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes, nevermind that they’re full of worry. “Tim,” you say. He responds, says your name like a plea. Cries it out. Then, the shift is dizzying. You’re in his arms, up off the ground and then, then you think you’re looking at Bailey Nune.

When did Bailey get here? You’re lips open but they’re dry, dry mouth plagues you. Water, you need some water. You try to roll over, to grab some—it’s on the nightstand, it’s always on the nightstand, but you cant move your nevk. Hard plastic digs into your chin, almost pinching and you can’t move.

You’re tied up again.

You never got out.

Never stopped Malik.

Tim’s dead, he’s dead. He’sdead,he’sdead,he’sdead.

He’s leaning over you—very alive, very upset. A tear from his eye hits your face. Machines are screaming. Beeping

BEEPING

Then… then…

Then your eyes are opening.

(You don’t remember them shutting)

(He does)

Then your eyes are opening. The fluorescents are bright, overwhelming. You squint and listen to the rhythmic beeping–it’s calmer now, and it’s you; you’re in hospital, hooked up to god knows what. You try to shuffle but feel… pinned. So you look to your side and… it’s Tim. You sigh—when your chest constricts everything save your heart hurts. Your heart, it’s okay, because he’s here and he’s safe. He’s dragged a chair over to your bedside and his head rests on your thighs, arms wrapped halfway around your waits, small snores escaping him. He’s okay and you’re banged up but… also okay. As okay as you can be. You thread your hand your his hair, and whisper a simple “hi.”

“Hi,” he returns, immediately sitting up. He’s standing quick, “I’ll go get a nurse,” but no–no, you don’t want that: only him. You reach out and grab his hand. “Stay,” you beg and he does. He settles down beside you, offering water that he holds to your lips and there’s an awkaward silence. Then, at the same time, you both speak. Try to, atleast.

“I’m so–”

“I was–”

“You can go first,” you say. You’re trying to be polite but also? You don’t feel good: his voice makes you feel better. Not good, but better. He nods, resolute. “I was so fucking scared. I didn’t know whether to be devastated or angry.”

You know. Fuck, you know. Tim’s enemy or not it was your carelessness that ended up earning you a sleepover in a chair. God, your back hurts just thinking about it. “I’m sorry. I know going on a run that late at night was stupid and I should’ve–”

“That’s not even what I’m upset about! You should have brought me or Kojo with, sure, but what I can’t get over was that stunt you pulled on the rooftop. You got out, got free! And what, decided to swing some vigilante justice and–”

“I heard him talking, Tim. He was on the roof with a fucking sniper. It was a trap and he was going to shoot you.”

“You were already shot!”

Exactly?

“And we needed to match, why? Like, I’m sorry for worrying you but when I say I have no regrets I mean it.”

He sighs, “I know.”

You sigh too. Start to whisper like you’re admitting something shameful, but roll your eyes playfully halfway through. “I’ll take that tracker back, though. The one that goes with the necklace,”

“Yeah?” he asks, vaguely amused.

“Yeah,” you say. “Then I’ll give you a ring with a tracker in it, too.”

“Wha–”

“We’ve never been a fan of labels, I know that but… I’d like it if we had a new one. Boyfriend, girlfriend, it sounds so juvenile and the way I feel about you? It’s not. It’s really, really not. Fiance sounds better, doesn’t it?”

“And husband sounds best.”

Hallelujah.

“I think so too. Y/n Bradford has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah.” He kisses up your neck and tells you just how nice he thinks it sounds.

#the rookie fanfic #tim bradford x reader #the rookie x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #the rookie

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marril96 · 6 months ago

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Safe Haven

Chapter 3: Cold as Revenge

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: After months of no contact, Agatha shows up at your door badly injured, and it’s up to you to help her.

Previous chapter.

"Can we go to bed now? I'm dead tired." Agatha asked. There was a pause, and then she added, "No pun intended."

Very funny. "Don't you wanna eat something?"

She shook her head. "I just want to get some sleep. It's a bit hard to rest when your hands are tied behind your back and someone's kicking you in the ribs the entire time."

A pang of rage burst within you. You weren't just going to watch her kill them. You would kill them yourself. "Sweetheart—"

"Save the pity party. Just get me to bed," Agatha said.

So you did. You walked her to the bedroom, and helped her remove her dirty clothes and change into a clean pair of pajamas. It took everything, all the strength you could muster, for you to not break into sobs as your eyes fell upon her naked body. There was barely an inch of her left untarnished. Bruises in various shapes lined her arms and legs.

Her abdomen and back bore the worst of it. Her skin, naturally creamy and fair, was painted purple.

This wasn't the purple that suited her.

This wasn't her purple.

"Want something for the pain?" you asked. You didn't have any hard stuff, but, given her condition, even an Ibuprofen could make a difference.

Agatha shook her head, nestling under the covers. "I'm fine. I just need to sleep it off."

Would she be able to sleep at all?

You doubted you would be able to sleep, and you weren't even the one who was injured.

"I'll run you a bath in the morning," you said.

She beamed at the prospect. "Will you join me?"

"Of course." That was the reason the two of you had chosen a large bath. "Now, rest up. I'll be with you shortly."

She looked at you with wide, sad puppy eyes. "You're leaving?"

"Just to take a shower," you assured her.

"Stay," she said in a small voice. Fragile. Broken.

It just about broke your heart. "I have to—"

"Please."

She knew you could never tell her no when she pleaded in that tone of voice.

Others could — and did, every time — but never you. They didn't know what it took for her to beg. They didn't know how vulnerable, how desperate she had to be in order to do it. Or if they did, they didn't care.

You did. You cared too much.

Agatha knew that, and, though manipulation came to her as easily as breathing, she never took advantage of it.

When she would look at you like that and say please in that small, sad voice, you knew it was genuine. You knew she needed you.

"Okay," you relented. "But only until you fall asleep."

Her lip quivered.

Those hunters were still out there, no doubt looking everywhere for her. Even if they couldn't enter this house, they were a danger; not just to her, but to you, as well. They could burn this house down. Blow it up. Shoot through the walls.

Neither one of you was safe.

Agatha's fear was justified. She was a target for as long as they were among the living.

"I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you again," you told her, squeezing her hand. "I promise."

You laid down beside her. Instantly, with a pained hiss, Agatha shifted towards you, resting her head on your chest.

"Are you sure about this? It's not the most comfortable position," you said.

"I'll live," she said. "Hold me."

So, you did.

You cradled her to you, careful not to hurt her. Your fingers caressed her hair, played with the locks, twisted and twined them. Her heart beat close to your chest, a steady, even rhythm in line with her breathing.

She was comfortable.

She felt safe.

You stayed that way for over two hours, long after Agatha had drifted off to sleep. You didn't have the heart to leave her yet, even temporarily.

Maybe you could stay in tonight. Maybe you could postpone your plan for the morning.

No.

It had to be done tonight.

The sooner it was dealt with, the better.

There was no way of knowing when the potion Agatha was injected with would wear off. It could be tomorrow. It could be in a week, a month, hell, maybe even a year. The people who'd captured her — who'd tortured her, broken her — wouldn't give up until they got their hands on her again.

If they were to corner you, you could fight them off. She couldn't. She had no way to defend herself.

Letting them live was too much of a risk.

As carefully as you could, you wiggled out from under Agatha and got up from the bed. I'm doing this for you, you thought as you fixed the covers and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

There was nothing you wouldn't do for her.

Even if she hated you for it.

Eventually, she would come to understand why you did it. Why you had to do it.

She'd forgiven you once. She would do so again.

***

It was well after sunset when you returned home. You hoped Agatha was still asleep, that you would have some time to lie down with her after you cleaned yourself up. You could use some cuddles after the night you'd had, and you were certain she could use a few, herself.

No such luck, though; your eyes fell upon her as you emerged from the basement, seated on the couch with a mug of coffee in hand, brows furrowed, lips tight, like a parent catching their teenage child sneaking back in after a night of hard partying.

You were ready to chastise her, to tell her she should be in bed and rest, when the scene before you set in and your mind caught up with what you were seeing. Her hair hung down her shoulders in thick, loose curls. Her fingers, wrapped around the mug, were black. She was clad in her witch outfit, the purples and blues clinging to her body, contrasting the creaminess of her skin.

Her face was flawless, no traces of the bruises that used to paint it mere hours ago. The cracks and tears on her lips were gone. She was sitting upright, her breathing normal, unbothered.

Her power was back.

She was back.

"You're awake," you said in awe, unsure of what to comment on first. So many emotions were coursing through you; excitement, relief, joy. She was okay. She could protect herself now.

She was back to her old self.

"I sure am. Where were you? I was cold," she said with a whiny pout. It looked oddly in conflict with the way she was dressed.

"You poor baby," you teased. You sized her up, took in every inch of her. God, she was delectable. "You don't look cold now."

Agatha smirked. "You dig it?"

She knew you did.

"This a show for me?" you asked.

"Don't flatter yourself, honey. Fashion shows are beneath me." She shrugged dramatically. "I'm just enjoying having my power back."

Right. Sure. "It looks good on you."

"Everything looks good on me."

True.

"I'm glad you're okay," you said.

She beckoned you with a finger, and, as if under a spell, you went to her. You removed the coffee from her hands, putting it down on the coffee table, and leaned down to kiss her.

Her lips were warm. Inviting. Ravenous. She drank you in, pulled you closer. Devoured you like she devoured the power, the lifeline of all those witches.

Unlike them, you welcomed it. A willing victim. You craved it. Ached for it. Begged for more.

And more she gave.

Lowering yourself to her lap, you let her deepen the kiss. God, you missed this. Missed her.

These past few months were hell, and not just because of the guilt that was eating you alive. Not being around Agatha was killing you. Not feeling her touch, not having her mouth on yours, not smelling her hair or feeling the static of her magic on your skin…

You might as well have died.

And now you came back to life.

"So good to have you back," you said as you parted for air.

"So good to be back," Agatha said confidently. "Speaking of, what were you doing in the basement for so long?"

So much for the surprise. And here you thought you were being careful. "Did I wake you when I came back in?"

"No. I was already looking for you when I heard all the… whatever the hell that was."

Yeah. That. You were hoping she hadn't heard that little blunder.

"It was supposed to be a surprise."

Agatha raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"For when you wake up. A little get-well present. You need your purple to really enjoy it. I thought it'd be nice if you had something to look forward to while you heal."

A wide smile bloomed on her mouth. "Is that why you're covered in blood?"

Your shirt was all but soaked in it, the rusty color having taken over. You'd planned on trashing it and taking a shower before seeing Agatha, but, as always, plans were one thing, and reality was another.

"It's not mine," you clarified.

"I can see that," she said, a tad amused. "Whose is it?"

Though, by the look on her face, you could tell she already had a pretty good idea.

Another surprise spoiled.

"Those hunters aren't gonna be a problem for you anymore," you said.

Their screams still echoed in your head. Pleas for mercy, for forgiveness. Where was their mercy when they were torturing Agatha because she wouldn't betray you? Where was their mercy when they were kicking her, punching her, breaking her? Where was their mercy when she was begging for it?

Payback was a bitch, and so were you.

"Is that so?" Agatha asked.

A part of you expected her to be mad at you for taking the opportunity of revenge away from her, but she was taking it in stride. If anything, she seemed proud. Satisfied.

She approved.

Your heart warmed with relief.

"No one hurts my girl and gets away with it," you said, looking her straight in the eyes to drive the point clear. If it came to it, you would tear the world apart for her. Would set it on fire and watch it burn.

Agatha preened. She loved your protective side. "You took quite a risk," she chided, though it was all for show. She knew you could handle yourself. Your power was nowhere near her level, but you were far from a defenseless kitten.

"I sneaked up on them." That was the only way you could think of for them to have successfully injected her with the magic-blocking potion. So, why not return the favor? "Isn't that what they did to you?"

"Indeed, it is," she confirmed. "They're cowards."

"Now they're dead cowards."

Agatha grinned, then glared as you took a sip of her coffee. You ignored it, instead taking a few more sips, eyes never leaving hers.

As if she would ever do anything to hurt you. Someone else may lose their head — or hand, or mouth — for an infraction like this, but not you. You had the privilege of testing her limits and living to tell the tale.

If anything, you were doing it for the glare itself. It was adorable. She was adorable. Like a hissing kitten attempting to look tough, imposing, not realizing the act only made it cuter.

"Wanna see what I got you?"

Agatha's eyes lit up. You didn't even have to ask.

Taking hold of her hand, you led her to the basement. Your heart thumped loudly as you descended into the dark, dimly lit room, anticipating building, welling up like a geyser about to burst.

It's been a while since you treated the woman you loved to something nice.

She deserved a pick-me-up.

A form laid on the cold ground before you. The woman's hair was light; it used to be perfectly straight, but now it resembled a bird's nest, messy and unkempt. Courtesy of you. Bitchfights were, well, a bitch. Her clothes were tattered. A piece of fabric was wrapped tightly around her mouth; a makeshift gag you'd had to make out of a random shirt you'd found when you'd accosted her.

For a witch, she'd done lousy work on protecting her home. You'd blown through the door and walked straight in without a single obstacle.

She was more powerful than you, you could feel it, but you were on a revenge mission. She never stood a chance.

Apparently, she hated Agatha — and, by association, you — more than she hated witch hunters. "Something had to be done about that witch killer and her girl-toy," she'd spat like it was poison. That had earned her a punch to the face and a blast through the wall.

It wasn't like she was gonna get to go back to that house, anyway.

Her fate was sealed the moment she'd decided to help the hunters.

It was an enemy-of-my-enemy sort of deal. They would look the other way if they'd happened to spot her in exchange for her serving them the worst of the worst on a silver platter. They'd even get a two-for-the-price-of-one discount, with you thrown in as a bonus. Agatha's willing plaything, or so the witch bitch had described you as.

Look how that had turned out for them all.

You'd offered one of the hunters the same kind of deal: the witch's identity in exchange for his life.

And had promptly slit his throat as soon as the name had left his mouth.

You weren't in the business of making deals with people who'd brought harm to your beloved.

You'd ended up having to tie the witch up with bindings embedded with runes. The fighting was getting exhausting, and you were kinda in a rush; Agatha needed you home. So you'd pulled out your secret weapon that you'd brought along for this explicit purpose.

It was cheating of the worst kind, but this was war, and nothing was fair. If she'd wanted a fair fight, she wouldn't have banded together with a group that had been persecuting your kind for centuries in hopes that they would do her dirty work.

All things considered, things were going well.

There was a small hitch when you'd brought her home and had tried to get to the basement. She'd made a run for it, knocking down a vase that you'd never liked, anyway, which had made a loud noise that you were sure would wake Agatha, but you'd had the situation back under control rather quickly.

You'd drawn a circle around her, a barrier that ensured that she couldn't get away. Even if she were to break out of the runic bindings, her power wouldn't get her anywhere. It wouldn't do a single thing.

As long as she remained within the circle, she was yours — Agatha's, actually — to do with as you pleased.

The witch rose up to her knees as you and Agatha came into view. She stared up at you, defiant.

You knew she wouldn't stay that way for too long.

"She's all yours," you said.

Agatha was in awe, licking her lips as if she'd just smelled her favorite food, fresh and steaming on the platter in front of her. Cooling off just got her.

"You've outdone yourself, my love," she said, squeezing your hand to emphasize that she meant it. Every single word.

The praise was music to your ears. Your heart skipped a beat. "I'll leave you to it."

"You're not staying for the show?"

Was that disappointment in her tone?

"I had my fun with the hunters," you said. "Now it's your turn."

Fair was fair.

Agatha pouted, but gave a nod. "Why don't you prepare that bath you promised me? I'll have my fun, and then we can both relax."

The prospect was more than appealing. You could already imagine her naked body against yours, bursting with new magic, the static making you shiver and quiver in all the right places.

"Don't you want some more time with her?" you asked.

"Trust me, honey, it'll be more than enough," she said, lips curling into a wicked smirk. Her eyes flashed purple; a threat, a warning of unsavory things to come.

The witch flinched, terrified.

Good.

Now she knew how Agatha felt. Now she knew how you felt when the woman you loved more than life itself had shown up at your door, battered and broken.

Karma was a bitch.

You pecked Agatha on the cheek. "Have fun, sweetheart."

"Oh, I will," she purred in that delicious way that promised trouble, that promised mischief and mayhem.

She was going to enjoy this. More than she already was.

Throwing one final glance at the doomed witch, you went up the stairs, making sure to close the door behind you.

These weren't the kind of screams you were in the mood to listen to.

Even if Agatha was the one to cause them.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #aaa #agatha all along #marvel #mcu #fanfic #fanfiction #my fics #edit

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sammyofold · 11 months ago

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Here are those fic recs I promised you @incesthemes ! I hope there's some in there that you'll really enjoy <3 I split up the recs into overarching tropes to group some together, but I'll start with those that don't fit into any of the groups.

The list got a bit long, so I decided to split it up into two parts.

(Part 1 | Part 2)

Courting Death by theproblematique.

Summary: Sam Winchester lived the first six months of his life in a happy family; the next twelve years as John Winchester's only son, and the last decade as an orphan. He's supposed to die at twenty-two trying to save the woman he loves from a fire, because he doesn't have a brother to pull him back. But the night Sam meets his Reaper he discovers that Death is overly fond of pop-culture references, too beautiful to be real, and reluctant to kill him.

Servant of Servants 'verse by klove0511.

This is a two-part series (though I think it might've been intended to have more fics, its ending doesn't leave you feeling snubbed), posing the question: "what if it had been Sam who'd been mortally wounded at the end of Season 1?"

love potion no. 9 by according2thelore.

Summary: Dean drinks a love potion. Sam is falling apart at the seams because he's been in love with his brother for more than a decade.

keep me in a daydream by according2thelore.

Summary: After an accidental kiss makes a hunt go suspiciously well, Sam and Dean decide to try it again. And again. And again. It's no different from wearing lucky socks, right? A 5 + 1.

for you and me (i got no alibi) by remy.

Summary: There are people hitting on Sam wherever he goes, and Dean is doing weird things like holding doors open for him and touching him way more than is necessary, and it's all driving Sam up the wall. It doesn't help that he's been in love with Dean for just about forever, and all of it feels like a mockery of something he'll never get to have. Meanwhile, Dean is at his wits' end trying to figure out how he can make Sam realize that he is, in fact, trying to get into his pants.

Ben Has Two Dads by regala_electra.

Summary: When Ben turns thirteen and learns that Dean Winchester is his father, he runs away to join his father (and uncle). A tale where boys are boys, Vikings are Vikings, unicorns go to Candy Mountains, Dean and Sam are in big gay love, and Ben becomes a Winchester.

Last Temptation by merle_p.

Summary: Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

Five Times Dean Forgot and One Time He Remembered by elsi.

Summary: Rowena warned him the obliviate curse might have “aftershocks.” That Dean could relapse to his amnesiac state without warning—though only temporarily, she assured. But this? This goes beyond calling a lamp a “light stick.”

Whatever It Is by theproblematique.

Summary: Both Sam and Dean get sent to the year 2014.

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life, Too) by TeacupUnicorn.

Summary: Sam and Dean get handcuffed together during a hunt. With a werewolf on their tail and a proximity to each other they haven’t had since they were kids, their unstable relationship is put to the test and their trust in each other is pushed to the limit. Set sometime after 5x16 and before 5x20.

Not Her Sam by Yuval25.

Summary: Future Dean goes back in time to change the future and saves Jess. Future Sam tags along unexpectedly. And Jess is okay. No, seriously. She's fine.

Mistaken For a Couple

101 - mythology by ani_coolgirl.

Summary: As Sam, Dean, and Kali flee Lucifer's slaughter, Kali makes an assumption. The boys try to clear up any misconceptions. They don't do a very good job.

I need you so much closer by cherryvanilla.

Summary: five times they're mistaken for a couple plus one time they actually are.

Domesticity

Paisley by samsexualdeancurious.

Summary: After his mind wall was broken and was healed, Sam knows he can’t be a hunter anymore, so he and Dean retire, and Sam ends up finding a homeless dog who was abused and together they heal.

The Chicago Verse by compo67.

This is a series spanning a whopping 169 fics. I've read only a few of them and I enjoyed Sam and Dean retiring in this town together. It's still updating, looks like, since the latest fic added was in May of this year.

a few things worth saying by hathfrozen.

Summary: “So this morning,” Dean ventures as they blast down the highway in pitch black night toward a probable werewolf case. Sam looks over at him, thin eyebrows raised, eyes clear and calm. He’s not even difficult about it, doesn’t ask what Dean is after, doesn’t deny what had happened. Instead he says, very simply, “I just figure, why lie?” Alright then.

All The Way In by hunters_retreat.

Summary: Sam never did know how exactly it happened. One day, he and Dean were run ragged, exhausted from yet another disaster of a hunt, no money and no gas, no prospects and no allies left alive to give them a hand. The next, they owned a store with a shooting range and Sam was a professor of religious studies at a local community college.

Pre-Series & Season 1

To Blow Against the Wind by dreamlittleyo.

Summary: After Oasis Plains, Sam and Dean can't. Stop. Touching each other.

Star-Crossed by Agent_Hellcat.

Summary: Before Sam departs for Stanford, he writes a letter to Dean, begging him to come to Palo Alto with him.

Birthday Suit by wincestation.

Summary: On the morning of Dean’s eighteenth birthday, Dad takes him to buy a suit. Sam is… interested.

house song by according2thelore.

Summary: “The werewolf.” Sam says, quick. Hushed. Scared. “I don’t know how. I was—He was standing above you and then he wasn’t. And I think I did that.” Dean keeps whispering stuff to Sam, banal reassurances that Sam soaks up like a sponge, but he feels sick. Sammy did something impossible. Sammy’s been doing impossible things. For years. Or: Pre-Canon/Teen!chesters AU in which Sam develops powers at age eleven, Dean will do anything to protect him, and they have to live with the consequences

Outsider POV

What I've Done by Amoreanonyname.

Summary: He wasn’t going to say anything more about it. He could tell, Dean was happy to see him, but wasn’t going to humor this topic. Dean, young Dean would jump to obey John, to answer John’s questions, but this was an older Dean who was more loyal to someone else now. More loyal to his brother. John wasn’t the priority here, and he realized with another guilty jump in his stomach that he never should have been.

something you love and understand by monsterq.

Summary: In heaven, Mary makes an unwelcome discovery about her sons’ relationship.

a skeleton terribly restless by remy.

Summary: Mary knows she doesn't fit right in this strange new world she's woken up in, with these grown men masquerading as her sons, but she tries her best. She really does. She closes her eyes to all the things she does not want to see, and she lies to herself until she's convinced. Until she can't.

Flowers on the Window Sill by orphan_account.

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester's relationship as observed by the good people of Star's Hollow.

Soulmates

Fix You by non_tiembo_mala.

Summary: After their encounter with Famine, the boys are in dire straits. With Dean left shaken by the horseman's taunts - which rang truer than he'd like to admit - and Sam juiced up on demon blood again, Dean is at a loss. He has no idea how to move forward, or where they're meant to go from here. Then again, they’ve always had each other - perhaps their salvation isn't as far away as it seems.

All Too Familiar by sammichgirl.

Summary: Sam's new hobby has consequences they never saw coming. Turns out, that's OK with Dean after all.

What We Do by BleedingInk.

Summary: Castiel catches Sam and Dean in a compromising position.

since feeling is first by queenklu.

Summary: That he wants to think this is Dean yanking a leash should make his blood run cold, not aching hot. It should make him sick, angry, it should get his fucking hackles up and make him fight. He does want to fight. But there’s a skin-thin line between primal things, and fighting isn’t all he wants to do.

if the dam breaks open many years too soon by deirde_c.

Summary: Sam’s soul springs a leak, and Dean’s the one who can repair it.

In the beached margin of the sea by rivers_bend.

Summary: Sam and Dean black out on a hunt, and when they wake up, Dean's having visions and Sam can't get new, strange feelings out of his head. When John finds out about the side effects, he'll do anything to get rid of the "curse". But Sam and Dean don't want to go back to the way things were before.

I Don't Need A Symbol by amoreanonyname.

Summary: It hadn’t meant that much to Sam at first. A warm glow at being able to do something nice for Dean, to give him something for once, to make him as happy as he seemed when he put it on immediately. It was what it meant to Dean that made it mean something else to Sam.

#wincest #samdean #fic recs #rec list #part 1 #og post #so here it is!!#this took me way too long 💀 sorry about that #tumblr also been giving me sooo much trouble formatting this ugh #if anything doesnt work or looks wonky lmk and i'll try to fix it!#hope you enjoy the fics!!<3

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