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calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

Text

innocence - 28

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst

A/N: its angst season again!!

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky looked around like a crazed maniac, looking for anyone, just anyone who could be responsible for the letter he was holding in his hands. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins just like they used to when they held him hostage in the Russian base. Those words were tattooed in his retina, as it dawned on him he had once again to keep her safe. His ears started ringing like they always did when they used to trigger him, the ring itself replacing any other environment sound, becoming so loud it fully overcame over his senses, rendering him particularly useless. Not that he was of use lately.

- Bucky? - Y/N’s sister, Claire, called out to him. Almost mechanically, he stuffed the letter in his back pocket. - Are you okay? You look a bit shocked. Any naughty Christmas post cards?

- Just a bit ... cold.

- Yeah, Y/N said you were not very comfortable with it. Sorry about that, I was just trying to keep you away from Aunt Petunia. She’s too much.

- Thanks, Claire. Hm ... do you have any landline? I need to make a call to the US and my plan is running out.

- Yeah, no worries. There’s one in the hall by Y/N’s bedroom. - she gave him a warm smile which was reminiscent of Y/N yet did little to nothing to calm him down. He handed her the rest of the mail before climbing up the stairs to the same hall which had doors on each side. Yet, despite it looking like a maze all he cared about was that small telephone on the table.

Her picked the phone, leaning it against his ear as the rolled the dial to Steve’s number, the letter firmly mashed in his fist as he wanted nothing more than to burn it in the big fire place but he couldn’t. All he could think of was whoever had broken into Y/N’s flat back had followed them to London and once again he had been incapable of protecting her. He had let whoever was sending her those nasty messages, get to her in one of her most safe places. The other line rang like the passage of long times, until he heard the voice which had become synonymous with freedom and America together.

- Steve Rogers.

- Steve, they did it it again. - he snapped before he could even tell who it was on the phone. Yet, if his oldest friend couldn’t figure out his voice after so many years then maybe he needed new friends.

- Buck?

- Someone left a letter on her mail box calling her a whore again. You and Natasha were on it trying to figure out who did it in New York. - he continued on like an out of control mess.

- Buck, calm down. Was the handwriting similar? Maybe it’s a prank.

- There’s no handwriting just magazine cut outs and it’s not a prank.

Y/N stepped out of the car, walking over to the luggage holder to help her father take the shopping bags out while her mother walked up to the door to unlock it before they could climb up the stairs. Her father opened the truck of the small red car which they had had since she was a baby. She still remembered her father picking her up from ballet practice, the red colour bright through the cloudy skies. It always felt so safe to enter through those doors, almost if there was no harm whenever she was inside the old metal vehicle. Things were so simple back then and evil was so hardly defined and bordered away from her. She had had a good childhood, good parents, good family so why was she so scared whenever she was in New York? Why was she so intrinsically insecure and meek?

- So, beanie, you and James. Does he treat you well? - he asked as he handed her some bags and christmas boxes.

- He’s just perfect, dad.

- Then what is it?

- What do you mean? - she looked over her shoulder.

- Well, you’re my daughter, you’ve been my daughter for over 5 years now and I like to think I know you better than you think. What’s wrong, Y/N?

- I’m just homesick, dad. - she faked a smile, pushing her hat further down her head, trying to fiddle with something else. - New York is different from here and well, stardom is different from here. It has nothing to do with Bucky.

- He makes you happy?

- He does.

- Then I’m happy for you, beanie. - her father kissed the top of her head, carrying half the shopping bags and gifts onto the home while Y/N stood back looking at the neighbourhood she’d grown up in. It wasn’t perfect, no place in the world is perfect but it had a much more emotional connection to her than her place in SoHo. Of course, maybe it was just her own rose coloured glasses of being away from such a structured, planned 3 year ahead career.

She smiled softly at the houses in exposed brick shades and the coloured blue and red doors with big gold number. Rows and rows of houses which seemed never ending when she was younger yet now seemed so quickly fading from view. Nothing is everlasting and she remembered so well thinking everything was but maybe it was for the best. Good things end to give way to better ones and bad things end become they no longer suit you.

Y/N looked over her shoulder one last time before entering the house. She put the bags near the other ones neatly stacked by the staircase before pulling her coat and jacket off. The house was always filled with noise, it was never quiet. Always abundant with laughter or discussions about the silly topics. This time, they were discussing some weird plot on the television. However, Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

- Did you not invite Bucky? - she crossed her arms, giving her siblings the dirtiest look she could muster. - Guys, I asked you to include him.

- We did but your boyfriend has been on an international call for the last hour. It’s gonna add up. - Colin retorted.

- I’m gonna go check on him. - she reminded herself to tell Colin off for that backhanded comment but she was much more preoccupied with Bucky. Sure, he did enjoy his loneliness but Y/N didn’t want him to feel alienated. She did not want him to feel lonely or like a stranger in her home. Climbing up the stairwell, she noticed him at the end of the hall, old telephone she used to toy around with when she was a kid pretending to call her family yet, unlike her past childhood self, Bucky had the phone firmly pressed against his ears, lips tight, one hand holding himself against the table.

She noticed his indisposition, his muscles so tight she wondered how come he hadn’t had a cramp and like any empath she approached him with her characteristic sunny attitude, wrapping her arms around his waist, putting herself on her tip toes to kiss him. Bucky, however, moved his head to the side, mumbling something over on the phone in Russian, switching languages as if he did not want her to hear his conversation. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, her overthinking nature picking at her brain as she leaned her head against his shoulder. Bucky turned around slightly to kiss her on top of her head like one does to a child or a friend.

- I’m on a call now, princess. - he held her arm up to wrap it from his waist.

- Okay. I’ll just go ... go have a shower.

She delayed her exit, almost waiting for him to kiss her like he always did whenever she left. However, Bucky quickly returned to his call, in Russian, and she got the message loud and clear. She tried not to think much about it, after all Bucky was still related to the Avengers and despite being his girlfriend, she was not expect to be into that sort of information. She tried to convince herself of that fact as she stepped onto the cold porcelain of her shower floor. The water fell from her head onto her shoulder as she scrubbed the dirt off her body, constantly telling her inner anxiety, Bucky was merely busy. If she were busy she wouldn’t have liked her partner being clingy. He was busy.

She turned off the shower, wrapping herself in the fluffy bathrobe she probably had had since she was 18, hair still damp as she slide her feet into fluffy slippers and walked into her bedroom. Bucky was sat in her bed, laptop on his lap as he typed the keyboard so harshly one would think he’d break the keys. She smiled to herself as she took the side near him, head laying on top his cozy black jumper, probably dampening the fabric but Bucky didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he didn’t even seen to mind her presence, merely ignoring it. She looked up at him, moving to kiss his jaw with an innocence type of request which was anything but innocent.

- Buck. - she said in a sing song type of voice, almost like a mermaid calling out for a sailor. - Why don’t we finish what we started in the airplane?

- Not today, princess. - he kissed the top of her head once again. - I’m not in the mood for it.

- Oh ... hum ... okay. - she almost retracted back into her shell at those words. Had she done something this morning? Something to upset him? Maybe he didn’t enjoy her leaving him alone with her family. - Do you wanna go out for dinner?

- I don’t think it’s wise, princess. They might ... pap us or someth’ng.

Did he not want to be papped with her? Maybe he was still upset over the pap photos she had willingly given away. She didn’t know and she didn’t want to know. Instead, she decided to turn around in the bed, still naked under her bathroom and stare at the wall until she felt sleep weigh on her eyelids. Bucky, on the other side, had his wild eyes glued to the screen, watching the security tape of her apartment over and over again. It had been cut, he knew it had from the time changing sharply, however, he couldn’t see anything which would be of any aid. All he knew was that not only had he failed his job as an Avenger, he failed his job as her bodyguard and failed to protect her like any boyfriend would do. Would it be in a club he could’ve just punched the daylights out of whoever dared to call her that but right now he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to make it stop.

Bucky closed the laptop, putting it on the floor as he looked through his mind about who could want to hurt her, who cold do anything to want her to suffer. He could no figure it out and all he wanted was to figure it out. He leaned against the bars of her bedpost, looking over to his side to see her sleeping on her side, hand under her face and hair drying in front of his face. He carefully pushed the hair away from her face, tucking her into her large duvet before kissing her cheekbone. He couldn’t bring it upon himself to say anything, to tell her the letter came in. Bucky still remembered how she had reacted last time and he did not want it to happen again, he did not want her to feel unsafe in her own home. Instead, he let himself fast asleep next to her.

The morning woke Y/N up, the strange brightness of a sunny winter day hurting her eyes. She groaned, raising her torso from the bed, eyes blurry as she opened them. Rubbing the sleep off her eyes she extended her arm to notice Bucky’s spot was empty. She furrowed her brows, jumping off bed and walking outside and down the stairs onto the living room where most of her siblings and their partners were.

- Wow, Y/N. Clothes under the bathrobe, much? - Eloise teased.

- Where’s Bucky? - she ignored her sister.

- He went out. - Claire added, handing her a cup of tea. - Said he had to grab some stuff.

- Oh ... okay. He didn’t say anything.

- He probably didn’t want to wake you up. - Claire patted her shoulder, kind smile on her lips.

- Or maybe he’s cheating on you. - Colin added, only to be slapped over the head by Eloise. - Hey, what was that for? I was joking.

- He’s not cheating on you. - Claire reassured her. - Colin is just being an ass.

- What? I was joking!

- Not with Y/N, you idiot. - Eloise muttered under her breathe. - Maybe you should go put your clothes on, Y/N. Bucky is probably just Christmas gift shopping.

- Or maybe he got lost? He is like 200 years old. Did you give him a pager? He might be lost in Piccadilly Circus or maybe he can’t get out the underground.

- Fuck off, Colin. - Y/N snapped at him before returning up to her bedroom.

He knew her brother was just trying to get under her skin. Bucky was not cheating on her, when did he even have time to find someone in London to cheat her with? Maybe he had some contacts in London from when he used to come to missions with the Avengers. Maybe he had someone in London for him. No. No, Bucky did not. Bucky wouldn’t cheat on her, Bucky liked her but he was acting out of style to him. She sat on her bed, hand in the middle of her legs as she tried to stop herself from overthinking things that were absolutely ridiculous. Since she was no good at doing such thing, she called the only person who normally could push her back to reality.

- Chuck? I have a problem.

- Jesus, Y/N. Have you forgotten time zones? - Chuck groaned on the other side of the line. - You better be dying.

- Bucky is acting weird.

- Bucky always acts weird. What’s your point?

- I don’t know, Chuck. It feels weird. I even tried ... initiating IT and he said no. Do you think he’s not attracted to me anymore? He didn’t even want to kiss me

- Maybe he was not in the mood, Y/N. Also, why are you so freaked out about saying sex? Are you sexually repressed? Did you try to initiate some kinky sex with Bucky and maybe his old man penis wasn’t okay with it?

- Can we not discuss my boyfriend’s penis, please?

- What? He’s old, maybe it hasn’t been getting up. Did you ask him? Maybe he forgot to pack Viagra and he’s ashamed.

- Chuck. It is not that.

- I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe spice it up. Dress up like Princess Leia in Empire Strikes Back. Every man is into it.

- Bucky hasn’t seen Star Wars.

- I don’t know what was sexually appealing in the 40s, Y/N. Don’t you have that lingerie set they made you wear for Rocky Horror? Use that. Maybe he really just wasn’t in the mood.

- Okay ... yeah. Uhm, maybe it will work.

- Great. Now, I need to sleep because it is too late and there’s a girl in my bed and I don’t want her to think I have you on the side.

- Oh, is she a nice girl?

- Y/N ever since you lost your virginity you get very boring when you don’t get a dick appointment. Go on and do it with Bucky and we’ll talk later.

- Okay, thank you.

- Bye, bye.

Y/N stared at herself in the mirror. She never really saw herself a sexual being or a sexual girl at all. After all, she was the one who got told by three guys at her university freshers party she had the sexual charisma of a toaster. Now the metaphor did not make any sense but all she knew was that it probably did not make any sense. It wasn’t that she wasn’t comfortable with her own sexuality, she just didn’t think about it outside of work. Maybe Bucky was used to girls who put a bit more effort and wasn’t very attracted to her very old bathrobe and her Marks and Spencers cotton underwear. She shrugged it off, opening her wardrobe to skim through some of the costumes she had worn until she found the white lacy set. It was better than her regular cotton underwear. She put her robe back on looking at herself in the mirror as she gave herself a pep talk. He’s not cheating on her. She knows he would never do that.

She sat down in her bed, going over some scripts sent over by the agency until midday when Bucky came into the bedroom, on the phone with someone else, still speaking Russian. She waited for him to finish his call before she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

- Sorry for not telling you, Y/N. I had to make some calls with the team.

- It’s okay. - she smiled at him. - I was just thinking maybe ... maybe we could have some us time. My parents went to do the groceries and my siblings won’t bother us, besides I have something I want to show you.

- Sorry, not in the mood. I need to call Steve. - he took his jacket off, putting it on the edge of her bed. - It’s urgent, princess.

- Oh, okay.

- Can I use the landline? Pretty sure I still haven’t figured out how to make international calls.

- Yeah. - he kissed the top of her head once more.

She sat on her bed defeated. Her mind going through everything she could’ve possibly done wrong the morning she left with her parents. Maybe he really wasn’t in the mood, however he did seem pretty eager that morning. She sighed. Damned Colin and his stupid backside comment. She sighed, rolling in her bed, the movement making his jacket fall to the ground. Great Y/N, now you’re wrinkling his clothes. She got up from her bed to grab the jacket for a letter to fall on the ground. She looked to the side, leaning down to pick the letter only to drop it once she saw the writing. You cannot hide, whore. She grabbed it from the ground before storming out to the hall, pulling the cable out the wall, effectively stopping Bucky’s call.

- When were you gonna tell me?

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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years ago

Text

not just the squad mom : j.w

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED UNTIL AUGUST. Please do not send one in right now, as I can’t get to it sorry guys.

brief summary: to everyone, you’re the mom in the vlogsquad ever since you first made your apperance as high school sweethearts alongside jeff. however, what no one knows is that you’re actually going to be a mom

word count: 1k requested: yes by a v sweet anon i hope you enjoy it angel! warnings: none that i can think of

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

To everyone who knew you in the squad, you were definitely the Mom. When you were first introduced, you could tell everyone was unsure about how Jeff, an ex convict ended up with a sweetheart like yourself.

The thing is, it dates back further than that. You and Jeff met in High School during Chemistry class. Both of you were paired to do an assignment, and after causing almost several chemical burns and three trips to the ER, Jeff asked you out.

Since then, you’ve always been together, through thick and thin- even when he was sent away for six months.

“Hey guys, I brought coffee!” You announce as you walk into David’s, seeing Natalie with Todd, Ilya, Erin and Carly. “Oh, and Jeff. “

Jeff walks in behind you, rolling his eyes as Todd waves to him whilst Natalie chuckles under her breath.

“You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?” Jeff asks you once you’ve sat down on the sofa, sipping your own coffee.

Removing the cup from your lips, you simply nod in response resulting in Jeff to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap as you laugh light-heartedly.

“Why is it so hard to find what you guys have?” Carly sighs as you smile sympathetically toward her.

“Carly you have a boyfriend.” Erin nudges Carly whose eyes widen momentarily.

“I take back my previous statement, judge, please forgive me. And Nolan.” Carly comments before returning to her laptop, busying herself.

“Sometimes I can’t believe you have been together for eleven years.” David pitches in, lifting his head up from behind his laptop to look up at you both.

“Does to me.” You whistle, receiving a playful jab in your side from Jeff. “What? Does it feel like yesterday to you, huh?”

Jeff shrugs his shoulder. “You’re just as beautiful as the day I met you.” He tells you and both Carly and Erin fawn over how sweet Jeff can be sometimes when you’re around.

“Honestly if you do not get married and let us be bridesmaids I’ll be pissed.” Erin states. “I mean bridesmaid for bridesmaid, right?” She reminds you, and Jeff’s grip on you tightens.

Looking down at the floor, you hum in response. “Yeah, I mean, I might not fit into my bridesmaid dress, that’s the only thing.” You speak up, slowly glancing around at everyone.

A series of confused expressions meet your eyes in response. “You’ve not gotten fat in lockdown, Y/n.” Todd chimes in, and Jeff nods in appreciation.

“Not like that, Todd.” You tell him, starting to form a smile on your lips as you look down at Jeff who smiles brightly back at you.

Natalie focuses on how Jeff’s hands glide across to your stomach, and she pushes herself off of Todd.

“No, shut the fuck up.” She blurts out, rising to her feet. “You’re pregnant?”

Her question has a domino effect as joyous looks spark on everyone’s faces, except David who is lost in thought until Natalie hits his arm.

“Ow,” He mutters, rubbing his arm. “what did I miss?”

“I’m pregnant.” You tell him as everyone remains in a state of shock, no one moving as Erin stares at you with wide eyes whilst Carly is rendered speechless.

“Nice work, buddy.” David reaches out to fist bump Jeff who gladly accepts.

“Of course that’s your reaction.” Natalie sighs and you rise to your feet, accepting a gracious hug from her. “I can’t believe you’re going to be a Mom.” She states.

“Neither can I,” You laugh nervously.

“How long have you guys been hiding this?” Todd asks as he pulls away from a hug with Jeff.

Jeff looks back at you before scratching the back of his neck. “Like, three months? I mean, we’ve been planning for a while, hence why we moved.”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” David speaks up whilst you and Jeff share a look.

Resting his hand on your back, Jeff answers on his and your behalf. “We just wanted something private for a while, make sure that we knew this was real.” He explains, having been there the moment you found out to your first scan. The entire experience so far has been an ordeal, but one you wouldn’t take back for anything.

“I was scared something might happen, and everyone would know.” You add, a sad smile lining your lips momentarily. “But it all seems okay, and we wanted you guys to know too.” Your smile brightens as Erin wipes her eyes before hugging you once more.

“I can’t believe you’re actually gonna be a real Mom, like not just looking after us kinda Mom.” She blubbers, and you laugh along as tears well up in your own eyes. “But you’re going to be an amazing Mom, Y/n.” Erin adds, squeezing you lightly before pulling away with a guilty look.

“You didn’t squeeze too hard, don’t worry. The baby won’t pop out of my vagina if you hug me too tight.” You joke, resting your hands on your small bump.

“I can’t wait, does this mean I’m God Father?” David beams at the thought whilst Todd points to himself, nodding to Jeff who shrugs his shoulders.

“Do you know what gender they are yet?” Natalie asks and you shake your head in response.

“We kinda want it to be a surprise.” You tell them, Jeff smiling down at you, now able to see your bump more visibly as opposed to hiding it. “But whatever happens, we want you guys to be apart of their lives, and ours still. If you’ll have us?”

David scoffs lightly, “We can’t get rid of you guys!” He announces. “Especially with a child on the way, gotta afford to get the little fella off to college.” He mutters in a baby voice, and you can’t help but long to hear that from Jeff.

“Fuck, Jeff’s going from daddy to dad.” Carly laughs, and Jeff frowns lightly before you turn back to him, away from everyone else.

“You’ll always be a daddy in my eyes, baby.” You whisper to him before turning back to your friends, feeling Jeff’s hands never leaving your bump.

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blacktofade · 4 years ago

Photo

This is approximately 3 million years late, but what’s up. I’m still alive. Hope you’re all okay.

“It’s getting long,” Ryan says apropos of nothing on a Thursday evening.

Shane looks up from his phone and glances over. “What?”

“Your hair,” Ryan clarifies. “It’s getting long.”

Apart from Anthony, who’s quietly clicking away at an edit in the back of the office, Shane and Ryan are alone. It’s already dark outside, the spring nights still closing in quickly, and honestly, Shane would have left a long while ago, but he’s lost track of time.

On his desk is his abandoned beanie. He doesn’t remember pulling it off, but he’s not surprised it’s there. He gets a hot head and has picked up a habit of raking his fingers through his long hair, which accidentally shoves off anything in the way, hats and headphones included.

“Oh,” Shane says. “Yeah.”

Ryan leans in, reaching up to flick a strand of hair out of Shane’s eyes. “You haven’t cut it.”

Shane shrugs and pushes his fingers through it, tucking some behind his ears. “I kinda like it.”

Ryan’s gaze skitters across his face. “I do, too.”

Shane doesn’t think there’s anything he can say to that.

“You could go longer,” Ryan tells him. “You could do a lot with it.”

Shane leans back in his chair. “I could braid it.”

“You shouldn’t hide it under your hats.”

“You like a good hat,” Shane points out. “Seems hypocritical.”

“Maybe I like your hair more than I like hats.”

Shane spares a glance back at Anthony, who has his headphones on and doesn’t seem to even know they’re there.

“You suddenly have a lot of opinions about my hair,” Shane says looking at him again and Ryan shrugs.

“I like it long.”

“So you’ve said.”

Ryan rubs the bridge of his nose. “How long do you think you’ll let it get?”

Shane grabs a nearby pen, using it to occupy his antsy hands. “I think you’ve thought about this a lot more than I have.”

“You were the one who decided to grow it out,” Ryan scoffs, clearly trying to save face. “You’ve gotta have a general plan.”

“No,” Shane insists. “I just missed a haircut, which was fine until you decided I deserved the third degree about it.”

“I’m not giving you the third degree,” Ryan tries and Shane lifts an eyebrow.

“So there’s no newfound interest in my hair.”

“I mean, it’s hard to ignore,” Ryan says, gesturing vaguely at Shane’s head. After a lack of reaction from Shane, he huffs in frustration and leans over, reaching into Shane’s space.

The second Ryan’s fingers curl into Shane’s hair, part of Shane’s brain yells that he should pull away, but overwhelmed by unexpectedness, the rest of his brain freezes and he can’t move at all.

“Look how thick it is,” Ryan mutters, raking his fingers the wrong way through Shane’s hair to muss it. Shane washed it that morning, which means it’s fluffy and unstyled. He hadn’t even put gel in it because he’d planned on covering it with his hat. “You missed one haircut and this is what happened?”

“It started with one missed haircut,” Shane explains softly, half afraid to move his mouth too much and draw attention to the quickly growing weirdness of the situation.

“It’s been months,” Ryan continues idly, fingers shifting in a way that Shane can’t predict, that keeps him on edge.

“Sure,” he agrees, glancing at the inside of Ryan’s elbow and the flex of his arm as he holds it aloft.

“I can just grab a whole handful,” Ryan announces, and Shane finds all the air suddenly rushing out of his lungs as Ryan tightens his grip and does just that. It tugs at the roots of his hair, tipping his head in the direction of Ryan’s hold.

Shane doesn’t expect to let out the noise he does, least of all one that sounds horrifically sexual in every way possible.

Ryan pauses and their eyes meet in what could be the longest second of Shane’s life. And just like that, Ryan’s letting go, pulling away like he’s just burned his hand on a stovetop.

“Fuck,” Ryan says, blinking like he’s only just realizing what’s happening. He glances to his right, towards where Shane knows Anthony is still working, but he turns back to Shane almost immediately and Shane knows Anthony hasn’t noticed. “Jesus. Sorry.”

Shane doesn’t think sorry covers any part of it.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Shane should say something like you’re right or try to make a joke about being the next Fabio, but instead he does nothing, just keeps quiet.

“I didn’t think,” Ryan admits. “I just — ” he flexes his hand and Shane understands. Ryan has a habit of doing that — just acting without thinking.

“It’s fine,” Shane finds himself saying, because it’s easier than anything else.

“I just — ” Ryan starts and Shane can’t let him finish the thought.

“It’s late,” Shane interrupts. “I should go.”

He pulls his hat on because he feels strangely vulnerable with his hair exposed now, but the action doesn’t seem to be lost on Ryan, who quickly glances away, probably already internalizing things.

“Don’t go because of me,” Ryan says and Shane shakes his head like Ryan’s not the issue.

“It’s late,” he repeats.

It doesn’t feel right to leave with things left unspoken, but Shane knows that sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.

He undocks his laptop and slips it into his bag, ready to go in the blink of an eye, already an expert on extracting himself from awkward situations.

“You’ll be in early for the meeting tomorrow?” Ryan asks, clearly grappling for something just to make sure they’re okay.

Shane knows him. He holds Ryan’s gaze as he says, “Yeah, I’ll be here.” Meaning, it’s okay, you haven’t scared me off completely.

Ryan nods, adjusting a post-it note on his desk, like it’s the thing he’s most worried about. “Okay, cool. I’ll see you later.”

Shane tips his head in response and carefully slips past him to leave.

He takes a moment to lean against the office door, letting out a heavy breath as he adjusts his beanie. It feels like something too huge to think about...so he just doesn’t. He shifts the strap of his bag onto his shoulder more securely and then heads down the hallway towards the elevator.

He’s just pushed the call button for the elevator when he hears the office door open and close behind him. He’s not entirely surprised when he turns to find Ryan standing there, five or six paces away, but that doesn’t mean it makes sense.

“Did I forget something?” he asks, but Ryan’s quick to shake his head.

“No, I — I think it’s hot,” Ryan says instead and it feels like the continuation of a conversation Shane doesn't remember having with him.

“In the office?”

“Your hair,” Ryan explains, taking three steps closer, and the bottom of Shane’s stomach drops like he’s staggered backwards and plummeted straight down the elevator shaft. “The longer it gets, the hotter it is.”

Shane grabs the strap of his bag, his whole body feeling unsteady, like the slightest push might send him sprawling.

“What?” he says. “Is this a bit?”

“God, I wish,” Ryan mutters, shoving his fingers through his own hair to push it out of his face. “It would make it so much easier.”

Shane stares at him silently because for once in his life, Ryan has rendered him speechless. He has no idea how to respond or even how to act natural. It’s like he’s suddenly become aware of each breath he takes, which only makes it harder to remember how to breathe normally.

“It’s been driving me crazy,” Ryan continues like he just doesn’t know when to quit. “Every time I look at you, I just want to — ” He raises his hands and clenches them into fists.

“You want to fight me?” Shane asks, because it turns out that when he panics, he deflects with humor.

“Yeah, sorta,” Ryan says with a snort. “But I also want to get my hands in your hair.”

The thought makes Shane’s legs feel weak. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Ryan says not realizing Shane’s talking to himself. “Bad timing, huh?”

“No better time to hit on your coworker than after starting a company with them.”

“I thought I was hitting on my friend,” Ryan tells him, which makes Shane swallow thickly.

Behind him, the elevator dings, having finally arrived, the doors quietly sliding open. Shane glances backwards at it, knowing it’s his one chance to escape. He could duck inside and be out of the building before Ryan even realizes he’s fleeing. He could keep his head down and wait for whatever it is that’s happening to pass.

Instead, after a long minute, he watches the doors close and turns back to Ryan. “This is a bad idea,” he says and Ryan nods in agreement, his eyes seeming brighter with the knowledge that Shane hasn’t immediately left, that Shane hasn’t rebuffed him.

He takes a step closer to Shane, staring up at him. Shane doesn’t know what to do, so he does nothing. He watches as Ryan reaches up, slowly so as to give Shane time to move if he wants to, but Shane doesn’t. He pulls Shane’s beanie off with a deliberate tug, freeing Shane’s hair.

He tucks it into the front pocket of Shane’s bag, which shouldn’t feel illicit, but does anyway. Shane feels his pulse begin to quicken as Ryan leans in, hands raised as he slides his fingers into Shane’s hair, sighing like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

“It’s soft,” Ryan tells him, like it’s not the weirdest thing he’s done and said. He cards his fingers through it a few times, parting it to one side and then the other, as though he can’t decide which way is his favorite. Eventually, he pushes one hand around to the back of Shane’s head, firmly gripping a handful of hair and tugging just enough to rock Shane backwards into the hold. “You liked this earlier.”

Shane lets his eyes shut, senses narrowing in on the dull ache of Ryan pulling again, a little harder this time.

“I’m going to grow it out more,” Shane blurts, which wasn’t what he was planning on saying. He wasn’t going to say anything, in all honesty, and he still hasn’t decided how long he’s going to keep the hair. But one touch from Ryan and he’s apparently making all kinds of rash decisions. “What do you think?”

“I think you already know my answer,” Ryan tells him and it’s a genuine surprise when Ryan pulls him down, pushes up onto his toes, and kisses him.

His mouth is warm and insistent and Shane finds himself automatically gripping Ryan’s shoulders in his surprise. For a second, he thinks he should nudge Ryan away — it’s not the time nor place for it — but instead, he clutches at Ryan’s sweatshirt and Ryan deepens the kiss like he knows exactly what he wants and how he’s going to get it.

Shane doesn’t think a single kiss should be able to change his life so easily. He thought his evening would be uneventful. He’d wrap up work, pick up a pizza, and watch Netflix until he accidentally fell asleep on the couch. Instead, he’s kissing Ryan in the hallway of their office.

He pulls back carefully, a hand on Ryan’s sternum to keep him from leaning back in immediately, and Ryan exhales shakily against his mouth.

“That was unexpected,” he says and Shane lets out a huff of laughter.

“You kissed me.”

"So what,” Ryan argues. “I got caught up in the moment.”

He lets go of Shane’s hair, patting at it in a clear attempt to try to flatten it again.

“Not the best place for this,” Shane admits and Ryan steps back, rubbing a hand over his face like he still can’t believe what he’s done. Honestly. Shane can’t either. Ryan lets out a long breath and looks at him.

“Did you already order a Lyft?”

“No,” Shane admits. “Not yet.”

“I can give you a ride, if you want,” Ryan offers and Shane raises an eyebrow at him.

“How many bases are you planning on rounding tonight?”

Ryan laughs, but shrugs casually. “As many as you’ll let me.”

It would definitely be a change of pace from falling asleep on the couch, he thinks, which might be why he finds himself automatically nodding, intrigued by the possibilities.

“If you’re lucky, I might even let you explain the rules of baseball to me.”

“Would that be considered foreplay?” Ryan asks with a quirk of his mouth and Shane gives him a gentle push back a step.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby downstairs,” he says instead of answering and Ryan almost trips over his own feet in his hurry to turn back towards the office.

“I’ll be five minutes,” Ryan says over his shoulder, already halfway down the hallway and Shane lets out a quiet laugh, watching him go.

“Sure,” Shane agrees. “See you in five.”

#shyan #fic: watcher #thing wot i wrote #fic #lovely anon #answer

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tanyawritesstories · 4 years ago

Text

An Apple A Day | Doctor!Anakin Skywalker x Reader Modern AU

I got this idea from a post of Julia's and I had to write it. It was so fun, I spent every spare minute I had yesterday writing it on my breaks at work.

@anakinswhore and @starwarsdust here it is! I hope you enjoy it, I think I got every point mentioned in that post. I hope I did your man well!

Word count: 2,260

Warnings: fluff, flirting, bad doctor jokes, sexual innuendos, Anakin being cheeky

•••

You hated going to the Doctor. You felt fine, why bother paying someone just to have them tell you what you already knew? It didn't matter, you knew it was probably a good idea and your parents always encouraged you to go. You could practically hear your mother’s voice: “You might feel fine but there are things they can find out with their technology that you’ll never even notice.” You nearly rolled your eyes at the thought. Hell, if an apple a day actually kept the Doctor away, you might be inclined to eat them.

You wandered up to the receptionist and gave her your information as she got you checked in. “Just to let you know, Dr. Atkins isn’t in today, she’s on vacation, but we do have a substitute,” the lady informed you. You raised your eyebrows questioningly. “He’s relatively new but everyone he works with says he’s amazing and his patients rave about him.”

You sighed, “Ok, not like I have much of a choice I suppose, thank you.”

“We’ll call you back when we’re ready.”

You took a seat in the stereotypical hospital waiting room. Chairs with boring colors and scratchy upholstery, carpet with some of the strangest designs you’ve ever seen, and an old tv in the corner stuck on an HGTV marathon of House Hunters. You sat scrolling through your phone, trying to do anything to drone out your surroundings.

“Y/N L/N?” A nurse called from the doorway next to the desk. You reluctantly removed yourself from the chair and followed her down the hallway. She took your height and weight before ushering you into an exam room. The nurse proceeded to take your blood pressure and note any changes since your last visit, which you were proud to say had been around six years ago, though the nurse seemed to disapprove.

“I’m finished here, just sit tight and Doctor Skywalker will be with you shortly.”

You laughed out loud after she shut the door. Skywalker? What kind of name was that? You sat kicking your legs back and forth on the exam table, toying with your fingernails. You fully expected this Dr. Skywalker to be some older guy with an ego bigger than your apartment, thinking he could cure every ailment under the sun. You jumped when there was a knock on the door and the Doctor walked into the room. He was not at all what you had pictured.

He was a younger guy, probably in his mid to late twenties and very attractive. He fixed you with an intense but gentle and kind look as he extended a hand to you.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Doctor Anakin Skywalker. You must be Y/N?”

You found yourself frozen, staring at him for a moment before coming out of your stupor and shaking his hand. “Yes, nice to meet you too,” your voice came out as a barely audible squeak, though you hadn’t meant it to. He pulled a rolling stool over from the other side of the room and sat down facing you, beginning to look through a computer at the nurse’s notes.

God, he was gorgeous. His hair was shoulder length and the color a medium brown, it looked fluffy as it framed his face and you wanted to run your fingers through it. His face was friendly and his presence brought a comfortable and calming aura to the room. He was dressed in the usual Doctor attire, a spotless lab coat, black trousers, a light blue button down, and black dress shoes. Somehow it looked so much better on him.

“How are you feeling today?” He asked, putting the laptop on the counter. His voice was soothing and pleasant to listen to, it held firm tones but overall gentleness.

“I’m fine,” you responded quietly. He was having this strange effect on you, he was intimidating but in the best possible way. You were never normally this quiet or shy, moments ago you were ready to complain about the fact that you even had to be here. Now you found yourself rendered nearly speechless in front of this handsome young Doctor.

“Just here for a regular check up then, correct?” He asked. You nodded and managed a small smile, not trusting your voice. He smiled and you nearly choked on oxygen as he grabbed the stethoscope from around his neck and stood next to you. He was tall and towered over you, you tried to keep your breathing in check but you couldn’t exactly force your heart to slow down it’s beating.

He put one of his hands on your back and pressed the instrument over your chest. His hands were large and warm and your skin felt like it was on fire through your clothes from his touch. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Your heart is beating a little fast, are you doing ok?” You nodded again, “Yeah, I guess I’m just nervous at Doctor appointments.” Your voice had returned to it’s normal volume at last. “Don’t worry that’s completely normal,” he said, “Other than it being a little flustered, your heart sounds good.” He made eye contact with you as the word ‘flustered’ fell over his lips, which you found yourself stealing glances at.

He switched the stethoscope to your back, placing his hand on your shoulder as he gave you instructions to breath in and out as he listened to your lungs. That also helped to calm yourself down, except now your skin was burning in yet another place where he touched you. “Your lungs sound good, too,” he announced with a satisfactory smile. He asked you to sit up as straight as you could and he ran his fingers down the length of your spine, leaving sparks in their wake. Your breath hitched without you knowing it.

“Are you doing alright still?” You nearly flinched with how close his voice was to your ear. “Yea, I’m alright,” you answered. Better than alright, you thought. “Good, just let me know if you’re ever uncomfortable or need a minute, ok?” He consoled, reaching for another tool on the wall. He was calming and reassuring and it just drew you to him more. He used the tool to look into your ear canal, all while he laid one hand on the back of your neck to keep your head steady. “That one looks good, turn your head for me..” he took the tool in his other hand, leaving your neck void of his searing touch. He touched his fingertips lightly to your jaw, urging you to turn your head.

You ears look perfectly healthy as well, however,” he paused to touch the back of his hand to your forehead for a brief second, “You look really hot to me," he held your eyes in a smouldering glance as he said it, "so I think I’ll take your temperature, just in case. I'd hate to send you out of here without knowing you're ok.” He crossed the room to get another piece of equipment and you touched your hands to your face, indeed feeling how hot it was. You couldn’t ignore the flirty little look he gave you as he delivered the line, he had probably noticed you blushing since he stepped foot in the room.

He came back with a thermometer in hand. He stood directly in front of you, your knees brushing against his thighs. “Alright, open wide, I’m just going to stick this under your tongue,” he instructed. That one had you salivating, and not only in your mouth..

He was speaking innocently enough and any normal person wouldn’t think anything of it. But with this insanely attractive and doting Doctor standing in front you, saying those words like that, it caused your mind to drift to only dirty places.

"This might cause a little discomfort, I'm just going to shine this light into your eyes for a few seconds," Dr. Skywalker informed you. You decided to be bold and chanced a comment back. "I've had worse things in my eyes," you said, smirking. He sent you a look, and you thought you had gone too far. "Yeah, I thought I saw something in there, but it was just a sparkle," he replied, smirking right back. He turned to type away at the computer and you stifled a giggle.

Your eyes stayed glued to Dr. Skywalker as he finished your exam, checking a few other things.

"Alright, so you look great. Everything is in order, you're perfectly healthy," he announced. "The only thing I would suggest is eating more fruit, you seem to be getting a limited amount of essential vitamins."

"I'm not a big fan of fruit," you admitted. "How about smoothies?" He suggested, "It's a healthy way to get the vitamins you need and if you add sugar it may not taste as bad."

You smiled at him and slid off the exam table. "I just might give it a try," you said. "Great! Other than that you're all set. If you ever need anything, just call me," he used that flirty tone of voice again and winked at you. "I would say I hope I don't see you again since I'd like to stay healthy, but, I know not to lie to my Doctor," you said smugly.

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Anakin, your next patient is waiting," an annoyed voice with a slight Scottish accent said from outside. You smiled and gave him a wink before exiting the room and finding your way to the lobby.

Bonus content, (because I got hooked on this concept):

That weekend you found yourself at your favorite bar after a hard day at work. You were a few drinks in and only buzzed, you knew your limits. You swished the whiskey around in your glass and stared at it until a voice interrupted.

"Imagine seeing you here."

Your head spun around at the familiar sounding voice, only to come face to face with Doctor Skywalker. Your jaw dropped almost all the way to the floor. "D-doctor Skywalker, I didn't expect to see you here," you stuttered.

If you thought he looked good in his work uniform, boy was he breathtaking now. He still sported the black slacks and dress shoes, but wearing a black button down with the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Fuck, was he handsome.

"Please just call me Anakin when we're not in a professional setting, Y/N," he smiled. "Alright, I think I can do that," you said with a smirk, "Can I buy you a drink, Anakin?"

"I'd like that, I'll have what you're having," he took the seat next to you at the bar, resting his forearms on the bartop.

"How often do you frequent this establishment?" He asked.

You laughed. "Is that a fancy way of asking if I come here often?" He shrugged with a smile on his face. "Occasionally, what about you? I've never seen you here before," you downed the rest of your drink and turned your attention to him.

"Decided to give this joint a shot," he said, sipping his drink. "Might be my new favorite place after tonight."

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow flirtatiously. Anakin took another sip of his drink, his darkened eyes locking onto yours the whole time. Another action of his that made your insides stir nicely. "Depends on the outcome for me to be certain, but I'm fairly confident," he turned to face you. "You know, I never planned on specializing in anything, but you're pretty special."

"Oh my God," you burst out laughing, "Those are awful, did you look them up online?" Anakin gave you a panty-dropping smirk, "Every single one, gorgeous." You turned your chair and your legs brushed against his. "I got one for you. I know you told me to eat more fruit, but I think I'll stay away from apples if it means you don't stay away," you delivered.

"Not bad," Anakin nodded, "I never told you what my area of expertise was." You motioned for him to continue, trying to match his mischievous nature, "Do enlighten me, Doctor."

"It’s genetics.”

You looked confused, waiting for the joke to make sense. Anakin smiled and leaned close to you. “You want to jump in my gene pool?”

You laughed so hard you had to cover your mouth as to not disturb the other patrons. Anakin laughed at your reaction and raised his eyebrows in a silent ask for an answer after you came down from your laughing fit. You bit your bottom lip, “That depends on what’s in it.”

Anakin reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers skimming your jaw as he retracted his hand. “I’ve been told it’s a pleasurable experience,” he said, “But those aren’t my words.”

“And how do I know if my DNA will mix well with yours?” You flirted, leaning closer, giving him a good angle to look down your shirt. His eyes flicked between your cleavage and your suggestive gaze. “You’ll have to come back to my place and find out,” he whispered.

You pretended to think about it before standing and leaning in to whisper in his ear. “So are you driving back to your place, or am I?” Anakin reached in his pocket and slammed some bills on the bar before grabbing your hand and leading your giggling self out of the building.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #Doctor!Anakin #anakin skywalker x reader

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

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Errare Humanum Est - Epilogue

The Dakrness and the Light

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2) x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 3530

Summary: There are loose ends to tie; with Sam and Dean... and other friends. You really thought the times for rendering you speechless were gone.

You were wrong.

Warnings: swearing, brief angst, guilt trips, brief talk on religion, fluff

Story masterlist

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

True to your words, you decided to ask the experts on weird people appearing out of nowhere and shooting light from their hands about the strange experience you had; an encounter that resulted in you gaining your memories back.

Sam and Dean were ecstatic when you told them about remembering everything – including the time you had spent with them though, one set of memories not replacing the other.

After enough cheering via your Skype call, you sent the footage.

The silence stretched as the brothers watched the recording, their eyes wide with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. They seemed spooked, shocked, perplexed and quite a bit fascinated too, to be honest. Steve’s arm around your waist tightened, both of you holding your breath in anticipation.

Oh God, who was the woman? Was she a friend of Rowena? Worse, was she a friend of the King of Hell they had mentioned? Who-

“Holy shit,” Sam finally exclaimed, making you blink in shock. Since when Sam swore? Admittedly, you hadn’t spent that much time with them, but-?

“Quite literally,” Dean conceded, squinting at the screen again as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. You were sure you were about to burst – or at least that your heart would beat its way out of your chest with how forcefully it was hammering against your ribcage. “I thought they went under? Or, you know, up?”

“So did I.”

“Guys? We’re not following. You know who or what this was?” you asked them breathlessly, unable to bear the suspense anymore.

Sam cleared his throat and apparently closed the video, because they were following you with their gaze again.

“Uhm yeah. That was God’s sister who paid you a visit.”

Your heart positively stopped for a second-- and then you laughed self-depreciatingly. Don’t be stupid, hey don’t mean that literally.

…they couldn’t, right?

“…is that a euphemism for something?”

“Nope,” Dean accented the ‘P’ and shrugged for a good measure, knocking the air out of your lungs. And of Steve’s, probably freezing his brain along the way, because his figure went absolutely rigid behind you.

“God’s sister?” Steve parroted and you were sure he wasn’t even breathing at that point.

“Yeah. Her name’s Amara. I’m pretty sure she had a crush on Dean,” Sam explained casually as if it wasn’t a big deal.

God.

And God’s sister-

--wait, what? A crush? Huh?

“Dude. Come on!” Dean called out exasperatedly, hint of red pulsing in his cheeks.

“Like… the actual God’s sister? God, the religion figure… and his sister?”

“Yeah. Amara. The Darkness. God’s sister, whatever. We helped them to solve their family issues a while back,” Dean confirmed, a smug smile tugging at his lips at your disbelief.

“I beg your pardon?” Steve blurted out, as if reading your frantic thoughts.

It was a lot to chew to begin with, but did Dean really just call her The Darkness? Why weren’t they freaked out by that?!

Sam sighed. “It’s complicated. Look, she also brought our mum back from death, but from what we know now, from what she said to you, it looks like Chuck brought you back and Amara thought you should also have your memories. Don’t worry about it, we’re used to this kind of crazy.”

It took you several moments of the wheels in your head turning before you connected the dots and actually registered what he was saying.

Wait, whoa, whoa, whoa, that would mean that Chuck was… the brother. Which made him… which made him-

“God’s name is Chuck?” you choked out at the same time as Steve questioned a different exclaim of Sam’s: “Don’t worry about it?”

“Yeah. Chill. Be grateful,” Dean shrugged it off as if he didn’t notice your confusion and struggle to comprehend why on Earth God would bring you back from the death and his sister (the hell-- heaven?) stopped by to return your memories on top of that.

“Hey, are you okay? You look a little pale there,” Dean hummed, eyebrows furrowing in actual concern.

Yeah, no shit. I’d like to see your face if you found out that you were saved by—oh, wait, you actually might have…

“It’s… that’s a lot to chew.”

“Come on, you already knew you rose from the dead, this can’t be-“

Sam covered his brother’s mouth with a hand, annoyed look on his face before he smiled at you compassionately. “We know. But we’re serious. There’s nothing we can do about that, just enjoy what you were given. You both have your soulmate back. Be happy.”

“Though I gotta say, my heart is broken. I was holding out for you,” Dean teased you, having wrestled free from Sam’s grasp.

“Dean!”

To be fair, Steve didn’t even flinch at such suggestion, knowing Dean’s flirty nature already, and you were pretty sure he even rolled his eyes.

“Kidding. Call us if you need help, okay?”

“Can I call to just check up on you?” you pried carefully, unable to help the warm smile slowly spreading on your lips as they slapped their hands over the other’s, Sam’s trying to shut his menacing brother up.

They stopped at instant.

“Uhm… yeah?” Dean hummed, clearly surprised, while the younger brother charmed a sweet smile.

“Good. Be careful, guys. I mean it. Let an angel watch over you. And look after him too. Send him my best wishes.”

“We will. We’ll see you, Fire Princess,” Dean winked at you and you huffed. Jerk.

“I hate you,” you murmured, waved at Sam and shut the laptop close, shaking your head.

Steve’s lips found the crook on your neck, nuzzling his face there then.

“Do you understand any of the things they said?” you slightly shifted, your lips catching his halo-like hair, your back leaning onto his chest.

“Nope.”

“And you don’t care,” you stated when he kissed your skin again

“Nope,” he confirmed cheerily, pulling your back to make you lie down on the bed. You complied, ending up on your side, spooned by his warm muscular form. “Besides wanting to know what Fire Princess means, I’m just happy to have you back, doll. You’re all that matters.”

“Steve…”

You heart fluttered in your chest, chasing heat to your cheeks at his sweettalking.

“I mean it. I’m not letting go of you, ever. If I have to lay down my shield, I don’t care. As long as I have you… I have everything I need.”

“Steve, I…” he eased his hold a bit when you squeezed his hand, allowing you to turn and face him. His eyes burned with sincerity, the way you remembered they always did when trying to convince you about something you found hard to believe – usually concerning his feelings. “I… I don’t-“

“I love you. And I mean it. Just say the word.”

“But I… I can’t be enough, Steve. That’s-“ you protested, your head spinning at the thought.

He couldn’t be serious. Could he? Steve had a heart of gold and fighting for the good cause in his blood. He couldn’t stop. Or maybe he could, but at what cost? How long it would take him to realize what a mistake he had made? And what if he blamed you then? Worse, what if someone on the team would get hurt in his absence and he would blame you for that?

Rationally, you knew the last scenario was of zero probability, because Steve would definitely hold himself responsible, no one else, but that only proved your-

His thumb tenderly traced the shape of your lips, eyes seemingly bluer than usual, as if he forced them to change their colour just to look more genuine and innocent, unable to lie.

“You are. I spent weeks thinking-- thinking that I lost you – because of what I did, no less – and nothing mattered anymore, not really.”

“You love your job,” you stated slowly, incredulous that he was actually considering it. You tried hard to push the rise of hope and annoyingly adoring feelings towards him that bloomed in your chest.

He couldn’t do that, stop that, you bitch, he was not just yours- it wouldn’t be your choice to make-- but that was just wrong--- what if he got fed up with you-

“I loved my job – mostly because it was the only thing familiar in this century. The job was my life. And look where it got me.”

“Face to face with me, resurrected?” you teased with an awkward attempt at smile, unsure of what to make of this conversation and the mess of feelings it stirred within you. Steve only raised one corner of his lips at your silly joke. “No, seriously. I love you too. I love you and that’s why I can’t let you quit, not for me. You’re Steve Rogers. You’re Captain America. It’s like giving up your half.”

“I’ve done that once,” he muttered darkly, looking away. “And you took the other half with you.”

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes at the reminder of why he might in fact could be able to give up on his job; because of the terrible sorrow it had brought him when making the impossible decision in his title’s favour.

You weren’t naïve, not that much at least. You both knew that that particular situation would have never happened if he was doing literally anything else for living.

You sighed, cupping his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Okay. We’ll think about it and talk about it later, alright? Now I just want to kiss you and cuddle you for eternity.”

His lips curled up in a brilliant smile that always made you smile back automatically, making your whole body pliant and feather-light.

“That is the best plan ever, darling,” he praised, planting a kiss to your forehead, indeed snuggling closer, leading your head to hide under his chin. Gosh, you loved when he did that, engulfing you, protecting you from the whole world.

“Thanks, Mr. Rogers.”

“No. Thank you. Thank you for coming back to me.”

You smiled against his throat, kissing his Adam’s apple. “We’ve been over this, I didn’t exactly-“

Hand still in your hair, he guided you from your favourite spot with light pull, only so he could shut you up with a kiss.

You sure as hell didn’t resist and lazily returned the affection, content to stay in that moment forever.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

In real life, moments like that didn’t last forever. Sooner or later, duties and decisions came knocking.

Decisions were hard, especially when coming back from the dead and having to choose if you should keep it secret or not for instance and oh so many more things that needed to be dealt with; which was exactly the reason why you had been avoiding it, but that couldn’t go on for much longer.

For the moment, you decided there weren’t many people to confide in, but there were still some that deserved it.

A priest of the church where your own little altar was placed was one of them, mostly because of the meeting you wanted to hold there. Then again, officially it had been Steve who invited Ryan to a safe place with little information on the reason behind such action.

Steve had warned you he hadn’t spoken to him since before your death, but it could never prepare you for the cold welcome he had got when they came face to face, while you were hiding in the shadows.

“Captain Rogers,” Ryan greeted him stiffly, voice even and sharp enough to cut deeply and precisely with that particular addressing. You and Steve had talked; you knew he had troubles coming to terms with the title after he had lost you despite burying himself in his work and making it look like it was the exact opposite.

“Ryan. Thank you for coming.”

“Why am I here? What do you want?”

Was it just you or did Ryan sound really annoyed as if he couldn’t leave this encounter soon enough? What happened to him?

“I needed to talk to you about something important,” Steve replied softly despite your best friend’s attitude.

Ryan scoffed, crossing his arms on his chest. He was a bit thinner than you remembered, but that might only be the outfit he was wearing; the sweater looked a size too big for him to begin with.

“I have nothing to talk about with you, Steve. Frankly, you being here in this very church is like a sick joke. You weren’t here when it counted. What held you? Work, I imagine?”

Even you winced at the cruel words. This didn’t sound like the man you were best friends with. Was he truly so angry with Steve? Or was it because his heart was still heavy with grief? You didn’t know whether to be touched, angry back or just sad.

And what did Ryan mean by Steve not being here when it mattered?

“It wasn’t like that-” Steve tried to explain and for the first time, his voice cracked, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Imagine that. All of them were here. All of the freaking Avengers came to her funeral-“

Oh. Oh. You had no idea what to make of that. Steve had kinda forgotten to mention that fact to you. You should have figured; he did warn you they hadn’t spoken since before your death. Shit.

Unlike Ryan, you knew it wasn’t the lack of sorrow that had held Steve back from coming – even without him telling you so, it was clear as day to you.

“-even the one from another planet. But you? Her soulmate? Gosh, Steve… what’s your excuse?”

The question was clearly meant to sting and one single glance at Steve told you that it did precisely that; his eyelids fallen shut, his hands balling into fists.

“Do you really need to ask?” Steve chuckled bitterly, forcing himself to relax his hands. You more heard the tears in his voice than saw them from your spot behind the pillar and your heart ached. “How could I show up, Ryan? After what I did? How could I look into your eyes, to her parents’ eyes? I killed her, Ryan. Don’t you think for a second that I don’t feel guilty or regret it every single day. What I did, why I… I-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Steve. I understand why you made the choice you did…” Ryan interrupted him with a sigh and a sideway look, almost as if in conciliatory manner. “But that doesn’t mean I hate you any less for it. Or that I don’t blame you for her death. Because I do. It was your fault.”

Ouch.

“I know. And I understand. You have every right.”

Well, this was going splendidly. Another guilt trip for Steve and hostility from your friend. Just peachy. You seriously considered just walking in regardless Steve’s plea for you to wait for his signal.

“And yet I’m grateful for the weeks you spent together. You made her happiest I have ever seen her. It’s funny how I can hate you for it at the same time,” Ryan added then, his eyes turning compassionate and kind, only a shadow of sorrow remaining.

“Life is that way sometimes. But… I didn’t come here to ask forgiveness, Ryan.”

“Good, ‘cause you’re not getting any. Why are we here then?”

Now this sounded more like Ryan. The corner of your lips rose in a tinniest smile.

“Because she always said you were her platonic soulmate. She trusted you with everything. And you deserve to know.”

“Deserve to know what?”

“That miracles happen,” Steve said simply, not making any sense to the other man. Drama queen. Then again, God had probably saved you, so he wasn’t exaggerating.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is that why we met in a church? Some weird symbolism to… to what?” Ryan sputtered, getting impatient. You almost walked out right then. But you trusted Steve to prepare your friend better for the shock now.

“No. We met here because I believed it was a safe place and you wouldn’t have come to the Tower.”

“Safe place?” Ryan asked warily, eyeing his surroundings suspiciously, his gaze shifting to your soulmate again. “For what?”

You cleared your throat, deciding this was the moment and stepped out. Ryan’s eyes bulged, his face drained of all colour.

“Hello, Ryan. Long time, no see,” you offered a teary smile and he blinked, your name falling from his lips breathlessly and with thousands of questions unspoken.

His gaze flickered to Steve, who smiled at him tightly, gently beckoning to you, encouraging him.

Ryan took several shaky steps and you stopped, letting him cross the distance in his own pace, getting him a chance to back away when feeling like it. On the inside, you wanted to run to him and let the man engulf you in a hug and never let go, but you realized what kind of a shock it must have been.

Hell, you were still coming to terms with it.

“Baby?” he whispered, voice trembling and breaking on the single word. You didn’t bother blinking away your tears, only nodding.

At that, Ryan erased the distance in two long strides, throwing his arms around your neck and sobbing right in your ear. His breath hitched when you hugged him back; as if he had been expecting this was only a trick.

It wasn’t.

“Hey, Ry-Ry,” you rasped, your sob nearly in sync with his, which was ridiculous.

He withdrew then, framing your face with his palms, his eyes travelling all over you.

“I saw you die,” he choked out, incredulous, awed.

“Yeah, lots of people did,” you agreed, covering one of his hands with yours. “It’s a long story.”

His blown-up irises widened further. “Was that… some kind of a cover-up? Did you- how could you not tell-?!”

“It wasn’t a cover-up!” you hurried, shaking your head as his arms fell from you. ”I died, Ry-Ry. I told you it’s a long story.”

“I have time,” he mused, still starring at you, measuring you from head to toe, perplexed and teary.

“Then maybe you should sit down. Before what I tell you knocks you flat on your ass.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

A smile was tugging at Steve’s lips at their interaction. Ryan was amazed, naturally, and Steve could relate; having her back was everything. He hadn’t been lying to her when he had told her he would lay down his shield if she asked him to. He would do anything only if it meant she would meet his gaze like at that exact moment, tears and laughter in her eyes, her lips spreading in that beautiful smile that tugged on his heartstrings.

“Steven,” the priest appeared at his side, voice low so he wouldn’t disturb the reunion. “Why don’t you join me in the back? Let the two friends catch up?”

Steve could stay right there, watching you explain the insane story, but perhaps he shouldn’t. Your best friend deserved your undivided attention and Steve would be happy to let you do so. God knew that while you were bickering and joking with the rest of his team and friends – now your friends too, no doubt – you weren’t beaming as much as you were at the moment. You needed your own time with Ryan.

“I… I suppose I should. Thank you, Father, for allowing this,” Steve expressed his gratitude, only for the other man to nod and give him a kind smile.

“Well, your friend had a point about symbolism here. Miracles do happen.... Speaking of those. I have someone who I would like you to meet.”

Steve blinked in surprise, but followed Father Lantom, trustful. “…alright. What is it, Father?”

“It might come as a shock,” the priest warned him as he stopped in front of the door Steve was familiar with; Father had invited him over for coffee before, but Steve always refused, not wanting to abuse his hospitality.

“My soulmate came back from the dead, Father. I doubt anything can shock me at this point.”

The older-looking man chuckled, his hand laid on the handle. “I’m tempted to make a bet, but I must maintain the façade of an honourable man.”

“Father Lantom… what are you talking about?” Steve gulped, something icy creeping up his spine, his heart speeding up in anticipation.

Surely, the man wouldn’t do anything to hurt Steve. The idea was ridiculous. So why was Steve so nervous all of sudden?

“James? May we enter?”

There was no answer and if there was, Steve couldn’t hear it over the pounding in his ears. A crazy idea, old hope that he could never allow himself to feed because people who died stayed dead, even in this insane world, rising in his chest and suffocating him.

James?

Miracles?

The door opened with a creak and Steve only needed a glimpse to freeze in the doorway, his heart stopping, brain short-circuiting. The world swayed of its place and there was a crushing weight on his chest, crushing and vertigo-inducing at the same time, frantic memories of a friendship that should have lasted until the end of the line flashing in his mind, an agonizing memory of watching the fall, completely helpless.

Steve didn’t know how, but the name left his lips without him remembering forming the simple word; a word that felt like a prayer.

“…Bucky?”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Bonus chapter ;)

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

I know, I know! A cliffhanger. But it’s a nice one, right? A little hopeful, a little teasing your imagination; think about it like a post-credit scene ;)

I can promise a bonus and a short multichapter fic ending this whole soulmate series.

Thank you for reading and your support, every comment means the world to me :-*

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cosmic-coyote7 · 4 years ago

Text

Speed write from suggestions via Twitter

[ Lukanette - Camp Rock AU ]

(Kinda camp rock but sorta touched the second movie more. Oh well. ^^)

~☆~♡~☆~

The sun rose above the cabins that formed a circle around a vast (and currently extinguished) firepit. The cabins were worn with their peeling paint and screen windows with holes in them, but many memories were contained in these structures. Countless lyrics had been written, hundreds of songs performed, and scores of various instruments had been housed here with their talented owners.

A sign at the entrance to the driveway declared this isolated place Camp Rock.

Legends had lived here and learned to find their voices and their talents. Being able to go here was a major opportunity and many worked hard for the chance to perform here.

One such performer was Luka Couffaine. Sixteen years-old and having been playing guitar since he was five, he lived and breathed music.

He hooked up his electric guitar into its amplifier as his fellow bandmate, Ivan, got behind his drums. His sister and bassist, Juleka, copied him in hooking up her instrument that was like another part of her body.

Ivan counted them down as Luke tested his microphone then ran his fingers over the strings, his electric blue guitar pick gleaming in the early morning sun.

They began practicing, their sound projecting out over the campsite and beyond over the water.

Various campers began waking up and groggily making their way outside. Some people were jamming out with the band and dancing along to the sound, but most just looked annoyed at being woken up by loud rock music.

One of the few who looked grumpy was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She had once admired Luka, but she knew now he was a stuck up pretty boy who thought he was king of the camp because of his talent.

They were rivals.

Marinette preferred to sing and play piano. Luka could sing, too, but the guitar was his forte.

After the song was over, Luka jumped down from the stage and grinned broadly at Marinette, his dark and dyed hair already sweaty.

He looked pretty, she gave him that, but she still didn't like his attitude.

"How was that, Dupain-Cheng?" he asked smugly.

"It didn't put me back to sleep," Marinette offered. A few people snickered.

Luka chuckled and backed up, his smirk prominent. "You ready for the battle of the bands tonight, Dupain-Cheng?"

Marinette’s smile was challenging. "You bet. Kitty Section will be blown away by Miraculous."

"That's my girl!" Alya Cesaire, the drummer for her band, stood proudly at her friend's side.

Luka simply nodded then went back to join his own bandmates.

….

Later that afternoon, Marinette was hanging out with her own bandmates that made up her group, Miraculous.

Their bassist (and sometimes pianist), Adrien Agreste, watched as she paced around and continuously fidgeted with her hair. "You okay, Mari?" he asked, concern in his bright green eyes.

Marinette scowled as she crossed her arms. "That Luka Couffaine thinks he's so cool and amazing," she huffed.

"I mean…" Alya turned her laptop around to show Marinette Kitty Section's Instagram and website. "They have over ten thousand followers."

"Half of them are simps for Luka," Adrien said dryly.

"He is pretty," Alya said fairly. "Talent and looks can get you ahead of the game."

Marinette rolled her eyes, not wanting to be reminded of Luka's sparkling eyes or his bright smile…

Anyway.

"We need to blow them out of the water at the battle of the bands," she said with determination.

"Well, we're supposed to do covers tonight," Alya said. "Why don't we just focus on the topic we were given?"

"What was it again?"

"Julie and the Phantoms," Adrien answered, his eyes twinkling. "We've been practicing 'Finally Free', remember?"

Marinette groaned and flopped down, resting her head in Alya's lap. "I'm so nervous. We need to be perfect tonight."

"I mean we'll be steller," Alya insisted, smiling as she patted Marinette’s head. "But we should just have fun," she continued as she gave Marinette her water bottle and the other sat up to drink. "You should just end this rivalry with Luka and kiss already."

Marinette choked and spat out her water as the fluid got down her windpipe and back up her nose as she coughed.

Adrien snickered, and Marinette threw a shoe at him in retaliation.

"I do not wanna kiss Luka!" Marinette snapped, her cheeks flaming red like she had a sunburn.

"Mhm," Adrien and Alya said at the same time with twin tones of disbelief.

"I hate you both," Marinette grumbled as she grabbed her keyboard to continue practice.

….

Luka chuckled as Juleka and her girlfriend, Rose, worked on adding sparkly designs to the instruments and jacket sleeves to look extra vibrant for battle of the bands.

"I'm so excited!" Rose gushed as she fiddled with Juleka’s jacket sleeve. She normally was their lead singer, but a cold had put her on vocal rest. She was already a chatterbox, so the best they could do was restrict her singing. "You guys are going to do an amazing 'Now or Never' cover!"

"Thanks, Rose," Ivan said as he tapped on his drums and adjusted their equipment. His smile was sweet.

"Miraculous is going to be a difficult rival," Juleka murmured in her usual soft tone.

Luka sighed. "We can handle them." His guitar strumming became a tad more aggressive. "The audience won't be able to take their eyes off of us."

He took a pull from his water bottle, trying not to let the hostility take over and affect his playing.

Rose smiled brightly as she dropped on the log Luka and Juleka were lounging on. They liked this spot on the shore of the lake. It was quiet over here. Peaceful.

"Yeah, but we know you won't be able to take your eyes off Marinette, Luka."

Luka inhaled some water down the wrong pipe and choked for a minute as Ivan helpfully pounded him on the back. Knowing that was going to bruise his spine tomorrow, he scowled at Rose.

"You know it's true," Rose said with an upturned nose as she resumed her work with glitter.

Luka harrumphed as he grabbed his guitar and began to play more forcefully. "Come on. We have to practice."

….

"Welcome, rockers!" The head counselor, Clara Nightingale, beamed at the sea of campers that had gathered around the stage, eager faces upturned to gaze at the performers for tonight.

"Is everyone having a good time?" Clara called. The campers cheered, their voices projecting out over the lake, sounding like a crowd at a real concert.

Marinette was pacing up and down. She and her bandmates were huddled in a tented area to have privacy for changing and warming up.

"Mari, will you chill? We got this." His smile was warm and encouraging, but Marinette still felt the jitters of stage fright. She, who burst into song practically everywhere she went, was nervous. It was a weird feeling.

Alya smiled as she finished her make up and put an arm around Marinette. "Don't worry about the competition part. Just rock their socks off, girl!"

Marinette smiled at her two best friends then joined them in a group hug. "You guys are the best."

….

Kitty Section was playing their best. That was obvious to everyone. Luka was shredding the notes and letting the entire camp hear just what his guitar was capable of.

Juleka’s deep bass added a mystical melody to the higher electric cords.

Ivan's drums boomed like thunder amongst the string instruments, their rendering of the opening song for Julie and the Phantoms was causing the audience to scream and jump around.

"We ain't searching for tomorrow..."

Ivan's deeper voice could be heard even over the wailing instruments.

"Tomorrow," Juleka echoed him, her voice hypnotic. After she came out of her shell, she had found her singing voice.

"Because we've got all we need today,"

"Today," Juleka choruses.

Luka grinned at his sister then got up to his mic.

"Living on a feeling that's been running through our veins"

Juleka stepped up to her microphone and belted out,

"We're the revolution that's been singing in the rain!"

She flipped her hair back as she held the last note, and the crowd went nuts.

They clapped along with the audience singing the chorus then rounded off the song. They took a bow and smiled hugely at their fellow campers.

Marinette, who was standing off to the side of the stage, couldn't help but be entranced by Luka and how alive he looked up on stage. He was amazing…

….

Her jitters were gone. Her fears a mere memory.

Marinette had never felt so free than when she was performing on stage with her bandmates.

Adrien and Alya added their backing vocals as she sang 'Finally Free' with all the energy she could muster.

"We're all bright now

What a sight now

Coming out like we're fireworks,"

Marinette giggled as Adrien jumped around and stamped his feet. He was a goofball, and she knew he found his happiness in music to escape his life at home.

"Marching on proud

Turn it up loud

Cause now we know what we're worth"

Alya beat on her drums and smiled wickedly as she sang and added her lower voice to the melody.

Adrien joined Marinette in a duet, and he winked at her as she drew out the end of the verse and they jumped into the chorus.

Marinette danced over to Adrien and offered her mic. He grinned and sang back and forth with her.

"I've got a spark in me"

(I've got a spark in me)

"And you're a part of me"

(And you're a part of me)

"Now till eternity"

(Now till eternity)

"Been long and now we're finally free"

….

Little did Marinette know that as she danced away to jam out beside Alya's drums that a pair of light blue eyes was watching from the crowd, and they burned with jealousy.

….

Marinette finished the song, drawing out the note perfectly then grinning as she took a bow.

Adrien and Alya jumped up as the campers screamed even louder and applauded them.

Once she was off the stage and Clara had taken over again, Marinette paused as she saw a familiar figure standing beside the bonfire.

Luka was watching her with an odd expression: determination mixed with irritation and maybe… some admiration?

"Hey," Marinette greeted him. She smiled slightly, deciding maybe she had been a little petty. Seeing Luka so vibrant on the stage had softened her armor. "You and your band were spectacular. "

Luka blinked as if he wasn't sure how to react. He lost a lot of the irritation to be replaced by shock. "Uh… thanks," he said nimbly.

She smiled, and he responded to it with his own.

"You looked radiant up there."

Marinette’s cheeks felt hot again. She smiled shyly and said, "Thanks, Luka."

He looked at her, really looked at her. Weeks of being rivals and giving one another a hard time all seemed like a childish waste of time.

The way her eyes shimmered in the firelight did funny things to his heart.

Marinette walked up to him and leaned up, intending to kiss his cheek and consider them friendly rivals from that point on, but two friends who happened to be watching made their move.

Rose bumped into Luka and sent him right into Marinette while Adrien braced behind her long enough to avoid them hitting the ground. He slunk away as the pair stared into one another's eyes for a long moment.

Then they leaned in for a gentle but emotional kiss. They leaned back at the same time to touch foreheads, their smiles as radiant as the rearing fire behind them.

Clara was announcing the winner behind them, but it didn't matter. In Luka's and Marinette’s eyes, they both had won.

#miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous au #lukanette #camp rock au #speedwrite

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darker-soft-starker · 5 years ago

Text

This, too

For my actual ride or die @starkerforlife6969, who constantly wows me with their talent and beautiful heart, i luh ya xo xo

TW: mental health issues, angst, hurt/comfort, a mention of Skip Westcott

-----------------------------

Peter dreams.

Nightmares, most prominently - drifting dust and ash and the crush of cement against the curve of his spine. Often he dreams in flashes of mundane panic, that he’s late for work or he just missed the train. Sometimes the dreams are good, doorways into pockets of time, echoes of memories that feel as real as all his waking moments.

That night he dreams of dinner with May and Ben, except he’s not fourteen like he was when they were all together last, he’s himself now. It’s warm, bright, hazy in that way that dreams are. Tony is there too and they love him. Ben is laughing, all husky straight from the chest as May is recalling a memory of one of her misadventures in college, throwing her head back as she loses her cool and guffaws. She wipes a tear from her eye as she dwindles into soft giggles, looking over at Ben in shared reminiscence. Peter laughs along and catches Tony’s fond expression aimed just at him.

It’s real, it feels so real. Until the shrill tones of his alarm wakes him up.

Sometimes good dreams are the worst ones.

Like blinking back into reality after one of Beck’s illusions when Peter wakes up he feels every pinch of warmth extinguish to a gritty, cold ash. The memories crumble, slipping away like hands trying to keep water cupped between them. Blinking slowly against the cool morning light, reality settles around him like sediments sinking heavily all over his body.

It’s like someone scooped out everything inside of him - the call to feel anything results in a mournful echo.

He blinks once, twice.

Oh, it's one of those days, he thinks.

Huh.

In sluggish, forced movement he takes his phone from the bedside table and silences his alarm. It's sixteen minutes past seven in the morning. He’s an early riser and should have been up already. Showered. In the kitchen. Flicking through social media as breakfast is cooking or coffee cooling or kissing Tony goodbye before the office beckons him away.

Except the impetus to get out of the bed isn’t exactly there. Outside of the bed is everything too big and too loud, even if he didn’t feel so heavy, all of his insides are grey, concrete and congealed, he feels like he would shatter at the slightest touch.

He blinks once. Twice.

The other side of the bed is empty and there is a message bright on his screen.

Had to leave for the office early, won’t be home until late - love you - you at work yet?

Fingers slow, Peter types a response, swallows around the lump in his throat.

Have a headache, stayed home. Love you.

He deletes that. Tries again.

Yeah, omw. Have a good day - love u.

It’s not right to make Tony worry.

He should get up. Piss. Shave. Wash. Eat. Not lie to his partner.

Except, he knows Tony would call. Would want to come home. Would try and shift him out of that concrete casing that presses down all over him and renders him immobile - and Peter just can’t. The thing about days like these is that there is plenty of should-do’s and want-to-do’s but on days like these desire is a foreign notion, incentive doesn’t go here and it means he does nothing. Which only further proves his own uselessness.

So he won’t say anything. He would do anything to protect Tony - even from Peter himself.

Besides, he doesn't want to talk through the saliva in his mouth feels like glue, doesn't know how to, even if he wanted to work through his molasses-like thoughts. He knows Tony wouldn’t mind - but Peter can’t let him see him like this, he has enough to deal with.

Tony is a good man.

Peter isn’t.

He thinks sometimes he believes that he is - good that is. Sometimes he knows that he is - but often the conditioned therapy speak can’t convince him that his guilt isn’t valid, that all his efforts at goodness aren’t just a way to bleach away all of the bad things he is responsible for, that for all his goodness he is just inherently, irrevocably bad.

Rhyme and reason is a joke - why the nothingness takes his breath today of all days, hitting like he’s hog-tied and dumped into the bottom of the ocean. It's not a birthday or an anniversary. It's not a day of any significance, so the inertia that swallows him is baseless - but then again, isn’t it always? Maybe the residue has been accumulating while he's been making quips and jokes because - but what excuse does he have for it, does he ever have for it?

His throat sticks when he swallows dryly and he idly considers leaving the safe haven of the creased bedsheets to get some water.

Some time later, a minute, an hour, he makes himself go to the bathroom to relieve himself. He doesn't shower or wash his face. He doesn't even remember if he washed his hands. He doesn't get a drink of water.

The bed becomes an island.

Their mattress is too fancy to leave an indent where he normally sleeps but Peter imagines it’s there anyway, a divot to safely rest the contours of his body like a cradle. A safe place for his thoughts to circle, passing from one to another like a slideshow, deliberating, ruminating, around and around like the view-master he had as a kid. Laughably he tries not to focus on it, let it sweep by, but all it does is make the thoughts whirl into a dizzying kaleidoscope.

The laptop on the desk at the far wall shines all chrome and sleek lines, Peter wonders what it would take to fire it up, Netflix his listlessness away. Even his short-circuiting thoughts decide against it.

More than anything the pressure on his chest wants nothing more to ease to the sound of Tony’s voice.

He just --

Sometimes Peter tries to rationalize the entropy of the universe. By thinking every person and force is like a game of chess, energy in and out, everything has a purpose for good or bad, it gets him by. Sooner or later, surely, anything has a meaning or a lesson worth learning.

But then his core is stripped bare on days like today and Peter thinks of his parents and Ben and Natasha and everyone else who is never coming back and thinks this philosophy is wrong. There is no rhyme or reason on a greater scale for permanently blacking out an untold story. There is no greater lesson to be found in a life culled before its time.

The universe isn't playing chess. It's playing darts in the dark.

Focus.

This isn't him, this helplessness. Most days he doesn't feel like this at all, sees the shine on the horizon and the sun through the leaves – and then... some days, in private, his proverbial ability to clot fails and he bleeds out. His bad day isn't a stubbed toe, a missed train and a burnt dinner. His bad day is quicksand, stasis he can’t wake from and completely withdraws from reality - bad days are Ben’s last look of disappointment on replay and the burn of Skip Westcotts’ touch and an aching void where everything used to be.

He doesn’t open up his laptop but he does bring up Instagram on his phone and scrolls through the glossy highlight reels of everyone else's life.

He must fall asleep because the next thing he knows is a hand is brushing over his forehead, fingers tenderly carding through his curls.

When he blinks his eyes open Tony is sitting beside him. He’s fully dressed, face creased in concern.

“Thought you were at work, baby,” Tony says softly. “You feeling okay?”

Tony’s watch is before his face, reading noon. Far earlier than Peter thought to have himself dressed and behaving with some semblance of normality.

“M’fine. I didn’t expect you back so early,” Peter mumbles, cheeks going pink.

The response prompts a frown from the older man, the stroking against his scalps slowing as his partner assesses him.

Shame burns hot in Peters gut when he sees something akin to understanding flashes briefly in Tony’s eyes. Jaw clenching, Peter slams his eyes shut and exhales. Jesus, fuck this isn’t what Tony should have to put up with --

“Hey, s’okay. What’s wrong?”

Peter contemplates his age old story, what he used to tell May and his teachers when the door outside his bedroom seemed too dark a labyrinth to go near. I have a headache. I think I'm getting the flu. Allergy season is sure starting early this year. But the words get tangled in his throat and it's inevitably easier to just say nothing. He can't think of a lie quick enough to replace the excuses in his head.

There's a thumb caressing his cheek, resting at the side of his mouth.

There's a blink-and-you'll-miss spring of resentment in his stomach because he doesn't want to explain at the same time that he does and all of the thoughts bottleneck in his head - like should he act normal? How should he behave, what should he talk about, what will Tony want to talk about, is Peter going to be convincing enough, how far does the truth really stretch - how dirty will Peter feel lying to him -

Every thought stalls like a traffic jam in his head.

Overwhelmed, Peter brings a hand over his eyes and exhales frustratedly.

“I’m sorry,” he manages.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony whispers softly from behind him, sheets rustling as he inches closer. “You’re alright, I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t know how to answer, chest cracking open as the noise in his head reaches an unbearable crescendo.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

Peter nods, unable to speak around the lump in his throat.

Tony crawls into bed with him, discarding his jacket, shoes and belt onto the floor. The cotton of his shirt feels nice against Peter’s face when he curls up and leans his head on Tony’s chest, but he undoes a few buttons to slip his hand inside anyway, just to feel something real and living.

This isn’t what Tony came home expecting, it shouldn’t be his job to look after Peter, shouldn’t have to tolerate this. Peter should do better.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, the ache in his chest getting worse with each passing second.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Tony dismisses, stroking Peter’s hair. “I’ve got you, baby, you’re okay. You want to talk about it?”

The arms tighten around Peter like maybe it could hold him together as he gives a sedate shake of his head.

“That’s okay.” A kiss to his hair. “I love you very much.”

“You too,” Peter murmurs, eyes closing in a mix of guilt and relief.

Another apology rises in his throat but he swallows it down, sinking into Tony’s comforting embrace, listening to this rich tones of the older man's voice telling him it will be okay, how strong he is, how it will pass soon.

Peter loves Tony enough not to argue.

It’s enough.

#starker #starker fic #tony stark x peter parker #tw: mental health issues #tw: depression #tw: skip westcott mention #angst #hurt/comfort #im sorry this is not good #but please accept my humble scraps anyhow #nothing like angst to express my love for jay

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wftc141 · 5 years ago

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Voltron: Global Military Intelligence and Counter-Terrorism Unit-Chapter 6: And One Step Back

Minutes have passed and yet no response has been emitted from the team. Coran couldn't care less about the poor reception from the drones. Plenty of drones have had screwed them over for the past few years. He only cared about the status of Allura and her unit. The silence was starting to send doubt and concern through his mind. Gold stared at the laptop, tensed up, with Colbert sitting next to him staring at the screen as well.

"I don't like this, sir," he said. "Should we send a QRF?"

"No," Coran replied. "I have my concerns as well but it's best we give them some time."

"But we're not getting a bloody thing. No feed, no communication, nothing. How're we supposed to know if they're even standing?"

"Have some faith, Jem," Colbert assured. "If these guys are from Voltron, then they definitely know how to get back up."

Allura's eyes opened not without sacrificing her perfectly fine eyelids. It was hard for her to come to her senses with that loud ringing noise blaring in her ears, muting everything else outside. As Allura tried to pull herself up, the burning blisters and the stinging wounds pulled her down. She let out a tight groan, slipping back to the ground. Allura was unable to get back up without having to damage a wound. Down at a distance, she noticed her rifle intact but coated by flakes of sand. Lifting her forearm forward, she crawled her way towards her rifle.

Allura couldn't see anything through the cloudy smoke surrounding the area but she could hear faint sounds of gunshots echoing and bullets zipping back and forth. Her ears began to come to their senses, disorienting her in the process. She couldn't move. The noises were holding her down like a chain locked to her ankle. As Allura covered herself while panting uncontrollably hard, she heard someone or something call out her name.

She slightly raised her hands off her head and slowly looked up. A small shadow began to emerge from the smoke and shortly, a figure ran through the puffs. She watched as a large tall figure in a black shirt and a plate frame carrier approached her, slowly revealing a scar across his face.

"Allura! Allura! You okay?" Shiro shouted.

Just as her partner arrived, she was able to hear everything, despite the setbacks from the explosion. She nodded, unable to speak with her dry, chapped mouth. Through the roaring gunshots, Shiro gave her a bit of motivation to get up and moved away to provide covering fire. Once she overcame the pain and stood on her feet, Allura held onto Shiro's shoulder who had just went up to her to help her up. She looked around, bullets shooting past clouds and no sign of their attackers. They were sitting ducks at this point.

"We gotta go! Follow me!"

Shiro stepped out of Allura's way and they both ran together, heading towards another part of the village as bullets clamber after them. If they could pull this off without dying, it would be a well deserved favor.

Ever since the explosion set off from the village, Keith was pacing around, getting riled up and worried at the same time. Lance was keeping his cool as usual while setting his sights on the village with his scope. For the last few seconds, Keith had been muttering 'shit' for about a hundred times it was starting to annoy Lance.

"Hey, mind keeping your shit together, amigo?" He demanded. "We're gonna find them. I'm sure your girlfriend is still alive."

"She's not my girlfriend, asshole!" Keith snapped.

"Just saying."

As Lance continued searching for a sight of the team, he heard a faint sound of engine rumbling from below. He looked down and noticed a white Toyota Hilux with a black flag on the side mirrors pull up near the building. The doors opened and two Jihadists armed with rifles came out, uttering orders in Arabic. From what he's seen, these terrorists are unaware of their presence. Lance opened fire at them without giving them any chance to fight back. He managed to shoot one of them dead between the eyes with one bullet. The other scrambled behind the Hilux as the bullets penetrated the hood.

Keith heard the shots and needed no explanation on why Lance was shooting. They both made their way out of the building and approached the still running Hilux. The last jihadist popped out of cover and aimed his rifle, only to be put down by Keith with a bullet to the face.

The duo moved past the truck and made their way down to the rocky road fast. They arrived at the gate where two more jihadists stood near a white Land Cruiser. Just as one of them with a pistol noticed the duo approaching them with ease, he was instantly taken out in surprise by Lance. The jihadist with a shotgun heard the gunshot and raised his weapon towards them with absolute determination. Keith shot him in the leg, causing the jihadist to land on one of his knees before a bullet went through his head. The blood splattered onto the SUV's windows as the body slid against the door.

"Guess these assholes are too busy on the rest of the team." Lance said.

As Lance approached the broken gate, Keith distanced himself away from Lance and went up to one of the dead jihadists. He began to pat his pockets for something. Lance noticed him crouched near the body and rolled his eyes.

"Keith, of all the time we have, you seriously choose to-"

Before he could speak any further, he saw a walkie talkie pulled out of the body's pockets. Keith held it close to his mouth and cleared his throat.

"أيها الإخوة ، لقد قتلنا اثنين من الكفار من الجنوب. أين البقية؟ (Brothers, we've killed two infidels from the south. Where are the rest?)"

Lance was a bit baffled at the way he spoke in a different language but he was still skeptical of whatever plan he had. Suddenly, an Arabic voice replied through static before cutting the feed. Keith wasn't really happy with the news and swore under his breath.

"They found two more of our own up ahead." Keith told him.

"Didn't know you speak Arabic, dude." Lance said.

"Yeah, and I'll tell you what I know once we find our team. Alive."

Keith attached the radio to his vest as the duo made their way past the gate and into the village of echoing gunshots and blanched smoke.

Pidge never liked calling anybody names but when she tried to grab Hunk who was knocked back by the explosion, she couldn't help but admit he had to lose a bit of weight. Her rifle ended up getting lost amidst the explosion.

"You're fucking heavy, you know that?" Pidge croaked as she pulled him up.

"Well, don't mind me. It's part of the tradition." Hunk sarcastically replied.

Pidge wanted to chuckle but her throat was too scalded to talk. Doesn't really help much when they're being tailed by radical jihadists who were catching up to them. They opened fire at them with Pidge using her pistol, although they both shot blankly thanks to the effects of being hit by a bomb. At this point, the duo decided to ditch their plans and run. As they reached down the hill, Hunk was trying to contact through his radio.

"Yellow Lion to Zero, do you read me? Over!" He panted.

Other than mind controlling static, there was nothing from them.

"Don't waste your time on it, Hunk," Pidge told him. "Those assholes must've hammered our signals."

Hunk hesitated for a moment before letting his hand off the earpiece. "Shit."

As the two continued their way down the hill, they hear footsteps close in from a distance. A group of armed jihadists with one wearing a balaclava and carrying a MAS-49, appeared from the corner of a house. Just as they saw the duo, the jihadists pointed their rifles at them. They were both considering to fight back but the chances of surviving are slim and besides, only an imbecile would be dumb enough to open fire at a group with automatic rifles while being the only two alive.

The pursuing jihadists caught up to them from behind, rendering them both outnumbered. They were all closing in, barking and bellowing while shaking their rifles at them. The duo tossed their weapons aside and raised their hands. Just as they did so, Hunk heard a whack and Pidge's body suddenly slumped to the ground. He spun around and saw one of the jihadist holding the rifle with the butt stock at the front. Before Hunk could act, the jihadist aimed his rifle where the muzzle faced directly to his nose. It was enough to freeze Hunk on the spot. As the rest of the group lifted Pidge's body up, Hunk was held with his hands behind his back and taken along with the jihadists.

Once they were certain they were in the clear, Shiro and Allura ran up to a large slab of cemented wall, with portions of it missing like it was bit off. Looked as if the terrorists blew up some of the houses. They were both desperate for a breather, they could feel their chest tightening even harder. So far, the pursuing attackers haven't caught up to them but it was only a matter of time before the duo can hold them off.

"What's your ammo count?" She asked as she checked her pistol's magazine.

Shiro checked his pouches which was empty. "Down on my last mag. You?"

"I'm on my sidearm now."

Allura looked around. Practically everywhere was a bad opening. None of the walls could provide cover since they all look like they were blown up.

"We're in a bad spot, we gotta get outta this shithole now." She said, wiping her smudged face with her exposed forearm.

"Yeah but we have no idea where the others are and the comms are down."

He had a point. They were on the verge of being screwed to a whole a new level. After a moment of silence, Shiro started chuckling. Allura looked at him in confusion.

"What the hell's so funny?"

"Still remember that one time you and me were in a situation as tight as this?" Shiro asked.

Allura paused for a moment before answering. "That was in Prague and the comms were perfectly fine."

"But we survived anyway. Those guys were well trained back then. If we can take those guys down, then we can do the same to them."

"That's bollocks and you know it."

Shortly, they heard footsteps closing in as well as chatter. It was for sure not their team since they don't speak Arabic. Shiro gave Allura a nod while holding his rifle tightly. She nodded back and retracted the slide of her pistol. Her eyes communicated with his. It was now or never. Just as they were about to pop out of cover, they heard a thump and sudden shouts from the pursuers. The voices ranged from shock and desperation and then sharp and abrupt silence. The thumps increased into a style of a drum beat. Shortly, everything went quiet and faint footsteps closed in. Shiro peered from the wall and squinted his eyes. In a distance, Keith and Lance approached them, going through the bodies of the pursuing jihadists.

Keith was the first to reach the commander. "Commander! Are you alright? Where's Major?"

"She's here," Shiro assured, just as Allura appeared from the wall. "How'd you find us?"

"We saw the explosion from the distance and we had to find you two."

"Well, we're thankful for that." Allura nodded.

"Indeed we are." Shiro said.

Keith nodded in acknowledgment. His face changed into concern as he looked around, finding something making. There was six people in total and currently there's four of them.

"Where's the others?"

"We were separated when that IED went off on us." Allura answered.

"This would be the better time to start looking for them," Said Shiro. "And if we can, find if any of the terrorists know the whereabouts of Haxus."

Without any more hesitations, the remainder of the team moved out and searched for the rest of the team. They made their way around the village where there was no sign of anyone, not even Haxus. The team headed towards the side of the village where they saw an exit from a distance. However, in front of the gates were two white Highlander's parked and the remaining group of jihadists moving Pidge and Hunk to the cars. Shiro opened fire at them first, managing to shoot one of the jihadists down and taking the rest by surprise. The jihadists took cover behind a line of crates conveniently placed in front of the cars and returned fire, prompting the team to take cover behind abandoned cars separately. One of them pushed Hunk down under the vehicles.

"الحصول على هؤلاء السجناء في الشاحنة! (Get these prisoners in the truck!)" Shiro heard one of the jihadists ordered.

The jihadists continued to rain fire at them, buying some time for two other masked jihadists to carry Pidge. Lance positioned his rifle on the boot of the car and fired automatic bursts for their heads. The two jihadists dropped to the ground like clockwork, loosening their grip on Pidge. Just before Lance could aim for the other four jihadists, the bullets ricocheted against the boot, causing him to duck under. Their firepower wasn't enough to take on the remaining fighters packed with heavy armory.

As the two jihadists dealt with the team, the other two forced Hunk into the Highlander and hopped in without skipping a beat. Keith heard the engine rumble, giving him a sudden motivation to look up to notice the car about to drive off. Despite being under heavy fire, Keith moved away from the car, clipping off a flash bang grenade from his vest. Shiro, who was beside him, tried to reach for him.

"Keith, don't!"

He slipped away from Shiro's hands and threw a flashbang at them. The explosion flashed heavily, blinding the jihadists. Keith shot them down and tried to shoot down the car. He only managed to graze the headlights and the car began to grow smaller until it was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck!" Keith cursed, forcefully yanking the rifle down.

The rest of them watched in disbelief, including Lance. Hunk was taken away and it was Allura's only responsibility to make sure none of them were hurt. It was all tearing down into the drain.

Keith turned around and approached Pidge's unconscious body lying near the dead jihadists. Shiro crouched by her side while Lance and Allura kept watch. Keith called her name first before shaking her by the shoulders. Once Pidge finally opened her eyes, she instantly squirmed and wrestled her grip off Keith.

"Get off me! Get off me!"

"Easy! Easy, Kate! It's us!" He assured.

Pidge eventually realized and started to relax. Her chest heaved rapidly as she panted.

"It's alright. You're fine." Keith told her.

She didn't pay attention to what he said. Pidge's was too busy looking around the area, noticing something missing. She looked at Keith who shared a glance of disbelief.

"Where's Hunk?"

Haxus, former army ranger turned Galra terrorist lieutenant looked down at his watch which was marked 19:52 hours, one hour over the suggested time.

"They're supposed to be here by now. What's taking them so long?" He murmured.

"Maybe they're a bit busy, sir?" His bodyguard, Bogh, standing next to him answered.

Haxus scoffed. "I wouldn't be surprised if it's actually the Voltron unit. Such amateurs."

Bogh didn't reply afterwards. He's probably one of the sane operatives he had met so far. Maybe Haxus should be surprised. Straight from the Special Forces Ranger Battalion, Bogh was one of his experienced teammates of his unit. The others weren't so steady but more radically influenced, especially the recently deployed Lahn from the Armenian Forces.

In Haxus' eyes, Voltron is just a ragtag team with a bunch of idiots and incompetent soldiers who think they're doing the world a favour by trying to ruin their plans. They don't even understand what and why they do this. His old army had the same ideas, probably the reason he decided to blow them and his brother up for the sake of joining the Galra Empire.

As they watch several armed fighters with equipment smuggled from their associates in Russia come and go, a white Highlander drove into the village. However, it was just one car. They sent more fighters to that location. Once the Highlander parked near Haxus, the fighters hopped out. Only two of their loyal ones, Barad and Fakhoury were present.

"What happened? Where's the rest of the team?" Haxus asked.

"We manage to ambush the western devils," Fakhoury answered while Barad lifted his ski mask off. "But they wiped out the majority of our brothers. We're the only two who survived but we were able to capture one of their men."

"Well, that's a shame but I'll take it. Show me the guy you caught."

Barad went up to the back of the car and pulled something out. Once he managed to get him out, Barad was holding a man with a beard in a beige t-shirt with rolled up sleeves, covered by a plate carrier. His face was smeared with dirt and bruises. Haxus raised an eyebrow in amusement and surprise mainly because of his looks. Barad pushed him onto his knees while Fakhoury assisted.

"Well, what a surprise you brought me, boys," he said, bending down and getting a closer look. "Never seen a Samoan like you in Voltron before. You're probably lucky to be here. What's your name?"

The man didn't reply other than glare at him. When he didn't answer, Haxus looked up at Barad, asking for his name.

"We heard one of his comrades call him Hunk." He said.

Haxus was rather surprised and found it funny. "Hunk? That's a weird name for a Samoan. What's your mother's name, is it Slab?"

The man, Hunk continued glaring at him. He seemed offended by his joke.

"Silent one, I see. Well, it's not like I'm here to have a joke with you. But I'm sure the commander will be delighted to see you. So until then…"

Haxus pulled out a magazine from the pouch on his vest and slammed it to his temple. Barad threw the unconscious body aside. "Get some rest. You deserve it."

The men stared at him, waiting for further orders. Haxus stood up while slipping his magazine back into his pouch.

"Put him in the cage with the women and get ready to pull out. We rather not let his friends catch up.

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hiyo-silver · 6 years ago

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Gold

Summary: YOI au. Stan is Eddie's new skating coach, but he starts to have feelings for him.

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak/Stanley Uris

AO3

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @starboystan @rachi0964 @shewasthewind @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose1122 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopreddie @peachywyatt

Eddie pulls on his skate, lacing it with care, his hands quivering and he's not sure if it's with cold or with anxiety. He shoves the lace through the top holes, tying them off in a bow.

He peers around, looking for his coach, Stan, jumping more than he'd expect to when his eyes meet Stan's.

"Eddie, good to see you," Stan acknowledges him with a nod, walking over and putting his hand to eddie, grasping Eddie's in his own and pulling him up. "You get cold easily?" He notices, feeling Eddie's hands feeling near icy when he's hardly been in the rink at all.

"Uh- yeah, hi Mr. Uris, I'm seriously so so honored to work with you-" Eddie starts, stopping when Stan waves his hand to tell him to stop.

"We should get started soon, I've only ever seen your work in videos, can you do that routine from the last competition?" Stan asks, hoping Eddie would understand once he pulls up the music from the routine.

Eddie nods, walking on the thin blades of the skates, holding onto the wall for a moment, breaking under the pressure of working with his idol. Once the music hits his ears it all melts away though, it flows through him from his ears to his toes, bringing a performance smile to his face and fluid movements through his body.

Eddie glides on the surface of the ice, his arms poised elegantly above his head, doing a turn, and then another, both flawlessly. He truly forgets himself in his skating.

The music ends and he slides over to the edge, leaning on the wall and panting to find his breath. "Good?" He asks through a breath out.

"Decent," Stan nods in response. Taking some notes on his laptop, his slender fingers dancing around the keys as delicately as Eddie's landings after jumps.

Eddie nods breathlessly. At least it's decent, he smiles to himself, getting back onto the normal floor and shuffling to the bench, drinking from his water bottle. "How can I improve it, Mr. Uris?" He turns and asks the curly haired man.

"We can discuss, over coffee perhaps? And don't call me mr. Uris. That's m-my father. Stanley to you," he says with a playful smirk that Eddie wouldn't have expected from him.

Eddie keeps his jaw from dropping, "uh- yeah, coffee, now?" He asks, his words just barely stumbling from his lips.

"Sure, if that works for you," Stan says with a shrug, gathering his coat up into his arms, and then his laptop, sliding it smoothly into his over the shoulder bag.

Anxiety bubbles into Eddie's throat, but this definitely will be good, it has to be. Stanley Uris. His idol, someone he's looked up to for as far back as he can remember. And he wants to get coffee with him.

Eddie gathers his stuff up, taking off his skates as quickly as he can, pulling at the laces with his spindly fingers clumsily. He finally brushes his fingers through his hair and goes back out to Stan, "Ready if you are," he says with a grin, the nervousness masking it almost like a subtle grimace.

"I'm always ready, a lesson in life, be ready for anything," the man says with a tense shrug, seeming more like he's trying to convince himself.

Eddie's grimace disappears, his worry faltering only for a moment, because, despite what he always thought. Stanley Uris is a human being.

Stan looks down at him, "Well, let's go, I know a place near here, we can walk," he announces, seeming almost as nervous as Eddie? That can't be.

Stan leads the way out of the rink doors, the warmth of the outside hitting their skin. One foot in front of the other, they walk nearly in sync. They walk in silence, just the sound of feet hitting the pavement, Eddie notices how Stan's always meet the pavement with a satisfying smack, he finds comfort in it.

They reach the coffee shop, Stan automatically holding the door open for Eddie as the smell of coffee beans fill their noses. Stan sighs, "One of my favorite places," he tells Eddie, leading him to get in line.

Stan orders first, getting a black coffee that makes Eddie feel intimidated by his original idea of something sweeter. Despite that, he chooses what he wants, not wanting to sacrifice himself even if sometimes himself is embarrassing around boys he's interested in.

Stan smirks in his direction and Eddie can't help but blush, a strong gaze in his direction never fails to render him useless. "Nice order," Stan teases, going to grab his to-go cup, not putting any creamer or sugar in it, taking sips from it with a seemingly unphased expression, what a power move.

Eddie sips from his sweeter version, feeling almost weak in comparison to Stan, the competition threatening his own masculinity, caught between his crush and his pride.

"So, how do you feel about working with me long term?" Stan asks, taking a seat, looking over at Eddie to command him to sit across from him.

"I- think I'd like that," Eddie nods, trying not to look flustered as he sips at his coffee. "If you'd like we could go back to the rink after this? I have some skills I'm trying to refine-," Eddie starts to ramble, stopping when Stan kindly shushes him.

"That was the only work based question I plan to ask on this outing," Stan says outright, very blunt in how he communicates, that much has been made obvious to Eddie thus far.

"Oh," Eddie says, trying to hold back a sheepish giggle, what kinds of conversations does he want then? He asks himself, wracking his brain for things to say next.

"I checked your Twitter, and your Facebook," Stan admits, still keeping his persona of confidence, "You seem like a good person."

Eddie hears the tone in Stan's voice, reading that that isn't a thing he says often, obviously not one for giving compliments. "Thank you, and you as well Mr. Ur- Stanley," he corrects himself quickly, not wanting to offend him even just out of a habit.

Stan scoffs a bit, "Oh I'm far from a good person, or at least used to be," he claims, a hardass on everyone, but over anyone else, himself.

"No, sir- uh, Stanley, I think you're a good person," Eddie assures, reaching out for Stan's hand out of reflex and how he's used to comforting his friends.

Stan flinches at the contact before taking Eddie's hand back, "You'll learn soon enough," Stan tells him softly.

"Or I'll teach you soon enough," Eddie says with a cocked eyebrow, taking a drink from his cup, wincing when it nearly burns his tongue, earning a dry chuckle from Stan.

Skip forward a few days, Eddie and Stan are on a run for conditioning, laughing through their panting, and Eddie can't help but look at how Stan's arms look even more toned in the natural light, he tries to look away but he is unable to make himself, to his thankfulness, Stan doesn't notice.

"So, Eddie, you're pretty cool," Stan says softly, searching his brain for literally any other compliment or adjective but Eddie takes up too much of his thoughts to have any other.

Eddie smiles softly, looking down at his feet as his running shoes wack against the pavement. "You are too, Stanley," he says on his breaths out, hoping he can play off the blushing by the heat and fatigue.

On another occasion, Eddie is finally at his first competition after months of training with Stan, doing a classical routine to the song Take My Breath Away.

Stan watches in prideful astonishment, tuning out the anxiety inducing roar of the crowd while his vision tunnels in on Eddie, and he knows for a fact now that this crush is getting out of hand. He's been... Subtle? At least tried to be.

He's still unsure of Eddie liking him too, or if they could be considered in a relationship, they've known each other for nearly a year now, and have grown close. They've held hands, and even shared a bed. Eddie is the only person Stan can touch now without feeling gross.

Eddie slides off the ice, Stan rushing from his spot to meet him in the Kiss and Cry. He finds Eddie, his pride showing through nearly every bit of him as he takes Eddie by the shoulders and looking him in the eye before pulling him in for a tight hug.

Eddie hugs back, and for once in his life, he feels proud of himself. Something he'd never expected. He squeezes Stan once before pulling back, "Did I do good?" He asks breathlessly.

"You did amazing- took my breath away," Stan grins at his pun about the song he'd choreographed Eddie to.

Eddie returns the playful smirk, "I'm glad," he smiles, his deep brown eyes sparkling as they look into Stan's.

Now or never, Stan decides, "I think I love you, Eddie," he blurts out, immediately looking surprised even with himself. He looks to the floor, scuffing his heel on it in shame.

Eddie takes several moments to process this, but once he does he nudges Stan's gaze back to meet his, "I love you too," he says softly, taking one of Stan's hands in his.

Months later, the final competition is just around the corner and Stan makes a choice, spending hours in a store looking at rings, taking forever to find one that seems perfect enough.

The competition comes, Eddie doing better than Stan ever could have imagined, tears coming to his eyes at just how beautiful and graceful his boyfriend is.

They meet in the Kiss and Cry, Stan hugging him and complimenting him as usual, trying to soothe his own nerves about both Eddie's placement, and his plan.

Stan watches the screen anxiously from the Kiss and Cry, watching Eddie moreso than anything else, nearly bursting into happily relieved tears when Eddie gets placed first, just as I expected him to.

Eddie comes back with his gold medal, tears streaming down his face and his first instinct is to pull Stan into a deep kiss, gripping his hands around Stan's windbreaker to anchor him, coming back up to find Stan crying too.

Stan stands proudly beside his boyfriend as Eddie answers the questions from the paparazzi with ease, having improved so much in his time working and being with Stan.

Next comes the best part, the after party. Eddie loves these, purely for the calmness of them. A party he can tolerate, wine and slow music and talking to people who respect him. He's gained respect.

He hears a familiar opening tune fill his ears, swaying almost by reflex, looking around quickly for Stan, the first song Stan made a routine for me with, he remembers immediately, he could never forget. He sees Stan walking away from the dj with a smirk on his lips, I should have known.

Stan comes up to him, his hands going to Eddie's waist, holding him gently as Eddie reaches his hands up to Stan's shoulders, swaying with him and feeling like they're the only two people in the room, the only two people in the world even.

The song comes to an end much too soon, Eddie leaning up into a kiss to Stan's lips and Stan pulls away much too soon. It fills Eddie with worry until Stan is dropping to his knee in a room so silent you could hear a pin drop.

Stan pulls a small navy box out of his pocket, smiling sheepishly as he opens it to reveal a dainty golden ring, representative of Eddie's win, Stan had known he'd win.

Tears form in Eddie's eyes, and he's so focused on this being the happiest moment of his life this far to hear the applause and cheers in the background as he nods quickly at Stan, pulling him into a hug, kissing his cheek over and over. "Of course," he whispers in Stan's ear.

Then, like nobody expects, Eddie drops to his own knee, pulling out a small box of his own, "Guess we had the same idea," he says softly, tears streaming freely down his cheeks

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christinaengela · 4 years ago

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I’ve had two of these devices in the last 2 years, and they make a bit of a story as you will see.

I bought the first Sinotec SJ86C in January 2019 at Game for around R3400. It looked very nice, had a cool black and white case and came loaded with great features and connectivity. The bulb life (rated at over 24000 hours) also stood out for me, as I hate things die on me and having to buy the same old appliances over and over again every five years or so. I like quality for my budget, and who doesn’t?

And what a nice machine this was – the picture was large and crystal clear! The remote and menu were easy to figure out and get accustomed to. We quickly grew used to enjoying our favorite movies and series on it. Unfortunately, there was trouble in the offing. It’s hard to believe just how much.

Let me just digress here for a moment, to mention that I’m not a complete noob when it comes to projectors. I’ve been using them at work for training purposes since 2003, and I’ve used a variety of different makes over the years. This however, was the first Sinotec unit I’d ever encountered.

The rear panel.

The manual came in basic English with very little actual useful information in there about using the projector. There was for instance, nothing at all about the fact that the unit had an air/dust filter at all, let alone that it might need to be checked from time to time. There was also nothing in the manual (or on the website) about duration of usage or cooling off periods, etc.

The first sign of trouble came 3 months later, when we noticed a slightly yellow spot in the left middle of the display – which at first was only visible when a white background was being displayed. In fact, at first we thought we were imagining it, so we put it out of our minds a while longer – after all, it wasn’t easily visible just then. Time went by, and by about month 6, the yellow spot had turned into an ugly brown patch – and it was spreading fast! Was the lens dirty? No – I cleaned it. Was it dirty inside the machine, we wondered? Well, I couldn’t open it due to the warranty and all.

It was while I had the device off its stand and on a table, that I noticed there appeared to be a sort of air filtration panel that slides out at the front. I took the panel out – and nearly fainted! The cloth filter was completely clogged up with dust and fibers! It looked like the inside of a vacuum cleaner bag!

Where the hell had all that dust come from? I had no idea! There was way too much dust and crap in there for it to have come from being in our lounge! Had we been given a demonstration unit? Or had it been an item returned by another customer mixed up with new stock? Who the hell knows?

Anyway, I gave it a thorough cleaning – but alas, to no avail! The brown patch did not go away – and it appeared to be spreading daily – the entire left center half of the display was marred by it!

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A repair workshop wrote the thing off – the film on the internal LCD panel had discolored due to overheating – and while it still worked, this rendered half the image unwatchable! The solution was to replace the panel, but I waited almost three more months for them to get back to me with news that they couldn’t source parts for the thing in South Africa!

By now it was about a year since we’d bought the previous one – January 2020 – and it was too late to return it to Game under warranty. Fortunately I’d put this unit on my household contents insurance, and was able to claim for the loss. In the meantime – perhaps out of temporary insanity – and desperation of having something to watch movies on, I went back to Game and bought… you guessed it… another one.

Another… exact… same… model…Sinotec SJ86C.

In fairness, it was because I had an account at Game – and for some weird reason, the Sinotec SJ86C was still the only make and model projector available. “It must be a good one,” I thought. “No, there’ve been no comebacks or problems with this model” the salesman reassured me. “Yeah, right.” I think, looking back.

This one, while still the same model and appearance, seemed to be a bit different internally than the previous one. For one thing, the fan didn’t run for five minutes after turning the thing off. The fan went off almost as soon as the machine turned off. It seemed quicker and smoother. Perhaps Sinotec had made some improvements on the model in the meantime? Sadly, no, as we were to discover – at least not of the important stuff.

We checked the dust filter immediately at unpacking – it was perfectly clean! Thereafter my wife Kay and I acted like a pair of paranoiacs, checking the damn air filter of the new unit once a day, and then once a week, and then once every two weeks. It stayed clean. No yellowing at all.

We settled back for trouble-free enjoyment of our movies and series. Unfortunately, it was not to last. In March – just almost another 3 months into the new unit, a yellow spot made its appearance on the screen! It was a tragic wake-up call!

By now South Africa was in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, and getting to Game at the Bridge , would be something close to impossible, and so we resolved to take it in to Game as soon as it was possible. In the meantime, we nursed the projector by watching for hour-long periods, then turning it off at coffee breaks for about half an hour each time.

This unfortunately didn’t even slow down the spread of the yellow patch! This second machine had never had a blocked air filter at all – so what was it’s problem? In all the time I’d worked with media projectors – where I left them running for practically an entire work day in a teaching classroom environment, I’d never seen anything at all like this!

I didn’t care – I’d had enough!

In mid-July 2020 things had settled down some COVID-wise, and so I stuffed the thing back into its box and took it to Game’s customer service counter. They sent it away for evaluation, which they said should take 20 days. I waited for Game to get back to me – in the meantime doing all our movie watching on a laptop – until mid-August, 32 days after my previous visit, when I gave up waiting and went back to Game to find out what the hold-up was.

Their technicians must’ve reached the same conclusion about repairing it, because the customer service agent at the counter offered me a replacement unit. We checked our options – and all they had available was… you guessed it – still the Sinotec SJ86C!

My wife and I looked at each other meaningfully first. “Oh hell no!” we chorused.

To cut a long story short, Game refunded me – and we’re still watching everything on a laptop screen. It’s honestly not as bad as – well, not watching anything at all.

My final verdict on the worth of the Sinotec SJ86C is this: It’s a lovely projector with great features – but if you want something that will last you more than three months before the LCD panel packs up, don’t bother! In fact, just don’t bother at all. If that’s all they sell at Game, rather buy elsewhere – BUT DO NOT BUY A SINOTEC SJ86C PROJECTOR!

The bulb may be rated at 24000+ hours – more than 5 years of continuous watching – but it’s not the bulb that’s the flaw in these things, it’s the internal LCD panel that burns from the heat of the bulb – and it does so long before the lifespan of the bulb even gets started! Obviously the bulb burns too hot – or the fans (there are 3 of them) aren’t effective!

This device – or to be more accurate – these devices, lasted 3 months of normal use before the fault became apparent. This is not just a fluke, not some wild coincidence – this is TWO supposedly identical units that demonstrated the same fault over the same time period – which tells me Sinotec doesn’t test their products properly.

People buy these things – as I did, twice – lured by the lower price and the expectation that well, “the bulb is rated at around 24000 hours” so it’s worth it – only to have the thing fail a few months in. It happened to me twice out of two cases – it’s a fair bet that it will happen to anyone who buys one of these models too. Be warned.

Again; DO NOT BUY A SINOTEC SJ86C PROJECTOR!

To close; salespeople these days, it also has to be said, can tell one even less about the products they’re selling than the broken-English manuals that come with their goods. The ones at Game – in my humble opinion – would fit right in at a used-car lot: they might not have a clue about which appliance on their floor is better than the other, they can’t tell you anything more about it than what’s printed on the box, they will probably lie to you about not receiving any complaints about that particular product before – and everything on the floor is low-mileage and was driven exclusively to church by a little old lady on Sundays.

After a whole year and a half of this fiasco, you cannot convince me our two projectors were the only two Sinotecs purchased at that branch of Game that had problems – and the salesmen either lied when asked about comebacks on that model, or kept it to themselves.

This is why I do all my own research before buying. And I never trust an appliance salesman.

Sadly there was not a single bad review of the SJ86C I could find online before I bought the first one (well there IS now!). Feel free to share it.

#Sinotec #SJ86C #Review #bewarned #LCD #bulblife

If you would like to know more about Christina Engela and her writing, please feel free to browse her website.

If you’d like to send Christina Engela a question about her life as a writer or transactivist, please send an email to [email protected] or use the Contact form.

Show your appreciation for Christina’s work!

Sinotec SJ86C LED Projector Review I've had two of these devices in the last 2 years, and they make a bit of a story as you will see.

#be warned #bulb life #lcd #projector #sinotec #sj86c

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quentinsquill · 7 years ago

Text

The Magicians Fic: “Just This Side of Heaven.”

Author: Lexalicious70 (TheChampagneKing70)

Fandom: The Magicians

Rating: Teen

Characters: Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater

Summary: Eliot thought he’d understood grief. But this was different, and what he needed most was closure.

Warnings: Pet death, angst, grief

Notes: A lot of fans have wondered how Eliot knew about Rainbow Bridge, and the answer smacked me dead in the face, so I wrote this. I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic! The Rainbow Bridge piece isn’t mine; the author has always been unknown. You can see it on the Rainbow Bridge main website. Enjoy! Or cry. Whichever.

You can also read it on AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/11185458

Just This Side of Heaven

By Lexalicious70 (aka The ChampagneKing70)

It’s been five days but the pain is just as fresh as it had been on the day it happened.

Eliot drained his wine glass for the fourth time that night as he sat in the near-darkness of his room. He could hear talking and laughter from downstairs, including Margo, who had declared him “an emo bummer” and had exiled him to his room to “figure out his shit.”

Eliot set his wine glass aside and crossed the room to open his closet door. He moved aside some shirts and a few pairs of good shoes, and then drew out a small brown wicker crate. Tears pricked his eyes and he set it on the bed.

“This is so stupid.” He murmured, putting a hand on the crate. “It’s not like you were even my dog.”

But in way, Cancer Puppy had been his. Eliot had named the enchanted dog Gerald during his first year, and when Dean Fogg had questioned him about it, Eliot had simply held the ancient puppy to his chest and said, “Because any dog that’s 149 years old—and that’s people years, not dog—deserves his own name.”

And so Gerald he was—at least it had been until five days ago, when Quentin had accidentally killed the puppy with a spell that had been too powerful for him to control.

But it wasn’t just Quentin . . . I helped him create that spell. I helped him kill Gerald. Eliot thought to himself, and that silent declaration caused more tears to drip from his eyes.

“Christ, this is all so fucking maudlin.” He sighed, lifting a hand to wipe his face. “But exactly where does one go to find closure that doesn’t come in a bottle?” He glanced around the room and his gaze fell on his old battered laptop, almost buried under a discarded sweater—Quentin’s—in the corner. He went over to kick the sweater aside before picking up the laptop and shoving into an old leather messenger bag. After opening a portal that allowed him to travel short distances, Eliot found himself stepping into an abandoned room in the basement of Brakebill’s main building. It was one of the few places electronics worked and the only place magic didn’t fuck up the building’s already weak Wi-Fi connection. Eliot pulled a stool over to an old scarred table and sat down with his laptop. After a moment, he was signed in and Googling “pet loss.” The screen cycled for almost thirty seconds And Eliot lit a cigarette, glaring at the swirling circle through a haze of smoke. When the results finally popped up, Eliot peered at the one at the top of the page.

“The Rainbow Bridge. Pet grief for gays, by gays?” He asked himself, clicking the link. Something that looked like a poem appeared, along with a color drawing of what looked like the pearly gates, only on a smaller scale. He took a drag of his smoke before reading it aloud softly. “Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.” Eliot felt his throat close and he took another long drag on his cigarette.

“All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.” Eliot’s voice quivered and he wiped the back of his left hand across his mouth, feeling his lips twist with emotion. “Shit.” He blinked until the words came back into focus, but his throat felt like he’d swallowed the world’s spiniest cactus.

“They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.” Eliot’s voice broke completely and his narrow chest began to hitch as more tears filled his eyes and then rapidly overflowed. He crammed a fist against his mouth and read the rest silently, his chest and throat so thick with grief that he felt like he was choking on it.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

As Eliot finished the final sentence, a helpless sob tore from his throat and he pushed the laptop away to let his head fall forward, onto his right forearm. The first sob seemed to break open a huge fissure in the thickness in his chest and throat, letting out molten streams of grief that burned like strong liquor. They rendered Eliot helpless and he sat there, sobbing, releasing everything he’d held in since the night he and Quentin had buried Gerald behind the Physical Kids cottage. He cried for the death itself, for Quentin, who had turned his back to Eliot when they’d finished and sobbed, the tears more for his father than for the puppy. He cried for the stupid finality of death, impervious to his grief, and most of all, at the knowledge that for all his abilities and magic, people he cared about could die, and there would be no way to undo it.

After ten minutes the emotional storm lessened, then passed. Eliot raised his head and fumbled a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his blazer to wipe his face. He glanced around furtively to see if anyone had seen or heard him, but the basement was quiet. Eliot snapped the laptop shut, feeling spent and hollowed out. He bowed his head a moment, sniffling, and then shoved the laptop into the case before opening a portal to the rear of the cottage. He stepped through it and walked about 50 yards until he reached the small depression in the ground that marked the spot where they’d buried Gerald. Eliot cleared his throat.

“Hello, Gerald.” He said almost formally. “You know, I’m not sure if I believe what I just read, but it’s like Quentin always said about his Fillory books . . .the best parts have to be true. So I hope that’s where you went. And—and I’m sorry. Quentin is sorry too. I know that you’re only a dog and you had a limited understanding of your world, but I feel like it’s important for you to know that what happened was an accident.” Eliot put a hand to his chest. “We didn’t mean to hurt you. And you may not have been my dog, at least not just mine, but you should be remembered. For as long as students come to Brakebills.” Eliot raised his hands and began to cast a spell that was tied to the grounds itself and would last for as long as they did. The grey pre-dawn light flickered and changed, and then Eliot smiled at his handiwork.

“See you, Gerald.” He said, and then turned to slip through the back door of the cottage before anyone could spot him.

______________________________________________________________

“Hey, Margo?”

Margo turned from the fridge, a little hung over and irritated that Eliot wasn’t awake to make them breakfast. She yanked a tub of cream cheese from the top shelf.

“What?”

“Did you—uhm—can you come look at this?”

“For Christ’s Sake, what is it?” Margo asked crossly, going to the window, which looked out over the back of the cottage. Her expression changed from irritation to mild wonder as she saw what Quentin was staring at.

“Is that—?”

“It is.” Quentin nodded, and then both of them were bolting out the back door at once. They approached the phenomenon carefully, and Margo frowned.

“What the hell do you think it means?”

“This is where we buried Gerald.” Quentin said, and Margo frowned.

“What—you mean cancer dog?”

“Cancer Puppy. Eliot named him Gerald.” He glanced up to the second floor, toward Eliot’s window, and then put a hand on Margo’s shoulder.

“C’mon. Let’s leave it.”

“Leave it?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty! And it makes a better marker than that shitty wooden thing I was going make.”

Margo stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes, but a smile quirked her lips upward.

“All right, Q. Let’s go have a sinful amount of mimosa before we wake Eliot and force him to make us pecan waffles.”

Quentin smiled as she and Margo walked away from Gerald’s resting place, which now lay quiet and peaceful under an iridescent rainbow that arced over it, the sun throwing long fingers of color along the ground.

FIN

In memory of Inky, Lucky Lady, Lickety Split and Foxy Lady, who I hope are all waiting for me at Rainbow Bridge.

#Fic #The Magicians #Eliot Waugh #angst #grief

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brokenbeatandabused · 8 years ago

Text

I Think I Love You

A/N: Can I just say, I suck at titles? All of them should be untitled lol. Hope you enjoy this, I’ve been working on it the last few days. Sorry for any errors. Oh and I’m not entirely sure Sam eats bacon, but for the sake of this story he does :D

Characters: Dean, Reader, Sam

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Summary: Reader and Dean are struggling with their feelings.

Word Count: 1,618

Warnings: Language, tiny bit of angst

Standing in the hallway of the bunker you considered your options.

1. Tell Dean how you felt. 2. Leave and never come back.

The second was more appealing, you didn’t face rejection, you didn’t want to make things weird between you. But it also meant you would never see him again. The first terrified you. Each time you thought of telling Dean how far gone you were it made you want to weep. You thought you were tougher than that. You hated to cry, thinking it showed weakness. Rolling your eyes at yourself you headed to the library. Things had been calm the last few weeks, just the occasional demon or vampire nest causing trouble.

Sitting down with a book from your personal collection you dove into a world not your own. It had been awhile since you read it, but it being a childhood favorite you couldn’t help but crack it open every now and then.

“Hey, Y/N. What’re you reading?” Sam pulled up a chair with his stack of books.

“My favorite.” You said, tilting the book so he could read the cover, “More research for you?”

“Sort of. Just brushing up on some lore.”

“Anything in particular?” You uncrossed your legs and leaned forward, looking over the covers.

“Well, I’ve got two books on angels, one on vampires, and different books on random monsters. I think I have ghouls, djinns, wendigos, oh and one on alphas.” Sam went through his stack of books, spreading them out on the table with his laptop. “Think I’m covered?”

You laughed and nodded. “Seems like. Do you really think you’ll learn anything new?”

“You never know. Most of these I have scanned, not really read through. Let’s hope so, for next time.”

Sitting back with your book you thought there was always a next time. It never failed. You enjoyed hunting, enjoyed saving people. You weren’t in it for the recognition, you were just doing your job. If that meant scamming credit cards and stealing every now and then, you figured it was just payment for services rendered. Crossing your legs and shaking your foot you went back to reading.

An hour or two later you were in the kitchen cooking burgers with a variety of side dishes. As a surprise for Dean you were also in the middle of mixing up the fixings for an apple pie. Humming to yourself, switching between tasks so nothing burned while you rolled out dough, you thought about how much you loved cooking. You had learned at your mothers knee, always asking questions until she pushed a chair to the counter and let you help. Never with frying, not until she could trust that you understood and wouldn’t get burned. Thinking of your mother now, you made a mental note to send her an email promising to call soon.

“Oh my God. Is that pie? Are you making pie? Please tell me you’re making pie.” Dean all but ran to the table where you were working, eyes wide with excitement.

Laughing you said, “Yes, I’m making pie. Apple, if you’re wondering. Burgers are just about finished, and I fried up some bacon for you to put on them. Once I finish this I’ll lay everything out and you boys can fix a plate.” Brushing butter over the top of the pie, you looked up at Dean. “Wipe your mouth Winchester. Pie will be ready in about an hour. Hopefully. Just have to make sure the apples are done.” You then slid the pie into the oven, checking the temperature and then went about moving the burgers to a plate.

“I think I love you.”

“Ow! Shit! Fuck!” Burning yourself on the pan you spun around to grab a towel.

A concerned Dean grabbed your hand before you could wrap it up, looking over your burn and sending little electric shocks over your skin where he touched. “Are you ok? This doesn’t look too bad, do you want some aloe?”

“No, no. I think I’ll be alright. I just,” Looking up from your burn everything you were going to say slipped back down your throat. Those cool green eyes on yours, holding your gaze, holding you in place. Anything you could say would have been irrelevant.

“Hey guys! What’s for dinner?” Sam lumbered in sniffing the air, but you and Dean continued to stare at one another. “Man, what happened?” A now concerned Sam reached out and grabbed your hand.

“I…I burned myself on the pan like a clumsy idiot.” You replied, shaking your head a little. “We’ve got burgers, with your choice of sides and apple pie for dessert.” Turning back to the stove you made yourself busy.

“Holy shit. Are we celebrating something? We never have homemade pie! Dean I bet you’re excited.” Sam laughed and slapped Dean on the shoulder. “Hey, man, you ok?”

Dean shook himself a little and answered, “Yeah, yeah. She just had me worried for a minute.” In fact, Dean wondered if he had scared you into burning yourself. He had said he thought he loved you, causing you to jump. But why would she jump? He thought, I meant it, could she feel the same? The way you had held his gaze gave him hope. “Let me know when everything is ready, I’m going to wash up.”

“Shouldn’t be but another few minutes.” You smiled at him.

“Alright then, I’ll be right back.” Sending you a small smile he walked out.

“Y/N, you sure you’re ok? I can bandage that up real quick.” Sam glanced over at you, smiling mischievously while stuffing his mouth full of bacon.

“Sam!! That’s for the burgers!” You swatted at him but he danced out of the way laughing. “Ugh! You giant! Stop eating all the bacon!” You laughed as he ran out the door when you threw the towel at him. Looking down at your wrist now you ran your finger over the burn. A little sore, but bearable. It was only a small crescent shaped burn, but in a way you hoped it would scar, always having a reminder of the day Dean said he thought he loved you. Whether he was joking about it or not, you always longed to hear those words from his mouth. Laughing at yourself you went about putting things out for dinner.

Later that night you had just finished brushing your teeth and hair, getting ready for bed. Dinner had been wonderful, with Dean eating almost three pieces of pie after his huge bacon cheeseburger. He had shoveled it into his mouth like someone might try and take it from him. Shaking your head and chuckling to yourself, you headed back to your room.

“Hey.” Dean called from his doorway.

“Hey. Did you need something?”

Yeah, you. Dean shook his head, “I just wanted to see if you wanted to watch a movie. I don’t even care if it’s a chick flick.”

Surprised, you raised your brows. “Are you sick? There must be something wrong with you.”

“No, I’m not sick. I’m just bored and I don’t feel like going out to the bar, or anywhere for that matter.” Dean laughed and shrugged. “I was just wondering if you wanted to join me.”

“Sure,” you smiled, “but it doesn’t have to be a chick flick.”

“Awesome. Let’s go see what we got.” Dean turned and led the way into his room.

In the end you both agreed on an action film. He had asked you to lay on the bed beside him, saying the chair would be too uncomfortable to watch a movie in. Propped against the headboard in your favorite, albeit old, pair of pajama pants and t-shirt you struggled to keep your attention on the movie. Dean was wearing something similar, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. How could someone have gorgeous ankles? Everything about this man made you want to weep with gratitude to whoever designed him.

Half way through you saw Deans head start to shift. Looking over at him you watched as his head slowly fell to your shoulder. Grinning to yourself you made no attempts to move so he wouldn’t shift away. After a few minutes you took the risk of lying your head against his. Breathing in the smell of his hair, you sighed. Why couldn’t telling someone how you feel be easier?

Dean woke slowly, feeling the weight of something across his middle and hair all over his face. Reaching up and pushing it away he realized you were wrapped around him. Your legs tangled with his, hands crossed between your chest, holding on to his other arm. He smelled of your hair and backed away just enough so he could watch your face as you slept. There was nothing he wanted more than to make you his. When you stirred, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Snuggling closer to the warmth, you really didn’t want to wake up. Smiling, you froze when you realized that you were tangled with another person. Dean. His arm flung across your waist the other you were holding between you. Your eyes shot open and looked slowly up at his face. He looked so peaceful, you didn’t want to move for fear that he would wake, or worse, pull away. You risked reaching up, rubbing your fingertips lightly across his brow. Snuggling back into his chest you whispered, “I love you, Dean.”

You felt his hand come out from around your middle, sliding up your arm and to your face. Tilting your head up, your heart thundering in your ears as you met his eyes, you almost missed it.

“I love you, Y/N.”

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fantasy #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural dean #supernatural dean x reader #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean #supernatural family #spnfamily #spn fanfic #spn

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guessmonsta · 8 years ago

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Now that the ask box is open again, I want to ask if you do soulmate AU's? If so, could you write an AU that you have the first words your soulmate says to you printed on your wrist. And that the words Tsukishima has on his wrists is something really negative. How he would react when he would hear his soulmate say those words. (Is this understandable? I feel like this was really confusing)

A) Soulmate AU’s are the reason I’m aliveB) Get ready for insecure Tsukishima Kei because that’s how I write this nut + this fits so perfectly for my headcanons of him I’m bawling y’all

Golden, silky cursive down the muscle on his wrist. It would’ve been so beautiful, if not for the words they said.

“You’re a failure.”

Words appeared during puberty, the peak of your hormonal blossoming. They started out faded, barely noticeable, and as time progressed, they became bold, powerful, the center of every pubescent teens sad, hopeful life. The very moment the faded gold ink first began to bleed into him at thirteen years old, Tsukishima Kei already knew he was beyond fucked. At thirteen years old he was lost, Jean Louise Finch in “To Set A Watchman”, discovering the bitter, cold truth. At thirteen years old he wasn’t ready for love, the only love he ever had washed down in the drain along with any jubilance he had left. At thirteen years old with the constant reminder of absolute pessimism lingering on his wrist while other boys fawned over sweet subliminal messages of infatuation, Tsukishima Kei lost himself more.

At fourteen years old he ripped himself apart. The gold ink that bled into his pale, scar shaven skin was still prominent, becoming brighter each time the flesh was bruised. He tried, he really did, to make himself the image of perfection. Knowing that one day, the person who he was to be tied to for eternity would think of him as a failure was just another weight onto his already collapsing being. Yamaguchi hit puberty later than he did, he peaked right after the first semester of their third year of middle school, and as he began to grow, the turquoise tangent on his wrist grew too. “Don’t be upset, I could name one hundred things I admire about you” it read, and Kei couldn’t help but wonder how Yamaguchi managed to be so fatefully tied to a woman of wisdom while he was anchored to a pit of pessimism.

When he was fifteen years old, he couldn’t take it anymore. When high school came, the hype of soulmates did nothing but erupt even more. Outside of volleyball, the only thing his volleyball team ever seemed to talk about was soulmates. Beautiful, funny statements in soft purples and reds and blues, they were all so lively yet Kei couldn’t wonder how his statement out of all of them was colored bright gold. As the year went on he grew tired, the eerie message doing nothing but causing him grief. He couldn’t help but dread recalling midterms, when all that went through his mind when he was studying is the cute gold calligraphy of ‘failure’. Yamaguchi found his soulmate, a lively one from a rival school, a kind, wise hearted soul just like Yamaguchi always dreamed. His friends, or acquaintances, as he liked to put it, we’re falling in love and finding themselves left and right, and by the time spring arrived and every first year on the team found his soulmate, even standoffish Kageyama who couldn’t talk to a female for his life, he drew the conclusion that he might as well be alone forever. That thought was ridiculous though, he knew it. He still had well over seventy years of his life left, and six years left of education, so not finding his soulmate in his first year of highschool would definitely not render him lonely. Although, he felt like it. He felt alone, and it made him feel pathetic. It made him feel like a failure just like those bloody golden words on his wrist prophesied.

He drove himself to move away at nineteen. He hadn’t found anything in his eighteen years in Japan and he hoped, and prayed there would be something for him beyond the borders of the familiar. So, he set off for Cornell, an Ivy League college in America. It was risky, it really was, even if he was the top of his English class. They had a good multicultural scene over there, he was told, and for some reason, that just dragged him in further. His wanderlust grew and grew the more and more he looked around into the vast world in front of him and by the time he was already settled into Cornell, he just wanted to pack his bags and travel somewhere else again. He couldn’t though, at least not until junior year. Cornell was treating him nice, a cosy establishment in the middle of nowhere and honestly, it reminded him a bit of home. If you traveled to the highest point on campus all you could see was miles of rolling hills and maple trees, crows flocking through the air at the break of dawn and the familiar chill down his spine in the winter. Although through it all, he still hadn’t met his soulmate. His brother encouraged him to still have hope through it all. “I didn’t find my soulmate until senior year, you still have time!” He would say, but Kei would just shake his head.

He was in his junior year of college and he was presented with an opportunity of international education, an opportunity every college student hoped and prayed to have. He was going to Copenhagen, and he knew exactly why. Out of 196 countries and tens of thousands of cities, he chose Copenhagen, the heart of a freezing Nordic wonderland. It was said to be the happiest place on earth and to be frank, there was nothing Tsukishima needed in his life more than an optimistic habitat. So, as soon as the second semester came, he didn’t waste a minute hopping onto that plane.

At first, Copenhagen was weird. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, it was just unfamiliar. It was far too optimistic, streets lined with bars and old woman walking dogs, college students in beanies smoking weed on apartment balconies. Everyone carried an “I don’t give a shit” vibe and just as Tsukishima thought he would maybe, finally meet his soulmate, he was shut down. Everyone in this city seemed to be far too nice to utter such a thing as the thing on his wrist. He was ready to give up.

It was Friday morning and Tsukishima wanted to die. His roommate was already up, playing loud, headache inducing music from his side of the dorm. As much as he’d hate to admit, he got himself drunk last night, well really, his roommate got him drunk last night, it was the bastards idea to buy three crates of beer for a small frat party. He sat up in bed and groaned, not even attempting to hold back his displeasure. “I didn’t think you’d be such a lightweight, Kei.” His roommate snorted, turning off his music to slump next to Tsukishima’s bed frame. “You want a water or something, buddy?”“Don’t call me a fucking lightweight, I had eight beers.” He rubbed his eyes harshly, not sure if the stars he saw were from the rubbing or the alcohol that still lingered in his system. “But yeah, the water would be nice. Thank you.” Tsukishima really hated himself in that moment. He was never one to be late for classes, never one to drink on a school night. Tsukishima Kei was never, not once in his life, ten minutes late for an eight o'clock class on the other side of campus. Although today, he broke the lucky streak.“Oh, are you fucking kidding me?” He muttered to himself, mustering up all his willpower to get out of his bed. His knees wobbled underneath him as he wasted no time getting dressed, chugging an entire water bottle in second, and throwing the empty container right back at his roommate. “Don’t pee yourself out there, dumbass!”“Fuck off, Mathias.” Was his reply, slamming the door behind him and immediately regretting his decisions from right now and the night before. Everything hurt, absolutely ached, and he began to wonder if perfect attendance was really worth the torture he was sure to endure in the next two hours. He pushed himself though, because skipping out would just mean that he was a failure.

By the time he arrived he was thirty minutes late. People were gawking at him, obviously taking notice of how he looked like an absolute wreck. He knew his eyebags had to be atrocious, but he was hoping and praying that he didn’t look like the walking dead. He took a quick seat in the back of the room, hoping that once he sat down people would lose interest and forget him. They did, one or two students still making nasty remarks a few rows in front of him. If he hadn’t cared so much about his reputation (and his mother’s money) he would’ve thrown his textbook at the back of their heads. The girl next to him fidgeted, scooting down the bench slightly to get away from him. She looked a tad bit uncomfortable, and part of him wanted to feel a bit guilty for her. He probably still smelled like alcohol, he thought.

“I’m sorry, I’m a failure.” He snorted, once he caught her eye and got his things situated. Tsukishima didn’t know why he thought a self deprecating joke would lighten the mood, for her eyes just widened and looked down at the laptop in front of her. “Oh, sure, you’re a failure.” She commented back, her sarcasm blatantly evident. She pointed towards a pile of papers on her desk and said something else, but Tsukishima had short circuited far too long ago to process the words she said next. His whole life was a misconception. Six years of acceptance and self consciousness all derived from one, big, misconception. She was the one to bring the words on her wrist to his attention. Small, blocky orange writing stating “I’m sorry, I’m a failure.” He still couldn’t process words, his wrist feeling as if it were burning. His gut was roiling and he absolutely couldn’t believe the horrendous irony this situation reeked with. The professor kept talking, droning away about the history of a long dead African tribe, but he didn’t care.“I don’t think you realize how much these words have made me hate myself these past few years.” he muttered into her ear, breath shaky and languid from the adrenaline rush he experienced. “I don’t think you know how worried I’ve been for you these past few years.” She replied, her fingers absentmindedly running over her wrist. “I thought I’d meet you on a bridge.”“Don’t say that.”“Well, I thought I would.” She shrugged, nudging his hip and motioning him to collect his things. “Let’s get out of here.” She implied, already shoving her laptop back into her purse. “But I just got here.” He argued.“But I just met my soulmate. C’mon, nobody’s going to think you’re a failure.”

#Let's ignore my hetalia reference please #Also this is now the longest scenario on this blog #huzzah #Haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! Imagines #haikyuu!! Matchups #haikyuu!! Scenarios #tsukishima kei #kuroo tetsurou

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