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writethelifeyouwant · 3 years

Text

Make Him Look - Ch 1 / 2

Pairing: Cordell Walker x Reader Rating: 18+ Tags: flirting, many many drinks, jealousy, dancing, slow burn Word Count: 3k Created for: @walker-bingo - In Vino Veritas | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Jealousy A/N: Written with the lovely @thinkinghardhardlythinking in mind ❤️and y'all can also blame her for the fact it got so long I split it into two 😂

Cordell swings his leg over a barstool and settles into his usual spot. The bar is busy but not crowded. There’s a few more empty stools awaiting occupants for the night, and Cordell hooks one with his foot and draws it closer, popping his hat down to save the seat for Liam, who’s on his way. But there’s no reason to wait for Liam before he orders – they get the same thing every time.

“Barkeep! Can I get some queso, hot wings, and whatever Pinthouse you’ve got on draft?”

“Sure thing, man,” the kid behind the bar drawls, his accent thick and voice lazy. Cordell would bet anything the guy had had a joint on his break earlier, but he’s off duty – tonight is not about busting people for drugs, tonight is about letting loose. He checks his phone to see if Liam had texted him that he’d left the office yet, but there is nothing there. Taking a sip of the drink that has just been plopped on a coaster in front of him, Cordell scans the room. It’s a bad habit that every law enforcement worker he’s ever met has developed. Even when he’s trying to relax and blow off some steam, he can’t help being a little vigilant.

He takes in the tableaus around him; the groups of kids from the local community college, the gaggle of mid to late aged men in awful polos that Cordell recognises as the inner city bowling league, a couple of less savoury looking guys playing pool, the cluster of women those guys keep eyeing up – he’ll keep an eye on that one.

Checking his phone again and taking another drink, he still hasn’t heard anything from Liam. He opens his brother’s contact and is about to give him a call to tell him to get his ass in gear when someone suddenly reaches down beside him, picks up his hat and drops it back on his head while they slide into the seat he’d been saving - except it’s not Liam.

“Hey you,” the stranger says familiarly, bumping her shoulder against his. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”

You shrug out of your jacket and sling it over your arm as you head up to the worn wood counter of the bar. You don’t see your friend yet, so you decide to go ahead and order a drink while you wait for her to show. She’s always late, you should have just assumed and shown up fifteen minutes from now. You play on your phone as you wait for the bartender to finish serving the gang of people at the other end of the bar. When you feel someone in front of you, you look up, about to order a glass of wine, except one is already being placed on the bar top in front of you.

You stare questioningly at the kid serving you the drink. You’d been here before, sure, but you’re hardly a regular, and even if you were you don’t recognise this server – so why does he know what you were about to order?

“Um, I didn’t–” you start but the kid interrupts you.

“From the gentleman at the end of the bar, milady,” he gave a geeky little bow, “Sorry, he told me to say it like that,” he grimaces at himself. You chance a fleeting look back to the group you’d noticed him serving a few minutes ago and to your horror, you recognise your ex, Dirk, grinning back at you. He tips the brim of his ball cap and gives you a wink, like he’s expecting you to be impressed that he remembers you drink red wine. Shit, this is not how this night is supposed to go. You’re supposed to be here to get drunk with your best friend and have a bit of a dance, not be looking over your shoulder the whole night hoping that jerk leaves you alone.

Panicking a little now, you check your phone but there’s no text from Lea telling you when to expect her. Knowing her like you do, you would bet anything she won’t be here soon, and you don’t want to wait on your own and risk Dirk coming to talk to you. Desperately, you scan your eyes around the bar, cataloguing your options and escape routes. Someone catches your eye a few seats along from where you are. Tall, broad – dark and handsome, your mind supplies unhelpfully – but what really catches your eye is the badge hanging from his belt. He’s a Ranger.

Normally, you’d pick a group of girls who you know would happily pretend to know you so you don’t have to wait alone but you know Dirk, and you know he won’t be shy enough to let any number of girls stop him from coming to ruin your night. But a guy - and a Texas Ranger at that – Dirk wouldn’t dare. He had an outstanding DUI, and he’d always been a bit of a chicken around cops anyways.

Choice made, you grab the wine he’d bought you – hey, you’re not made of money, free booze is free booze – and you march purposefully over to the Ranger, who’s checking his phone and not paying attention until you grab his black cowboy hat off the chair next to him. Clearly he had been saving it for someone, and you want Dirk to think that someone is you.

“Hey you,” you chirp, placing his hat back on his head as you slide into the seat he’d been saving, “Thanks for saving me a seat.” You smile at the Ranger long enough to see him looking at you completely perplexed before you glance back to Dirk and see him watching you with a scowl. You let yourself feel inwardly triumphant and turn back to the man you’d just decided to befriend, if only temporarily.

Swivelling back towards him, you let yourself get a good look at his face for the first time. His bright hazel eyes are staring back at you, confused but not unkind. Tall, dark, and handsome is definitely apt, and now you’re seeing him properly you’re a bit speechless. You hadn’t counted on him being this freakin’ attractive.

“Sorry,” you finally manage to choke out under your breath. “I’ll leave you alone soon, I promise, I’m just hiding from my ex,” you explain, and understanding melts across the man’s face.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asks sympathetically.

“Just pretend like you know me until my friend gets here?” you propose hopefully.

“Happy to,” he smiles, grabbing his drink and holding it out to clink against your wine glass. You tap your glass against his, relief flooding your body as you settle onto your stool a little more comfortably.

“Thank you…” you trail off leadingly, hoping he’ll fill in his name.

“Cordell,” he supplies.

“Now there is a Texan name if I ever heard one,” you giggle.

“If you’re gonna laugh at my name do I at least get the chance to laugh at yours too?” he grins jokingly.

“Y/N,” you give him your name, tucking your hair behind your ear and taking a sip of your wine.

“Well that’s no fun, how can I tease you for such a pretty name?” Cordell takes a sip of his own drink, mirroring you. Jeez, this one is a smooth talker.

When you finish your glass of wine, probably a little quicker than normal due to your anxious state, you check your phone again and see a missed call from Lea. “Crap,” you sigh, drawing a concerned look from Cordell, who is happily munching away on some chips and queso next to you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, muffled, mouth still full of food.

“Yeah, s’just my friend bailing on me,” you gripe, listening to the voicemail she’d left on your phone a few minutes ago. “Sorry I gate crashed your night for nothing,” you apologise, popping your phone back in your bag and planning on just going home to turn in early and watch some junky tv show in bed now that your ‘girls night’ wasn’t happening.

“Hey, you aren’t gate crashing.” Cordell shrugs, like he’s hedging his bets with his next statement. “I’ve had a good time so far.” His smile is shy and sincere, and you soften just a little in your annoyance at the world.

“I totally am though, you were clearly waiting for someone,” you gesture to the stool you’d taken up residence on.

“Just my work-a-holic brother, who, as luck would have it–” Cordell pulls his phone from his pocket and holds it up to show the message on the lock screen “–also pulled out on me.”

“Oh,” you blink, not sure what to make of that. It sounds like he’s asking you to stay but… “Well, thank you for being my knight in shining armour for a bit, seriously, but I don’t really want to stick around just to have my ex looking at me all night.”

“Well, if he’s gonna be a creep and keep watching you all night, we could make that fun, give him something to watch,” Cordell offers, his smirk incongruous with the almost hopeful expression in his eyes.

“What?” You’re perplexed.

“I mean, I don’t know what happened between you, but it’s pretty obvious to me that he wants you back, and you seem pretty pissed at him for that. I’m guessing the bastard cheated on you?” You huff in response, a little bitter that he’d read the situation so easily.

“Yeah, he did,” you admit, slumping against the bar, feeling downtrodden at the memory.

“So don’t let him chase you off,” Cordell shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He messed you around – you tellin’ me you wouldn’t like to mess with him right back?” he raises an eyebrow in temptation, a knowing smirk twitching at his lips.

“And you’re proposing that instead of not wanting him to look at me all night–”

“You make him look,” Cordell finishes your sentence for you. “We’ve already pretended to know each other for the past–” he checks his watch “–twenty minutes. May as well just do the whole pretend date.” Cordell looks at you with so much honesty, you believe that he really does just want to help you screw with Dirk. And you cannot say the idea isn’t appealing.

“Alright,” you concede, shaking your head slightly in disbelief that you’re actually agreeing to this, and Cordell’s face splits into a wide smile. Honestly, seeing that expression alone made agreeing to this worth it. “So, if we’re on a pretend date, you gonna pretend to buy me another drink?”

“No,” you insist, shaking your head vehemently.

“C’mon,” Cordell chides, grinning madly.

“I did not agree to this,” you shake your head, finishing off the last bit of wine in your glass.

“Come on,” he urges again, leaning against the bar and tilting his head close to yours pleadingly.

“I am not dancing,” you repeat, wholeheartedly meaning it. You think if you have to come into genuine skin to skin contact with Cordell, you might actually melt into a puddle. Now three glasses of wine into your fake date, you can feel yourself loosening up and really enjoying yourself with this handsome stranger. He’s kind, and funny, and a little weird but in a charming way – exactly your type. And him begging you to dance with him wasn’t helping your self-restraint. This is a fake date, you keep reminding yourself firmly every time he flashes you that little half smile that makes his eyes light up.

“Well, I don’t know what kind of boring fake dates you usually go on, but mine aren’t complete unless I get to show off my two-step and knock back a tequila shot.”

“Oh, we’re doing tequila now, are we?” You laugh – this guy is actually ridiculous, and you kind of love it.

“That wasn’t a no,” he jumps on your ‘non denial’ and waves at the kid behind the bar. “Two tequilas, two limes?” he holds up two fingers and the bartender nods to him, quickly pouring out the shots and dropping two lime wedges onto a plate. Cordell grabs a salt shaker from the condiments rack on the bar and sets everything up between you. You let him work, watching incredulously but enjoying the show nonetheless.

“Give me your hand,” he holds out his own hand expectantly once he’s arranged all the pieces to his liking.

“Why?” your voice is nervous but your hand reaches out instantly of its own accord. Without answering he proceeds to rub the edge of the lime over the inside of your wrist, then puts the lime in your fingers and shakes some salt over the trail of juice he left behind. He does the same thing to himself, then passes you your shot, which you take in your lime-free hand.

“Right, you wanna do this the normal way or the ‘make Dirk jealous way’?” Cordell asks with a smirk once he’s oriented himself.

“I’m gonna regret asking this, but what’s the ‘make Dirk jealous’ way?” you groan exaggeratedly, like he’s put some great burden on you, but the truth is you’re really enjoying yourself.

“Like this,” Cordell steps up to you and links your right arms together. Catching his drift you smile and try to hold back the snort of laughter that bubbles up inside you – a nervous reaction to feeling the warmth of his body against yours, even through the layer of his shirt. “One, two, three,” he counts off and you go to lick the salt off your wrist except that’s what Cordell is doing. You freeze momentarily, heat shooting up your arm from where his tongue and lips are laving over your skin. You don’t think to move until Cordell puts his own wrist against your lips and you lick obediently.

Your linked arms pull you closer together as Cordell lifts the tequila to his lips and you follow suit in a kind of trance, both knocking back your shots. The tequila hits you harder than you remember it ever doing before, and you scrunch up your face, disoriented for a moment until you once again feel Cordell’s lips on your skin. This time they’re wrapping around your finger tips as he sucks the lime into his mouth. You stand frozen, the burn in your mouth and your fingers meeting in your chest and ratcheting up your heart rate as if you’re trying to run away from the oncoming flames. But it’s hopeless, you’re stuck in the blaze now.

“You want your lime, darlin’?” Cordell laughs at your stock still frame and holds his fingers to your lips, gently pressing the fruit inside and urging you to suck. You’re sure you must have physically combusted into fire by now, but Cordell isn’t jumping away like he’s been singed – he’s pressing closer. “Dance with me,” he rasps, voice hoarse from the burn of the alcohol. It’s not a request anymore, it’s an order, and you don’t question it.

Drawing his hand down the arm of yours linked with his until your fingers lace together, he pulls you away from the bar and out onto the dance floor. It’s an upbeat country song, the kind you’d normally jump around to, but he pulls you in and wraps an arm around your waist like a proper partner dance calls for – except he’s ignored the social convention of leaving room for Jesus. He pulls you after him in tiny circles and you let him lead happily. When the song changes to something a little slower he pulls you just a little tighter, and you can’t stop yourself from moving your gaze off his shoulder up to his face.

His eyes dart over your shoulder, then smile down at you wryly, and you feel yourself blush. “He’s watching,” Cordell grins mischievously. You go to look but he puts a hand on your neck and holds you still, keeping your eyes on him. His fingers are strong and warm against your collarbone, ironically causing you to shiver. “No, don’t look at him,” his voice is low as he leans in conspiratorially, “you wanna make him look, remember?”

“Why are you helping me?” The alcohol swimming through your veins is making you comfortable and fuzzy, and you let yourself lean against him familiarly, your head resting against his chest as he continues to move you both around the dance floor. You feel him shrug as his grips on your hand and the nape of your neck tighten a little.

“The truth?” he asks. You can hear the nerves in his voice, even if you can’t see them on his face.

“No, I want you to lie to me, please,” your voice manages to stay serious through the end of the joke before you burst into giggles, and you feel your laughter move into his body and trigger his own, making his chest rise and fall unevenly beneath your cheek.

“You are one hell of a gal, you know that?” You’re glad your face is buried in his chest so he can’t see just how brightly you smile at the compliment. “Truth is, I’ve been trying to get you drunk and have my wicked way with you.” You can tell by how expressionless his voice has gone that he’s winding you up, but you pull back and slap your hand to your chest in mock horror.

“Well Cordell Walker, I have never met such a rogue in my life,” you gasp in your best Scarlet O’Hara accent. It’s not a good one. Neither of you can keep a straight face for more than a few seconds, and you both double over in laughter after your minuscule standoff.

As your laughter dies down, Cordell grabs your hands again and pulls you back to him, swaying entirely out of time to the song that’s playing. He looks like he’s about to say something but the words haven’t quite found their way to his tongue, and when you catch his eyes you suddenly don’t want to hear what he has to say and you pull away from him. He looks at you, puzzled and just the slightest bit hurt as you try to find some cover for your sudden movement.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a bourbon fan, would you?”

Part 2 Here!

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67

All Walker: @lovealways-j @delightfullykrispypeach @stoneyggirl @thinkinghardhardlythinking @sams-sass @walkersbabygirl

#walkerbingo #anyfandomgoesbingo #afgbingo #walker x reader #cordell x reader #fake dating #slow burn #walker fic #jared padalecki

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Note

Can you write something like female reader teasing hyunjin before performance and like he gets kinda mad and after performance puts her in place and maybe overstimulates her but still he is soft dom but bottom. Does it make sense?😂

which you and hyunjin have 20 minutes until someone notices, or rather, 19 minutes, leaving 1 for you to put your clothes back on

thank you anon for being so patient while I got this out!! <3

19 minutes | reader x hyunjin

Pairing: self insert, female reader x hwang hyunjin

Genre: that good good smut

Tags: idol!hyunjin, established relationship au, softdombottom!hyunjin, bratty!reader, explicit language, mentions of masturbation, semi-public teasing, thigh riding, dry humping, oral (f receiving), face sitting, spanking, overstimulation + multiple orgasms, semi-public sex

Word count: 1.8k

Gif creds to OP!

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

It’s cold out in the back alley where you’ve led him, and the tips of your ears sting with heat. He’s slipped his hands inside your coat with curious fingers that tug at the folds of your shirt. His lips taste like that strawberry-flavored chapstick you had hidden in his pocket before.

There’s steam emanating off his body that turns into white vapor in the air. Hyunjin’s grip on you is tight, regardless of the fact that nearly anyone could see you had they turned their head.

You lean into him fully, pressing his body and yours against back door which is crinkling with old green paint. His scalp is damp, but that doesn’t get in your way of pulling his dark strands to connect your lips deeply with his.

“Is practice almost over? How much more time do you have?”

Even standing, you grind your hips into his the best you can, giggling out when you feel how hard that he’s gotten. It’s so cute; just getting riled up from this. You then let your hands slither up his shirt, and he hisses at the temperature.

“-Not enough time to do what you want.” He answers.

“But what if I can’t wait?” You bite a smile into his lip.

Hyunjin’s head falls back onto the door with a thud when you let your creeping fingers tug at his waistband.

“Now? We’re about to go on?” He’s slipping under your touch, but he carries an annoyed edge to his tone.

“You really don’t have time?” You teased the words out from your lips while your fingertips traced over the outline of his hard on.

“What? Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Spell what?”

Hyunjin swings you around, switching positions so that now he’s got you pinned. He kicks your legs open, thrusting one of his thighs between them. You’re helpless, and its like an instinct that you grind down on it. Your boyfriend flexes his muscle, just like you like it.

Hyunjin tilts your head to the side to imprint more fleeting kisses on your neck. “Just you wait till I can get my hands on you.”

“You don’t have any time at all?”

Even with a coat on, you can still feel the cold metal door behind your back.

“I could...make some.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?!” You would’ve been furious, but the pressure from his thigh on your clit dissolves your self-control.

His hands on your face feel huge where he cradles you. “After the performance, we have to sit and watch a couple other groups, I can get away then.”

“They won’t notice?”

“People do it all the time. I could be going to the bathroom for all they care.”

“Want to meet there?”

“The bathroom?” Hyunjin laughs out jokingly, tossing his head back. The dainty silver earrings he wears sparkle under the streetlights. “Hell no.”

He shocks you by moving his leg, and your thighs pathetically shudder from the loss of contact.

“Is that what you want? Me bending you over some sink?” He sweeps up both of your hands in his to warm them up with his breath. “I have a better idea.”

✦✧✦✧

Your cap hides your eyes where you attempt to blend in the rest of the staff, busying yourself with a clipboard that’s been left unattended. Over the loudspeakers there’s music booming from a song that you haven’t heard before--likely a comeback stage, you think to yourself. Down the darkly lit hall, you see the glow of the dressing rooms that hustle with staff members jogging in and out. They’re shouting demands at eachother, and the shuffling of feet can be heard even from this far away.

“Are you ready? Are we ready?” It’s their manager’s voice that you recognize.

“Everyone okay? Innie, youre--” Chan’s sunny laughter spills out of the room, and you turn your head as the group starts to walk out.

Your heart beats in your throat when you see Hyunjin, no longer a sweating mess and hair and makeup perfectly fixed, trail out last. None of them see you, even as they walk right past you. Hyunjin however, in the least conspicuous way possible, twists his head around to search for you.

You tug your hat down further, walking right up to him.

“Oh. Sorry.” You bow after purposefully running into him.

He says nothing, only meeting your eyes for that one moment of understanding. Hyunjin waits until they’re nearly at their seats when you watch as he whispers something into Felix’s ear, then rubs his head like it hurts. Felix nods immediately, and pats him on the back. Hyunjin does the same to his manager who looks considerably more concerned and it looks like he’s offering to go with him, but Hyunjin nods him away.

It’s only when he starts walking directly towards you that this all feels real.

He walks right past you, muttering out, “Follow me.”

✦✧✦✧

Hyunjin’s fingers lace between yours as he guides you down the length of the hallway and the pat of your hurried steps taps on the linoleum flooring.

“Hyunjin--” You hiss out the words, “Where are we going?”

“Dressing room.” He’s still wearing his green contacts, and they only make that glint in his eye more ravenous.

It’s dark and cluttered in there, and you have to tiptoe around bundles of coats, makeup organizers and to-go containers. Hyunjin shuffles around in the dark, then lights up his face with the white from his phone screen.

“What are you doing??”

“Setting a timer.” He says matter-of-factly.

“A timer?? You’re kidding.”

“We’ve got at least 20 minutes until someone might come looking for me, 19 minutes if we count the 1 it takes for us to put our clothes back on.”

Hyunjin taps the “start” button.

“You’re not kidding.”

“What? Don’t trust me? You know that it doesn’t take you that long.”

Hyunjin takes you by the hands to one of those blue (you think) plastic-feeling couches.

“Stop wasting time,” He whispers, then draws you into his arms while pulling you into his lap where he sits down. You straddle him, pouring your pent up adoration back onto his lips. In the dark, you feel him smile against you.

Once again, you grind down into him. Hyunjin’s hands fall down to the small of your back where he guides the rolling of your hips.

“Bold of you to come here thinking that you could get something out of me. You’re lucky that I have a hard time saying no to you...still, I’ve missed you.” His voice drops lowly, “Do you want to know a secret?”

You’re too breathless to give him anything else than “Mm?”

“When no one’s around, all I can think about your pretty lips sucking me off.” His fingers ticked the skin of your stomach, all the way up to your breasts which he took roughly in his hands. “When no one’s around, I imagine that it’s your hand instead of mine. Did you know that you do that to me?”

It was too much for you to handle thinking of him like that: desperately pumping into his own hand with your name on his lips. If you had more time, you would have told him that you did the exact same on your nights alone.

“Hyun--”

“But you come here, begging me...”

You circle your hips harder, both of your gasping breaths become heavier.

“I’ll give you what you want...until you can’t take it anymore.”

Your arms fall behind his back, and scrape up and down over his suit jacket--the threads of which are more expensive than you can fathom. Hyunjin holds fast to you, laying down with you on top of him.

“However long we have, I want to spend it on you.”

“Hyunjin...”

“Time’s ticking.” He snickers, then hurriedly unbuttons your pants.

Your chest pounds with excitement and nervousness being bare in the dressing room, as well as in front of him. The sound of your jeans hitting the ground seems to make everything go faster.

Your boyfriend tugs at your legs as you guide yourself nearer to his mouth. He uses his fingers first, plunging deep into your entrance. The sounds of your arousal wet his fingers and he’s laughing out in disbelief under you. After being together for this long, he knows exactly how to curve his fingertips inside of you to graze at your g-spot: an action that sends you biting deep into your lip. His thumb brushes over your clit as if on accident and your body jerks at the sensation.

Hyunjin’s fingers find you in the dimly lit room, granting you the taste wrapped on his fingers. It distracts you from his grasp on your hips and how he pulls you into his tongue. If this were any other time, he would have taken his time with you, but now, he was relentless. He had you by the tip of his tongue in the way that he could send your body reeling from each circle and stripe. His gorgeously plump lips kissed into your sensitive bud while he kept his unforgiving pace.

“Fuck--Hyunjin...”

His hair might have been perfectly styled before, but now, your fingers raked through it carelessly. For seconds, you wondered what they would say if they saw it all messed up like that just because of you.

“Close, I’m gonna--”

He didn’t pause, but rather hummed tiny little moans into your clit. You had been preoccupied, but his legs were still squirming with his twitching dick between them.

You squealed when he brought his hand back, pumping inside of you once more. He stung your skin, bringing a slap downwards that undoubtedly could have been heard outside the door. He brought you to your orgasm just as you felt your arousal drip down your thigh. You choked out your moans as quietly as you could.

His hand cupped over your mouth, then ordered, “You don’t have to be so careful princess.”

You took the hint, and your moans muffled into the cracks of his fingers.

He continued, forcing your legs to shiver and your hips to writhe over his mouth. You were lightheaded from catching your breath, and your clit throbbed in the aftermath of your orgasm with another one unbearably close.

It washed over you faster than the first, and you had little time to remember that the timer was still ticking. Your entire core felt tight while he brought you back down slowly lapping with a flat tongue.

“W-wait--”

“Can’t take any more?” Hyunjin gifted one last lingering kiss in your wet folds.

“That was...”

“Felt good, hm?”

You stumbled off of him with legs forgetting how to function.

“How much more time do we have?”

Hyunjin wiped his mouth with the backside of his hand, then checked his screen. “Two minutes...You could’ve got me in trouble, showing up like this, you know that?”

You giggled, “I know.”

Your boyfriend tugged up a little at your belt loops, pulling the denim into your still-sensitive bud.

“When we’ve got more time, who knows what else I’ll do to you princess.”

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thedeviljudges · 3 years

Text

yohan + physical tough + trauma response

disclaimer: this is based off of eps 1-7, and preview of ep 8; i wholeheartedly recognize that this post may become the worst meta ever depending on how the rest of the show goes. however, i do think there are still some interesting things to note about yohan. a lot of this is also me just talking shit out as i was sifting through all the eps again. i’m more than willing to change my mind or hear other thoughts.

also i kinda, sorta, unnecessarily included all of the moments of yohan and any physicality. a lot of them are not super important, but i do think they help draw a distinction in how he reactions when surprised, alone and around other people.

so, here’s a long ass post that is literally 99% me bullshitting, lmao.

so i wanted to delve more into yohan’s response to physical touch by way of trauma. while i know a lot of us have pieced it together, i think it’s pretty cool to lay it all out visually because i think there’s much more justification for his reactions; not to say it makes it right, but it does really flesh out a fundamental part of his characterization that i think is highly, highly important to understand.

yohan lives on the cusp for reckless behavior, almost as if he doesn’t care whether he lives or dies. the car chase, running through industrial buildings where safety isn’t a concern, etc.

episode one

the first time we see an instance of his disinterest in physical touch is when he first meets gaon. he actually offers him his hand, but the way he goes about it isn’t a handshake. he almost looks hesitant, and then he squeezes and does not shake. it’s truly a split second gesture out of formalities. granted, he’s just met someone he thinks looks like isaac, and might be in a little bit of… not shock, but certainly distracted.

later in the episode, yohan is in an abandoned building with homeless people. he’s checking people’s wrist, but he’s quick about leaving them alone. until, a homeless man comes up behind him and grabs him. in response, yohan swings his arm to knock him off. then, he punches him, steps on him and decides whether he’s worth the effort. again, granted, no one likes to be surprised in a creepy situation like this, so his response? kinda understandable at this point.

next is the scene where yohan catches gaon in his office, where he pushes him against the bookshelf and kinda, more or less, comes off as a bit luring. we know yohan knows gaon’s lying, but a couple of things here. yohan initiated the physical contact, and he did it because of the suspicious nature of gaon. yohan also knows how to use his power and charms to catch people off guard, and i think really, he was messing with gaon when he brushed his shirt and asked him if he lived alone. gay as fuck, lmao, but i also see it as an intimidation tactic, in a way.

i could also pose a couple of theories aside from intimidation if we wanted to squint:

yohan is still in a state of awe of gaon’s resemblance to isaac. he’s not heard his voice or been around the other man for at least 10 years, and now there’s tangibility at his fingertips.

if we want to look at it from the gay perspective, gaon is clearly intriguing to yohan, and as i’ll note further down in this post about yohan in relation to physical touch, i’m sure it could be assumed that this is one of the first people in a long time that yohan has an interest in making a connection with. however, because of his upbringing, it’s clear he does’t necessarily know how to connect with people (ie. ep 7 trying to connect with elijah, eps 1-6 with him trying to non-verbally tell gaon that he has bigger plans than what’s in front of his face. his admission in ep 5 about being monster). more or less, he knows his charms can be used, but when it comes to actually flirting and/or liking someone? it’s left to be addressed, but could be assumed he’s just as awkward about it as when we see him at home.

we also see a small instance of him letting someone dress him. there’s still touch involved, but it’s very clear what the intention is. he has control over the situation, and it’s not a surprise.

the next time he engages in physical touche, again, he initiates it because he’s in control, and it’s meant to be comforting, to an extent.

and then to round everything off, we actually see him reaching for isaac, who is actually gaon in the court scene, but you know storytelling and all that. he reaches for him both in the courtroom and within a flashback.

him reaching out for isaac seems to be a motif within the show as it happens later on, of which i’ll point out.

episode two

we see him initiate a handshake again. at first, to gaon, and then with jinjoo. controlled situation.

later on in the episode is when we see our first glimpses of batshit crazy yohan, an absolute delight and fav, lmao. he actually reaches out to the spoiled kid, and it’s clearly to legitimize intimidation and a position of power.

okay look, i’m not even gonna front, this was a cute scene. when jinjoo gets out of the car, he checks to make sure she’s okay, and they have this moment before they go onto the red carpet where they smile at each other. yohan is confirming she’s okay, and she agrees. again, controlled, and i don’t know for certain if yohan is more comfortable around women, or it’s just mere fact that he doesn’t always have a problem with touch when the situation is safe. he actually lets her take his arm further on in the scene, and yes, it is a public display of niceties, and he knows that.

so in the midst of this happening, we get the ‘devil child’ story. and i want to make note of the bird scene because i do think it’s important to note that people yohan cares for, he’s willing to go to the ends of the earth to protect them. yes, they’re children in school, but the girl next to him is the only one who showed him an ounce of kindness, and yohan is proven to remain loyal to those he loves or trusts in some capacity.

of course, he ends up pitting the rich and the poor kids against one another for their betrayal and making him an outcast. in yohan’s mind, what he did wasn’t necessarily wrong because his sense of justice is based on protection and when people wrong him or those he loves, it’s seeking justice on their behalf or making the situation better - not in the technically right way, but right to him. yohan comes across as a fixer and problem solver.

yohan has a very, very strong sense of trust and loyalty, and we can assume that stems from isaac, who clearly tried to protect yohan from his father, who went out of his way to do so as best as he could as a young kid. yohan values loyalty not because he necessarily wants lap dogs and people to do his bidding. it comes from a place of love and security he’s never really had.

anyway, back to the gala with jinjoo, he does shake the minister’s hand. again, controlled. there are cameras. he also puts his arm around her, and that’s mainly because it’s a battle of the wills, and she’s trying to reprimand him, lol, as if she could. he hugs her a little hard and a little enthusiastically, and you can clearly tell it’s for show.

and then he dances with both jinjoo and sunah. and there is a stark difference between these two scenes. yohan actually teaches jinjoo the proper placement for where she should rest her hands and how to move. he’s actually having a good time with her, and again, it’s actually really cute.

with sunah, he’s reluctant and definitely on guard. he can tell from her demeanor that her intent is with purpose trying to get close to him. at this point in the story, he probably sees it as sunah coming onto him and not because she’s actually the maid from when they were children. when sunah reaches up to whisper in his ear, you can really tell he doesn’t like her being that close to him at all especially because her words may not be overly threatening, but there is purpose behind them, which means yohan’s guards are up. he physically removes her hand and than blatantly turns her down: she tells him that enjoying things alone isn’t fun, and he counters it by saying he’s having a lot of fun.

so at this point to reduce on some screen caps, he meets the minister’s family, has handshakes with her husband and the kid he went after to essentially beat up his car with a mallet, lmao. the handshake is quite funny because they both know what happened. yohan is in control, and that kid is shaking in his boots.

then the explosion happens, and of course, it makes sense that yohan helps gaon after he’s hurt. gaon has never been a threat to yohan, and it’s clear yohan’s not heartless whatsoever, but it’s also poignant to note that gaon helped saved yohan’s life, thus starting yohan’s journey of loyalty to gaon. i think he’s always had his sight set on gaon to begin with, possibly long before he even became an associate judge, but if this was a test, gaon passed it with flying colors because if gaon can rescue a little girl, and he can help an old man who fell off his bike, would he really go the lengths to save yohan who has shown him time and time again his sense of justice is different?

episode three

yohan reacts negatively to soohyun and within good reason when she questions where gaon is. he turns away because for him, the conversation is over, but for her, it’s not. to get his attention, she grabs him when he’s not paying attention, and of course he has a very adverse reaction. at this point, it can be chalked up to disrespect given the fact that he’s a head judge and she’s just a mere cop, but hindsight is 20/20. he does throw her arm off by flicking out his arm. but instead of berating her, he just tells her to catch the culprits who harmed gaon and leaves it at that.

and then of course, everyone’s favorite scene and rightfully so. yohan caring for gaon? very sexy of him. gaon is injured, poses no threat, and as i said above about yohan finding some amount of loyalty in gaon means his physical boundaries aren’t jeopardized. and for that, we get these wonderful scenes of yohan helping gaon as he heals.

and then scenes of him messing around with gaon by hitting him. truth be told, i wonder if this was something him and isaac did as young kids. anyone with siblings know how that goes. fake picking on each other? fake bickering? yeah.

and then it slowly, but surely, it’s revealed that yohan didn’t have the same upbringing as isaac did. our first instance that something at home wasn’t right wasn’t just the conversation with ms. ji and gaon. it’s the flashback with yohan reading in his room when the door opens. he hastily pretends he’s asleep, and you can see he’s visibly shaking and breathing roughly until he realizes it’s isaac who’s there to give him books.

and that’s also when we get our first glance of what kind of abuse yohan suffered from at the hands of his father. it’s clear this isn’t the only incident, and there’s been many times that isaac wasn’t around to help defend him.

it’s also very clear in how yohan acts when he’s terrified and that his abuse has gone on long enough to be a routine pattern in the house. any time he hears heavy footsteps or thinks his father is around, he visibly shakes and gets panicky.

episode four

i include this scene because it’s been noted that a lot of books yohan reads are about humans, human nature, animals, animalistic tendencies, and he says random shit like this that directly points to what he thinks about humanity and humans themselves. we notice this most prominently at the dinner with gaon and jinjoo earlier on when he describes that he likes the feel of the chew and that he cannot taste. he always mentions hunting and prey, and i think this is one of those very clear instances where he actually reveals to gaon what he truly, truly thinks; no gimmicks. this also comes into play later on in ep 6 when elijah is worried about him being out all night. yohan clearly doesn’t trust people at all. he understands their intentions, their motives and how much pain they can cause other people for their own profit and their own gain. it makes sense that he wouldn’t leave his house, especially if he has a strong sense of loyalty to isaac (even after all these years) and caring for elijah.

this is also one of the very direct moments that yohan doesn’t understand family dynamics. when it comes to people, it’s a giant chess game. not only that, later on in the episode when they’re in the car and yohan talks about how people, no matter what, are always the same in front of greed, yohan is cynical, and he expects the bad every single time.

what he reads and the way he words things (here and the discussion of him being a monster, for example) is clearly an indication that he doesn’t trust; that he cannot trust, nor does he want to at this point. yohan doesn’t understand the concept of kindness being given freely (ep 7 when he berates elijah for being used by gaon, telling her she falls for kindness every time). and yet, later on in eps, it’s clear when he’s around the right people and the right mindset (uh, gaon?? lol), he’s constantly putting up a front.

after all in ep 7 when he tells gaon that confidence is key, it literally gives him away not just in the courtroom but in his personal life. there’s a reason he looks softer at home than when he’s not there (the hairstyle changes and clothing).

basically what i’m getting at is this behavior can be seen as a defense mechanism because of his abuse.

then it’s another gala event with gaon and yohan this time. another lovely favorite where yohan helps him get dressed and then proceeds to drag him around and safe him from the lion’s den.

tbh i dont even need to include these, but i’m doing it for the indulgence.

yohan does sorta physically throw gaon as well during the rich people party, but that’s mainly to get him to shut up because he’s trying to show gaon the truth at hand and how all of it’s pretty much a farce.

later on in the episode is when we first have gaon truly attacking yohan verbally, and that’s when yohan snaps. it’s clear that isaac is a trigger for yohan, especially from someone who speaks out of line on something they know nothing about. gaon, truth be told, had a stupid moment confronting yohan the way he did. i don’t know who waltzes up to a proposed murderer and just asks them, lmao.

but here’s the thing, thus far, gaon has not entirely posed a threat to yohan. whether that’s from yohan planting gaon and guiding him exactly where he wants him or gaon just not being as thorough as yohan would like, and he’s trying to tap into that talent, is anyone’s guess. but as i said above, the one thing yohan protects is the things he does care about the most, and he tries to talk himself out of his own feelings. he constantly compares himself to an animal (again, dinner scene with gaon and jinjoo) to justify his actions, and to possibly not feel anything; because that’s easier, isn’t it? not feeling. so on top of gaon calling him a monster and a killer, confronted with the possibility about being a villain in his own brother’s story, obviously sets him off. he beats down his emotions until he’s confronted with it - and this is what gaon also meant in ep 6 about how it’s ridiculous that yohan calls himself a monster over a victim because yohan can’t even see himself in that light. not because he truly believes victims are weak necessarily, but i wonder how much he realizes that what happened to him wasn’t his fault.

to me, and as i just said, yohan convinces himself he’s a monster to make it easier for himself to belief his actions (ep 5 telling gaon some humans are born monsters in relation to himself). it’s not that he inherently thinks he’s wrong, but i think his guidance for what’s right and wrong was misconstrued without a parent figure in his life, especially if he’d read crime and law books as the focus. yohan’s actions, at least quite a bit of them are, are based on a gut feeling of right and wrong. when you think about it and your own sense of justice, how would that differ without the checks and balances in place? what punishment do you think fits the crime if we weren’t bound by written law? yohan thinks any action to protect those he loves is, more or less, justifiable because it’s a means to an end. it’s making a worng right again.

i don’t think yohan is a monster. i think his feelings, and what he knows is love, is misconstrued in terms of how to express it. we see this in episode 7 with his and elijah’s conversation where she’s just trying to be a teen, but his version of love is protecting her without, once again, understanding family dynamics and the pain points of growing up, the learning she has to do on her own. yohan might technically be right; similar to being book-smart but not necessarily street smart. his theory of telling Elijah that she’s soft for kindness and being used was true, but his delivery and the idea that that’s how humans develop doesn’t work. he’s telling her text-book rules, but people don’t live through books. they live through real life. yohan reads to get a sense of fulfillment and to learn. he’s learned his way into adulthood, but that’s not normal.

so uh anyway, back to this familiar scene:

because we don’t know the actual story of isaac’s death, it’s hard to say what role yohan played in his death, but i don’t know that i believe he was the one who did it. the entirety of the devil judge is relying on unreliable narration, so it’s difficult to gauge (for now since we’re on ep 7) how this will turn out and what happened, but to me, it really comes across as yohan upset over the insinuation that he could be the one to cause the death of the one person he loved the most. plus, i think it says a lot that he cares/loves elijah, and she was part of isaac. gaon crossed a thine line. yohan essentially welcomed him in, and this is gaon toeing it. we can also look at this is not gaon being an outsider to their family, but now has become part of the family, and so it’s easier for yohan to be ‘abusive,’ if you will, rather than the perspective of gaon still on the sidelines and pushing too far. by this i mean, the accusations made by gaon threatens their formulating family dynamics.

and once again, the only person he ever actually reaches out for is isaac.

and then we have the aftermath of yohan’s nightmare, where he’s still caught in the dream as gaon comes in, and refuses to be touched after, even if gaon’s intention is to see if he’s okay. yohan makes it very clear to gaon not to touch him, and that’s when elijah comes in with a very accusatory ‘what are you two doing?’ in this moment, yohan is not just vulnerable, but he’s emotionally sensitive. i’ve no doubt he’s still dealing with a form of sensory overload from his dream.

and then, i don’t know that this was necessary? was it necessary?

the following set of scenes are the ones where gaon tells him he’s a victim and he hasn’t confronted his own emotions about his abuse. i think yohan realizes gaon is right to some degree, but it is convoluted, and it’s not so simple to face your own traumas. however, he does for a moment after gaon leaves, remember another instance of abuse he couldn’t stop but wishes he could, wishing a parental figure of sorts would’ve come in to save him like his older self is trying to save the kid version if only he could turn back time, if only he had the power to do what he wish someone else had done for him.

and then the kidnapping scene is just. fucked up in and of itself. it actually makes my skin crawl. not because sunah is scary necessarily, but the lack of autonomy yohan has - especially when we find out later more of sunah’s story. to do something like this after what she’s suffered through makes this scene even more disturbing.

you can see the moment yohan hears heels when sunah (not knowing it’s her yet) comes in. literally the minute he knows someone’s headed his way, he checks the fuck out. his whole face goes slack, especially when sunah reveals herself. and when she’s kissing him? blank as fuck, too. it’s the most dead-eyed stare i think we’ve seen from him.

episode six

so, we get this gem from elijah that i’d like to touch on later. it’s more speculation and just me running through ideas more than it is canon fact. but what it does let us know is that yohan doesn’t seek people out. he prefers to be at home and staying there.

after we get the maid story, and we do get yohan touching sunah’s cheek, and in some fucked up twisted way, this is his way of protecting one of the things isaac cherishes the most. the point of the gesture isn’t just intimidation but serves as an act of intent, of protection in the only way yohan knows how. he’s safeguarding isaac. you can tell he doesn’t actually like sunah at all as a kid, but uses that to his advantage. imagine yohan learning violence for ‘good’ things when his father used violence for ‘bad’ things. what a twisted way of looking at it? and the irony at hand.

additionally, the main reason i’ve included so many varying scenes of yohan touching people isn’t to establish that he’s okay with being touched given how many scenes there are of him randomly shaking people’s hand or touching them. it’s all about context and what the intent is for. most often than not, really way more often than not, yohan only reaches out for people when it’s socially acceptable to do so and because it’s manners. and yet, even in some of those cases, there is still intent behind the gesture.

the moments he acts out the most are when he’s not in front of an audience, when he’s more likely to be alone with his thoughts and is exceptionally more vulnerable to his own triggers.

and i think the scene after he’s back at his house from the kidnapping is noteworthy because it doesn’t just feel like he’s shaking off the effects of the drugs he was given. he seems to visibly trying to compose himself of the mental and physical play he just had to deal with.

the next scene is yohan angry with gaon for taking elijah out. which really, he does have every right to be angry, and one thing i didn’t note above during the ‘you killed your brother’ choke out scene before is that when yohan is backed into any kind of corner, he reacts like a caged animal.

because we’ve already established the scenes with his abuse, his father took his anger physically out on yohan. so how else was yohan supposed have developed the tools to express it? it’s easy to hurt the things you love the most; it’s easy to abuse the ones you know, and between gaon and himself, they both have an unhealthy dynamic because gaon is old enough, strong enough to take whatever yohan gives him. gaon is not family and so there’s still that clear divide and a distinction as to why he lays a hand on gaon but not elijah, for example. gaon can still pose a threat. elijah is family. then again, it can also be said that maybe yohan considers gaon family, and gaon betrayed elijah and therefore yohan, and you don’t do that. not with yohan’s understanding of family dynamics.

but with that said, it begs the question why yohan keeps gaon around, and i think some of that has to do with the fact that gaon surprises yohan. he might’ve set his sights on him long before he became an associate judge or maybe he took interest after gaon was chosen for the role (this is still up in the air), but deep down, yohan sees something in gaon despite his snooping, despite his righteousness. it could be the potential; it could be the fact that gaon could be better than yohan if he just allowed himself to loosen the ropes he’s tied himself with when it comes to the court of law and the justice system.

but here’s the thing that idk a lot of people have really picked up on. gaon is one side of the same coin underneath it all. he’s also provoked yohan with physicality when yohan brought up details about soohyun.

to be fair, we can say that yohan evokes a different type of anger in gaon, one that he hasn’t tapped into for years that allows him to open up to that more physical side of himself he learned to put behind him. gaon doesn’t really come across as the physically threatening type, but yohan does push his buttons and vice versa.

but then, of course, we have the big fight scene where gaon goes in on the attack, and that’s when yohan makes his threat not to attack him ever again. it’d be easy to say he says it based on the merit of him not actually attacking soohyun, but seriously speaking, the intent feels much more than that. more along the lines of asking gaon not to provoke him without warning again because next time might be bad. most of their other fights, especially the one above,have been in the midst of conversation. this time, it’s from a place of complete surprise, and you can tell yohan goes on the defensive when his first instinct is to not just throw gaon back but raise his fist to strike.

episode seven

the only physical contact yohan has with anyone is the president, and that’s when he turns on the live video of the two of them, and it’s clearly intended to be a lowkey threat. he keeps pulling the president back into his side to be on the live camera after the dude tried to come after yohan. i do think it’s hilarious that yohan manipulated the situation with a live component just as the president and the rest of the rich people thought they could turn a live court show into manipulating the public.

and then, of course, the jail scene. the part where he makes gaon stay. he also touches gaon’s shoulder later just before they leave.

episode eight

the most prominent scene in this ep is certainly the scene where sunah comes onto yohan, and you can tell she did it to get under his skin in some way. of course, he’s smart and knows she’s up to something, but i think it’s so interesting how he wraps his fists around hers, almost as if to tame her and prevent her from trying to further put her hands on him.

we also know yohan has no issue with using physical force regardless of who it is (obviously, his dialogue in this scene, too) when he feels caged or trapped. his intention is also to retrieve isaac’s necklace, and i like how he uses literally anything to his advantage. meaning, he’ll use physical touch, his mentality, etc to get what he wants or needs, even if it is marginally uncomfortable to some degree.

and i think that also says alot about him is that he’s able to displace what makes him uncomfortable in moments like this to achieve an end goal.

additional thoughts

i know this isn’t really common with a lot of the characters in general, and could be chalked up to a cultural component, but yohan’s definitely not a hugger.

the other thing i wanted to note is yohan’s seemingly adherence to touch unless it’s for good reason in relation to sex. the main reason i bring it up is because i’ve seen it discussed a bit, especially in regard to elijah’s comment about him not staying out overnight since the fire. there are a few plausible scenarios, maybe more, but for the sake of this, we’ll go for these.

yohan has had past relationships/experience or will in future episodes

day flings

he’s never had an interest in anyone before given his upbringing and abuse and therefore never sought out sex

inexperience could be from lack of interest in other people and sex itself

he’s never found anyone to really connect with and trust in such a way and has avoided it for that reason

and i bring this up mainly because i think it could be something to explore in fanon, but also because i’m kind of annoyed with how people have been talking about yohan being a virgin. i’m not quite sure what the joke is, but lack of sexual experience does not mean naive or that he doesn’t have a sense of humor when that’s clearly far from the truth:

i don’t know that people find it unbelievable because of his age, because of characterization of yohan being more dominant, but none of these things negate this being an option. i think it’s perfectly plausible of a situation (from what we know right now), and truthfully, it would make a whole lot of sense. i just don’t get the jokes about it that i’ve been seeing online (twitter) when there isn’t a mutual exclusiveness to any of it whatsoever.

yohan already has a hard time connecting with people, and i can imagine that level of physicality could be difficult. clearly he knows how to use a version of it to get what he wants. i’ve no doubt he’s used his charms in situations where he’s needed to. yohan knows he has that going for him, at the very least. but sexual appeal and jokes doesn’t mean having a body count any more than it could indicate there being one.

lastly, i also want to pull these paragraphs from @b612sunsets‘s post because i think they do a much better job than i ever could of explaining, short and sweet, a fundamental part of yohan’s characterization, and mainly what i was trying to get at with this long ass post.

“There's two things we already know about Yohan from the last 6 episodes: he hates being touched when he doesn't see it coming and doesn't have control over it because of the abuse he suffered (I assume). To name a few: Soohyun grabbing his elbow to stop him from leaving and get answers about Gaon, the beggar that touched him while he searched for the fireman, Gaon after punching him and Yohan clearly telling him to NEVER do it again. The impression it gave to us is that if there's a next time he might not be able to stop his instinctive reaction of defending himself and using violence back (something worse than choking or pushing Gaon and he doesn't want to do that with him).

“Unless it's a friendly/small/slow touch like in the breakfast scene when Gaon touches his arm when he gets up to offer them some fruits. When he had the nightmare with Isaac, his walls were up high so even if he could see Gaon's touch coming and it was friendly, he decided to stop it because he was too defensive and sensible to accept the gesture (it would be the first time Gaon started physical contact with him too, he wouldn't be ready for that in such a state).

“The second thing is that Yohan hates when people take what is his or mess with what is important to him. Again, to name a few: Sunah with the necklace when she was a maid, the fireman with Isaac's watch (Yohan made them fall from high places, not caring if they died or not), the guy that fabricated the small bombs that hurt Gaon (Yohan would have burnt his face if "K" hadn't stopped him) and Gaon taking Elijah out of the house to Soohyun without previous notice (a cop and someone he doesn't trust).”

yohan has a very, very large sense of self-preservation for himself and for those he cares about. it’s in his intention, actions, facial expressions, movements, the way he interacts with people. i find it fascinating how calculating he can be, but at home, he’s at his most vulnerable and almost socially unaware and awkward.

yohan is a bit of an irony. he understands people from an action-oriented, instinctual level, but he doesn’t necessarily understand their thoughts and emotions in the waves of nuances that people live through on the daily. like, he gets it to an extent and on a practical level, but he himself is a square trying to fit into a circle - he doesn’t always understand it for himself and has to actively work on social cues so as not to come across as the devil child he was once painted to be.

and let it not be unsaid, yohan really will go to the ends of the earth for family, even if it means stepping out of his comfort zone.

and so anyway, i doubt this offered any real insight, but i think this is my way of breaking all of this down for myself. so, tada!!! lmao

#x #the devil judge #the devil judge meta #*#*the devil judge

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writinggarbage007 · 3 years

Text

The Captain’s Assistant

Chapter 14

Steve Rogers x dark! reader, Avengers x dark! Reader

Summary: After 3 years as Cap's assistant and being treated like nothing, you are captured by Hydra and everything changes.

Warnings: swearing, dark themes, abduction, torture, cannon level violence, theft, bank robbery, manipulating people, pregnancy

Slight AU

You went back to the compound with Steve. You had assured him you had everything you needed but he insisted. He wanted Helen Cho to examine you and he wanted you to be with him.

Walking back into the place you had left so many months ago was odd. You were introduced to the assistants. Three of them were fine but the fourth gave you a look that you recognized. She was jealous. You watched her simper at Steve and you knew what you were going to do. She'd have to go. Giving him a look when he met your eyes you cloaked yourself in shadows and headed to the med bay.

Steve called your name but you continued on, invisible to the residents of the compound until you stood in front of Helen and dropped the shadows. She jumped and laughed.

"I swear you do that just to rattle me." She says taking your arm and leading you to the treatment room they had set up.

"I'm sorry,"you reply. "Pregnancy hormones I think. That assistant, I didn't catch her name. Short, black and purple hair. She was flirting with Steve and I had to get out of there."

You showed no signs that you knew Steve was behind the door.

"It's perfectly normal to have mood swings. Don't worry about Sheila. She's been flirting for months. I believe Steve hasn't even noticed." Helen says as she takes your blood pressure. "A bit elevated but not I'm surprised. Try to stay calm. Your baby daddy isn't interested in her"

"I couldn't blame him. He is free to do what he wants. We don't have a commitment or anything. I'm sure we can co-parent if he wants to date." You say for Steve's benefit.

Helen draws out a syringe to draw blood and looks at you for a moment. She sets the tubes for the blood on the tray beside you and says, "That's a very mature attitude."

You just hum. When she's done she hands you a cup and points you to the bathroom. After you finish and leave the cup, you wash your hands. You smile when you hear Steve's voice, asking Helen questions about pregnancy.

Stepping back into the room you give Steve a tight smile and get back on the table. Helen turns on the ultrasound machine. The jelly is cold against your belly and when she starts moving the wand and taking measurements you look over at Steve. His eyes are glued to the screen.

She points out the babies features and flips the switch so the heartbeat echoes around the room. Steve looked at you and said your name, grabbing your hand.

"You said 30 weeks?" Helen asks.

"Almost 31" you say with a sly smirk in Steve's direction.

"Had your doctor mentioned the size of the baby?"

"He said she was on the larger side but that everything looked normal." You answer.

"She is slightly larger than average. We may have to induce at about 36 weeks. We'll monitor her and see. If you want a vaginal birth that may be our best option."

"I'll think about it and get back to you."you say as she wipes your belly and you adjust your clothes.

When you try to sit up you struggle and Steve rushes to your aid. Helping you down off the table he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

"That's it for today's check up. I'll see you back here in 3 days. And I'll call if the there is any problem with the labs. Remember to stay calm." Helen leaves and closes the door.

"Do you want to get some lunch" Steve asks and you let out a sigh.

"It's ok. I remember where the kitchen is. I just really want a shower and a nap." You say, giving him another tight smile." What room did they put me in?"

"I didn't know what you wanted to do so I had Sam and Buck put your stuff in my room. Dumpling is there too." Steve said staring at you with puppy dog eyes, as if he expected rejection.

"That's fine. I'm just so tired." You say, trying to hold back a yawn.

"Come on sweetheart we'll get you tucked in and then have lunch' taking your hand and leading you out the door.

You napped for about 2 hours, Steve laying next to you with his hand on your bump, feeling the baby kicking in a pattern when he talked to her. You awoke to him telling the baby all about his plans for the future. "Your mom got us a pretty house we can use when we need to get away.* He says to the bump and you shift and smile at him.

"I have a surprise for you." You tell him reaching across the bed for your phone.

When you open the app for photos you show him a picture of the safe room, complete with queen sized bed and cradle. He seems pleased you thought of safety for yourself and the baby.

The next photo you show him is of the playroom. His mouth drops open when he realizes the playroom is for Daddy, not the baby.

Painted a dark red with a gothic styled bed. The sheets were black, as were the accessories hanging on the wall. The windows covered in heavy black curtains that echo the ones on the bed. His pupils dilate and you were delighted when he attached his mouth to yours.

When he let you up for air you told him you weren't sure if he would even see it but you hoped.

He started to kiss you again when your stomach started growling and he immediately jumped up to try to get you food. You laughed and said you'd shower while he ordered pizza.

When you were done showering you put on a pair of maternity jeans and one of Steve's blue dress shirts. Sheila needed to know she wasn't going to be taking your man. Dumpling was sleeping on the sofa as you passed the common room, curled into Bucky's side as he reclined watching a movie. You waved to him and headed to the kitchen.

Steve was sitting at the table with 3 pizza boxes and Clint was sitting on the counter when you walked in.

"Oh my God look at you!" Clint all but shouted dropping down to scoop you up in a hug. The baby thumped against his stomach and he laughed. "How's our girl" he asked laying his hand on your belly.

"She's starving", you said with a laugh and Clint rushes you to the table.

You took out 2 slices of pizza and Steve gave you a glass of water. Just as you went to take a sip Natasha walked in. You watched Steve's jaw tighten and Clint smile awkwardly at her.

"Do you boys think we could have a minute?" Natasha asked, and Steve starts to speak but you grab his hand.

"It's ok. I should have talked to her before." You tell him with a smile and he sighs.

"I'll be in the living room with Bucky and Dumpling. If you need me just yell." Steve says kissing your forehead.

Clint pats your back on his way out and you hear him ask Steve "Does Bucky have chinese food?" And Steve laughs.

Natasha sits across from you and stares you down. You stare back not breaking eye contact.

"I'm sorry for treating you like I didn't trust you."she finally breaks the silence and the darkness inside you all but roars with delight.

You smile at her and say "That must have hurt."

She lets out a laugh before replying.

"It really did."

"Look, Natasha. I left because I didn't want to hurt Steve. I didn't want whatever is going on with me to get in his way. I figured he'd be better off without me, then he turned up on my doorstep." The darkness purrs as she swallows that lie. "I told Fury about the baby because he is the only person I felt like I had left. I knew there was a chance he'd tell Steve but I had hidden so well i didn't expect him there. I was going to call him after she was born to talk about co-parenting. From what I saw when I got here it looks like he was fine without me. He wanted me to come here to see Helen because of my mutation and his super soldier serum."

She sits back in her chair. She seems to consider for a minute and then says, "He wasn't fine. He and Tony spent about 8 hours a day trying to track you. You need to stop robbing banks, by the way. But if you meant Sheila, he's never given her a second look. Honestly I don't know that he has ever looked directly at her."

"I promise I won't rob banks if you promise to try to be friends. If not friends than at least friendly. You mean a lot to Steve and I don't want to cause friction."

"I think we can work on that." She says. "When are you due?"

"Helen says probably an induction in about 5 weeks" you say patting your belly. "This is a big girl."

"It's a girl? What are you going to name her?" Natasha says standing to round the table. "May I?" She says pointing to your bump.

"Go ahead, and thanks for asking first. I don't know about names. I have a list but I now I figured I should ask Steve's opinion."

She nods and starts talking to the baby in Russian. She gets a few gentle kicks then puts her hand on your shoulder and says " I have a past I'm not particularly fond of remembering. I know how dark the world can be. If you ever want to talk I'm here for you."

You smile at her and offer her a slice of pizza. She takes it with a wink and heads for the door.

Steve comes back in and asks how it went and you tell him you're going to try to be friends.

He seems pleased.

That night you sleep in his arms.

The next morning he surprised you with a ring.

Everything was going according to plan.

@supraveng @missmidnightxo @mischievouscassie @chris-butt @theinsanespaceship15

#steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #captain america #steve x reader #dark reader #the avengers

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calmsweetcreature · 4 years

Text

Making Out (BLURB 4/4)

A/N: These are little preference type things where someone sends me a prompt or title and I do a little blurb for each guy💙 send me ideas my lovelies! And let me know what you think!

Warnings: Mainly fluff, might be a lil’ something smutty here or there.

Luke

I feel like with Luke it would start with you both cuddling Petunia on a warm sunny afternoon.

***

You had been lounging on the couch for most of the day, listening to chill music and enjoying each other’s company. Luke had been staring at his two girls for a long time now, watching you nuzzle your nose against the top of Piggy’s head and kiss her ears.

“I’m starting to feel neglected over here.” Luke’s voice comes out husky from lack of talking, the two of you enjoying the silence and peace of the lazy summer afternoon.

“Awh poor baby,” you tease, grinning cheekily at your boyfriend as you leave Petunia’s side to crawl across the couch to lay across Luke’s lap.

“Damn right,” He smiles sweetly at you, stroking his fingers across your cheek. You lean into his hand, sighing contently as you both stare into each others eyes. Your eyes sparkle with a bright and happy love in them as you lean up to peck your man on the lips.

Luke instantly deepens the movement of his lips on yours and his fingers slide through your hair to hold your head close.

Without parting from the kiss you move to straddle his lap, your hands on his shoulders. You both want to be as physically close as you can get, with your bodies pressed up against each others. You both moan against each others mouths as your fingers tangle in his curls to give little tugs while his hands grip your neck and his thumbs rub over your jaw.

It wasn’t so much intense as it was needy, both of you playfully going between shorter pecks and long tongue rolling kisses as you wrapped yourself around each other.

You could feel that Luke was affected by your kisses and you couldn’t help the giggle that spills out of your lips, causing him to pull away and glare at you playfully.

“What are you laughing at there missy? I know it isn’t my amazing kissing skills.” You roll your eyes at his words and tug on his hair hairder making him laugh.

“Not at all bub, I just feel flattered that my superior kissing skills have affected you so much.” To prove your point you wiggle your hips causing Luke to gasp out loud.

“You’ve got me there love. What do ya say we move this to the bedroom?” He wiggles his eyebrows and gives you an exaggerated wink, causing you to laugh out loud and lean forward so your lips are to his ear.

“Sounds like a plan, but I think that it’s only fair if...” You dip your head lower to leave a long lick along the sensitive part of his neck causing Luke to shiver. “...Last one to the bedroom is a couch potato!”

You jump off of Luke’s lap and run towards the bedroom, cackling loudly as you hear Luke’s footsteps behind you.

“Hey no fair!” His shout echoes through the halls as he chases after his girl.

Calum

Our loveable soft boi at his finest

***

You had been standing in the doorway for the best part of fifteen minutes, watching Cal’s face intently concentrating on his computer screen. He had been messing around with a new song idea and had recorded bits and pieces to mess around with. He’d listen to the same ten second clip about forty times and was ready to pull his hair out. He takes his headphones off and leaves them around his neck as he adjusts his cap. He rests his head back against the chair and groans softly, his eyes slipping shut.

You sigh softly, walking over to your man and placing your hands on his shoulders. He jumps slightly before relaxing into your gentle touch as you try to soothe his tense muscles.

“Don’t think I didn’t know you were watching me, creeper.” His words are a soft murmur and you gasp, spinning his chair around until he is facing you.

“If you knew then why didn’t you talk to me?” You fake hurt for a second before a smile fills your face and you sit softly in his lap. His arms go around your waist and his hands settle on your thighs, drawing a lazy pattern up and down your legs.

“I’m sorry doll, I was concentrating extra hard. Not that it helped, I’m still not sure what to do with it and my heads fucked.” His eyes look so tired that you can’t help but clutch his face in your hands, peppering kisses all over his cheeks and mouth.

“What do you say we order food in, I run you a hot bath while we wait for it and then we sit outside with a few beers and some music and relax? You can come back to this tomorrow with a fresh mind.” You press your forehead against his and place your hands on his shoulders again, rubbing the tension away.

“You’re too fucking good to me, but you got one thing wrong sweetness.” His words are low and heavy which makes your stomach tighten.

“What’s that?” Your words are hushed as you stare into his eyes, sure he can see the longing in yours.

“You’re going to run us a bath, if I’m going to relax I’m going to need my girl with me.” You smile at his words, nodding your head softly before Calum reaches a hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. His plush lips move against yours softly and you sigh into the kiss.

After a few seconds you both pull away and you can see a twinkle returning to the eyes of your thoughtful boy.

“I love you doll.”

“Love you always my music man.”

Your lips meet again and you just enjoy being close, getting drunk on the taste of each other.

Ashton

I miss our cheerful man, so I couldn’t resist this scenario.

***

The music was blaring through the house as you stood at the kitchen counter, shimmying your hips and using the mixing spoon as your microphone, your cake mix starting to look as it should.

“Woah, we’re halfway there woah, livin’ on a prayer!” You spun around, your fuzzy socks sliding across the floor.

“Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear!” Ashton’s voice makes you jump as his arms wrap around your waist as he spins you around.

“Woah, livin on a prayer, living on a prayer!” You both sing your hearts out, laughing as you fall to the floor in a heap. An egg drops from the counter, heading for the floor when Ashton’s quick reflexes stop it from hitting the ground.

“So I see you’re having a productive day,” Ash’s eyes are teasing but the big smile on his face is infectious and you grin back at him.

“I’m making a cake, half of it is in the oven and I’ve just finished the second half - it’s going to be amazing!” You say proudly.

“I can see that angel, just don’t burn the house down again yeah?” You gasp, hitting him on the chest as you climb on top of him.

“Take that back Irwin! That was one time and I’d hardly call it burning the house down... it was just a little smoke!” You can’t stop the blush rising to your cheeks as Ash laughs, sitting up on the kitchen floor.

“That cake was delicious if I remember, charcoal was very on trend back then.” He smirks, planting a kiss on your nose as you growl softly at him in annoyance.

“Well let me get back to this one if you don’t want a repeat, I don’t need your distractions today mister!” You go to get up when one of his hands goes to your back to keep you in place.

“Not all distractions are bad ones.” He murmurs, his lips finding yours. You both battle for dominance but Ash eventually wins (duh) and he deepens the kiss, his tongue rolling against yours before he leans back to bite your bottom lip. You get lost in the kiss, your hand sliding under his tee to feel his chest when you hear and feel a crunch against the back of your head before a trail of slime falls down your hair. You pull away in shock.

“Oh. No. You fucking didn’t.” His grin tells all and you look down at his hand to see the remnants of a crushed raw egg in his hands. “You’re about to fucking get it Irwin.”

The two of you pause for a moment before you’re both scrambling to reach for anything and everything you can get your hands on, flinging flour and cake mixture at each other until you yet again slip and land with a crash on the floor, only this time you are both covered in food.

“Damn it Ashton! I have to start again!” You’re words are scolding but the grin on your face can’t be hidden as you stare down the love of your life.

He laughs, pushing cake mix covered hair out of your face and pulling you in for another long drawn out kiss. The oven timer goes off and he stands, switching off the oven to avoid another cake burning disaster.

“Now now my little cupcake. You know the best part about making cakes?” You shake your head, taking the hand he holds out to you and lifting yourself off of the floor. He picks you up by your hips and wraps your legs around his waist, carrying you carefully through the house. “Washing it off each others bodies.”

Michael

Our gamer lad, seemed fitting

***

You had been led in bed for over an hour waiting for Mikey to finish his game. You weren’t annoyed at him by any means but you were beginning to feel neglected and in all honesty, needy.

You come up with a master plan and start walking towards his office, shedding your sweatpants leaving you only in Michael’s hoodie, your undies and the knee high socks you know drive him crazy. You can hear him talking on his headset and you chuckle under your breath as you swing the door open slightly. He looks extra cute today in his stripey sweater and glasses, a beanie sat on his messy hair.

He pauses the game at the sound of the door opening and turns to look at you, choking on his breath when he sees what your wearing.

He lifts the mic away from his mouth, swearing under his breath.

“Uh hey baby, you okay?” He asks, his eyes on your legs as you walk over to him.

“I’m feeling needy M, can I sit with you while you play?” You don’t wait for his answer before you straddle his lap, your legs folded next to his as you bury your face in his neck.

“Of course baby, you don’t need to ask. Are you sure you’re okay?” He strokes your back softly, feeling you nod your head against his neck.

He pecks your shoulder softly before repositioning his headset and continuing his game. You sit quietly for the next ten to fifteen minutes while he plays, nestling against his chest and feeling him shake with laughter or rumble when something goes wrong.

As he really settles into the gameplay you start littering tiny kisses against his neck. You feel him tense slightly before resuming the game, every chance he gets he rubs his hand across your back. You start deepening the kisses, pecking over the stubble and occasionally finding a spot to suck on softly. You feel him lip the mic once again.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He tenses, although he tilts his head slightly to the side so that you can reach more of his neck and you know that your plan is working.

You lick where his neck and shoulder meet and you feel him shiver which lets you know to initiate the next part of the plan.

You start to circle your hips over his crotch softly and a little moan leaves his lips.

“You’re playing a dangerous game sweetheart.” He murmurs. You giggle softly against his neck and he sighs, gritting his teeth and sucking in a breath as you grind particularly hard down onto the growing bulge in his pants. He quits the game, ripping off his headset and throwing it onto the couch behind him.

He grips your jaw in his hand and roughly pulls your face to his, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“So when you said you were needy...” His words trail off as he notices the desire in your eyes, your hips fully rocking against him.

He uses his thumb on your bottom lip to open your mouth wide, slanting his face and leaning in so that he can crash his lips hard against yours. You give in to him straight away, kissing him as hard as you can. Your tongues wrestle back and forth and its a filthy kiss with so much need involved that it sets your bodies on fire.

It’s a few minutes before you’re both pulling away and panting hard, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Do you want to go back to bed or shall we just stay here?” His words are hushed but he hears your whine and knows exactly what you need. “I got you baby.” His fingers curl your hair around his fist and he moves your head so his lips can attach to your neck as other hand trails softly under the hoodie your wearing. Let’s just say he knows exactly what buttons to press, your gamer guy.

#5sos #5sos imgaines #5sos smut #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #calum hood #michael clifford #michael clifford smut #calum hood smut #ashton irwin smut #luke hemmings smut #luke hemming imagines #calum hood imagine #ashton irwin imagine #michael clifford imagine

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reyescarlos · 3 years

Note

YES!!! 14 “Please don’t tell me you filmed that.” “Of course I filmed it.” for tarlos and maybe a little bit of that yeehaw firefam if you would be so kind thank you i love you

omg the shenanigans! thanks for getting me to branch out and attempt writing the rest of the crew! oh how i love the 126 🤠

#14 “Please don’t tell me you filmed that.” “Of course I filmed it.”

It’s become something of a custom for the 126 to gather outside of work. Where most people would be tired of seeing their co-workers constantly, the station’s team never seems to shy away from any excuse to extend their days. Even after a long shift, just the mere mention of plans gets the crew excited.

Owen affectionately calls it family time, an opportunity for the crew to get together periodically after shifts and try different activities together. TK can’t actually say he minds the opportunity to bond even further with the team. In a lot of ways, in almost no time at all, the 126 has come together and formed quite the family, one that TK is sincerely proud to be a part of.

As an only child, he’d spent a great deal of time on his own, admittedly curious about what it would have been like to have a big brother or sister looking out for him or even what it could be like to be an older brother himself. Life was funny in the way it brought the various members of the crew into his world. Now he knew precisely what it was like to be surrounded by siblings and all the highs and lows that came with that. They could bicker amongst themselves but at the end of the day, there was nothing but love between them all.

Outings like this, bowling on a Friday night after their shift, were moments that TK has quickly come to cherish. It’s made all the more special with tonight’s guest joining in on the fun. TK’s relationship with Carlos is still new, just a month and a half underway but without question the man’s presence is always a welcomed thing at any and all times.

Owen and Michelle head over to the stand to get food and drinks for everyone, the rest of the team piling into their seats. Marjan commandeers the center console, her eyes glossing over the buttons for a moment.

“I’d just like to go on record saying that bowling is not my thing,” Paul announces the second he flops into his seat.

“Josie still hasn’t managed to teach you?” Carlos asks.

Paul smiles and TK can’t help but to do the same. He was all too happy when Josie and Paul amended things, the two of them meeting up and having a serious conversation. It had been a tentative road, one that TK had worried Paul wouldn’t care to repair. He certainly wouldn’t have faulted Paul if he decided not to but TK had easily picked up on the chemistry between them and had been hopeful that one day they’d be able to reconnect.

It’d taken a few weeks for Paul to be open to the idea of putting his heart out there with Josie again and it seemed to be paying off now.

“We, uh, kinda get distracted during lessons,” Paul says with a shrug and a smirk.

“Alright, so you’re definitely not on my team then,” Marjan quips, double checking her laces on her rentals. “How about you, Carlos? Are you any good at bowling?”

“Yeah, I’ve been playing since I was a kid.”

Marjan grins. “Excellent, you’re with me then.”

TK raises a hand in protest. “Wait, wait, wait. You can’t just start stealing all the best players for your team.”

Marjan looks to the left, then the right, then back at him.

“Says who? That’s the whole point of calling dibs,” she says. “It’s not my fault you guys are just slow.”

TK jokingly narrows his eyes at her. “Alright, then we get Judd. We need at least one solid player on our team.”

Her mouth twists to one side in thought. “Fine, I’ll allow it. Judd, I wish your back well. It’s going to take a lot to carry your team.”

“What else is new?” Judd muses.

Paul places a hand over his heart. “Ice cold, Marwani. I knew you were competitive but damn, is it really like that?”

“Oh, that’s precisely how it is.”

Carlos laughs and shakes his head. “Who knew firefighters could be so vicious?”

“Marjan is the worst of all when it comes to games,” Mateo says. “But she’s pretty much undefeated so she’s doing something right.”

TK wishes he could argue the point but Marjan’s competitive nature always gives her an extra edge over the others. Sometimes he gets to bask in the warm glow of victory if they’re paired up. Other times he has to admit defeat.

“Alright, so what are the two teams looking like?” Mateo asks Marjan.

She starts typing in her name first. “So it’s me, you, Carlos, and I think we’ll snag Cap.”

“Pitting me against my father and my boyfriend? A little cruel, don’t you think?”

Marjan laughs. “Clearly I’m out to get you today.”

She continues typing in everyone’s names until all eight are on the board. “Cool, we’re good to go.”

Judd stands up first and gets his ball from the ball return. It’s a weighty all black ball that he sends flying down the lane without much buildup at all.

TK watches it streak down the lane, tipping over eight pins.

“That’s how you knock ‘em down,” he proudly boasts, turning back to the others.

Marjan rolls her eyes but TK can see she’s actually impressed with how well Judd has done right out of the gate. Mateo has his phone out, taking pictures and videos as he always does during their get togethers.

TK sits beside Carlos, placing his head on his shoulder as they all watch Judd set up his next frame. He can feel the press of Carlos’ lips against the crown of his head and he smiles to himself at the move. TK shifts and steals a kiss, a hand resting on Carlos’ chest.

“No fraternizing with the enemy,” Paul grumbles. “Don’t make me get a hose for you two. You know I can make that happen like that,” he says, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

The crew takes turns and before long, Marjan is calling TK up to take his turn. It strikes him how odd his feet feel inside of his rentals. The floor is so much smoother than he was anticipating and he glides a bit as he heads to the ball return.

“You alright there, Happy Feet?” Judd calls out, earning a few laughs from the team.

“I’ve got this,” TK assures, placing his fingers into the holes.

“Famous last words,” Marjan says at the same time as Paul who says, “Dead man walking.”

TK picks up his ball and draws in a breath as he raises in front of him. Bowling is not his forte. The last time he stepped foot in a bowling alley had to have been when he was in high school, if not junior high. He and his friends didn’t know or care to learn the rules and that suited him just fine. This was as simple a concept as any. Even little kids were capable of knocking over pins. Surely he, an adult, could do the same too without incident.

He studies the little arrows on the floor before him all pointing towards the pins as if he needed reminding on which direction to go. TK rolls his eyes at them and lowers his arm, swinging it back. As he goes to release the ball, his wrist locks a bit. His body tugs with the momentum and it dawns on TK that this is not about to end well for him.

The ball slips from his hand clumsily and in his haste to try and maintain control, his left foot slips. It happens in the blink of an eye, the time it takes for the ball to hit the wooden floor and for his butt to do the same.

Marjan’s cackle is the loudest of them all, practically filling every square inch of the bowling alley.

Carlos is beside him quickly, holding out a hand to help him up. TK’s face burns hot with embarrassment, his backside already aching. He looks to where his friends are, Mateo’s phone angled a little too perfectly at him.

There’s only one conclusion to draw from such a sight and TK, as foolish as it is, hopes against hope that he’s wrong.

“Please don’t tell me you filmed that.”

“Of course I filmed it, are you kidding me? I’m totally making this into a boomerang. That was gold,” Mateo laughs, shoving his phone towards the others and tapping the screen.

Judd is wiping away tears from his eyes, Marjan’s cheeks are flushed, and Paul is doubled over in his seat as they watch the video. To his credit, Carlos is doing his best not to join in but his cheekbones are raised so highly on his face, his lips pressed tightly together in a valiant effort to suppress a laugh.

“You too?” TK jokingly reprimands.

“I’m sorry but if you saw it go down like we did…,” he trails off, placing a kiss against TK’s temple.

TK groans and buries his face against the side of Carlos’ neck as he wraps an arm around his waist.

“What’s going on here? We leave you all for five minutes and you guys are falling to pieces,” Owen says, Michelle just a step behind him, their hands filled with packed trays of nachos and drinks.

“I got you, Cap. Look at this,” Mateo says a little too eagerly, surrendering his phone to Owen.

TK groans yet again and Carlos merely pulls him in a little closer as the team watches the two captains view the video. It’s mortifying but the crew relishes in it, watching eagerly. TK can hear the bowling ball thud and a second later himself. The laughter of the crew plays back, only this time with his own father’s laugh and Michelle’s joining the mix in real time.

“Is this online? That’s just what this station needs, another firefighter going viral.”

#tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #marjan marwani #paul strickland #judd ryder #mateo chavez #the 126 #pauline pocket #kimmy writes

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nagia-pronounced-neijia · 3 years

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY

tagged by @ejunkiet

Warnings: Catholicism, somebody being extremely sarcastic about the holiest of the sacraments; if those things trigger or upset you, scroll on by.

So, the thing is, it wasn't supposed to go like this. He gets about four seconds of, "oh shit" when he puts his foot down inside what was apparently a circle of something.

A whole lot of things seem to happen in those four seconds. He recognizes the circle -- formed in salt! He doesn't know much about magic, but he knows you can't write spells in salt! -- and looks up at the witch chief. She looks over-fucking-joyed, and expectant, and he can't watch that, so he looks to Alucard and Sypha.

Sypha reaches for him, fingers splayed and arms out like she's trying to cast. He sees the determination locking down her jaw, thinning her mouth, and the wide edge of real fear that makes the corners of her eyes smooth out.

Alucard reaches too, and he's fast. He blurs red around the edges; Trevor almost doesn't see him coming.

Their fingertips touch. Sypha screams something, ragged and desperate and horrible --

His hand slips through Alucard's, somehow translucent, like a silk screen or a chemise. Like a ghost.

Alucard's eyes go so wide, the red burning away inside them out of what's probably rage.

The world falls away.

He wakes with a bony elbow prodding him in the ribs. He jabs back reflexively without opening his eyes, muttering, "Fuck!" as he does.

His voice sounds weird.

Those are the two stupid, stupid things he first notices: some arsehole's bony elbow and that his voice sounds higher pitched than it should.

He opens his eyes to find a pew in front of his face. An actual church pew, complete with the kneeler and the carved cross cut-outs and everything. Hell, his knees are on the kneeler, how's that for hopelessly wrong?

He looks around out of the corners of his eyes. He hasn't been in a church in thirteen years, but he remembers how shitty people get about other people not paying attention. It just looks like a normal congregation; everyone in what's probably their best and the women all have their hair covered. Their eyes are all on the priest ahead of the chancel. He looks and sounds and moves like every other parish priest Trevor has seen.

At the front, the priest calls, "Oremus," in that rhythm they have, and apparently Trevor is still a Christian in deed, if not in heart, because he rises smoothly, automatically, with all the rest.

This church looks familiar, he thinks as he rises. There's the transept with the little crack in its window. The chancel is a little more in shadow than it ought to be; it takes the shine off the altar, which is arranged simply.

Something is fucked. He knows something is just in a new land of wrong and upside-down. He just can't tell what it is, besides his presence.

The priest chants in Latin. Trevor fights not to roll his eyes. Yes, yes, he wants to say. Praise be to God for the Eucharist. What would we do if we didn't literally eat and drink our Savior? Praise him, praise him, forever and ever.

Everyone around him repeats after the priest. It's all such garbage and he's still trying to figure out how the hell he got from the salt circle to a church, and how he's not on fire for being in said church.

The person next to him jabs him again with their bony-ass elbow. Trevor jabs back, again, muttering unkind things about their parentage. The next jab is harder, and shortly after that there's a familiar cuff to the back of his head.

He almost starts looking around more, but fourteen years of getting cuffed for looking any way but forward are very fresh in his mind. Best not to draw any more attention to himself.

With no better options, he recites with everybody else. His voice still sounds wrong in his head, and it cracks and feels uncomfortable when he tries to speak lower.

After the Postcommunion, they all kneel again, then rise.

"Benedicamus Domino," the priest sings.

They all chant back, "Deo gratias," and the general shuffling toward the exit begins.

And now that Trevor can actually look around without getting smacked, he's starting to see precisely why everything seems so familiar. He knows this nave. Knows this church. They'd come here his whole life.

And, filing away toward the narthex, he sees four familiar dresses, four familiar white veils, made of fine linen from Targovişte. They move with the smooth, graceful glide over the rough stone floors that he'd thought he'd never see again.

His sisters.

It hits him like an actual sucker punch, like somebody slamming a chair into him in a bar fight. His stomach clenches up like a fist. He makes some sort of horrible choking noise as all the breath in his lungs decides to leave. He wheezes in another breath, feels it whistling down a throat that doesn't want to open.

And ahead of them, his mother shines in the doorway, outlined and turned into a smudge by the early afternoon sunlight.

Ahead of her, Father turns. He makes an impatient gesture, calling Trevor's name.

His whole body feels numb. He goes anyway. Now that he's doing something more complicated than standing and kneeling, he can't help noticing his balance is off. Like he's not just shorter but slimmer, lighter.

Like, for instance, he's fourteen or so.

This can't be happening. Salt doesn't work magic. People don't step into salt circles and find themselves in fucking consecrated churches from thirteen years ago.

Near Father, Luminița gives him a smile from under her hood.

Trevor smiles back. Even if this isn't happening, even if it's some cruel dream, she's his closest sister.

They walk home from church in a thick knot, exactly the way he remembers. The way he's longed for.

It's Sara, his second-closest, who laces her arm in his and leans in. The hem of her cap has frayed a little; it needs re-sewn.

Ha. Like he can talk. He only launders his clothes regularly because otherwise Sypha and Alucard probably wouldn't speak to him. And sure, he can darn his own socks, but that doesn't mean he actually does any mending when it needs done.

"You seemed distracted during Mass today," she says, and her voice is the same mixture of high pitch and dry delivery that makes everything short of a threat sound kind of funny.

It's not real. Can't be happening. Not. Real. Just a fucking vicious, painful dream a witch came up with. Somewhere above him, Sypha and Alucard are dealing with a small coven and trying to wake him up.

Knowing all that doesn't stop the warmth in his chest, that huge bubble of impossible fondness that always accompanies seeing his most precious people after a long absence.

"Just thinking about things."

It's Luminița who asks, "What kinds of things?"

"Just things." One good point of being probably four-and-ten again: he can get away with that.

Both his sisters laugh at him.

The walk home is long and surprisingly warm. He thinks it must be Lent, and that means early spring. He would have expected grayer skies, the last few flurries of snow, but instead it's all an expanse of blue. The sun pours down on his head, gradually warming him.

They reach the great gate by late afternoon. A nod from Father, and Mother takes her keyring from her belt and fits key to lock. There's a resounding click and then they're swinging it open. Trevor, as the last one through, pulls the gate shut, listening for the sound of the mechanism.

He still has a hard time believing any of this is real.

He stares up at the stout walls, of good oak and better stone, at the windows with real leaded glass, at the pennant of the Belmont crest hanging from one of the windows. A hunting party must be away; they only display that when someone's left the house on a hunt.

This all feels… It's completely crazy, but at the same time, it feels right. Accurate, maybe: it feels like he's walking, all too aware, through a Lenten Sunday that really happened to him.

Father and his sisters go directly into the house. Except for Luminița and Sara, none of them has ever had much patience for him when he's being slow.

It's Mother who waits on the front step. She reaches out to catch his face in between her palms. They're softer than his own, than Father's, but they're still callused and chapped, just in different places.

"You've been out of sorts," she says, sweeping her thumbs over his cheekbones before resting the back of her hand against his forehead.

He doesn't protest the touch. Maybe he would have, at fourteen, but he hasn't been anywhere near his mother in thirteen years. Instead he allows it, unwilling even to close his eyes if that means losing sight of her.

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

His mother hums. "If it's about Old Marta… Well, you're kind, Trevor, but there was nothing we could have done for her."

Old Marta? He thinks back, trying to remember. He has the vaguest, dimmest memory of an aging woman with apple cheeks who always smelled of onion. She sold cheese, maybe?

His mother mistakes his confusion for something else. She does the thing where she squeezes his face in her hand. Squeeze isn't the right word -- but she cups his cheek and grips, and instead of threatening, it's comforting.

How had he forgotten that she did things like that? Does things like this?

"It's not the fire or the heat. It's the smoke. It's very quick -- minutes, at most. Almost as good a death as a beheading, and then they're made pure and good again. She didn't suffer."

The sheer fucking irony of those words coming from the mouth of this woman. This woman, who didn't die of fire or heat, but of being trapped in a smoky little room, who died coughing, is telling him that burned witches don't suffer?

He squints at her, looking not with the eye of a self-absorbed youth, but of a man. The last thirteen years taught him to read a room, to read a face, to listen to what people weren't saying.

That's why he sees it: the faint tremor at the corner of her mouth, the flickering of her eyelids.

She's lying. She's lying to protect a boy who's always been a little too soft to be a Belmont.

And that's when the memory finally settles in place, and he remembers Old Marta. Burned as a witch in the town square in Sighișoara, and they hadn't been able to do anything about it. It had been uniquely galling to the whole family. Even Grandfather Rafael, who always focused more on killing what was wicked than on protecting his countrymen, had hated everything about it.

Of course, less than a year later, they'd all been accused of black magic, excommunicated, and burned alive. Fuck.

#castlevania fic #fragment #wip wednesday #god shits in my dinner yet again #save the belmonts save the world #remember when I said trevor is ex-catholic and pissed about it?#yeah these scenes are why #whip wednesday

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abarbaricyalp · 3 years

Note

prompt idea for sam/steve/bucky

sharing clothes :)

All Caps, my love (this was so fun to work on because it really highlighted how differently I write them when Steve is involved)

Set in the same universe as You Don't Have to Read My Mind (to know what I have in mind) which means Nico and Hattie make a return and silver fox Commander Rogers is around

Read on AO3!

The Other Be Other

It was Nico who noticed it first, so he didn’t say jack to anyone. Well, not right away. It took him three days to break and scoot his desk chair into Hattie’s cubicle. “Hey, did you see Barnes the other day?” he asked.

Hattie’s eyelids actually fluttered. “Fuck, he looked so good,” she said. “And smelt good too.”

Nico scrunched up his nose. “He smelled like fried fish. Anyway, did you see that shirt he was wearing?”

He let Hattie think. Let her mentally redress him. “It was that blue fishing shirt, wasn’t it? Over a white t-shit. He had it open.”

“Yeah. It was a blue shirt with darker blue sharks on it,” Nico said.

“You pay a lot of attention to him. Hey, if you’re into Barnes, I’m not backing down. You’ll have to fight me for him,” she teased.

Nico blushed furiously and then willed it away because he didn’t want to explain why he was blushing or let Hattie think he was blushing because he had a crush on Barnes. “No, that’s not what I meant. Wilson was wearing the same shirt two weeks ago when he came in to file the newest report on Walker.”

Now Hattie scrunched up her nose. “Fuck that guy,” she said and Nico almost laughed.

“I would’ve thought he was your type.”

“As if,” she said. “So what? Barnes and Wilson have the same shirt.” Nico cut her an unimpressed look. “You think Barnes and Wilson are wearing the same shirt,” she clarified.

“Listen, everyone already knows Barnes wears Wilson’s Air Force hoodie,” Nico said.

“Someone said it was the new Falcon’s.”

“It’s not Joaquin’s,” Nico said quickly. Too quickly. Horrifyingly quickly.

“Oh my God, do you like the new Falcon?” Hattie asked.

“We’re not talking about the new Falcon,” Nico said. “We’re talking about Wilson and Barnes.”

“Barnes and Wilson,” Hattie corrected.

“Wilson is Captain America. He comes first.”

“You think so?” she asked with a wicked grin.

Nico blushed so hard he thought he might actually spring a fever.

* * *

“Why are you wearing that, Barnes?” Sam asked from the driver’s side of the car.

“What, you don’t like it?” Bucky asked, tossing his duffel bag into the backseat and climbing into the passenger side. “You left it in the dryer. It was the first thing I grabbed.”

“Grab your own clothes,” Sam said.

“Damn, you’re about to have Steve go down on you, can you lighten up?” Bucky snorted. “You’re high strung.” He leaned over to kiss Sam sweetly and then tried not to laugh when Sam turned it all sorts of filthy. “Save it for Steve, tiger,” he teased. “He whined all night last night about missing you and you not bein’ around to get on the phone with him.”

“He’s been up there for a week,” Sam said as he rolled his eyes. Sam had also kind of been kicking himself for managing to miss the call last night, though. It was probably why he was so grouchy this morning. “Four more hours,” he added.

“I have to swing by HQ and drop off our reports for this mission,” Bucky reminded him.

“Right, you have to do that. I’ll drop your ass off and go get my man.”

“Hey, he was mine first,” Bucky said.

“So I’ve got time to make up for.”

Bucky shoved Sam’s shoulder and got a reaming about car safety even though they were barely on the road yet.

* * *

It happened again a week later. Wilson and Barnes had been in and out of the office, always so, so, so loud. There was always an argument to be had, always a fight to pick with Fury, always something embarrassing to say about Commander Rogers. Nico couldn’t figure out why they spent so much time around the office. Rogers worked in a whole different building and Fury wanted nothing to do with either of them, as far as he could tell.

But there they were at 11 AM, complaining that it wasn’t lunch yet. At 3 in the afternoon, tempting people to leave early. At 9, right after official-opening, with coffee for everyone but Fury, who wasn’t around to see their joke anyway.

There was Sam at two in the afternoon, wearing a leather jacket that was so out of place in the middle of DC in the dead of summer in the heat of the afternoon. Nico could sweat just looking out the window. But, Sam looked really, really good in the jacket, so Nico couldn’t fault him for suffering through the heat to wear it.

Damn, maybe it was a Falcon thing with him.

And maybe Nico did watch Sam a little closely. Maybe he kept his eyes on Sam’s back while he leaned on a cubicle wall that was not strong enough to support him and all that muscle. Maybe he stared at his smooth skin and the way the jacket pulled over his shoulders and--

There was stitching around the arm of the jacket. Nico blinked a few times to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light, but there was definitely blue thread holding the arm of the jacket to the rest of it.

And actually now that he was looking at the jacket and not Sam Wilson, he recognized the pattern on it, the weird ribbing down the sides, the golden buckles on the back to adjust the waist. He’d seen that jacket before. On the news. Several months ago, he’d had to pour over news footage of a Serpent Society...attack? fight? because Barnes had been part of it and his dumb report had said, I know there’s video footage of this. That’s my statement. So Nico had needed to put together a fucking highlights reel of Barnes’ action to file the report.

He’d gotten in trouble for it too.

He pulled the file up on his computer and watched the footage for a second to make sure it was the same jacket. And it was, except Barnes had ripped the sleeve off of his to show his metal arm. The left arm. The arm resewn onto this jacket.

The video suddenly cut into sound, making Nico jump. Sam Wilson looked over at him, at the footage on the computer and Barnes flipping over cars to avoid gunfire in that jacket. He reached over to shut the player off on Nico’s computer. “You work too hard, kid,” he said. “Barnes is never gonna give you a day off if you don’t take it.”

“Ha, how’d you know he’s always stuck...I mean, assigned Sergeant Barnes’ reports?” Hattie asked.

Sam shot Nico a knowing look and Nico panicked, thinking Sam knew that Nico knew about more than the $100 on his desk and a missing file. But that was impossible. It was just because of the note and bribery.

Bribery from Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Jesus, what was his life?

* * *

“This was a eight hundred dollar jacket,” Steve scolded. The irritation on his face, coupled with his silver hair and those damn broad shoulders, was doing all sorts of things to Sam that Sam didn’t want to analyze too deeply. He mostly wanted to sit back and snicker at Bucky getting in trouble.

“I’m just gonna rip that arm off again,” Bucky said boredly, one leg tucked under him on the couch where he was lounging, the other thrown over Steve’s back. “Why blue thread?” he asked eventually.

“To shame you into not doing this shit again,” Sam said.

“Color theory,” Steve answered.

“There’s no color theory to using royal blue thread in a black jacket. It’s not even navy,” Bucky said.

“You wanna do it?” Steve asked.

“Obviously not. Can name a lot of other things I do want to do though.”

Steve threw the jacket at Bucky’s face instead of answering. Sam jumped up to snag it before Bucky could toss it across the room.

“What’re you doin’?” Bucky lilted up at him, turning bright blue eyes towards him from the arm of the couch. Sam reached out to stroke his thumb over Bucky’s jaw and then down his arched neck.

“Gonna wear it ‘til it stops smelling like the two of you,” he said. And then gasped and dropped the jacket as Steve was suddenly right on top of him, pressing him to the wall and kissing down his neck.

“Damn, I’ve gotta tear more shit up more often if this is what it gets me,” Bucky hummed and did something with a zipper and his metal hand that Sam could guess at but did not want to tear his eyes away from Steve to confirm.

* * *

“Holy shit,” Hattie breathed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

To read the reports from the heroes was one thing. Nico had read about so many bones sticking through skin that the image had started to lose its gruesomeness. He’d never been in a firefight and he’d only been a baby during the Battle of New York and during the Triskelion event in DC a few years after. Sure, he’d been around for the Blip, had struggled through five years without half the population, and then struggled through the next years after everyone reappeared, but that wasn’t the same kind of trauma as this. And he’d still only been a kid. He didn’t know what was going on then.

Now, watching from every screen in the room and occasionally out the window, he knew he was watching something terrible. He didn’t personally know any of the heroes, but it felt like watching friends being beaten and knocked down.

“Was that Hawkeye?” someone asked.

“No, that was a girl.”

“Who’s wearing Captain Marvel’s star?”

“Oh God, Spiderman just fell.”

“Wait, the new Falcon caught him.”

“Is the Hulk still fighting that thing in the ground?”

“Yeah, Thor’s still knocked out too.”

“Where’s Captain America?”

Nico pinched his arm until Hattie reached for his hand to stop him. Suddenly, a flash of red, white, and blue crashed onto a roof, drawing the attention of whatever mystic hell demon was leading the fire and brimstone charge on downtown DC.

“Oh, shit, hell yeah, Sam Wilson!” someone cheered and then everyone groaned when some lizard-like-thing knocked Sam flying with a spiked tail to the midsection.

“Wait,” Hattie said, mostly to Nico. “That’s not Sam.”

And, yeah, that was an understatement. It wasn’t his outfit and even the cowl couldn’t hide that it was a white guy under all those stars and stripes.

“Fuck, is Walker really gonna try it?” Hattie asked.

“It’s not Walker,” Nico said. “Walker doesn’t have access to the Falcon wings. Or the original Cap suit.”

Not-Wilson, Not-Walker, Not-Captain-America struggled to his feet, holding his arm around his ribs, to face the demon thing. A news drone flew closer so the coverage could pick up on the creature rasping and snarling out words.

“Captain America, you’re the one we’re looking for,” it growled.

“Yeah,” Not-Cap said, nodding his head tiredly. “That’s what I heard.”

“Oh my God,” Hattie breathed again.

“It’s Barnes,” Nico confirmed. Wearing a sleeve and glove, clean shaven, in the red, white, and blue. In the wings.

“Is he...is he acting like...bait or something? If that thing wants Cap…”

Nico shook his head. “No, not bait. He’s a red herring. He’s distracting it for Sam.”

“We want a pure soul. A fine example to be made.” The creature’s voice suddenly changed, along with its face, talons growing from its hands, a tail curling against the roof they were on. “The righteous ones make the best sounds when we flay them.”

Barnes grimaced. “You’re gonna be really disappointed in the sounds mine makes then,” he said. In a blink, he had a gun drawn from an invisible holster and shot the creature. It howled and writhed and smoke rose from boiling lesions on its body. Something splashed back on the drone and almost immediately, the drone went out of service.

On another screen, another news source, another camera, the lizard that had attacked Barnes earlier scrambled across the roof towards him again and Bucky went flying back, literally. The wings lifted him into the air, but not quickly enough. The lizard leapt up too, caught claws in Bucky’s leg and scored gashes down his thigh and calf as it fell away and then tried to climb back up. Bucky shot at it with the same gun he’d shot the demon with but it had less effect. He kicked at the lizard’s head with his good leg and urged the wings to take him higher. Again, the lizard scored down his leg and Bucky was obviously in pain as he tried to kick it free again. Eventually he must have hit a soft spot and the thing fell off, taking chunks of uniform and God knows what else with it.

This camera was too far away to pick up any words, but Nico saw Bucky’s hand go to his ear, to a comm. Then he was flying back down to the same roof. Another drone swooped in and everyone moved to the screen broadcasting that channel.

“Humans are messy creatures,” Barnes said to the struggling figure on the roof. It shifted again, acid and fluids and skin staying behind on the roof as it turned into something with feathers. “I don’t think you’ll be impressed with many of our souls. They’re all fucked up in one way or another.” He blinked tears and sweat out of his eyes and Nico wondered how badly he wanted to take the cowl off. He hated having his face covered. It was one thing he did manage to write in his reports.

“You’re a liar,” the creature said.

“You’re not the first to call me that,” Barnes agreed. “Definitely the ugliest though.”

“You’re a child playing dress up. You’re not Captain America.”

“Nah, they gave the job to the more good looking guy,” Bucky agreed and took the gun out again.

Nico wasn’t sure if he took a step to get closer or if his messed up leg finally gave out, but in the split second that he had to readjust, another animal demon, something catlike and long, lunged at him, at his arm, and sent him sprawling onto the roof.

“Bucky!” someone in the room cried as the demon towered over him, lifted itself on oily wings, talons like swords pointed to Bucky’s body as he tried to crawl away on a bad leg and bad arm.

And then something even darker crashed into the demon mid-air. The Winter Soldier? That wasn’t possible. Bucky was on the ground. But there was that silver arm, the heavy black tactical gear, holsters in every size and shape. That fucking mask that Nico wanted to burn himself the longer he read Bucky’s reports.

“That’s Sam!” Hattie shouted and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Her other hand tightened in Nico’s and they both stepped closer to each other. Sam grappled with the demon in flight. He was far nimbler on the wings, more dexterous and faster. He had something silver in his hand, a blade of some kind. Occasionally it glowed and it was the only way Nico could tell the demon and Sam apart, to find an end to the black wings and find Sam’s stealth wings, to make sure Sam was still in one piece.

The blade glowed as it made contact with the demon’s midsection and Sam wrenched it all the way up its body. Ichor and acid spilled onto the roof and now Nico’s hand tightened in Hattie’s as the news drone panned down quickly to watch the blood fall. To watch Joaquin pull Bucky out of the way, using the Falcon wings as covering as he did so.

The drone refocused on Sam, who had the stealth wings driven into either side of the demon’s neck, another weapon in his hand, something beaming and sharp. Redwing appeared directly in front of the drone before Sam made contact with the demon. The body fell out of frame in a split second and then Redwing was gone too.

Sam just about crashed down to the roof. There was blood running the length of his face and a swollen eye, scratches down his weapons arm. The kevlar was torn apart, but he seemed to be in one piece. He ripped the mask off of his face, jaw and mouth protected, no broken bones or loose hinges, yanked away the silver cast he’d had on his left arm, and there were no injuries on that side either.

Demonic creatures squealed and writhed where they’d been, decaying into blood and ash and stone. One was too close to Joaquin and Bucky, but it stopped too, claws just short of Joaquin’s jetpack.

Sam was running over to them before the wings could even retract fully. He skidded to his knees by Bucky’s body, lifted him up, held him close with an arm around his back, the other hand going to the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky reached for Sam’s arm with his human hand, covered in blood, bones sticking out of his forearm, elbow smashed visibly. Still, he put his hand on Sam’s arm, tried to squeeze it.

Sam brought their foreheads together.

* * *

“Stop moving,” Steve said. Normally, he would have snapped it. Reminiscent of a thousand bad nights in their apartment in the thirties. Stop moving, Stevie, you’ll upset your lungs. Stop moving, Stevie, those knuckles are never gonna heal. Stop moving, Stevie, you’ll press your cold toes against my leg again.

He reached over for the water cup Bucky wanted and helped him drink it slowly. When Bucky started to cough, Sam jolted awake on his other side. “What’s happening?” he asked, blinking blearily and scratching at the gauze over his eye.

“Bucky never learned how to swallow,” Steve said.

All three of them took in a breath to make a joke but none of them actually said it outloud. It felt too wrong. The air was still too raw. Everything about them was still raw.

Raw. Flayed.

Steve turned and retched into the sink on the other side of the room. A moment later, Sam’s hand found his back and gently rubbed between his shoulder blades. He was using the left hand, Steve figured. There were no bandages rubbing on Steve’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said for the millionth time in the twenty hours since the fight. “I should have never sent you out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Steve,” Bucky sighed. “There were a dozen other heroes out there. Most of them kids. We weren’t gonna sit around and do nothing.”

“I told you to make the sacrifice play. I told you to fight through it.” When Sam dropped something over his shoulders, something warm and smelling of disinfectant but also Sam’s cologne, he curled his fingers in it and hide his face against it.

“Yeah, ‘cause we’ve never been hurt before,” Bucky agreed. “Get over here, you dope,” he said and patted the bed with his metal arm.

Steve and Sam went back to the bed. There was enough room for Steve to sit with one leg kicked down the bed and the other resting over the edge, on the floor. Sam carefully sat on his lap like Steve had been the one in the fight. Like Steve might be hurt. Steve hugged his arms around Sam’s midsection and rested his cheek on the back of Sam’s shoulder, wrapped Sam’s blanket around him too.

“You know,” Sam said and then had to reach for the water himself. Sulfur was hell on the throat as it turned out. “You looked damn good in that outfit, Barnes,” he tried again. “But don’t go getting any ideas about changing your name.”

Bucky laughed, soft and a little pained, metal arm going around his ribs again. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “I’m banging fifty percent of all Captains America. If I took on the mantle, I’d skew my own numbers.”

Steve tsked on his other side and ran a hand through Bucky’s hair gently. “Behave, Barnes.”

“I’m sure there’s some sort of toy out there that’s supposed to emulate the Winter Soldier,” Sam said. “You could probably technicality your way out of it. Plus your own fingers,” he pointed out. “Then you’d be up to sixty percent.”

“Jesus,” Steve breathed and turned his eyes Heavenward. “Neither one of you would’ve done the job for what that thing wanted,” he said.

“Wow, Rogers, was that a joke about our near-death experience?” Bucky asked. But he couldn’t keep the faux outrage up. He grinned and reached for Steve’s hand against Sam’s thigh.

Steve kissed Sam’s shoulder and then brought Bucky’s knuckles to his mouth. “I’m so fucking happy you’re both okay,” he whispered softly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if anything had happened.”

“Nothing did, Steve,” Sam said, turning to catch Steve’s lips on his. “You had a solid plan and we executed it like you said we would. We’re a good team.” He kissed him again and then reached over to rub his thumb along Bucky’s wrist so he didn’t feel too left out.

“Besides, if anything did happen, you’d become the first American to have to go to hell to get his lovers out. It’s normally a Greek thing, I think,” Bucky said.

Steve rolled his eyes, exasperated and so, so, so lucky in love.

* * *

“Do you think...they’re in trouble?” Hattie ventured, staring at the locked office door that they’d all been barred from coming near when Wilson, Barnes, and Rogers had walked in two hours earlier.

It had been three weeks since the Spawning, as people around the office, and literally no one else, was calling it. In that time, Nico had seen neither hide nor hair of any of them, or even really Fury. All of their projects had been granted stays of deadline and Nico had even been invited into a committee to sort through the reports of the Spawning. Mostly because Wilson and Barnes were both involved and that was basically only his M.O. now.

He hadn’t seen Fury call Wilson, Barnes, and Rogers in. Granted, they weren’t in their normal office space. The committee had actually been moved to Commander Rogers’ building. He’d been the commanding officer of the mission to take down the Spawning, so it was just easier to stay at his beck-and-call.

“It’s not Rogers’ office, is it?” Hattie asked.

Nico flipped another pencil into the ceiling. “No. His is a big corner office with all the windows.”

Hattie stood on her chair and yanked three pencils down. “So whose office is that?” she asked.

“Hat, I moved over here at the same time you did,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I know you’re cozy with Torres and he knows shit like that.”

“I am not!” Nico insisted like he always had to when the subject came up. “Besides, he’s Air Force, not Shield. Sam gave him the wings. He’s a freelancer.”

“Too bad. There’s no money in freelancing. You’ll have to be the bread-winner.”

Nico dragged his hands over his face. A pencil fell from the ceiling and hit him in the head. “Maybe it’s an empty office. A meeting room. Maybe they’re having a National Icons Meeting.”

“Maybe. I have to pee. Text me if anything happens?”

Nico gave her a half-hearted salute and slouched down in his chair. Of course, almost immediately the door opened and Steve Rogers stepped out.

Nico was so entirely fucked once again.

Because Steve Rogers was disheveled. Unkempt. Messy. Taken apart. Wrecked. In a very good way.

Nico brought his hand over his face but kept looking through his fingers.

Steve Rogers’ hair was sticking up every which way and there were at least three hickies on his neck. And one on his shoulder, which Nico could see because he was in that damn shark shirt, unbuttoned and half off his shoulder. There was a whole entire bite mark around his collarbone.

Steve Rogers looked around the hallway and glanced over the office and didn’t see Nico apparently. He tugged the shirt on straight and buttoned most of the buttons, except for two that Nico was pretty sure were missing at the top. And then, and then, he put on the jacket with the ribbing and the buckles and the dumb blue thread.

Steve Rogers ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Just in time for the office door to open again and to have Bucky Barnes, with a lot of skin showing, appear and say loudly, “You took Sam’s underwear,” and haul him back into the room with the metal arm. Nico heard the door lock.

He slowly crawled out of the office, ran into Hattie in the next hall.

“Hey, did anything happen?” she asked, drying her hands on her pants.

“Nope,” Nico squeaked unconvincingly. “Just got sent home for the day.”

“Sweet,” she said. “Wanna go get some lunch?”

Nico nodded silently even though he wasn’t sure if he should try eating. He really needed to ask for that transfer.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #steve rogers #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #all caps #writing

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pagingevilspawn · 3 years

Text

Loving You Is A Losing Game- chapter seven

i actually hate this, so ew. but i’ve forgotten that i write, so i’ll try to type some stuff up tomorrow! regardless, i hope everyone enjoys! click here to read on ao3.

TW// domestic abuse

~*~

"small town boy in a big arcade. i got addicted to a losing game."

~*~

alexandra: you do realize how crazy that sounds right?

joseph: it's not crazy at all if you ask me.

alexandra: jo, asking for lollipops for your christmas present sounds very crazy to me.

and christmas isn't for like, a while.

joseph: dude, christmas is in two weeks and one day

and plus, i'm settling on lollipops. what i really want is a pony, a shiny, pretty one with rainbow hair, you know those? that's my dream right there

alexandra: oh crap really?

yeah yeah, ha ha. laughing so much right now.

joseph: hate to break it to you, but it's the 10th alex.

and i know, what a shame i wont be able to have my pony. it was at the top of my list this year

next to an ice cream sundae the size of manhattan, obviously.

alexandra: very funny. can't you tell how much i'm laughing.

crap, got to go, robbins is letting me in on an esophageal atresia on a newborn. i'm her favorite you know.

joseph: ugh, lucky.

make sure to kick ass and not kill anyone. that would suck.

actually... your big head could use some ego deflating. make sure robbins has to save you halfway through. maybe then you'll earn some humility.

alexandra: wow, you're such great help. so nice too.

joseph: you know it ;)

she turns off her phone, a small smile on her face as she looks out the window, passing by houses that all looked exactly alike; white exteriors with a bright green lawn. the only thing that could help someone tell them apart was the door colors. her and paul had just come back from a dinner with some of his coworkers, but he wasn't talking to her so she decided to text alex. the silence in the car was tense, though she was unable to grasp the reason why.

they'd been texting non-stop since the conference three weeks ago, talking about each other's days, complaining about annoying coworkers and classmates. they really enjoyed having a friend they could just talk to because they felt like it. it was refreshing. they'd never had anyone like that before. in the past they had friends that they felt comfortable around, but it was different when you had someone who understood you so well. not to mention, being able to make self deprecating jokes about their crappy childhoods and receive a laugh in response was so much nicer than the pity stares they were both so used to getting,

she snaps back to reality at the sound of the engine turning off, cutting the music as the expensive car door opens. she sees paul angrily walk out of the car, slamming the door behind him, not stopping by her side of the car to open the door for her like he normally did. (she was actually thankful for that. she was a grown women, she could open a damn door herself)

weird, she thinks, but decides not to question it. her husband had been a bit more moody and temperamental lately, so she supposed it was just that. but the dinner seemed to go really good in her opinion. she got along with his colleagues and paul certainly enjoyed himself, getting to be around all his coworkers and interact freely. she liked to think that his colleagues liked her as well. they complimented her all evening and included her in all of their conversations. though, she did wish that they would've referred to her by her name more, rather than 'mrs. stalder' or 'paul's wife.'

she gets out of the passenger side and shuts the door behind her, walking up to the steps after she hears that paul had locked the car. she places the small clutch she had on the entry table and walks to the kitchen, seeing paul sitting at the kitchen island, nothing in front of him except tea that he had heated up in the minute or so he'e been in there. she kisses his cheek and starts talking, knowing that it would probably help calm whatever he was feeling.

she gives him a smile, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. "it seemed like the dinner went really well, all of your coworkers are super nice and-"

"you talked to steven too much." he cuts her off, sending an icy glare her way, and look she had never seen on him before shining darkly in his eyes.

she cocks her head to the side, "huh?"

he stands up from his place abruptly, making her jump back slightly. "i said," he spits out, eyes narrowing as he stares her down "you talked to steven too much."

she lets out a loud laugh, thinking that he was just joking around and messing with her. at any second he was going to join her giggling, ignoring the way his eyes had only seemed to darken the second the sounds had escaped her mouth."oh, that's funny." she says in between laughs, eyes shining with childish glee. "jesus you really scared m-"

pain.

her words get cut off by a fist coming directly into contact with her face. she feels the stinging sensation burn from her eye to her cheek, her brown eyes watering with tears as she realizes what had just happened. she lifts a palm up to touch it protectively, almost making it seem like it was more real if she touched it.

oh god, it hurt. it hurt like hell. his gold wedding band adding to the impact was sure to leave a scar by the corner of her eye. she'd been punched before, multiple times actually by foster parents and girls while she was in high school, but this hurt so much more. it was so much harder than she'd ever been hit before.

her husband just hit her.

"oh brooke, baby." paul says, taking her into his arms and brushing her hair back immediately, trying to get her to relax into his embrace. "i just got so mad. you just made me so mad brooke. you can't make me mad like that" he tells her, eyes dripping with some kind of emotion she can't place as he places light kisses on top of her sea of brown curls, ignoring the way the way she stood stiffly in his arms, a few lone tears making it's way down her cheeks.

"i love you. you know that brooke" he whispers, wiping the tears from her face, his hands feeling usually rough against her skin, his touch not easing over the bruise that hard already begun to form.

she nods. it was okay. he loved her. he didn't mean it. he just got angry. it was okay. it was fine. he loved her, it was okay.

she thought she probably deserved it. after all she'd cheated on her husband just three weeks before, and had continued to keep in contact with the man she had cheated with. it was only karma.

"i'm sorry paul." she apologizes sincerely as he cups her face in his hands, giving her a sweet smile. it wasn't his fault. it was hers.

"it just better not happen again." he states, eyes burning into hers intently, his grip on her face tightening without her even realizing it. all she really felt was numb, as if all of her senses had seemingly shut down to avoid dealing with the pain that was spreading throughout the side of her face.

she nods her head up and down as she pulls her back into him. "i'm sorry" she whispers into his chest.

he smiled.

and that's when he knew he had her.

____

alex finished scrubbing out of a surgery, shaking off the excess water on his hands, grinning internally. it was always so much better when he was able to help save a kid. the success was just that much more fulfilling. he's about to push the door open when it swings in itself, making him come face to face with cristina, the expression she was wearing was more worried looking than he'd seen in a long time. he'd known yang for a while know, and he knew whatever was about to come out of her mouth would be bad. cristina yang was never worried.

"what do you want yang?" he asks, noting how she had her hands crossed over her chest and was avoiding his gaze.

"there's a merger happening." she says, looking up to meet his eyes to let him know that she was serious.

his narrows his eyes, scrunching up his nose. "what?" he questions. a merger? as in, combing two hospitals into one?

"you just missed the announcement. apparently we're merging with mercy west." the raven head repeats, a slight trace of fear in her voice, a very unusual thing for cristina yang.

he lets out a deep breath, tugging his scrub cap off and running a hand through his hair as he leans over the scrub sink, gripping it so tightly his knuckles begin to turn white. "i can't loose this job yang." he says to her softly, making her nod in agreement.

"you and me both." with that she walks out of the room, alex not far behind her, both of the surgeons heading up to the resident's lounge to change, which was filled to the brim with chatter, all of the doctors talking about the newest topic, the merger.

meredith sits down next to him, slipping a long sleeved purple shirt over her head when she casts a glance to alex, who was sitting still looking down at his phone's empty screen, seemingly deep in thought, almost as if he was waiting for something to magically appear on it.

the blonde nudges him, snapping him out of his trance. alex sighs, resting his elbows on his knees as he buries his head in his hands. "what am i gonna do about iz?" he asks her, judging by her face that she was drawing a blank, much like him.

jesus, this was great. these past few weeks he had hardy been able to look his wife in the eye, because every time he saw her he was reminded that he slept with someone else. not to mention, he was just texting that certain someone just a few hours ago. he was really screwed. izzie had currently been home on bedrest, not being allowed to return to work until two weeks from now, which apparently would also be when the mercy westers would turn up. fucking great. he felt as if the universe was rallying against him at this point, no matter how much he knew that wasn't possible. he dug his own grave, it was just a matter of time before he would need to lay in it.

"she'll be okay." meredith reassures him, but he can tell by the look on her face that she was unsure as well. who knew would end up getting cut? they would need to pull their heads out of their asses and prove that they deserved to stay. none of them could lose their spot. not only because of their job, but also because of the people there. they were a family. they couldn't lose any more of their family. they'd just lost george, and they couldn't lose another.

"evil spawn, put on a shirt!" cristina yells, balling up a shirt from his locker and throwing it at him, hitting him square in the chest as he glares at her. he pulls on the shirt silently and heads out, not bothering to say goodbye to anybody as he leaves the lounge and heads straight to joe's across the street.

he slides onto a barstool, ordering a beer and thanking the bartender with a slight nod of his head. how was he supposed to tell izzie about the merger? he knew that if his wife knew, she would want to return to work immediately, but he knew she couldn't do that. she was still getting her strength back, and standing around on her feet all day surely would delay the healing process. he couldn't risk her getting hurt because he wasn't able to stop her.

he'd done enough recently, even if izzie didn't know about most of it. the last thing he needed was to cause his wife more harm than he already had.

he was going to tell her, he knew that, just not right now. right now he was going to sit on this uncomfortable wooden bar stool and drink his beer and forget he had any problems. he was going to forget about the merger, he was going to forget about him and izzie going at it twenty-four seven, and he was definitely going to forget about the brunette with a fake name who seemed to be on his mind all the time.

he was just going to forget everything, his only focus being his beer and the football game on the small television above the bar. yeah, that sounded like a good idea. a really good idea.

____

okay, so he forgot about two out of those three things.

he was actually doing pretty good for a while, almost a full hour with nearly a beer and a half finished. all he had been focused on was the seahawks playing against the steelers, with the steelers crushing the seattle team thirty-four to seven. not much of a surprise though, he couldn't remember the last time he'd witnessed the seahawks win. it wasn't that they were a completely crap team, it was simply the fact that one; the steelers were much better this year, and two; he hardly ever got enough time to sit down and watch a game. being a resident drained the life out of him, especially since he had finally knew that he wanted to specialize in peds. when he wasn't at the hospital he was reading up new medical procedures in magazines, or occasionally sneaking over to meredith's to watch old ellis grey tapes.

he was doing really... until he got a text message from jo.

joseph: how was your surgery?

alexandra: wow, you must be bored.

joseph: ...

what makes you say that?

alexandra: really?

joseph: i'm in med school, thank you very much. i have a severe interest in your surgeries.

alexandra: mhm, sure.

joseph: fine, i'm bored. entertain me. please.

alexandra: that sounds vaguely dirty.

joseph: oh great. how drunk are you?

alexandra: what makes you say that?

haha, two can play that game.

joseph: i'm guessing two beers in?

alexandra: shut up, only one and a half.

joseph: mhm, wasn't too far off

but seriously. i'm bored and am in need of anything remotely interesting. you just scrubbed in on a super cool surgery, i want details

alexandra: fine, baby maria duboir, two weeks old, robbins let me lead the procedure about half way through, coded once, we then shocked her at 150, and now she is stable and in the NICU.

happy?

joseph: yes. very much so

although i do think your OR stories need work

you sound like you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about

alexandra

wow. you're a real delight you know that?

joseph: oh, believe me, i know. don't even get me started on how many times people have complimented how freaking amazing i am

it's quite a common occurrence.

if i had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, i'd be living on my own private island

alexandra: i bet you would.

seriously though, tell me something. i've got nothing better to do than watch the seahawks get crushed.

joseph: i'm guessing that's sports talk, so i'm just gonna ignore that, since it hate any sport where men look like giant block of cheese, run around a court, or just run in general.

but today's been boring. went to a dinner tonight. fancy stuck-up rich people who laugh with posh accents and sip their champagne way too slowly

fucking turtles.

alexandra: sounds fun.

joseph: you suck. i can literally hear the sarcasm through the phone asshole

alexandra: that's the point. i'll take a sick kid over fancy dinner any day.

crap, that sounded really horrible didn't it?

joseph: it really did

"i'll take a sick kid over a fancy dinner any day" real charming if you ask me. night in shining amour.

alexandra

yeah yeah you know what i mean.

____

they're not sure how long they end up talking for, alex siting at joe's bar and jo lounging on the couch in her living room while her husband was in his study going over and grading tests for one of his classes. before either one of them even know it, it gets to be twelve thirty boston time and nine thirty in seattle. alex's texts had gotten much harder to read, which made sense, considering he was now on his third beer.

jo teased him about it though, finding it more enjoyable than she would've guessed to text a drunk alex than a sober one. he seemed to get increasingly flirtier the tipsier he got. not to mention, all the spelling mistakes he made was definitely one for the books. she had a feeling that it was getting a but harder for him to see which letters where which, considering a few b's were located where there should be d's, and 'm' where they should be an 'n'

alex knows for a fact he's earning many stares from fellow people at the bar because of how much he's laughing (loudly too), but he doesn't really care. if he's gonna laugh, he's gonna laugh. all he could really focus on was the fluorescent lights hanging from the bar's wood ceiling and the frankly hilarious texts coming through his phone. (okay, so they weren't that funny, but everything is always a lot more funny when you're drunk)

jo was thoroughly enjoying herself, laughing more and more as she sank into the couch, completely forgetting about the bruise on her left cheek as she typed away, grinning from ear to ear when the man on the other side responded, words misspelt and random numbers and semicolons popping up from time to time.

they knew that what they had done was wrong. they knew that what they were doing was wrong. but they couldn't stop.

if only they had stopped sooner.

20 notes · View notes

fanfictionera · 3 years

Text

Veterans Home (SteveRogersxReader)

A/N: For whatever reason, this one shot would not stop floating around my head. Just a cute little fluff piece. Enjoy

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Synopsis: Living with eleven other people, who you spend the majority of your time with, can get a little overwhelming. So everyone gets personal time within the compound. Whether people use it to workout, site see or just take a nap, it's time that is uninterrupted. Steve has been leaving the compound lately and you become curious as to where he is going. You finally find out.

Word Count: 4180

Warnings: So much fluff and cute Cap. Y/G/P/M- Your Guilty Pleasure Movie

Tag List

Veterans Home

You sat on the couch with Natasha, a bowl of popcorn between the two of you and random stacks of movies scattered around the coffee table in front of you. You had decided to use your free afternoon to watch some favorites.

Currently you were watching (Y/G/P/M). You let out a small laugh in response to a joke when you heard footsteps enter into the living area.

“Hey, Steve.” You said as you peered around to see him grabbing a gatorade from the fridge.

He turned back around with a smile, “Hey, enjoying your afternoon?”

“Immensely.” You responded as Natasha turned up the volume. “Headed out?”

“I won't be out long,” He came around and stood behind the couch. “I’ll have my phone if you need me but,”

Nat sighed as she cut him off, “Only call if it's an emergency, like someone is dying, aliens are attacking and the fate of the world rests on our shoulders, emergency. Got it.” She didn't look away from the screen. “Now shush it's getting to the good part.”

“I’ll see ya later.” He said a little louder, just to annoy Nat.

You had to hold back your smile as you saw Nat’s eyes squint slightly and you could tell she was contemplating murder. “See ya.” You waved as he walked out of the room. “Where do you think he goes?”

Nat was silent.

“Oh come on, you’ve seen this a million times.” You laugh as you throw a pillow at her head.

She caught it. “He used to go see Peggy and after her passing he stayed in for a while, but now I don't know. Guess that's why it's HIS personal time.”

“Stop. Where can he even go where he’s not bombarded by the press or fans?” You question. “Do you think it's a girl?”

Nat instantly paused the movie. “It would be a very Steve thing to do.”

“Not bring her back here, as to not overwhelm her.” You continued. “Could it be a newer thing?”

“Or a not even a thing but he wants it to be a thing, thing.” Nat’s eyebrows slowly scrunched as she spoke.

You took a moment to go back over her sentence. “A crush?”

“Oh no,” Nat picked back up the remote. “Is that jealousy I hear.”

You took the remote from her hands. "Nope."

"Uh-uh." Nat said with a grin as you pushed play.

You could see Nat looking at you in your peripherals. "You can side eye me all you want Romanoff. Steve's a big boy and if he wants something to do with me he can decide that."

"You're a big girl too ya know." Nat responded. "I'll put twenty bucks on you.""I'm not, fine I'll take that bet." You brought your hands up to a lazy high five before the two of you settled back into your day off without another word spoken about the situation.

…............................................................................................................................

You sat at the breakfast bar eating some leftover spaghetti. It was just past noon and everyone seemed to be doing their own thing, so you decided to grab some food and catch up on life. You sat with your bowl in front of you, an elbow on the table with your phone propped up in front of your face, your other hand shoveling forkfuls of pasta in your mouth every few minutes.

Steve walked into the kitchen, drawing your attention. You slowly lowered your phone to the counter as he walked to the other side across from you.

“How was your afternoon yesterday?” You asked as he rummaged through the cabinet.

He turned with a bag of chips in his hand. “It was great.”

“You won't give me anything?” You pushed with a smile. “Just something little, come on.”

He took the chip clip off and tossed it on the counter. “It's called personal time for a reason.”

He leaned back against the counter as he reached into the bag, a defiant smirk plastered on his face.

“Lets see,” You continued after taking another bite. “Are you learning something new and are too embarrassed to share?”

“No.” Steve reached back into the bag, “I'm amazing at everything I do, no need for embarrassment.”

You shook your head, “Oh! Fight Club?” You pretended to get extremely excited.

“Rule number one.” Steve instantly shot back, “Good movie.”

“Trying to change the subject?” He smiled back at you as you sat for a moment silently before an even bigger grin spread across your face. “Does Steve have a girlfriend?”

He laughed, “No, I mean not exactly.”

“Oh!” Your interest peaked instantly. “So there is a girl!” He quickly turned to leave the room. “This isn't over Rogers.” You sing songed after him.

Just before he left the room he turned and shrugged as he popped another chip in his mouth.

You shook your head with a smirk, “Oh Steve, I’ll get it out of you one of these days.” You finished off your food before heading back to your room.

…............................................................................................................................

Your alarm goes off, pulling you out of the depths of slumber. You roll over onto your back, letting yourself sink back into the mattress. It felt so good to be in your own bed after a long mission. Four days was hardly the longest mission you had gone on but it was long enough. Everybody was ready to fall back into a normal schedule.Which is why you pulled yourself out of bed at some ungodly hour before the sun was even up, to go workout.

You waltzed into the gym as everyone else was trickling in, joking around and stretching as they got ready for the next few hours of torture.

“Where's Steve?” You asked as you came up to Sam and Bucky. Sam was tying up his shoes next to Bucky who shrugged as he stretched his flesh arm across his chest.

Your jaw practically dropped. “Thee Mr. Steve Rogers is late!?”

“Only by a few minutes, calm down.” You spun around as you heard Steve, he walked up letting his bag drop beside Sam.

“Isn't that like a decade for you?” You couldn't help but poke. “I mean you're getting up their Cap, every minute counts.”

“Go stretch. Now.” Steve pointed towards the sparring mat unamused.

Sam chuckled. “Sounds like someone's in trouble.”

“It's my middle name.” You said over your shoulder as you made your way to the mat.

Bucky gave Steve a look, “You good?”

“Yeah, just in need of a good workout.” Steve began to stretch, “Too much going on up here.” He tapped his head.

Bucky gave his friend a reassuring smile before joining Sam for their workout. Steve took a swig of water before approaching you on the mats.

“Okay, stances, let's go.” He nudged your foot.

Standing up you settled into your first defensive stance. “Someone's cranky.”

Steve lunges at you, testing you. With a quick step and jump you dodged out of his way. Swinging your leg back towards Steve, he brought his forearms up to block, you adjusted instantly and pulled your ankle back and dropped your angle connecting your knee with his ribs.

“I'm not cranky.” He grunted out as you fell back into your second stance.

You had to keep from smirking. “Could have fooled me.” Steve came low this time. You attempted to dodge out of the way but he clipped your foot, halting your momentum. Quickly you corrected yourself, landing on your hands you pulled your feet over and back down to the floor in a half somersault. “What did you do?”

Your question threw Steve off.

Taking advantage of the distraction you let out several punches that Steve blocked, “What do you mean what did I do?” He grabbed hold of your arm and spun you around holding you in a choke hold of sorts.

“This girl of yours, you had to have done something.” Your voice was strained as you spoke. You kicked your feet up to get leverage to free your hand. Stepping back you fell into your third stance. “You're out of it Steve. Or lost in it.” You smiled. He let out a defeated sigh, “Seriously, you look like someone died or something. What's up?”

“What if someone did, Y/N, huh?” Steve's voice almost echoed. “Why do you have to always push? Why can't we just workout.”

You stood in shock for a moment before realizing Steve was already on the offense. He swung with aggression, his movements out of his usual pattern. You just barely managed to block each one. With each swing he pushed you further back. Just as you reached the edge of the mat you snapped out of it.

You stepped to the inside of his foot, sweeping out making him lose his balance for a moment. In those seconds you went low keeping your head tucked, hoisting him up and over yourself, you made him flip over. Steve let out a slight groan as he landed face down on the hard gym floor.

“Lets fucking go.” You said sternly.

Activities in the gym came to a screeching halt as everyone cautiously watched on, eyeing each other, silently deciding who was going to step in.

You stepped back towards the center, pacing back and forth, “You got something to get out of your system? Then by all means let's get it out of your system.” You pushed again. Knowing deep down Steve was instantly regretting his actions. He didn't break eye contact “No? Then I suggest you check yourself.”

Steve clenched his jaw as he started walking to the door, leaving his bag still on the bench and the workout unfinished. You watched, keeping a stern look but feeling confused inside. Never has Steve talked to you like that, your anxiety instantly pushed its way up through your stomach, did you push him too far? Everyone's eyes were on you before they quietly went back to their workouts.

You pushed those thoughts to the back of your brain as you walked over to grab your towel, “Hey doll, don't take it too hard.” Bucky said as he held the punching bag for Sam.

You looked over, “Do you know what's going on with him?”

Bucky shrugged, “Not sure, but do me a favor?” Sam stood up breathing hard, “Let him cool down before you go talk to him.”

“Your middle name is trouble, with a capital T.” Sam shook his head laughing as he switched spots with Bucky.

“Also.” Bucky punched the the bag twice, “Whatever that was, was impressive, don't let Steve ever forget he was brought down by such a pretty dame.”

Your lips pulled into a smile as a laugh escaped. “Oh, that won't be a problem.” You say as he continues with a satisfied grin. You grabbed your things off the bench and made your way back to your room.

You walked straight into your bathroom and turned on the water to take a shower. As you stripped off your clothes you threw them onto the trunk at the end of your bed. Being barely worn you decided to wear them tomorrow to workout. Stepping into the shower you felt the hot water begin to cascade down your skin.

As you continued to wash your hair a knot of guilt began to form in the pit of your stomach. Your brain began to cycle through your fight with Steve, picking apart each second and replaying it over and over in your head. Why didn't you notice his mood change? Or that something was off? Why didn't you just stop and be there for him? Why were you such an idiot?

The thoughts cycled as you rinsed out the last bit of conditioner and all of a sudden you didn't want to be taking a shower anymore. The time it took to turn off the water and pull back the curtain and grab your towel was taking too long.

Once you had a towel in hand, you quickly began to dry off as you walked out to grab some clothes. You didn't make it to your closet, instead you sat down on your bed and held your head in your hands. You dragged your hands down your face, pulling your skin down. The wave of guilt washed over and drowned you. After several deep breaths you pulled on some clothes and made your way down the hall to Steve's room.

You softly knocked on his door and waited. “Come in!” You heard him say.

You opened the door to find him sitting on his bed with several piles of papers and folders scattered around him.

“Hey,” you say as you walk up to the bed, “Do you ever stop working?”

He picked up a new pile of papers and began to sort, “This is something that needs done, so i'm doing it.”

The tone of his voice made you feel like running, but you were already standing there in the middle of his room so the next best thing you could think of was to just get it over with. “Look, I wanted to apologize.” Steve looked up at you as he slowly sat the pile down. “I realize I took it too far, I didn't mean too.”

“Don't apologize.” Steve said after he took a deep breath, you noticed his shoulders relaxing a bit. “It's okay.”

“Sometimes I don't know how far to push it with you,” You sat down on the edge of his bed, carefully not to disturb his piles. “You keep me on my toes, always ready with a comeback or burn. Just let me know, in the future, because I really don't like grumpy Steve.”

“This week didn't quite go the way I had planned.” Steve shrugged. “You didn't take it too far, I just wasn't in the right headspace and took it out on you.”

You smiled slightly, “Anything I can do to help?”

“No, no.” He ran his hand through his hair as he let out a breathy laugh, “Thank you though.”

You stood up, “If you think of something just let me know.”

“I know where to find you.” You could see the twinkle of your favorite Steve shining through.

You started walking backwards towards the door, “Creep.” You shot back with a smile and just as you turned to leave, a basket caught your eyes.“What are these?”

“They are a present from a fan, it was delivered while we were out on the mission.” He got up off his bed and came to stand beside you.

He watched as your fingers delicately flipped through the contents. “Are these first editions?”

“Some yeah, there's a hand full in here from the forties.” He pulled one out, “But, this one is one of my favorites. Captain America: A Man Out of Time.”

The selection seemed bittersweet,

“Why?” You asked.

“It's the closest version of me I've read.” He let the comic slide back down into place, “And it's wrong.” He looked over to see your confused face. “Have you read it?”

You shake your head, “No.”

“Here.” He fished it back out. “Read it and tell me what you think.”

Before you took the material you brought your hands up around his waist, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry your week didn't go as planned.”

He let his arms come to rest around your shoulders. “Me too,” You pulled back. “But guess it comes with the job.”

You took the comic from him and flipped through it quickly, “That it does. See ya tomorrow and for God’s sake would you stop working for two seconds.” Steve walked towards you with a smile forcing you to walk backwards as you continued to talk, “I mean lets be real, these are your golden years, and you're going to waste it on paperwork? I would be more than happy to turn it all into confetti for ya and then the real party can start!”

He pushed you back until you were outside his door. “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Steve.” You smiled as you made your way back to your room.

As you entered your room the ball of anxiety had disappeared and a small smile pulled at your lips.

You guys were good.

…............................................................................................................................

It was another week, another quiet day. Mainly due to the fact half of your friends were out on a mission. You were kinda bummed you didn't get to go and even more bummed Nat and Wanda had to go and you now had to find a way to entertain yourself. Everyone was out except for you and Sam, but you opted to grab a snack and chill rather than join him in the gym.

With a bowl of ice cream in hand you made your way back to your room. As you exited the elevator you noticed a small white object in the middle of the floor. As you reached down to grab it you realized it was an envelope.

You turned it over to find a blank face and you could feel something inside. When you got back to your room you sat your ice cream down and began to investigate. It was a small envelope and it wasn't sealed, the top flap was just tucked under. You carefully untucked the flap and pulled out the contents.

A thank you card was revealed and it felt thick, like there was something else inside, you thumbed the card open to reveal an invitation to a celebration of life. The name Milton John Robert was printed across the top of the paper with two pictures below it. One of a very nice looking old man and another younger version of him in his military uniform. The funeral had already passed, it took place a few weeks back during the four day mission.

After the invitation was a folded up piece of newspaper, Milton's obituary was cut out and folded up, you set it to the side. Inside the card was beautiful handwritten note:

Steve,

I know you wanted to be here and Dad would have been overjoyed but we also understand. The world never stops turning does it?

Dad looked up to you so much and we as a family can't thank you enough for filling the last of his time with such wonderful happiness.

We can never repay you for what you brought him but please take his comics. He wanted you to have them. Some of them he has had since the 40's. Enjoy them and please don't stop bringing the joy and happiness to all of the veterans at the home.

Thank you,

Jessica and Family

You felt the warmth of tears begin to well in your eyes. "Oh Steve," is all you could say as it clicked with you. The outburst, your choice of words, it was enough for anyone to push back. You knew it wasn't all you, but it saddened you they Steve didn't just tell you. That you made it worse without knowing.

You unfolded the obituary to find that Milton had stayed at the Veterans Home not too far from the compound. Without another thought you placed the contents back in the envelope, grabbed your leather jacket and rushed out the door. Ice cream forgotten and left to melt.

A nice perk of being an Avenger was the fact you never had to drive anywhere if you didn't want to. In a matter of minutes you had asked Friday to call up a driver and by the time you made it to the garage he was waiting for you with the door open ready for you. After giving him the address the driver nodded and took you to the veterans home.

As you pulled up to the home you saw Steve's bike. "Yup this is it, thanks."

"Would you like me to wait?" The driver asks you.

You opened the door and hopped out, "Nope, it's alright. Thank you."

He nods as you close the door and he drives away. You walk in through the double door entry to be met by a receptionist.

"Hi, I'm looking for Captain Rogers?" You asked the lady sitting behind the desk.

"Oh he's down with the residents now, would you like a visitor's pass?" She asked with a smile.

You smiled in return, "If I could, thank you."

After filling out a paper you took your visitors pass and followed the directions to the residents hall where you were told Steve was.

As you turned down the hallway you reached a doorway that opened up into a larger room. You leaned against the doorway watching as Steve enthusiastically reenacted a Captain America tale about the Howling Commandos. You stood for a moment just taking it in.

“Sometimes he plays the piano, or we listen to old records and have ourselves a dance party. Today he is telling the tales of Captain America.” A nurse came up to stand beside you before gesturing to the crowd of residents. “I don't think they have any idea what's going on but wherever they are, they’re happy, and that's really all that matters.” She placed an open palmed hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze before going to help one of the residents adjust their back pillow.

You decided to wait outside, before he could notice you were there. You made your way back up to the front desk. “Hey, if you could keep the fact I was here on the downlow I would appreciate it.” You say to the receptionist. “It's not a crazy big deal but for now it needs to be.”

“Of course!” She replied back. “I hope you’re not in too much trouble.”

“I’ve been told it's my middle name.” You joke back with a laugh, making her laugh. “Have a good rest of your day.” You say as you walk out. You hear a faint you too before the door closes.

You notice a bench sitting off to your left, out of view, and decided to take a seat.

…............................................................................................................................

“Okay Norm, where are we off to today?” Steve asked as he pushed a man in a wheelchair, his oxygen tubes clinging to his sunken face and a thick blanket covering his legs.

The man sat up slightly, “Home. They’re sending me my rifle.”

“Is that so.” Steve continued to push Norm down the hall to his room.

Norm shook his head, “They are sending a guy right now. He’s going to bring me my uniform and everything!” His voice grew.

A nurse stepped out of Norm’s room as she went to take over for Steve. “Okay Norm, get a good night's sleep. Report for duty at oh eight hundred you got it?”

“Yes Captain.” He saluted before being brought into his room.

Steve smiled slightly as he made his way up to the front desk. “Have a good night, see ya next week.”

“Finally got Norm into his room?” The receptionist asked.

Steve shook his head slightly, “It's getting a little more difficult each and every time.”

“Always is.” The receptionist smiled. “See you next week.”

Steve nodded before making his way out the doors.

You watched as he placed his hands in his pockets as he walked. “So this girl, is she a resident or an employee?” Steve whipped around quickly before letting his head fall back as he let out a sigh. “If I have to fight an old lady, I will, I won’t be happy about it but I’ll do it.” You got up and walked up to him just as he pulled his head back, looking down at you.

“And why would you be fighting old ladies?” He questioned back with a raised eyebrow.

You cross your arms in front of you, “Look competition is competition. I’m working with quite a large age range here and if I have to fight an old lady to establish what's mine then so be it.”

He looked at you, adoration beaming from his face, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Oh I think Ruth could give you a run for your money.”

“Ruth!?” You cracked your knuckles as you began to walk back towards the front doors.

Steve caught your arm and spun you back facing him, “How about you spare Ruth and in return I take you out for some food.”

You acted like you were taking a moment to think it over before making your way over to his bike. “Steve Rogers are you asking me out on a date?” You picked up the helmet he had sat on the seat.

“I believe I am. Now where would the pretty lady like to eat?” He replied as he plucked the helmet out of your hands and slid it on your head, clipping the strap under your chin.

You tilted your head slightly, “Surprise me.”

“Hold on.” Steve swung his leg over the bike before turning back towards you. You hopped on wrapping your arms around his waist as his bike roared to life. Steve weaved throughout the backstreets until the Brooklyn Bridge was in sight.

End.

Part 2 Coming Soon

#stevexreader #steve x reader #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson #Natasha Romanoff #Fluff #Steve Rogers x Reader #steverogersxreader #Marvel #MarvelStudios

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supernaturaldesires · 3 years

Text

A Descent Into Insanity - Chapter One

Based on request by @sweetpotato-97

Could ask for a fic of Yandere Dean with a reader who sees him as a best friend and a form of brother for them, of course in the beginning Dean was not a yandere but he changed with the passage of time?

Note: the reader in a way is innocent and does not know that Dean is in love with them.

Pairing: None (yet)

Characters: Dean & Sam

Warnings: none, other than a slightly protective Dean

Word Count: 1,802

One Year Ago

As you pulled up to the old abandoned shack, you checked against the photo in the newspaper on your passenger seat. This was the place, without a doubt. You had stopped about 150 yards away to avoid drawing any attention or raising any alarms within the shack. If the stories you’d heard from the townsfolk were true, you were expecting just a couple of vamps, max three. It appeared to be a relatively new nest since the attacks only started a couple of weeks ago, out of the blue. You reached into the backseat, grabbing your machete and hip-flask. You took a swig of whisky from the flask for good measure before shoving it in the glove compartment and heaving yourself out.

There was a gravel path leading up to the shack, but you opted to walk along the grassy verge in an attempt to keep as quiet as possible. When you were about 50 yards from the shack though, you noticed a ‘67 Chevy Impala tucked behind some large shrubs, just off the path. Strange. It wasn’t a large town and all of the attacks happened within a couple mile radius of the shack, so you couldn’t imagine much need for the vamps to have a set of wheels. Nevertheless, you pushed on.

As you approached the front porch, you noticed that the door to the shack was already open, creaking back-and-forth with the breeze. It was at that moment you heard a blood-curdling scream, followed by shouting. Armed with your machete, you launched through the front door towards the noise.

Two beheaded bodies already lay on the floor, and ahead of you there were two figures wrestling on the ground. “Sammy!” Shouted the man who was pinned to the ground, trying to fend off the snarling vamp with his bare hands. His machete lay on the ground nearby, but just out of reach. Without a second thought, you flew forward, thrust your machete down on the vamp, slicing clean through its neck. The head bounced off the man’s shoulder, to which he jumped up, shuddering and wiping himself down. “Hey, thanks man-” He looked up at you for the first time and blinked. “Oh, my bad. Sorry, didn’t mean to assume.” You lowered your machete, wiping the blade on the clothes of the dead vamp. “No biggie,” you shrugged in response. “You get used to it in this line of work.” You flashed him a knowing smile.

Another man entered the room through a second door, to which you instinctively raised your weapon again, but he immediately stopped and raised his hands in self-defence at the sight of you.

“He’s good,” the first man said. “That’s my brother. All good, Sam?”

“Yeah,” the tall man said, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “There was another one in there but I managed to catch him off-guard.”

“Sweet. Well, this young lady saved my ass before I became a vamp snack,” the first man chuckled. “Thanks for that, by the way, um...?”

“Y/N,” you said. “As I said, no biggie. I wasn’t expecting such a big nest, so if you guys hadn’t got here first, I’d probably have been the meal anyway.”

Both men laughed at that. “I’m Dean, this is my baby brother Sam. Come on, let me buy you a drink to say thanks.”

Present Day

“Dean, can you please put a different tape on now?” Sam moaned for the fifth time. “I swear this is the tenth time I’ve heard this song.”

“Sorry Sammy, you know the rules,” his brother smirked. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

Sam turned in his seat to face you in the backseat, hoping to get some back-up but he knew he was outnumbered when he saw you playing air guitar.

“She’s got eyes of the bluest skies, as if they thought of rain,” you sang along gleefully. “C’mon Sammy, how can you get tired of Guns ’n’ Roses? I could listen to this all day!”

Sam groaned, shifting back to face forward and slouched grumpily against the car door. “Don’t encourage him, Y/N,” he grumbled. “And I’ve told you, not even Dean’s supposed to call me Sammy, you’re definitely not allowed.”

You leaned over the back of the front seat, throwing him a pout before motioning a tiny violin between your thumb and forefinger. Dean roared with laughter as Sam grunted, folding his arms with a strop. “Tell me we’re nearly there, at least.”

“Only another 50 miles to go, little brother,” Dean hummed. He shot you a cheeky look and you knew exactly what was coming next. You both sang at the tops of your lungs:

“WoooooOOOoooaahhh sweet child of mine!”

As you arrived at the bunker, you jumped out of the car and stretched your legs before hauling your overnight bag out of the backseat. “I’m jumping straight into the shower, I still stink of werewolf.”

“Yeah I know,” Dean remarked, scrunching his nose comically. You punched him playfully in the arm, which he then clutched in feigned agony, staggering.

“Whatever, tough guy,” you huffed as you made your way into the building.

After showering and feeling refreshed, you pulled on a pair of joggers and an oversized hoodie and made your way to the kitchen. Sam was already sat at the table, staring intensely at his laptop screen and scribbling notes.

“I’m feeling pancakes, Sam, you want some?” The tall man just shook his head, his eyes not moving from the screen. “You know you’re allowed to relax every now and then, right?”

The elder Winchester sauntered into the kitchen then, also looking much fresher. “Did I hear pancakes?”

“Yep, you know where the ingredients are,” you smirked, plopping down into the chair opposite Sam.

Dean threw an irritated look at you before reluctantly rummaging through the fridge. “Asshole,” he muttered.

“Jerk,” you retorted without missing a beat. “You boys up for a drink tonight? I fancy going out, celebrating our victory in taking out that pack.”

“Sure,” Dean answered. “Let’s get some grub in us, then we can head over to the bar.”

Sam continued tapping away at his laptop. “You guys go ahead, I’ve just found this interesting article about this new legal case over in Wisconsin. Check it out, so this guy-”

“Yawwwn,” Dean interrupted. “Sometimes I wish I’d just left you at Stanford, you nerd. Anyways, Y/N and I are gonna go have some fun. Maybe you can look up the definition of the word sometime, Sammy.”

You and Dean had settled at a table at the bar, chatting about everything and nothing for about an hour, already four drinks in. You couldn’t forget that impressed glint in his eye when he first realised that you could not only hold your drink, but could also keep up with him quite easily.

You were howling with laughter as Dean told you a story of Sam losing a rabbit’s foot and the chain of unfortunate events that followed. “So I’m there on the phone to Bobby and I could tell Sam was mucking around behind me doing some stupid shit but I wasn’t really paying attention. Next thing I know, I turn around and he’s looking at me with that goofy puppy-dog face. ‘I lost my shoe,’ he says. Dropped it down a damn drain, the dumbass.” You wiped the tears of laughter from your face, shaking your head and taking a swig of your drink. “Anyway, gotta go empty the tank. I’ll be back.” Dean pushed away from the table and headed off to the men’s room.

One of your favourite AC/DC songs came on the jukebox, so you started tapping your foot and bopping your head along with the music. You didn’t really notice the stranger approach you until he helped himself to Dean’s seat. “Hey there, little lady.” You looked up at the guy, he was your typical jock-type, wearing a football jersey and a baseball cap. He was a little broader than Dean, but several inches shorter. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No thanks,” you said, smiling politely. “I’m here with a friend, just having a good time.”

“Yeah, I saw your friend,” the guy scoffed. “I promise you, come with me and I can show you a real good time, sweetheart,” he said with a wink.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “I said-” your tone was harsh now, your words sharp. “I’m here with my friend. I’m not interested.”

“Aw come on sweet cheeks, I saw the way he was looking at you. He ain’t interested in you like that. I mean, he’s a fucking fool for it, but I’d be happy to step into the shoes if he’s too much of a pussy to fill them.” He tried to wrap an arm around you then, and you were just about to shove him off when his whole body was suddenly ripped away from you, and the next thing you knew, he was on the floor.

Dean towered over him, his eyes sparking with anger. “Did you not fucking hear her when she said she’s not interested?” By now, the rest of the bar had fallen silent, all eyes on the unfolding scene.

“Hey, dude, chill out,” the guy muttered. “It’s not like you were making a move.”

Dean grabbed the collar of the guy’s shirt in his fist, getting right in his face. You jumped up, preparing to intervene. “What I do is none of your fucking business, if you come near her again, I swear-”

“Dean!” You shouted, grabbing his other fist which had raised, ready to take a swing. “Leave it.”

“Oi!” The manager peeked out of the backroom, having heard the commotion. He jabbed a finger at Dean. “Get out of my bar, now!”

You could see the fire in Dean’s eyes redirect towards the manager, but you tugged at his shirt. “Dean, please! Just leave it. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Dean paused for a moment before releasing the guy’s shirt, letting him fall roughly to the floor. He turned his attention back to the manager, eyes like daggers. “You oughta get some better clientele in here, mate, instead of little bitch boys.” You hooked your arm through Dean’s and dragged him out the front door. He let you pull him away, but all the while throwing glaring looks between the manager and the man who had tried hitting on you.

You really did love your new life with the Winchesters, basically considered them your brothers now, but they tended to find their newfound protective role a little too seriously sometimes. You decided it wasn’t worth an argument this time, instead letting Dean cool down as you both made your way back to the bunker.

Chapter Two =>

Dean tags: @akshi8278

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #a descent into insanity

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quiet-kunoichi · 3 years

Note

“ please….stay, just for tonight. ”

[ misc quotes meme | @suck-my-tomato | verse; post-modern ]

She had come over.

Well, that's not entirely true. Initially, Sasuke had showed up to her apartment after a missed call from her, followed by a quick [text:] im sorry about that. So; in lieu of their weird and strangled conversation the other night, where he offered his support any time she felt close to relapsing (or otherwise, but he wasn't ready to say that aloud just yet) -- Sasuke's slingshot brain thought of the worst conclusion and immediately called her back. But in fact, the call back wasn't so immediate, after all. It had been forty minutes since she had attempted initial contact. She doesn't pick up, and her awkward and uncertain voice tells him 'sorry you missed me. uh, yeah - leave a message and i'll get back to you .. eventually. probably.' The beep of her voicemail catches him off guard; a weird beat of silence begins the message before he mutters a quick, "Hey.. I hope you're alright-- Call me, okay?" Minutes pass with him staring expectantly at the screen. She doesn't call him back; he curses himself for getting caught up in his most recent painting. Unable to contain the swirl of emotions, Sasuke rises to his restless feet. He paces the room a few times, biting at the skin of his lip and glancing over to his blackened phone screen now and again. He even tried sitting back down at his canvas, picking up the brush and the palette again: just to get his mind off of it. Sasuke knew it would be pushing boundaries if he just showed up because she didn't reply in.. twelve minutes. "She's probably fine," He told the room, the drying paint, himself. But clearly he wasn't certain enough - because when his phone vibrates against the coffee table, Sasuke risks the detailed linework by nearly diving out of his seat to snatch his phone. But his once high-strung heart was now rocking heavy in his gut and making him seasick. Just a text from Naruto. He doesn't even bother to read it - instead pulling up the sporadic text conversation with Kimiko and rereading her short message as if he could read between the lines. Fuck it. In cases of recovering addicts, sometimes boundaries would have to be pushed; he was personally familiar. So, Sasuke snatched his car keys from their place beside the door and heads for her apartment. His hands were clammy and stuck to the steering wheel with an iron grip the whole time. What was he going to walk in on? Would this behavior bring up old, bruised memories - would it roll their hesitant friendship back a few steps? Maybe she truly didn't mean to call; maybe she was not even home. Or she was home, but had someone else over. That thought tightened his throat. But nothing compared to the nagging gnat of trauma whispering something much more foul in his ear: perhaps he didn't come soon enough, and the apartment would already be empty. Worse yet - a repeat of the scene he came across a few months ago. No. Sasuke refused to let his brain run down that beaten path: instead, he barely made it through a yellow light and parked on the street across from her apartment building. The next time he blinked, Sasuke was standing in front of her door, fist hanging in the air. Had he already knocked? He can't remember. Kimiko hadn't even the time to quickly soak up the leftover water from her hair and wrap up decently when the second knock came. It sends a zip of fear up her spine; her mouth is gummy, so she cannot even reply. She just wraps the nearest towel tightly around herself and quickly ( and carefully ) pads over to the front door of her rather.. 'minimalistic' apartment. No, she hadn't unpacked fully, yet. It wasn't that she was expecting to pick up and disappear at the drop of a hat; it was just too hard a task, truthfully. Opening the door a crack (seeing as this apartment didn't have the foresight to install peepholes) Kimiko peers through a sliver, a single dull yellow eye landing upon his face. Oh --

Blinking a few times, Kimiko's death grip on her door is slackened in surprise. The door comes open a few more inches, and reveals that she indeed just got out of the bath. "..Sasuke?" She questions, as though the man before her might chameleon into someone else with her next blink. He stammers a reply; an apology - and she tells herself that the color of his cheeks was likely due to the strangeness of his voice, because she could not picture any other reason why he'd feel embarrassed. "H-hey. Uh, I'm sorry. I was just --" He's struggling to figure out how to express his thoughts coherently while she's standing there with her hair dripping and a towel tucked tightly around her slender frame. "You didn't answer, so.. I'm just checking in on you." Was it more awkward to look at her while she was sorta-kinda indecent, or more glaringly awkward to obviously not look at her at all? Her neighbor's door opens; Sasuke is ogled at from across the hall. Kimiko's stare slides over and the decision is made for her: she opens the door and gingerly takes his wrist, beckoning him inside. Closing the door behind him and locking ( the knob, the dead bolt, the chain, the swing-bar guard ) it, Kimiko turns to him and draws his attention back from where it wandered about her empty apartment. Well - mostly empty. Suppose the issue of not having any clutter or decorations was that a lone bottle of whiskey appeared like a glaring centerpiece on her coffee table. She'll behave as though it didn't exist. "Sorry. It's nothing personal; she stares at me, too." Kimiko murmurs, catching that telltale look of concern hardly concealed in his stare as he turns back to her. "Kimiko.." His voice is careful, as though they stood on thin ice and he was chancing the very real possibility that whatever he would say next could make them fall through and catch hypothermia. "I should get dressed," She'd reply, dipping her head and passing him by on her way back to the bathroom. Despite her hope that he would ignore the obvious, too - Kimiko returns to the front room once dressed, and Sasuke is leaning his weight into the arm of her couch rather than sitting upon it. She catches him in a staring contest with the bottle of liquor. Arms tucked across her midsection, she stands adjacent to him and awaits the backfire from being caught -- even if she hadn't indulged in it (yet). "I'm sorry I didn't pick up." Instead of scolding her, Sasuke apologizes. It's.. strange, but quietly welcomed in the stead of worse repercussions. She doesn't respond, because she doesn't know quite how to. So, with fingers steepled and head dipped to the floor between them, he speaks up again; but it's not without strain. "I know I said I'd be available for support if you needed it-" She's expecting him to follow this sentence with a 'but I said it too soon' or a 'but I changed my mind', and she doesn't want the heartache that would follow hearing that kind of statement, so Kimiko cuts him off. "It's fine, Sasuke. Really.. I'm fine." She shouldn't lie like that, but old habits die painfully slow. At last, his gaze lifts and they share a look; one that's hard to place. She knows that he knows she's lying, and she swallows the guilt and shame that comes with that. "I didn't have any. The cap is sealed, if you want to check." She offers the olive branch, and Sasuke truly considers it: but decides against it, in an attempt to show his trust in her claim. Even still, a short sigh escapes her; fingers come up to rub at her eye. Now having a proper look at her, Sasuke recognizes an old shirt she used to wear in high school. It draws attention to how much she's thinned down since then, the fabric now loose in places that it used to hold onto her curves. Dark crescents are worn like ghosts under her eyes, her cheekbones are taut and pronounced in a way he hasn't noticed before. Kimiko speaks up before he has the chance. "I did think about it," She admits, sounding tired. "And I did call," Another admittance, this one with a twinge more shame behind it. He gives a little wince. "But I walked away from it." A half-hearted shrug follows. Actually, she had tossed her phone on the couch and fled to the bathroom, mid-panic attack and desperate to scald and then simmer in a soup of flashbulb memories: just so she could watch them wash down the drain with the soapy bathwater. But a knock on the door interrupted that sequence, and now here they both were.

"It's okay that you didn't answer. I know that .." She hesitates, the fingers at her side starting to pluck at the edge of her shirt. "I know you're busy, with stuff." Ah, real smooth, Kimiko. That totally wasn't obvious. Her lips press firm, and she can no longer bear to hold his gaze, so she drops her own while slowly curling her grip over opposite arm. "And I'm fine to handle it on my own. I've done it before." Yeah, that probably wasn't the best thing to add in, either. "I was working on a painting." Sasuke replies, then turns over his palms to expose the flecks and streaks of paint that litter his pale skin. He's not sure why he felt like she needed the visual proof; but she had offered some tactile evidence with the sealed cap to her bottle of whiskey, earlier - and he wanted to extend the same offering in exchange. To make it a two-lane street, like his therapist had mentioned last week. Before her.. self-inflicted incident - Kimiko had been the only one expressing her efforts to make amends. He wasn't proud of the result; so now, in light of the aftermath: Sasuke wanted to try, too. "Oh." She replies, dumbly. "Um," Umber hues roam around the room, but he continues to look up at her. "..Sorry you came all the way out here to check on me. I didn't have my phone, I was in the bath, and-" Her fingers are plucked from her side and engulfed by the dual caress of both of his palms. He holds her small hand in his own, and places his other hand on top. It strikes her heart, giving it a kickstart as she looks between their clasped hands and back up to him. "Don't apologize." He begins, "I came to check on you because I wanted to." A thumb runs over the top of her hand, trying to soothe. Instead it just gets her heart in a weird flutter; unused to this intimacy, even after all this time. Or, perhaps especially after all this time. "I see." Is her quiet reply. Parting his lips, Sasuke realizes that she's transfixed on her hand sandwiched between his own. He returns it, but admittedly, it isn't without some reluctance: like pulling apart two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle after finally connecting their uneven ends. "..Have you eaten?" He asks, and she appears dumbfounded by the question. "What?" It comes from her mouth laced in confusion. "Have you had dinner? I parked by a sushi restaurant and I was thinking of ordering takeout." He looks up at her expectantly: Kimiko clearly hasn't been eating well enough, and he wouldn't let that slide by him. So, without an answer - Sasuke is already pulling up the menu on his phone, swiping a finger down the menu. "Do you still like salmon, and eel?" He gives her an upward glance; she's getting obviously flustered. "Sasuke.." Now it was her turn to lace her voice with the careful and wary tone of warning. It dawns on him, then -- He'd just invited himself to stay in her space. Casually, too: as if it were commonality. It hadn't been, not in a long time. The realization ( and deflation ) must have been rather obviously etched upon his features, because Kimi is quick to the draw and apologizing. "I'm sorry, it's just- I don't mean-" His hand comes up, and she quiets down. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped the gun like that." He rises to his feet, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. "It's not like that,.." She trails off, and without transparency, Sasuke decides to play it safe. "It's okay to be uncomfortable, Kimiko. You've done well to respect my boundaries, and I don't want to push you. I'm glad you didn't relapse." They stand there for a few beats more - until he can't take it anymore, all the things left unsaid hanging between them; he heads for the door. "Sasuke, wait." Kimiko's voice is pressed with a twinge of urgency; she's gone as far as to take a few strides and grasp for his wrist. When he stops and looks down at her over his shoulder, Kimiko reflects the little girl at the playground all those years ago: doe-eyed, perpetually a tad afraid, knowing what she wanted but not yet certain on how to ask for it. She lets go of his wrist and returns her hands to herself, one arm still tucked around her center as the now free hand comes up to collect a strand of her hair. Sasuke turns to face her properly.

"It's not that I don't want to spend time with you," She begins to explain, pressing the knuckle of her finger ( wrapped with a coil of dark hair ) into her cheek. "I really appreciate the offer of sushi, and.. your time." A little inaudible gulp, and a stolen glance back up at him. "I just don't want to be here, really." At last, she's admitted the true hang-up to this entire situation. Slowly, his eyebrows raise -- he understands where her reluctance is coming from, almost immediately. "Kimiko, did he send-?" His concerned question is cut off with a quick toss of her head: No. Or, more likely: No, I don't want to talk about this right now. With a nod of acknowledgement, Sasuke folds his lips before proposing a solution. "Do you want to take the sushi to my place, then? We could watch a movie." His offer is received with a hopeful look on her part: like he had offered a child if they'd like to get ice-cream instead of doing their homework. "..Are you sure?" She has to ask, and it brings a little smile from him, exhaling through his nose. "Yeah, I'm sure." ------------- So their night together had officially begun; ( Kimiko did in fact still like salmon and eel ) - sushi was secured, the drive to his place was shared in amicable silence with the background of music, and the movie was picked effortlessly. Of course, she had perked up after that first ( and hesitant ) bite - and also to nobody's surprise, Kimiko had easily agreed to the movie he suggested; for it was a movie that she was planning to watch, anyway. The night played on without a single scratch or trip in the record, and conversations flowed back and forth without a hitch. They were truly getting along without so much as a hiccup or awkward pause along the way. Now satisfied and lulled, Kimiko was starting to drift upon his couch, curled against the pillow between them. The TV screen washed in red, and Sasuke hums in amusement, dipping his ear towards his shoulder and murmuring, "I guess you were right, Brenda didn't last longer than Stacy. Still, I don't think there's going to be a Final Girl." Kimiko hums something nonsensical, half-muffled by the pillow she'd nuzzled down into. Properly looking over now, Sasuke double-takes the scene beside him; and his heart swells. She was ..well, undoubtedly cute, curled up and dozing off in the smack-middle of a slasher movie. In the moment of privacy, Sasuke unfolds into an unseen smile. A few moments pass as he studies her sleep-slackened face, peaceful and unmarred from bruises or tears. Picturesque from their early highschool years. A little sigh escapes his nostrils, the familiar sense of nostalgia clutching him. Reaching forward, Sasuke plucks the remote from the coffee table and turns down the movie a notch or two before rising to his feet and taking care of the takeout boxes. She's done well to eat most of her food; he's proud that she made the effort. Returning to the couch, Sasuke brings with him a clean blanket from his storage closet. Gingerly, it's draped over the slumbering girl. He returns to her side, arms stretching into his wingspan across the back of the couch. His weight pressing into the cushions beside her causes Kimiko to stir; she tucks herself closer to him, nose following his familiar scent and notching against his shoulder. Sasuke stills in his spot as his old flame stitches slowly back into his side, the familiarity in such an action eliciting a similar response from him. His arm lifts from the back of the couch; it hovers just over her shoulders before slowly settling upon her. A hand cups her arm, sinking down into his seat on the couch and feeling his heart hammer in his chest: God, how he felt like a teenager, again. Those first few instances of intimate physical contact with his best friend whom he had an enthralling crush on: it came rushing back in, now. That twist of excitement tightening his chest in all the right ways, a weird warm flutter in his gut.

Thumb slowly begins to slide up and down over her bicep, Sasuke looking right through the TV screen as he dares let his cheek lower, one centimeter at a time, until it brushes just over the top of her head. He could just close his eyes and be content like this, turn into a statue forever in this position that he didn't realize how much he truly missed. But a shrill shriek from the movie is enough to pull Kimiko from her dreams; eyes slowly blink open before she realizes the circumstance and quickly retreats from the intimate embrace. Kimiko's heart is thunderous in her ears as she reels from the comedown of her otherwise peaceful slumber - eyes rounded into full moons that blink at him while she tries to collect her surroundings. "I- God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I just; I fell asleep." She's tripping over apologies and excuses for her 'inappropriate' behavior, and Sasuke's face is burning with the childish shame of being caught. Now he's flustered, too. "No- It's fine, really -uh, I didn't mind; you were just sleeping- I know." Their awkward dance stifled down into an even worse silence. His fingers twitched at the back of the couch, wanting to reach out and grip her arm so gently, to just quietly pull her in and tuck her under his chin, like the old times. But he doesn't, and her unforgiving grip on the pillow clutched to her chest slowly comes undone. Sasuke watches her, but again, she's receded back into her shell, unable to look over at him while coming down from the level of embarrassment she'd catapulted herself into. On the table between them, Sasuke's phone lights up with a text. Neither of them can see who its from, but Kimiko catches the time before the screen goes dark. "It's late.." She trails off; and he doesn't pick up on what she was insinuating. It was one in the morning, and he’d received a text. She could’ve read the name if she really tried, but she already had a good guess; and it made her stomach curdle. So, with a small swallow, Kimiko rubs her arm and starts to stand up. "I should get going." Suddenly, Sasuke understands - and he cannot bear the thought at this moment, not after all that's transpired: even if given the option this morning, he would've likely not felt any one particular way. Or maybe he would have - thoughts and feelings are scattered all over the place. But one thing was for certain, it was screaming in his head as she collected her things and tucked hair behind her ear, lingering; as though she were waiting for him to say something, anything, god damnit-- "Um, well. Thank you for dinner, and.. sorry I couldn't stay awake through the movie. Guess I'm aging fast," Her attempt at a little laugh breaks his heart. He feels like such an idiot, his tongue tangled into knots and sitting useless in his mouth, his body sewn into the couch. She must think he was just sitting there, waiting for her to excuse herself from his apartment on her own. Fuck. So much time has dragged by, when in reality it was only a single beat of silence before she cleared her throat softly and dropped her arms down. "Don't worry about driving me back, I know the bus routes." Her voice falters at the end, and suddenly, she's turned on her heel and heading with purpose towards his door - like ripping off a band aid. "Kimiko, wait-" Finally, words choke from his throat with his sheer desperation to keep her from leaving. Not again. Up on his feet now, Sasuke made it a whole three feet before realizing with subdued surprise that she had in fact ..waited. Almost as though she were hesitant to actually leave, in the first place. So, she stalls facing the front door and clutching her phone to her chest, lingering - waiting to hear him out. A single golden beam rolls over her shoulder and drinks him in, eyebrow dipped up in an expression of both uncertainty and hope. “ please... stay, just for tonight. ”

Slowly, quietly, Kimiko turns. They share a encapsulating moment, holding a tender stare from across the room. She recognizes the fear etched into his face - that telltale look of expectant abandonment, the childish shrinking away from his own vulnerability. Kimiko won’t leave him; not like she had, before. Before she weighed the fear of entangling him into her corrupted life against the knowledge that every time she slipped away and into the night, a little piece of his heart broke loose. So, as long as he would ask her to -- Kimiko would stay. He holds his heart in the base of his throat - truly expecting that she would turn back around and leave him here, alone. Maybe laugh at him for the inflated hope that she would stay for the night; be there when he woke up in the morning. Instead, Kimi breaks his expectations and approaches with careful, practiced steps - returning to his side. Without a hint of hesitation this time, Sasuke reaches out and scoops her into his embrace. His body was moving of its own accord, playing out the complicated desires of his heart. Kimiko doesn't fight it, nor does she still into ice. In fact, the girl just melts against him; doing what came naturally. It was second nature to tuck her head into the crook of his collarbone, to delicately slip her arms beneath his and hook her fingers into the fabric just over his shoulder blades. His chin rests atop her head, fingers gingerly running large, comforting circles over her back. Everything fell back into place; as natural and second-nature as breathing. There was no effort involved, in this moment of soft re-collision. Only a wish, on both of their parts - that this connection would have happened sooner. That their selfish games of head vs. heart would have been silenced and put out well before this night. Accompanying that desire was the hope that things would really be okay, this time: he would ask her to stay, and she would - he wouldn't mind, and it wouldn't be just for tonight. So, Kimiko had come over; and in the end, she wouldn’t leave his side unless he had asked her to.

#suckmytomato #CAN YOU BELIEVE IT #im unstoppable #i hope you enjoyed this episode of: im obsessed with our otp #HAPPY ENDINGS BABEY #answered;#verse; post modern

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pocketfulofrogers · 3 years

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HWBL Part 4

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: How far would you go to save the life of the man you love?

Notes: It’s been like a year since I last updated this series... oops.

“You’ve been at this too long.” Steve startles you from behind and you have to resist the urge to slam your computer shut. “When was the last time you ate?” He asks.

You send a haphazard wave in his general direction as you turn back to your screen. “I can eat when I figure this out.”

It was a bet. One you had no business participating in. What had started as an innocent conversation about childhood tales with Sam and Tony had become a frenzied search for proof that Fury hasn’t always been a grown, joyless, hardass.

“He did not just manifest out of thin air.” You grumble when your forced to start another public record search. At this rate, you’d waste away before you even found photographic evidence of a smile.

Steve leans forward and your concentration fizzles as his jaw grazes your ear. He watches as your fingers lose steam, and the edge of his lips draws out a smirk when they freeze to hover over the keys. Slowly, he reaches an arm from behind you to lower the screen while his other presents a muffin.

Still warm, the sweet aroma lures you out of the small trance he’s managed to put you in. A smile breaks out and you reach for it quickly, promptly shoving it to your nose.

He laughs. “If anyone asks, you didn’t get this from me.”

“I’ll be sure to finish the evidence before Clint comes stomping around.” He laughs as you take a comically sized bite before leaning close again to whisper in your ear.

“There’s a false bottom in the third drawer in Fury’s desk. Latch is at the back. You should find what you’re looking for there.”

You shove the remainder of the stolen breakfast in your mouth before taking off, Steve’s eyes glued to you until you disappear around the corner.

Natasha Romanoff may be many things, but a fool is not one. She decides to give you the benefit of the doubt for exactly two hours, setting a timer and everything. When she calls and you don’t answer, she curses herself for even letting you leave her sight.

“These fools are going to get themselves killed.” She mutters as she starts a track on every alias she knows you to have. No luck.

Clint picks up on the second ring, almost as desperate for information on their friends than she was. Before she’s even finished her request, he has your face plugged into every tracking program SHIELD has available.

A security camera at the international airport in Rome catches a portion of your face for a fraction of a second. He offers to flag your passport, but she tells him no.

She wants to handle you herself.

You find Raleigh, North Carolina to be an odd place. Beautiful, almost deceptively so with its old architecture and the brilliant greens of the Elm trees in the square parks. Known as part of the ‘Research Triangle’, you have to laugh at how easy it was for you to be kept at such a horrid place under the false guise of ‘research’.

Three blocks from your destination, the hair on the back of your neck prickles and your posture tightens, but you maintain your pace regardless. You scan your surroundings, picking through reflections in store front windows, simultaneously keeping the perfect depiction of ease.

When that doesn’t appear to be working, you pick out a large man to stumble into. He quickly apologizes as you make your way behind him and offer him a sweet smile before you slip into the crack of an ally to wait.

Of all the people it could’ve been, or of all the people you would’ve rather it been, you weren’t exactly expecting to see the bright red hair of Natasha peeping out of a dark hood. She continues past you, eyes peeled and scanning. A quiet string of Russian curse words slip from her lips.

When she lowers the hood, preoccupied with rethinking her next moves, you walk silently out into the light.

“What are you doing here.”

If you’ve startled her, she doesn’t show it. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

“Not until it was done. Guess I shouldn’t have stopped for breakfast.” You smirk and raise a brow- tilt you head with a hint of a playfulness she finds irritating.

It’s short lived.

“Come back with me.” She pleads. A request you’ve heard before. “We’ll put a team together, and with all you know about Yates, we’ll get him back. Why would you rather give yourself to the man who destroyed you?” She furrows her brow, confused.

Because it insures Steve’s life. But you don’t respond, you can’t even meet her eyes.

“You let him get to you.” She states simply. There’s no need for her to specify who.

“Not willingly.” You say softly.

“You’ll recover.”

You laugh lightly and gaze back up at her and shake your head softly. There’s a small smile on your lips and Natasha knows she’s fighting a losing battle. “That’s the thing, Nat, I’m not so sure I want to.”

She makes her way closer to you, feeling slightly more desperate. “This is not our only option.”

“You don’t get it. You don’t understand what I owe him.”

Her heart pangs because she does. She had watched you both for the better part of a year, had a front row seat to whatever it was the two of you were. You had gone from some fable most could never believe to a real member of the Avengers.

Before all of this, she had allowed herself to believe that you called them home. You did too, if you were honest with yourself.

She rests a hand on your shoulder, not knowing what other pleas or promises she could make, and you’re finally able to force yourself to meet her eyes. So sincere, so hopeful.

For a moment you try to believe that with the power of teamwork and well wishes or whatever, Steve could come home whole and unchanged, but she does not know all that you do. She doesn’t know what horrors Steve has already faced. Who wouldn’t want to break the legendary Captain America? Chip away at all of that good and fill him with something sinister. Walk around having broken one of the greats.

There’s nothing they love more than a challenge. You had been a testament to that.

The relief that flashes through her eyes when you place your hand on hers cuts you almost as deep as the guilt does when you twist her arm behind her back- kick her legs beneath her and leave her unconscious.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“A movie? Like in a crowded theater” You question, your apprehension thick in your tone.

Steve was the first to be so good at getting you to take a break from your work. Just to do normal things- things you never thought to do. Most of them were far out of your comfort zone, but there was something about him that calmed you. Something deep within him that soothed the ‘what ifs’ that usually plagued you.

But a big, dark room surrounded by people with very few exit strategies was definitely not something you were up for.

“Not a theater, a drive in.” He beams. “We take one of SHIELD’s cars, tinted to your comfort, eat popcorn and maybe something fried. The cars are bullet proof and I’m pretty sure they fly. There’s like five different escapes they alone offer.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why?”

He chuckles. “I’m trying to show you how much more there is to this world then what you’ve seen.”

The Institute looks the exact same as it was. Behind the towering iron fencing, tucked behind a curtain of old oak trees lays a grey stone building. The swooping arches and intricate iron work alone is enough to distract the average person from the lack of windows.

It was one of the things you loved the most about the Tower and the Triskelion, all of that natural lighting.

The hole you blew in one of the walls seemed to be a good enough reason to add an extension to the building. There’s a shiver that runs up your spine when you try to imagine what may be inside.

Despite already having made peace with what may become of you, pressing the call button just before the gate still sends ice through your veins.

“Sorry, no tours today.” The voice says.

“That’s alright, I believe you boys should be expecting me.” You look up to the camera in the corner, tip up your baseball cap, and smile. Adding a little wave for good measure.

There’s silence and then a buzz. The gate swings open but you’re surrounded by automatic weapons before you’ve even crossed the threshold.

You had once let word spread that one day you would return to this place to balance the scales, so they probably expect a fight from you. Their fear drips from them, standing before the deadliest tale they’ve heard.

The only one to have ever escaped.

The ghost story whispered to new guards in locker rooms to remind them those they try to control are not to be underestimated.

The dramatic interpretation is downright laughable.

A segment clears in the group of men surrounding you, and you do your best to keep up the façade of being unphased.

A tall man with dark grey hair peppered silver on the sides saunters forward, an unmistakably sinister glint in the steel blue of his eyes. He stops just before you and places his finger under your jaw to tilt your head up to his.

Your breath freezes in your lungs when he smiles down at you.

“Welcome home, darlin’.”

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #natasha romanoff

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saxxxology · 4 years

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What Lurks Beneath the Surface - 2

After Sam’s ultimate sacrifice, you struggle to cope. When he shows up after months of being gone, you’re happier than ever to see him. That is, until you realize that the love of your life is much different than you remember.

PAIRING: Soulless!Sam x Reader WARNINGS: canon divergence (season 6), angst, suspense, violence, smut, minor dub-con, and more. NOTE: Some elements of this series are a little darker than what I usually write. Warnings are sporadic to avoid spoilers - if you feel uncomfortable it is up to you to stop reading or message me with any questions.

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You’re lying on the bed when you wake up. You sit up a little too fast, and your vision blurs and swirls, forcing you to close your eyes again.

“You’re awake.”

The voice makes you freeze and choke on a scream. Glancing sharply to your left, you see him, long hair, sharp profile… it’s him.

Sam.

He’s sitting in a chair, staring at you. His face is expressionless, like he’s looking at you because he can, not because he wants to.

“Don’t act so surprised. Should’ve known I’d get out sooner or later.” He looks down at his hands, and you follow his gaze. He’s cleaning a gun that you recognize, the Glock that you keep back in your bedside cabinet. “Nice gun by the way. Knew you were goin’ for it.”

“H-how?” you choke out, and your voice cracks with the effort of speaking. You wince as a dull pain spreads through your neck, from your windpipe to the bottom of your skull. You raise a hand, feeling tender skin and bruises under your fingers. “How did you get out?”

Sam shrugs. “Don’t know.”

“How long have you been out?” you ask, your voice rough, either from not being used in so long or from the pressure that had been applied to it earlier.

“Maybe since a week after I went down,” he replies. “Been watching you for a while.”

Your throat aches as you swallow. “A whole year? And you couldn’t have shown up sooner?!”

“Took me a while to find you,” Sam continues, “you stopped using cards, didn’t leave any good trails to follow.”

You stare up at him, all sorts of emotions coursing through you. You’re amazed that he’s still alive, happy that he’s standing in front of you, apparently healthy and relatively happy. There’s a hint of anger at what he did to you, and why he couldn’t just knock on your door like a normal person.

“Does Dean know you’re alive?” You ask.

Sam shakes his head. “No. And I don’t want him to.”

“Why?” You narrow your eyes. “Is there something you don’t want him to know?”

Sam shrugs. “He’s happy. I’ve been watching him too.”

“Yeah, and I was just starting to get happy again, that doesn’t matter?” Your throat aches with emotion as you stand up to face him. “I was starting to get over what happened, I was practically drinking myself to sleep almost every night, I was depressed!” You start shouting as tears start in your eyes. “I was sad and scared and Dean cared more about some woman who’s practically a stranger than he did about me! I had to go through it alone! And now you’re here and I don’t even know how or why!”

Sam just stares at you, at the tears streaming down your face, the slightly purple bruises on your throat from where he’d been a little too firm in trying to subdue you. “I need your help.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the closed curtains just behind Sam. “Yeah, well, I’m still trying to figure out if this is real or not, give me a bit.”

Sam turns away from you, grabs your bag, and tosses it onto the bed next to you. “Believe me, you’re not dreaming.” He motions to your neck. “That’s proof enough. Call your boss.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to be missing work for a few days.”

There’s something eerie about the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s talking to you. When he used to talk, you could hear the emotion in his voice. With your eyes closed, you could tell if he was smiling or frowning when he spoke. Now, you can’t really tell what emotion he’s feeling, or if he’s feeling anything at all. His eyes are cold and empty and there’s an odd glint that doesn’t look like it belongs there.

“Sam, what’s wrong with you?” You edge away from him to stand shakily at the foot of the bed.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he replies calmly, “I’ll prove it.”

Sam takes a silver flask from his bag and unscrews the cap. He tilts his head back and takes a long swallow, raising an eyebrow at you as if to say not a demon, and then unsheathes a small silver knife that looks brand new. He draws it over his forearm, leaving a small trail of bright red blood.

“Not a demon, not a shifter, not anything you should be scared of.” He sets the knife back on the table. “Just good ol’ Sam.”

You step forward and slowly wrap your arms around his torso, and you listen to his heartbeat, loud and steady in his chest. He hugs you back, his fingers spreading across your back, and you realize just how hard it’s been living without Sam’s hugs, and you hold onto him tighter, burying your face in his chest.

“I missed you, Sam,” you whisper, “I really missed you.”

***

FOUR MONTHS LATER...

Of course you go with him. You’ll always go with Sam if he asks. Three days after Sam comes, you drop your job, pack up, and sell most of your belongings online.

It’s hard to keep from telling Dean; often, when he calls you, you find yourself nearly telling him about the case you’ve caught with Sam, or that Sam’s even alive…

It hurts, but you’d promised Sam that you wouldn’t tell. And you keep your promises.

You’ve gotten used to this version of Sam. You miss his old smiles, wish that every laugh wasn’t partially forced, but then again, if you’d gone to battle with the Devil for who knows how long, you’d probably take life a little more seriously too.

Sam’s definitely changed; not just mentally or emotionally, but physically. He’s bigger, stronger, more alert. He works out like a maniac and keeps track of his hygiene even more than before. There’s a new confidence in his stride, a sharper, clearer tone when he speaks. And then there’s the fact that he stays out later than usual and never looks tired, even if he’s gone all night.

You don’t ask questions, just respect the way he lives now.

It’s mid-February when you and Sam finally catch a break. The past few weeks have been non stop hunting, and you’re glad when Sam agrees to stay in Columbus for an extra day. It’s not entirely for care of you, however; cash is running low and Sam’s taken a liking to your skill of seducing men into giving up more cash than they can afford to.

On this night, you join Sam for a game of pool against two members of what looks like a biker gang. The men’s eyes flicker between your low-cut shirt and skirt, only stopping when it’s their turn to shoot.

During this time, Sam drinks continuously, one beer after another. By looking in his eyes, you can tell he’s steady, but he’s acting, pretending to get drunker and more confident with every drink he takes. The bikers team up, and within minutes, they’ve got a small pile of twenties and fifties going on the side of the pool table.

“Your girl’s good luck,” one of the men comments, nodding his head in your direction.

Sam grins and wraps one arm around you, pulling you tight against his side. “Damn right she is.” He smiles down at you, and you offer a smile back. You hate it when he plays with you like this, pretends you’re a good luck charm or something he can use for his advantage, but right now your need for money surpasses anything else, and playing along with his little game might get you more.

Sam watches closely as one of the bikers lines his cue up with a ball and swings forward. The ball misses its mark by a good three inches, and his friends groan as Sam straightens up, a smile playing on his face. He only has to make one more perfect shot to win everything on the table.

You hear the whispered curses from the men surrounding you, and Sam turns his head to look at you. He shoots you a wink that shows nothing but confidence and quickly lines his cue up with the white ball. Your heart beats faster in your chest; it’s been a long time since you felt this rush, the win-or-lose-everything thrill that is powerful enough to make your head spin and your legs tremble.

The biker gang shouts and yells angrily as Sam lands the winning ball right in the corner pocket, and he sweeps the pile of cash into his hands before giving it to you. You shove it into your purse and follow Sam towards the bar, blowing a kiss at the leather-clad men over your shoulder. He pushes a fifty-dollar bill towards the bartender and points to the surly group of bikers.

“Get them drinks,” he says, and then follows you out of the bar.

It’s late, past midnight, and the streets are empty. You check your phone for the time, reading half-past ten on your screen. You have to walk a little faster to keep up with Sam, and you’re surprised he’s still steady on his feet.

“We should get something to eat.” You say, looking up at his sharp profile, lit by streetlights as you pass under them. “I think there’s an all-night McDonald’s or something down the street.”

“I’m not hungry.” He replies.

“Sam, you just drank, like, four beers in a row, you should eat.” You follow him across the parking lot to the motel. “You’ll wear yourself out.”

“I’ll eat in the morning,” he replies coldly, “it’s late, you should sleep. I wanna be out first thing in the morning.”

“What about you?” You watch him unlock the motel room and follow him inside. “You’re not tired—?”

Sam doesn’t respond, just turns to face you and pushes you up against the wall. One hand slips around your back, the other tangles in your hair, pulling your hair back. You gasp when he presses his body against yours and shove your hands on his chest, stopping him from getting too close.

“I don’t want to sleep.” His voice is low and dangerous. “You know exactly what I want.”

You try not to think about how close he is, how you can feel his warmth through his shirt and the way he’s holding you against the wall, caging you in…

“Sam, I…” you grip his jacket in both hands, unable to say the one word he’s silently waiting for. To tell him that you don’t want this will be a lie.

“What?” His tone is nearly mocking, as if he knows you’re truly helpless.

You swallow thickly. “Please… get off of me.”

He narrows his eyes, but steps away, allowing you to slip out of his grip. He watches you go to your suitcase and tug a sleep shirt and a clean pair of panties out. “What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Shower,” you reply bluntly. “Stay out.”

You stay in the shower as long as you can, scrubbing the smell of the bar off your skin. Sam’s given you a lot of signals over the last few months, but in no way have any of them ever been that he wants to sleep with you. You’ve heard him fucking the life out of other women, watched them stumble out with runny mascara and a limp.

Sam’s never wanted to do that to you before now.

Maybe one night… yeah, one night can’t hurt.

You step out of the shower and quickly towel dry. You carry your spare clothes into the main room and toss them onto one of the two beds. Sam’s been reading the newspaper, and he watches with dark, malicious eyes as you drop the towel, allowing him to see every inch of bare skin.

“Well,” you murmur, “get your ass over here.”

Sam rises from his chair, quickly crossing over to meet you at the foot of the bed. He yanks you up, fingers pulling at soft flesh, and kisses you so hard your teeth click. He shrugs his jacket off, dropping it on the ground before letting you push his flannel over his shoulders.

You’ve never felt this before, this degree of need, of want. You and Sam have kissed before, on undercover investigations where you’d had to pretend to be a couple, but those were little, gentle kisses. The way you’re kissing now is desperate and just on the border of too-rough.

And you like it.

Sam runs his hands over your body, up and down your arms, over your sides and up the curve of your back, feeling your skin flex and bend under his palms. He presses his lips against yours one more time before pulling back for air, and you open your eyes, looking up at him. His pupils are blown with need, and he hooks his hands under your thighs, pulling you up and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Sam…” You gasp his name when he lays you out on the bed and shoves his hips between your legs. He nips at your lower lip, his eyes glittering wickedly mere inches away from yours.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He bites down on your jaw and palms one firm tit. “Been wanting to get my cock inside you for so long.”

He’s just about to pull his belt loose when you hear a knocking on the door to your room.

“We sh—” you pause when Sam pulls you in for another kiss, “we should get that.”

Sam tilts his head, eyes narrowing. His tongue darts out to flick over his lower lip, and he smiles. “How about we ignore it until they go away.”

“No, it might be important.” You pull away, climbing out from underneath him and reaching for your nightshirt. It barely covers your thighs, and you hope that whoever’s at the door isn’t important enough for you to be decently dressed. Peering through the door, your heart stops in your chest.

Dean’s standing on the other side, his fist raised to knock three more times.

“Get in the bathroom,” you whisper, turning to face Sam, who’s still standing with a hand on his belt buckle.

Sam begins walking towards the door, squaring his shoulders. “Why?”

You put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Because it’s Dean.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, and he moves past you to grab his shirt and jacket off the floor. He kicks his duffel bag under the bed and out of sight before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door.

You wait for him to go completely quiet before you answer the door. “Dean, hey.”

Dean takes in your disheveled appearance and raises his eyebrows, but there’s no hiding the anger in his eyes. “What’s going on?” There’s a great deal of concern in his voice. “I tried visiting you for New Year’s but you weren’t there, now your place is all cleaned out and now you’re in freaking Ohio.”

“I…” you try to keep yourself calm as Dean walks past you into the room. “I went to see an old friend in Toledo, I was heading back today and I got tired, so I thought I’d stay at a motel—”

“You’ve been all over the grid for two months,” Dean replies. “I’ve been tracking you, couldn’t get you stuck in one place long enough before you took off.” He glances at your ripped shirt and disheveled hair again. “Have company?” He looks around the room and his eyes land on your bag and the twenty and fifty-dollar bills sticking out of the top. “Y/N, what the hell is this?”

You scramble to cover up your reason for having that much cash and Dean’s obvious conclusion. “I’m not selling myself. I just played a good round of pool earlier.”

Dean pulls a handful of cash out of your bag and looks at it. “How much is here?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t count it yet.”

Dean drops his interrogation and bows his head. “You know, the only other person who could win this much was Sam.” He swallows thickly. “Seems like you’re taking after him.”

“Yeah… yeah, I am.” You look down at the ground. “Guess you can call it beginner’s luck, I haven’t played since… you know.”

Dean nods in understanding and looks towards you. “Are you hunting again?”

Again, you’re stuck searching for an explanation. “I… there was a vampire in Cedar Rapids last month, I took care of it, it’s not—”

“Don’t say it’s not a big deal,” Dean interrupts. “Seriously, Y/N? Your apartment’s empty, your car is gone, why do I think you’re lying to me?”

“It was killing people, Dean, it would have killed more and I stopped it—”

“Why didn’t you tell me? You could have dropped a line and I would have come with you.”

You stare at the ground, playing with one sleeve of your shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Dean steps towards you and pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. “Don’t apologize, I just want you to be okay.”

You hear the sink faucet running in the bathroom, and Dean looks up towards it. “You should probably…”

“Go, yeah.” Dean backs away from you. “I’ll get a room someplace else, stick around until you take off.” He goes to the door and opens it. “By the way, if you sold your car, what are you driving?”

You motion out the curtain covered window. “The Dodge.”

“That thing?”

“Yeah,” you cross your arms. “Real piece of crap, I’ve missed the Impala.”

Dean grins. “Maybe we can go for a ride in the morning, bet she’s missed you.”

You nod, watching Dean study the sleek black exterior of the car next to the Impala. “Bet she misses Sam more.”

“We all miss Sam.” Dean sighs heavily. “Anyway, I’ll see you around, call me in the morning.” He points a finger at you. “And don’t scare me like that again.”

He leaves, and the second you hear the Impala start up, you go to the bathroom door and knock twice. “You can come out now.”

You’re sitting on the bed when the door opens and Sam steps out, carrying his jacket and shirt. “He’s gone?”

“Yeah, he said he was getting a room at another motel. I have to call him in the morning.” You look down at your lap as Sam sits next to you.

“Everything okay?”

“Other than the fact that I keep lying to him, yeah, everything’s peachy.” You don’t look at him. “You’re going to have to tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re alive. I can’t keep lying to him for you, either you tell him or I will.”

Sam reaches over, sets one hand on your knee. “I will… just when it’s the right time.” His grip tightens on your knee, and his other arm slips around your waist. “Now, where were we?”

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#soulless!sam fanfiction #soulless!sam x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester reader insert

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taesthetes · 5 years

Text

cloud ten.

you’re my first and last.

pairing: kim taehyung x reader | jeon jungkook x reader genre: angst, fluff type: soulmate au word count: 11,929 words warnings: none playlist: death by a thousand cuts (taylor swift) ⋆ you were good to me (jeremy zucker & chelsea cutter) ⋆ salvation (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ time lapse (taeyeon) ⋆ two (sleeping at last) ⋆ my first and last (nct dream) author’s note: sike you thought this blog was dead? i’m here to drop my biyearly update. shout out to t swift’s lover album for giving me motivation to finish this and thank you @nochanchu for listening to all my rambles ily mel ♡

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE FOUR.

At only four years old, life was simple. Your favorite question comprised of three words: “What’s for dinner?”, and your biggest worry was being able to claim your favorite heels and purse that were both much too big for you during dress-up time at preschool. And the so-called disease labelled “cooties” that girls your age screamed every time they saw you and Jungkook playing together at the swings was something you did not care about. Jungkook liked superheroes, and so did you, and that was all that mattered in terms of forming friendships for you.

At only four years old, a girl in class informed you that girls and boys who were friends meant they were boyfriend and girlfriend. You didn’t know what that meant. So she asked you if you loved Jungkook, and you didn’t know what that meant either. She said that it meant that you wanted to kiss him the way Cinderella and Prince Charming kissed. You and Jungkook were curious, and that was how your first kiss happened inside the large, multicolored, plastic rocket that stood in the corner of the playground area. Jungkook’s lips were red and slightly chapped, and you did not like the kiss very much, so you guessed that meant you did not love Jungkook.

At only four years old, you didn’t quite understand what love was yet, but all you knew was that your stomach did funny flip flops whenever you were in the presence of a certain six year old who lived next door named Kim Taehyung. You liked the way his eyes always sparkled like the pretty stars in the sky and how he always saved his grape flavored fruit snacks for you because he knew they were your favorite. His lips looked pink and soft, and maybe, just maybe, you might be okay with kissing him the way Cinderella and Prince Charming kissed.

At only four years old, you learn about the soulmate system.

It was an ordinary afternoon when the newfound concept of soulmates is introduced to you. You and Jungkook had walked home together with Taehyung from school and are now sitting on the couch, munching on fruit snacks and juice in front of the television set. But the show playing on the screen is long forgotten, and you are wide eyed, soaking up every single word that came out of Taehyung's mouth. Said boy speaks in hushed whispers as if he is revealing top secret information, but punctuates every sentence with wild hand gestures.

"You see the cool gold tattoos that our parents all have? That's 'cause they're soulmates!"

"They're all soulmates together?" Jungkook scrunches his nose as he frowns in confusion, and you tilt your head in agreement, mouth still preoccupied with the straw puncturing your apple juice box.

"No, silly! Your mommy and daddy are soulmates to each other," Taehyung points at Jungkook before continuing, "And _______'s parents are soulmates to each other."

"How do you know that?" you pipe up, looking at the older boy with your interest piqued.

"They all have gold tattoos. I heard some big kids talking about how they only turn gold when you meet your soulmate." Tae explains importantly, "And you get your tattoo when you're older!"

“How much older?”

“Eighteen!”

You scrunch up your nose in disgust. “That’s old.”

"What happens if you don't like your soulmate?" Jungkook asks, staring at Taehyung with anticipation, his fruit snacks now abandoned on the cushion next to him.

"Why wouldn't you like your soulmate?" you interrupt, perplexed as you squeezed the now empty juice box in your hands, before Taehyung could answer. "You and your soulmate are perfect together."

"Well, who do you want to be your soulmate?" Jungkook points his stare at you now, and your cheeks turn rosy as you avoided his gaze.

"Um..." You peek over at Taehyung, who gives you a toothy grin, and your face becomes an even darker shade of crimson as your stomach begins to fill with butterflies again. "... Taetae?"

Jungkook's impossibly large doe eyes widen even more at your answer in surprise, and Taehyung beams happily, his eyes rivaling the crescent moon. The butterflies multiply in your tummy as he plops down on couch next to you and grabs your hand innocently.

"I want you to be my soulmate, too!"

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE FIVE.

As kids, your attention span was smaller than a goldfish, and the topic of soulmates did not come up again until the following year. Taehyung burst through the front door of your home and skids his way into kitchen. Being older than you and Jungkook, his school day would last longer than yours now, a fact he often complained about. Jungkook suggested Taehyung move down to your and his grade, but Taehyung’s mother said no and the boy sulked for the rest of the day.

You and Jungkook are quietly settled at the table, drawing pictures of your respective families that are needed for class tomorrow. Your teacher announced that the following day would be Parents’ Day in which one or both of your parents will come in. You will show them around your classroom and give them your drawing as a present. And most importantly, there will be cake and juice.

Taehyung peers down at your drawing with slight interest before plopping himself down in one of the empty chairs and grabbing a chocolate chip cookie from the center of the table for himself.

“Today, I got to see my teacher’s tattoo change,” he announces loudly, munching on his snack.

Your curiosity piqued, you look up at Taehyung, all thoughts of finishing your drawing flying out the window. Jungkook carefully finishes the family member he is working on before capping his marker and placing it down, his eyes inquisitively trailed on Taehyung now.

“What was it like?” you ask eagerly, bouncing in your seat as Jungkook stares at Taehyung, impatiently waiting for his answer as well.

“Well,” Taehyung starts, his voice hushed as if he is divulging an important secret. And in a way, he is. “Miss Kang was helping me add numbers together and then the new fourth grade teacher, Mister Jung walked into the classroom on accident. I think he got lost, but when Miss Kang saw him, her tattoo started getting all shiny! She showed it to us before and it was a boring black, but I saw it start to shine! It was like glitter!”

“What happened next?” you ask, eyes round in anticipation, as Taehyung slowly takes another large bite of his cookie.

“I touched her tattoo and told her it was glowing! And we stared at it until it turned all gold!” Taehyung says enthusiastically, crumbs spraying everywhere. “And Mister Jung’s tattoo was gold, too, and he asked Miss Kang out for… oh, what’s that drink grown-ups always have? The one that your mom says makes you short?”

“Coffee!” you supply, and Taehyung nods at you fervently, “Yeah, that one!”

“Coffee is gross,” Jungkook quietly says, scrunching his nose. “He should get her milk.”

“Yeah,” you agree, frowning a little now. “Or apple juice. I hope my soulmate likes apple juice.”

“I like apple juice!” Taehyung exclaims, grinning at you, a smudge of crumbs and melted chocolate on his cheek. You smile back at him happily. Jungkook observes the two of you quietly, eyes flitting back and forth between you and Taehyung.

Apple juice is good. But he still likes milk better.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE SIX.

In a make-believe world fueled by your mind and Jungkook’s, you become superheroes, race car drivers, astronauts, dragons and knights—because you refuse to sit in the treehouse like some prissy princess. It’s much more fun to pretend to be a dragon and chase Jungkook the knight with your fire breathing skills, conjured up with bits of orange and yellow construction paper and a sprinkle of imagination.

You are in the midst of another game of pretend when Taehyung stops by, waving around one of those twenty-four pack of markers that every kid on the block envies. “_______! Kookie! Want to try out the new markers I got?”

Game now forgotten, you and Jungkook hurriedly stumble over to Taehyung, following him back to his house where he haphazardly spread the markers across the kitchen table. The three of you settle down with sheets of paper and markers of your favorite colors, happily scribbling across the blank canvases. Engrossed in your art, none of you hear the front door open, and Taehyung’s older brother and his friend entered into the kitchen.

“Jinnie! Was basketball fun? Are you on the team?” Taehyung bounces in his seat, his attention focused fully on his brother. Seokjin grins as he opens the refrigerator door for some milk. Yoongi stands next to him quietly, but a proud smile adorns his face.

“Yeah, I made it onto Yoongi’s team! We have a game in two weeks, and coach said I can play shooting guard!” Seokjin exclaims, beaming, and an identical smile is found on Taehyung’s face. “Maybe mom can take _______ and Kookie, too, if they want to watch?”

“Yes! I wanna watch the game, too!” You nod fervently, and Jungkook echoes your agreement.

“Let’s make a banner for their team!” Taehyung suggests, and the three of you busy yourselves with making a brightly multicolored sign that might even put actual rainbows to shame.

Yoongi quietly observes how Taehyung carefully passes markers between him and you as Jungkook silently and slowly works on his corner of the banner. Seokjin and Yoongi slip away from the kitchen wordlessly, leaving you three alone.

“You think they’re soulmates?” Yoongi asks, nudging his friend as they make their way up to Seokjin’s room.

“Who? Tae and _______? Or _______ and Kookie?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Either one.”

“Maybe. Who knows?”

“If they are, it’s gonna suck for one of them.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE SEVEN.

“This is Jiminnie! He’s in my class, and he just moved here.”

Taehyung introduces you and Jungkook to his new friend, a chubby cheeked boy with nicely combed black hair. Jungkook hides behind you, peeking out and carefully scrutinizing the newcomer. Jimin shyly waves at the two of you, and you do the same cheerfully.

“We’re gonna go ride our bikes to the park. See you later!” Taehyung pulls Jimin away with him, leaving you and Jungkook standing in your front yard. You stare at them riding off wistfully. Their bikes don’t have training wheels anymore. Maybe you can ask your mom to take those off later. You are a big girl now, too, right? Maybe Taehyung will let you play with him and Jimin if you can ride your bike without training wheels, too.

“I’m gonna take the training wheels off my bike,” you announce, and Jungkook frowns, furrowing his eyebrows.

“That’s dangerous! You can’t do that.”

“But Tae doesn’t have training wheels,” you points out before Jungkook tugs at your sleeve.

“Because he’s a big kid and he and Jimin are playing big kid games. Let’s play Mario Kart. We don’t have to take turns because Tae isn’t here.”

You follow after him to his house, sulking. “Does this mean he’s not gonna play with us anymore?”

Jungkook scrunches up his nose. “I don’t know. But we’ll have fun! C’mon, let’s play before you have to go home for dinner.”

“Okay…” You trail behind him, looking over your shoulder once more in the direction of the park.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE EIGHT.

You stand at the base of the tallest tree in your neighborhood, craning your neck to see the highest branches above your head, as Lisa and Rosé huddle together nearby. Lisa had climbed up a few of the branches earlier before quickly clambering down. Yugyeom and Jaehyun are already sitting on some of the branches, calling for Jungkook to climb up with them.

“C’mon, Jungkook! Race you to the top! Winner gets a whole carton of chocolate ice cream!” says Jaehyun. In a flash, Jungkook nimbly makes his way up the tree, rapidly reaching the other two boys.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you too want the ice cream, but the thought of climbing up all those branches makes you shudder. Your stomach wins over your mind however, and you start the ascent mere seconds later.

“Be careful, _______!” Rosé cries out, but you rise even higher than the three boys, who watch you in awe. Finally, you are perched precariously on the top branch, grinning down widely, as the other two girls now cheer for you.

“_______ gets the ice cream.” Jungkook shrugs, sliding down from his seat and beginning his descent. Jaehyun and Yugyeom mumble in agreement as they start to get down as well. The smile on your face that might as well be the spitting image of the Cheshire cat’s now dims when you see how far you really are from the ground. Hastily, you wrap your arms around the trunk of the tree, clutching on for dear life.

“C’mon, _______, let’s go get ice cream,” says Yugyeom as all five of your friends waited at the bottom, looking up at you.

“I can’t! I don’t think I can get down.” Your bottom lip quivers slightly, but you keep the tears at bay.

“Should we get an adult?” Lisa pipes up.

“No! We’re gonna get in trouble for climbing.” Others chime in agreement, and you almost regret climbing up here, but the prospect of getting ice cream still shines in your mind. You tighten your grip around the tree, clinging to it.

“What’re you doing?” A familiar voice is heard, and soon, Taehyung stands under the tree with Jimin in tow.

“_______’s stuck!” exclaims Lisa as the others point up to where you sat, trembling. Taehyung and Jimin both look up at the same time, eyes widening when they see your tiny figure at the top. You try to give them a brave smile and a wave, but you quickly put your arm around the trunk again. In a flash, Taehyung clambers up to where you were.

“I’m gonna climb down first, but you follow after me, okay? I’ll show you where to put your foot to get down,” he instructs you, and you nod. He stretches down, finding his footing, and settles on a lower branch. You try to mimic him, foot dangling down, and you tremble slightly.

“Almost there!” he cheers, and you find the right footing before carefully moving down and sitting next to him. He beams at you, and you smile back at him, relieved. The two of you follow the same pattern until you finally reach the ground to your utmost relief.

The two of you split the ice cream.

After all, he reached the top, too.

And you don’t mind, of course.

It’s Tae after all.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE NINE.

You and Jungkook are sprawled outside on your front porch, a pile of board games stacked haphazardly next to you. The game of “Sorry!” spread out in front of you barely piques your interest as you keep glancing out towards the yard. Jungkook grows tired of reminding you to roll the dice every time it was your turn, huffing loudly in annoyance.

“What are you looking at?”

You whip your head back towards the game, automatically reaching for the dice. “Nothing.”

He scoffs, “It’s my turn. Pay attention, dummy.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Then why didn’t you go already, dummy?”

“It’s no fun when you’re not paying attention,” he complains before throwing the dice and eyeing the large red construction paper next to you. “Stop looking for Tae.”

Your face immediately feels warm before you screech out, “I’m not!”

“Hi, _______!” Taehyung’s voice rings out and you quickly turn to see him standing at the edge of the front lawn. Hurriedly, you scramble up and pick up the crimson paper beside you. Rushing down the front steps, you skid to a stop in front of the surprised boy and thrust the valentine into his hand.

“This is for you!” you manage to stammer out, digging the toe of your shoe into the dirt anxiously, as you clasp your hands together behind your back. He grins widely, eyes forming miniature moon crescents and sparkling as they always do like the stars in the night sky. He gazes at the brightly decorated card with delight, and perhaps, your little heart speeds up a tiny bit.

“Thank you!” He digs around his pocket before pulling out a purple wrapped lollipop. “I got this for you, too. It’s grape flavored!”

Nine-year-old you nearly swoons, and that was the moment when you knew you wanted Taehyung to be your valentine every year after that.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE TEN.

“Hey.”

Jungkook pokes your shoulder harshly. Both your parents had finally agreed to let you both have a sleepover in his treehouse, so the two of you lay side by side in sleeping bags, surrounded by an abundance of snacks and several stuffed animals.

You roll over to face him, poking him back with just as much force. “What?”

“Do you…” he hesitates before continuing, “Do you believe in love?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, hugging your pillow to your chest.

“But… you know Jin and his girlfriend?” he asks, and you hum in acknowledgment. “What happens if they find out they’re not soulmates? But they love each other?”

You stop fiddling with the zipper on your sleeping bag. “Well… if they love each other, then why wouldn’t they stay together?”

“But they’re not soulmates.”

“Does it matter? They’re in love.”

Jungkook sits up, wide eyed. “Wouldn’t you love your soulmate? When you meet them, you fall in love.”

“But do you stop loving your girlfriend then if she’s not your soulmate?”

“Well… a soulmate bond is stronger than that,” he says confidently.

“Huh,” you mull over his words before a sly grin spreads across your face. “Does this have to do with the new girl in our class? Is little Kookie in love? Does he want her to be his soulmate?”

“Shut up!” His face turns red before he throws his pillow at you. Laughing, you toss it back at him, hitting him square in the chest. He falls back onto his sleeping bag, glaring at you.

“I feel bad for whoever’s gonna be your soulmate.”

“Right back at you, Kook.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE ELEVEN.

At age of eleven, you experience your first heartbreak. It’s funny how a boy can break your heart when he never knew he held it to begin with. You didn’t even realize that’s what heartbreak is until that moment. All you knew is that you didn’t want to see him holding her hand anymore.

“Hey, _______! Jungkook!”

You and Jungkook stop in your tracks and turned to see Taehyung waving excitedly at the two of you. Your eyes immediately drop to where his hand is being tightly interlocked with a very pretty girl’s. When he halts in front of you, you can feel Jungkook nudging your arm subtly.

“H-hey, Tae,” you manage to mumble out.

“I just wanted you to meet my girlfriend!” he says proudly, and the girl smiles at you shyly, introducing herself. The two of them continue speaking to you and Jungkook, but you can’t for the life of you pay attention. She is simply too pretty, too nice, too perfect, and you want to throw up.

“I-I need to go—stomachache.” You dash up the block and up the walkway to your house, fumbling with the keys before letting yourself in. Jungkook is startled, only staring at your retreating figure, before turning to face the surprised couple. “I’m gonna go check on her. Nice to meet you.”

“I hope she’s okay,” Taehyung says, concerned, and Jungkook almost found himself glaring at the older boy. “Yeah, me too.”

Jungkook quickly departs, letting himself into your house. He makes a beeline to your room where you are curled up in the center of your bed. Clearing his throat, he awkwardly stands in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh, I can beat him for you?”

You let out a strangled laugh, sitting upright. “No, it’s okay. Just… pretty dumb of me to have a stupid crush on him all this time, huh? What was I thinking?”

Jungkook shuffles over and sits on the edge of your bed. “You’re not dumb. Taehyung’s the dumb one. And if you ever tell anyone I said this, I will eat all of your Hot Cheetos stash, but… he doesn’t deserve you anyway. My best friend deserves someone who isn’t dumb.”

You smile gratefully at him. “Thanks, Kook.”

“Anytime.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE TWELVE.

“So you… broke up with him?”

“Yeah.”

You sit cross legged on your bed, idly twirling your pen in hand, as you continue to work on your science homework. Jungkook stares at you, mouth agape and math worksheets abandoned. You and Minghao agreed the two of you were better off as friends, and that was that.

“But why?”

“I just…” you shrug, tossing the pen onto the comforter and leaning back onto the palm of your hands. “I didn’t like him that way. I thought I did, but when I was with him, I don’t know, it felt like hanging out with a friend. What about you and Eunbi?”

“Oh. We broke up a week ago,” he mutters, fiddling with the edge of the sweater sleeve.

“What? I thought you liked her! You liked her since last year!”

“She didn’t feel like my soulmate.”

“Soulmate?” you repeat incredulously. “We literally just got our first boyfriend and girlfriends, and you’re already thinking of soulmates?”

“Well, you broke up with your first boyfriend, too,” he fires back.

“Yeah, because I didn’t like him that way,” you explain slowly, “But you just broke up with her because you didn’t think she was your soulmate? How can you even tell who your soulmate is?”

“I’ll know!” he exclaims defensively before smirking and leaning forward, “Just like how you know Taehyung is your soulmate.”

Your face flushes, and you scowl at him. “He is not my soulmate.”

“But you want him to be,” he teases you, and you throw a discarded crumpled paper at him. He easily dodges you much to your disdain. “Well, you didn’t deny it.”

Your voice is quiet when you finally answer him.

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE THIRTEEN.

At the age of thirteen, you discover red tattoos. No one had told you anything about them before, and you didn’t even know they existed until Yoongi showed up at Jin and Taehyung’s house with one. While Jin was ecstatic about the discovery of his own tattoo and his girlfriend’s turning a pretty shade of matching gold a few months earlier, the same could not be said for his friend.

When Jin quickly pushes Yoongi past everyone with prying eyes and up to his room, you hear faint mumblings from the smaller teenager about not wanting to go home just yet. Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook had begun to shout happy birthday, which quickly dies down when the two older boys brush past them, ignoring the drooping birthday banner entirely. You are the only one to see the new glaring tattoo on Yoongi’s wrist. You recognize the name as belonging to a very kind upperclassman who had graduated from your middle school a couple years ago. But what you don’t understand was the color of the tattoo.

It is crimson.

When you go home that day, you ask your parents during dinner why a tattoo would be scarlet. Your parents exchange indiscernible looks before your mom quietly answers your question.

“Your tattoo turns red when you meet your soulmate... but their soulmate isn’t you.”

At only thirteen years old, you learn that the soulmate system isn’t fair.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE FOURTEEN.

After encouraging Jungkook to try out for football and finding out he made the team, you no longer had a walking buddy to go home with. When Taehyung found out about this, he had taken it upon himself to designate himself as your new walking buddy. And every day, without fail, he greeted you at your locker, and the two of you started the journey back home.

You were halfway to your houses when Taehyung halted in his tracks, dropping his backpack on the ground and unzipping it before rummaging through its contents. You patiently wait for him a few steps ahead, gazing at the pretty flowers blooming alongside the road.

You hear him close his backpack and make his way towards you once more. “Hey, can you hold this for me real quick?”

You outstretch your hand, paying no mind to whatever it is, when he nimbly slides his fingers through yours and squeezes your hand gently. His hand is large and warm, enveloping yours completely in a way that makes you feel safe instantly. Eyes widening, you stare down at your intertwined hands, mouth agape.

“I—we’re holding hands,” you manage to stammer out, and he smiles at you, albeit nervously.

“Is that okay? Sorry, I should have asked first and—”

“No, it’s okay, I like yo—I mean, I like it.”

There’s an ear splitting grin across his face now as his eyes sparkle like the stars. “Were you about to say you like me?”

“W-well, I—”

Stammering, you start to back away, but Taehyung tugs you towards him. Your face can rival a tomato at this point, but all you can focus on is how close his face is to yours. You can count nearly every single one of his long dark lashes framing his pretty eyes, and you so badly want to kiss the little mole on the tip of his nose. He gently places a kiss to your cheek, and your heart nearly implodes.

“I like you, too.”

You don’t think it’s possible to feel any happier than you did that day.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE FIFTEEN.

Jungkook lounges around on your bed as you pace back and forth in front of him in your heels. Taehyung is taking you to junior prom, and you had spent months, searching for the perfect dress, and even had Jisoo and Joy come and do your makeup and hair.

“Calm down. You look fine.” Jungkook says, looking up from his phone.

“What if I trip and fall down the stairs? What if I spill food? Oh god, what if I step on his foot during the dance?”

“_______, listen to me.” Jungkook stands up in front of you. “I’m one hundred percent sure that if you trip and fall, Taehyung will help you up. If you drop your food, he’d get you a new plate. If you step on his foot, he’ll still love you.”

“We, uh, we’ve never really said the L-word yet,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“_______, he’s whipped,” your best friend deadpans. “Trust me, he’s in love with you.”

When Taehyung knocks on the door to pick you up, your father sets him with a steely look before letting him in. He waits anxiously for you with your corsage in his hands. And when you descend down the steps, he is absolutely enamored. He nearly drops the flowers and stumbles over his words as he tells you that you look beautiful. He shakily slides the corsage onto your wrist, and your mother refuses to let the two of you go without taking a dozen or so pictures.

He drives the two of you to the dance, hand clutching yours the entire time. The two of you loudly sing along to every love song on the radio, and he presses your hand to his mouth, leaving a soft kiss, at every red light.

When the two of you are at the dance, he pulls you closer for every slow song. At some point, you pass by Jimin, and he winks at you before whisking off his date. The paper decorations and crinkling stars spin around gently overhead as the blue lights are dimmed, and Taehyung softly sings along to the ballad to you. You rest your head on his shoulder, swaying along to his voice.

“Sunshine,” he murmurs, and you raise your head to look up at him. His hair is ruffled, and there’s the softest expression on his face as his eyes shine. He leans down and captures your mouth against his. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, a hazy smile playing on his lips.

“I love you.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE SIXTEEN.

Taehyung knocks on your window at 11:55 p.m. and you carefully open it, scared of waking up your parents. He crawls in before pulling you in for a hug. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into the cozy sweater he is wearing.

“Five more minutes until your birthday,” you murmur, and he squeezes you to his chest even tighter. You can hear his heart thudding so quickly, and you imagine yours is the same.

“I wish time would stop. I want it so badly to be your name,” he whispers, and your heart almost stops. “If it’s not yours…”

He can’t bring himself finish the sentence, and you tilt your face towards him to kiss him gently. When you pull away, he laughs softly, leaning down and giving you one more kiss.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to ever stop loving you even if it’s not your name, sunshine. Your laughter, your smile, your very being, I don’t know if I can live without you.”

When midnight comes, you and Taehyung stare at the black ink now permanently found on his wrist: your name in pretty cursive. He embraces you, laughing breathlessly, as he can’t tear his eyes away from the new marks on his skin. He tenderly traces his finger across your cheek before cupping your chin and leaning down to nuzzle his nose against yours. His eyes hold all the stars in them as he stares into yours with the loveliest gaze.

“It’s you. It’s always been you. You’re my first and last.”

�� ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE SEVENTEEN.

It is the day before Jungkook’s birthday, and you know he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. He texts you nonstop the moment he wakes up, asking you if you think the new pretty transfer student could be his soulmate or maybe the girl who sits three seats behind him in AP Physics. Or perhaps, his soulmate lives on a different continent and in that case, how is he supposed to meet her then? You reassure him about all his worries, and he continues to message you about the various scenarios he’s conjured up in his mind about how they will meet and how he’ll ask her out.

Your phone buzzes nonstop up until midnight.

And then it’s radio silence.

He leaves your text message unanswered when you ask him who she is. You are left wondering the entire night. Perhaps, it’s someone he doesn’t like. Maybe she already has a soulmate. What if he didn’t get a tattoo?

He continues to evade you at school and everywhere else. His friends prove to be no help, and when his mother can only offer you an apologetic smile when you visit his house for the nth time this month, you finally give up.

Losing your best friend hurts more than you can ever imagine.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE EIGHTEEN.

Today is the day.

Today was not just any Friday or your regular school day. It was The Day. You had woken up earlier than usual, giddier than usual, as you went through your morning routine and set off for school. Classes felt as if they went in slow motion; you were more preoccupied with watching the hands of the clock tick tock around and around in circles until it reached 3 p.m. Your friends all gave you shouts of encouragement, and you waved at them before rushing home.

You tried to concentrate on your homework and managed to do the bare minimum needed. Dinner was a rushed affair, and your parents exchanged knowing looks.

After all, today was the last day without a tattoo.

When midnight appears, you will finally have the name of your soulmate written upon your skin.

You are pacing back and forth in your room, impatiently waiting for the last few hours to trickle by, when the doorbell is heard throughout the house. You hear your father opening the door before the sound of footsteps are pattering up the stairs.

“How have you been, sunshine?”

Eyes widening and heart nearly stopping in your chest, you immediately turn your attention to the figure leaning against the doorway. Taehyung widely smiles back at you, and you immediately rush into his embrace, burying your face in the space between his neck and shoulder.

“I’ve missed you!” you manage to mumble out despite pressing your face into his shirt, inhaling as you are hit with the familiar faint scent of strawberries, pine, and home. His laugh vibrates through his chest, and he presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I missed you, too. I tried to take the earliest train after my last class to come here, but I’m a little late, sorry. But I made it! Oh, and here! I got you these.”

He presents to you a lovely bouquet of sunflowers, lavenders, and baby’s breath. “The flower shop lady helped me pick them out, and I even learned the meanings of each one.”

“They’re gorgeous,” you breathe out, carefully taking them into your hands. “Thank you so much, Tae.”

He grins sheepishly. “Anything for you.”

When the two of you finish getting a vase and arranging the flowers to stand on your desk, you and Taehyung are curled up together on your bed. You lean your head on his shoulder, still admiring the flowers.

“What do they each mean?”

“The sunflowers are for loyalty and happiness,” he starts, taking your hand into his gently. “The lavenders are for devotion.” He then intertwines his fingers and yours tightly. “And the little white flowers are for long lasting love.” He carefully tugs your hand up, placing a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

He flips your hand over to reveal the blank canvas on your wrist. Carefully, he traces his name on the empty expanse of your wrist with a soft smile making its way across his lips. “Are you excited?”

“Yes.” You reach out to grab his other hand and lovingly trace the familiar letters etched on his wrist. “I still can’t believe you have my name.”

You line your arm up next to his. “And in a few moments, I’ll finally have yours.”

He nuzzles his nose in your hair before you lean up and place a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. He laughs, giddy at the mere thought, before excitedly giving you a proper kiss.

A fleeting feeling of warmth spreads across your wrist, and the two of you finally part, dizzily smiling at each other, before gazing at your new tattoo. Suddenly, it feels like someone has dumped an entire bucket of ice water on you. Your blood runs cold, your heart stops, and the mismatched colors start to blur as the tears begin to cluster.

Rather than matching gold on your wrists, the taunting colors of ebony and crimson glare back at you.Your name, now in red, is branded harshly on Taehyung’s skin.

And there, permanently stamped on your own wrist, are unapologetically bolded letters in black.

Jeon Jungkook.

You blink away the tears, staring at the name in horror. Immediately, you begin scrubbing away at your wrist, shades of red blooming on your skin, as you try to scratch the name off. Taehyung covers your wrist with his hand, grabbing your hands with his other.

“Please stop,” he says softly, “you’re hurting yourself.”

“No! I don’t—I don’t understand!” Your voice cracks before it rises in volume. “This isn’t right! This is a mistake! This is wrong! They gave me the wrong name!”

The sound of rushing footsteps is unheard over your cries, but your parents soon crowd into the room. “W-what’s going on?”

Hysterical, you wave your wrist wildly in their direction before clawing at the black script in despair. “This is the wrong name! This isn’t Tae’s name! Why isn’t it Tae’s name?”

You collapse on your bed, tears pouring freely down your cheeks, as your parents finally see the tattoos of red and black adorning his and your wrists. Taehyung gently gathers you in his arms, and your hands desperately clutch onto the front of his shirt as you bury your face into his chest. Numb, you can barely register the feeling of wetness on the crown of your head as he embraces you tightly and cries with you.

At the age of eighteen, you experience heartbreak for a second time.

At only eighteen years old, you learn that the soulmate system is cruel.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Your birthday is not a celebration, but rather, a farewell.

Saturday is dreary with gray clouds hanging overhead. Stray pieces of newspaper are scattered by the wind, flapping around aimlessly. Save for a few other people far from earshot, you and Taehyung are alone on the train platform in the early morning.

“Sunshine...” he begins before swallowing hard. “_______, I don’t think we should be together anymore.”

You freeze, staring at the train tracks in front of you. They run parallel, stretching on for miles, never touching.

“_______?”

“You don’t mean that,” you say at last, voice barely above a whisper.

“We don’t belong together,” he says quietly. He reaches out for your hand before stopping himself, retracting his hand slowly. “You don’t belong with me.”

You grab his hand and hold on tightly. “Stop saying that. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“_______... I’m not your soulmate.” His voice breaks, and he finally turns to you, cupping your chin gently with his hand. His gaze is soft, but resolute. “Your soulmate isn’t me. I can’t make you as happy as your soulmate can. You were made for me, but I wasn’t made for you.”

“Tae...”

He leans down, and his lips touch yours tenderly, before he pulls away. His eyes still glimmer like all the stars. Stars always shine the brightest before they extinguish. He smiles wistfully, caressing your cheek softly, before hugging you tightly. “Thank you for making me so happy. Even if it’s not with me, I want you to find happiness, too. I want you to have the love you deserve.

Thank you for loving me. You’re my first and last.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Taehyung doesn’t return any of your calls. You simply receive radio silence from him from there on out. And you tried reaching him on nearly every single mode of social media possible. His parents offered no help either, merely polite answers and avoidance of mentioning their son. Jin is sympathetic, but you hit a wall with him as well.

Your friends had said nothing since two Sundays ago during your birthday party. They had made no mention of your new ink after they noticed it covered by several large bracelets and hair ties. The only acknowledgment from them were well wishes of happy birthday and thoughtfully chosen presents. They comfort you, exchanging words of condolence and sharing tubs of your favorite ice cream, when you finally told them about the red tattoo, but left out the name of your soulmate.

At school, you remain quiet, barely participating in conversations. Rosé looks at you worriedly as you push back and forth the vegetables on your lunch tray absentmindedly.

“_______, are you feeling okay?” She gently pries, and you smile tiredly at her.

“I’m fine, really, I—” you cut yourself off, spotting a familiar figure disappearing out the cafeteria door. “Hold on.”

You jump out of your seat, leaving your friends bewildered, as you rush towards the same entrance, pushing your way out into the hallway.

“Jungkook!”

Your voice rings out, bouncing against the walls, and the boy stops temporarily before speeding up. You run down the hallway now, hand reaching out until your fingers wrap around his arm. He finally turns to look at you for the first time in months, and when his eyes meet yours, the tingling feeling of warmth begins to make its way across your wrist.

You rapidly shove up the sleeve of your sweater, now staring at the glowing, glittering letters of gold stretched across your skin. You only faintly register the gasp from Jungkook when he recognizes his own name before he exposes his own wrist, your name emblazoned in the identical color.

“You... you’re my soulmate,” he whispers, gazing at the shimmering names, almost entrances. He reaches out to touch his name, but you jerk your arm away, covering it up with your sweater once more.

“This isn’t—this isn’t right,” you start to back away and turn away. “It’s supposed to be red.”

“Red? You wanted a red tattoo?” Jungkook grabs your hand and stares at you incredulously.

“God, Jungkook, you ruined everything!” You yank away your hand and start to storm off down the hallway, but Jungkook refuses to let you get the last word, calling out from behind you.

“Are you kidding me? I ruined everything? I didn’t choose to be your soulmate!”

You whirl around on your heel, fiercely looking him in the eye. “No, Jungkook. Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you tell me you had my name instead of avoiding me like the plague? What the hell is wrong with you? You refused to talk to me at all and now you just expect me to accept this?”

“Because I thought my tattoo would be red!” he explodes, “Because I’ve been waiting for my soulmate my whole life, and then I saw it was you. I thought you and Tae are soulmates, so mine would be red. Why would you want a red tattoo?”

“Because this is a mistake!” you burst out. “It’s supposed to be Tae! I thought if this turned red, that meant the whole thing would be a mistake, that it’d be okay that Tae’s tattoo is red because both of ours would be the same color!”

“The universe doesn’t make mistakes!”

“Then what is this?” You bare your wrist at him, the sparkling letters making him wince. “We’re not even in love!”

“A lot of soulmates didn’t know each other and weren’t in love when they got their tattoos!”

“Well, we’ve known each other forever! We didn’t fall in love!”

He falls silent, and the two of you just stand there. And for the first time in a long time, you really take a look at him. He looks scared and small, shoulders hunched. You know this isn’t fair for either one of you. You know how long he’s waited for his soulmate. You can’t imagine what he went through alone when he received his tattoo.

Finally, you turn and leave.

He doesn’t stop you.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You avoid Jungkook after that. It becomes an unspoken rule between the two of you to stay clear of one another. Your last message to Taehyung about your changed tattoo two months ago was left unanswered. As much as it pains you to sound like any other angst filled teenager, your friends and parents don’t understand you. They don’t understand why you refuse to acknowledge your soulmate. High school relationships aren’t meant to last, your mother says, your soulmate is the one made for you. You wonder if she would be relaying the same sentiments about short-lived juvenile relationships if your tattoo spelled out Taehyung’s name.

“How is he?” you ask, lingering near the CD racks and trailing your fingers across the spines of them. Yoongi remains a few steps ahead of you, sorting through the box of discs in his hand to place the correct one on the shelves. After graduating college, he had taken on a second job at the music store downtown in exchange for working in the backroom music studio at night for free.

“He’s… better. His latest art piece is nominated for an art show.”

“Oh, that’s amazing!” You reach over to pick up a few CDs from the box and arrange them on the shelves. “I’m really happy for him—”

“_______.”

“—and if he gets into the art show, maybe I can go and see it!”

“_______.” You stop short as Yoongi calls out to you a second time. “What?”

“This isn’t good for you.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” You reach out to grab another CD to shelf, but Yoongi drops the carton on the floor. “Listen to me, _______. You need to move on. This isn’t what Taehyung would want.”

You drop your hands to your side, shoulders sagging. “How would you know that?”

“Because I have a red tattoo, too.”

His quiet confession shakes you to the core. While you had caught a glimpse of it five years ago, he had never mentioned anything about his tattoo to anyone after that day. Everybody else had merely assumed he will meet his soulmate sometime in the future, and you sometimes wonder if what you remembered was a figment of your imagination. But he lays out the bare truth right here and there.

“You—I—what?”

“We were school friends. She never knew I had her name though. She had her tattoo first. I saw her fall in love with her soulmate. I saw her tattoo turn gold when he came to school with her name the day after his birthday. I saw when her name turned gold for him. I wondered why mine turned red instead.” He stops suddenly before glancing over at you. “Do you know what’s the most fucked up part about a red tattoo? You get to feel your soulmate’s most intense emotions.”

Your mouth feels dry, and you want to reach out towards him but for some reason, you can’t.

“I felt it when she cried over her father’s death. I felt it when she found out she got accepted into med school.” He swallows hard. “I felt it when he proposed to her, and she said yes.”

“Yoongi…”

“But you know what?” he continues, eyes turning fierce as he finally fixates on you. “Feeling her become happy… that was my peace. My soulmate was the happiest she’s ever been when she’s with him.”

You are silent, and Yoongi reaches down to pick up the discarded box. He resumes stacking various CDs and records on the walls and shelves.

“That’s how I know.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You had sat down on the bleachers, gazing out across the football field in front of you. Practice had still gone on for another fifteen minutes, but you knew Jungkook spotted you the moment you stepped near the grass. When he walks off the field, you are waiting for him by the entrance.

“What is it?” He is guarded, and you don’t blame him.

“I just…” You start, but trail off, and his eyes soften. He notices the defeated look in your eyes, but your eyes don’t waver when you stare into his, asking gently, “Do you really think we can really fall in love?”

He falters, his hand coming up to wrap around his wrist and gently touching the golden script. He looks down and traces the letters of your name.

“Of course. We’re soulmates.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

When you announce to your parents that you and Jungkook have begun dating, you can’t help but loathe the way your mother’s eyes light up and how easily your father accepts him into the family. Your friends chatter on excitedly about prom and how the two of you will easily win King and Queen. Jungkook is the star quarterback after all, and your high school is a living cliché, so you don’t doubt that he would get the crown. Everyone accepts you and him together as a pair.

All because of a tattoo.

As you take down the pictures of you and Taehyung and the small mementos in your room—all the things that documented your relationship and remind you of him—you can’t bring yourself to throw them away. So you tuck them into a shoebox and push it into the corner of the tallest shelf in your closet.

However, the vase of dried sunflowers, lavenders, and baby’s breath remains on your desk.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

How do you dress when you’re going out on a date with your best friend? Well, former best friend, but still. Rummaging through your dresser drawers and closet, you try on various outfits before finally opting for a pair of jean shorts and your favorite shirt for a bit of luck. You put on a pair of comfortable shoes before slipping out the door and sitting on the front porch steps, waiting for Jungkook. Your friends have all sent their well wishes and good luck’s to you in the group chat, and you reply to them in the meantime.

“Hey, _______.” Jungkook awkwardly stands in front of you, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. “I was thinking we could go to the arcade?”

“Alright.” You give him a half smile as you stand up, and the two of you begin the walk alongside each other to your destination. You walk in silence, but you feel comfortable, a slight hazy feeling coming into play. There’s something that draws you to him that wasn’t there before, and it slightly unnerves you with how at ease you are just within mere minutes of your date.

Jungkook must have felt the same way because a few seconds later, his hand gently brushes against yours once or twice, before he bravely slips his hand into yours. And they fit perfectly together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

As if your hand was meant to be held by his.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

A month into your newfound relationship, you find new flowers on your desk.

When you finally reach home after finishing your afterschool club activities, you find Jungkook sitting on your bed, waiting for you like old times. He smiles proudly, greeting you happily, and you are slightly confused until you notice the fresh flowers. Blooming daffodils, daisies, peonies, and roses burst forth in bright colors.

“I thought it’d be a nice surprise if I replaced your flowers… they were all dried and… _______, are you okay? Why are you crying?”

To your surprise, you belatedly realize there are tears slipping down your cheeks, and before you can wipe them away, he stands in front of you, tending brushing them away. The way his fingers gently graze on the apples of your cheeks leave a trail of sparks on your skin, and you can’t bring yourself to push him away. His face is inches from you, and you know he finally registers this fact when his eyes flicker down to your lips, and he swallows nervously. Hesitantly, he slowly leans in, and his lips meld against yours perfectly.

It’s your first kiss with him, and it’s perfect.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE NINETEEN.

Jungkook makes it onto the football team at the university you both decide to attend, and you go to every single home game, sitting in the bleachers alongside your friends and wearing his jersey number. When his team scores the winning touchdown and the game is over, he runs over to you, clambering up the bleachers to meet you, adrenaline still rushing through his veins, as he pulls you in for a kiss with a breathless “I love you” slipped in between.

“My lucky charm,” he affectionately calls you as the two of you celebrate together with the team and their significant others at a nearby diner.

“Kook, it’s all you,” you say, giggling before stealing several fries from his plate. Grabbing an onion ring from your dish in retaliation, he shakes his head. “Nah, it’s because you’re there cheering me on.”

“And you’re here.” He taps his wrist where your name still glimmers like the very first day. “You’re with me on the field, too. My lucky charm.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE TWENTY.

It’s winter break, and with your parents gone for the weekend, Jungkook sleeps soundly next to you. You stare at your phone, watching as the clock ticks down each second from 11:59 p.m. until it hits midnight. Your thumb hovers over ‘send’ button as the simple text message of three words stares back at you.

Happy Birthday, Taehyung.

Jungkook rolls over, wrapping his arm around your waist before pulling you closer to him. He nuzzles his face in your hair before drowsily murmuring, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Kook. Go to sleep,” you whisper, and he curls himself around you even more, nodding off. You take one last look at the message before deleting it and setting your phone on the nightstand next to you.

That night, your dreams are visited by a boy with stars in his eyes and sunflowers tucked in his hair.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE TWENTY-ONE.

The two of you sit across from each other in the café, partaking in another one of your join study sessions. You help him with math, and he helps you with science. It’s a great trade off, save for the fact that Jungkook tries his utmost best to distract you from your work at all times.

“Hey, _______. Give me your hand.”

“Why, so you can give me your hand to hold?” You say absentmindedly as you flip to another page of the chemistry textbook in front of you. Jungkook chuckles, reaching out and taking your hand himself. “No, but if you wanted me to hold your hand, you could’ve just asked.”

“No, I—” You stop yourself as nostalgia from a past familiar memory hits you like a tidal wave. A similar conversation with a different boy replays itself in your mind, and that familiar pang in your heart resurfaces. “Never mind, what is it?”

Jungkook gazes at you with an unreadable expression before brightening up and sliding on a folded paper ring onto your right ring finger. He raises his own hand and wriggles his fingers around to show you a matching one. “Look, I made us couple items. Custom, one of a kind soulmate items!”

You hide a smile. “Is that what you’ve been doing instead of studying?”

“I’m trying to be cute here, and you ruined it,” he whines, frowning, and you laugh before reaching out and squeezing his hand, familiar tingles spreading down from your fingertips, your heart speeding up just a fraction. You feel so, so happy—the happiest you have ever been.

“Thank you, Kook.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

AGE TWENTY-TWO.

The opened envelope produces a creamy white invitation that announces the matrimonial union between Jin and his girlfriend. You stare at it, the RSVP portion laying out in front of you, pen held loosely in your hand. Your mother insisted that you go, while slipping in a thinly veiled hint about how you can learn from it when the time comes for you to plan a perhaps near future wedding.

“Jin’s getting married? We’re going, right?” Jungkook comes up behind you, and you nearly jump out of your skin, the pen clattering onto the counter. Chuckling, he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. You curse the butterflies that still erupt in your stomach every time.

“Y-yeah, I guess we are.” You watch as Jungkook picks up the pen and checks all the boxes before tucking it back into the return envelope. “C’mon, let’s go send this out. Lisa’s been giving me the stink eye ever since I came into your apartment.”

“She’s still mad at you for eating that last slice of cake she was saving last week.”

“I said I was sorry!”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You knew he would be there, but nothing could have prepared you for seeing him again for the first time in so long.

Taehyung stands as best man for his brother, looking as beautiful as ever. It’s been four years, yet he looks the same as he used to, perhaps a little softer around the edges. Your eyes are focused on him throughout the entire ceremony, absorbing in his presence. His hands are clasped in front of him, and you wonder if they are still as soft and warm as they were on the very first day he held your hand. His lips are pulled into a genuine smile, one that you haven’t seen in ages and very dearly miss, as he laughs at the amusing parts of his brother’s written vows. His eyes gleam brighter than ever, like all the stars are captured within them, and your heart aches as you wish, just once, he would glance over in your direction.

When the ceremony is over, Jungkook takes your hand as you walk over to the reception. The two of you drop off your gift before making your way over to the artfully decorated tables, searching for your name cards. As you weave around the tables scanning the place cards, you bump into someone, teetering slightly in your heels, and they quickly grab your arm, steadying you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” You laugh a little sheepishly before looking up. Familiar eyes—ones teeming with all the stars and unspoken words—gaze back at you, and suddenly, you forget how to breathe as the air is knocked out of your lungs. Suddenly, you feel like you are fourteen again, a silly teenage schoolgirl stuck on a crush. You are suddenly hyperaware of how his hand gently grasps your elbow still, and how much you miss his warmth when he lets you go.

“It’s okay, sunshine.” His quiet baritone voice is heard before he gives you a soft smile and walks off.

Jungkook squeezes your hand, and startled, you look over at him, still dazed. He purses his lips slightly before saying, “I think our table is over there.”

“Okay.” You follow after him, and the rest of the night passes by quietly.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

We need to talk.

After complete silence from his end for the past few days, the simple text message from your boyfriend filled you with dread, and when you walked through the door of his apartment, the tension was already palpable. You sit down at the kitchen table with an untouched mug of green tea with a teaspoon of honey prepared beforehand for you. He is leaning against the counter, a similar mug placed next to him.

“You’re still in love with him.”

His voice cracks the silence, and you wince as the accusation hangs in the air.

“We barely spoke to each other.”

“God, _______, you didn’t even need to! Literally everyone in the room could tell.” He paces around back and forth. “It was obvious that he still loves you. It was obvious that you still love him!”

You stay silent, angry and sad tears beginning to mingle, and you harshly blink them away. He looks at you, frustrated, as his hand wraps around the mug in front of him tightly. “It took us months, years to get our relationship to where it is now, and he undoes it all in seconds! I don’t understand it! I don’t even know if you love me.”

His voice wavers near the end, and your heart wrenches. You start to speak up, but he shakes his head, forlorn, as he asks quietly, “If the situation was reverse… if I was the one with the red tattoo, would you fight for me, too?”

Your heart clenches in your chest, and you turn away, unable to meet his gaze.

“I see.”

“Kook,” you plead with him softly, “It’s not like that…”

“Then enlighten me please. What’s it really like?”

“You just—you want me to stay with you because of the tattoo, and then, you expect me to stay with you if you didn’t have the tattoo? I don’t understand what you want!” You stand up from the table, the chair making the most horrific screech across the tiled surface.

“I want you to choose me!” Jungkook bursts out, roughly wiping away a stray angry tear. “We both had your name on our wrists, mine was the gold one, yet you still chose him! You always chose him. Even now, you choose him.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” he laughs bitterly, “I’m your soulmate after all. Even if you don’t want me to be, I am. I know you better than anyone else.”

Silence falls like a heavy weight, and neither of you makes a move. The two of you sit there on opposite ends of the table like opposing sides of a chessboard, until you finally crack.

“Jungkook, do you even love me?”

“Of course I love you!” Jungkook raises his voice, frustratingly carding his hand through his hair before his voice softens, “I love you.”

“But why?” you whisper, “Why would you love me?”

“Why?” he repeats incredulously. “Because you’re my soulmate.”

“But, Kook, that’s the thing,” you say softly as you finally look him in the eye. “You love me because I’m your soulmate.

But would you have fallen in love with me if I wasn’t?”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Jungkook finds himself wandering the streets for several hours afterwards, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as he replays your words over and over in his mind. What did you mean by that? He loves you for you because well, you are his soulmate. The universe chose you for him and him for you. The word ‘soulmate’ and you are synonymous. Aren’t they?

When Jungkook looks around, he realizes that his feet had taken him to the front of a very familiar bar. Stepping inside, he is welcomed by Namjoon with a wave and shuffles over to take a seat in front of the dimpled bartender.

“How have you been?” his friend greets him, already pouring out the usual drink order.

“Confused,” he answers honestly. “Joon, what do you think about soulmates?”

Namjoon sets the drink down in front of him. “It’s an interesting system. We’re taught that there is someone out there who’s perfect for you, yet it’s never specified in what way. We all assume it is a romantic bond, but who’s to say it’s not platonic?”

“So you’re saying best friends can be soulmates?”

“Soulmates are about a connection between two people,” he explains, “A soulmate is someone who understands you on the deepest level. Your minds have this unexplainable connection strengthened by mutual respect, understanding, and love. It’s someone who can understand your mind and heart and accepts you for who you are. Whether that is platonic or romantic, I believe it can vary.”

“So then _______ and I were made for each other,” mumbles Jungkook, tracing the rim of his glass absentmindedly. “The universe doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Tell me, Jungkook. What do you think of those with red tattoos?”

“Well, they’re mista—” he cuts himself short, jaw going slack.

“But the universe doesn’t make mistakes,” Namjoon hums as he wipes down the counter.

“They’re meant to be alone then.”

“Then why are they given a tattoo to begin with?”

He falls silent, staring at the amber liquid in front of him. Is it possible to have multiple soulmates? Only one name shows up on your wrist though. Not two. Just one. His.

“But it’s my name on her wrist.”

“Do you love her, Jungkook?”

“Of course I do,” he says, his hands curling into the small fists, “She’s my soulmate.”

“Does she love you?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because…” He unfurls his hands, small crescent shaped indents now littering his palms. You do love him. But not because of some soulmate tattoo. And he knows that—

“… Because she stayed. Because she loves me enough to stay.”

For all these years, he finally realizes, you did choose him. You chose to stay with him. You chose to be with him.

“But I know she loves him more,” he murmurs. “And I know he loves her, too. He’s been in love with her from the beginning. And that’s what I don’t understand. He had her, and he let her go.”

“Taehyung loves her enough to let her go,” Namjoon muses, tapping his fingers on the scratched wooden surface. He looks at Jungkook, gazing at him with such intensity that the boy, for some reason, cannot look away.

“Do you?”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

When you return to your apartment after your last class the next day, Lisa greets you before gesturing towards the envelope on the counter.

“He left that for you.”

She disappears into her room soon after, and you gingerly pick it up. Opening the envelope, you tip the contents out and find a folded note resting in the palm of your hand. Unfolding the lined paper, you instantly recognize the messy scrawls of handwriting.

Thank you for loving me.

Taped to the bottom is a familiar, well-worn paper ring.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“Tae!”

You bang on his door loudly. Several minutes pass, but you remain persistent, knocking on the door in rapid succession, until the sound of rushing feet is heard, and the door swings open. Taehyung stands before you, a look of shock quickly morphing into one of concern and confusion.

“What are you doing here? How do you know I’m here?”

“Yoongi finally told me.”

“Sunshine… you shouldn’t be here.” He looks tired, sad, as he retreats back into his apartment, beginning to close the door. “You should go back home. To Jungkook.”

“We broke up.”

His eyes widen. “What? Why?”

“Because I love you.”

The words tumble out of your mouth as you listen to your heart for the first time, rather than your mind, soulmate system be damned. Your heart pounds faster than ever in your chest, blood rushing through your veins, as you stare at the man in front of you.

Taehyung inhales sharply. “Sunshine, you belong with your soulmate, not me.”

“No. No, I don’t belong with someone because of some ink on my wrist. I belong with someone because I choose to be with them. Because I choose to want them. Because I choose to love them.”

You take a step forward, and Taehyung watches you with soft eyes as you gently touch his face, your bodies now millimeters away from each other. There are no sparks, no electricity igniting beneath your fingertips, but you feel a comforting warmth that curls around your heart and makes it bloom.

“I love you, Tae,” you repeat softly, “I’ve always loved you. You’re my first and last.”

So you close the distance and press your lips against his.

You choose the boy with the starry eyes.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

EPILOGUE.

Rays of morning sunlight peek through the gossamer curtains hanging on the windows, creating light patterns upon the duvet. With his arm draped around your waist and his other one resting beneath your head, you are held gently in your husband’s embrace. Still chasing the last remnants of sleep, you drowsily rub your eyes. Tilting your head upwards, the corners of your lips tip upwards into a soft smile at the sight that meets your eyes.

The light hits his face in all the right angles, shining the softest of glows that illuminates his sun kissed skin. It filters through his long, dark eyelashes, casting shadows onto his cheeks. Small puffs of breath escape between his lips with a quiet snore. His hair falls close to his eyes, and you carefully brush the strands away.

“Mama! Daddy!”

A bundle of energy launches herself at the two of you with a squeal. An audible oomph is heard from next to you as you let out a laugh, pulling into your arms the little girl whose eyes mirror her father’s and smile identical to the one on your face.

“Hello, my little munchkin.” She greets you back happily, rubbing her nose against yours in an Eskimo kiss before sloppily placing a kiss on your cheek. You return the gesture, a kiss gently pressed on both of her rosy cheeks, as she giggles before rolling over to her father.

He groans when one of her flying elbows land in his stomach, but he quickly scoops her up, pulling her into his chest. She wriggles out of his embrace in seconds, but her interest is immediately caught onto a tattoo inked upon her father's wrist that's identical to the one on your own skin, and you already know the next words on the tip of her tongue. It is her favorite question to ask every morning after all.

"What do the flowers mean?" she asks, admiring the art etched permanently upon forgotten, faded letters of red and gold. She clutches her father's hand in one hand and your hand in her other, comparing the two tattoos as seriously as any four-year-old can, and you answer her question softly, smiling over at him, as he gazes at you with the same star struck look in his eyes all those years ago.

"They're called lavenders. They stand for devotion."

But they also stand for so much more. And your daughter will learn this when she’s a little older, whether she chooses to follow the tattoo on her wrist or the one on her heart and whether they are one and the same for her.

“The lavenders stand for how much your daddy and I love each other.”

They stand for shared childhood memories that you hold close to your heart. They stand for late night arguments and loud disagreements that end with good night apologies. They stand for hands that do not perfectly fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, but still hold onto each other as tightly as possible. They stand for lips that were not made for each other, but still find each other every morning and every night and all the times in between. They stand for the ups and downs you two had to work for to get to where you are now. They stand for your love for each other. Your first and last.

The journey to finding your love was not easy. It was not like the love story of soulmates. It was not simply a change of color to gold. You had to work for your love by learning to understand each other and enduring hardships together. Your love was not built upon the universe's red strings of fate, but instead, upon trust, loyalty, care, and ultimately, devotion. While your love may not be as intense and solid as a soulmate bond, it runs deeper, stronger, more genuine.

Love is not simply a feeling. Love is a choice. It is choosing to work through the difficulties and hardships instead of taking the easier path and walking away. It is choosing to stay. It is choosing each other yesterday, today, tomorrow, and for the rest of your lives.

It may not be as serendipitous and magnificent as walking on cloud nine hand in hand with the one who was named on your wrist, but you don’t care one bit. It doesn’t matter to you. It doesn’t matter at all because he carved out a piece of heaven just for you.

Because Kim Taehyung takes you to cloud ten.

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