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wife-of-all-dilfs · 2 months

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the five stages | f. odair

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summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

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gallavichsreddie1128 · 2 months

Text

Experience (Cas)

Description: Y/N has feelings for Cas but after Dean tells him he wants to know if it’s true but Y/N keeps avoiding the question.

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 1,796k

She eyed the angel as he talked to Sam and Dean about the latest case. He gave her a weird look as he noticed that she was staring at him. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact look in her eyes but he’s seen it before. She looked away once their eyes met. She couldn’t help herself as she eyed him. He was gorgeous. She’s had a crush on the angel and wanted him. He had no sexual experience which she loved. It was a wet dream of hers to ruin his innocence. “Why is she staring at me like that?” Cas asked Dean. Dean looked to where Cas’ eyes were and smirked. He was well aware of the crush Y/N had on the angel. “That my friend is the look of lust and want.” He turned back to Cas and winked. Cas looked confused. “What is lust and what does she want?” He asked the man. Dean shrugged and smiled. “Ask her yourself.” Cas took that literally and walked up to the woman. “Hey Cas.” She said. “Why do you stare at me with lust and what is it that you want?” He asked her. Her face was red in embarrassment and she opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t. Cas waited for her to say something but she walked away. He called her name but she ignored him.

“I asked her what you told me to ask her and she walked away.” Cas told Dean. Dean turned to him and looked at him like he was crazy. “You actually asked her that?” Cas nodded. Dean sighed and face palmed. Y/N was gonna kill him when she found out that he asked that because of him. “You told me to.” Dean nodded. “But I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” He exclaimed. Cas was confused, was he not supposed to actually ask her that? Dean closed the laptop and looked at him. “You can’t tell her I told you but Y/N has feelings for you.” “Like she wants to be with me romantically?” Cas asked. Dean nodded. “Yes and sexually but that’s besides the point.” He pointed out. Cas understood what that meant and he was shocked. Y/N never really showed interest in him besides staring at him like he was a piece of meat….oh! Now Cas got it. It all adds up in his head. The look of lust and want.

Alexis was getting ready for bed when Cas randomly appeared in her room. “Cas.” She jumped. He forgot that he was supposed to knock before entering a room. “Why didn’t you tell me that you had feelings for me?” He asked her, ignoring her jumpscare moment. She looked at him confused. “What?” “Dean told me that you look at me the way you do because of lust and you wanting me.” Her jaw dropped. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you he told me. Cas says. She had no words. Like what was she supposed to say to him? “Cas I really have no words.” She tells him and gets into her bed. “But you can turn off the light on your way out.” She says and yawns. He looks at her confused but does so nonetheless.

“Next time she tries to avoid it don’t let her.” Dean tells him. Cas told him that he entered her room and asked her why she didn’t tell him. Dean wanted to roll his eyes but decided against it. “So I won’t let her avoid the conversation next time.” Cas says and Dean nods. He was surprised that Y/N hadn’t said anything about this yet.

“He asked me why I didn’t tell him that I had feelings for him? Like why did he ask me that?” Sam shrugged. “He’s not an idiot Y/N you do make it kinda obvious.” Sam said. Y/N sighed. “But I didn’t think it was that obvious.” Sam laughs. “It was Y/N.”

Cas had learned that he needed to knock on doors before entering. Y/N was in her room looking up cases when she heard a knock at her door. She gets up with a sigh and opens the door revealing the angel. “Hey Cas!” She says. “Can I come in?” He asked her not saying hi back. She nods and steps aside letting him in the room. He steps in and faces her. “What’s up?” She asked. “Do you have feelings for me?” She wanted to roll her eyes, annoyed that this conversation was coming up again. She was trying to avoid it. “Cas.” She complained. “Y/N you can’t avoid it forever. Just tell me.” She sighed. He was right. She just wished he could have found out differently. “Yes I do.” She said. The look in his eyes changed and he pushed her up against the wall. Her eyes widened as he leaned down and kissed her. She kissed him back but was surprised by his dominance. “Cas, where did you learn to do that?” She asked out of breath as they pulled away. “The Pizza man.” He said. She looked at him confused. “What?” She asked, confused. “I came across a movie and the pizza man did that.” She nodded as she got what he was talking about. “Well, is there anything else you learned from the pizza man?” She asked seductively. He shook his head. She pushed him to her bed. “Take off your clothes Cas.” She tells him. He snaps his fingers and he’s naked. She smirks at the sight. “I meant for you to take them off like a human but that works.” “Are you going to remove your clothes?” He asked her.

She shrugged and pushed him on the bed. “Maybe later.” She smirked. She got on top of him straddling him as she took his dick into her hands. He gasped at the feeling of her hand on him. She smirked at his reaction and started moving her hand. He was holding back moans as her hand dragged up and down his dick. “Don’t hide those pretty noises, angel.” She says and he almost came at her calling him that. He let himself make noises and she pleasured him. Each stroke getting a moan or groan out of him. She was getting wet at the sound of him. “What’s this feeling in my stomach? Why am I twitching?” He asked through heavy breathing. “Cas you’re about to have an orgasm. It’ll feel so good.” She told him speeding up her hand. “Better than this?” He asked. She nodded and said yes. She watched as his body shook and he twitched in her hand.

He was about to experience an orgasm for the very first time. Before he could experience that Y/N stopped her movements. Cas opened his eyes and looked at her. “Why’d you stop?” He asked her. She smirked at him and got off him. She began taking her clothes off slowly teasing him. He snapped his fingers and her clothes were off. She gasped and looked at him and he wore a smirk. “What was that for?” She asked getting back on him. “You were taking too long.” She laughed at his response and took his dick in her hand. She jerked him a few more times and placed him at her entrance. She slowly slid down on him causing them both to gasp at the feeling. Her pussy was drooling all over his dick as she sat on him fully taking him inside. Her walls gripped his dick tightly causing him to groan. “Are you good, Cas?” She asked. He nodded and closed his eyes, sighing as she began to move.

Her hips moved at a slow and hard pace not wanting either of them to cum too soon. She noticed Cas’ hands gripping her sheets and she grabbed his hands and placed them on her hips. He opened his eyes to watch as she began moving faster. Her boobs started bouncing and his eyes drifted to them. Her head was thrown back as she let loose all the moans and whimpers she had building up. He swallowed a groan that threatened to escape as she looked back down at him. His hands gripped her hips tightly and she moaned at the feeling. He was going to leave a mark on both hips but she didn’t care. “How’s it feeling Cas?” She asked through moans. He sighed and let out a groan. “Good. So good.” He groaned out. She nodded and moaned. His hands that gripped her hips began moving her faster on him. “Where’d you learn that Cas?” She asked. “I-I don’t know, it felt right.” He groaned and shut his eyes. She tried to keep her eyes on him as she wanted to watch him fall apart but she was also in so much pleasure that she couldn’t help but close her eyes.

The bed was now shaking and moving with them and she felt him twitch again. “The- The feeling is back.” He tells her and opens his eyes to see her lost in pleasure. Her mouth was agape and drool was coming out some. “Fuck Cas I’m close too.” She whimpered. She placed her hands on his chest and looked him in the eyes. Both of them so close to falling over the edge. Noises fell from both of their lips. “Cum for me Cas, it’s okay.” She whispered. He did as he was told and his eyes turned bright blue as he orgasmed. Y/N held back her orgasm to watch what happens to his body as he does. He groaned and closed his eyes and she felt him fill her up. She gasped and let go moaning his name. She cried out and rode both of their highs until she collapsed next to him. Both were sweaty and out of breath. Y/N waited and watched as Cas opened his eyes. He turned to look at her and gave her a small smile. “Wow that was-” “Amazing. I know.” She finished his sentence.

She watched as he got up from the bed and snapped both of their clothes back on them. She set up and stretched some and he watched her. “So if you have feelings for me and we just had intercourse does that make us a couple?” He asked. She smiled and stood up. “I mean that is if you also have feelings for me.” She said. “Well yes I do feel a certain way about you that I don’t feel for others.” He stated. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “So Cas do you want to be my boyfriend?” She asked him. “Yes I would love to be your boyfriend, Y/N.” He says. She smiles and leans up to kiss him.

#supernatural #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel smut #misha collins #spn #supernatural imagine #jensen ackles #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel imagine

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lokischickadee · 19 days

Text

They didn't deserve a sweet baby like cas!

#castiel x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural #misha collins #misha collins x reader

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castiwls · 8 days

Text

Come home to me - c.n

Paring; castiel x reader

Synopsis: Getting hurt on a hunt was expected, but this was different. This left your life on the line

Warnings; mention of death and injury

Requested;anon

Notes;so sorry this took so long! also not wrote for castiel in a minute so I apologise if its kinda occ :) reqs and inbox are open

Masterlist

Pain was something you were used to. It wasn’t often you found yourself walking away from a hunt unscathed but this…this was something you’d never felt before.

White hot pain pulsed through your side as you tried to remember how to breathe again. You couldn’t even remember what had happened. One minute you were standing and the next you were looking at the barn's roof.

You weren’t even sure if you’d finished the hunt. The only thing you knew was that you were in pain. A hand on your chest pulled you back to reality. The car jostled slightly causing you to wince as pain shot up your side.

“Is it bad?” Your voice was strained as you looked up at met a pair of blue eyes full of concern. Castiel was quiet his eyes trained on your face. “You're going to be okay.” He nodded before moving his hand over your side.

His voice was passive but you could tell by his eyes that he was scared and you couldn’t tell if he was reassuring himself or you. Taking a sharp breath you reached a hand up towards him. One of his hands quickly wrapped around yours and squeezed it.

“M’tired Cas.” You mumbled watching as his eyes widened slightly. He shook his head before saying something you didn’t catch. Your ears seemed to fill with water as the voices in the car blended together to make one muffled mass.

The pain continued to pulse through you as quiet mumbles left your lips. Your eyes continued to droop as you watched him stare down at you.

Truthfully you had no idea if you were dying. The thought left a small pinch of fear rushing through you. What if you were dying? What if you died in this car? What if you died and never got to tell him?

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

Castiel watched in near horror as your eyes finally closed and your body went limp on his lap. Placing a hand on your shoulder he shook you gently, careful of your wound. “Hey.” He could feel Dean’s eyes on him from the mirror as he continued to shake you.

The sound of the engine revving faded into the background as he continued calling your name begging for your eyes to open again.

Until now fear had been something he’d never felt. The idea alone was so alien to him that for a moment he had no idea what that cold feeling that seemed to chill his body was.

For the first time, Castiel was genuinely scared. He knew healing you wasn’t an option until you got back to the motel. The car was too shaky and he wasn’t willing to risk causing you any more pain.

“You're gonna be okay.” He mumbled pushing your hair off your face. Staring down at you he found himself slowly mapping your features. He’d always known that there was something about you. Something which left him constantly looking for your attention. Your smile alone could brighten his day and the thought of never seeing it again left him feeling sick to his stomach.

Losing you was maybe his worst fear, and now that might actually be a reality.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

Castiel didn’t know how long it had been. Both Sam and Dean had begrudgingly retired to their own motel room leaving you both alone a few hours ago.

Even after being healed you continued to lie lifeless on the old bed while he sat quietly at your side. Letting out a breath he leaned forward on his knees looking at you for a moment. Your clothes were still bloody and torn but your side now showed no memories of the gash that had been there only hours earlier.

Running a hand through his hair he leaned back into the chair, his mind still going a mile a minute. Castiel had never had the words to tell you how he really felt. He’d become so accustomed to being your ‘best friend’ that the idea of being anything more had slowly faded away.

He knew he was in love. He’d been in love since the first day he’d met you and now he’d waited too long and may never get the chance to tell you.

A small pained groan broke through the silence and his head shot up. Another small noise left your lips as you stretched out your leg, feeling the stiffness on one side of your body slowly lessen.

“Wha..what happened?” You asked turning your head to where he was sitting. “Cas?” His hand shot out grabbing a hold of yours, his eyes wide. “How do you feel?” His voice was laced with concern.

You thought for a moment trying to piece together your foggy memories of what had happened on the hunt. The pieces slowly slotted together and you let out a worried breath immediately reaching for your side.

Feeling the now untouched skin you looked over to the angel. “Stiff but…much better.” You smiled weakly, fatigue still clouding your mind. “Thank you.”

He nodded a small smile growing on his lips. Relief rushed through him as you slowly moved to sit up against the pillows. “I’m glad.” He was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Can I…can I tell you something.” Castiel felt his gaze fall onto his hands as you tilted your head watching him. “Of course. You can tell me anything.” You answered trying to reassure him.

He nodded before falling quiet again. You watched as opened his mouth a few times before stopping himself and shaking his head. “Cas, come on you can tell me.” You laughed gently patting the bed beside you.

Taking the hint he came to sit beside you. He felt the bed dip slightly as you moved closer a smile on your lips. Part of him was so relieved still that you were alive that it took him a moment to realise that you’d placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m in love with you.” He said suddenly. The confession seemed to shock you both as you stiffened slightly and he sucked in a breath.

The air seemed to grow tense for a moment before he turned to face you, his breath catching in his throat as he mentally prepared himself for the possibility of you rejecting him.

Instead, you were smiling brightly, a small dusting of red on your cheeks. “You're not just saying that 'cause I almost died right?”

He shook his head reaching for your hand which wasn’t on his shoulder. “No. No of course not. I really mean it.”

He looked down to where your hands were intertwined. “Well.” You moved your hand from his shoulder to gently tip his chin up.

“I guess it’s a good thing I feel the same.”

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cheynovak · 4 months

Text

Masterlist

* = implied smut or sexual tension

**= 18+/smut

Jensen Ackles

A new addiction Series -> Complete A night to remember -> Series (NEW)

Supernatural

Dean Winchester Crush Series -> Complete Sweet child o' mine Series My brother's best friend ** Brotherly Betrayal ** Brotherly Betrayal Part 2

A Demon's Kiss A Demon's Kiss Part 2 Somewhere only we know ** Somewhere only we know Part 2 **

Healing Bonds ** Dreams of a hunter * -> SOON

Michael/Dean Divine Series

Sam winchester Tides of Temptation **

Castiel Forest Green eyes Series -> Complete Basic Instinct (NEW)** Misha Collins A new beginning **

The boys

Soldier Boy The Assistant Series -> Complete Forbidden Hearts Series -> Complete Sugar Series A Soldier's Story -> Complete

Family business Part 1 ** Family business Part 2

Extra Credit ** Tale as old as time ** Another, other Cinderella story ** Happy ever after? ** Shadows of the past Shadows of the past Part 2 ** Payback ** Payback Part 2 **

Billy Butcher A light in the darkness Part 1 ** A light in the darkness Part 2 **

Ten Inch Hero

Boaz Priestly Coral and Clover

Walker

Only you **

MCU

Bucky Barnes From Russia with love ** Shadows of the past Shadows of the past Part 2 **

Dawsons Creek

Guiding Light **

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sethsclearwater · 1 year

Text

request: “Hi!!! I love all of your work!!! Feel free to ignore but could I request a "reader finds out she's pregnant and she thinks that Paul's gonna be mad so she hides it"? I love the angst that ends with loving, passionate smut or just super sweet fluff at the end but only you know how Paul would react. Again, I LOVE your work, thanks for all you do!!!”

warnings: pregnancy???, smut, breeding kink-ish but reader is already pregnant, paul being… paul

notes: before any of you come for me - i firmly believe that paul would absolutely have an awful reason to reader being pregnant IF she wasn’t his imprint. i think the imprint bond would make it very difficult for him to be mad at reader for anything.

…

you and paul had been together for almost 3 years now. paul had imprinted on you during your senior year of high school and at first, you wouldn’t give him the time of day. it took him nearly 9 months to finally win you over and go on a date with him.

and obviously dating him wasn’t the easiest thing in the world due to his at times very unruly temper but the imprintee bond clearly affected you too and you rarely left his side after you had started dating. though, since word got out to the pack that bella was pregnant, you two had been separated more often than before.

about a week after bella’s pregnancy news broke, you found yourself sitting on the lid of your toilet seat in quite literally the exact situation.

you gripped the pregnancy test in your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as you stared at the plus sign. you weren’t sure how this happened, you were on the pill and took it daily but you and paul had slipped up here and there by letting him finish in you. you never in a million years thought this would’ve happened.

you knew paul didn’t want kids. he made it very clear to you on multiple different occasions and you knew it was because he was terrified of becoming his father. you never argued with him about it even though being a mother was something you’ve always wanted, understanding where he was coming from but now that clearly came to bite you in the ass.

with paul out on patrol dealing with his protest against bella’s pregnancy, you went into a full-blown panic mode. you grabbed your phone, immediately looking up the nearest abortion clinic, and scheduled an appointment for the following week on their website.

you were pacing around the apartment, trying to figure out what to do until your phone lit up with a text from paul letting you know that he was on his way back from patrol and would see you soon.

you whimpered, heading back into the bathroom and throwing the pregnancy test out before turning on the shower to hopefully buy you some time and make you look less distraught.

it didn’t take long for paul to get home, he pretty quickly joined you in the bathroom after he realized you forgot to lock the door, sitting on the lid of the toilet while he told you about everything that was going on with bella and her supposed vampire baby.

you were washing your hair, thanking god paul couldn’t see you as you broke down crying when he told you they were planning on killing the baby. you thought you were being quiet until you let out a loud sob, legs shaky as you sat down on the floor of the shower and curled your legs up to your chest.

paul quickly pulled the curtain back, “what’s wrong?” he asked worriedly, immediately getting in the shower with you and pulling you into his lap, his clothes getting soaked by the warm water streaming down.

“hey, hey look at me-” paul cooed, curling his hand free under your chin to force you to look up at him. you shook your head, pressing your hands to his chest in a weak attempt to push yourself away from him.

he just shook his head, tightening his grip on your hip and releasing your jaw to pull you closer to his chest, “what’s going on?” he asked softly, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as he waited for you to calm yourself down.

you took in a shaky breath, shaking your head as you let out another loud whimper, “i can’t tell you.” you explained weakly, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“what do you mean you can’t tell me? princess,” paul sighed, pressing his lips to the crown of your head again, “i can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” he explained, rocking you from side to side as you continued crying into his chest.

you tightened your fist on the thin fabric of his t-shirt, shaking your head again as he cupped his hand under your jaw, gently forcing you to look up at him, “hey,” he cooed, thumb rubbing circles on your jaw as he watched your worriedly.

“just tell me what happened and you’ll feel way better princess, i promise.” he cooed softly as tears continued to run down your cheeks, you hiccuped from the tears, bottom lip quivering as you shook your head again.

“you’ll hate me.” you whispered hoarsely, and he shook his head.

“princess,” paul sighed, “i couldn’t hate you if i tried. please tell me what’s going on.” you whimpered, taking a deep breath as you took his hand and pressed it to your lower abdomen.

paul looked from you, to your abdomen, and then back up to you again. you let out a loud sob, hiccuping again, “i’m so sorry i don’t know what happened.” you explained weakly, “i already booked an appointment at the clinic and i’ll deal with it but i just-” you paused as another sob racked through your body and you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the soaked fabric of his t-shirt as you sobbed.

it took paul a moment before you felt his arms slide up to wrap around you, holding you close to his chest, “shhhhh…” he cooed, pressing his lips to your hairline, “how far along are you?” he asked softly, gently rubbing his hands up and down your naked figure.

“i don’t know,” you whimpered, peeking up at him, “maybe a month? i’m sorry-” you started but he slid his hand under your jaw and pressed his lips to yours, stunning you for a moment.

after a moment he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, “i want you to have him… or her - fuck - i’m so sorry princess” paul explained and you whimpered, sliding your hands up his chest to cup his face in your hands.

“you’re not angry?” you asked softly, and he shook his head, gently brushing the tears off your cheeks with his thumb.

“no,” paul sighed softly, “of course i’m not angry with you princess. how could i be mad at you for being pregnant?” he reassured, looking down to where both of your hands rested over your naked abdomen and let out a soft sigh.

“you can barely tell yet,” he started, sliding his other hand down from your jaw to the small of your back, “i was wondering why you’ve been so sensitive lately.”

“sensitive?” you asked softly, letting out a giggle as you sniffled, using the back of your hands to brush your tears away.

“physically i mean,” paul quickly explained, looking back up at you before adding, “sorry, didn’t mean that you’re emotional.”

you giggled again, “i’m a hot mess right now paul, i think it’s fine to call me emotional.” you sniffled, wiping away the tears that continued to fall down your cheeks.

the corner of his lip curled into a small smile, “i’m sorry, your clothes are all soaked now.” you murmured after a moment and he shook his head, sliding his hand up to the back of your neck to pull you in for a soft kiss.

“the clothes will be fine. why don’t we use the tub so you can relax?” he suggested and you nodded, both of you taking a deep breath together before he helped you up, turning off the shower and helping you sit down on the counter as he started the faucet on the tub.

“you like those bath bomb things right? wait can you use those now? i don’t know what pregnant people…” he trailed off and you giggled again, sniffling before responding.

“yes i can still use the bath bombs paul.” you answered softly, smiling up at him sheepishly and he chuckled, tossing one in the bath before peeling his soaked shift off and tossing it into the hamper.

you watched as he undid the zipper on his shorts, staring a little longer than you probably should’ve and paul quickly caught onto it, “sorry,” you murmured, cheeks heating up as you looked away from him, “these stupid hormones are messing with my head.”

you felt his pointer finger lifting your chin up so you could look at him as he used his other hand to part your thighs so he could step in between them, “nothing to be sorry about princess.” paul cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, gently gnawing on the skin and he released your chin, brushing your hair behind your ears, “good to go in the bath?” he asked softly and you nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck so he could lift you up.

he stepped into the tub, lowing the both of you down into the warm water so you could straddle his lap. you let out a soft sigh as the pink warm water encompassed your body the smell of lavender from the bathbomb immediately relaxing you into paul. you rested your cheek against his shoulder as he rubbed his hand up and down your back, committed to calming yourself down.

“i meant what i said earlier,” paul started after a moment and you hummed softly, not sure what he meant before he continued, “about the baby i mean.” he clarified, “i want you to keep him.”

you pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, “you want a baby?” you asked, threading your fingers through his hair.

“with you.” paul responded before clarifying, “i want a baby with you.” the corner of your lip curled into a smile at that, using your free hand to take his hand and press it to your abdomen, humming softly as he rubbed small circles against your skin.

“do you want to keep him?” paul asked softly, almost sounding… concerned which was unusual for him. you pressed another kiss to his shoulder before lifting your head up to look at him.

“of course i do,” you said softly before adding, “you know i want a baby… i just thought that you wouldn’t.” you murmured, looking up at paul anxiously as he let out a soft sigh of relief, his hand giving your hip a soft squeeze.

“i’m sorry i made you think that,” paul pressed another gentle kiss to your hairline, “i do want you to have him.” you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, trying to hide the wave of tears that rolled down your cheeks at his comment.

he cupped your jaw with his hand, “why are you crying?” he asked softly, thumb brushing the tears away as you shook your head.

“‘m sorry it’s just these stupid hormones.” you murmured again, letting out a soft giggle as you tried to compose yourself and paul smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

you melted into him, quickly knotting your fingers into his hair as you pulled him closer to you. the water splashed a bit as you shifted to press yourself completely against him, your hips subconsciously rolling down in an attempt to create some friction.

paul pulled away for a moment to allow you to catch your breath, resting his forehead against yours, “can we…” you trailed off shyly.

he smiled, nodding as he ran his free hand over your thigh and inbetween your legs, “you tell me if it’s too much, okay? i don’t wanna stress you out.” he asked and you nodded.

the gentleness was so unlike him, something you’d only seen on a few occasions so having him touch you like this was intimate. he grazed his finger of your clit, eliciting a loud whimper out of you.

you whined, grinding your hips down against his finger and he chuckled, “sensitive little thing.” he murmured under his breath, pressing down on your clit to give you the friction you were craving.

“paul please-” you whimpered and normally he would’ve reprimanded you for not using your words but tonight he was committed to staying as gentle with you as possible. he nodded, dipping a finger into your heat as his thumb continued to rub gentle circles against your clit.

you mewled in his lap, tightening your fingers in his hair as he added a second finger, gently scissoring his fingers to stretch you out for him. he felt your breathing hitch as your walls tightened around him quicker than usual, “you gonna cum on my fingers princess?” he asked softly, using his free hand to rest against the small of your back and help stabilize you.

you nodded, letting out a loud whimper, “can i?” you asked breathlessly, grinding your hips down onto his fingers as he continued pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy.

he nodded, “go ahead then, cum on my fingers princess.” he cooed, watching in awe as you quickly met your orgasm with his approval, throwing your head back as a soft moan left your lips and your velvet walls throbbed around his fingers.

he allowed you to ride his fingers for a few more moments as you rode out your high before you leaned forward, relaxing your grip on his hair to wrap yourself around him, resting your head on his shoulder. he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, rubbing his free hand up and down your back as he pulled his fingers out of you, cooing to you as you he whimpered at the emptiness.

“gonna fill you up in a second princess.” paul reassured, pumping his length in his hand and helping lift your hips up with his other hand.

you moaned softly when you felt the tip of his length press against your entrance, paul gently pulled your hips down so you sank onto his length, releasing your hip when he was fully seated inside of you so he could give you a moment to adjust to his size.

“fuck,” he groaned as he felt your walls flutter around him, “you have no idea how good you feel princess.” paul leaned back against the tub and cupped your breasts with his hands, rolling your nipples between his fingers. you meweled at the heightened pleasure, tightening your grip on his shoulders as he continued to play with your nipples while he waited for you to adjusto him.

you whimpered after a moment, pressing a kiss to the crook of his neck and ground your hips down against his letting him know you wanted him to move. normally you would’ve been reprimanded for not using your words but it seemed like paul was quite enjoying being softer with you tonight as he gripped your hips, and dragged you up and down his cock.

you sat up, grabbing his biceps to steady yourself as he continued to bounce you on his cock. “paul-” you groaned loudly, beginning to assist him with your movements as you rolled your hips down.

paul threw his head back at that movement, “fuck-” paul groaned, “you feel so fucking amazing.”

you mewled at his praise, bouncing up and down on his cock as you chased your second orgasm of the night, “atta girl,” paul encouraged, “my cock making you feel good?”

the slew of praise had you teetering on the edge of your second orgasm, you nodded, whimpering out an, “mhm,” as your eyes watered with tears as you tried not to cum on him right then and there, “can i cum on you? please-” you whined, desperate to come undone on your boyfriend.

“go ahead then, i’m right behind you,” paul encouraged, his grip tightening on your hips as he started fucking you on his cock at a pace that was more pleasurable for the both of you, “wanna see you make a mess on my cock.”

his encouragement was all you needed to cum on him, head falling back as you let out a loud moan, gripping him like a vice and sending him over the edge right after you. paul let out a low groan, pulling you down as far as you could go on his length as he came, releasing your hips to pull you closer to him as the two of you rode out your orgasms.

paul was the first to come back down from his high, pressing soft kisses to your hair as you came back to reality. “deep breaths princess,” paul cooed, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

you nodded, slowly sitting back up as you let out a yawn, “you tired?” he asked, threading his fingers through your hair to stroke your scalp.

“mhm,” you murmured, “can you stay with me tonight?” you asked softly, worried he’d have to leave for patrol again.

“obviously i’m staying with you tonight.” he reassured, “c’mon.” he cooed, helping you wrap yourself around him so he could pick the both of you up and get out of the tub.

you whimpered as he set you down on the counter and pulled himself out of you, quickly grabbing a towel and wrapping it around you and worked at drying you off. once he was satisfied that you were dry enough, he quickly dried himself off and threw on a pair of boxers and sweatpants before helping you into your pajamas.

he picked you up again, walking you into your shared bedroom and lying you down on the bed before getting under the covers with you, “you’re gonna look so pretty with that pregnant belly,” paul mused as he pulled you into a spooning position so he could rest his hand on your abdomen.

you giggled softly, “you think?” you murmured, peeking over your shoulder at him and he nodded, “absolutely positive.” he reassured, “now get some sleep, you need it.”

you smiled, wrapping his other arm around you so you were caged in his grip before drifting off.

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supercap2319 · 3 months

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Y/N came down the stairs of the bunker towards the library. He had a stupid grin on his face, and he was carrying various Valentine's Day items. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

He hands the brothers, Cas, and Jack each a gift to commemorate this special occasion. He hands Castiel a heart-shaped box of chocolates. "Slut." He affectional calls the angel of the Lord. Cas opens the box and picks up a chocolate, and takes a bite before scarfing down the rest.

Y/N hands Jack at Teddy Bear. "Sweet face." Jack enthusiastically hugs the toy and introduces himself to the bear.

He looks at Dean. "Bitch." He hands him a store bought pie shaped like a heart as Dean's green eyes lighten up with joy.

Finally, he looks at Sam and hands him flowers. "For the sexiest guy that I know." Sam blushed and took the flowers and smelled them with a smile on his face.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #supernatural #sam winchester #castiel #dean winchester #jack kline #jared padalecki #jensen ackles #misha collins #alexander calvert #valentine's day

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crazyk-imagine · 5 months

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How they feel when they find out you're their Imprint Headcanon

A/N: I was bored and now everyone has a Twilight Christmas gift!

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

Embry

Shocked but excited to have found his imprint (especially after seeing Sam and Emily), was not expecting it to be the town mean girl but when you two are together, your total sweetheart which throws off the guys except Paul (he's the same way)

Quil

Happy that's it someone he knows, even if you two haven't talked in a few years (he always knew you two were meant to be). The pack was happy when he finally quit his moping about how much he missed you and considered himself lucky to ask you out

Jared

Thrown off when it wasn't the one girl who showed an interest in him since freshman year but once he got to know you, he knew the fates never messed up and you two were meant to be together

Paul

Never wanted an imprint but when he heard you defending him and the pack, he knew you two were meant to be, kind of like the next generations Emily and Sam (Quil and Colin like to joke around and tell him when you're not around)

Jacob

Dude was downright flabbergasted when he imprinted a year after shifting and it wasn't on his favorite (person and human), Bella. Once he got to know you, he was happy he didn't end up with her (she comes with too much drama while you two are drama free)

Seth

Never admitted out loud but after watching Emily and Sam plus Jake and Renesme together, it really made him want to find his imprint and then he found you and he was so happy, everyone jokes and says he acted like an excited puppy

Leah

Never wanted an imprint especially after the whole thing with her cousin and ex but after almost dying because she denied the imprint and worked on getting to know you, she found herself wondering how she could ever be without you

Sam

Wasn't expecting to meet you so soon after he shifted and was introduced to the supernatural world (and came to believe in the legends he was told for so long), but thinks meeting you was a secret blessing because you can calm him

Brady

Didn't know what to expect after hearing brief details about imprints, but boy was he floored when he met you and then you asked him out, he nearly passed out on the spot (the pack doesn't let him forget about it)

Collin

Knew he was going to meet his imprint at some point but was not expecting it to happen while he was out getting groceries to replace what he and the pack had devoured from Emily's and then you wind up going to his alpha's place too, boy nearly lost his mind

#twilight #twilight wolfpack #twilight x reader #twilight fanfiction #twilight fanfic #twilight x you #twilight headcanon #sam uley #jared cameron #paul lahote #seth clearwater #leah clearwater #jacob black #embry call #quil ateara #brady fuller #collin littlesea #crazyk-imagine

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miserablebl00d · 2 months

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rip finnick you would've loved the mamma mia movie and abba's songs

#finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #hunger games #the hunger games #sam claflin love of my life.#suzanne collins

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yourmomxx · 2 years

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supernatural, a summary

Sam and Dean: This can’t get any worse now, can it?

Castiel: Sure it can, just give me a minute

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pinkiebieberpie · 1 year

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social media au: sam x dean x winchester!reader ft. castiel

i'm in a mood for sam and dean being two big brothers and reader as their little sister, so this is it, enjoy!! <33 (my first supernatural social media au and it's chaotic, i hope it's not bad, i'm doing my best ++ i'm in the middle of season 9) +++ tagging my sun ☀️ @fleurfairie

y/nwinchester

liked by castiel, swinchester, impala67 and 58 others

👩🏻‍🍳🍳🥧

impala67: i wanted a pie and you made pasta

y/nwinchester: @.impala67 i made both and you ate both???

swinchester: our favorite little sister 🖤

swinchester

liked by castiel, y/nwinchester and 49 others

we are out

y/nwinchester: i took first photo, where is my credit???

castiel: why i wasn't there?

y/nwinchester: @.castiel you left to do your angel stuff

impala67: i look good

impala67

liked by swinchester, castiel and 68 others

movie night with @.swinchester, @.y/nwinchester and @.castiel

y/nwinchester: ❤️❤️

swinchester: y/n stole my pyjama pants again???

y/nwinchester: @.swinchester yes

castiel: next time i'm choosing the movie

castiel: sam's choices are boring

impala67: @.castiel yes, they are

castiel

liked by swinchester, impala67 and 42 others

y/n took it

y/nwinchester: finally somebody is giving me a credit, thank you cas ❤️‍🩹

impala67: we are not that bad at cooking

swinchester: just don't burn the kitchen

supernatural masterlist

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thewordswewrite · 1 year

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The Drought of an Ocean Universe - Masterlist

Pairing | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Summary | Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

Warnings | canon typical violence, nonexplicit forced prostitution, 18+ smut, explicit language, mentions/situations of sexualizing minors, anxiety inducing situations

!IMPORTANT! | Now through the donations link below you can access exclusive content for this fic!! Also consider leaving a donation if you so choose anything is appreciated!! <3333

Donations | Link <--CLICK

| Archive Of Our Own Link |

Ψ・Main Story・Ψ

Chapter One | Annual Victor

Chapter Two | As Tribute

Chapter Three | Play Your Role

Chapter Four | Trained To Kill

Chapter Five | To Come Home

Chapter Six | Cannons To Say Farewell

Chapter Seven | Eager To Please

Chapter Eight | Ladies And Gentlemen

Chapter Nine | The Pearl Of The Capitol

Chapter Ten | A Hand Delt

Chapter Eleven | Rings Like Gold

Chapter Twelve | Home Sweet Home

Chapter Thirteen | Debts Paid

Chapter Fourteen | One Destiny

Chapter Fifteen | His Future

Chapter Sixteen | Epilogue

Ψ・Oneshots・Ψ

Our Condolences | Three months after they realize they’re expecting, things take a turn for the worse for Finnick and his girl.

Wave Break | Unexpectedly drawn into the third Quarter Quell, Finnick and his wife struggle to navigate the dangers of the arena while keeping both Katniss and Peeta alive.

Taglist | @lem0ns77 @lostintheendlessvoidthatislife @curlycarley @bela-nov @lilylovelyxo @jaydiann @shynypeacekitten @dd122004dd @jyessaminereads @aquawhore420 @qallaghereid @bazzaza @zulpix-blog @mrsjna @americanstarlette @lou-the-confused-bisexual @maxinehufflepuffprincess @cecepop15 @pavard-leto-girl @redsakura101 @whillywisp @valeridarkness

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inlovewhithafairytale · 4 months

Text

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canthavetoomuchchaos · 6 months

Text

I Misspoke I Swear

Sam Collins x Darlin'

Tw: slap (accidental), yelling, cursing, injuries

Summary: Sam comes home to Darlin on the couch, grumpy to the nines and covered in injuries. Sam tries to help and Darlin' comes off a bit harsher than they thought.

Darlin' is sitting on the couch, super gluing a large gash on their hip, they wince and hiss as the glue stings their wound. They hold it closed and breathe through the pain, once it's dried and closed they remove their hand, looking over it and pulling their tone shirt down. Their face is bruised and cut galore, their knuckles sliced and bleeding, their blood mixing with the blood of the freelancer they fought before. The sigh and sit back for a moment, resting their body before they go about healing the other wounds.

Darlin' opens their eyes and grabs the super glue again, this time going after the somewhat large cut next to their ribs, the freelancer had attacked them with some extremely sharp ice. They grimace and hiss again, their temper only rising as they try to heal themself. They're trying to heal themself before sam can get home from his clan meeting. They don't want him to fire himself out as soon as he gets home. The anxiety of the time limit and the pain of their injuries is making for a very pissed off shifter.

Sam arrives home a few minutes later, they have just pulled their shirt down and finished hiding all evidence of the first aid mission in the first place. Sam walks in and peers over at what looks to be a sleeping Darlin, they're laid out across the couch, breathing evenly and eyes closed. Though he can hear their heart racing and their face instead nearly as relaxed as it usually is whilst they sleep.

"...Darlin'? I know you're awake, why are you pretending to sleep?" Sam asks as he approaches the couch, now recognizing the smell of their blood and something else.

".....Darlin' are you hurt? Why do you smell like blood?" His alarm rises as he can see no injuries, though their shirt is slightly torn and- the forgot their knuckles and the bruising on their face.

Darlin' sits up, holding in a groan and tiny whimper at the pain in their side at the action.

"hey Sam, how was the meeting?" They try to change the subject, though they know that won't happen and the anxiety from before comes back full force.

"Darlin...what happened? I wasn't gone that long why are you covered in bruises and I can smell the super glue holding a cut together some where on you..."

They grimace and hesitates to answer trying to keep their mouth in check, anger is familiar, anger is easy. But Sam doesn't deserve it, he didn't do anything, he just wants to help...

Sam is now crouched in front of Darlin' on the floor, his hands hovering over their knees, never touching without permission.

"..can I see? You don't have to tell me what happened of you don't want to Darlin, but I just want to heal it, make it easier to go about the rest of the days."

They glare down at him. Their eyes not saying what their mind is screaming.

"I don't need help Sam. I'm fine, I don't know why you smell super glue, I'm just a little bruised up, I tried to do a few tricks in-between shifting for some added flare and I failed a few times, nothing more." Their chest contracts as they lie to his face. He knows they're lying, he doesn't deserve to be lied to. But god is it easier to lie than admit they got in a fight over something as stupid as defending their pride.

"Darlin', that's a lie and we both know it, will you please just let me see? I won't touch, I just want to see how bad it is." He's being gentle, as always, and it only fuels Darlin' s anxiety, this fueling the unneeded anger.

"No, Sam, I don't need healing, I don't need you to overexert yourself just because I can't fucking back away from a fight because I'm stubborn as shit! You shouldn't have to deal with someone who just fucking throws themself at danger like some invulnerable idiot!"

Their hands are swinging as they speak, going all around in the air next to them and in front of them, they close their eyes for moment as they continue,

"You've said it multiple times, I'm not a tank, despite the nickname my pack gave me. And I know that! I do, I really do, but I don't need you constantly babying me over something small as a few-" they stop as they accidentally smacked Sam in their frantic tangent. Their eyes widen at the large red mark forming on Sam's temple. They stopped breathing the moment it happened, their eyes wide and filling with tears as they cover their mouth with the same hand that accidentally hit him.

"Darlin, I'm okay. It was an accident, don't panic. I'm perfectly fine." He reassures them as he blinks, it may have been an accident, but that doesn't not change the fact that Darlin has a strong slap, even accidental.

They shake their head, quickly getting up as they back slowly away from Sam, their hands now at their sides, shaking. They bump into the counter and flinch as it reopens a small cut on their back that has scabbed over. But the never look away from Sam.

They continue to back up, finding themself at the entrance to the long hallway, turning their head quickly and looking at Sam, tear filled eyes locked on the ground.

"I'm so sorry." And they turn and run down the hall. Locking themself in a bathroom.

Sam follows after them quickly, hesitating to knock on the door, but doing so anyway, he knows it's locked, he heard them turn it. He could easily break through but he doesn't need to spook them anymore than they already are.

"Darlin..? Hey, are you alright in there? Can you come out?" He gets no response to any of his questions just the sound of breaking glass and a frustrated Darlin', he doesn't know what to do, but he can hear their cries, of pain or something else he's not sure. So he does the only other thing he can think of, and calls David.

"..hello?"

"ah, hey, Mr. Shaw, um, sorry to call out of the blue, but I need your help with somethin'" Sam says, flinching as he can hear Darlin' breaking what sounds to be the hand mirror they got a year ago.

"Is everything alright? What happened? Where's Tank?" Sam can hear the concern in David's voice, the jingling of keys and murmuring of goodbyes to his mate in the background.

"Darlin is currently...locked in a bathroom, by themself, they're hurt, from what I don't know yet, but I came home and they smelled of super glue and blood. They're covered in bruises David..."

David sucks in a breath and sam can hear it over the call, a loud crash in bathroom making Sam flinch towards the door again.

"Sam? What was that?" David is in his car, the drive to Sam's house is about 15 minutes, so he's not very pleased to not know what happening.

Sam's voice is quiet as he feels helpless in the situation.

"I don't know...I just know that while they were on their usual tangent about not needing my help and all that, they seemed much more on edge and were swinging their arms around with ever word. They accidentally hit me in the head and now we're here.."

David tenses up. Now he knows why they're locked in the bathroom, and what sounds to be them breaking things.

"Sam, I need you to just leave them in the bathroom til I get there, this isn't the first time this has happened. They're not mad at you or anything, but this has happened before, to me."

(I have no idea why that underlined... I can't fix it either, sorry!)

Sam, although reluctantly, walks to the kitchen, leaning against the counter. He can hear them crying and it's breaking his heart.

"David what is going on?"

David finally arrives on the dirt road leading up to Sam's house, the gravel crunching under his wheels.

"...that's not my place to say. All I can tell you, is that they may be hostile or frantic when I get there, just know it's nothing you or I did. They're having PTSD and likely have no idea what's going on."

Sam can hear as David gets out of his truck, and walks to the door, the call dropping as he walks up. The red mark on Sam's temple is fading slowly, but it's not going to bruise, he knows that.

"they're in the bathroom down the hall.." Sam says as he lets David into the house. David takes slow, loud steps, letting Darlin recognize the footfalls as his.

"Tank..? You in there?" He says carefully, he doesn't know how bad this is. He tries the knob and finds it locked, not surprising.

"go away David! I don't need you here!" Their voice is loud, shaky, but loud. They're in pain, both physically and mentally, almost every injury they sealed earlier is ripped open now.

"Tank...I need you to open the door okay? You're safe here, nobody's mad. It was an accident, just like before, remember? Sam is okay." He can hear the small, quiet whimpers they're letting out. Though he gets no response. He turns to Sam.

"do you have anything to pick the lock?" Sam nods and walks into the kitchen, grabbing a small lockpick that came with the house when he bought it, handing it to David.

"Tank...i need you to back away from the door okay? I'm gonna open it. " He hears movement, shattered glass and other broken objects in the floor shifting around. He picks the lock and slowly opens the door. He did not expect to fin Darlin' balled up on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled soaps. He doesn't enter the bathroom, just sitting on the floor outside of the doorframe. They watch each other.

"do you know where you are right now Tank?" His voice is quiet and their eyes are darting all around his face.

".....my bathroom...." he blinks, that can mean two things.

"who's house are you in right now Tank, do you know?" His eyes are surveying their body, seeing the bits of blood from the cuts.

"...my mother's...." David takes a deep breath at that and swallows, shaking his head.

"no Tank. You're at Sam's house. You know Sam. He's your mate...." He hesitates at the last word, looking to Sma for confirmation, getting a gentle nod to his silent question.

".....Sam's house?" Their voice is incredibly quiet.

David nods, noticing the recognition in their eyes as they look around the bathroom and the hall behind David.

"....I hit him...." their eyes widen as they cover their mouth.

"Oh my god, David I hit him-!" Their eyes fill with tears again as their breath speeds up. He waves Sam over, he sticks his head in the doorframe.

"Tank, look, look at Sam. He's okay. There's no mark, no bruise. He's perfectly fine. "

Their eyes glance up at Sam and they look around his face for any sign of their accidental assault. They calm slightly as they find nothing. Though they refuse to look away from him now.

David enters the bathroom, glass crunching under his boots. He gently scoops Darlin' into his arms and carries them back out to the kitchen.

They're wiping their face harshly, trying remove any remnants of their breakdown.

"hate crying, it's gross, and sticky, and just....eugh." they mutter. Not even realizing how they just said almost the exact thing David told his mate all that time ago.

"...I'm sorry..." They whisper. Sam sitting in front of them, gently healing the wound they have.

Sam shakes his head, his gentle eyes looking into their sad ones.

"you have no reason to be sorry Darlin. You did what you had to."

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

TA DAAAA not exactly what I had imagined writing, and it's not the argument I had wanted, so that's still coming, but I like the way this came out I think! Hope you enjoyed and I'm sorry it's so long-

#x reader #redacted sam #redacted darlin #redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #Angst #David shaw #Sam Collins #Darlin #idk how to tag this

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