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katyawriteswhump · 2 months

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Bed of Roses (steddie love month, day 17)

For @steddielovemonth, Day 17 prompt: Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost (@yournowheregirl ) Thank you <3

Rating: M. CW: prostitution, unwanted kink/abuse/pet-names (NOT between Steddie) alcoholism, substance abuse. Tags: rockstar Eddie, rent-boy Steve, make-up fic, angst, shameless perversion of Bon Jovi lyrics. WC: 2,000.

...

“'Cause a bottle of vodka's still lodged in my head…”

In his dressing room, pre-show, Eddie grasped his second bottle of vodka in an unsteady hand.

“…and some blonde gave me nightmares; I think that she’s still in my bed.”

This was NOT GOOD. Eddie had gotten sap-fest Bon Jovi lyrics slithering around his brain. He couldn’t for the life of him remember his own lyrics.

“Hey, Amigo,” he announced to the vodka. “I got a venue of ten thousand to entertain, and you’re literally my Obi-Wan—my only hope.” He caressed the bottle’s label. “80% proof, huh, Baby?”

I’m serious, Eddie, you’ve had enough. You WANT to follow Kurt Cobain into the 27-Club?

Riiiight. That was not a Bon Jovi lyric. That sounded more like Steve Harrington, in sensible-parent mode, hands planted on his slender hips.

The tears struck fast. Eddie clonked the bottle onto the dressing table then followed it, pressing his heavy head to the glass.

He seriously didn’t want to die. However, he was so through with this life. Of any life, without Steve. The cavity where his heart once lay veered between grating emptiness and an unbearable pain.

His fingers twitched toward the bottle. Screw it, the show must go on, and he’d lost his only light in the darkness…

“… as I dream about movies, they won't make of me when I'm dead.”

That still wasn’t one of his own darn lyrics. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single goddamn word of any of Corroded Coffin’s songs.

A sharp knock on the dressing-room door had him squealing like a little piggy. An old guy poked his head in.

“Who the hell are you?”

“You hired me, Mr Munson. Dirk Gordon—Private Dick?”

“Ah… Yeah, so I did.” Eddie’s rotten heart hammered way too fast. “Have you..?"

“Yes, Mr Munson. I believe I’ve found him.”

…

“What do you mean, you're not gonna pay me?” Steve wrapped his arms tight around himself. The only heating in his boss’s rundown office came from the guy’s endless chain of cigarettes. “I spent the whole evening simpering at that old dragon. You told me she liked music—I talked music endlessly.”

“You yammered on about some death-metal garbage. She likes Wagner.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “What’s Wagner? That crusty old film-star?”

“Oh, Steve, Steve, Steve. What am I gonna do with you?” His boss sauntered around the desk and hooked an arm around him.

Jesus, you stink.

“You’re good-looking, kid, you’re charming, but you simply can’t cut it with that kind of high-end client.”

“She seemed happy.” Steve shrugged his shoulders, failing to shake the guy off him. “She paid you, right?”

“Not the full whack, and you got a fancy meal out of the bitch. Look, I’ll give you your cut, if you do better tonight.”

He squeezed the back of Steve’s neck. Steve tried not to shudder. When his boss produced a piece of paper and wedged it down the back of Steve’s skin-tight jeans, he stopped trying to hide his revulsion.

“Details are all there. He’s a banking exec, early forties—no more dinners and dances with Doris, you’re spending the night at his house.”

A dry lump clogged Steve’s throat. “Is he gonna want..?”

“Sex? Christ on a bike, what trade do you think you’re in?” He squeezed Steve’s butt.

“Jesus fu—” Steve bit his lip, fixed on his damp sneakers.

“Believe me, Steve, your hair ain’t your best asset. You’re gonna have to sell that plump lil’ ass for real, sooner or later.”

Steve flinched, then schooled his features as blankly as he could.

“This guy’s got a few kinks, but as Johns go, he’s a pussycat.” He lifted Steve’s drooping chin with his knuckles. “Show him what ya got, Sport.”

Steve couldn’t get out into the drab morning fast enough. He retrieved the paper from his underwear, shoved it in a pocket unread, then stumbled, zombie-like, into a diner. “Black coffee, please? It’s an emergency.”

The waitress smiled. “You want breakfast, Steve?”

He shook his head, though his stomach grumbled.

He ended up slumped on the table, his face pillowed in his arms. Christ, ‘male escort’ had never seemed like a great idea, but he’d figured the pay would beat waiting tables. So how come he was still behind on his rent, and that he still couldn’t afford to eat some days, let alone buy his pain meds?

He muffled a miserable laugh in his elbow. He genuinely wished he could afford to get smashed, get high, because nothing could fill that gaping black hole of pain. Even worse, one of his fave Bon Jovi songs was playing on the radio, and SO not helping:

“Tonight I won't be alone, but you know that don't mean I'm not lonely.” Shit! He was fighting back dumbass tears already. “I got nothing to prove, for it’s you I’d die to defend.”

Why the hell did he run away? He can’t recall any reason that mattered anymore. “I’m sorry, Eddie,” he mumbled. “I miss you so much.”

Somebody touched his elbow, and he jolted up. “Sorry, hon,’” said the waitress, “we need this table for dine-in customers.”

“Right.” Steve swiped any tell-tale moisture from his cheekbones. “I’ll clear outta your way.”

...

“Ready for playtime, Bunny Rabbit?”

Steve’s skin crawled, and his face burned. He’d gotten his head in the client’s lap, and the guy was playing with his hair. It would be tolerable, he guessed, if he’d not so often laid in Eddie’s lap like this, and… Christ, Eddie! Steve shut out the unwanted touching and began to drift. He was so beyond tired. And that song from the diner crept back:

“Now as you close your eyes, know I'll be thinking about you. While my mistress—she calls me to stand in her spotlight again…”

The pinch on his cheek startled Steve back to the present. “You kipping there, Bunny Rabbit?”

“Uh… er, sorry, Daddy.” Uuuuuuurgh! “Whatever you want, Daddy.” He dared sit up. “I’ll grab a condom and, uh… stuff.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” When Steve went to rise, his arm was grabbed, and he was held in place. “I don’t like rubbers, Cutie.”

“You heard of this thing called AIDS?” Dipshit!

Steve wrenched his arm free. The guy raised his hand and slapped him. Which wasn’t exactly out-of-the-blue, because face-slapping had been listed among this repellent son-of-a-bitch’s kinks.

“I’m paying top whack for you.” He leaned over Steve, suddenly kinda huge and scary, not least because Steve now saw double. “Your pimp said you were clean, so I’m gonna have you any way I like.”

“I… uh…” Steve kicked the bastard’s shin and shoved him hard. “Go to hell, asshole.”

He fled out into the night, still dizzy from the blow. He pulled his mesh vest back on over his head. The icy wind bit, and he realised he’d left his only jacket behind.

“Jesus Christ! JESUS CHRIST!” He kicked a lamppost, holding back on venting the true force of his feelings. Still hurt.

He limped off up the street, fast as he could. The ache in his toes at least distracted him from the ringing in his ears. An hour later, he stumbled around the corner of his block, thinking only of throwing himself into his bed, while he still had one.

He was so close, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood suddenly on end. Through the haze of his exhaustion, he realised a car crawled up the gutter behind him.

Had Mr Happy-Slappy-Sleazebag come after him? Then again, Steve’s pursuer could be anybody. After all, he was walking through a red-light district, shivering his ass off. Dressed like the whore I am. Hahaha!

The car pulled up right beside him. A blacked-out window rolled down.

Steve ran, turning sharp up a dark alley, then… Shit, shit, SHIT AGAIN! He was only a hundred yards from his digs, and yet he was so messed-up that he’d sprinted up a dead-end.

He nearly kicked the bricks. Instead, he punched them, as if that would blast through the solid wall. He turned about, bit his grazed fist, and sank slowly onto his haunches.

Two figures approached up the alley, silhouetted against the lights of the street behind. Get up, Harrington! GET UP! His legs wouldn’t obey, and his breaths came only as rapid gasps. Nothing felt real anymore. Am I gonna die..? I’m gonna die!

A hand stretched out of the gloom.

Steve stared at it—at the familiar chunky silver rings, which couldn’t be real. He glanced up, and… wtf? It was Eddie, apart from it wasn’t Eddie. This dude looked more like Eddie’s ghost. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

Maybe I scored some Benzos after all, and totally ODd.

“Stevie?”

No mistaking that voice. If this was a trip, it was a good one. Steve pried an eye open, and Eddie’s hand was still there. Steve took it, let it help him to his feet, because… Why not? Suddenly, they were in each other’s arms, clasping each other tightly. This is real. You’re real! Eddie reeked of booze, and also of something devastatingly comforting and familiar. Somebody’s wretched sobs shook through them both.

“I’m s-sorry.” Steve sounded broken. “I-I honestly don't know why I left anymore. I was such an idiot.”

“No. I was the idiot. I’m sorry, too. So very fucking sorry.” Eddie sniffed hard, lifted his tear stained cheek from Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve not been doing so good without you.”

Steve blinked the moisture from his vision. He wondered if he looked as wrecked as Eddie—red-eyed and waxy pale, under the distant glimmer of the streetlamps. Probably. If he hadn't leaned against Eddie, his legs would’ve given out again.

He laughed, without knowing why. Eddie laughed too, and it warmed Steve’s soul. “Gonna be honest, Eddie—not been doing so good without you, either.”

…

When Eddie got out of rehab, Steve waited on the steps of the clinic, hand stretched out to take his. He pulled Eddie close, and then into a sweet, lingering kiss that renewed Eddie more thoroughly than even a lengthy booze-free sleep.

“I’m never going through that again,” said Eddie, his lips still brushing against Steve’s.

Not least because I never ever want to be parted from you again, even for a fortnight.

“Yeah, but you’re dry, Eddie, and you’re alive. I’d say that’s goddamn metal of you.”

They started back to the car, hands still clasped tightly. “Not gonna take credit, Stevie. You’re what got me through.”

“You might’ve got me out of a fix, so we’re even.” Steve’s sigh rode on a wistful sadness. “I mean, I was so lost. Thinking of you was all that kept me… I dunno, alive, I guess. You know, I kept on thinking about that Bon Jovi song.”

“Uh, you know how I feel about Bon J—"

Too late. Steve burst into song: “Well, I'm so far away, each step that I take is on my way home. A king's ransom in dimes I'd give each night to see through this pay-phone—”

Eddie pressed fingers to his boyfriend’s parted lips. “As much as I hate cutting you off in your prime—two teensy-weensy issues. Firstly, I had no idea where you were, and you never called! Second, what’s wrong with my blood-and-death drenched lyrics?”

Steve took Eddie’s fingers and kissed them: “Hurt too much to think about them.”

“You know what, Sweetheart? Hurt too much to sing them, without you around. Even though none of them are actually love songs.” Eddie raised his gaze to the heavens, and looped his arms around Steve. “Go figure.”

“You sure they’re not love songs? C’mon—they’re all secretly about me, right? Only coded or something. I’ll crack it one day.”

Steve’s gently mocking smile destroyed him, in the best possible way. They tumbled into a French kiss, and he resigned himself willingly to the only thing that mattered:

“And the truth is… Baby, you’re all that I need.”

...

Thanks for reading <3 Likes, comments and reblogs always much appreciated :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on ao3).

#steddielovemonth #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington whump #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson #steve x eddie #rock star eddie munson #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie x steve #steddie love month

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ramonaflow · 8 months

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Summer Word Challenge

Weekly word: Ice cream

Thank you for the tags @mallpretzles 💛

I'm so behind on these

It's an unbearably hot day, the hottest of the year so far, and David is swanning around the store wearing a short sleeved, white t-shirt, not a care in the world. Meanwhile Patrick is losing his mind. Naked arms! David's arms are naked! Patrick has never seen his arms before. His beautiful, deliciously hairy, did he mention naked? arms and he's pretty sure he's not going to survive the day. How the fuck is he supposed to deal with this?

David's top looks a little damp and Patrick is pretty sure he can see his nipples through it, God, he needs to stop looking. This is not professional co worker behaviour! He feels like he's slowly roasting to death and thinking about David's nipples isn't helping. His heart feels like it's pounding out of his chest and he briefly wonders about the possibility of having a heart attack caused by lust. God he's such an idiot. Why didn't he think ahead and wear something similar to David? His shirt is already so uncomfortably sticky. He wipes his forehead with his sleeve and wonders how disgusting he must look. He's sure David keeps glancing over at him and that's just making him sweat even more. He's just trying to figure out how to talk to David about leaving early when he's suddenly interrupted. "You look really hot, Patrick!" Wait, what did David just say? He looks hot? Surely… "Are you ok Patrick? You're bright red." "Oh, uh. Yeah. I mean I'm a bit warm. It's making me feel a little off." "You should go splash water on your face. I'm gonna run to the cafe and get us a cold drink," he doesn't wait for Patrick to reply and disappears out of the door. Ok, so with David out of his vicinity, he can go to the bathroom, cool down, gather his thoughts, and try to breathe. He holds his hands under the cold tap and then runs his fingers through his hair and over the back of his neck. He's still far too hot. He stares at himself in the mirror and realises he was right, he really does look disgusting. His undershirt is soaked through, it needs to go. As long as he's quick he can take it off before David gets back. He heads into the backroom, unbuttons his shirt and peels it off, realising how gross it's going to be when he puts it back on. Oh well, too late to worry about now. He whips off his wet undershirt and drops it on the floor just as he hears the bell above the door chime. Shit, David's back. He starts to quickly pull his shirt back on when the curtain opens.. "Patrick, I got you—" but the words die on David's lips as he takes in the sight of Patrick, messy haired and wet with his shirt hanging open. He just stands gawping at him as Patrick flushes even more. Patrick clears his throat, snapping him out of his stupor and David realises he's just been staring at him, "Sorry, um. I got you a lemonade and I grabbed you an ice cream. Thought it would help but it's already melting. Sorry." Patrick glances at the ice cream in his hand and notices that it's running down his forearm and oh Jesus Christ no. So now he has to watch David with Patrick's ice cream, and try not to stare at his perfect pink tongue as he licks up the white mess covering his arm. Oh please God, he has got to get out of here! Any second now there will be a Patrick shaped hole in the door. But he can't take his eyes off him, his feet feel glued to the floor, and if he thought he was sweating before? Well… Then when David makes this little mmm noise that is it! He can't take anymore. He hastily buttons his shirt and snatches the lemonade out of David's other hand. "Thank you for the lemonade David but I'm really not feeling well. I have to go. I'll text you later." "But what about your ice cream?" David asks. Patrick pauses, one hand on the door, "Like I said, I'm not doing great. Thanks anyway but you can have it." "Well, ok. If you're sure?" Patrick turns back to look at David just in time to see him close his lips around the top of it and suck it into his mouth. He practically runs out of the store, slamming the door behind him.

#summer word challenge #david x patrick #patrick brewer #david rose #schitt's creek #sara's fic stuff

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direwombat · 10 months

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so many wednesdays, so little time

tagged by the beloveds @wrathfulrook, @inafieldofdaisies, @adelaidedrubman, @ivymarquis, and @gaeadene for wip wednesday specifically, and by @river-ward, and @cassietrn for general wip sharing (thank you all so much <3 <3 <3)

tagging: @strafethesesinners, @strangefable, @detectivelokis, @sstewyhosseini, @confidentandgood, @henbased, @voidika, @poetikat, @roofgeese, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @aceghosts, @purplehairsecretlair, @deputyash, @harmonyowl, @madparadoxum, @euryalex, @clonesupport, @neverthesameneveranother, @trench-rot, @jacobsneed, @josephslittledeputy, @g0dspeeed, @socially-awkward-skeleton, and anyone else wanting to share their wips today! (but as always no pressure <3)

as of checking the poll i made, looks like syb's public speaking is in the lead (by the slimmest of margins), so have some of that :)

Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she whistles loudly to get the room’s attention. All eyes turn to her. “Alright, y’all, we’ve got company inbound,” she says. “At least three trucks — estimated nine to twelve hostiles — en route comin’ in from the south. Likely just as many’re gonna come in from the north. Got maybe another seven left still outside. Now, Grace is keepin’ ‘em busy ‘cross the street, but she ain’t gonna be able to hold ‘em off forever. We also got air support incoming. I ain’t gonna lie, shit’s bad. We’re outgunned and outnumbered.”

The gathered civilians mutter anxiously among themselves. Doubt suddenly casts dark shadows over their faces, causing Sybille’s stomach to knot, but Pastor Jerome gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

She takes a deep breath. “But it ain’t hopeless,” she continues, and everyone falls silent. “Now, I want y’all to listen up and listen good ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once. Y’all willin’ to fight, we gonna leave out that back door, okay? After that, buddy up and do not let each other outta your sight. Just like huntin’ or hikin’, alright? Your buddy is. Your. Lifeline. Y’hear me?”

The civilians nod.

“Good,” she breathes. “Stick to cover and when that plane comes, get under a roof or awnin’. Key is makin’ yourself as small a target as possible. You get shot? Hide. Don’t get cocky. Don’t take unnecessary risks. Don’t be a hero. There any part of that y’all ain’t like, ain’t nobody gonna judge you for it, okay? Any of y’all wantin’ to stay behind, barricade the doors, head on down to the basement, and wait til someone comes to get you.” She swallows thickly and says, “Everything’ll be just fine. We all clear?”

In a chorus of voices that reminds her of her brief stint as a Staff Sergeant, all present — including Jerome — say, “Yes, ma’am.”

There were many she served with many who hungered for such authority. So many who went career not out of patriotism but rather lust for power. But she always found issuing orders to be agonizingly unpleasant. She hated having that kind of trust, that kind of loyalty in her hands and the weight of her unit’s lives on her shoulders.

Still hates it, as it turns out.

Jesus Christ, she’s gonna get all these people killed and it’s gonna be all her damn fault.

“Alright then,” she nods, trying to force the lump of dread down her throat and into her stomach where it belongs. “Move out.”

“Yes, ma’am!” they all cry in unison. They gather their weapons and begin to file out the back door of the church. She follows behind them, ensuring she’s the last one out to provide covering fire.

Jerome waits for her by the door, but before she crosses the threshold, he stops her. “These are fully grown men and women, Deputy,” he says quietly. “Their choices are their own.”

Her eyes go wide and she blinks owlishly at him, her mouth slightly agape. Swallowing thickly, she presses her lips into a tight, firm line and nods. So were the people I was in charge of, she doesn’t say. It don’t make the guilt any less unbearable.

But there are more pressing issues than arguing about who bears responsibility over whom. Debates of blame and morality are best left to the peacetime philosophers and judges. No, she has a job to do. She can’t allow herself to slip into the same guilt and ruminate on the same ghosts that plagued her in the quiet nights she spent in the hospital before being honorably discharged with a purple heart that she doesn’t deserve.

No, this is war, and war necessitates action. Movement.

If she stops, she’s as good as dead.

Her jaw sets and expression hardens. She looks at Jerome and nods towards the single civilian yet to partner with a buddy. “Get movin’,” she grunts.

#wip wednesday #wip: kneeling at the crossroads #context: these are the civilians she sent to jerome's church after she freed them #she went to check on them when the plane is called in. wanted to get them somewhere safe #but when she walks inside she sees jerome helping arm them up :)

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demonsfate · 4 months

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Imma be honest, chief. I liked Xiaoyu in Bloodline :/ I enjoyed her moments with Jin and Hwoarang, although I understand and agree with your post. I did like her in Blood Vengeance, but that was probably one of the only positive aspects of the movie. While they got her right, they also massacred Jin 💀 Seems like they miss a lot with both of them most of the time, at least in different media. The comics are not that good either. Do you think 8 will do them right again? I know for sure they're trying with Jin. I think, from the little glimpses we've seen of Xiao, that she might be her normal game self.

She was alright in Bloodline, but I meant like in terms of accuracy to her game self... she just doesn't feel like Xiao. Though, there were moments with her were kinda a pass for me. (The whole Devil Jin fiasco scene LOL. The scene with her against King is pretty silly - mostly due to the other scenes established in the show. Jin breaking Leroy's leg to the point he has a permanent limp, but Xiao can be thrown into a tree hard enough to leave an imprint and she just has a concussion lol)

The only positive aspect in BV in my opinion were Xiao and Alisa's characterization. If they had just made the movie a full fledge slice of life comedy between those two instead of trying to shoehorn all the Mishimas in it, I think it would've been better. But yeah - it's really sad how bad Jin was in that movie. Mostly bc he felt influenced by Tek6 Jin (thank FUCK Xiao wasn't influenced by Tek6 Xiao. Then the movie would've been unbearable.) Like him saying he doesn't care if the world gets destroyed by his and Kazuya's fight. Uhhhhhhh... do the writers need to be reminded why Jin wanted to kill Kazuya in the first place? Wasn't it to... oh I don't know... save the world?

So far, Tek8 is doing REALLY good with Jin characterization wise. Now story wise? Ehhhh... too soon to say. It has a lot of Tek6 references which kinda hinders it a bit. But so far, with the way Jin's behavior is a vast improvement and does remind me of his old self. As for Xiao, I'd say she was already improved quite a bit in Tek7. In fact, it's probably thanks to Blood Vengeance that Xiao was fixed. Considering she was massacred in Tek5, and then brutally tortured in Tek6, but it was Tag 2 where she was obviously influenced by Blood Vengeance. Instead of being a yandere like she was in Tek6, she went back to being shy about her crush regarding Jin (like she was in Tek4, just like in that game - in Tag 2, Miharu teases Xiao about her crush and she gets annoyed. Thank fuck she's not like "I'm gonna kill people so I can marry jin! :D" Jesus Christ) And Tek7 already removed her REALLY, beyond childish intros/outros that Tek5 added. (Such as the one where she's shaking and Scared, the one where she goes "uh-oh!" the one where she acts confused that she even won, and the one where she smacks her butt and says "bye-bye!" even if, admittedly i liked that one just fine. The rest were ughghughhh) And since it seems like she's gonna be important in the story this time around, I think Xiao is gonna be really good in Tek8, too. But as said - she was already being fixed faster than poor Jin was.

I think I'm gonna make a post about my opinions regarding Jin's depictions throughout all the adapted medias. (Since most of 'em are Bad, too.) but I will say the one thing I enjoyed about the comics - referring to the Tek7 one - is Jin and DJ's relationship. Whilst the comic doesn't exactly depict how I write their powers / being in control works, it does depict their dynamic quite well. It being a weird toxic one where DJ goes from being mocking to Jin, to DJ being very supportive and acting like he cares. It does that extremely well to what I've always pictured it, and I hope Tek8 will depict their relationship similar.

#✏️ - ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏsᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ // (ooc)#✏️ - ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ? // (inbox)

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reaperkiller · 2 years

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ok well i can't remember who tagged me and i do not have the energy to look rn BUT i am here with a wip. after 2 weeks of being tagged HIII. introducing my two new 20/77 ocs one of which i haven't really. made in-game yet. but it's fine. you are going to love her either way. you are not allowed to feel otherwise

“Jesus Christ, how much longer are you gonna drag this out?”

“No, no, I’m not, I’m-. I’m actually doing it this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, you said that two months ago.”

“I mean it th-.”

“Said that two months ago, too. If you don’t get a fuckin’ move on soon, you’re gonna get dragged outta there in a bodybag, babe. It’s not worth it. Chicken out again, and you’re on your own from now on. I can’t keep-.”

The woman’s voice was quickly cut off by a sharp sigh, as Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose out of frustration. He was staring at himself in the mirror, bags hanging heavy under his eyes. He looked so… Fragile, pale, like one wrong word, one slight breeze, could make him shatter into a million pieces.

“Need I remind you that was before I knew my fucking boss was fucking my fucking wife in my fucking office?” A moment of silence fell between the two, as Amanda realised there really was nothing she could say to that. The guy had a point. Could’ve made it with a little less expletives, but now wasn’t the time for pointing that out.

He continued, “The divorce has been finalised now, anyway. Papers have been signed. Got a safe amount of money to fall back on. Now’s the best chance I have at telling Colton he and this whole goddamn company can kiss my ass.”

“The one and only chance you’ve got left, cowboy.”

“I know. I know. Just-. If I’m not there in a half hour-.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what to do.” The second the call ended, the reality of his situation - the weight of it all - immediately set in, the pain in his stomach almost unbearable, legs ready to buckle all of a sudden. Come on. Don’t give up now. Ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes. And you’re out of here for good. For better or worse. Unfortunately, in Seb’s case, it was going to get much, much worse.

#redacted.doc #me knowing exactly where this is going: gee i hope it goes well! (:#anyway i havent posted writing in a WHILE so im feeling very Cringe about it. i'll live #me rambling before the cut to put off posting as long as possible. im very fine and normal #am i going to elaborate on who they are. not yet no

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gwemrys · 3 years

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seeing pretty abysmally bad merlin takes whats up

#ok this is like..... i Might reply this to the post but might also just not bother idk <3 u might have seen it go around itwas like #both the original post n a reply were uh. well #the original post is like ‘the magical community never backed merlin bc they knew merlin was too devoted to arthur as a person nd not to #legalising magic’ which. fair that was probably what the magical folks who didnt back him had as their reason and thats..#understandable.. regardless of whether it was true or not he did unintentionally give reasons to make them get that impression..butlike #the op phrased it like ‘he actually does not care abt the magical community at all and is in for it Purely bc of arthur’ which....no lol he #he just didnt know what he was doing. he was not exactly. qualified i guess.. to bear that responsibility #its not that he didnt Care..... its that he didnt know HOW. its that he was told the solution lied in using a prophecy as his manual..#its that he was told by said prophecy AND by an ~all-knowing creature of the old religion~#that the one and only key to a future that was in any way liveable for his ppl. lied in protecting arthur #but like okaywhatever i still get where op came from... but then the REPLY #(someone’s saved tags) was like. ‘okay but what did the magical community ever do for him? if they rlly wanted justice they should not have #tried to kill arthur every other week’ Like i am sorry but. they fully had the right to turn against someone who persecuted them for existi #existing. literlly..... do not blame ppl for not wanting to be killed off anymore and not having any faith in anything changing unless they #take action themselves..... first off not everyone knows theres supposed to be this emrys guy whos gonna save them and second its not like #they were given much to believe in..... like i personally know merlin tried hisbest nd i dont blame him bc he never asked to be given #that unbearably heavy responsibility that no sole human should ever have to carry alone. and he did what he believed what was best. But #do not blame the other ppl for not buying that stupid bootlicking royal propaganda tale jesus christ.. they were victims just like merlin #andthey were given zero reasons to not want arthur dead #realising now this sounds like im defending morgana’s and morgause’s (etc) actions which i am not lol im mainly referring to those ppl that #werent trying to get the throne for themselves per se....like kara for example

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romanticdykee · 5 years

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✧ prétendre comme ceci est une citation profonde✧✧✧ laissez-moi savoir si vous avez effectivement traduit cette

#im on my period oops #i kinda got cramps but its nothing unbearable!#im so so so ready for school to start jesus christ #the first semester went by so fast and im just waiting for the second one to start so i can get out of school #i have a life plan after high school and i cant wait to get going #im just ready to start my new life!!#im even getting my college paid for so I'll be lucky enough to get out without debt #or putting my mom through that #that'd make me sad :'(#but yea!!#i feel like yall see tags and are like #oh annie is gonna go on some depressing rant again #oii no m8s #but yea i want a gf #but life is probably too stressful for thay #*that #so if anyone wants to be my fake gf let me know #that was 100% a joke #because I'd probably get too attached #allie is probably reading this like wtf annie #also allie never told me how to spell her name so ??#ava spells it ally and i spell it allie #wtf is this post #im just talking to myself #im nervous for no reason rn #but yea if school could start rn that'd be fantastic

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3platoon · 3 years

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vent tw

i'll go an entire day without thinking about that horrible ex roommate but then like out of nowhere i'll just be bombarded with all the awful things he did and like i really. would prefer not to think about it thanks. but jesus christ it was so bad like at this point it's having a negative effect on myself. my boyfriend and i really wish i could like move on from it but i don't know How

i think i can safely say that roommate was and is an abuser in a way but i really hate throwing that word around so i don't know. but i feel like i am being fucking haunted

#vent tw #vent #ask to tag #abuse tw #like jesus christ he was every bad thing a person could be #he overstepped boundaries constantly #he did NOT know his place around my family at all.#he completely lacks self awareness and was very entitled #he once told me that my grandma wasn't raising my brother and i correctly #and that he and i we're gonna sit down and list out all the things i ' needed to work on' as a person when i got home from my bf house #like who the fuck do you think you are...?#he was also just straight up delusional apparently because he thought he had paid for 70% of our groceries the entire time #when he used his food stamps maybe a couple times? and got fired from his first job after only 2 weeks #like yeah wow buddy ur such a pillar #homeless unemployed and fucking unbearable #this is besides all the insane shit he'd say to me esp during the fights he'd start with me #and he really thought he was gonna date my boyfriend 😐 LMFAO #i am so tired dude i just wish the memories would go away #this mf has an account on here and where i post art and i just wish he would disappear

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myaimistrue · 3 years

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wrote this after seeing this post earlier today and having an emotional reaction in the tags. yeah i know

also available on ao3

Castiel stumbles out of the Empty and into the bunker mere moments before the portal snaps shut behind him.

His knees hit the hard concrete floor as he collapses to the ground, exhausted and aching. He’s covered in blood and sludge and sweat. He’s dirty. He’s confused. He’s human.

And standing above him, holy and whole and alive, is Dean Winchester.

It takes a moment, but it comes back to Castiel all at once. Dean ripped his way into the Empty and shook Castiel awake. He had smiled shakily and said I love you. He’d held Castiel’s face in his hands and said We’re going home. And he’d lead them both through to the portal, striking sure with his blade as Castiel struggled to keep on his feet, to not be left behind. And then they made it through. And then they escaped.

Castiel can feel the unyielding concrete floor digging painfully into his knees, and almost sobs in relief at all of it. He may be human, but he’s home. He’s home, and Dean is here. Dean, who loves him too.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean says. It’s almost like a whimper, like a prayer. He goes to his knees in front of Castiel, and reaches out. Castiel relishes the feeling of Dean’s shaking hands on his shoulders, the way Dean drags his thumbs back and forth like he’s not sure this is real. “We did it,” Dean says. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

Castiel leans in. He doesn’t care to fight it anymore—and it seems he doesn’t have to. “You came for me,” he says.

“Of course I did,” Dean’s voice is almost violent in his conviction, and Castiel smiles tiredly at how familiar that is. “I’m always gonna come for you, dumbass. I love you.”

Hearing the words again is like the first time Castiel ever took a vessel, eons and eons ago: the strangeness of it, the novelty of seeing a world he knew well so differently, and the certainty that despite that, this was where Castiel was meant to be. The body was his, as close to a home as an angel can get.

Castiel understands, now, maybe for the first time, that he has a home, a real one, in Dean.

But still, there is lingering doubt. “Are you sure?” Castiel says. He knows what Dean will do for his loved ones. “Please, don’t say that if you think you have to. Please.”

Dean looks at him for a long moment, and Castiel notices for the first time that Dean is crying. Panicking and still not wholly in control of himself, Castiel reaches out to wipe them away; it’s a privilege he’s unused to, to touch Dean with this kind of tenderness.

“I’m sure that I love you, Cas.” Dean’s voice is unbearably soft, impossibly loving. “It’s one of the only things I’ve ever been sure of.”

Something in Castiel is shifting, and he lets out a sound he doesn’t recognize. Oh, he thinks, I must be crying. I’m crying.

Dean doesn’t seem distressed by this, but he pulls Castiel close, the angle so that Castiel’s head falls against his chest, so that he can hear Dean’s heartbeat. Dean’s right hand, one that has wielded weapon after weapon, that has baked cakes and cooked meals, that has reached out to Castiel even when it seemed there was nothing left to reach for, comes up to rest gently on the back of Castiel’s head.

“You’re safe, Cas,” Dean says, his voice a low, soothing murmur above Castiel. “I brought you back home, and you’re safe. We all are. And I’m gonna keep you safe, no matter what, because when people love each other that’s what they do. They keep each other safe.”

Castiel is holding tight to Dean’s jacket, and he’s probably going to leave a wet patch where he’s crying, and he doesn’t care. He can only focus on Dean, the things he’s saying, things Castiel has always wanted to hear. Something is sparking in his chest, something wonderful and bright and wanting.

Dean presses a kiss to the top of Castiel’s head. “We’re gonna get out of the bunker. You and me, we’re gonna find us a house and we’ll fix it up. It’ll have a garden for you, and a nice garage for me. We’ll have a window above the kitchen sink. We’ll do family dinners and shit like that, and it’s gonna be great.” Dean’s voice breaks, and Castiel feels his heartbeat, steady and present. “Because I got you back. I got you back, Cas, and I love you, and we can have this. We can have this.”

Castiel is still crying, the disbelief and the joy overwhelming. Dean has him, and he has Dean. They have each other. And he can sit here, listening to Dean whisper about the future they have ahead of them, and he can know that this is something he’s not going to ever lose again.

#rambleoncas #userzaddy #offbeattraxx #gardenercas #deancas #destiel #deancas fic #destiel fic #del's writing #just wrote this like i don't have my poc week fic to be working on #that's probably going to have to be a free space day post now lmao

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xpeachesncream · 3 years

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perfectly wrong | two

summary: there were rules that had to be followed: no one could know about you two, there was no ‘getting to know each other,’ and there was absolutely no emotional attachment allowed. if this could be done, there should be no complications. but somehow, the rules always get bended.

pairing: reader x fuckboy!kth

genre: college au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 1.7k

chapter warnings: cussing / mature language, dirty talking and aggressive tae, rough unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), hickeys, breast/nipple play, mentions of alcohol consumption and the scent of weed, slight angst or moreso you have a smart mouth but tae gets a lil bit smarter and pulls the attitude out of you.

tags: @soulstaes (pls lmk if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

> series masterlist <

Here you were, in your shorts and cropped sweater, trying to look cute for the man who was just going to tear your shit off. You knew the process all too well - you get to his apartment complex, which is about a 10 minute drive away from yours, park in a guest spot and open the door using the code you saved in your phone from when Taehyung sent it to you awhile back. You step in and briefly look over at the security guy who's sitting at the entrance, making sure no one suspicious is coming through. He blankly looks at you because he knows your face. He's seen you here numerous times and he knows where you're headed.

You were one of the girls.

You're actually surprised you're here right now. You suspected he was still at the party, and even if he wasn't, he would be bringing another girl home. Aka miss girl who was all up on his lap.

"Hey." He says, doing that smirk that he usually does as he steps aside to let you in. He's still wearing the same clothes he was wearing at the party, which is giving off the scent of weed and alcohol mixed together. Nonetheless, he still looked good as hell in it and you tried your hardest to not stare.

"Surprised you didn't bring home someone from the party." He scoffs and shrugs.

"I mean I could, if you really don't wanna be here. Just let me know." He fired back, just to meet the level of your sarcasm. He turned on his heel and walked to his bedroom, hands in his pocket. You roll your eyes and follow him quietly. You awkwardly watch in the corner of his room as he pulls in the curtains to keep the street lights from coming in. "So, what is it Y/N?"

"What?" You snap back.

"You wanna stay or you wanna go?" You stayed silent, making him chuckle. "I thought so."

"Whatever Taehyung." While you drop your keys and wallet on his nightstand, you feel his hands snake onto your hips. You feel his breath against the nape of your neck, making the chills radiate throughout your entire body.

"Don't be like that, Y/N. I know you wanna be here." He says lowly. It instantly drives you insane that you feel yourself getting wetter by the minute. Such a damn shame that barely any talking needed to be done for you to feel this way.

"Oh yeah?" You respond with such a weak comeback, turning your head ever so slightly just to see his lips braze your neck.

"Yeah." He whispers. His hand reaches down into your shorts, immediately placing his thumb on your covered clit and moving it in circular motions. You cock your head back as a small breathy, moan escapes your mouth, making Taehyung suck on your neck in its various places. At this point, you honestly don't give a fuck if he's marking you up with hickeys. The consequences can be dealt with later. "I know you want me to make you feel good."

He turns you around to face him, his lips crashing into yours aggressively. He lifts you up without breaking the kiss, having you wrap your legs around his waist. He gently lays you on his bed and pulls away to take off his shirt before aiding you with yours and your shorts. You arch your back slightly, giving him just enough room for his long hands to unhook your bra and toss it across his room. His finger softly traces a line down the middle of your body, making you shiver at how light his touch is. He begins to plant kisses from your jaw, down to your neck, your collarbone, breasts, and inner thighs.

He wastes no time pulling down your panties just so his mouth can latch onto your area and suck all of its wetness. You feel your pussy throbbing harder and harder as the minutes go by. Taehyung is sucking you dry while gripping onto your breast and lightly pinching your nipples. You feel his tongue part your folds to taste a little bit more of your juices, causing you to moan his name louder.

"Tae, f-fuck!" You're now resting on your elbows as your head tilts back, your feet placed on top of his bed. He's sticking one finger into your pussy without hesitation, pumping it in and out like there's no tomorrow. Then he proceeds to slip two, then three, curving it inwards right at your spot while the other hand is wrapped around your thigh, providing him with a good grip. He knew your fucking spot. Your breathing picks up enough to make you feel like you're hyperventilating because you feel yourself slowly tipping over.

"Yeah? You're so wet, cum for me." He continues to suck on your clit as his fingers are now digging into your hips. You grip onto his hair like your life depended on it when you feel his tongue crazily licking in and out of your folds.

"Ahhh, fuck! Yes, yes, yes!" You yell out, your grip getting harder as you feel yourself finally letting loose and riding out your high. You tremble from underneath Taehyung's grip, which makes him smirk as he releases himself from in between your thighs.

"Tell me what else you want."

"I want you." You whisper out of breath.

"What about me? You gonna beg for it?" He lowers himself back down onto you, this time giving your breasts the full attention they deserve.

"I want you inside of me."

"Inside where?"

"My pussy. Please, Taehyung." He bites his bottom lip before fiddling with his belt and taking off his bottoms. He loved seeing this look on your face; almost like you could literally lose it without him being inside of you. It literally drives him insane. He lowers his boxers, making his lengthy member spring out like some kind of jack in the box. The sight makes you dizzy, especially knowing he's about to wreck you good with that thing.

He taps his hard cock a couple of times on your pussy before thrusting his entire being into your core. You jut your hips up into his, trying to keep up with his pace. Along with the sounds of him ramming into you, you're moaning his name and whimpering all sorts of gibberish.

The neighbors must be having the time of their fucking life listening to this shit.

"Fuck, Y/N. You're so tight. You feel so fucking good." He groans as he tilts his head back and slows his pace down a bit. The way your walls wrap around his cock warmly and perfectly drives him wild. God forbid he cums right now; he wants this shit to last a tad bit longer. "Turn around for me."

And so, you do what you're told. You're face up, ass down, with Taehyung holding your hands behind your back. He gives your ass one good smack as he's pumping in and out, getting faster by the second. You're screaming into his sheets because lord, do you feel yourself about to cum all over this man's manhood.

"Tae, oh god! You're gonna make me cum again."

"Uh huh." He rams harder into you. He's getting rough with this shit - his huge hand keeping yours locked behind your back while the other is now in your hair to pull on it. "Wet the fucking bed." He feels you cum all over his length, some dripping out of your pussy as he pulls out. He has to hold his breath and gather himself so that he doesn't cum right at this moment cause the sight was unbearable. He still wants you to ride him, so he gets into position and leans back onto the headboard for you to hop on. You feel yourself get a little weak as you gather yourself and muster up the remaining energy you have to ride this man into the sunrise.

You quickly increase your speed, grinding on his length as you feel up on your own breasts. Taehyung hates to admit it, but he loves looking at you from this angle and swears this will do it for him. One hand is digging into your hip because it's his signal for you to keep up the pace, while the other is around your neck.

"Fucking cum for me." You spat out as you keep your eyes locked on his. His eyes are dark and full of lust. He licks his lips before biting onto his bottom lip to try and regulate his breathing.

"Yeah, just like that. Give this pussy to me." He hisses and groans as your hips are loosely riding his length at this point. It's a mess, but you know he's riding out this high. You get on your feet, giving yourself just enough leverage to slow the circular motions. He tilts his head back with his eyes closed and groans loudly. "Fuuuuuuck! I'm gonna cum."

"Cum with me." You plead. You continue to ride his member in circular motions until you feel your knees buckle due to the orgasm that ripples through your entire body once again. He grips onto your sides tightly as he's giving his last thrusts to ride out his orgasm while resting his head against your chest.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He says as you both are now huffing and puffing, trying to catch your breath. You slowly fall into the space next to him, the sleepiness hitting you like a truck. Whenever you've stayed, you and Taehyung usually leave just enough space in the bed so that he's not really touching you, nor are you touching him.

It was really like that.

But what's different about tonight is the fact that even though you're on your side facing away from him, Taehyung manages to plant a kiss on your temple, before planting another on your shoulder. He never did that shit, whatsoever. It was always the fuck session, then you both would be off to dreamland without really saying a word to each other.

"Sleep tight." He whispers before shutting off the lights in his room.

Maybe it was the alcohol in him? But nah, sis. He'd been drunk before.

You didn't wanna think about this too much. You knew it was probably a one time thing. It wouldn't last 'till next visit.

It's Taehyung for fuck's sake.

youtube

track three: beg for it - chris brown

#bts #bts fanfiction #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #writing #perfectly wrong #bts smut #taehyung smut

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smol-and-grumpy · 3 years

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What I Want Most - Six (FIN)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean’s life has been all work and no play lately. When Gabe, his friend, coerced him into tagging along to a club, he couldn’t say no as Gabe has been pestering him for a while now. What Dean didn’t expect was that he’d meet his match in that club in the form of a stunning woman with underlying daddy issues.

Warnings: Daddy kink, butt plug, public sex, office sex, FEELINGS

Word Count: 2837

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

The week went by so fast and the execs said that there would be another week of competition since they were both doing so well, making it hard for them to make up their minds.

Dean didn’t know right then if he should be happy or sad about it.

There were more pranks being pulled, more inappropriateness shared in their office.

One time he woke up with her sucking him off, making him come right into her throat and he rewarded her with letting her sit on his face. He absolutely loved to be smothered by her pussy. He also totally forgot about the time or what day it was so he turned up late to his meeting only because he wanted to give her more orgasm than the last time he let her mount his face.

He once fingered her right in a meeting, had her gush and come around his fingers and when everyone was making an exit, she had to stay back and clean her chair. Dean couldn’t stop laughing once she got back into the office, which earned him another round of the silent treatment for the rest of the work day.

The next day, she did the same to him, rubbed over his clothed dick so good that she made him cum right in his pants while Garth was babbling about fucking stock markets. Dean had to go home to fucking change his pants and since then, he took some more pants and underwear with him, stashed them in his desk drawer in case of emergencies like these.

Y/N had spent the weekend with him, though. So there’s that. And they didn’t just fuck and that’s progress. They went on walks, went out for dinner, did some shopping for naughty things and he really bought her a butt plug. She said that she wants to try it, but he shouldn’t push her. He didn’t. Instead, he let her take it home but he asked her if she could send him a picture when she uses it. She just laughed it off, even though he wasn’t even joking and was dead serious about it.

Spending time with her felt good. It was familiar, it was like he had known her for so long already and not just a little more than a week. And the sex, Jesus, the sex was incredible. But aside of that fucking mindblowing sex, he really enjoyed her company.

The working week after their weekend together started just like the previous one ended. With some office rivalry to warm up.

Monday, she brought him coffee and poured salt in it. Dean spat it out all over his screen and keyboard, and it was ten minutes after that he finished, she finally stopped giggling like a goddamn idiot.

They still tried to keep the other one from showing up for work on time, but it didn’t really end well, and on Wednesday, they were both late.

Somehow, Dean really hoped that it’ll be over and done with by the end of the week because he doesn’t think that he can keep this up any longer.

It’s now Thursday and he’s fucking exhausted by the tension, but it’s also now that he realizes something.

He came back from a lunch meeting to see her standing by the shelf, holding a binder in her hand and reading through it. He doesn’t know what it is but he’s mesmerized by the level of her concentration and she’s wearing her glasses and absolutely looks like a naughty librarian with her pencil skirt and high heels. Definitely looks delicious enough to be devoured.

And Dean can’t stop himself from standing behind her, pressing his body to her backside, feeling her soft and warm in front of him. His dick grows uncomfortably fast, swells up with lust and the rest of the blood goes to his heart as it starts to pump faster.

He dips his face down, nuzzles his nose along her neck. It’s like the first night they met. His hand skims along her body down to her thighs and she fucking lets him, like the good girl she is.

“Dean,” She says, “We shouldn’t,”

“Why?” He mumbles against her skin, “You look so good, baby, want you so bad,”

It’s the truth. He’s so hard he could pound nails and she hasn’t done anything yet. He’s whipped. Dean knows that too.

“Because I don’t think you can be quiet,” She pushes the binder back onto the shelf and turns around. Her hands play with his tie, wraps it around in her hand to pull him down for a kiss.

“Why?” He asks again, breathing hot air against her lips and she chuckles.

It wouldn’t be the first time they fuck in the office and he’s been holding himself up pretty good when they do it.

“Because of this,” Her hands leave his chest to skim down the side of her body. She turns back to face the shelf and lifts up her skirt past her round ass.

And then he sees it and it’s like someone had punched the air out of his lungs. Dean’s not able to breathe right. Jesus, even his cock starts to twitch violently at the sight. She bends forward and spreads her ass with her hands, granting him a better view and possible access.

“Fucking hell, baby,” He mumbles, still can’t believe what he’s seeing. There’s a black diamond looking out of her asshole. She has used the butt plug he bought her. Dean swallows, “How long have you been wearing it?”

Y/N shrugs, “Since this morning,”

“My fucking god, Y/N, fuck,”

“You like it?”

“Like it?” He asks and he runs over to the door, locks it just to be fucking safe. When Dean’s back behind her, he gets down on his knees, using his hands to help her keep her ass spread as he dives into her cunt, licking and sucking at it. She hasn’t worn any panties, and has stopped wearing them to work for a couple of days now because she said that there’s no point if she’s going to ruin them every day anyway.

He trails his tongue back over her rim to her ass, the tip of his tongue tickles around the plug and she moans as she presses her body closer against the shelf.

“I fucking love it. That’s fucking beautiful, baby,” Dean coos, and he pulls at the plug just a little, sees her asshole widening before he pushes it in only to repeat it again. God, he could just spend his day doing this because it also elicits the sweetest fucking moans out of her, “You did that for me, huh?”

“Only for you, daddy,” She says sweetly, almost too sweet. His heart aches as much as his cock.

Dean's hands leave her ass to open up his belt and feels relief when he pulls down his zipper and releases his throbbing dick. He spits into his palm, jerks himself off to the sight in front of him. He bites into that ass too, can’t stop himself from doing it and she lets out a squeal, accompanied by a chuckle.

“Baby girl, I wanna fuck you bad, and I know that we should probably move this to the bed but fuck, I need a taste,” He jerks himself faster, is already leaking profoundly, “Can I, please?”

He looks up to see her nodding and Dean stands back up, leans over to her to kiss her properly. His tongue goes in deep, swirls around her own tongue in her mouth.

“I’ll be gentle,” He promises and there’s another nod of approval, “Spread your cheeks for me, baby,”

Her hand goes back to her ass, grips at her flesh and spreads it out for him. He groans at the sight and tries to hold himself together, tries not to lose himself before he even gets to be inside.

Dean spits into his hand, slathers his cock with his own spit before he guides the tip to her pussy, letting the head catch the rim and pushes in just a little.

“Fuck,” He groans, “It’s already so fucking tight,”

His hand goes to her head, making her tilt it to the side and he leans forward as he pushes in further, watching the reaction on her face before he presses a kiss on her temple and along her cheek.

“So good, baby, such a good girl for me,” He whispers low and has to stall when he bottoms out, “You feel fucking amazing. You were tight before, but fuck!” He moves out of her slowly, moves in again, “How does it feel for you? Are you okay?”

“God,” Y/N breathes out, “Full, feels so full… but it feels good,”

Dean chuckles as he noses along her temple, “That’s good, want it to be good for you too,” He whispers as he moves in and out of her unbearably tight cunt in a slow pace.

“Daddy?”

“Huh? What’s wrong, baby?”

“Can you fuck me harder and faster?” She arches her back for emphasis, drives her ass against his dick, making him go in deeper than before.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean growls, “I don’t know if I can last long if I fuck you harder, baby,”

“Please? For me? You can fuck me again later, but I want it hard now, daddy,”

“Goddammit,” Dean grits his teeth and he pushes his body away from her, smacks her ass before he digs his fingers into her hips and begins to fuck her harder, “You know I can’t say no to you, right? You fucking know it and you always use it to your advantage,” He pants and keeps fucking her hard, “Gonna spread you out tonight, baby, spank you for thinking that you’ll always get your way,”

He can feel her pussy clenching at the mention of the spanking. She is definitely something else and Dean would be damned if he’d let her go.

“You love it when I’m bratty,”

“Damn right, I do,”

Yeah, he does. Very much.

He spanks down on her ass again, making her yelp up and then he feels it, the tight squeeze, the wetness that surrounds his cock. She just fucking came from his cock and the buttplug alone. It’s the best fucking thing.

With a groan, Dean comes too. It’s impossible to hold out longer, not when her pussy’s so fucking tight. He might try that ass tonight if she’ll let him. His hands are on her ass, kneading it as he comes down from his high.

Dean chuckles when he pulls out of her and Y/N lets out a soft whine. His dick comes out with a blotch of his cum. They will need to clean the floor. Again. It’s not the first time.

He quickly walks over to his desk and pulls out tissues from the drawer, walks back with them to clean her up and himself before he cleans the cum from the floor. Dean places a kiss on each of her ass cheeks and one square on that black diamond head of the butt plug before he pulls her skirt back over her ass where it belongs.

When he tucks himself back too, he grabs her by the waist and turns her around, kisses her soft and long, “I have to be somewhere but you’ve gotta wait for me before you go home, okay?”

“‘K,” She says and Dean leaves a kiss on her forehead before he makes his way out.

Dean’s been gone for a long time, and it’s already past 6.00 PM. She’s finished with her task for today and is sitting at her desk, trying to sort emails and go over the tasks for tomorrow just to occupy her time. He said she should wait, but he’s taking so long.

After he left she had already opened the windows to get the sex stink out. She has also gone to the bathroom and cleaned herself thoroughly down there and pulled out her panties from her drawer, and even wears a pad. She hates to soil her skirt with his cum when she’s not wearing underwear

It’s 6.34 PM when Dean comes back.

“Uh,” He says, with his hands in his pockets, and he looks somber. Clearly, something’s wrong, “They are expecting you in the boardroom.”

“What?” She frowns, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugs as he walks back behind his desk, “I wouldn’t keep them waiting,”

“Okay?” Her heart starts to race and she wants to ask Dean more, but apparently, she’s wanted now and it seems to be important so she gets up, and before she closes the door, she sends him a glance, Dean nods with only the smallest of a smirk on his face.

The offices are mostly empty at this time of the night. Occasionally people would stay longer, but the majority already went home. Her heels click against the stone floor and her heart almost jumps out of her chest the closer to the boardroom she gets.

Mrs. Mills and Mr. Turner are already waiting.

“Please, take a seat,” Mrs. Mills says and points to the chair.

She takes a seat and notices that the chair’s still warm. Dean must have been in here. She can still smell the traces of his cologne. What just happened? Did he rat her out? Will they tell her now that he got the job and not her?

“Miss Y/L/N, let’s cut to the chase because we all would like to go home now. The reason we asked you to come in here is that we would like to offer you the job.”

Her eyes widen.

“I- uh, really?”

“Yeah, congratulations,” Mr. Turner chimes in, “You’ve done remarkably well for someone who just started two weeks ago. You were determined, you did your research well and you always had good arguments to prove your point. We are sure that you’ll be a great addition to the partner team.”

“Wow,” She huffs out, “But what about Mr. Winchester?”

“He was actually the one who told us to choose you and brought good points to the table,” It was Mrs. Mills who spoke, “He’ll be keeping his job, but you’ll move into your new office on Monday. We’ll get the contract on your desk by tomorrow,”

Dean did what?

Why?

Oh my god. And then it dawns on her. She got the job! She really got the job!

“Okay, thank you so much,”

“It’s our pleasure,” Mrs. Mills stands up from her seat and she does too. The two of them shake her hand before they disappear and she waits until they are gone but she’s too giddy and barely can contain herself.

When both of them were out of earshot, she runs towards the office she shares with Dean, hopes so fucking much that he’s still here.

Y/N’s out of breath when she opens the door. Dean looks up from his screen, but he knows because he’s grinning. He rolls his chair back, beckons her over with a hand gesture.

And she goes in willingly, takes off her shoes and sits into his lap, curls herself against his body as he holds her.

She feels safe with his arms wrapped around her. And as independent and strong as she may be, she enjoys that he’s taking care of her. Absolutely loves how he cares beyond the incredible sex they have.

“Why?”

“What?” Dean asks. The bass of his voice rumbles in his chest.

“Why did you tell them to choose me? They would have chosen you.”

He chuckles, “I don’t think they would have. You’re clearly the better candidate. You’ve shown that you can do anything when you set your mind to it and even though you didn’t know the company, you still did better than me,”

“Why did you give up the promotion? You didn’t want it?” She nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, smelling the scent she’s grown to love.

“Not really, to be honest. My brother is moving into the city soon. We are going to try and open our own business one day so it isn’t bad if I have some money on the side until our business takes off. So, you know, I wanted the job, at least a part of me wanted it,” He pauses to place a kiss on her forehead, “But then I realized that I shouldn’t risk what I want most for something I want now,”

Pulling her head back she looks at him, sees him smiling.

“What do you want most?” She asks with a beating heart because she thinks she knows. She would just love to hear him say it.

“You,” He says, pulls her close by the back of her neck. He kisses her soft and gentle, “I want you so much,”

She can’t say she doesn’t want him either, because she does. So fucking much.

FIN

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I appreciated every comments, likes and reblogs. You are incredible! <3

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#what i want most #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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its-tortle · 3 years

Text

why is that so grainy oh my god

thank you to @nadiasna7 and @im-just-a-random-fandom-girl for all the love and feedback on this one! <3

-- read on ao3

Sam heaves as he looks down at the man on the ground.

Walker lays motionless, knocked out against the cold cement. There’s blood in his hair and on the star of his suit. His cheek is bruised, and there’s a rip on his sleeve.

Sam tastes blood in his mouth. He knows that his face will be purple tomorrow and that his tailbone will be bruised for the next few days. He hopes his wrist is just sore, and not fractured.

Bucky seems to be fine, or something like it, as he paces the empty warehouse. He’s banged up, for sure, and Sam thinks his temple is bleeding, but he’s one piece.

The shield lays on the ground between Walker and Sam, filled with more blood than any of them. Sam feels bile rise up in his throat at the sight of it, at its wrongness. The shield was never made for this. Neither was Captain America.

But really, what is Cap’s role in all this? What does he do when there’s no Nazis or aliens to fight? Sam still doesn’t know if he can take up the mantle and figure it out. It seems unbearably heavy, negating so much of the struggle Sam and his people have faced. Who is he to claim the shield? Who is he to wear the stars and stripes and defend the country that was built on the blood of his ancestors?

No one, really.

And yet, he picks it up.

He’ll think about it, talk to Sarah and to Isiah. He needs a little bit of time.

But he sure as hell isn’t letting Walker get it back. Super-strength or not, he shouldn’t be wielding it.

Bucky is already across the warehouse when Sam looks back up. He’s searching for his dog tags, behind the containers and old equipment.

Walker had ripped them off earlier, when they were fighting with Bucky on top of him. Sam almost wants to chastise Bucky for not tucking them away right, but he doesn't really want to trigger another fight.

He’s so damn tired of it.

Sam spots the tags before Bucky does, just a few feet away from where Walker is lying. His heavy footsteps echo on the concrete as he goes to pick them up.

They’re not quite what Sam is used to, he realizes, when they’re in his hand. Slightly smaller, slightly thinner, they’re a different aluminum grade from those in the 21st century. The engraved words on it are different too, just slightly off in terms of formatting.

Sam turns them in his hands, expecting to see James B Barnes and the four lines of his mother’s Brooklyn address.

Except there’s no next of kin listed. The dog tags aren’t Bucky’s. Even in the low light of the warehouse, the impression on the metal reads clear.

Steven G Rogers

98765432 O

Jesus Christ.

“Bucky,” Sam calls.

Bucky turns to him, and Sam holds out the chain.

The look Bucky gives him as he stalks over is somewhere between grateful and frustrated. The dog tags are snatched out of his hand a moment later.

“Thanks,” Bucky says gruffly.

Maybe he’s hoping Sam didn’t see the name, or, more likely, he’s just hoping Sam won’t mention it. But Sam’s a therapist, and he’s stubborn, and Steve and Bucky’s relationship has kind of become a constant in his life, one he has to care about.

“You know,” he starts, “if you’re gonna wear any dog tags they should probably be your own.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. He says nothing, and begins to walk away.

“Really?” Sam prompts exasperatedly. “C’mon, Buck. The notebook, and now the dog tags too? And don’t think I don’t recognize some of those shirts.”

Bucky recoils, and then turns to glare at Sam so hard he might be scared if he didn’t know Bucky better.

“It’s none of your fucking business, Wilson.”

Sam gives him a look. “Isn’t it? Feel like it kind of is at this point.”

“It’s not.” Bucky’s jaw tightens. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bucky begins to turn away again, the stubborn idiot, but Sam calls out after him.

“You think I don’t know what this is, Bucky? All your brooding and being a pain in my ass? You’re shutting me out because you were in love with Steve.”

Bucky whips around sharply, eyes wide, stance tense. He looks at Sam with a mixture of fear and worry. He looks almost surprised that Sam knows, like it was anything but an open secret.

Sam snorts hollowly. “C’mon, man. You think I’m blind? It’s obvious.”

Bucky’s eyes are still guarded, scared, defensive.

“I’ve got no problem with it, obviously,” Sam adds quickly, “apart from the fact that you’re both fucking idiots. Clearly you never told Steve, or he’d be here right now.”

Bucky scoffs cynically. “Yeah, right. If I had told him, he would’ve been gone even faster.”

“You can’t believe that.”

Bucky’s jaw jumps. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“S’pose not,” Sam sighs.

He doesn’t say that the whole thing with Steve still bothers him, deep down. Steve was on his way to happy here, with his new friends and with Bucky. And he respected Peggy too much to just swoop in on her life like that, and interrupt what he knows was her moving on. It just doesn’t make any sense to Sam, but he doesn’t say that now. He doesn’t think he has to.

The dog tags clink on the chain as Bucky hangs them back around his neck and tucks them under his collar. They make their way over to the light of the doorway.

Bucky’s jaw is still tense, his steps measured and heavy. The embarrassment, the frustration, is coming off in waves.

“You know,” Sam tells him, “you’re not gonna wanna wear those forever. At some point, you’re going to have to let go.”

“I know,” Bucky says quickly. “But Steve’s just- he’s everything. He’s been the center of my universe for as long as I can remember. I don’t know how to exist without him.”

The words hang between them, and Sam doesn’t quite know where to stow them away. He can feel they’re true, for Bucky, and that there’s nothing he can say to change that immovable fact.

“But you are.” Sam tries. “Steve’s gone, and that sucks. But you’re still here, the world's still turning.”

Bucky lets out a cynical laugh that turns almost humorful. “Yeah. It’s doing great.”

Sam can’t help but huff out a laugh of his own at that. He lightly bumps Bucky’s shoulder.

“Right, well. We’ll figure it out,” he smiles. “We always do.”

Bucky’s smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it’s there, so Sam counts it as a win.

He can’t imagine that Steve didn’t love Bucky back. Really, there’s no way to explain the choice that he made, so Sam doesn’t try to justify it.

And when Sam continues to see the tags around Bucky’s neck, or lying around Sarah’s house, he doesn’t say anything. He may have the shield, but that piece of Steve belongs to Bucky.

this is not a happy ending (sorry!), but i swear there is one coming. this is set in the skrull!steve verse, and i'm working on a steve-comes-back fix-it that should be up very soon!! so keep an eye out if you want to.

#here's this??#it's v short and not very satisfying #but its been sitting around in my drive for a whole while #stucky #stucky fic #(sort of)#falcon and the winter soldier #fatws fic #steve's dog tags #idk how to tag this #angst

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-17)

Word count: 5.3K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: ANGST, miscarriage, accident, graphic descriptions of blood, detailed/spoilery warnings in the tags.

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: Here it is guys, finally. I know most of you already know what’s going to happen but please please heed the warnings. If you have triggers please check the tags, I’ll put in everything I can think of including the spoilery warnings. I had a hard time writing this, so here’s to hoping I managed to convey the emotions.

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23. You da best <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

24th April 2009

“I’ll be fine, really,” you said on the phone. “It’s only seven.”

On the other end Jo sighed. “Y/N, it’s starting to rain again, and it’s getting really dark outside.”

“Weird that it’s already raining in April,” you murmured. “I’m just around the bend of Clinton lake.”

“Why did you even leave the house?”

It was Sam’s birthday in just a little over a week. You really wanted to get him something. Sitting at home wasn’t giving you any ideas, so you had decided to go around to the other side of the big lake and try your luck at the engraving shop there. It had worked and you ended up placing an order for an engraved pen. It was a simple black fountain pen, part of which was made in obsidian, so your message could be engraved. Even if Sam used it regularly, it was supposed to be very durable and you were extremely pleased. You were also particularly proud of the quote you had picked. It wasn’t romantic in any way, but you had heard Sam read it out to you from your favourite book many times in that lovely voice of his.

You hoped Sam would carry the pen to work. Things were hard for him in New York right now, living by himself. He wouldn’t tell you if he ever had troubles at work, but you knew enough of the profession to know that it was ruthless, and sometimes hard. You couldn’t be there with him to tell him that things would be alright. Maybe if he looked down at the pen, the quote would remind him of that.

“Y/N? A storm’s about to hit that side, ” Jo fretted, slightly frustrated on the line. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” you said, peering into the horizon just beyond the lake, beyond the pitter patter on the glass. It really was getting dark. “I’ll be home in a few minutes. In fact, I’ll come over directly to your place. I think Dean could use another apple pie.”

“No!” Jo shouted. “You go to your house.”

“Oh-kay.” Not suspicious at all. “What’re you not telling me?”

“Nothing!”

Jo’s voice was too high to be believable. Either way, it wasn’t the best idea to stay out any longer.

“I’m parked at a shoulder,” you told her. “I’m gonna hang up on you so I can get back on the road.

“Okay. Drive carefully.”

“See ya in fifteen,” you grinned as you cut the call on her vague protests. She really did want you to not visit her. Maybe she was throwing you that surprise baby shower afterall.

“Looks like you and I have to pretend to be surprised, Chirp,” you muttered.

Slowly, you reversed the car and eased it back onto the road, thinking about how cold it seemed to suddenly feel. Maybe you should turn the heat up further.

It came out of nowhere. The blow. One minute you were sliding the car onto the road, next minute you were sinking, drowning, the shock not even letting you register what had happened. There was a bright, blinding yellow light- straight in your eyes at first, from a direction it shouldn’t have been coming from. The confusion just spiraled when the road which should have been beneath you was over your head, and then you were spinning out of control. You closed your eyes, unable to understand what was happening till the water hit. Then you started thrashing, trying to get the seat belt to loosen, to get yourself out of the vehicle, but even with all the whipping around, you couldn’t free yourself. The water rose higher and higher in the darkness as you struggled to strain your neck to rise above it… until you couldn’t.

Seconds… then your throat was hurting. No- it was burning. The world was turning upside down and you were in a torrent of water. Frantically, you tried to unbuckle yourself, but your swollen middle made it hard. That thought cleared your head more than anything else and you doubled, tripled your efforts to get out, finally managing to free yourself of the seat belt and open the door. For all your effort, it wasn’t soon enough because the van rolled in the dark water and hit something, plummeting you to the side, against what could only be jagged metal and pieces of glass.

You wanted more than anything to just go to sleep now. Maybe then the cold will seize and so would the sting. Everything was stinging. The cold water was biting into your skin like a thousand knives and the cold was so cold it burned, it set you on fire. But the shards, they were a different kind of ripping, tearing- outside on your skin and… inside.

No. You opened your eyes, and with every last ounce of strength, made your limbs move. There was pain. You knew it deep down that you were in a lot of pain, though right now you couldn’t feel anything beyond the haze in your brain and the ice under your skin. The burning in the throat was dulling, but you used it to remain conscious, to propel yourself up, because there was something infinitely more important in this world than your life. You had to force yourself to swim to protect that thing.

The ripping once more and a stab… It was gut wrenching to keep pushing the water down with your hands, the consciousness was slipping again. Another convulsive spasm from the inside now… to the point where you felt something other than the cold… you felt it, you felt the pain, primal and devastating inside of you. The blackness overwhelmed you.

Something was patting your face and then something soft was on your lips. Soft and warm.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice hissed, desperate, then shouted away from you, “She’s not responding! Jesus!”

“Stop with that, you moron,” another scared, deeper voice in the distance yelled. “Get the water out.”

“I-I can’t… I can’t roll her over on the stomach. She’s… she’s… Fuck.”

“Press her chest. We’ve got to do something till the ambulance comes. Slap her face again.”

pat pat pat.

The rain was thudding hard around you, hitting your face like arrows.

“Fuck, I can’t,” the first voice answered. “Her lips are blue and all this blood. Shit!”

“She’s not even shivering.” The other deep voice cursed. “Move aside, you idiot.” A different set of hands replaced the ones on you.

Pumps on your chest and then something on her lips again.

The first man, far away now, was shouting. “She’s gonna die… she’s gonna die… and they’ll think we did it. That bastard drove off and you- you had to stop driving.”

The voice near you growled in frustration. “Oh, fuck off!” He said urgently in your ears. “C’mon dammit! Keep fighting.” The pumping continued, but you didn’t fight to live. You knew it in your frozen bones that the reason you had been fighting for was gone. It was in the blood seeping from your middle, the blood rapidly staining your already drenched pants. It was in the glass and metal sticking out of your body. It was in the unbearable pain and the bone crushing cold, it was in the scared and defeated voices over you… he was gone.

Pump. Pump. Pump.

“C’mon! Fight!”

You fought, yes. But not to live. You fought to go under, to never resurface ever again. What was the point?

“Check her wallet,” the man over you commanded. “She’s married. See if you can get a hold of the husband.”

Sam.

“I can feel a beat. Fuck. Thank God.”

The tensed, shrill voice yelled from far away. “I think I hear the ambulance.”

“You hear that?” The voice, soft now commanded. “Stay with me!”

You heard it… you heard the siren… farther and then closer. The pain felt sharper now, agonising like hellfire burning in your veins. More voices, more pain… and then nothing.

***************************

26th April 2008

“Sam?”

“Sam, seriously. If you stop responding, I’ll slap an answer out of you. I swear I will.”

He looked up at the girl standing over him. Jo was scowling down at him, her voice high pitched and reedy.

“You need to eat something.”

He said nothing.

She grabbed him by the shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle. “Are you even listening to me?” Jo might have tried to shake him, he didn’t notice it. “Mom’s sent some food.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

Jo’s body relaxed just a bit at his response. At least she had gotten one. He felt her take a seat next to him, without letting go of his shoulder.

“You’re not helping her by starving yourself,” she said. “You think Y/N would want you to torture yourself like this?”

“I wouldn’t know what Y/N would want now, would I?” His voice sounded muted, dead, even to his own ears.

She sighed. “There’s nothing you could’ve done. The baby… Y/N…. you couldn’t have done anything.”

There’s nothing you could’ve done.

They were only words. His brother had said them, and Jo and Ellen; so many times that they had lost meaning to Sam now. Not that they had ever held any to begin with.

“Why’re you doing this to me, Jo?” He asked flatly, without even the intention of an inflection.

She took a deep breath. “Because Dean’s losing it, Sam. He’s fucking losing it seeing you like this. I’ve never seen him look this… this…” Her hands flailed in the air. “Crazed! He’s blaming himself for everything.”

For the first time, he turned to look at her and actually see her. Jo’s hair was coming out of the plait that she hadn’t combed out of for almost two days. Her face was grimy and blotched. Her eyes were red and nose shiny. She looked on the verge of tears still.

“It’s not Dean’s fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” she yelled, exasperated,

“I should have been with her! Maybe then she wouldn’t have gone out.”

“It was a perfectly good day to drive. She was barely even out of town and it wasn’t her fault that a trailer doing ninety miles decided to make a bend on the wrong side of the road.”

Sam flinched.

The hand on his shoulder slid down and wrapped around his waist. “It was a freak accident. I know you’re hurting, Sam. I have to be blind to not see what this is doing to you, but think about what you’ll do to Y/N if she sees you like this.”

“I thought I lost her, too,” Sam whispered. “The way she looked.” A shudder ran through his body and Jo threw her other arm around him, as if to protect him, as if she could shield him from what had passed and what was to come.

Sam had stayed with Y/N as long as they would let him. However, no one was allowed in the ICU, so he was forced to remain in the waiting area outside. Be that as it might, no one had been able to move him from here since that wretched phone call.

It felt like eons ago- Sam had paced the living room in their home impatiently, waiting for Y/N to come back from wherever she had driven to. Jo had arranged for a surprise baby shower, and to add to it, Sam had flown in a day early. It was a wonder to see her look of sheer joy each time Y/N found him home! He had spent the hour fixing that one odd joint in the crib, and then another trying to get the rainbow mural stuck on the wall opposite to the crib. Y/N would be so proud. He had been congratulating himself when the shrill ring of the phone interrupted his reverie. The phone call that had changed everything.

“Y/N’s tough, Sam,” Jo whispered in his ears. “You heard the doctor, right? He said no one that far gone had managed to pull through all in one piece. She had a cardiac arrest from the hypothermia and she’s still with us.” Jo rubbed soothing circles into his back. “Shhh… it’ll be alright. She’s tougher than she looks, that one.”

“I don’t know how to tell her… how to face her.” Only when Sam’s voice broke did he realise that he was already crying. “I can’t see her in pain, Jo. It will kill me.”

“No, it won’t. You need to let others in. Let people help you first, so you can be there for her tomorrow. If you let yourself go to pieces, who’s she gonna turn to?”

Sam simply shook his head as the tears overwhelmed him. He knew he couldn’t stay weak, couldn’t afford to be fragile… especially not now.

Someone cleared their throat and Jo pulled back to reveal the nurse standing in the hallway. “Mrs. Winchester just regained consciousness.”

************

“Y/N, Darling.”

Sam’s voice. The only sound that could mean anything.

“You said she was awake,” he spoke, voice sounding farther.

“She is…” said another doubtful voice. A woman’s voice. “At least she was.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

His voice was dim and strained. You didn’t need to open your eyes to see the expression on his face.

“Doctor,” he said, frantic now. “What’s wrong with her?”

Cool hand pressed against your wrist, then another lightly prodded at your eyelid, trying to pry them open. You turned your head to the side, not willing to look.

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Darling?”

“Mr. Winchester, could I please request you step outside while I examine her?”

There was a pause, then the door opened and closed.

“Mrs. Winchester, my name’s Richard Hawke and I’m your doctor. Could you please turn your head this way?”

You did.

Against your hazy vision, much couldn’t be made out about Dr. Hawke except his kind eyes. “How’re you feeling? Is there any pain?”

You shook your head. Physically, you only felt numb. Your throat felt scorched, but that pain was welcoming. You needed it to feel something.

“Do you remember what happened?”

One dip your head.

Dr. Hawke looked at you for a long moment. “You’ve been through one hell of a trauma, Mrs. Winchester. It’s a miracle that you survived.” He gave you a compassionate smile.

You knew what his words really meant. ‘Be grateful that, at least, you survived.’

He studied the file he was holding, then said. “We had to perform a surgery when they brought you in. Thankfully, there are no fractures, just deep lacerations on your stomach, back and chest. To let you heal from the surgery and for the stitches to hold, we had to keep you under sedation for over a day and half.”

Dr. Hawke waited for you to give a sign that you understood, when he didn’t get one, he continued. “You need complete bed rest for a couple of days. That means no moving around or even standing for too long. If you’re in pain, please immediately call for the nurse.” His voice softened. “Do you want me to send your husband in?”

You looked him right in the eyes and very deliberately shook your head.

He nodded and you closed your eyes, not wanting to see a world where your baby would never exist.

***************************

30th April 2008

“Y/N, do you want to take a walk?” Jo asked, trying to make her voice bright. “The doctor said you need to move around a bit, sweetie.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Dean added, in the same tone. “There’s actually sun outside today. No more gloomy, rainy weather.”

Sam felt himself stiffen and Dean shot him a wary glance. No one had mentioned rain in front of her. Their careful exchange was lost on Y/N though, just like everything else had been up until now. For all they knew, she hadn’t heard a word of the conversation. Her gaze was fixed, unseeing on the blinders of the window, through which some of the sunlight that Dean was talking about trickled in. The expression on her face was blank, exactly how it had been since she had first opened her eyes.

No one had told Y/N that she had lost the baby… she had already known. Not that she had told anyone that she knew. Hell, she hadn’t spoken a word in the four days since gaining consciousness. But it was just there, in that hollow look, like a blackhole. Each time Sam looked at her, the pit in his stomach would grow deeper, threatening to swallow him whole. His heart, which felt heavy in his chest beat frantically like its beats were numbered. It scared Sam… it made him feel as if the cataclysmic loss wasn’t behind him, rather it was in front, drawing close with every second that Y/N didn’t speak, didn’t look at him.

Forcefully, Sam shook his head, dislodging the thought. He got to his feet and walked over to the window Y/N had been looking towards. Slowly drawing the blinds away from the glass, he let the sunlight flood the room. He turned around to see Y/N closing her eyes.

Over her Dean and Jo exchanged a distraught look, then looked at him. Their expression made Sam realise that he hadn’t been meant to see their exchange.

“Okay, rest up, then,” Dean said, in a low, kind voice. He bent down to kiss Y/N on her forehead. “We’ll be waiting outside.”

Jo ran her fingers through Y/N’s hair, then with one dejected sigh, followed Dean out of the room. It didn’t miss Sam’s attention that his brother gripped her hand tightly on their way out.

Sam took his place on the steel chair next to Y/N’s bed and reached out to take her hand. She didn’t shirk it away like she had for the first two days. Now, it lay there, dead, without any movement. Sam might as well have been holding the hand of a marble statue. Cold and hard. The doctor had said not to touch her skin at first… that it might be painful for her after the hypothermic attack, but even after they were sure that it might have passed, Y/N had recoiled from his touch and it had hurt like the lash of a flaming whip against his raw, exposed skin- her rejection. It had been the only visible reaction she had shown to his presence or even his words at first.

Sam had tried, he knew that much. He had tried with every ounce of his soul to put on a smile and call out to her. He had dried his eyes of the last drop of moisture, rid his expression of the last spasm of pain and smoothened it into a smile for her. If it was the only thing he could do now- bury his pain- he would do it for her. He would do it all. If only he knew that he was getting through to Y/N, if only she would spare him just one glance. When he forced himself in the way of her gaze, she would simply look through him. He could touch her and he could kiss her, but it was showing love to only her inanimate body, not his Y/N. She didn’t seem to be in there.

Bile rose to his mouth each time he skimmed his fingers along her cheek, and not even her eyes blinked. The heat didn’t rise to her cheeks. Nothing happened.

Now, Sam sat next to her, reading out loud, “… Jem finally realized that he had been done in by the oldest lawyer’s trick on record. He waited a respectful distance from the front steps, watched Atticus leave the house and walk toward town. When Atticus was out of earshot Jem yelled after him: “I thought I wanted to be a lawyer but I ain’t so sure now!””

He stopped when the nurse came in with a bowl of soup and placed it on the table next to her bed. “Here’s some soup for you, honey.”

“Thank you,” Sam murmured, placing the copy of To kill a mockingbird on the table.

“You’re welcome,” she said in a pleasant voice, giving Sam a pitying look before exiting the room.

“C’mon, love,” Sam coaxed, helping her into a sitting position. He settled besides her with the bowl in his hand, dipped the spoon into the thick soup and brought the spoon to Y/N’s bruised lips. She didn’t resist as he tipped it into her mouth. She never resisted anything. Sam wished with a yearning that was acute to the point of pain that she would just raise her eyes and look at him. Look and actually see.

His hopeless longing had led him to tilt the spoon sideways and a line of soup dribbled along her chin. Sam hurried to wipe it off with the folded sleeve of his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N hadn’t even noticed.

Slowly, she finished the soup, one spoon at a time.

“That’s my girl,” Sam encouraged, cleaning the last of it from her lips, and raising a glass of water.

“Do you want to go out?” He asked, trying and failing to keep the despair out of his voice. This time, however, Y/N shook her head and hope, even more painful than the yearning, roared through Sam’s chest. She sometimes reacted to his words, something she never did for anyone else. And that was the one string he had clung to…. one golden string of faith.

“Later, then?” It was there in his voice, too… that same hope.

Slowly she nodded, then turned her head away and closed her eyes again. Sam knew she wanted to be by herself.

He almost bent down to peck her on the forehead, that unsettling fear of impending loss, urging him to do it… but then he thought better of it and stepped outside. When Y/N was ready, she would come out herself. She had said so… she would have to.

In the strangest way, without even having known her, Sam missed his mother. He knew that if she had been around now, he would have hidden his face in her lap and allowed himself to cry to his heart’s content. He loved Karen, and she loved him, too… but it was different with her. She felt like his favourite aunt. Dean had called both Bobby and her to let them know what had happened. They wanted to come over immediately, but one look at Sam’s face had made Dean decline their offer. Sam didn’t think he could pretend to be alright for any more people than he already had to.

Everyone else could afford to show weakness. In fact, they did. Jo had broken down more than once right in front of Y/N, and Dean could clench his fists and grind his teeth in frustration about how unfair this was. Ellen was so defeated, she could hardly even be around Y/N without crying. Sam, however, couldn’t show a flicker of what he truly felt. It didn’t look like she registered most of what was happening around her… but on the off chance that she did, Sam would die a hundred deaths before let her see what the grief was doing to him.

He slowly walked to the seating outside, crumpling on the bench at the corner. How was any of this happening? What deity could have been so cruel as to hurt the purest person to ever breathe? Sam had never gotten over how infinitely good Y/N was. For as long as he had known her, she’d never said one mean thing about anyone. Never. He knew he wouldn’t ever stop marvelling at her goodness. He would marvel as long as he loved her… as long as he lived. And yet, if something this horrifying could happen to her? What hope did the rest of the world have?

There must be no God, Sam decided. There must be no higher power that weighs good and bad in the world, that takes one look at a person and decides how much suffering or happiness they deserved. Because no such entity would be so callous, so stone-hearted to sentence Y/N to this!

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and Sam felt his brother drop into the seat besides him.

“How’s she doing?”

Sam shrugged. “Much the same.”

“Did Bobby ever tell you that I didn’t talk until I was six?”

Sam turned to his brother with what must have been a look of shock.

Dean’s eyes tightened, as he stared straight ahead. “He didn’t? I could swear the old man loved to tell that one.”

“I didn’t know.”

Dean tilted his head. “Well, I didn’t talk for two years after the fire. Honestly, I don’t remember it all that much, but death and trauma does that to a person, I’ve been told.”

“She doesn’t even know the extent of it, Dean,” He gasped, his heart doing that thing again where every breath seemed to labour it.

“Will you love her less for it?”

Sam whipped his head, angry. “Of course not,” he spat. “Nothing would make me love her less!”

Dean sighed tiredly and Sam realised that it had been a rhetorical question. Sam put his face in his hands, speaking into his palms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that something feels essentially broken inside her. And I don’t know how to fix it… fix her. It makes me feel helpless.”

“You’re not a frickin’ miracle man, Sam! And there isn’t a magical solution for this. Sometimes you have to let grief run its course.”

Dean was making sense, Sam knew that… but he also knew Y/N. Better than anyone alive. He was sure of it… the blankness behind her glassy eyes wasn’t the type that complied with sense or logic. It was a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t explain- not even to Dean, that there was something terribly wrong with her. That it wasn’t simply grief holding her vacant, it was something incomprehensibly beyond that.

“I know you want to be there for her,” Dean said, quieter now. “I know you’re worried, but you’re grieving, too, man. You lost your kid.” His voice broke. “That’s not something you can sweep under the rug.”

Sam bit back the ‘watch me.’

He felt too tired, too weary and too scared.

“How am I going to tell her?” He whispered, staring at the floor in horror. “How am I ever going to tell her that she can’t be a mother again? That they had to remove parts of her body because they were too damaged, crushed? She’ll lose it, Dean. You don’t know how much she loved Ch- Ch… “ He choked up… The name just wouldn’t come out. “It was her dream to have her own family.”

She’d whispered it at night, in a awed, hushed voice, under soft sheets about how she had never really had a family. Just Gran and her- two souls shouldering the burden of memories of people they would never see again. Is that what Y/N would think when she found out? That she and Sam would become two such souls?

“She’s coming home tomorrow, right?” Dean said. “We’ll do everything we can to make it okay. With time…”

Even now, with his brother’s hand on his shoulders and his words in the air, Sam knew that this was not the type of grief he would ever get over. No amount of time could bury the dreams and expectations of the little life they had both yearned for. Sam knew that someday it might get easier to bear, even if it seemed impossible right now. However, it would never truly go away.

With a fierce resolution, he vowed to love Y/N twice as hard! He would do whatever it took to get that smile back on her face, the light back in her eyes. He knew it in the depth of his being that if they were going to make it through this, he had to figure out a way to get her back first.

What Sam didn’t know was that he wouldn’t get the chance. What he didn’t see was the slight figure, standing at the far corner, behind the door, fingers clutching the frame till the knuckles strained. If he had turned, Sam would have known that Y/N had listened to him after all. She had come out for a walk… seen him slumped over in agony and heard his words of anguish.

She had heard other things in the short nineteen years of her life. Whispers had followed her everywhere since her parents had died in the car crash. Awful words…

“… Her parents didn’t even live to see her sixth birthday…”

“… It starts before that. I heard she wasn’t even three months old when poor Gertrude’s husband passed away…”

“… Girl’s a jinx if I saw any… No survivors… ”

Sam had heard some of it at her Gran’s funeral, and it had boiled his blood. But he hadn’t dreamed, hadn’t estimated for how long Y/N had heard them, how word by word, piece by piece the rumours had lodged themselves in her mind. They had been lost in the recent bout of happiness, but very much there, waiting to cut her open the moment she tripped. She’d never spoken of them to him, afraid that she might really jinx her luck… terrified, in fact. Now she knew that you couldn’t jinx what you didn’t have.

“…How am I ever going to tell her that she can’t be a mother again.,.”

Sam didn’t see her turn around. For now he let his brother hold him, feel some of the grief ebb away from him into the vastness of his brother’s love. Sure, Sam didn’t have a mother, and he might miss the idea of having her, but he hadn’t ever missed that unconditional love. Dean was there, always had been and always would be.

Sam would need his brother more than ever tomorrow, when in the ten minutes that it took him to park his car in front of the entrance, the private room where his wife had stayed would be deserted. He would shout her name till his throat was sore, and lose his mind trying to look for her. There would be a missing person report filed which would soon be disposed off, because CCTV grab from the Hospital cameras would show her walking out by herself with the bag that they had brought for her. It had some of her clothes, her wallet recovered after the accident with her identity proofs. There was nothing left behind, not the book, not the brush, not even a note. She had left willingly and without a word.

They wouldn’t believe it, though… He, Dean, Jo and Ellen would all get into their cars and drive for a day and a half, checking all hotels, bus stops, gathering spots, showing her picture to see if anyone recognised her and despairing when no one did. Sam would push himself into a craze over finding his wife, the closest he would come to insanity.

When two days later- having driven almost across two states into Texas- Sam would return home, he’d find the gift delivered to him on the correct date- 2nd May. An etched, black obsidian fountain pen, wrapped in fine silk; the note over it proudly proclaiming: “With undying love- Y/N Winchester.”

The etched inscription on the pen would be seared into his soul:

It’s not time to worry yet - Atticus Finch

Sam didn’t know any of it. For now, he was simply allowing himself to be comforted by his big brother. Surely finding some peace again wouldn’t be that impossible, right? Surely this agony would have to end sooner or later. Everything seemed possible in Dean’s arms.

***************************

A/N 2: Not gonna lie, this chapter was VERY hard to write. I rewrote it twice and edited it thrice. I can only hope that I did justice to their pain and suffering. This is the first time I’ve ever written something so irreversible in a series… and boy, was it painful!

Anyway, we can finally return to happier times! Next chapter takes us back to a very hungover Y/N! Who’s excited?

I’ll try to post the chapter early. You guys can brush up on Part 12 for hints and clues about what is coming ;)

The feedback is literally what’s keeping this story going right now. My immense thanks to all you lovely people who take the time out to be SO kind to me. I love you <3

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coltwinslow · 2 years

Text

CHRISTMAS DAY. 2021.

tw affair mention, death mention, hunting

who: colt & wayne (his father)

The blind was quiet. There was little blessings in life, and Colt figured this was one of them. It was a little relief. Time with his father, but the silence here was purposeful and not intentional to make Colt uncomfortable. The silence elsewhere was purely to make Colt uncomfortable - Wayne’s way of punishing him. Colt wasn’t entirely sure of what for.

As their limit was getting close, his father spoke to him. “Wesson would’ve enjoyed this.” Colt didn’t stiffen. He just exhaled. Wesson would have made this a lot less unbearable.

“He woulda shot all of our limits before we even had a chance,” Colt laughed lightly. His chest turned to stone, this awful and familiar tightness within it. It was hard to put into words how much Colt missed his brother. There wasn’t a day that Colt didn’t pick up his phone and try to call his brother - and tell him something.

Colt had been to Virginia, stepping into Wes’s house only twice. The first to get his will, the laptop and a bunch of other paperwork. The second he had Midnight. He watched the dog run to every room, whining and look for his brother. His heart broke and he dissolved to tears when the dog came back and looked at Colt with the realization that Wesson wasn’t there. He had gotten Wesson’s hunting gear and gave it to Vann.

“I gave his hunting gear to Vann.” Colt fumbled with the sight on his rifle. Wesson’s truck was sitting in Colt’s renthouse driveway. Another relic he didn’t have a fucking clue of what to do with it. Colt couldn’t touch anything. Every time he sat in it, he felt his brother. His brother stupid American flag hat was on the passenger side. Colt couldn’t touch it.

There was a stoic silence coming from beside Colt. He glanced, and he saw his father’s jaw set in a line of anger. “You had no right to give anything of Wesson’s to Vann. The fuck does Vann know about Wes? The right does he have to his stuff? Jesus Christ, Colt. What were you thinking?”

Colt felt like he was slapped. He reared back his teeth baring, he was tired of this fucking fight.

“What was I thinking? I was thinking, the fuck was Wes gonna do with it? Want me to go dig up his coffin and throw it in there? Like he’s some pharaoh - give me a break.”

“You had no right, Colt. That wasn’t yours to give away.” Wayne persisted. He clicked his tongue. “Can’t do anything right.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should be making what you want done known - like everything else I do - because you’ve been really fucking silent about it. You want a say? Then help me. Otherwise, you don’t get a say. Because last I checked, I organized his wake, I got his body buried, I am taking care of him. Just like I always have.”

“Excuse me?” Wayne raised a fist at him. His voice was deathly strained.

“You heard me,” Colt said and stood. “But let me guess, we won’t talk about that.”

Wayne’s eyes narrowed. Colt started to pack.

“I’m done here, Dad. I’m getting you home, and I am gonna go make sure the animals are looked after. Not having this fight with you.” Because Colt knew he’s say something he didn’t really want to.

They drove on in silence. The sun had set by the time they got back. Colt worked with the tags on the game, slamming the cooler shut. He wanted to hit something. He looked up the stars that were peaking out and he swore lightly. He missed Wesson so violently in this moment. They always cleaned the game together.

He walked back into the house and looked at his father. Wayne stared back at him for a long moment, and Colt knew he wasn’t done. If he had any sense, he would have walked away. Instead, Colt moved to wash a dish.

He felt his father behind him. “I heard you and Aly fighting. You didn’t tell me you had an affair.”

Colt closed his eyes and his hands stilled.

“You had an affair on her, while she was grieving your daughter? When she called me and was crying? I didn’t raise you like that. I raised you to be a man. You protect women, you honor your commitments. You don’t leave them.”

Like you left me? Colt scrubbed the dish a little harder.

“You have no idea how disappointing it is that you are the only son that I have left.”

Colt’s hands stilled in the water. He turned off the water and picked up the plate. Looking his head right in the eyes, he turned and slammed the dish into the trash, shattering it. “Well, Dad, good news is that you won’t have to live with that disappointment for much longer. Merry Christmas.”

#tw affair #tw death mention #tw abandonment

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lady-of-glass-and-bone · 4 years

Text

Necessary Sacrifice

This is kind of a part 2 to You’re Next but you don’t really need to read that to know what’s happening. But I would love if you gave it a glance. . .see if you like it. . .maybe?

Pairings: none really, reader is gender neutral

Warnings: just fluff and some language.

On any given day, Ambrose can be either a pretty boring place or sheer madness, depending on the number of people wandering around.

Today is one of the boring ones.

Vincent is in the basement working tirelessly on the towns most recent 'guests.' Bo is down at the station salvaging a few parts from the truck that those 'guests' drove into town with.

You are in the kitchen internally debating the shelf life of the boxed macaroni n' cheese you found while hunting down something for lunch.

Lester is currently walking in the front door, a little unusual given that it's noon, but not out of the ordinary.

"Hey Lester, do you know how old this- JESUS H. FUCKING CHRIST! WHAT THE HELL?!"

The smell Lester normally carries around with him is something you get use to and contrary to what the tourists think when they meet him, he does indeed bath. But this new smell hits you like a well aimed punch.

It reeks like skunk.

"That bad?" Lester chuckles, standing in the doorway, eyes watery and a little red.

"Yes! Don't you take one more step inside or so help me!" you walk cautiously from the kitchen, hand held firmly over your nose and mouth, to stare down the man now hovering on the doorstep.

"C'mon, I gotta get to the shower, this ain't exactly pleasant for me either" he shoots back.

"Nope, you're gonna stink this place out worse than when Bo tried to cook drunk, just stay outside" you wave your free hand at him, shooing him back.

"And what am I supposed to do? Wait for rain and a strong breeze?"

"No, just. . .wait outside and I'll figure something out okay? Is it just on your clothes?" you ask hopefully.

"Well, I think my hat got the worst of it" he admits, shifting uncomfortably.

You had wondered why he had looked a little off. Seeing Lester without his hat was like seeing Bo in a short sleeve shirt or Vincent without hair hanging in his face.

"Okay, I'll get some towels and clean clothes. Maybe just, rinse off with the hose and here-" you dart back into the kitchen, grab a half empty dish soap bottle and toss it at him "start scrubbing."

Figuring something out proves to be a lot more difficult given the fact that you live on a tight budget of stolen items and cash with the nearest actual town being a good hour or so drive away.

Your rummaging and general commotion eventually brings Vincent up from the depths of his workshop, Mite tagging along behind him, to find you digging around in search of baking soda.

"Oh, hey, Lester got sprayed by a skunk and I need some baking soda, any idea where it might be?" you ask with a glance over your shoulder, arms deep in a cabinet.

The answer Vincent gives you sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

"Yeah, ha ha, hilarious" you deadpan and point to the pile of raggedy towels you had pulled out of the closet "now could you please go give him those please, his clothes are gonna need at least two washes."

His shoulders slump at your words and he walks like a man headed to the gallows as he picks up the pile of towels.

"Not sure if there's any left" Vincent's voice is a sharp rasp.

"Well that sucks. Definitely gonna have to put that on the shopping list. Okay, I'll be out in a minute."

Walking down the front steps of the Sinclair house, a cloth tied firmly over the lower half of your face, supplies in hand, you feel ready for battle.

Vincent is standing a good distance away from his little brother, old hose on full blast and pointed straight at Lester, who is stripped down to his threadbare boxers. Mite is calmly watching the whole ordeal from beneath a chair on the porch.

"Hey! HEY! I ain't on fire Vince! Turn that thing down would ya!" Lester yells, completely soaked, clothes in a wet pile beside his feet.

You gently tap Vincent on the shoulder with your yellow-glove covered hand and motion to the hose, which he kinks to halt the water flow.

"Okay, so this is how it's gonna go" you approach Lester, an open container in hand "add the rest of the soap to this and wash off with it, you're hair too, just don't get it in your mouth or eyes."

"What is it?" he asks, gingerly taking the mixture from you.

"Peroxide and baking soda, don't put a lid on it or it'll explode."

" 'Scues me?! An I'm jus' gonna put this all on my skin? What about tomato sauce?"

"Tomato sauce doesn't get rid of the smell it just covers it up" you tell him, as you reach down to pick up the ball of skunk drenched clothes. You hold it out as far away from you as possible.

Behind you, Vincent makes a sound like 'I told you so' at your statement and lets go of the hose to continue spraying down Lester, who gives a squawk at the undoubtedly cold water.

Once inside, you sprint to the laundry room and toss the clothes into the waiting drum of water and a diluted version of the soap, peroxide and baking soda mix. After closing the lid, the smell only lingers for a minute or two.

You open the small window in the room just to be careful. You didn't grow up in the country but you spent enough time camping to know that it's usually better to be safe than sorry.

As it turns out, Lester's hat did bear the brunt of the stink. You try not to think about how that was possible and focus on the fact that along with his hat being unbearably smelly, Lester's hair also carries a good share of the stink.

And you didn't have enough of the deodorizing mixture to go around.

When Bo comes trudging back up to the house for something he immediately forgets once he's filled in on the current Ambrose drama, he laughs harder than you've ever seen him laugh before. He doesn't offer any advice on the situation, just goes inside to grab a beer and plants himself on the porch steps, grinning, while Mite comes to sit beside him.

At that point, Lester tells the 'I Thought The Skunk Was Dead, But I Guess Not' story as he sits down in the yard to dry out. Vincent hides in the shade up on the porch, for once not looking like he wants to escape to the shelter of his workshop.

Mite is panting happily with you and Bo on either side of her as she accepts a rare petting from Bo, who seems to be unaware of what his non-beer filled hand is doing.

Lester branches off into another story, as he does when no one stops him, and you can't help but smile. It's so rare to have all the Sinclair boys in one place, not arguing or in need of some kind of first aid. You know this won't likely happen again this century, so you savor it.

The excited tone of Lester's voice, the occasional huff of amusement from Vincent, the way Bo isn't constantly tugging his sleeves over his wrists and the weight of Mite's head on your lap.

Now that you really think about it, you don't really mind the boring days Ambrose doles out every now and again.

"Hey!" you jolt up from your lounging against the steps, scaring Mite off your lap "I know how we can get the stink out of your hair Lester."

"How?" he squints over at you, the sun hitting his eyes full force now that he's without his hat.

"Just stay there, I'll go grab the clippers!" you jump up, scrambling towards the front door.

"What?! No way! N-O!" Lester begins gathering up the clean clothes.

"It's a necessary sacrifice, Les" Bo says and stands up, heading toward his brother, presumably to keep him from running off.

Vincent lingers on the steps if Bo needs back up.

Nope, you had no problem with the boring days, as long as you had your boys to help you through them.

#lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #house of wax #house of wax (2005)#slasher x reader #slashers #slasher community #fluff #duck did it

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