hail-brod

[hail-brod]

No one talks about how hard it is when your mood is constantly switching between "Its okay, i don't care. i'm fine" and "I don't know how much more i can take."

[hail-brod]

and when i say the people want witch reader fic with sam!! maybe her and dean don’t get along at first bc they hunt her kind usually, but then they become frenemies… and eventually bffs who bicker for fun

i feel like she grew up around bobby a lot bc her mom didn’t want her seeing darker witchy stuff when hunting darker evil witches, so dean lightens up, but reader knows bunch of psychics and other witches so he’s always a little creeped out but sam adores every part of her

lol can you tell i’ve been thinking about this for a minute.. tehee

i’m absolutely obsessed with your work btw, i’m always in the front row when you post YOURE SO TALENTED AND AMAZING!!!

⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ hocus pocus,

summary. for a man that pretends to be so cold, bobby singer has a thing for taking in strays: you... the winchesters... and boy, when you meet it's anything but ordinary.

pairing. dean + sam winchester x witch!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 663

notes / warnings. hope i was able to depict a little of your idea well~ thank you for the request sweets 🩷

The first time you meet Sam Winchester, he’s bleeding.

Not a polite little scrape, either—no, it’s a full-blown, horror-movie gash on his side, shirt clinging wet and red as he stumbles into Bobby’s yard like some tragic, six-foot-four cowboy who got in a knife fight with destiny.

You’re on the porch, barefoot, holding a mug of lemon balm tea and wearing a shirt that says Hexing Is My Cardio.

Dean’s with him. Of course he is.

He’s the one doing most of the yelling, gun in one hand, suspicion all over his face like it’s his default setting. When he sees you, he stops dead. Eyes narrow.

“Bobby,” he barks toward the open door, “why is there a witch on your porch?”

You sip your tea.

“Why is there a dumbass bleeding on your lawn?” you shoot back.

Sam laughs. Just one soft huff, but it’s there. Dean whips around, scandalized.

“I told you she was real,” Sam mutters, slumping down onto the steps with a wince.

“Yeah, and I told you not to trust things with altars in their bedroom and crystal balls in their glovebox.”

You raise a hand, waving lazily. “Hi. Crystal balls are so last decade. I use a scrying app now.”

Dean turns to Bobby, desperate. “Are you seriously letting this—this Hot Topic oracle camp out here?”

Bobby shuffles in with his arms crossed and zero patience. “She’s been here since she was ten, idjit. She’s got more sense than both of you combined.”

That shuts him up. Briefly.

You crouch beside Sam, fingers brushing his wrist lightly. “May I?” you ask, nodding toward the wound.

Sam meets your gaze—wide, pain-flickered, curious. “Yeah. Please.”

Dean starts objecting the second your palm hovers over the gash.

“She’s not touching you, Sam, she could be—"

But then the cut starts to close. The blood dries like it’s afraid of you. The wound stitches itself under your glowing fingertips and leaves nothing behind but smooth skin and Dean’s stunned silence.

You glance up, smirking. “Still breathing, big guy?”

Dean blinks. “...That’s not normal.”

“No,” Sam says quietly, looking at you like you’ve just rewritten every law of physics. “But it’s incredible.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

Dean stomps into the kitchen, muttering something about “mushrooms that weren’t there yesterday” and “freaky wind chimes whispering Latin.”

You’re at the counter with Sam, showing him how to interpret tea leaves like a proper chaos goblin. You smirk when Dean holds up a jar of herbs.

“This just tried to bite me.”

“That’s mugwort,” you reply sweetly. “It doesn’t like you.”

Sam hides a smile behind his hand. “She warned you not to open anything that smells like licorice and death.”

Dean glares at both of you. “I’m surrounded. This is a coven. This is a trap.”

“It’s a tea lesson,” you say. “Try having a hobby that doesn’t involve salt rounds.”

He grumbles. Loudly. But he doesn’t leave the kitchen.

You catch Sam watching you again—he does that a lot now. His eyes linger when he thinks you won’t notice, like he’s cataloging your movements, memorizing your magic, your laugh, the curve of your smile when you’re trying not to flirt.

Dean notices too. But his way of coping is to huff and puff and insult your wardrobe like a teenage girl with a crush.

“You wear any more black, you’ll start blending into the shadows,” he mutters, chewing toast like it personally offended him.

You raise a brow. “Coming from a man who owns five shirts and three of them say AC/DC.”

Bobby snorts in the hallway.

Dean raises a finger like he’s about to deliver a scathing comeback—and then just mutters, “Whatever,” and walks off.

Sam leans closer to you, voice a low hum near your ear. “That was actually the nicest he’s ever been to someone who could light him on fire with a thought.”

“Aw,” you whisper, “he does like me.”

Sam grins, cheeks a little pink. “I really, really do.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[hail-brod]

now and forevermore

➥ Yelena Belova x Reader/fem!OC

Summary: A story about a motorcycle ride, some takeout, and counting constellations. Or, Yelena picks you up from work on her motorcycle and takes you on a sweet date on the outskirts of town.

A/N: This story ended up quite personal to me, but very sweet all the same. Yelena has the biggest 'I kiss girls' energy in thunderbolts, and no one can convince me otherwise. <3

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

You walked out of work on a Friday evening feeling the weight of a busy week on your body.

You loved your work. Many would think that grooming dogs for a living was the dream job. And most of the time, it really was. Your clients were fluffy and always overly happy to see you; bad days were a rarity.

But, it could also be very tiring. Your muscles ached from the workout of having to bathe two German shepherds in a row. And there was a prominent scratch on your forearm from a small dog who had been terrified of the blow dryer.

So when you walked out the doors and saw Yelena waiting for you outside, you nearly teared up from happiness.

She had a habit of leaving you breathless. Her motorcycle, an already well-loved CCM Maverick, was parked behind her. Yelena leaned back against it, arms crossed in front of her body, and short blonde hair flowing with the afternoon wind. She wore a black leather jacket, boots, and fingerless gloves. A single thin chain necklace lay around her neck, and her collection of earrings glinted under the fading sun of the evening.

You could fall in love with her all over again.

Two helmets rested on the motorcycle, along with a plastic bag hanging from the handlebars. Your stomach fluttered excitedly at the implication.

You fought to suppress a smile when she finally looked at you. Things still felt novel. The weight of Yelena's gaze made you look down bashfully.

"Hey, pretty girl." Her Russian accent sent goosebumps rising on your skin. "Any chance you're free tonight?"

You raised your chin in feigned thought, stopping in front of her when your sneakers bumped into her boots. Yelena pushed herself up. Her lips parted with the ghost of a smirk when you didn't step away.

The closeness was almost too much for a sidewalk in the middle of the city.

"Depends," you hummed. Yelena's hair curled prettily around her ears. You wanted to run your hands through it. "Will you show me a good time?"

Her hands found your arms. Yelena trailed a lingering path down with her fingers until they interlocked with yours. There was a barely there blush to her cheeks; if you paid attention, you'd be able to hear the stumble on her breath.

"What do you say about takeout and getting away from this city for a while?" Her voice dropped a decibel. The start of a pout coming to her lips.

Yelena was the most capable person you knew. Her hands fidgeted with yours, a little restless. Her eyelashes kissed the corner of her cheeks when she averted her eyes. She was also the most endearing person you knew.

Before allowing yourself to overthink it, you leaned in and pecked the corner of her mouth. "It sounds perfect."

Yelena's smile was contagious. She leaned forward, and her forehead touched yours for a brief moment. Wisps of her hair tangled with yours and then let go. It was relief and gratitude all wrapped into one.

Yelena is still living many firsts. You are her first sweetheart.

She handed you one of the helmets and put on her own, along with sunglasses to shield her eyes from the bright orange setting sun. She got onto the bike first, and once you did as well, one of her hands found your knee and squeezed reassuringly.

Riding on the back of Yelena's motorcycle, with your arms tight around her waist and her hand brushing against yours whenever you'd stop at a traffic light, was nothing short of blissful.

The city blurred past the corners of your eyes like a memory from a dream—distant and only a mix of feelings, lights, and noise. You could smell Yelena's perfume even through the helmet. The constant warmth of her body pressed tightly against yours was addictive.

Yelena was excellent on the streets, but she kept the speed under 100 whenever you were with her—an unspoken act of care. Your heart swelled ten sizes, and it still wasn't enough to contain your love.

Your hand sneaked under her jacket as you drove past downtown and reached the secluded residential area. You felt the shape of her abdomen beneath your fingers, and your thumb pressed gently against her ribs. No malice, only closeness.

"I've missed you, moy sladkiy." Yelena's voice almost disappeared amidst the low rumble of the bike's engine. But you caught it. You squeezed her tighter.

Yelena, the deadliest woman you knew, and you disarmed her with a single touch.

She had been the consequence of a gamble. You'd never worked at a pet salon before, but your friend had informed you of an opening, and well, you needed the money. The fact that you already loved dogs was a bonus, so you took the shot. That was almost a year ago. On the three-month mark of you working there, Yelena walked in. She held the leash of a light caramel and brown American Akita; a big girl, with fluffy fur and an overly friendly demeanor to contrast that of her owner.

Fanny was a delight to work with, she had taken a liking to you since the first appointment. So much so that when Yelena came back to pick her up for the first time, the dog kept wanting to go back for more ear scratches from you.

You were the first person who managed to bring a genuine smile to Yelena on the first day of meeting her.

"Seems like this won't be the last time you'll see me." Yelena had told you, while bending down to bury her hands into the now even fluffier fur of Fanny's neck.

You couldn't thank that dog enough. But maybe the extra snacks you gave her on each grooming session would cover it.

The drive took about ten more minutes. Wind kissed your cheeks through the open visor of the helmet, and Yelena let one of her hands rest on your knee when you turned at an intersection and began driving down an empty road.

The houses from before had vanished; now, all that surrounded you were overgrown patches of grass. It was a steady slope, rising continually until you eventually reached a dead end.

Yelena parked the motorcycle to the side of the street. She placed her helmet on the bike's rearview mirror and waited for you to get off before she did the same.

You had never been here before. It wasn't too far from town or from your house, but this little hidden corner of the world was new to you. Yelena had taken you to the top of a hill, the end of the furthest road before leaving the city completely. It wasn't overly tall, but from up here, you could easily look over houses and most of the city far below. Fresh wind hit your skin, and you felt the breeze of air that didn't smell like car smoke.

Away from it all, the view of the sky was unobstructed. You could see far and wide, a privileged seat to watch the setting sun until it hid behind the city's silhouette.

Yelena took the plastic bag in one hand and yours in the other. A timid grin stretched her lips, and she avoided your eyes, focusing instead on how her black boots hit the old pavement.

You loved her. Her short hair was all over the place, tousled because of the helmet and the wind. She fidgeted nervously with your fingers while she led you to a lonely wooden bench standing at the edge of the hill. And you loved her so much.

The sky was all bubblegum and gold, stripes of the last rays of sun bleeding in between the few clouds.

"Sometimes, I come up here to think." Yelena interlocked your hands. She took a step closer, and your heart skipped a beat, eyes following the soft curve of her nose.

Yelena's cheeks were pink, because of the sun or something else. Either way, you wanted to kiss them.

"Ever since we met, it's about you." Her voice dropped lower, words thick with her Russian timbre. Green eyes still hid behind her lashes, but she squeezed your hand.

With bathed breath and barely contained affection, you raised your free hand to her face. Your thumb found the corner of Yelena's mouth. You traced a path there; unhurried, memorizing. You pressed against her lower lip gently, feeling the shape of her beneath your touch.

The sigh that fell past Yelena's lips was a shaky one. She leaned into your touch, falling forward until her forehead rested on yours.

The kiss that followed came as easily as breathing. Her lips were familiar and novel all at the same time. Yelena took your lower lip between both of hers, nose pressing to your cheek as she leaned in urgently. Close wasn't close enough.

You had not yet labelled what you were to each other. Everything is too raw and fragile yet. But you loved with the intensity of souls that waited a lifetime to find each other.

—⧗—

This far away from the city, the stars shone all the brighter. Without the pollution of streetlights and neon signs, the sky became a blanket of constellations.

Two takeout boxes lay empty and forgotten on one far side of the wooden bench. Beside them, you and Yelena sat together. No space was left between you, with her shoulder a constant and warm presence against yours.

From your place leaning onto her, you turned your head up. "My mother used to tell me about that one." You pointed up towards a group of stars resembling an archer's figure. "Orion, from Greek mythology. He believed himself to be a great hunter."

Your smile became nostalgic. "When I was little, I used to spot the three stars that form his belt first, and figured out the rest of the shape from there."

"It's beautiful," Yelena mumbled, even if you could feel her gaze on you.

She held one of your hands between both of hers. You realized today that Yelena had a habit of always touching some part of you. You didn't mind at all.

"I never learned too much about stars." She mused. Her cheek came to rest atop your head, and she nuzzled closer.

You've been here for hours, the sun has long since set. You had a feeling Yelena did not want the night to end. And you didn't either. "I've always found them fascinating."

"Tell me more," Yelena spoke against your skin, a request that sounded more like a soft plea. "I like hearing you talk."

Blood rushed to your cheeks. You squeezed her hand, thumb brushing past the fabric of her gloves and finding her skin. "Did you know that, if you want a glimpse into the past, all you have to do is look up at the stars?"

An inquisitive hum escaped Yelena. You could perfectly picture a confused frown on her features.

"Yeah." You grinned, voice sweet as honey because of the woman holding you. "The stars we see in the night sky are from the past. Their light takes a long time to reach us. So long, that when we look at the sky, we are actually seeing it as it was in the past, not as it is in the present."

Yelena went quiet. Her head pulled away from yours as her nose pointed up at the sky, and her eyes drank in the infinity of constellations above both of you.

"So if you want to go back in time, just look up." It was nothing but a breath past your lips as you didn't want to break the peace of the night.

A trembled chuckle escaped Yelena. Her throat worked through a heavy gulp.

You brought her hand to your lips, placing a lingering kiss on her knuckles.

It brought her back. She turned to you, and her lips found your hairline. She pressed closer, allowing you to support her weight for a moment.

Her free hand found your chin. Yelena brought your head up from where it leaned against her shoulder, only enough so her lips could kiss the spot between your brows.

Gratitude. Love. You understood the words she didn't say.

Minutes turned into another hour or two, and the fresh breeze from before had turned into a cold night wind.

It ruffled the grass and howled softly as it passed through. You shivered involuntarily, goosebumps rising on your skin as you pressed closer against Yelena.

Her picking you up from work had been a surprise. You were not exactly dressed for cold nights.

Yelena shifted, causing you to straighten up as well. Perceptive as ever, she undoubtedly felt the tension in your muscles. One of her hands reached for your bare arm and then cupped your cheek.

"Shit, you're freezing!" Yelena exclaimed, suddenly alert as if alarms were going off inside her head. There was a furrow between her brows that you wished to smooth away with your fingers. Her lips turned slightly downwards with an adorable pout.

"Oh, it's nothing, Lena, I'm not-"

Before you could finish, Yelena had already shrugged off her black jacket. It left her only in a white tank top, and your gaze couldn't help but stray to the thin scar just under her right shoulder.

"Put it on." Yelena shoved the jacket into your hands.

"Lena-"

"Please, put it on."

You pressed your lips together, a protest lying on your tongue. But her eyes were big pools of green; they had endless galaxies reflecting on them, and you were a goner. You bit back the words.

Relenting, you put on the jacket. It was comfortable and just a little bigger on you. The fabric still held the warmth of Yelena's body, and you almost groaned at the feeling of having it wrapped around you. A soft sigh escaped as you closed your eyes briefly.

"I'm sorry." Yelena breathed, and you focused back on her in the same heartbeat.

She shook her head, blonde strands of hair falling over her eyes. The makeup on the bottom lid of her eyes seemed much darker when the only light was that of the moon. "I should've known better, I-" Yelena raised a hand, fingers brushing between her brows as she clenched her eyes with a grimace.

"Stop." The whisper fell past your lips of its own volition. Your heart stumbled upon seeing the clear distress on Yelena's face.

"It was a stupid idea to come here. This is no place to bring you-" Yelena's voice became increasingly unsteady. She pressed her lips together, turning away from you and towards the city far below, now nothing more than dots of light.

"What? No." You gripped both her hands. Confusion laced your tone as you tried to convince her of something you thought was already obvious; "Yelena, today was perfect."

"You're cold, this isn't perfect." She spoke as if talking more to herself than to you. Her tone was reprimanding. "I should've thought better."

"I don't mind," You promised quietly, shuffling closer to her again as if pulled by her gravity. "I'd want to be here anyway."

For several beats, the only sounds you could hear were the crickets hiding in the grass and the soft wind that disheveled your hair.

Yelena's stare was distant, as if taken by a memory. Her eyes glazed over, and the moonlight bathed her earrings in silver.

"I had nothing when I got you." Yelena's voice dropped to something calmer, as soft as you made her feel.

Her sudden fragility startled you. And foolishly, for a brief moment, you still thought her words were only because of the cold night wind.

"You…" The first tear rolled down her cheek. Yelena beat you to wiping it away. She brushed the back of her hand under her eye. She wasn't as kind to herself as you would've been. "You are the best thing that has happened to me… in a long time." Slowly, her voice became a whimper. Small sobs made her shoulders shake.

Yelena looked down at her lap, at your hand clasped tightly on her own.

No, these words come from a much deeper place, one you knew was there.

Sometimes, Yelena's eyes would tear up out of nowhere—you could be walking hand in hand down the street, or giving her a peck on the cheek when she comes to pick up Fanny, or simply when you'd linger a little longer on a goodbye hug—you'd see that glint in her eyes, barely contained tears just a blink away from spilling.

Her sorrow was silent and loud at the same time.

It made you wonder when was the last time someone loved on her.

You had never brought it up. You knew Yelena didn't have an easy time talking about these feelings. But you noticed, and if you hugged her a little tighter or told her you loved her a little too many times, you'd blame it on you being a sap.

Now, you wonder if you should've addressed it sooner.

You reached for her, free hand pushing stray locks of her short hair behind her ear. "Yelena, listen-"

"I want it to work." She cut you off, finally looking you in the eyes. Her quiet voice burned with rawness and desperation—too many emotions swam behind her eyes for you to put a finger in any of them. "I want to do it right, but I'm not sure how."

Your heart swelled inside your chest. Hurting with love for this woman who'd pick up stray animals and bring you flowers at work and still not see her own value.

You let go of her hand, and there was a brief moment of panic in Yelena's face, before you cupped both her cheeks. You hoped your love could be felt in your touch.

She pressed her lips together. Tears hung on her eyelashes. You couldn't feel her breathing, and you wondered if you were the only one allowed to see this side of her.

Your thumbs found the apple of her cheeks. You brushed away the stray wetness there, touching her as tenderly as you felt. "Yelena, my sweet love." Hand to her jaw, you held her steady. "You already do."

You held a pause, feeling how Yelena's hands found the ends of her own leather jacket and pulled you in as soon as the word 'love' left your mouth. The distant lights of the city far below framed her prettily, and you knew you'd be looking up at the stars come morning, wishing you could be back here.

"I would look for you in every person I meet," You told her easily, your hands sliding through her blonde hair as your forehead fell against hers. "You are it for me, now and forevermore." Your upper lip brushed hers, whispering into her mouth.

"All is perfect if I'm with you."

Yelena kissed the words the moment you spoke them, over and over. Her arms circled your waist beneath her jacket, fingers pressing against the curve of your spine and pulling you closer, closer, closer. Until her heart beat with yours.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Yelena’s taglist is open, let me know if you’d like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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[hail-brod]

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

[hail-brod]

Breaking News ‼️‼️

6/5/2025 6:48Am in Gaza.

Israel will take the rest of Gaza and we don't know where to go next.  Also hunger is surrounding me and my family from everywhere. We are so hungry. One bag of flour reach 600$. So please do your best to save my family and help us 🙏🙏‼️‼️💔💔

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #515) ✅️

My full story 🙏💔

I'm Areej I was an English teacher and a creative writer at we are not numbers before war and everything change after October 7. Also I'm a creative writer at we are not numbers.

Dear my kind donors!

I am a mother of three children. We have lived through the war for a year and a half, and we have lost everything we own. My husband is a man who did not work. Before the war, I did not have a breadwinner or any source of income. During the war I didn't give up to teach so I volunteered and had good chance to help some students to get engaged again with English in a very creative way.

Please Save those innocent kids from war 🥺‼️🙏🙏

We are in tents for almost two years because our home was destroyed and my kids are starving now with no enough food  😭‼️🥺After our several evacuation from place to another.Now we don't have a house after it was destroyed by missiles. I now ask you to help me rebuild my house. And buy basics for the daily essentials for my children and I need money so that we can stand up again and start again.

This war wasn't easy at all it has taken many friends at work, students and some of my colleagues at the university. They are almost ten souls I won't never forget . Their laughter, their presence, their love… all of it is gone, leaving behind memories that are both precious and painful. Every day, I carry the weight of their loss, but I also carry their spirit, which gives me the strength to keep going.

My lovely students before war 🥺

My lovely home 💔💔‼️

Here’s what life in Gaza looks like for my family right now:

🏠 Safety: The uncertainty of tomorrow weighs heavily on us.

😢 Loss: The absence of my students and my friends is really hurts.

💔 Dreams on Hold: The future feels so far away when survival takes all our strength.

Note to mention the other very expensive essential goods. I hope you will stand by me to get food

The crossings boarders are closed again these days and war return in Gaza.  The crossing through which food enters has been closed for more than 30 days. We have nothing to eat, and even if we do, the prices are exorbitant. Some of the prices listed are:

1 kg of meat = $100 now there is no meat

1 chicken = 70$ there is no chicken

1 kg of fish = 100$ now it costs 200$

1 bag of flour = $200 now it costs 600$

1 kg of cooking gas = $150 now it costs 1000$

1 kg of sugar = $50

1 kg of eggplant = $20

1 kg of onions = $50

1 kg of tomatoes = $20

How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line

Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:

. $5 might not seem like much, but it could mean a meal, clean water, or a tiny bit of hope for my family.

. Can’t donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.

To help me and my family you can donate here or at least you can share this post to people who can support us in gaz

You can support my family here

Here

Or directly here

[hail-brod]

SHE ‼️

[hail-brod]

bobby boy

[hail-brod]

The Void breaching containment like

[hail-brod]

if u got depression u know the amount of effort it took for him to do those dishes

[hail-brod]

-Thunderbolts* movie summary-

Guinea pig: *exists*

Yelena: Aw cute *takes home*

Bob: *exists*

Yelena: Aw cute *takes home*

[hail-brod]

FLORENCE PUGH

[hail-brod]

"i don't comment on ao3 because i don't wanna be annoying or weird" skill issue + you greatly underestimate the power dynamic here, writing multi paragraph comments is like feeding a bunch of deeply insane and possibly starved ducks at the park and watch them go completely mad over having received a piece of bread

[hail-brod]

[hail-brod]

Flicker

Robert Reynolds x FReader

MASTERLIST

Summary (more like prologue): The Watchtower they now claimed as theirs, or supposedly so after what their current Captain America had in mind, is as new as it branded itself to be. The current floor they were in is far modernized with more digital structures for surveyance. It was all tailored to their profession. Right. Professionalism. And maybe in any given time, the sudden rousing and flickering of lights and monitors isn’t much of a problem. Yelena thought to herself as she arrived, bearing witness to the tower’s power fading off and on. Almost rapidly at some point—rapid and consistent. She frowned. “Uh, guys?” To her back with arms crossed, Bucky stood in front of the massive screens that flashed stacks of intel, as he began to notice the same thing. He tensed. “This isn’t just a technical issue, isn’t it?” “Definitely not,” Ava throws back by the window’s cityview, equally worried. But everyone in that room knew who might be behind it. Yelena readies her feet to dash. “Bob.” And that was the thing. When it abruptly stopped as if it didn’t just happen, the woman and her present crew anticipated the worst once again as Bucky forcefully pushed open the locked door to the man’s room, no doubt breaking it. Unfortunately, they anticipated right.

OR

In which, you get to experience two sides of the coin. With a little bit of technicalities on Bob's counterpart.

WC: 1.9k

Warning/s: 18+ SMUT, piv, porn with barely a plot, Thunderbolts* spoilers, explicit language, The Void (but not really because he's soft), mm/f.

A/N: Ahahah, new infatuation. As always. Heads up though! I don't think I portrayed the accurate manifestation of Bob's alter-egos so this is just a service done for yours truly. Hope I did this baby justice. Not proofread!

It was just supposed to be a normal day. Wake up, order coffee, report to Mel, and begin your fairly fresh career as an assistant. You know, as normal as it can be for someone who works for the New Avengers? Respectively, minus your impulsivity to break taboo rules surrounding your work. Well, you can’t be the only one held responsible for it. It’s months worth of trying to reject it, avoiding it, but it can’t help to be there.

He can’t help but strike a conversation with you, whenever he’s able to. Whenever he finds himself isolated within the tower for at least a moment and you just coincidentally appear by Bucky’s side; given that he’s your boss’ boss or something like that. He can’t help but absentmindedly search the room for you every time your boss walks in, and briefly throws you a shy smile if he did, before going back to his book.

For you, it almost blew your alarms. After what he had nearly turned New York into and its people, you were on your tiptoes, especially when that was your first time around super enhanced human-persons, close-up and on the flesh, or the like.

But in no time, you were proven wrong. You thought he was a cold-hearted asshole who just had an emo phase a thousand feet into the sky. But on the contrary, his light jokes that none of his crew would even laugh at would worm its way to your head, putting you on the spot for suppressing a giggle. His curious nature for your tasks, and at some point, yourself, connects you both like a missing puzzle piece. And with him particularly attempting a flirtatious remark that he awkwardly delivers.

When things continued like that, or when it was painfully obvious you were both going in deep and sideways into what you’re supposed to keep upright on your work ethics, you took a step back.

But not really.

Three months—that’s how long you’ve been secretly together. Was it obvious to anyone? Let’s just say, you both kept them guessing. Though, it’s definitely in their heads.

“How long?”

It took him a while to answer, “Close.”

“Actually,” you breathlessly reply. “Take your time.”

You feel his grip on your hips lightly tighten, thighs crashing against him as you hold the sheets underneath you, clenching them by the palm. You fight the urge to loudly sing out the sins you didn’t know he was capable of making out of you. Similar to you, he’s having the same struggles, gasping and huffing and panting, nearly enough to fill your ears of the sin you so badly want to express. It didn’t matter if his moans were this restrained and low, cautious but so pleasant to your ears, as long as you can see him fold those brows while guiding your hips to repeatedly sheath his cock inside you.

Gosh, seeing him like this between you, long dark hair disheveled paired with the softest look of pleasure he can show you, it’s certainly enough to make your toes curl.

You don’t want him to stop. “Fuck. Don’t stop.” Not when the slick and sloppy clashes your bodies were consistently resounding whenever he fills you starts to make your walls close in.

“I won’t, I won’t.” He thrusts deeper and God, you think just saw heaven. “I really won’t.”

And with that, you threw your head back, feeling him loom over you as you clumsily wrap your legs around his hips. He feels so warm beneath you, as if he was a ball of light, radiating a glow of comfort. But it was brief. So brief that the change of the atmosphere was terribly sudden. You didn’t realize it immediately, hung on your high of pleasure, however the halt in Bob’s movement was finally enough to throw you off and notice the unusuality creeping in.

Panting, you draw your head slightly forward and see two white dots quietly observing you.

Your breath hitched. You felt frozen.

The shadow continued to look at you. Your lover’s body was entirely engulfed in pitch black. You could make out the outline of his hair, sticking out the same as it at least brings you repose that it was still him. Yet no traces of details nor contours that would highlight his refined body tones. He was a complete figure of black, except for the glowing little white eyes that’s drinking you all in.

So this is the other guy, you recalled. “Void.”

With the tiniest of motion, he tilted his head like a curious nocturnal beast.

You continued, taking it in mind that this was still Bob, only that he’s the embodiment of his darkest thoughts, “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer, and instead lifted his tar fingers as he reached out to grab a few locks of your hair before bringing it to his face. You could hear him lightly sniff. The short gesture makes you aware of the shift of temperature from his touch as you feel your skin burn from his cold fingertips on your hip.  “I know you.”

You were puzzled, and clearly no expression could help you predict what’s going to happen next. Especially when…this is the situation you’re in.

And it's as if he just realized the same thing, tracing his lensed eyes on your bare skin down to your conjoined hips—which in turn embarrassed you greatly that you were sure this was the end of it. The excitement of the moment starts to fade and so you slowly begin to scoot  back to spare yourself from your predicament. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I’ll just get dressed before we talk–”

His hand on your hip didn’t move, nor did he let you. You could’ve easily backed away but his strength is no joke. From this angle, you could see that he’s barely even putting much effort to stop you. Then his unblinking eyes darts to yours, piercing you in a way that—given your interrupted session—might’ve possibly made you cum.

“I don’t think we’re done here. Are you?” he suggestively asks with that hoarse tone of his, more or less cacophonously.

You so desperately wanted to disagree, but there’s also the matter of him as a stranger. He and Bob might share the same body, however they’re the complete opposite of each other. At least, not in that sense if you think further about it.

“Enough. I can see that you’re having a moral dilemma there,” The Void halts your thought. You could somehow faintly see his eyes narrow at you. “All there is for you to know is that I’m a part of him. Just as much as how he’s a part of me.”

And that was only what you needed to hear as your body reacted to his facts, relaxing yourself on his evidently aching member.

You almost whimpered out the loudest moan you could muster when he began to slide himself deep, stretching your walls from such a throbbing interval of wait. Then he pulls,then back again, and thus your session has been resumed. Unlike Bob, The Void isn’t really vocal. He surges his thrusts as gently as he can but you can hear it, faintly, the exhales that would indicate his distinct enjoyment. With that in mind, you could unmistakably see his eyes glint at the idea.

His grip on your hips, different from the man that you know, was cold as ice. But it made you thrilled at the thought of two contrasting personalities completely giving you all they have to offer. Just like what Void said, they are a part of one another.

As if he could sense your mere thoughts, which he maybe possibly could but you’re not sure, with you writhing from being turned on; he fastened his thrusts as it turned into a series of pounding, your legs now buckling on his hips once again. He was rough, alright. Rapid and greedy as he clashes your bodies together, resounding a pretty louder tone than before. It wasn’t long before you felt your wrists got caught up around his hands, entrapping them at your sides. Not too tight, not too loose. Just enough to steady your rhythm on the bed which you now realized is messing the sheets.

“Oh, Bob,” you moan.

The Void groans. You didn’t mean to, plus it’s a habit. Obviously, he didn’t like it.

But what awaits you next are the tendrils of shadow emanating from him as it crawls over to your stomach, stretching far wide to your sides and spreads on the bed. It was just like how the team described it, a pitch black shadow blanketing every vicinity it reaches.

“W- wait, wait. I meant Void!” you tried to counter despite the climbing climax you were in. And gosh, did he kept fucking you.

He didn’t say anything and kept his pace, which rode higher and higher, feeling him guide you deeper on his shaft as you can sense him close to release. Your hands are now free, so you took that opportunity to grab his toned shoulders, letting him rock you senseless. And from this angle, you find yourself eye to eye with him. He looms over you like a literal shadow yet somehow, you detect no malice within them. Something about it just opened a cage of butterflies within you, a cliché metaphor albeit a strange one considering who it’s directed at, but intimate nonetheless.

And you certainly didn’t expect him to swoop in and latch his alleged tar lips on your own. You feel it in the moment as he runs his fingers through your hair, pressing you to him. You were not surprised anymore when they felt cold. Then right after it breaks, you readied yourself as he hastily fucks you until you both cum with one last thrust.

His head falls down to rest on your shoulder, but soon after, you feel the shift of temperature rising up. His skin is warm again.

Breaths still heaving, you call out his name, “Bob?”

“Mhm,” he hums. You feel his lashes brush against your collar, as if he was just waking up. It was less than a second when he realized something was off, leaning back with a faint frown on his face. “Good morning?”

You resisted a chuckle at his adorableness. God, when will he notice he’s not hard anymore? Or did he just entirely forget that too?

Suddenly, the door to his room slams open, breaking it in the process. Instinctively, you were immediately draped with a blanket by Bob as he shielded you from whatever the fuck just happened. But the faces of your companion emerging from the door frame proved to be the most humiliating thing you’re gonna remember.

And looking at your lover, you both know the cat’s out of the bag.

“Oh, my god.” The metal-armed man swerved his head away and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Сукин сын.” Even with your hands now covering your face, you’ve no doubt that it was Yelena.

Mouth agape as a hint of teasing coated her tone, Ava called Bob out, “The assistant? Really?”

“What?” You caught a glimpse of Bob’s confused face. “I was– We were not hiding it– And I, I just, it happened but– But you didn’t have to burst in here like that!”

Oh, yeah. You might or might not have seen the lights flicker earlier.

Ko-fi?

[hail-brod]

my other two personalities being flexible as hell so multitasking go brr

[hail-brod]

please can i request where both Sam and Dean and DOWN BAD for reader and they’re kinda competing whilst reader is just sweet and oblivious :3

-💌

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. sweet, oblivious, you,

summary. dean likes you. sam likes you, too. lucky you, oblivious to it all.

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester genre. fluff? giggling

wordcount. 902

notes / warnings. the fact that i will NEVER get tired of writing this scenario. ever. keep 'em coming! 😙

It starts — like all dumb things do — with a stupid dare.

“Bet I can make her laugh first,” Dean smirks across the map table, arms folded like a smug bastard.

Sam snorts. “You wish. She actually appreciates wit, not whatever half-baked dad jokes you throw around.”

You’re by the bookshelf, humming under your breath, completely oblivious to the low-key testosterone death match firing up behind you. You reach up for a dusty tome, tiptoeing just slightly. The hem of your shirt rides up.

Dean notices. Sam notices. They both die a little inside.

Dean’s already moving before his brain catches up, slipping in beside you with a cocky grin.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?” he drawls, voice low and way-too-charming.

You glance over, flashing him a sunny, unsuspecting smile that could probably solve international crises. “Oh, thanks, Dean! But I got it.” You stretch a little higher. The book wobbles dangerously.

Sam’s at your side in an instant, shooting Dean a look that screams "back off."

“Careful,” Sam says, steadying your elbow with a gentle hand. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Dean rolls his eyes so hard you hear it. “She’s reaching for a book, Sammy. Not defusing a bomb.”

“Still.” Sam’s thumb brushes your arm, lingering way longer than necessary. “Better safe than sorry.”

You, adorable and oblivious, just beam at them both like they’re not about two seconds from actual combat over who gets to breathe your air first.

The second battlefront: dinner.

You curl up in one of the bunker’s oversized chairs, thumbing through an old lore book, mind a million miles away.

Dean’s in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, working the stove like he's auditioning for a cooking show. Sam’s at the counter, chopping vegetables with the focused intensity of a man preparing for war.

You poke your head in. “Whatcha making?”

Dean immediately perks up. “Your favorite,” he says, without hesitation. (He’s guessing. He has no idea. But it’s worth the gamble.)

Sam frowns. “I thought you liked pasta?” He’s already halfway into preparing a damn Michelin-starred spaghetti situation.

You laugh — that bright, easy sound that turns both their spines into melted goo — and shrug. “Honestly? I’ll eat anything. Thanks, guys!”

And just like that, they’re both locked in a culinary death race, throwing ingredients around like Iron Chef rejects, both pretending not to be watching your every move.

Dean wins, barely, sliding a plate in front of you with a wink that says worship me, woman.

Sam, not to be outdone, offers fresh-grated parmesan with a flourish. You clap your hands, delighted by the drama you don’t even realize you’ve caused.

They both look like they’ve been knighted when you say it’s the best dinner you’ve had all month.

The third (and most painful) arena: movie night.

You stretch out on the couch, blanket pooled around your legs, utterly relaxed.

Dean flops down beside you, casual as hell, his thigh brushing yours. No accident.

Sam pointedly drops onto your other side, “accidentally” letting his arm settle along the back of the couch — behind you. Also no accident.

The TV flickers. Some old action movie Dean picked blares into the room, all explosions and bad one-liners. You cuddle deeper into the couch, utterly content, totally unaware you’ve become the center of a full-blown territorial pissing contest.

Dean shifts closer. His knee bumps yours again. This time he doesn’t move it.

Sam leans in, murmuring some quiet comment about the plot that makes you laugh. His hand, warm and steady, brushes the back of your shoulder.

Dean glares at Sam. Sam glares at Dean.

You just sip your drink, clueless, precious, without a single idea that these two men are on the verge of an emotional knife fight over who gets to make you giggle next.

The final straw?

You yawn.

Not just any yawn — a sleepy, trusting, head-tilted yawn that makes you look small and soft and like every secret dream they’ve ever been too scared to say out loud.

You lean, just slightly, onto Sam’s side.

Dean’s arm snaps out, catching your waist instinctively, pulling you half against him instead.

You blink up at them both, confused and sleepy and unfairly cute.

“What’s wrong?” you mumble.

Everything, Dean thinks, stomach flipping.

Nothing, Sam thinks, already plotting Dean’s downfall.

Dean covers faster. “Nothing, sweetheart. You’re just…” His voice dips, rough and warm. “You’re real cute when you’re tired, y’know that?”

Sam’s hand flexes where it’s still behind you, fighting every urge to just tuck you under his chin and never let you go.

You laugh softly, like they haven’t just shredded themselves into tiny pathetic ribbons over you. “You guys are weird tonight,” you tease.

Dean grins, cocky and lazy, masking the manic panic under his ribs. “We’re always weird, darlin’.”

Sam hums, low and agreeable, his palm brushing your shoulder again — a steady, grounding touch.

You yawn again, curling up tighter between them like you belong there. Neither of them breathes for a full minute.

Later, when you’re asleep, curled up with your head on a shared pillow between them, Dean catches Sam’s eye over your hair.

Silent. Battling.

Sam shrugs a little, as if to say, not giving up.

Dean smirks back, mouth twitching with all the trouble he plans to cause. Bring it on, Sammy.

Because no matter who wins?

You’re the prize.

And hell — you’re worth fighting for.

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[hail-brod]

Rainy day in Kyoto