#--of everything and that's easier with More Authors

[julietcpulet]

Hi! I kinda want to ask something about Maomao. Do you think her accepting her place as a member of the La Clan (therefore, embracing her nobility) is part of her character growth? At this point, I don't think Jinmao will ever happen unless Maomao does so and I feel like people may take this the wrong way because Maomao has been extremely vocal since the start of the series about her social status and dislike for politics and noble stuff. People may think the author made Maomao accept her nobility just so she can get together with Jinshi easier (and this is kinda shown in LN 16 too and even in LN 14 during the named clan meetings). She's been conducting herself as someone of status, which kinda doesn't seem fair to her because even after everything, it's still Maomao who has to compromise and adjust. This has been bugging me so much, and I'm curious what you think about it.

Great question! (Spoilers below)

Yeah I do think it’s part of her growth. MaoMao has actually been a noble woman since her birth so it’s less about her entering the world of nobility through marriage like it’s presented than it is accepting her position there where she has always had a place. To me there’s three reasons why she’s struggled with moving into being princess of the La Clan:

1. It means she has to acknowledge she is Lakan’s daughter by birth and not Luomen’s. For her, being Luomen’s adopted daughter is a source of pride. She still struggles with her past related to Lakan, doesn’t accept her mother because of the abuse she suffered and feels Lakan doesn’t understand her wishes as an apothecary, as such this acceptance of him as a father would be her biggest step personally. She’d have to recognize that in acknowledging Lakan she’s not rejecting Luomen, because I don’t believe Luomen would see it that way, it would merely be a formality for what everyone in the public eye has already recognized. She’s already been under Lakan’s protection, as witnessed since LN 7 when everyone is intimidated by him peering through the medical office and knows they have a connection. Her officially becoming a member is mostly a formality that would solidify to her what others are already acknowledging, that she has all the status and weight of the La Clan behind her. For her I think it’s more personal than simply political.

2. If she accepts her place in the La Clan, there are no excuses regarding status why she can’t marry Jinshi anymore. Much of Maomao’s personality is about denial. Self-denial, denial of reality, finding ways to avoid change because of insecurity and doubt. If she becomes the princess of the La Clan officially, many of the obstacles that have been put up between her and Jinshi no longer exist. She becomes the best candidate to marry him due to status, Lakan is feared in the Imperial court so few are likely to stand against him and even if she were to become a Consort and Jinshi the Emperor (which I doubt) she’d be fearsome with her family behind her and their protection. As even my posts have mentioned, she was never opposed to being with Jinshi but opposed to his status and the fears of political games but with her being elevated to a noble woman, those gaps disappear. She can no longer claim that he’s so far above her as the Moon Prince and her a lowly servant girl. And to me a part of her keeps this distance out of a continual insecurity and fear that if she’s a noble woman and there are no barriers between them, her love and affection may not measure up to Jinshi’s, as we’ve seen her be unsure of their matched feelings, which is not reality at all.

3. Having a higher status will take away her life as an apothecary. This is really the last barrier I think to any kind of acceptance on her part and it’s only slightly legitimate as we’ve seen, her nobility is actually a benefit to her in ways. Instead of having to rely as much on the status of others as before like Jinshi or Lahan, she can now do things herself and even procure medicines which she could not do presenting herself as a servant. And as much as she appreciated her supposed freedom in the stall at the Verdigris House, her ability to conduct herself in the broader world has proven that her aversion to a life of politics and nobility wasn’t because she was incapable but likely more due to comfort and insecurity in her own perceived abilities. Even if she still prefers a quieter life we can see that as she gains confidence in these circles she’s better able to navigate them regardless of how she feels about politics in general. To me that shows she likely wouldn’t have been happy forever in complete obscurity. Also, due to Jinshi’s intervention and her actually fighting Luomen for the first time she has already elevated herself to a higher medical status than most women occupy so many of the supposed obstacles in her way to remaining an apothecary are gone.

I don’t believe the author is doing it all for relationship purposes. Maomao is a young woman who’s struggled with change and forming relationships outside her tight circle. Being a noble woman would mean having to form a wider net of connections, develop social skills so Maomao can adapt to various situations and be willing to communicate with people she doesn’t always like. I think the stories overall have been pushing Maomao in this direction as she’s had to come out of her comfort zone and it’s not all forced on her in the sense that even if she complains internally, she likes being challenged and is shown to be good at handling these tough political arenas regardless of her rough edges. Ironically having grown up in the pleasure district where she’s seen so many different personalities of women, disputes between sexes, fights to climb the social hierarchy of the brothels, it’s given her enough perspective to not be intimidated by the squabbles among the nobility. The nobility even respect and acknowledge her even when she doesn’t conventionally look or act like them as seen when she attends the meeting of the Named Clans in LN 14 so it’s apparent she carries an air about her that gives this impression already.

As for compromise, the key for me is how the story contrasts her and Jinshi with Ah-Duo and the Emperor. We’ve been shown that Ah-Duo stayed with the Emperor not out of love but more because of their friendship and her feeling obligated due to his status and a promise made as children. Also that the Emperor, lacking freedom himself, forgot that he was someone who could easily steal that from others and did so from Ah-Duo. This has led to her feeling stifled and wishing she could leave to travel the world. When Ah-Duo and Maomao have their discussion in LN 13, Ah-Duo basically offers to help Maomao escape the entrapments of the palace. Instead of Maomao agreeing, which we expect her to given her supposed want to live in obscurity as an apothecary, she says she would remain and find beauty there.

Though she was free, Maomao was a more flexible person than Ah-Duo had realized. Faced with a confined place, she didn’t seek to escape or even destroy it, but changed her form in order to get whatever she could out of the situation.

It shows the difference in perspective. Where Ah-Duo only saw the bars and restraints because she lacked reciprocal feeling for the Emperor, Maomao is the opposite. She chooses to see that no matter the situation there can be good found there because she will focus on being there with Jinshi who she’s come to love, at least that’s the interpretation I get from it. It shows how the love actually is in the compromise on both sides. Maomao is willing to find beauty even if she’s taken in at the palace because she’s made the decision to be with Jinshi but we find later that he also has decided that should that happen, he would set her free. This contrasts Ah-Duo and the Emperor who, due to his lack of perspective, could not see that keeping Ah-Duo would make her miserable and she lacked the flexibility to grow into loving him at all due to his oversight of her feelings. The mutual love between Maomao and Jinshi has led them to want to compromise for one another no matter the circumstance to stay together even if the other isn’t even always aware of that sentiment. As Ah-Duo says just before Jinshi makes the decision not to put any additional pressure on Maomao:

Don’t let Yue walk the same path as Yoh.

They’re proving that their path won’t take that of Ah-Duo and the Emperor. Jinshi won’t cage Maomao but she is willing to go places with him and be more flexible because she sees value in him and being together. Also it shows her trust in him and how he cares for her that she knows she can joke about building a greenhouse with Chue. This is where her being willing to become a member of the La Clan is all part of that flexibility. But while I believe Maomao’s status could be a factor in removing barriers to her and Jinshi being together, I also don’t think that will be the final decider. I think the author is weaving towards a hopefully satisfying and ultimately happy ending for them.

Sorry if this is one big ramble 😂 I hope it makes sense and answers your question, I wanted to cover a few different bases but may have gone off course a bit to help add background detail I thought was important to the overall picture.

[ippilulu]

What do I do with myself when you go where I cannot follow? - a Caleb x MC fanfic

Author note: I was listening to Weightless Paradise (this one) on his birthday as one does cause that song is a BANGER (I once texted my friend like 5 paragraphs dissecting the song and musically what each part meant- I am crazy crazy) and there was this one part that made me think of a sad coming-back-to-reality after being happy moment, and I was like huh. 'You know how Caleb and MC spent nearly a year apart (if this isn't canon btw I apologise), so that means he spent a birthday without her. What do you reckon would have happened on that day?' And this was born. Decided last minute not to post this on his birthday cause that would have been too angsty for even me- bro deserves so much better. Anyways, I'm sorry in advance.

Caleb relaxed his jaw as he put his car into gear, slowly driving out of the square, away from the people casually strolling and enjoying the warmth of the summer days that were only going to become more frequent as summer eased into Linkon. Her laugh still echoed in his ears- despite it being seemingly impossible considering the distance he had been careful to maintain between them lest her instincts sense him (because just like he always had a sixth sense for her, so did she).

He didn't need to hear her laugh for him to remember it, after all- after all these years, merely seeing a picture of it would ignite it in his memories. And oh, how happily he would burn in it, if he were allowed to. But the blinking light in his car's holographic display served as a reminder of how he couldn't- how he shouldn't- if he were to fulfil the vow he'd made to himself that day when he'd held her small, cold hand after the 13th cycle in the labs.

Caleb switches it off- a child's stubborn instinct to not face reality, not yet- and drives to an address as familiar as his breath. He almost expects to see the old house he'd spent most of his life in as he turns the corner… but of course there is nothing there.

For a few months after the incident, he'd notice flowers and various trinkets scattered in the remnant of the ashes- all that was left in the explosion that killed Josephine, that should have killed him too. He could never bear to stay for long, not after the few times he saw her there, silent and cold and unlike herself- so much so that his eyes had passed over the small figure in a familiar raincoat and umbrella- until he'd realised that that figure was as recognisable to him as his own.

He didn't bear the right to see her in her grief- even if from the outside it seemed like there was a lack of it. So he'd give her space, leave her alone. Caleb only wanted her to smile and laugh like the little meimei of his memories did in every idle dream he had. He protected these idle dreams with all the force of a black hole, refusing to let them become collateral in the everlasting struggle he waged- all to protect her, all for her.

For now, he was succeeding, barely. He was doing everything he could to fight against the chip- and even then all he could do was keep it at 93%.

7%.

That number haunted him sometimes, made him stare into the mirror longer than he should- late at night when the world was asleep, when he should have been asleep as well. But he couldn't rest, one thought keeping him awake beyond the fragile limits he'd managed to create for himself in his new role, his new life.

If he ever got the chance to see her once more, would she even recognise the soul behind his eyes as his? Or would the tiny 7% that remained be overshadowed by the 93% that had already been stolen from him?

Was there even a point to this struggle? Sometimes when he saw the familiar sterile white of the lab once more in the space between his nightmares and reality, he couldn't find one. It would be so much easier to let go, to give in…

But no. Even if he never met her again, he must do this for himself- he could not lose any more of himself than he already had. He would fight them until the end.

Even if it ended up being futile, his struggle still had meaning. For he'd have tried.

(For someone so used to success, this was a bitter pill to swallow. But it was either this or oblivion, and he knew which one he'd choose.)

Caleb blinked his eyes open, looking at the dim clock hovering above his car's dashboard. It was later than he'd planned- somewhere along the line his depressing thoughts had lulled him to sleep.

No nightmares this time, huh? He cracked a smile at the shadows beneath his eyes that never seemed to reduce, but froze as he looked outside.

Because there she was. The girl he'd dreamt of every time he closed his eyes, the one he'd put the little he had on the line for… The girl he loved.

His hand hesitated over the controls.

He should drive away.

Obviously she was there to talk to him- the version of Caleb in her head who she didn't even have the luxury of burying six feet in the ground. In no delusion his mind could come up with did he ever even think he deserved to see her like this.

He shouldn't even be seeing her at all, in fact. Not after what he did, not after what he chose to do every single day in his continued silence.

But there was a small, soft voice within him- was it from his current self or the child he'd buried deep within?

It's… It's your birthday. You deserve to be happy too, Caleb.

He lowered the window just a crack.

"… -out today, gege… I even got that cake you always said you didn't like but did- all because it was too expensive. It was delicious, but-" There was a pause, he could hear her crumpled breath echo across the small distance between them. …She was crying.

Caleb heard a small crack beside him and looked down, distracted. His car door's handle had given way under the force of his metal arm, and the implications of that made him bite his lip until it bled. The taste of blood in his mouth was a familiar one, and somehow it made the guilt less all-consuming as he looked back at her.

"I wish you were here. I know it's selfish, I know maybe you'd be in pain from your injuries… but your meimei has always been the most selfish when it comes to you. I can't help it, gege. I'd let the guilt eat me alive for it, but I'd still take advantage of your nature. Because… it was mine to take advantage of. And now… there's nothing of yours left for me."

Another deep breath. Caleb's jaw was so tight that it would have snapped if it were metal. He hastily wiped the wetness on his cheeks away, all of it blurring the rare image of her in his vision.

"All I have is this-" Something silver sparkled in the dying rays of the evening, and his left hand automatically took out his own copy of it, the metal cold enough to remove every trace of warmth from him- as if it knew it were not the original- as if it knew it were a mere copy that he'd made in his grief and desperation that could never even live up to the original.

"You broke your promise, gege. You promised me you'd never take it off, but you left it behind here- you left it behind with me." She slowly sat on her knees, and this seemed to be what hurt Caleb even more than the knowledge that she was crying.

"Caleb, ew! Don't sit there- you don't know what's been on it!" "I'm not sitting on the ground. I'll get a mat next time. And don't even think of sitting on my bed after this until you've changed your clothes!"

"I know I shouldn't- it wasn't… it wasn't your fault. But I feel so abandoned, Caleb. I feel so terribly lonely-" Another choked sound and he wasn't even sure which one of them made it this time- "It's not your fault, it's not- but still I blame you, gege. I'm so sorry- I'm so sorry-"

A phone ringing shocked them both out of the reverie they'd found themselves in- her sitting there sobbing softly, Caleb watching her like it was his personal punishment. He watched her wipe her face with her sleeves, raise her face to the sun and blink a few times, smiling brightly and singing a few notes, before she put the phone to her ear, a bright happy "Hi!" on her lips like it belonged there. A few seconds pass as she seems to be listening to the caller.

"Oh, that's so- it's so sweet of you to ask, haha! But no… I'm fine. Just watching a few old movies that both of us loved to remember him… My popcorn got over so I'd just stepped out to get some more. How's it going for you, Tara?"

Tara- the girl with black hair and purple eyes who always hung around her since she'd joined the Hunters' Association- and even more so after the explosion. The file he had on her life and history flashed in his mind- safely tucked at the house the Fleet had given him. But seeing her in front of him, guilt weighed him down.

This was not how a normal gege would behave. Or a normal anything- who keeps updated files of all the people their meimei interacts with just in case?

Even if he'd never thought of her as that for a long, long time now. But all those years ago, it'd been the fastest way to make her realise he wasn't one of the people who'd hurt her each time she came back. The fact that his child self had unknowingly bound himself in these chains of duty by doing so was something no one would have anticipated at the time… especially in the place they were in.

"- I'll see you tomorrow then! Yes yes, sure. I'll get some of those biscuits for you- sometimes it really does seem like you're only here for them, hmph." Her laughter rang out but he couldn't even smile.

When did she get so good at pretending everything was okay?

She was too good at it for it to be such a recent development. Or perhaps it was, and her loss had forced her to become good at it too soon.

He didn't know which one hurt less.

The phone was put down, now forgotten as she looked back at the plot that had once housed the only childhood home they'd ever known- and bent down to kiss one of the flowers that were near her. "I hope you like these, gege. I thought you'd like the scent- wherever you are. Take it as my apology… Because even if I love you, I hate you- just a little bit. Big dummy Caleb. Happy birthday… I love you."

The small smile on her face as she walked away felt like she'd personally slashed the shape of it into his heart.

…Happy birthday, indeed.

ending notes: I like using gege and meimei when talking about Caleb and MC despite playing the game in english, because I feel like it's the only word that can come close to describing the relationship they've shared with each other since childhood. In no way does this mean that I think of them as blood siblings, or that MC and Caleb in my fics think of themselves as related that way either. In case you do, that's great! I love all sorts of Caleb and MC fics. I just like to think of them romantically in mine :D Also! The small thing she did before she picked up Tara's call is something I always do when I need to hide that I've been crying haha... apologies if it seemed unusual!

[princess-of-the-corner]

I do believe someone brought up a Bourgeois family divorce trap AU that ends in Mr. Lee x Andre

(I know because it started me writing one, it's taking a while though because I got a job and I'm not a writer)

But the concept is BEAUTIFUL. Picture with me:

Pre canon. Summer before the school year starts. Chloe and Zoe meet at some kind of summer camp. Probably not actual camping because Chloe would never, but they could be at like. Fashion camp or Model UN or something. They despise each other. They fucking hate everything about each other.

Zoe is finally finally FINALLY getting away from the bitches at home and doesn't have to posture except there's THIS girl screaming about how her Daddy is the mayor and acting just like Audrey and it is fucking insufferable. She just can't stand it. She has to beat this girl at everything to assert dominance. That's how conflict resolution works right? That's how it works at home anyway.

Chloe is finally getting a break from the peasants at home and then she's suddenly faced with this copycat American bitch who everyone has the gall to say looks like Chloe. And it's international so the mayor of paris doesn't have the same authority so she's just forced to put up with it. But this is Chloe so putting up with it means war (Sabrina could be here or maybe not. I haven't decided if I want her in on the shenanigans or not, but I'm leaning yes).

They are absolutely terrible. They are ruining the event for everyone. When one of their spats to outdo each other sets something on fire they both start throwing around their mom's name and OH FUCK you're my secret sister.

I think at this point, Chloe didn't know about ANY of this, but isn't all that shocked because she knows her parents don't love each other. Zoe knew she was an affair baby and had a secret sister but had not been formally introduced yet and wouldn't have necessarily *recognized* Chloe.

Chloe is now in emotional crisis about how her mother doesn't love her and is calling her dad and breaking her phone cuz her dad isn't giving satisfactory answers. Zoe is reeling a bit, but she tries going after Chloe. They throw hands a bit. End up in the nurse together. Talk some shit out now that they've both got it out of their system.

Zoe's surprised to realize Chloe is more mad at *herself* than at Zoe or their mom and is like "I mean you're a bitch, but so am I, what the hell did YOU do?" And Chloe's like ". . . Huh." One conversation isn't gonna erase a decades old complex but it will help her conciously realize it. They talk more and Zoe's like "I think we need to break up your parents, it's not like Audrey's taking care of either of us" and Chloe is like "Y'know what, fuck it, yeah. I just. I don't wanna deal with her anymore."

Sisters spend the rest of camp plotting and becoming fast friends. Zoe tells about her woes at school and dreams of starting fresh and Chloe is like "that would actually be so nice, I wish we could switch" and then impulsive teenagers are like "hey wait a second." Plan is now to switch places, Zoe convinces Andre to divorce Audrey while Chloe convinces Mr. Lee to move to France.

They switch, hijinks ensue. Zoe's convinced the best way to break up Andre and Audrey is to find someone else for Andre to pursue. Chloe's decided the best way to get Mr. Lee to uproot his life is to get him an SO who lives in Paris. They did not go into this expecting to ship their fathers, but they're both in the wrong countries and it's too late to back out now.

Lucky for them, the two guys really hit it off and (in this AU anyway. Canon Andre can fuck off) both care about their daughters and are trying to do what's best for them. With Zoe having no friends in NYC and Chloe having Some Friends in Paris, plus Mr. Lee having a job that switches countries much easier, it's not too hard to figure out which one they're gonna go with.

(Background absolute befuddlement of both groups of classmates going on also. Because like. Zoe can pretend to be awful. She canonically spent most of her schooling pretending to be awful. But I think she's more regular mean girl level and not Chloe's level of Extra, plus it's very hard to be extra mean to Marinette specifically when baby gay has a crush. Chloe meanwhile is just straight up not doing U.S.A. class because it is aggressively not worth her time. She's climbing out windows and using all her computer time to set up a dating profile for her dad on grindr. All of Zoe's classmates are so fucking baffled).

Hate that I need to make OCs for Zoe's classmates. Need to rewatch the NYC special and find some backgrounders to adopt. Or some side characters from other media to file the serial numbers off of. (I am lowkey turning Chloe interacting with knockoff Heather Chandler or Regina George around in my head and cackling)

This is fucking beautiful lmao

[lilpaigeywbb]

when in the south || prologue 𖦹₊˚✧

➜ summary: intro to bea, intro to paige, and a small meeting point

➜ warnings: n/a

➜ pairing: paige bueckers x mafia daughter!oc 

➜ authors note: prologue is out hooray! i'm working on chapter one as well as favorite teacher part 2 (i'll drop it sooner if the first part gets 500 notes 🥳). hope u guys enjoy and send in requests!!!!!!

beatrice forbes was not southern. her name - well, more like ‘name’ - was southern but she was not. 

COVER NAME beatrice (nicknamed bee): “bee-AH-triss”  forbes: "FORBS”

REAL NAME beatrice (nicknamed bea “bay-ah”): “beaˈtriːtʃe” (bee-AH-TREE-CHE) fabrizio: “fah-bree-SHI-o” REAL NAME beatrice (nicknamed bea “bay-ah”): “beaˈtriːtʃe” (bee-AH-TREE-CHE) fabrizio: “fah-bree-SHI-o”

if you wanted to get technical, both were her southern names. her cover was airtight: born and raised into the rich part of louisiana, graduated from dillard university with a degree in kinesiology, and landed a job as a medical trainer for the dallas wings. her reality was completely different. no college, no transcripts, no dorm room memories. just carefully curated documents, coded phone numbers and calls, and a family legacy buried in lies and destruction (there WAS a real interest and knowledge in kinesiology, though).

the fabrizio family wasn’t just notorious in catania, they were untouchable. it was the kind of empire that built itself on power and fear. her father was still the head, but he wouldn’t be for long. the torch was meant to pass down to the next in line, bea. she had an older brother but he had fled the minute he found out that he was meant to be next. it was a nasty business that took out their two older siblings and neither one wanted the same fate. bea was bright and smart. too good to waste, too young and loved to sacrifice.

so her mother helped get her out of the country.

they had connections everywhere and hence, bea frabrizio became bee forbes. she had gotten used to her new identity. after a couple months in america, she was more accepting of her new life. to make it more fun for herself, she learned how to perfect a southern accent.

eventually, this new life became enough.

but for paige bueckers it wasn't.

she’d probably never admit it out loud but she didn’t feel like she belonged in dallas, not yet, anyway. all she wanted was to go back to connecticut- to uconn. she missed her team and her friends and the barista she saw every morning at her favorite cafe. everything was different and she hated it. but she kept it all to herself. she didn’t know how to tell anyone. she missed her family, her friends, and her college life. she learned that she could be grateful for her new life and what she has while also mourning her old life and the loss of what once was. leaving behind the life she’d built, the version of herself she knew best, felt like losing a limb and trying to walk like normal.

but it got easier.

within just a few days, she had found a coffee spot she liked and gotten familiar with the surrounding areas. maybe dallas wasn’t so bad after all. acceptance was the first step into a great rookie season and overall career. right?

pre-talk

the air outside of the gym smelled like rubber, sweat, and lemon-scented cleaner. was i technically supposed to be here? no, but that was irrelevant. to be fair, they already gave me a keycard so i had access and all i wanted to do was check out the training room and see the gym. 

my manicured fingers were playing with a strand of my espresso brown hair from the nerves. it was overwhelming. i had yet to be in an actual work environment since coming to america, much less one wear i had to wear evidence of my false name. it read ‘beatrice (bee)’ which annoyed me. i hated the nickname but the more american, the better. both my name tag and id card felt like giant neon signs reading ‘faker’. it was a rough adjustment, leaving everything i knew for… this. 

i came to dallas a few weeks ago, wanting to familiarize myself with the area before throwing myself into work. both in catania and here, i studied vigorously about kinesiology and everything i’d need to know in order to be a good medical trainer. i needed this to work. i couldn’t go back to italy nor could i go through the process of changing myself again.

i smoothened my silky locks and sighed, thinking to myself ‘pull yourself together, bea. what’s the worst that could happen?’

first mistake and note to self? never say that ever again.

||

the nerves were real. i don’t even know why i wanted to come to the gym. maybe it was because i wanted to get a glimpse of it. or maybe i needed to get out of my apartment, i don’t know. i just know i needed to do something other than think about everything going. i had toured the training facility already but it was a vague one. one that was rushed during all of my post-draft madness. speaking of post draft madness, i couldn’t stand dallas. it was too hot, too different, too… not paige. it didn’t feel me and yet everyone said i belonged here. of course i was grateful for everything here and everyone i met, especially my teammates.

i just wish the washington mystics had gotten the number one pick in the draft lottery. 

my air forces were squeaky on the freshly cleaned floor, my lavender tank top tight on my muscular form under the black nike jacket i was wearing. as i walked towards the gym, i smelt… no. perfume? wait- it smelled like my perfume. i sniffed the air a bit and shook my head. nah. not mine. maybe the same brand though. i always felt like valentino had its own signature scent. the closer i got to the gym doors, the stronger the scent got. i pulled out my phone, shooting a text to nika. we talked more than anyone really thought.

paige: smells like perfume.  paige: i think someone else is here nika: maybe she’ll be hot  paige: haven’t even been here a week and you want me to get a girl? nika: maybe dallas is where you’ll find the one🤷🏻‍♀️

yeah, right.

i rolled my eyes at the phone, trying to type and open my bottle of gatorade simultaneously. i wasn’t looking in front of me that i didn’t notice there was someone there. not until she turned around, causing my gatorade to spill on my shirt. fuck. 

all of a sudden, a voice with a southern accent smoother than honey filled the air. i looked up, my eyes falling on a seriously panicked girl. she was short, maybe 5’4 or 5’5. no, definitely 5’5. she was wearing a navy blue button downed short sleeve and black jeans. interesting combo. she was apologizing profusely- oh, shit, she was apologizing. 

“i am so so sorry- oh, and i ruined your shirt… i can buy you a new one, i-” “don’t apologize,” i interrupted her, not wanting her to feel bad, “that was on me. i should’ve been watching where i was goin’. and don’t mind the shirt. it was kinda old anyway.” i shrug nonchalantly, not wanting her to worry. she bit the inside of her cheek and nodded, “if you say so.”

there was a moment of silence between us as i zipped up my jacket. i could feel her watching me and it made me nervous. “you’re paige bueckers, aren’t you,” she asked quietly, almost like she was scared of me. “yeah, that’s me. nice to meet you…” “beatrice.” beatrice. the name suited her. she seemed like a beatrice kind of girl. “beatrice,” i repeated, liking how it seemed to roll off my tongue. i noticed her hand was out so i shook it. her skin was so soft. “you ever go by bea or anything?”

first mistake and note to self? never call her that again.

[alicenchanted]

A Court of Silver Storms, Chapter 5

FMC is Nesta Archeron’s twin sister

Word Count: 1,942

Potential Pairings: Azriel x Archeron!OC, Archeron!OC X Illyrian!OC, Nesta x Cassian, Elain x Azriel (pairings are unconfirmed)

Summary: Elain meets with Azriel the night before he embarcks on the journey to Montesere.

Taryn and Tristan spend the night training her mental shields in preparation.

Nesta finds out the morning of that her sister is gone, and she will not be returning for a week

Warnings: allusions to self harm, mentions of trauma and memory relapses, depictions of drowning, allusions to child abuse/neglect

Author's Note: The warnings sound terrible, dw it's really not that bad yall. The time line here is chronological btw, in case anyone gets a little confused. This chapter is a bit short, mostly to transition to 'part two' of this fic!

Getting a little Elain action here. I think she's neglected a lot in sf, so I wanted to explore her character a little more!

Thank you all for the support you've given me on this, I love interacting with you and seeing your opinions!

Read on Ao3 / Chapter 1 / Chapter 4

There, she thought to herself, finally. The last of Autumn’s yellow roses brightened up her kitchen. The kitchen, she corrected, but it felt like hers now. Elain filled the glass vase with water, a sprinkle of ground eggshells. It had grown late, and she was alone. 

Alone doesn’t feel very good, she pursed her lips. Nuala and Cerridwen were gone on Rhys’s orders. It was something to do with one of the queens. She remembered their visit to the Archeron Manor so long ago. Politeness and good manners hadn’t gotten her very far with them. Power struggles were at play, but Elain didn’t understand them. She had tried listening in, lingering at the edges while Feyre talked with Rhys and Azriel in the early hours of morning. She had nothing better to do after all, not when sleep eluded her. She let it stay blissfully far away, like a cat that had grown tired of playing with a toy. Sleep filled her mind with too many thoughts. Unhelpful thoughts. 

Elain fussed with the flowers, arranging them again and again. If she stayed idle too long, those thoughts would find her, and that couldn’t happen. Not when it scared her sisters so much. She did not remember everything that happened to her, but Feyre often expressed how pleased she was that Elain was better now, healed. Oh Elain… so worried… and Nesta, she was half-mad with fear… do you even remember… the balcony… knives out of the kitchen when Taryn… 

Little snippets. She rearranged the flowers. Perhaps the fuller ones should face the island… Yes, that was where everyone would sit. Once morning came. In nine hours. There would be no one for the next nine hours. She rearranged the flowers as her head began to split. Water, not like the icy chill of the Cauldron. Warm. Laughter. And then a staircase, one with a big looming spiral. Sparks of silver. A storm rolled in. 

She rearranged the flowers. The stems had not been de-thorned. She pushed her finger tips into the sharp little daggers and sighed as a pin-prick of blood welled up. The visions faded out like mist on the horizon. 

As she pressed her fingertip to her lips to suck the blood away, she felt a familiar presence. His shadows were warm, and she felt them brush her arm in greeting. He made sure not to startle her.

“Azriel, you’re up late.”

“I could say the same to you. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

She smiled and let the flowers fall naturally into the vase. “Oh, I couldn’t sleep…” She brushed her fingers across the soft, butter colored petals. “I wanted to make sure these beauties were saved before the first snows hit Velaris.”

He stepped closer. So close to her. She could feel the willowy pressure of his shadows, slightly warm with his scent. Mmm, something woody. She slowed her breathing, trying not to seem… excited? Interested? It was so much easier to talk to the human boys. They couldn’t hear the fluttering of a heart. 

“Yellow?” he asked, his voice deceptively bored.

“Do you dislike yellow?” She asked. Maybe next time she would plant red.

“No, they’re very nice Elain. The River House always feels more home-like with your touches.”

Something bubbly and warm welled up in her. She didn’t think many people noticed the little changes she made. Feyre had an eye for decorating, sure, but her style was far more moody, regal. Elain preferred the subtle elegance of a brighter palate. It seemed Azriel had noticed. 

“How was training today?” she tried to sound cheerful, but weariness weaved its way through her tone. Cassian hadn’t been by the River House to update Feyre on Nesta’s progress, but Elain assumed there was none to report. Taryn was a bit more unpredictable on where she drew her lines.

His lips titled to the side, hesitant. “Her blade work has gotten stronger, she wields truth teller almost as well as you did-” Elain couldn’t keep the smile from her face. A small one. This was about Taryn, not herself. Azriel went on without noticing. “But when I left her with Tris… I suppose you and Nesta are lucky. Mental shields take a lot of work to employ for those who haven’t had them magically fortified. I wanted to tell you though-”

She turned, her face tipped up to meet his gaze. So close. Azriel paused, taking in a breath, as if he had suddenly realized the proximity between them. 

“I’ll be gone for a few days. Rhys is sending Tristan and I east, to Montesere,” another pause, “Taryn will be accompanying us to speak with their court about preparations for another war.”

“Taryn?” Elain’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Azriel shrugged, but his gaze turned interested, as if he sensed Elain knew something that he didn’t, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“She dislikes high society. When we were girls there was a lot of… pressure on her and Nesta.” Elain had missed her debut. The year she had come of age was the year they lost their fortune. Sometimes she was jealous of the attention her sisters, mostly Nesta, had garnered for the family. Most of the time, she was thankful that the weight of expectation had avoided her shoulders in those formative years. Nesta was their mother’s little queen. She was the oldest, after all. Taryn had come a few minutes after her. But there was a unique kind of pressure there too, one Taryn could never live up to. If Nesta were to fail at securing an advantageous match, Taryn was essentially the spare heir. She was coached just as rigorously, waiting in the trenches to see if she’d be needed. 

“Feyre seems to think she’ll do well,” Azriel said, bracing his hands on the kitchen counter. His gaze drifted through the window, out, she imagined, toward the House of Wind. 

Elain pursed her lips. It didn’t really matter what she thought, the decisions Feyre made were always final. “I’m sure it will all go as planned.” 

That splitting feeling returned. Now was not the time. She looked around, suddenly antsy. Her trimmed fingernails found their way to the little cut on her finger. It had stopped bleeding after she let go of the thorns. She dug the crescent of her nail into the wound, pressing until the feeling banked into nothing. 

Azriel’s eyes widened. “Elain, I didn’t know you were bleeding.” His nose flared at the sudden tang in the air.

“It’s nothing, the roses got me earlier.”

He took her by the wrist, forcing her to show him the wound. He hummed, reaching for the weapon belt around his hips. There was a small roll of gauze tucked into it, and he unrolled a piece, ripping it off with his teeth.

She didn't realize she was trembling until he gripped her hand again, holding it still as he wrapped it with an almost painful gentleness.

He noticed her trembling. “Are you afraid of blood?”

Her throat tightened. “Yes,” she lied.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆

Get out Get out Get out Get out, she screamed at him. Oh he would have it coming to him after this. 

Tristan’s voice, calm and steady despite it being hour three of training, washed across her mind. Every time Taryn thought she had managed to push him out, she would hear his deep, rumbling echo. It was like a riptide, the kind of surge that dragged you back and back, further out to sea no matter how desperately you paddled toward shore.

You need to relax, Taryn. You’re not focused.

She growled, then flinched at the sound of her own voice. She had been forced silent this whole time. She was finally getting somewhere. 

“Get- out,” the words came out choked and garbled, and then she was under again. A man was dancing with her, spinning her around the dance floor. She couldn’t keep up. She tripped, fell past his arms and to the floor. But there was no floor. Only water. Deep and cold, endless water. She reached out for someone, for something, but there was nothing. Her hands were empty… and then they weren’t. There was a knife in her hands. The image of the knife was warbled through the icy water, but the piercing metal was aimed for herself. She forced her eyes further open, fighting the weight of the water. Gone again. The village boys surfaced. Tomas and Isaac, Grayson and Wendell. Wendell, the butcher’s boy… Tomas’s voice echoed in her head. He doesn’t mind a little meat on the bones. She shivered, wrenching her gown closer to her body. It was soaked through with cold. Let me go, she yelled, but no sound came out.

I said focus, Taryn, you were so close. She tried to hold onto the sound, as if those words were a tether that would lead her back out.

Hands were wrenching her away, pulling her from the Cauldron with a roar. Nesta? Her mother looked down at her. Those hands tightened, pulling her away from another failed Gala. You are useless, a burden on your sister, her mother said. Do not speak to her again, I don't want her seen with you.

Let me go, she choked again, swallowing mouthfulls of cold air. She could see Nesta’s small face in the window, watching her as she curled up in the chilly brambles outside. Her body trembled, and she could not tell if it was real or just memory.

The patience and calm in Tristan’s voice was turning sour, I can’t. Not until you can push me out.

He was mad at her. Nesta was mad at her, mad at Taryn for ignoring her all night, her small fists clenched. Her mother was mad at her, angry that she could be so careless as to ruin the future of all of her sisters. She was mad. So mad at herself. And confused. She stared at herself, at her broken body reforged, the white nightgown sticking to every violated inch of her. 

Something fluttered inside her, clicking and whirring like an automaton. Light flared beneath her skin, arcing like lightning through the darkness. She saw threads of shadow, weary now, as if they too wanted to leave this place in her mind. 

Taryn extended her hand. It seemed her body knew what to do, even if her mind did not. The blue of her veins turned fluorescent, glimmering violet as pure power sluggishly swam from her heart to her fingertips. It sparked. It struck. 

She felt a low hiss thunder through her mind, but the voice gritted out, Good, again.

The hollow space between her breasts flickered and surged, churning like a storm. She made herself the eye. That whirling storm grew thick and heavy. Like a shield around her. A shield. She put all her energy into reinforcing it. The Cauldron had boiled when its icy heart was torn out. She pulled clouds from its heat, coiling mist around herself. She felt the shadowy threads again as they brushed up against the raging hurricane inside her, and each time, her lightning found its mark. 

The darkness retreated. Taryn was back in Windhaven, though she had never really left. She felt dizzy. Strong, rough hands gripped her before she hit the forest floor.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆

Nesta ate in a silence that Cassian seemed determined to keep breaking.

“I already told you, I will not train in that miserable village.”

She watched him huff a breath, shovel more of the bland porridge into his mouth angrily. He was an animal, and so were all those other Illyrian brutes in Windhaven. Dawn crinkled the clouds, turning them iridescent and rosy. It was too early for this.

“Why can’t you be more like Taryn. Azriel tells me she’s doing well. So well, she’s been promoted,” Cassian said.

“Azriel,” she gritted her teeth, “must be a better teacher.” Not to mention, Taryn didn’t have a hundred pairs of eyes on her, calculating how weak she was at every interval. Nesta chanced another bite. She was starving, but she didn’t want Cassian to know that. 

“There are things, Nes, that you’d learn in lessons with me. You would be a hell of a lot more impressive if you could back all of your threats up.”

Tch- Nes. She eyed her fork, wondering how hard it would be to stab him with it.

“You could do that, too,” he said, reading the direction of her stare. “I could teach you how to turn anything into a weapon. Even a fork.”

She ignored him, taking another delicate bite of the fruit she had been mercifully provided. It made the sloppy porridge bearable. At the height of their poverty, the Archerons hadn’t been able to afford delicacies like strawberries. They couldn’t even afford salt.

Nesta chewed quietly. Suddenly, something clicked in her head. ‘So well, she’s been promoted.’ “What do you mean?” she demanded.

“Huh?” Cassian looked at her funny, and her jaw tightened.

“What do you mean Taryn has ‘been promoted’?” Something clawed at her insides, threatening to escape.

“No one told you? Taryn is going with Az and Tris out to Montesere for the week. Something about needing her as a statement piece for good intentions.”

“Who else would have fucking told me, Cassian. You’re the only one here. Feyre hasn’t visited, Elain-” she swallowed hard. “When does she leave?” This had Rhysand written all over it, and Feyre? Why would she let him put Taryn up to this?

Cassian glanced at the clock. “They left before dawn. It’s a long flight out there, and they’ll need breaks for their wings.”

Nesta tamped down a growl of anger. Why hadn’t Taryn said anything? She could have found Nesta, explained. That anger paused. Nesta still hadn’t spoken to her since… well, since their last fight. The Prison, The Hewn City. Everything the Inner Circle had planned to put Nesta through still pinched at her mind. Silence was not what she owed Taryn, but she couldn’t bring herself to say thank you just yet. The wound still pulsed, bleeding her out each time it reopened with her thoughts. 

“A week,” Nesta asked, drowning out the silent roaring in her mind.

Cassian nodded. He stuck another spoonful of porridge into his mouth, swallowing it down. “Why does it even matter to you, you haven’t been speaking to her.”

Nesta hadn’t realized they noticed. She had only imagined the tension to be between her and her sister. It wasn’t supposed to be a visible rift, only a quiet, temporary thing. “Why didn’t they ask me to do it? I could’ve-”

“Are you fucking kidding Nesta? You haven’t participated in anything we’ve asked of you for months. You won’t even pick up a training sword.” 

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Because I shouldn’t have to involve myself in your schemes at all.”

“Well, there’s your answer. No one wants to touch you with a ten foot pole. They trusted Taryn,” he added quietly, under his breath, “for some reason.”

She wanted to yell. She wanted to march upstairs and find Taryn. They could figure something out. She was gone. Nesta was stuck here, with Cassian, without even Azriel as a buffer, useless as he was in her arguments with Cassian. They were long gone. She needed a drink, a fuck, something. What if she got hurt, what if something went wrong? Nesta didn’t trust Tristan, not even Azriel. They were still Rhysand’s court, no matter how much they played nice. Taryn wasn’t cut out for this.

She felt her lungs seize, and she held a breath. The rapid beating of her heart rose with her panic. She needed a distraction. The door to the ten thousand steps was already open, the faelights in the hall dimmed to near darkness. Her boots scuffed on the stones as she approached, glancing behind her to make sure Cassian was staying put. This was her business. 

She began the descent.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2023. THAT WE MAY LIVE and NO EDGES from Two Lines Press.

NO EDGES came in my Migrations subscription box earlier this year, and I finally got around to reading it this week! It's a collection of Swahili fiction translated to English. I love little multi-author anthologies because it's the perfect amount of taste testing without committing. My favorites were A Neighbor's Pot by Lusajo Mwaikenda Israel and the excerpt from Nakuruto by Clara Momanyi.

Up next is THAT WE MAY LIVE, which is speculative Chinese fiction in translation! The whole series of books looks really cool, so I'll probably be adding all of these to my library piecemeal.

[thelonelyshore-if]

I'm currently writing the very first kiss of the game after spending most of today writing arguments and I'm having soooo much fun. The Horrors and big, messy, emotional scenes are great but sometimes I forget how endlessly hyped I am to start the romances!!! I love love <3

[sysig]

You say “Jump” I say “Forget it” (Patreon)

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

nothing gives me that awful not on purpose alienated feeling of "not like other girls (derogatory)" like reading the cutesy little real slice of life tidbits my fellow novelists post. "my silly little dog barked at a squirrel! as if she would know what to do with it!" I'm still grieving my recently crossed over dog who was bred to hunt boar and would politely catch and eat rabbits only when I was distracted, who was also battle arena champion of the dog park with the drug deals and street prostitutes working the parking lot. "I've baked a scrumptious old timey cake!" I'm slamming back my second protein shake of the day and eating my three egg whites. what's a roux. "Oh! I've gone back to partner dancing! So strenuous!" Me, shins covered in bruises from pole or muay thai, possibly bleeding from the mouth, who knows?: idk man I'm not sure i go here.

[voidimp]

honestly as someone who never really got into lotr but independently also came up with the idea that the most sensible way to handwave everyone in a fictional setting speaking english & using terms that would have no reason to have originated in that setting is to just pretend its all a translation/localization of whatever language theyre actually speaking, it was such a relief to learn that tolkien also did that. like oh ok so im not crazy for wanting to do it that way. or like, maybe i am, but at least in the same way that a wildly successful fantasy author was, so i think im good

[dataframe]

i'm leaving it off just after chapter 10 because otherwise i will be reading this for the rest of the night without properly processing it but truly. truly. this series was made for me. everything abt these two already i am so curious to see where it goes...

[bewitched-by-sorns-tiddies]

.

[hellyeahsickaf]

I found an extremely dope disability survival guide for those who are homebound, bedbound, in need of disability accommodations, or would otherwise like resources for how to manage your life as a disabled person. (Link is safe)

It has some great articles and resources and while written by people with ME/CFS, it keeps all disabilities in mind. A lot of it is specific to the USA but even if you're from somewhere else, there are many guides that can still help you. Some really good ones are:

How to live a great disabled life- A guide full of resources to make your life easier and probably the best place to start (including links to some of the below resources). Everything from applying for good quality affordable housing to getting free transportation, affordable medication, how to get enough food stamps, how to get a free phone that doesn't suck, how to find housemates and caregivers, how to be homebound, support groups and Facebook pages (including for specific illnesses), how to help with social change from home, and so many more.

Turning a "no" into a "yes"- A guide on what to say when denied for disability aid/accommodations of many types, particularly over the phone. "Never take no for an answer over the phone. If you have not been turned down in writing, you have not been turned down. Period."

How to be poor in America- A very expansive and helpful guide including things from a directory to find your nearest food bank to resources for getting free home modifications, how to get cheap or free eye and dental care, extremely cheap internet, and financial assistance with vet bills

How to be homebound- This is pretty helpful even if you're not homebound. It includes guides on how to save spoons, getting free and low cost transportation, disability resources in your area, home meals, how to have fun/keep busy while in bed, and a severe bedbound activity master list which includes a link to an audio version of the list on Soundcloud

Master List of Disability Accommodation Letters For Housing- Guides on how to request accommodations and housing as well as your rights, laws, and prewritten sample letters to help you get whatever you need. Includes information on how to request additional bedrooms, stop evictions, request meetings via phone, mail, and email if you can't in person, what you can do if a request is denied, and many other helpful guides

Special Laws to Help Domestic Violence Survivors (Vouchers & Low Income Housing)- Protections, laws, and housing rights for survivors of DV (any gender), and how to get support and protection under the VAWA laws to help you and/or loved ones receive housing and assistance

Dealing With Debt & Disability- Information to assist with debt including student loans, medical debt, how to deal with debt collectors as well as an article with a step by step guide that helped the author cut her overwhelming medical bills by 80%!

There are so many more articles, guides, and tools here that have helped a lot of people. And there are a lot of rights, resources, and protections that people don't know they have and guides that can help you manage your life as a disabled person regardless of income, energy levels, and other factors.

Please boost!

[thistle-wrote]

Husbands

cw: established poly relationship, anal, vaginal sex. Authors note: for the first time in my life, I get to give one of those ridiculous notes to preface my fic. as I was writing this my house was swarmed with BEES so I'm sorry if it's bad lmfao. John Price X Simon Ghost Riley X Reader.

“John?” John glanced over at you, his focus mostly on the newspaper in his hand.

“Yes, princess?” 

“Love, why is Simon in the guest bed?” You question him, you weren’t upset by any means, truth be told you love it when Simon comes over, even more when he stays for a while it’s just when John crawled into your bed last night he hadn’t mentioned Simon was with him.

“Probably because he’s tired.” John said not looking up from the paper, it was the kind of plain, dry statement you usually got from your otherwise adoring husband. You met his gaze with a rather unamused expression, a silent demand for an actual answer.

“Needed some love from baby girl, that's all, we had a rough go round this time.” He states, leaning back farther into his recliner. You watch him as he gives a slight wince at the pain in his side. You hate that. John was clearly feeling as though that statement was enough of an explanation, and for the most part, it was.

You understood little of your husband’s job beyond the simple and watered down explanations he gives when he comes back from missions, still, you understood enough to know they needed extra love and care for a while afterwards, Simon is no different except for the fact he’s easier to deal with.

You make your way down the hallway, feeling the soft new carpet that you begged John for beneath your feet, muffling your steps. You open the door to the guest bedroom to find Simon sprawled out on the small bed.

“Si?”  You cautiously speak, you know for a fact he is not sleeping, the man rarely sleeps as is but definitely not in a bed two sizes too small and especially not after going through God knows what.

“Honey.” You probe again, walking now fully into the room and sitting down on the white crinkly duvet next to where he’s lying. His eyes are open but still, you get no response, you look him over noticing the new cut on his cheek, the facial hair he hasn’t bothered to shave yet, the bags under his eyes, the way his blonde hair sticks up in every direction from tossing and turning all night.

You never have loved the way he looks after a mission, always worse off than John, you know that John just hides it better but you worry for them both.

“Gotta tell me what you need, baby boy.” You mutter trying not to let the worry in your face show while brushing your fingers along the curve of his cheek, feeling the rough stubble that he will no doubt shave within a few days. He looks up at you, for a brief moment you can see the relaxed expression, like for a second he forgot about everything, everything but you. 

“I’m hungry.” A soft smile finds its way to your face. You lean down to place a soft kiss to his chapped lips.

“I’ll make you something.” 

As you cook you think of Simon, of John, you think of how lucky you are to not only have an amazing husband but to have the man in your guest bedroom. John doesn’t say it enough and Simon won’t ever admit it but the three of you have found a rhythm, this is Simon’s home as much as it was yours and John’s. It’s better when he’s home.

“Cookin’?” John asks after a few minutes, walking halfway into the kitchen and leaning onto the door frame.

“Yes.” You respond softly looking up with a smile, where John and Simon differ is mostly in the way that they treat you, neither one bad or wrong but different. John saw you, his little wife, as some sort of angel; he’s told you as much. He never asks or demands anything of you. You don’t work; you only cook or clean out of your own volition. To him, you’re more of a precious artifact that can’t be tampered with.

Simon is different, he’s a little more closed off, so you need a more aggressive approach, he’s learned over the years that your demands for him to tell exactly what he wants will be met with not hostility, but a soft hand and a loving voice, doing for him exactly what he needs. You’re sure that John wanted breakfast just as much as Simon did, but John would never ask for it.

As you cook, John remains in the kitchen, not speaking, but there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, it’s comfortable, loving, and warm despite John’s current condition he wants to be in your presence.

After a long stretch of comfortable silence, you speak again. “Simon looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.” You mutter. You know that despite him not always behaving like he does, John cares as much for Simon as you do. Simon and John have a relationship that is difficult to explain, not only in how John allows him into both your home and marital bed. But also, how John relies on Simon to take care of you when he can’t, to meet you at the petrol station to fill your tank when he’s closer, to call and check on you when his phone dies. John expects Simon to have the same kind of care for you as he does.

“He hasn’t.” John’s simple statement makes you stand on edge a little, you love Simon, John knows that. You know when they are gone doing things that they won’t explain to you, Simon has John to look out for him, but they are men. A pat on the back from John does not have the same effect that a tender embrace or a home cooked meal does.

Once the simple meal of toast, eggs, and sausage was cooked, you made John a plate, sitting in front of him with a small clink of ceramic against the granite island. He smiled, a wordless “thank you.“ as you made Simon a plate carrying it with you to the guest bedroom.

You didn’t bother with a knock when you entered the bedroom. You set the plate on the nightstand, then sat in the same spot you had previously.

“Sit up, love.” It’s a demand, a loving demand, but a demand, nonetheless. He does as requested.  You never wish for Simon to be wearing a shirt, but at this moment, seeing the bruise along his torso and the bandage on his arm, makes you almost wish he were wearing one. Your incessant need to mother your men at war with your desire to focus only on what you could control; you could control breakfast.

“Here.” You hum, placing the plate on his lap. His tired eyes find yours. As Simon eats, you don’t move, you just chatter, talking to him, as though he were responding you watch his silent nods as he shovels food into his mouth as if he would never get to eat again.  As Simon finished his plate you began to pick it up, taking it to clean when you felt a big rough hand wrap around your wrist.

“Don’t go.” His deep voice echoed through the room, not loud, or demanding but a clear plea. You nodded, understanding what he needed in that moment was not breakfast in bed or space but rather just your presence. 

You move over the bed, making a mental note to buy him a bigger bed for the guest bedroom since he’s the only one who stays in it. You cautiously curl up into his side, pushing your legs beneath the covers to intertwine them with his own. Simon wrapped his arms around you and sighed deeply.

It was a satisfied sigh. You let the large man manhandle you, allowing him to pull you where he sees fit with your head now resting against the inside of his shoulder and your fingers grazing along his tummy. He speaks finally for the first time without you prompting him to do so. “Missed you.” It’s quiet like a confession he doesn’t feel he’s allowed to make.

“I missed you too, baby.”  You don’t hold the same reservation about voicing your adoration for the man curled up next to you. A soft kiss grazed your lips as he pulled you further into his chest.

“Love you.” he murmured against your lips, your want to say it back was stopped by his mouth, continuing to move against yours, holding your arm, as if he feared you trying to pull away. Things with Simon have always been silent, actions rather than words. While he is silent, you are fully aware he is asking for something in the way his hands wandered from your arm to the small of your back, to your ass. 

A desperation to be close, close where your bodies can meld together. When his lips moved from yours to your neck you let out an involuntary little whine. His soft, loving kisses, turned into something more, an outlet.

“Si.” You whine out. He, despite being tired and drained from the past month, let out a laugh and an almost condescending chuckle, sure the sweet boy had been waiting for soft kisses and breakfast in bed, getting to cuddle with the captain’s missus but he was hungry and not for food.

You let out a little gasp when his hand slipped down the front of your leggings. “Si.” You repeated it again this time, breathless, longing.  He let out a groan when his fingers swept between your folds.

“There’s my girl.”  He said, his fingers gliding along your slick sex. You had no words left, no protests either. Already the world around you grew hazy, and before you knew what happened, your T-shirt and leggings were in a heap on the floor.

Simon took his time watching, touching, kissing. He drew orgasm after orgasm from your body with just the deep plunge of his fingers.

“Well, that’s a pretty sight.”  A deep voice hummed from the doorway. Normally, you would acknowledge the presence of your husband but the way your lover was working his fingers into you could make even the smartest of women feel dumb.

Simon didn’t respond, just glanced over through his dilated pupils, merely continuing as John crossed the bedroom sitting down on the duvet.  For a moment you thought he would just watch His lieutenant pull sweat noises from your lips, but you believed you may have seen God when his thumb made contact with your clit.

“Give us another, pretty girl.”  You weren’t sure in that moment exactly who the words came from; you were unable to respond. All you knew was that the words were being spoken to you. 

And you did, not that you could help it. It was almost instantaneous, the way your body tensed before releasing. You drenched Simon’s torso, you didn’t even realize what you’d done at first, you squirt so rarely.  Once their hands came to a halt, you blinked you opened your eyes. Embarrassment worked its way onto your already pink cheeks.

“I’m s…” Your apologies were instantly cut off. “Shut up.” The words weren’t mean despite the quickness and aggression in them. It wasn’t mean, it was desperate. Shirts were ripped off, pants unzipped. While you lay there heaving and trying to come down from your high.

There was zero protest from you when you were lifted from your spot on the bed. You were pulled to lay on top of Simon‘s chest. Even in your limp and already fucked out state, you had half of mind to protest simply because of his bruise. The words died in your throat though, as your husband knelt in front of you.

“Be good okay, Pretty?” John said, positioning your legs, pushing your knees against your shoulders as Simon held the underneath of your thighs. You nodded, both men seemingly took that as their go ahead.

Simon pushed himself into you, a sensation you had gotten used to throughout the years. He was big, but he likes your ass, so it’s not an abnormal feeling either. You whine and wiggle a little at first, but as he settles, your body got used to the stretch, as you tipped your head back John too, began nudging your wet hole with the reddened, hard tip of his cock.

John, however, did not give you the same consideration as Simon, there was no time to get used to the stretch. He plunged himself to the hilt, touching your cervix. In an instant it was as if everyone let out a sigh of relief, like this, despite the responsibilities and lives of every person, was exactly where they were all meant to be.

Both of your men began moving, each at their own pace. Each grunting and groaning. You don’t believe in heaven, it has always seemed an abstract concept. But this? This has to be it.

As they both rutted into you, you whined. “Don’t start crying on me now, princess.” John’s deep voice commanded. You obey as best you can. Simon squeezes on your thigh as he continues his relentless pace. The huffing and gripping onto his arms is all you can do to keep from screaming in pleasure.

They each continue with rapidly increasing speeds, speaking filthy things to you as they near their individual climaxes. “Milkin’ me fokin’ dry.”  The first words from Simon’s mouth in a while, an indication of just how close he was. 

John was not far off, his breathing was rapid, his grip on your knees nearing on painful. His strokes got harder, rougher. Then all at once you could feel him snap, you could feel the warmth of him spilling into you. His pace slowed as he rode out his orgasm.

Simon did not stop. Soon his pace too slowed as he filled you up with him. 

You all lay there for a moment, no one speaking. Just breathing in the comfortable, love filled space. You always know exactly what to do to give them the little TLC they need.

CoD Masterlist

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Been Keeping It Down

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him.

Almost as much as he might love you.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! I love thinking a fic will be 5k and then. it's not.

Word Count: 8.3k

“Why’d you lock him in the car?”

“Uh,” Sam scratches the back of his neck, letting out a long, slow breath. “I didn’t. He sorta locked himself in there.”

Your nose wrinkles, and you lean a little further down, trying to get a better look at Dean.

He’s sprawled out on the back bench, knocked out and drooling onto the seat. 

He looks adorable.

His hair is mussed, his eyes keep fluttering slightly, and if you climbed over him he’d probably be just as strong and warm as when he yanks you into his chest, making sure you don’t stumble or trip during a hunt. 

You can’t crawl over him while he’s asleep. You’re not sure if he’d want you to, or if you’d just get shoved off his body with a grunt and glower. Ruining everything, and bombing the careful fantasy you’ve built where maybe Dean flirts with you a little more than other girls, and maybe he gets so pissed at you because he cares, and there’s a small, thin chance that he likes catching you just as much as you like falling into him.

And you’re never going to tell him you do it on purpose. That it’s dumb, and reckless, and pathetic, but sometimes you’ll be a little less cautious, just so Dean will grab you. So his arms will wrap around your stomach, he’ll glare at you with enough venom to make your skin hot, and you can smile up at him like nothing’s wrong. It couldn’t be, as long as Dean was holding you.

But something is certainly wrong right now.

“And he let you drive?”

Sam shrugs awkwardly. “He’s sick.

You give him a flat look. “I’ve seen Dean drive when he was actively bleeding out.”

“From his stomach.”

“So?”

“It’s- He could still drive.” Sam’s voice is lame, as if he doesn’t even believe what he’s saying. “This was a fever. He’s not lucid.”

“Sam.” There’s panic rising in your chest, hot and tight and suffocating, but you force your voice to remain flat. “If he’s not lucid, we need to take him to a hospital-“

“No! I-“ Sam’s eyes widen, darting between you and Dean at a frantic pace. “It’s- He’s fine! It’s a magic fever.”

“A magic fever-“

“Witches. He hates them.”

“I know that-“

“He just needs to sleep it off,” Sam’s voice is suddenly firm and determined, and something is very wrong. “It’ll be easier if we don’t bother him.”

“But-“

“Can you got get some ice from town?”

You frown. “We have ice.”

“Right.” Sam glances back to Dean. “What don’t we have?”

“I don’t know, I don’t do audits while you guys are gone-“

“Do we have soda?”

“I don’t know-“

“Pie?”

You let out a long, slow breath, and Sam is very close to being punched in the face. “We have pie. We always have pie. Sam, what’s going on-“

“I just- I need to get Dean out of the car. And I-“ Sam swallows, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m not supposed to let you help.”

Your mouth falls open, something tearing up your chest that’s made of Dean doesn’t want your help, he knows how useless you really are and he can’t even imagine you carrying him to bed.

Sam must see the shatter of your heart, just a layer under your face, because he shakes his head, and his words are quick.

“No it’s- it’s not like that-“

“I’m fine.” You mumble, drawing yourself to stand tall, keeping your gaze firmly fixed away from Dean. “You don’t have to-“

“He might be contagious.”

You give him a dry look. “You’re still going to touch him, though.”

“I was in the car with him.” Sam mutters, not fully meeting your gaze. “I’m already exposed. And there are some, uh- Weird side effects. To the curse.”

“Weird? Weird like-“ You cut yourself off at Sam’s apologetic expression, letting out another heavy sigh. “You can’t tell me.”

“He just- You know Dean. It’s a weird curse, and doesn’t want you to have to deal with it-“

“I wouldn’t mind.” You mumble, frowning down at your hands, and you can feel Sam’s look of pity.

“I told him that, he… Didn’t seem to care.”

You glance up, and your voice has to remain neutral. You’re almost certain Sam knows—he must, he’s seen you trail after Dean like a shadow on every case, laugh at all his stupid jokes, run to him whenever he so much as stubs his toe, and glare at him every time he gets hit on and basks in it because you love him too much to hate him for it, and that makes your skin blister—but that doesn’t mean you have to admit it.

It doesn’t matter if you admit it. 

Even if Dean flirts with you, it’s still just flirting. He flirts with everyone. And he’s never really shown that he’d want anything more with you. Maybe just skin on skin in the dark, but not his lips on your brow in the morning, and you head resting on his chest in the dead of night. 

Not what you’d need. What you’ve needed, from the moment he appeared over you on the street, both of you drenched in the blood of a decapitated vamp, Dean offering you a hand that once you took, you never wanted to release. 

But Sam knows that too. He was there when Dean asked you to stick with them, and you had an expression like the Sun had dropped at your feet and asked you to orbit around it forever. Sam’s noticed that you never even try to sleep around, and that whenever someone hits on you at a bar you never take it past smiles and words. 

You think Sam believes you have more dignity than you actually do, though. That if Dean offered you just one night, you wouldn’t take it in a heartbeat. That you’d keep coming back like an addict, until Dean decided he was done giving you what you crave. Sam thinks you wouldn’t break yourself for Dean. 

It’s sweet, that he thinks that highly of you.

That doesn’t make him right.

“Can you-“ You pause, trying to find the right thing to say, that will just give you a chance to help. “If there’s anything-“

“I’m gonna talk to him. He’s being- You know.”

Sam glances back to Dean, and you do know. Dean’s never been good at asking for help. 

He’s still fully knocked out and snoring so loud you can hear it through the windows. 

Still adorable.

And when he’s finally up, and feeling better, you’re going to shove his stupid, broad chest and yell at him that no magical side-effect could ever make you not want to help.

For now, you’re going to take one of the spare cars and drive in circles, until the ache in your chest hurts just a little less. And when Dean calls for you, you’ll be there.

You’ll always be there.

But he doesn’t call for you.

The day passes and turns into night, and the night turns into another day, and then suddenly it’s all blurring together and it’s been a week. And you haven’t spoken to Dean once.

You only know he’s in the bunker because you can see the light from under his door, and food is vanishing that Sam would never touch. When you wake up there’s enough coffee left over for you to have a cup, just like every morning, but usually Dean is leaning against the counter and waiting for you to join him. Now it’s just the mug out and the pot half-full. Same as how books keep going missing from the library before reappearing the next day, but Dean never once even wanders into the room. The Impala is gone for hours, and then you’ll check the garage again and it’s back. Dinner gets made, but you never see it. Dean doesn’t appear over your shoulder in the library and call you to dinner, you just wander into the kitchen and find it made.

“He’s avoiding me.”

Sam shakes his head, not looking up from his laptop. “No, he’s not.”

“I haven’t seen him once-“

“He’s still sick.”

“Sam-“

Sam says your name back, and when he looks up, there’s a heavy exhaustion in his gaze. “I’m working on it. He’ll be fine, the fever broke, but Dean- I can’t tell you.”

“Why.” Your voice is desperate, but the ache in your chest has only grown. You miss him. Even ignoring the in love with him thing, Dean’s your best friend. You miss talking to him while he cooks, and bothering him with the books you’ve read, and trying to see who can fit the most marshmallows in their mouth. 

But he’s avoiding you. Even if Sam won’t say it, you know he is. You’ve tried to catch him. You get up an hour earlier, but he’s already gone. You try and stay up for a whole day just to see him—to make sure he’s okay, and that he didn’t die and Sam just hasn’t figured out how to tell you—but you pass out around 4am and wake up with a blanket over your body, and another three books gone. The next time the Impala is gone you sit in the garage all day, leave once to go to the bathroom, and come back to it returned and Dean nowhere in sight.

You don’t understand why.

“I-“ Sam exhales, shaking his head again. “I wish I could tell you. But that- You know I trust you. Dean trusts you. But explaining it- I’d be violating Dean’s trust. I’m sorry.”

He looks it. Sam’s expression is tired, and you can hear the strain in his voice, but it doesn’t make anything hurt less. 

Dean’s avoiding you.

And you just want to see him. To know what’s wrong, so you can tell him you don’t care about the curse.

That evening, you try to camp the kitchen. Dinner never comes out that night, and around eight, Sam wanders in and asks if you can just order.

“No.” You mutter, sitting cross-legged on the counter, and Sam sighs.

“I’m hungry,” he says your name with a pleading tone. “I know you’re hungry too. And I’m going to order for myself, so just text me if you want anything and I’ll pick it up while I’m out-“

“I don’t want anything.”

Sam gives you a sympathetic look, and you want to curl into yourself and hide. It can’t be that obvious. Even if Sam knows, there’s no way he knows-

“If you’re waiting for him, he’s not going to come out.”

You scowl, shooting Sam a glare. “So he is avoiding me.”

Sam sighs your name. “I- Yeah. He is.”

“Why-“

“I can’t-“

“Tell me.” You finish for him, rubbing at your face as you continue, until it’s raw enough to hurt a little. “Yeah, I got it. Is he-“ You have to swallow on a lump in your throat. “Is he okay?”

“He will be.” Sam mutters. “I- I think I’ve almost got it.”

“Can I help?”

Sam shakes his head, and you swallow, leaning down until your back is flat on the table.

“Okay.”

“Do you, uh- Want anything?”

You want to help. To understand. 

Dean.

You want Dean.

“No.”

There’s a silence for a second, and you’re convinced Sam is gone, right up until he mutters your name. His voice is impossibly soft.

It just makes this hurt more. 

“He’s in his room. And he knows you’re in here. He’s not going to come out.” Sam sighs. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

You frown at the ceiling, trying to work out what that means, but by the time you sit up Sam is gone. 

Dean’s in his room. And he’s not going to come out. And it does not take a few hours to pick up dinner, but Sam will be gone anyway, and- 

Oh. 

Okay.

You slide off the counter, keeping your steps soft as you walk down the hall, and stop in front of Dean’s room.

“Dean?” You knock, and he’s not a subtle as he thinks he is. 

The noise from the TV turns off. 

“Dean,” You knock again, still to no answer. “I know you’re in there.”

Nothing. 

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it in-“

“Don’t.”

His voice is barely a grunt. But it’s the first time you heard it in a fucking week, and a sob rises to your throat. 

He’s alive. He can talk, and he’s been avoiding you, but he’s okay. 

“Fuck, Dean, are you-“

“Don’t come in here.” His voice is rising slightly, and something starts to prickle over your skin. 

It’s the same feeling you get on a hunt, when something is just a little off. 

A warning.

“Dean-“

“Please.” There’s a desperation in his voice, and it just makes the prickle grow into a stinging itch. “Don’t.”

“Don’t-“ You swallow. “Don’t what?”

You can hear his deep breath through the door. “Come inside.”

“De-“

“Just- If you need something, go ask Sammy-“

“I don’t need anything, Dean.” I just need you. “I want to talk.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “We’re talking right now.”

“This doesn’t count, I want to see you-“

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I’m not dying,” Dean snaps your name. “You don’t need to help.”

There’s a harsh tone to his voice that you’ve rarely heard in your direction. The tone he uses on hunts and when he and Sam are fighting. His pissed tone.

He’s serious.

But it’s only making the itch feel like a burn. You need to see him. Just for one second, so you know he’s not lying, and he has to look you in the eyes and admit that he’s been avoiding you. He doesn’t get to be pissed when he’s been dodging you. That’s not how this fucking works.

You want to help, still.

But Dean does not get to be angry about that.

“I’m going to open the door.”

Dean hisses your name. “I’m tellin’ you, don’t-“

“I won’t if you give me a reason-“

“I don’t want you to see me.”

You freeze, your hand hovering up to push open the door, and your heart might have frozen and dropped into your stomach. 

He didn’t want you. Doesn’t want you. Not just your help, but to see you at all. He doesn’t want you, and your heart is fracturing in strange places you didn’t know it could break—but you should have, only Dean has ever been able to touch them—and Dean doesn’t want you-

“Fuck, are you- Son of a bitch-“ 

There’s a shuffling and banging sound from the other side of the door, and the world is blurry. It might have something to do with the soreness in your throat and the choked sound you couldn’t stop from escaping. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart-“

“I’m not.” You take a step back from the door, your hand falling back to your side. “I- Sam’s out, if you need something, call him.”

“I know, it’s-“ He sounds closer than before. “It’s complicated, but I’m not pissed at you-“

“So why are you avoiding me.”

The silence is tight. Long. You can hear Dean’s heavy breathing through the door, and your fingers are straining to touch him, to make it better, but he doesn’t want you.

“I’m not crying, Dean.” Your voice has to be neutral. He already has your heart resting somewhere stronger than just the palm of his hand, he doesn’t get to have every other piece of you too. Not when he’d only toss it right back. “I know you got cursed, and I know you don’t want my help, but you don’t need to be- I would help. I’d always help. You’re my friend-“

There’s a dry, slightly muffled chuckle through the door. “Friend, huh.”

“Yeah, I am.” You raise your chin—he can’t see it, but it makes you feel better—and narrow your eyes at the door. “And I know you’re avoiding me, so don't try to deny it-“

“Can’t.”

You blink. “What?”

“Can’t deny it.” He grunts. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I- Oh.” The world is getting blurry again. He doesn’t get to have the rest of you. “Why?”

Dean groans, and you flinch as a heavy thud sounds from his room. “Fuck.”

“Dean-“

“Don’t ask me that.” He grunts, his voice right on the other side of the door. “Please.”

“I- Why?”

“Goddamnit, just stop asking me questions-“

“Dean, I need to know-“

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do-“

“Trust me,” he mutters your name. “You don’t.”

You scowl at the door. 

He doesn’t get to do this. No matter what type of righteous shit he’s got in his head, no matter what this curse is, Dean doesn’t get to just say he’s avoiding you, then not say why. Doesn’t get to tell you what to do when he won’t look at you. 

Doesn’t get to have all of you if he doesn’t really want it.

“Dean Winchester.” You move your hand back to the door, and you could swear you hear him stiffen. “You do not get to tell me what I need.”

He chuckles again, and you can hear it this time. The pain in the sound. “Then you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one-“

“I can’t trust you.” You cut him off with a snap. “Not when you won’t answer my questions. You can even lie, you just have to be convincing-“

“I- Fuck- I can’t!”

Dean’s voice has risen to a shout, and you pause. He sounds wounded. Like a distressed animal.

“I can’t goddamn lie.” He grunts, his voice lowered to something heavy. “The witch truth-roofied me, and I can’t say a lie.”

You frown. “Then why the fuck have you been avoiding me?”

“I- Shit,” he groans again. “There are some questions I don’t want you asking me. Safer for all of us.”

“Safer for you to ignore me-“

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“We haven’t spoken since you got back-“

“Cause I’ve been avoiding you-

“Which is better?” 

He pauses, his voice falling to a mumble. “No.”

You let out a soft, insane sounding laugh. You’re going to strangle him, or hug him, or shove him off a cliff before diving after him. He’s not stupid, but he can be such a fucking idiot.

“What were you planning on doing, when the curse was broken?” You lean against the door, keeping your voice dry. “Just popping up and acting like nothing ever happened?”

“Uh-“ Dean coughs. “Yeah? Are you pissed at me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh-“

“But.” You hum, watching the door as if you might be able to see Dean through it. “I’ll be less pissed if you tell me why.”

You can feel his glare. “I told you why, truth curse-“

“That’s a stupid reason. I know everything about you.”

There’s the chuckle again. “No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do-“

“I told you to trust me-“

“And I told you I can’t.” You take a slow, stuttering breath. “Please, Dean, we’ll be fine if you just tell me the truth-“

“No.”

“Dean-“

“You don’t want to know the truth-“

“I don’t even know that you’re actually cursed with that!” Your voice is rising, but he’s such an idiot, and you love him, and most of what you can feel is hot. Worry or anger or stress or just want. You want to see him, to help him, to punch him in the face and trust him. But you can’t. “For all I know, you’re lying to me right now-“

Your words are cut off with a yelp as the door swings open, and you stumble a step forward, right into-

Dean.

He’s catching you. Keeping your upright by pressing you right to his chest, his hands framing your face and his eyes boring right into yours. 

And he looks tired—bags under his eyes and his hair a little messy from lack of care—but he’s still Dean. Still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, strong and hot around you, a growl in his voice that you can feel vibrate through his chest as he speaks. 

“Ask me something.” 

You blink at him. “You said-“

“Not that. Anything else.”

“I-“ You swallow, unable to break his gaze. “Can you tell me something embarrassing?”

His jaw twitches, but you get a firm nod. “I used to hide hentai mags in Sam’s bag, so chicks wouldn’t see them and think they were mine. One time I ate a pie off a girl’s stomach, and I enjoyed the pie more than the sex. I tried one of Sam’s running smoothies and it wasn’t dogshit, but then I spent twenty hours of the toilet after. Body wasn’t ready for it, I guess. Uh- One time I got turned on by holding a book-“

“A book?” You frown at him. “What book?”

“Uh, Wicked.”

“Oh. I love that book.”

“I know.” He mutters, scanning over you carefully. “Do I look like I’m lying?” 

“No,” you whisper, your hands shoot up to hold Dean’s against your face. “I- No.”

“Good. You trust me?”

“I- Dean, I still need you to tell me why.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring slightly. 

You might be about to melt. You’ve never been this close to him, he’s never looked at you like this—as if he wouldn’t mind only looking at you for the rest of your life, or maybe he’d just like to eat you alive—and there’s a firmness to his voice that’s lighting a fire in your core. 

“I told you not to ask me that.” He mutters, and you shake your head.

“I need to know, Dean, please.” You pull your lips between your teeth. “You didn’t even talk to me, and you told Sam not to tell me, and it really- It wasn’t-“ You swallow, your voice turning to almost a whine, and you can’t stop it. “That wasn’t fair,  I thought you were mad at me and I just- I wanted to help-“

“I know you did, baby.” Dean sighs, and your lips part slightly. 

Baby.

“I’d never be mad at you,” he runs his thumb over your cheekbone, and it’s becoming really hard to not give him all of you. “I- You’re just- I-“

He’s moving before you know what’s happening. Diving down and pulling you up at the same time, crashing his mouth against yours with almost a bloody desperation, and you did melt. You’re all heat as your fingers curl against his chest, and his lips mold perfectly against yours, and he’s kissing you like you’re going to disintegrate and he’s going to die and he’s kissing you-

It’s over as soon as it starts. Your head is spinning, and your lips are already swollen from the bruising force of his kiss, but Dean’s drawing back with an almost frantic expression, stumbling back and leaving your swaying into the middle of the room. 

“I- Son of a bitch- I’m sorry-“

You blink at him, still a little dazed. “You’re sorry?”

Dean nods, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Shit- I shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart, I-“

“Why?” Your voice is soft, and he frowns at you. 

“You- I didn’t-“

“Dean.” You force yourself to stand tall, wrapping your arms around your stomach. He can’t do this. Just kiss you like that then say it shouldn’t have happened. He fucking kissed you. “Please just tell me why. I- You can’t just ignore me then do that and not say- You have to tell me why-“ You won’t cry. “Please-“

“I love you.”

Time might not be moving. Dean’s just staring at you from across the room, and you can’t really feel your legs, and- 

“What?” You whisper, and he shakes his head.

“I- I fucking love you.” He mutters, his gaze falling down to the floor. “And I know you deserve better, I do- But I always wanna tell you, and I would’ve, so I had to- I wasn’t tryin’ to piss you off, and I- Goddamnit, I never wanna make you cry, but you shouldn’t have to worry about turning me down-“

It’s your turn to move. You cross the room before Dean can keep saying stupid things, grab the collar of his shirt, and yank him back down into a kiss.

It’s even better than the first one. Dean falls into you in half a second, his arms flying out to hold you right to his chest, almost lifting you off the ground as he pushes his tongue between your lips, then groaning down your throat when you nip at it and wrap an arm around his neck. He tastes so good, and he fits better against you than you thought possible, and his hands are roaming all over you like he’s trying to check you’re real. 

You’ve never felt more real. There’s a wildfire spreading through your body, building as broad fingers brush against the bare skin of your back, and Dean’s mouth is starting to wander, sucking your upper lip between his teeth before starting to kiss down your neck, and his hand squeezes against your ass-

You move back, shoving his chest with all the strength you have, and he stumbles away, blinking at you with a wide, lust-blown expression.

“Never,” you poke his chest, glaring up at his dumbstruck, handsome face. “Do that again. I have loved you since I met you, Dean, you fucking idiot, and if you ever pull something like that again, I will shoot you with the gun you gave me.”

Dean blinks at you, and his face splits into a wide grin. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you-“

“Awesome.” He takes a step forward, and you stop him with a palm on his chest.

“Not awesome, Dean, I’m still mad at you-“

Your words turn into an unconvincing sigh as Dean grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, pulling you back into a longer, deeper kiss. 

It’s slow and soft, like you have all the time in the universe, and you feel as if you’re floating. Like everything is only light and warmth and the taste of Dean, lingering on your tongue when he hums against your lips, and pulls back with another wide, boyish grin.

“Here’s the deal, babygirl.” He tangles a hand in your hair, tipping your head back until your gaze is locked onto his. “You can kick my ass later, but right now I’d really like to give you a reason to stop being pissed at me. You want that?”

You pause, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “I still get to be mad later?”

Dean nods, leaning down to suck on the soft skin of your neck, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes your mouth. 

“Dean-“

“Lemme show you how much I mean it,” he hums against your skin. “Can’t lie right now, sweetheart, and you’re the prettiest things I’ve ever goddamn seen. Fuckin’ hated avoiding you, missed you so much-“

“I- Missed you too-“

“I know you did, c’mon, lemme take care of you-“

“Okay.”

He pulls back, watching you carefully. “You sure?” 

You nod eagerly, and his face splits back into a grin.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” your voice is breathy, and Dean’s grin widens. 

But he doesn’t get to get off that easy. 

“What do you want to do to me, Winchester?” You give him a teasing smirk, and his hands tense on your waist. “If you’ve been thinking about it that much…”

You raise your brows in a silent suggestion, and Dean groans.

“That’s not playing fair,” he leans back down, and you dodge, moving to kiss along his jawline. 

“Tell me what you want-“

“You’re starting something, sweetheart,” his words sound pushed through his teeth, and you giggle. 

“And you’re dodging the question- Dean-“

You squeak as his hand tangles in your hair, and he yanks you back to meet his gaze. 

He looks almost feral. Darkened eyes and full, swollen lips that are already parted with heavy breath. You’re pressed right against him, and his hand still on your waist is kneading your skin until you’re almost melted in the sheer heat and want, and-

He’s pressed right against your thigh. Hard. Big.

The ache between your legs is unbearable. You might come apart from nothing at all.

Or just from the sound of Dean’s voice, deep and rough and filled with hunger.

“I’ve wanted you since I saw you, baby,” he mutters, and when your hands shoot up to wrap around his neck and tug at his hair, a soft moan escapes his lips. “Son of a bitch, I want you all the fuckin’ time-“

“How?” You whisper, and his eyes flash.

“You really wanna know, sweet girl?” Dean starts to walk you backwards, towards his bed, and lets out a hiss when you yank on his hair again. 

“I’m asking-“

“I’ve thought about everything,” his voice is almost a growl, and you squeak as he tosses you back onto the mattress. “Thought about eating you out until you screamed, or just touching you to see what kinda sounds you’d make,” Dean pulls his shirt of as you gape up at him, before crawls over you with a wide grin. “Had dreams about those freakin’ sounds, how you’d moan for me if I did this-“

One big hand slides under your shirt, palming at your breasts before rolling a nipple between two fingers, and you fall fully back with a gasp. 

“Dean-“ You grab at his shoulders, squirming below him, and his grin grows, his hand wandering over to the other breast to repeat the movement. “Oh, god.”

“Nope.” Dean leans down, kissing you slow and deep, his hand starting to wander down your stomach, until he’s cupping you over your shorts. “Just me, sweetheart.”

You moan, shaking your head. “That’s so bad, De- Fuck-“

He smirks as his fingers slide under your shorts, and it falters for only a second as they find your bare pussy. 

“You’re not wearing any underwear.” He grunts, and you flush, turning your face into the pillow.

“Laundry day,” you mumble, and Dean chuckles.

“Sure, baby-“

“It is,” you twist to glare at him, and his grin just grows.

“I believe you,” he leans down, brushing his mouth right over yours, and you squeak as one finger trails between your pussy lips. “But I also believe you’re always this wet for me. And sometimes,” his thumb presses right over your clit. “You’d go bare and hope I’d just pin you down and fuck you.”

You moan shamelessly, your eyes wide and trapped on Dean’s and his voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard it. 

“I think you’ve touched yourself thinking of me, just like I touch myself thinking about you.”

There’s no chance to respond before his finger pushes inside of you, his thumb starting to rub slow circles around your pussy, and you’re flying. The only tether between the earth and pleasure, white-hot and perfect and teasing, is Dean’s voice, right in your ear. 

“Dream about your pretty mouth on my cock, babygirl. Or your hands, or being buried in the sweet pussy until you’re a perfect mess for me.” He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and your nails dig into his back. “Kinda like this, actually.”

“De- Shit,” a second finger pushes in with the first, and he’s still moving them so slow. “Feels good, so good-“

“Yeah, it does,” Dean groans, and your eyes flutter open to see him rutting against the mattress, his own face almost a mirror of your own desperation as he watches his fingers pump in and out of your cunt. “Jesus, you’re so pretty-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hands, and his eyes snap onto yours. “More.”

He blinks at you for a second, but then gives you a tight nod. 

His fingers crook inside of you, rubbing against that hot, spongey spot inside of you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. His thumb is gone from your clit, only giving it quick, frenzied flicks as you’re dragged right up to the edge, and he won’t look away from you-

Then he’s gone. You’re dangling right on the edge of release, but Dean yanks his fingers away with a taunting grin, and a high, pathetic sound escapes your throat. 

You start to grumble an incoherent protest, but it dies in your throat at the sight above you. 

He’s pushing your legs up to help you out of your shorts. He kisses against your calf before tossing everything into a corner of the room, and shoves your knees back apart. Then the two fingers push back into your for only a second, long enough to pull another moan from your throat, and Dean settles back between your legs with a grin.

Then he’s gone again. And one hand grabs your chin to keep your eyes trapped on his as he brings his fingers up to his mouth. 

Dean cleans his fingers of your arousal, his gaze never leaving yours, and a sound that’s awfully like a moan rumbling through his chest.

“Taste better than I dreamed,” he mutters, and you shudder with pleasure as he goes back, dragging those same fingers back over your soaked core, dipping slightly into your cunt like he’s trying to gather as much as he can. “Shit, I would’ve let a witch get the jump on me years ago if I knew I’d finally get to have this.”

You blink at him, your voice so soft and needy you almost don’t recognize it. “Years?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean nods, a slight blush seeming to creep over his cheeks, even as his thumb starts to drag slow circles around your clit. “Told you, sweetheart, you’ve been in since I saw you.”

“I- Why didn’t you-“

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d want it. Taste.”

You frown at him, opening your mouth to protest—your mind doesn’t seem to be able to wrap itself around not wanting Dean—but the sound falls into a moan as his fingers press on your lower lip. They’re soaked in your wetness, and asking for further permission, and under Dean’s almost adoring gaze, you don’t know how to do anything but grant it.

Dean groans as he pushes his fingers almost all the way down your throat, and you feel his still-clothed cock twitch against you when you start to suck.

“Jesus,” he mutters, pulling back with another one of those moans. “You’re so freakin’ perfect-“

“Dean,” you whine, scratching at his chest and bucking your hips up to try and grind over his bulge, but he just grunts, dropping his full weight down to pin you against the mattress.

“Not yet, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, wiggling below him, and his eyes flutter shut.

“God-“ He moans your name as you manage to get your legs free, wrapping them around his waist and rolling your hips against his still hidden cock. “Shit- Alright.”

Dean grabs you by your waist, and you yelp as he rolls you over without warning. Suddenly you’re straddling his bare chest as he pulls off his sweats, his gaze locked on yours the whole time. Then your shirt is being all but ripped off your body, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s got one hand on your ass and the other back on your jaw, hold your eyes down to his.

He mutters your name, and your fingers curl against his bare chest. “I’ve got a condom in the side drawer-“

“I’m clean.” Your words are too quick, and his eyes flash. “And I- I’m on birth control. If- If you’re- If you too-“

He laughs, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and the sound rolls through his chest, vibrating against your pussy and making your mouth fall open. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, baby.” Dean’s hands drift to grab you by the waist, and he shifts below you, making sure he’s more leaning against the headboard than flat on his back. “Hold on.”

His grip tightens, and a stupid, high sound leaves you as he picks you up and pushes you down onto his cock.

He’s big. And thick. And you’re being filled up so good, already cockdrunk and a little out of your mind at the feel of him splitting your open and pressing on all the right spots, but he’s not moving. Dean’s just watching you with a wide, adoring gaze, grunting whenever you try to grind against him and hissing when you clench around him.

“I said,” he lands a light slap on your ass, his eyes narrowing on yours. “Not yet. Wanna feel you, baby. We’re gonna stay just like this until you’re begging for it.”

You gape at him, every word coming up as only a gasp or whimper as you try to move again, and he hits your ass again, and Dean raises his brows.

“Good?”

You nod, leaning down to press your brow to his. “Just doesn’t seem fair.”

He frowns. “Fair- If you don’t-“

“I like this.” You mumble, ghosting a kiss over his lips. “A lot. Love it.”

Dean grunts, dragging you down into a full, deep kiss that makes it almost impossible not to squirm against him. 

“What’s not fair, then?” He hums against your lips, and now that he knows you’re good, he seems to be all back on teasing. “C’mon, baby, you can tell me-“

You shove his chest, and he laughs. He can’t keep doing that. It’s like a small vibrator against your clit, and he’s so handsome, and you don’t know how to not clench around him. But all that gets you is another slap of your ass, and you might be starting to drip down your thighs and onto Dean’s.

“Asshole-“

He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You love it.”

You do. “Never should’ve told you that,” you grumble, and he laughs again, and you might be on the brink of insanity.

“Too late. I know it now. Never gonna let you or this pretty pussy go neglected again, babygirl, so watch out.”

He pokes your side, grinning as you let out a squeaking giggle, but it quickly falls into a moan as his free hand moves up to play with your tits. 

“Dean-“

“I know,” he hums, flicking your nipple before leaning up to press a kiss over the hurt. “But you’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. Being such a good girl.”

You moan against, and Dean smirks.

“You like that, don’t you. Like being my good girl-“

“Dean.” You hiss, trying to grind against him, and whimpering at the next slap on your ass. “Fuck, please-“

“That’s closer.” He hums, resuming his movements on your tits. “But you still have to tell me what’s not fair.”

“It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, trying to regather your thoughts. “It’s not important-“

“Anything you think is important.” He mutters, and you swallow at the intensity in his gaze. “Tell me, baby. Then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Fuck. 

He can’t lie. 

And just from the expression on his face, you can almost feel how much he means it. 

“It’s just, I-“ You take a slow breath, watching him carefully. “What about you?”

Dean frowns. “What about me.”

“You had, um- a lot of ideas.” You trace your fingers over his tattoo, trying to focus on your words instead of Dean’s cock, hard and pressed into you and making you almost burn with desire. “And I- I just don’t want it to only be about me-“

You’re cut off as Dean laughs again, your words falling into a high, gasping moan, and almost in a reward, Dean slams himself up to meet the rolls of your hips. 

You still get a small spank for the movement. 

Worth it.

Dean drawls your name, looking up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “You think having you sit on my cock under you’re begging me to fuck you is about you?”

You flush, shaking your head weakly, and he chuckles again. 

You moan, fluttering around him, but this time the slap on your ass comes with Dean pinching your nipple, and slamming up until he’s hitting your cervix.

“Trust me, baby,” he grunts, squeezing your ass and tugging you back down into a long, slow kiss. “This is all about me.”

“But-“

“We’re gonna do all of that shit later,” Dean pulls back, just enough to hold your gaze, and his arm wraps around your back, pinning you firmly down. “Trust me, babygirl, I mean it. I’m gonna give you everything.”

“Dean-“

“But right now, I want you to come on my cock, and I want you to say please.” Something strange flashes over his expression, and his voice drops impossibly lower. “Need to know you mean it, sweetheart.”

Oh. 

You’re not under a truth curse. And Dean is adorable and handsome and strong below you, but he’s still Dean.

And you can see it in his eyes.

He’s still not sure you do mean it. 

You have nothing to do but prove him wrong.

“Dean.” You whisper, forcing your hips not to roll as you lean down, holding his gaze. “Please. I want it. Want it so bad. I dream about you and touch myself thinking about you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me, cause I love you and I need you, Dean. I’m going to go insane if you don’t fuck me, please.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters, his grip growing bruising on your hips. “Feel so good, baby, just need you to give me one more-“

“Please-“

Your voice turns into a long, heavy moan as Dean rolls your hips along his cock, and the whole world lights up with good.

“Good girl,” he mutters, and you throw your head back as he helps you repeat the movement, every single nerve in your body glowing with Dean. “Fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart. Take what you need.”

There might be something teasing to his voice, but you can’t really hear it. You can’t really think of anything past the feeling of him inside you, or the low sounds that you keep pulling out of his chest as you grind down. You’re riding Dean’s cock like your life depends on it, gasping his name whenever your clit rubs against his groin or his hips jerk, making him bump that sensitive spot deep inside of you.

And he’s a vision below you. Moaning your name and kneading at your ass, watching you move above him like he’s looking at all the stars in the sky. His lips are parted with heavy breathes, and one hand is drifting slowly up to the nape of your neck, squeezing slightly with his eyes wide on yours, and you tip your head back without a question.

Dean groans, his hand moving to grab your throat, and you move faster. He’s not holding you that tight, but there’s a possessiveness to his touch that’s like fire up your spine, and you want him to leave a mark. Want everyone to know that he’s yours, and he’s touching you, and-

“Fuck-“ Dean grunts your name, his grip squeezing slightly, and you move faster. “Shit- Sweetheart, you’re-“

His head throws back with a groan as you clench around him, chasing your release desperately, and you want him to come with you. You need him to. You need him to fill you up, to feel the burn of him in a week, to be so fucking ruined by him you can’t even walk-

“Dean,” you gasp, and his grip tightens even more. Stars are starting to dance behind your eyes. “So close, feels so good-“

“I know,” he grunts, and you gasp as his hips rut up. “Hold it, babygirl.”

You shake your head, grinding faster. “Can’t- Need you-“

You whimper as Dean squeezes your throat, and his eyes flash. “C’mon, sweet girl, be good for me-“

“I- Dean-“

He grunts, and you’re not sure when the shift happened, but you’re not in charge anymore. Dean’s arm is wrapped around your waist, pinning you against his chest as he surges up, his hand moving to your jaw to hold it still. The kiss is deep and bruising and all spit and teeth, and he’s fucking you. Drilling up into your aching cunt without relent, kissing all over your face and down your neck, over the small marks his hand left. Moving back to your mouth as you start to shudder around him, scraping at his shoulders in a plea for release and moaning down your throat. 

“Gonna cum,” he groans, his pace growing uneven. “Where-“

“In. Inside. Dean, just- Fuck-“

You almost scream as his thumb moves back to your clit, leaving a featherlight touch that’s somehow too much and not nearly enough. 

“Dean-“

“Cum on my cock, baby.” He growls, pressing his thumb down so hard it lights a firework in your whole body, and you don’t know how to do anything but listen.

Your orgasm hits your like a wildfire, sweeping through your whole body until your toes are curling and you’re slumped in Dean’s arms, and he meets you with one last, beautiful moan of your name and a slam of his hips home. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he fucks you through his release, making yours rise and crest once more, and when it’s done, everything feels sort of bright and dizzying. A high, cockdrunk giggle escapes your throat, and Dean groans.

“Shit-“ He mutters your name, and you realize you’d squeezed around him. “Goddamnit, that was-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, curling further into his chest. “Thanks.”

He chuckles, but it falls into another moan as you flutter around him once more. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”

Dean’s breathing is ragged in your ear, and you keep your arms wrapped tight around him as he pulls out. You don’t manage to stop your soft moan, feeling impossibly empty and raw from the absence of him, but it’s alright.

He’s still here. 

And now, he’s yours. 

Dean presses a soft kiss to your brow, his words soft in your ear. “You want me to clean you up, baby?”

You shake your head, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Don’t wanna move.”

“We made a mess-“

“Later.”

He chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You smile, and grab him a little tighter. “Are you still truth cursed?”

“Course I am. Wasn’t a sex curse, this is just a benefit-“

“Shut up.” You tug on his hair, and all you get is a laugh in return.

You lean back, just enough to meet his eyes, and he can’t have looked at you like this before. Like you’re his whole world, and he’d never want to ever be anywhere else but you. 

You would’ve seen it. 

You hope you would’ve.

“Did you mean it?” You whisper, and he frowns. 

“Mean what?”

“That you’ve loved me since we met?”

Dean’s jaw twitches, and he lets out a slow sigh. “I’ve wanted you since we met. Didn’t love you until a few months after. But it didn’t take much.”

You raise your brows, and he rolls his eyes. 

“You’re really taking advantage of how that I’m cursed, you know-“

“It was first sight for me.” You whisper, and his mouth snaps shut. “You saved me, then helped me stand up, and I felt like an idiot because I was in love with the stranger who just decapitated someone in front of me.”

Dean’s throat bobs. “You still feel like an idiot?”

“Yeah.” It’s only fair you’re honest, if he has to be. “But only because I spent years pretending, I didn’t love you, and didn’t get to have this.”

You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lip, and he lets out a soft sound that almost has you ready for round two. 

“You punched me.” He mutters, and you lean back with a curious expression.

“Huh?”

“That’s when I fell in love with you.” He mutters, rubbing slow circles on the skin of your hips. “I was trying to teach you how to shoot, but you’d never held a gun so you were shit at it. And I already liked you, so I was, uh- Kinda being an asshole. Pushing you too hard. And I said somethin’ about you not being able to defend yourself, and you suckered me right in my fuckin’ jaw. Started shouting at me about how I was being a dick, but- Um-“ He’s blushing, giving you an almost sheepish expression. “Didn’t hear a word you said. Think I was making heart eyes or something. Remember thinking I’m either marrying you, or no one.”

You can’t stop your wide, almost idiotic smile, but it’s worth it. Dean mirrors it right back, and his eyes flutter as your run your hand carefully through his hair. 

“I love you.” You whisper. “And I can punch you again, if you want.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, and leaning up to pull you down into a long, slow kiss. And you can feel it, in this one. How he really has been as hungry for this as you have. How—just as you don’t think you ever want to move from his lap, even if the rapture floods the world and the sky starts to fall—he never plans to let you go.

“That can be one of our later things,” he mutters, tracing his tongue over your lower lip. “Right now I just wanna sit with my girl.”

You beam, nipping at his tongue. “Who you love?”

“Yeah.” He snorts, squeezing your ribs and grinning as you jump, almost falling over him with a whine. “Who I love.”

End Note: The Dean Winchester mind cannot comprehend that he is lovable (I am going to force that knowledge down his throat).

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@jofinka

[em1i2a3]

Now that I know asks are open *rubs hands*

I got a bit of juicy drama for you! A magic user!reader who is in a stable relationship with bob. The rest of the team know but they all keep things on the quiet. But Valentina finds out and wants to make a PR stunt out of it.

All The Rage Back Home

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Magic User!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob have been in a relationship for eight months, and somehow everything has managed to stay extremely stable…That is until Valentina Allegra de Fontaine gets her hands on it.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob is in this and on top of that some little plot points are mentioned. No warnings apart from that, there’s some fluff though? Yeah some fluff

Author’s Note: Hehehehe, we love drama, we love drama a lot, and we love when Valentina caused the drama because that just makes it even better. I didn’t know what kind of magic to choose so I settled on Necromancy? There’s too many magical powers to choose from lol. :)

Word Count: 3,641

The room smelled like incense, lemon, and sage–sharp, earthy, and a little sweet. It clung to the linens, soaked into the floorboards, and drifted in the morning light like a second skin over the space. It was one of the things Bob loved most about your room, though he never said it the same way twice.

Most times he would hold you close and quietly ask where you got it–like maybe if he got it bottled, he would be able to bring a piece of you into every room he walked into. But more often than not, he just took in a larger breath of air the second he crossed the threshold into your room, like it was easier to take in with you laced into it.

This morning was no different, as you laid tangled up with one another, whispering as softly as possible, and touching every plane of skin that was available to the both of you.

Bob was on his back, and your head was on his chest, you were listening to his heartbeat–the way it would steadily increase every time you shifted, or how it slowed when the both of you got into a position where it felt like you were more in sync with one another. His fingers were tracing idle shapes along your spine, sometimes it would be random numbers, other times he’d spell out words and make you guess what he was writing, but today it was squares, triangles and circles.

Your hand was against his face, caressing the smooth skin of his cheek, trailing down to his jaw every so often to feel the sharp bone of it.

“We’re like two furnaces when we’re in bed like this.” You whispered, pressing yourself closer to him, looking at the way his face slowly took on this deeper crimson, deeper than the pink that usually dusted his cheeks when he was around you.

”Told you…We need to buy a fan. I have this innate fear that I'm going to give you a heat stroke.” You smirked at his comment, placing a gentle kiss on his chest.

”Can’t kill me that easily Bob.” He let out a breathy laugh, the kind that warmed your hair and curled his chest against your cheek as it moved. His fingers kept up their lazy trail against your spine, not quite mimicking shapes anymore, but just moving for the sake of touching you. His other hand slid down the length of your arm slowly, letting the pads of his fingers catch on every tiny ridge of your skin, watching goosebumps bloom like a silent spell you never had to cast.

Then, with such care and warmth, he took your hand and drew it away from his face, shifting it just enough to look at it properly, cradling your wrist in his palm like if he was holding an ancient relic–something sacred. His thumb brushed gently along the edge of your coven mark, the intricate chain of carved sigils that rested deep in your skin–a scar that never quite stopped whispering.

It wasn’t ink. It had been branded–sliced into you when you came of age, sealed with blood magic and bone ash, symbols of what you were bound to before you even had a choice.

His thumb traced the deepest cut–right near the base of your palm–then slowly, with such gentleness and care, he brought your wrist to his lips, closing his eyes before kissing the mark, like a vow. His lips were wet from the amount of times he had licked them, but you didn’t mind the dampness because the act itself was always something you loved–it was his way of expressing that he loved every part of you, even the ones people feared.

His eyes fluttered open, looking down at you for a second, seeing the soft, golden-haze that lingered over his naturally bright blue irises. His cheeks flushed even deeper when he saw the way you were looking at him–with the tenderness and love you had for him as a backdrop. He pulled off the mark.

”Sorry…” He murmured, voice a little shaky, “I know I do that a lot.” A small smile came up on your lips, as you shifted to get closer to his face, your bare chest dragging along him until you were eye to eye.

”I like it…You know I do. It makes me feel like you’re loving every part of me, not just the normal side.” You whispered, pushing a lock of his light brown hair out of his face so you could get a clearer look at him.

“You do the same though…” He replied, voice barely above a whisper, “With me, I mean…The Sentry, The Void…All of it,” He added, his eyes falling away from you for a moment, “You’ve never made me split myself up…Never forced me to hide anything or be just one…You just take all of it, all of me…Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.” Your hand slid down his cheek to cup his jaw.

“That’s because they don’t scare me, they’re not strangers, they’re just different versions of you, and I love all of them.” You could see the way his eyes softened from the words.

”Even…The Void?” He whispered, voice small and hesitant, like saying its name might conjure it by accident. You nodded, sliding your hand to the back of his neck, your thumb brushing along the little baby hairs that laid there.

”Even The Void Bob…Because it’s still you, and I love every version and every layer of you…Like I always say.” He went scarlet. His eyes flitting up to yours before immediately dropping again with a smile coming up on his lips. Beneath you, his chest fluttered like his heart wanted to bust out of its confines, but he didn’t pull away or hide from you.

”I love you too.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, and he let out a soft laugh, nose brushing against yours.

And just before he could lean in to kiss you.

The door slammed open with a crack that made Bob jump so hard he nearly flew off the bed. You groaned loudly and dropped your forehead against his shoulder with a thump, already knowing who it was.

”James Buchanan Barnes,” You snapped, “It better be important, because the next time you don’t knock, I’m going to make sure we’re doing something way worse than lying here, and you’ll be scarred for life.” Bob turned bright red from your words, blinking over at Bucky who stood with his arms crossed, holding a glossy magazine in his hands.

”Well good morning to you too, necromantic hellspawn,” He replied, “Get dressed. We’ve got a situation.” He added, tossing the magazine across the room, letting it land on the foot of the bed with a slap. Your entire posture shifted in an instant–from soft and pressed against him to rigid and coiled.

Your gaze dropped to the magazine now lying crookedly in front of you, and the photo on the cover hit you in the face like a slap.

There, under bold, gleaming headlines, was an image of you and Bob on the rooftop garden. The lighting was dusky, but you remember that day like it was yesterday. It was just as the golden hour was slipping behind the both of you. The both of you had gone up there to get some fresh air and talk, you had no clue you were being watched, and it was evident by the photo.

Your hand was cupped gently at his jaw, and his fingers were curled around your wrist, the two of you were so close your noses were touching, and it was clear–achingly clear–that you were just about to kiss. Your eyes trailed up to the headline above the image.

”DEATH AND DIVINITY: Inside the steamy new relationship between two of the world’s most powerful Avengers.” Your mouth fell open,

”What the fuck.” You breathed, which got Bob’s attention immediately. He sat up with you, the sheets slipping down his chest, and his hair flopping messily over his forehead as his eyes caught the front page of the magazine.

“W-What? What is it?” He asked, confused, like he was still trying to catch up. You were speechless, so all you could do was pull the magazine closer to him so he could get a better look. He took it out of your hands carefully, and squinted down at the image, then his face went red.

“O-Oh my god…” He whispered, his eyes going wide, “Is that…Is that us? When was this take-”

”Three days ago.” Bucky replied, cutting him off, “I remember because Yelena and I were playing poker in the surveillance room and we were both betting on how long it’d take before you two started kissing.”

“You were watching us?” You snapped.

”No, we turned the screens off before it got all mushy…But someone else was definitely keeping tabs.” He shot back, walking over to the bed to tap on the photo.

”This image is definitely not from the cameras. It’s way too zoomed in, and edited…This was a planted shot.” Bob’s brows furrowed, and you could see the way panic was rising behind his eyes.

“Are you saying someone…Snuck onto the roof?” Bucky shook his head.

”No, this was taken by someone who had access. If nobody apart from us knew…Then it must’ve been Val.” You went still, feeling the rage building in your chest–hot and thick, vibrating just beneath your skin.

”She fucking followed us and waited till we were alone to take these.” Bucky nodded.

”Probably sold them too,” He responded, “Page three has an ‘anonymous quote’ that’s oddly specific how the Sentry ‘looks at her like he’s made of light and she’s the only one who can hold it without burning.’” Bob’s jaw dropped.

”Wait…Wait, that's something you said to me,” He hissed, looking over at you. “I remember because you were sick–how does she know that?” Your hands curled into tight fists against the sheets.

”Because she’s been listening.” Your voice was colder now–quiet and laced with venom, “She’s been watching us, and waiting for us to slip up.” Bob looked devastated at this information. His shoulders hunching forward, as he glanced over at you, showing the guilt that was creeping in behind his eyes.

”I’m so sorry,” He whispered, “I shouldn’t have kissed you on the roof, I should’ve–“ You cut him off, raising your hand up.

”Don’t do that. We didn’t do anything wrong. She did.” Bucky exhaled loudly through his nose.

”You’ve got maybe three hours before this becomes a press frenzy. I would recommend figuring out what kind of damage control you want to do.” You glanced down at the magazine again and looked up at Bucky,

”Is killing Valentina on the list of options?” You muttered, voice flat and simmering.

“Could be arranged, “ He replied, deadpanning, “Might take a few minutes for Yelena and Walker to collect their matching shovels though.” Your lips curled faintly, but the rage still burned beneath your eyes like hot coals. You were already calculating how you could make her life a living hell, and you didn’t know how extreme you wanted to go.

But then you glanced at Bob, seeing the way his eyes were glancing between the photo and the headline. He looked overwhelmed, and it automatically diffused the feelings you had towards Valentina, because she wasn’t the person you cared about the most…It was him.

You reached out immediately, placing your hand over his, curling your fingers so they were pressed against his palm. He looked up at you, seeing that the colour in his eyes had faded into a grey.

”Hey. We’re okay Bob…You’re okay…We will get this handled and I promise we will be fine, alright?” He nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

“I just…I just wish people didn’t see us like that…That’s just for us…” You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment to let the contact settle him, before pulling away.

”They don’t know anything about us, and no matter how they spin it, or how they plaster it on the headlines they will never be able to really understand what we have. That part is only for us to share…I will make sure we won’t have to answer to anyone about our relationship, okay?” He looked at you then, and in that moment you watched the panic retreat from his eyes, like a wave sliding back into the sea. His eyes shifted back to blue, like you had diffused a ticking time bomb.

”Okay…” He whispered, his breath catching a little, “I trust you.” You squeezed his hand once more, before turning back to Bucky who was leaning against your dresser with his arms crossed.

”Set up an emergency meeting,” You said, your voice sharp, “And make sure Valentina is going to be there. I want this handled now.” You added.

”On it,” Bucky replied, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, “Do you want me to tell Yelena to bring her blowtorch?” You exhaled through your nose.

”Tell Yelena no weapons…With all the rage in me, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to handle it.” Bucky smirked, thumbing open his phone.

”Duly noted.” He muttered, “No backup required in the weapons department.” He added.

He was halfway to the door when it opened again, and this time Alexei strutted in like he was arriving at a red carpet event, waving his own copy of the same magazine above his head with pure delight on his face. He looked like he had just won the lottery.

”Death and Divinity!” He boomed, accent heavy and dramatic, “This is sexy, yes? Sounds like vampire opera.”

“Oh god,” You muttered, pressing your fingers into your tear ducts.

“Oh Jesus,” Bob added, sinking slightly lower into the bed, trying to shield his face away from the world.

Alexei, undeterred, flipped through the pages.

”Page four has nice photo. Very very romantic. You are holding his face like he is scared little mouse, and he is looking up at you like you are moon goddess. Very touching.” You groaned again and lobbed your pillow at him, only for him to catch it.

“Alexei,” Bucky growled, already herding him towards the door, “Out…And change that attitude, we need to be a solid front line for these two at the emergency meeting.”

————

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, you didn’t know what exactly you were expecting–but the moment your eyes landed on Valentina, standing smugly at the end of the conference table with a martini in one hand and a matching smirk on her mouth, something sharp and electric lit up in your chest.

She was in a sharp navy power suit, tailored within an inch of its life, not a single wrinkle was in sight. Her heels clicked softly as she turned to face all of you fully, a smile spreading across her lips, while she spread her arms open like she was about to congratulate you.

”There’s the stars of the hour!” She cooed, “The public loves you. Death and Divinity–absolutely genius. Not something I created unfortunately, but it’s still absolutely amazing.

Your steps echoed across the floor as you approached her. Bob stayed close behind you, quiet but tense–his fingers wrapped around one of your fingers while the other one picked at his sleeve. Mel was standing off to the side with her arms crossed, looking at the team you had brought, who were already looking over at her with judgemental gazes, like she had betrayed them.

But it was you Valentina was looking at, as your body slowly casted a shadow across her.

”YOu took a photo of me and the person I love, in a private moment, and sold it to the press without our consent. You’ve been eavesdropping, manipulating, and spying for weeks…And you think we came up here to thank you? For a fucking magazine cover of all things?” Valentina blinked slowly, taking a sip from her glass before putting it down on the table.

”A front cover,” She corrected, unbothered by the rage that was twitching behind your eyes, “On twenty-nine different newsstands worldwide! You’re welcome.”

“Welcome?” Your voice cracked slightly–heat rising beneath your skin, as Bob’s fingers squeezed your one, “You’re using our relationship like it’s a fucking PR stunt.”

“And it worked.” She stated simply. You stared at her, jaw locking. You were pretty sure the lights above the table dimmed for a fraction of a second–like your body was going to snap on her at any second. You stepped in closer to her, but her smile didn’t falter, if anything, it widened, like she was proud of you for showing up with your claws already bared.

”You better have a good fucking explanation,” You said, your voice low and venomous, “Because if I don’t like the next sentence out of your mouth Valentina, I swear on every grave I’ve ever raised–you’ll be joining them.” She let out a short, delighted laugh, and cocked her head slightly to the side.

”You are so dramatic,” She said, her tone leaning on the side of condescending, “It’s charming really.” Bob shifted behind you, and his hand tightened around your fingers, almost like he was grounding you, like he was draining you of what you were feeling, just a little bit.

”We didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Mel chimed in, taking a step forward, “It was a strategic decision–“ You didn’t even turn your head, you just held up your free hand, your palm curled and open.

A faint, eerie green glow pulsed from the center of it–low and steady like a heartbeat in the dark.

”I didn’t ask you,” You said, voice cold as ice, “I asked Val.” The glow made the room go still. Yelena, straightened up ever so slightly, exchanging glances with Alexei, and Walker. Ava gave Bucky a small nudge, almost like she was expecting him to step in, but he remained silent, locking eyes with Valentina like he was daring her to keep going.

Val let out a long exhale, then finally stepped closer to you.

”Do you honestly think the world wants The Winter Soldier as the face of the New Avengers?” She said, voice low, as if she were explaining something to a child who didn’t understand how the world worked, “A walking weapon with a kill count in the hundreds–possibly thousands–most of which are caught in grainy footage? He may be rebranded but you can’t slap a new label on a nuclear warhead and expect the public to forget what it is.” Your jaw clenched so tightly your teeth hurt.

”He was pardoned for all that. Cleared. Redeemed publically. Then he got elected…For y’know…Congress? Remember that? Oh and let’s not forget when Bob went all…Well y’know and he saved New York with all of us.” Yelena cut in, motioning to Bucky, coming to his defence. Val’s eyes glanced over to where Yelena stood, her expression turning unreadable for a moment–like she was weighing whether or not it was worth vocally sparring with her. But then she waved her hand dismissively.

”Doesn’t matter,” She said, as though the conversation was beginning to bore her, “The public only sees what you show them, and as much as you parade redemption papers and congressional ribbons around, it doesn’t erase people's memories. We had the opportunity to give you all a better image, one that isn’t cluttered, and we took it.” You tilted your head slightly, now pointing your open palm at her, which made Bob slowly pull you behind him so there was space between you and Val in an attempt to diffuse the anger pulsing through you.

“Cluttered?” You echoed from behind him, trying to look over his broad shoulder.

“Yes, cluttered,” She repeated, “Between Bucky’s guilt complex, Yelena’s PR liability, Alexei’s Cold War nostalgia tour, Walker's entire existence, and Ava who is always on the brink of leaving, it’s chaos…But now?” She gestured broadly towards the both of you, “Now the public sees something beautiful, something they can sink their teeth into.” Bob’s eyebrows furrowed.

”B-But we’re a team…It’s not just Y/N and I…We’re not at the forefront, it's all of us…” He explained quietly.

“Come on Robert…You think the world wants realism?’ She said with a dry laugh, “They want symbolism, they want a reason to believe in what we’re building here.” She motioned around her.

”Then…Why don’t you actually build something real then…Instead of putting our relationship on full display for the public.” Val’s eyes narrowed, the corner of her mouth lifting like she was enjoying being challenged.

”You think you’re not already at the forefront?” She said, voice honeyed and sharp, “That’s adorable. You’re a god in a golden shell. You were born for the spotlight, all I’m doing is pointing it in the right direction.” Then the elevator dinged.

”Now get ready for your closeups.” She added, with a smile on her face.