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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 day ago

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Chapter 27 - When You Go

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I call this format of chapter “The Ol’ Razzle Dazzle”

Chapter Title from The World is Ugly by My Chemical Romance

Word Count: 18.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has a birthday, and there’s no other way. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 26 - Chapter 28

Read on A03!

You don’t look up from your book, when you hear the woman scream. She goes silent a second later, and the Silver is still settled in your body, so everything is safe.

Not fine.

But safe.

In this moment, even as an eerie silence hangs in the air and a cold feeling sits in your bones, you’re safe.

“Dean told you to stop doing that.” You hum, and Cas sighs, dropping in the chair across from yours.

“I do not have control over people’s reactions to my appearance-“

“That’s not what he meant, Cas.” You give him a flat look over the top of your book. “You landed in front of her.”

He shrugs. “I erased the memory from her mind. At worst, she will have a headache.”

“You’re going to get yourself shot-“

“And it will be ineffective. And Dean has already had this conversation with me-“

“It obviously didn’t work.” You drawl, and Cas lets out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Would you like to yell at me about flying, or actually talk about the plan?”

You hum, crossing your legs under your body. “I think I can do both-“

“I think that Sam and Dean will only be occupied with the grocery store’s post-Holiday sale for about ten more minutes.” Cas gives you a pointed look, and you sigh.

“Fine.” You drop your book on the table, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. “I’ve got nothing. The Sioux Falls public library doesn’t specialize in the occult, and Crowley doesn’t want to play, so-“

Cas frowns. “Crowley?”

“Yeah. But he’s being a dipshit-“

“When did you speak to Crowley?”

“Yesterday.” You hold Cas’ gaze, but you expression must not be as casual as you want it to be, because his eyes narrow. “I didn’t make a deal, Cas, it’s fine-“

“Why did you speak to Crowley.” He doesn’t let up, and you sigh, running your thumb over your palm.

You know it had been stupid. And reckless. And if Sam hadn’t burst into your room, shouting that Adam was also missing, you’d probably owe Crowley two favors.

But you’d been desperate. So fucking desperate, and a little broken, and right on the edge of snapping in half. Dean had vanished. He’d kissed you but then just left. And you’d been sure he was doing something heroic and fucking stupid, but the longer he’d been gone the more it had started to make your heart twist, and the louder the world had gotten.

Ringing in your ears and sneering that of course he’d leave. He’d realized what fighting at your side meant, that you weren’t worth the extra trouble or effort when the world was ending, and he left. He’d been right the first time, he’d always been right, but John had been right too.

John would’ve shot you in your sleep, though. And Dean had tucked you in before bolting out in the dead of night.

It had been a long, horrible day of replaying every single moment that might have made him leave. Your recklessness with Raphael, or the fact that you hadn’t been reckless, but just lied to him and left him out of the plan. Cas wouldn’t have told him that, but he could’ve found out himself.

But he would’ve fought with you. Confronted you, or at least told Bobby and Sam.

So it could’ve been the Bride of God thing. He’d finally gotten that you were a parasite or sickness, and that the day God came for you the world would be grateful. That you might have been made for heaven, but all you did was make things worse. Make Dean lose sleep and worry and pour care into someone who’d just leave in the end.

You didn’t want to leave.

You’d tried to tell him in the dark, when everything had smelled like cinnamon and his Gold had been wrapped around you like a shield. That you never wanted to leave. That the Silver kept brimming a little too close to the surface, and you didn’t want to go outside in case God came for you, because you didn’t want to leave.

You couldn’t go anywhere you wouldn’t be allowed to hold Dean. Didn’t care for Michael’s promises of paradise when it would mean losing Dean. And you’d thought he’d understood. That you were sick and barely better than a monster, and there wasn’t a cure or way to put you down because you’d been made like that, but you’d keep using all your teeth and poison to fight for him.

That you’d fight God when he tried to take you, if that’s what it came to.

And all of Heaven had just seemed fucking lonely.

The Sky had only ever seemed cold and angry and untouchable. Only ever watched and waited and abandoned you.

Dean had fought with you. For you. Let you falter because he’d keep you behind him, his hand in yours. The Spiderweb sang whenever he grinned at you, even when it was a smug, shit-eating grin and you’d wanted to punch it off his face.

You’d thought he’d understand that. How this wasn’t a choice you were making. It wasn’t survival. It just was.

You loved Dean. You’d only ever wanted to be close to him.

He’d kissed you, and it had remade little parts of you that had started to rot—something that had been festering in the cavity of your chest, about how maybe you weren’t human enough for him to touch—but then he’d left.

Bobby had tried to talk to you. Sam had tried to talk to you. They’d even called Cas, and he’d knocked on your door, as if he couldn’t just fly into your room.

And you might have gone a little insane.

First with worry—he wouldn’t just leave, something was fucking wrong—then anger, then just darkness. A heavy pain that had swallowed you whole, and reminded you that God was waiting. Right outside your window. And if Dean had gone—if he was done with you but just was too good to shoot you in the skull and be done with it—you deserved it.

He wouldn’t have done that to you. The Spiderweb, still singing and colorful in your body, had kept demanding that he wouldn’t do that to you. Just fucking kiss you like he dreamt about it half as much as you did, then vanish forever.

You’ve never been good at ignoring the Spiderweb.

But you’ve been good at just sitting in the pain either. The way it makes the Silver riot, and how it spread to the very tips of your fingers, telling you to sprint for the hills or after Dean to fucking strangle him, then kiss him until you both maybe sank into the dirt, and God couldn’t see you anymore.

You were supposed to be done running.

But you couldn’t just sit in your room, drenched in all of Dean’s Gold and still tasting him on your lips, and staring at the blue on your fingertips.

So you’d, kind of, sort of, summoned Crowley.

“You know.” He’d glanced around your room, lingered on Dean’s shirt hanging out of the hamper—he’d left his shirt, he’d need to come back, and you’d needed to get a goddamn grip—and looked back to you with a grin. “I don’t normally do house calls.”

“I’m glad to be an exception.” You’d muttered, sorting through your notes, and he’d scoffed.

“I’d hardly call it my choice, what with you summoning and trapping me-“

“What do you know about angel vessels.”

Crowley had blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“Angel vessels.” You’d snapped, fingers lingering on a Dean’s name, scrawled in Enochian in the margins of a notebook. “What do you know.”

“What do you know about Gucci?”

You’d frowned at him. “It’s Italian. What-“

“I’m not an angel, love, no more than you’re a Gucci wearing socialite. And I don’t understand how this question warrants a kidnapping-“

“I’m going to let you go, you fucking baby.” You’d rolled your eyes. “And you don’t have to be something to know about it.”

“Angels are secretive asshats, they aren’t exactly spilling state secrets to me-“

“I don’t believe you.” You’d snapped, and Crowley had given you an exasperated look.

“Do you not have other demon friends to bother with insanity-“

“No. And I thought you wanted to be partners.” You’d grabbed your knife, spinning it in your hands, and you could’ve sworn Crowley paled. “You want Lucifer gone, I need a weakness.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley had sneered. “Are you planning to give the devil an allergic reaction to defeat him? Are you insane?”

You’d shrugged. “Nobody’s sure. I need something, Crowley. Anything you have.”

He’d just looked at you for a long moment, dark eyes seeming to split right into your skull, then hummed, “Dean’s not here to reel your little plans in, is he. Mommy’s going a little bananas without Daddy to kiss it better.”

It would’ve been so fucking easy to stab him. Or let the Silver burst out and crush him to nothing. But part of this had to be keeping the Silver in control, and stabbing Crowley meant you wouldn’t get information, so you’d bitten your lip until you tasted blood and shoved it down.

“I’m working on something.” You’d hissed through your teeth, and Crowley had hummed.

“Oh, I’ve heard about the sudden injuries of Raphael.” Crowley had sighed. “He went on a rampage because of that. Killed a lot of my best demons.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes.” Crowley had drawled, his voice bored. “You sound it.”

You’d shrugged, watching him carefully. You’d had to know. “So it worked. It hurt him.”

Crowley’s jaw had twitched, but he’d given you a tight nod. “It quite seemed that way. Whatever you did seemed to cause him… strife. And an apology would be appreciated, love-“

“No.”

It had—sort of—worked. Your trial run had worked. You’d pulled Raphael out of his vessel like Zachariah, and maybe you hadn’t held him properly, but you just hadn’t been ready. You’d be ready for Michael and Lucifer, you just needed that weakness to hold both of them. And in the moment, that relief had been enough to distract you from the pain of Dean. Gone and maybe not coming back. Maybe done, or maybe just dead, but you’d know if he was dead, so he’d just left-

He wouldn’t leave.

He hadn’t left.

He’d crawled back to you with Death’s rings and apologies and another, sweet, world-ending kiss, and you’d wanted to scream it at him. That you love him. That you’re always going to want him with you, because you’re safer together and when he’s gone, there’s nobody to stop you from making really, really stupid choices.

You tell Cas that. Not the part about losing your mind just because Dean was gone for a day—he likely already knows—but that Raphael had been injured in the forest.

And that Crowley had looked at you, sighed, and said, “I’d like to bet on your success, for whatever little scheme you’re cooking up, but I can’t.”

Now, in the library, after a heavy, hanging silence, Cas frowns. “He can’t know what our plan is-“

“He doesn’t.” You mutter. “But he told me he knows witches, and they’re always looking to pull little tricks. That it won’t fly here, in the big leagues. Then I asked him for any books about souls he had, and Sam knocked on the door.”

Cas sighs. “Unsurprising, but still… Not ideal. We are not empty handed, though.”

You blink. “We aren’t?”

“No.” He reaches into his trench coat and pulls out an apple.

An iridescent, glowing apple, so incredibly out of place on the chipped wood and florescent lights of the library.

“Cas-”

“Our primary issue is that you might have enough practice or power to take hold one Archangel. Two is even less likely.” He nods to the apple. “This will help.”

“I- How?”

“I went back to the garden.”

“Cas,” you keep your words slow. “You can’t get into Heaven, they’ve locked you out-“

“Joshua let me in.” Cas frowns at you. “I wasn’t reckless. I didn’t stay long, and Michael and Raphael tend not to bother looking there.”

“Well, why did you go back-“

“For the apple.” He’s looking at you as if you’re the crazy one, for not wanting him to be smited, and you let out a heavy breath through your nose.

“Cas. I don’t understand how an apple is worth such a massive fucking risk-“

“It is not an apple.” Cas says your name, his tone slightly exasperated. “It is an apple from the Tree. And while we don’t understand how you being a Magdalene is connected to you being the Bride, that doesn’t change that you are one.”

You blink at him. “And?”

“Lilith was the tender of the Tree, before her exile.”

“The- Oh, fuck.” It hits you, and you gape at Cas for a long, silent moment. “You mean the tree. The Eden tree.”

Cas nods. “Yes. That tree. Its apples are holy, and consuming one will, theoretically, offer you a stronger connection to Heaven.”

“And me being a Magdalene matters because-“

“You are descended from Lilith.” He shrugs. “From what I understand, the apples run in your blood. It is not a sin for you to consume them.”

“Oh.” You swallow, glancing down to the apple on the table. “What?”

Cas sighs. “I do not know the whole story. It is not the exact one told in the Bible, and I was always told Michael preferred not to speak of it. But Lilith was the first wife of Adam. And eating the apple only became a sin after her banishment.”

“But- I-“

“It will make you stronger.” Cas mutters. “That is what’s important.”

You take a long, slow breath. He’s right. Now isn’t the time to dwell on another confusing angel story. “You want me to take steroids, so we can win.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

“It’s like a drug that- Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

Cas gives you a tight nod, and you stare at the apple. It’s not crumbling away, like the ones that grow when you lose control. And Cas is right. You do need a boost.

But even if it works, you still need more.

“Okay. But,” You lean forward, and Cas frowns at you. “I have an idea.”

“You said you had nothing.”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “About vessels. But Raphael was already on guard against me. He didn’t seem to trust that I actually was the Bride.”

“He had become disillusioned with God altogether.” Cas mutters, still frowning at you. “That is not surprising, but I don’t understand-“

“I need to get their guards down.”

Cas falls silent again. Staring at you for a long, stretched out moment before shaking his head, words low and firm. “No.”

“It’s a good idea-“

“It is not a good idea. There is no evidence it would be effective, and Dean will be furious. He will rampage-“

“Rampage-“

“Yes. Rampage. He

“Then we tell Dean.”

He hisses your name. “That will not go well-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But we don’t have any other options.”

Cas lets out a long, slow breath, and shakes his head. “There are too many ways it could go wrong. One misstep or slip up-“

“I don’t misstep.” You raise your chin, making your voice as commanding as you can manage when there’s a cold, wired fear running over your skin.

It is a bad idea. One of your worst.

There’s no other way, if you want to keep Sam out of the cage. If you want your family to walk out of this intact, with little lost, and nothing broken.

Dean gets to have Sam, so that when you’re gone, he won’t be alone. Sam won’t have to sacrifice himself for something that’s not his fault.

You pull Michael and Lucifer out of their vessel and toss them in the pit, you’ll be using the Silver properly. Salvation, not damnation. And you can’t die—you think, because you haven’t yet and something tells you God won’t let you out that easy—so you’re in the best position to play offense.

But a lifetime of fighting the Silver and self-inflicted torture on your body is, once again, catching up with you. You won’t be strong enough to just grab two archangels without the Silver exploding, and damaging a lot more than you can afford. You just need an extra boost, and an easier way in.

So it’s a bad idea. You’re pretty sure Cas is only helping you because he thinks if he doesn’t, you’ll just do it behind his back.

And this is pushing the bounds of bad idea into horrible, godawful, borderline insane idea, but nobody’s offering anything better.

And Cas is right.

You’ll just do it anyway, and he won't be able to stop you.

You can see it on his face, as he stares at you. The slight twisting of his features as he tries to find a comeback, fails to, and concludes that this is happening. And he’s either with you, or not.

“Sam can’t know.” He mutters. “We will need to make that clear to Dean. If he tells Sam-“

“Lucifer will know to.” You finish, rubbing your wrists. “I won’t tell him until he promises not to say anything. To Bobby, either. He’ll try to stop me.”

Cas gives you a flat look. “He’d be right.”

You ignore him. “It’s going to have to be Lucifer.”

“Michael may be safer-“

“No,” you shake your head, frowning at the table. “I think I ruined any chance of using Michael with the Raphael thing. It has to be Lucifer.”

Cas lets out a long sigh—he’s been picking up a lot of you, Sam, and Dean’s habits lately, namely the Sam Bitch-Sigh, and you know he’s doing it on purpose because the drama queen doesn’t have to breathe—and nods slowly. “That is… a fair point. And Michael will likely make no attempts to engage you, even at Lucifer’s side. But if you side against Lucifer, he will be… unforgiving.”

Fuck, that’s a good point too. “Okay. I- I think I can use Adam. Say that I went over to Lucifer because Michael didn’t have anything I wanted.”

Cas’ jaw twitches. “Dean.”

You give a small nod—you really don’t want to talk about it—and Cas tilts his head at you.

You know Cas knows. Maybe not that you love Dean, but that it’s more than just friendship. He can see your soul, same as you can see all his hands folded into the two in his lap. He’s seen the way you’re embedded in Dean. Been with you when you’d confronted Famine, and he’d taunted you about how your hunger for Dean would make him so powerful he’d devour suns.

He’d sat with you yesterday, when the sun had started to set and Dean still hadn’t returned. Gently tried herding you to bed, before telling you he didn’t know how to drive, but would eat ice cream with you in the kitchen if it was needed.

And you’ve told him about the deals, while Sam and Dean were on a hunt last week. If the plan was going to work properly, he needed to know as much as possible.

Not how you dreamt of Dean. Not how you’d always crashed into his gravity, and never been able—or really cared to—pull away. Not the full extent of your plan, or how God was watching you.

But the deals were relevant to the plan. To being the Bride of God, and both Michael and Lucifer being so desperate to have you on their team.

So Cas knows.

And that’s why his words are so careful.

“Is Dean aware that he is the center of the deal?” He says, and you shake your head.

“No. And I- Cas, you can’t tell him-“

“I have no plan to. But if I would not count on him never knowing. When we tell him-“

“He knows they offered me deals. That I’d never really agree to either of them. But-“ You squeeze your hand on your wrist, the sting of raw skin makes the Silver turn in your body. “Cas, he can’t know. Please.”

Cas frowns at you. “Why. He would be receptive-“

“I can’t do that to him.” You whisper, bile rising in your throat. “It’s- We’ll tell him about the plan tomorrow, and I’ll switch sides when Sam lets Lucifer in.”

“There is still the chance Sam will overpower him.” Cas mutters, and you swallow.

“Then I’ll just pull him out there.”

Cas says your name, but cuts himself off with a frown.

“Cas-“

“Dean is praying to me.” He mutters. “Their credit card got frozen.”

You still feel sick, but the Spiderweb is glowing and casting light around your body. He does that all the time, the adorable, perfect dumbass. Prays to Cas for small things, and you can see the annoyance on Cas’ face, but you know it’s fake. The same way that when you’re trying to read and Dean starts asking you questions, you roll your eyes but indulge him anyway, because it’s Dean.

“I have told him to stop using me for this-“

“It’s his birthday, Cas.” You give him a small smile. “Yell at him tomorrow.”

He glares at you. “We are not finished with this conversation-“

“Yeah, we are.” You pick up your book with a shrug. “I’m fake siding with Lucifer to get close to him, and pull him out of his vessel. If Sam gets the up, I pull him there. If he can’t, I get to pull him and Michael. That’s it. Easy.”

Cas stares at you for a moment longer, and you give him a wide, bored grin. It’s the one you learned from Dean, that says I have never done anything wrong in my life, and it’s unbelievable you’d even believe that I am capable of that. And somehow, Cas buys it. He sighs, and gives you a tight nod.

“You should test the apple.” He mutters. “I picked two.”

Your chew on your lips, but hum an agreement. “Do I, just-“

“Eat it. Then try to do something.”

“Something?”

Cas nods, and you take the apple with a careful touch. It doesn’t melt or vanish. You can even taste it, and definitely fruit, but not quite apple.

You swallow, and you’re about to ask Cas how long you should wait when it hits you.

It is a steroid.

The Silver is vast and bright and in perfect harmony with almost everything. No pain, just like when you’d been in Heaven. Just you, and you’re all knowledge of the books, the peaceful dreams of the librarian Cas knocked out, and the love of the knife in your jacket, ready to bloody itself however you want it to.

“It worked.” You mumble, and Cas sits a little taller.

“Good. Dean is still-“

“Wait.” You lean across the table, and you can’t just let this ebb away and go to waste.

You press your hand over Cas’ brow, and he tenses, but doesn’t pull away. All the Silver flows easily, right into your palm, and dips right into that electric blue Cas is made of. Feeds like lightning striking an ocean, making it crackle and rises and grow brighter and brighter and brighter until you pull away, and Cas blinks at you slowly.

You’re not embedded in him. And he seems to have absorbed all the Silver you offered him, but you don’t feel smaller.

If anything, you feel bigger. Brighter. More.

“I feel…” Cas trails off, giving you a look of disbelief. “What did you do.”

“Your Grace is back.” You pull your knees back up to your chest, grabbing your book from the table. “Don’t tell Sam and Dean.”

Cas blinks at you, and you sigh.

“They’ll ask questions. Now go get them before Dean tries to rob the store and they get arrested again.”

Cas still doesn’t move. “Thank you,” he mutters your name, and you give him a weak smile.

“Of course. You’re my friend, Cas.”

He nods, looking at you with an odd, unreadable expression, then vanishes into the air.

You turn your attention back down to the book, but you’re not really reading.

You hadn’t thought of the chance that Sam does overpower Lucifer. Not because Sam isn’t strong, but because you’ve seen Lucifer. All his teeth and Red and anger. Since Sam thought of the let Lucifer in idea, you’ve been having nightmares about bloodied teeth sinking into Sam’s neck, and Dean’s broken expression, and an empty seat at the dinner table.

There’s already one, still stained blue, deep into the wood. Now coated in a light orange, where Adam had sat for almost a month.

Sam had been confused, as to why Adam would just up and take in Michael. But Cas had thrown you a look, and you’d know.

Men of God never could resist a Magdalene.

You’d done this. If you weren’t here, Sam and Dean probably would’ve grabbed Adam from Zachariah, and they’d be down one archangel to worry about.

A lot of things would be better, if you weren’t here. Weren’t their problem. They wouldn’t be worrying about the Bride of God situation, spending too much time and thought on something that’s only your curse, only your sickness. And you’re not going to leave them, you’d promised you wouldn’t run, but anything you have to do so they both get to rest, you will.

It doesn’t matter what happens to you. If God takes you right when it’s done. If you, someone, get one second longer to make up for all the ruin and wreckage you’ve brought into their lives. Something to, maybe, prove that John hadn’t been right. Even though you know he was. If someone had managed to properly muzzle or cage you, Dean wouldn’t be losing sleep. Sam wouldn’t be stretching himself thin to try and help you research any Bride of God legends you can find.

Legends that don’t make this better. Legends that only tell you what you’ve known.

You’re destined to marry God. It’s written in old Babylonian ruins, painted and faded on cave walls, and carved into ancient, rusted Phoenician weapons. All in Enochian, all found by Sam on scholarly websites, all right under your nose your whole fucking life.

All reminding you what you’d been told so long ago.

The Sky was watching. It’s going to swallow you whole.

And you can feel him, before you see him. And your gaze darts to the window, but he’s not in the sky. You can feel his eyes on you, and it’s all suddenly off kilter, like the whole world has been caught in a lense flare. Something strong is wrapping around your wrists, sending a rush of blinding panic up your spine and throat, the Silver has started to stir in your body. It’s stronger than before. Leaking out, until you can feel the wrath of the air around you, the tension of the earth as it welcomes it’s father home, and the hope of every space in between. To grab your attention, begging to be more than just nothing at all.

You’re still you. Maybe it’s just the lasting effects of the apple, but the Silver seems to be running up and up and up without making you too big. But the Spiderweb is sinking. Trying to sink deeper and deeper into the Silver. Trying to hide as the pain hits you.

So much fucking pain, because the Sky isn’t watching.

You turn, away from the window, and he’s sitting at your table, right where Cas had been only a second ago.

God. Small and bearded and smiling at you, like he’s your fucking friend.

You don’t think. The Silver seems to be in pain from ripping into itself—desperate to properly explode and attack him, but not quite powerful enough to break from that tie around your wrists—but you don’t need it.

It’s barely a split second before you have your knife in your hand, and you’re vaulting across the table to drive it into God’s heart.

His eyes widen just slightly, the odd, colorless white light flashing, and suddenly you’re back in your chair. And when you try and throw the knife, right for his heart, the light just flashes again, and it returns to your head. You let out a strangled sound, the grip of the white on your wrists starting to flood the Silver, pushing it higher and higher with panic, and you’re going to explode. When you try and aim a kick at his balls under the table, your feet meet nothing. A choked sob escapes your throat—not now, he can’t be coming for you now—and try to leap back over the table with only your nails, aimed right for his eyes.

“Hey!” God grabs your wrists, and the Silver rushes up. “Stop, I’m not here to take you-“

You don’t believe him. The Silver is scratching under your skin, and you can’t go, not when Sam and Dean need you, and it’s Dean birthday and he deserves one good fucking birthday-

God snaps your name—Enochian, almost echoing off the walls of the library like you’re in a canyon—and it doesn’t calm you down. You’re still a little feral, and the white strength around your wrists feels like it’s strangling your throat-

“I- I can’t-“ You try to move away from him—it’s all you can do now—and claw at your wrists, trying to get it off, it has to come off-

“Can you please stop freaking out?” He says, his tone almost pleading. “I told you, I’m not going to grab you right now. I just want to talk, and- Wait-“

The light flares again, and you’re back in your seat. You’re still everything, and the line between what’s you and what’s not is blurring, and you can’t fucking breathe, there’s a dull pain on your wrists as you try to scratch the white-hot power off, and you might be drawing blood, but you can’t breathe-

“Is it the binds?” God says, and you can hear a frown in his voice, but you can’t really see anything but color and all the gaps between the stars. “If it’s the binds, I can take them off.”

You blink and make another weak sound, and God clears his throat.

“I can only promise so many times not to hurt you, at some point you’re going to have take a deep breath. And I’m actually risking a lot to be here. Sam and Dean could show up any moment, if the credit card thing doesn’t work.” He laughs to himself. “I mean, I could just freeze them, but, y’know. Whole free will show. So if you could please calm down-“

You are calming down. You’d heard Dean, and the Spiderweb had hummed, and a lot of panic had softened. Sam and Dean could come back. He wasn’t going to take you, or hurt them, at least for now.

And you’re still right on the edge of snapping, but you’re drawing blood on your wrists, and the Silver is dragging back down.

It’s fine.

God wants to talk.

You can fucking talk.

It takes a shaking breath and a sharp pang as you draw blood in your inner cheek, but you pull yourself together and meet God’s gaze.

His eyes are blue. A cold, almost bottomless blue that’s filled with life, but the same way the Sun is filled with life. Burning and capable of giving it.

Not actually capable of holding it within itself.

All you can think it’s that Dean’s eyes have life in them. All that green and luminescent color, buried deep but flashing under the surface whenever you really look at him. And Dean always wraps around you, but it’s like a second layer of skin. Golden. A promise of protection. God is just white and demanding. Bright and blinding, like it should hurt to look at him. Clean in a way that reminds you of the floor and walls of your family’s home.

Perfect.

Too perfect.

Like you couldn’t crash into it and destroy yourself without being punished. Like nothing would wrap around you and keep you safe, and no soothing, deep words would hum in your ear, telling you that you’re alright, and he’s got you.

God’s voice is sort of high, too. And Dean’s nose is crooked, while God’s is straight, but the crookedness has always suited him. You’ve always wanted to run your finger down the line of it the same way he does to you. Just to feel him.

But you’re wrapping your arms around your stomach, as God sits across the table from you.

You don’t want him to touch you at all.

“Take them off.” You whisper. “I’ll be good.”

God frowns at you. “You don’t have to be good, they’re just a protection. See?” He snaps his fingers, and you swallow a gasp of relief as the binds on your wrists release. “As long as you don’t try to kill me again, I won’t use them. I mean,” he laughs to himself, and the sound skitters over your bones. “It was sexy, and it’ll be a great story one day, but I’d like, y’know. Actually get to tell it.”

You swallow, trying to force your voice to remain even. “What do you want.”

“I told you, to talk-“

“Everyone always just wants to talk.” You’re almost spitting the words, your eyes narrowing on God’s. “What do you want from me?”

God raises his brows, the air hanging with the venom of your tone for a lone, horrible second, then his face splits into a grin.

“You know, it’s been a really long time since anyone has spoken to me like that, knowing who I am.” His grin grows, all white teeth, and the Silver seems to plummet into your gut. “And you’re a lot prettier when you’re awake. This is going to be really, really good.”

You blink at him, your voice dropping slightly. “Awake?”

“Oh, not like that.” He shakes his head, his tone still so casual. “You know I don’t watch you when you don’t want me to. I respect you. I’ve been watching those, ah- The Hallmark movies? And they’re horrible, but humans are very good at making sloppy romances. I’m trying to study them, to see how human relationships work. I know you were raised with them, and maybe I should’ve had you raised in Heaven, but I like the symmetry of it. I give humans their life and loves, they give me mine.”

His.

He thinks you’re his.

“And I know you’re not totally on board yet,” God adds, giving you a small smile. “But you will be. I don’t want this to be one of those stories where there’s no chemistry, and you can tell the characters are only together because the writer wants them to be. You have complete and total free will, promise! We’ll have hard times, but we’ll get through them. It’s called a third-act recovery-“

“I know how stories work.” You cut him off with soft words, and he won’t stop smiling at you.

“Of course you do. I’ve been saving all the stuff you like for when you join me, by the way. So we can have some easier stuff to talk about before, well- The everything. And that,” he sits up a little taller, like he’s please with himself. “Is a great transition.”

“Wha-“

“I know what you’re planning.” God says your Enochian name, giving you an almost disappointed look. “Not because I’m in your head. Again, total free will, but because sweet little Castiel is very worried about you. And he’s stopped praying to me lately, but I can still hear him. Especially when he’s in my garden, talking to my gardener.”

You take a deep breath, and it’s getting really hard to keep your voice properly steady. “So you don’t want me to go through with it.”

God shakes his head. “No. Not really. I just want to tell you that if it goes wrong, I’m not helping you. I sort of can’t, as long as you’re fighting me.”

“Fighting you-“

“The self-harm and starvation? Repressing yourself until your soul literally splits in half? Then shoving down all the pain you feel about Jo’s death so aggressively you can’t even control yourself? Not exactly the healthiest approach.”

You scowl. “If you’re here to tell me to go to love myself or some shit-“

“Oh, no.” He laughs again. “I’m talking about how you don’t want to be a part of this. Heaven, Hell, all the power you were born into. And you have to decides you want it yourself, or it really won’t mean anything. Again, I want you to want it. Does that make sense?”

“What if I don’t want it?” You’re speaking before you can stop yourself. “What if I like just being human?”

God just waves you off. “Sure you do now. But once you’re mine, nothing will hurt anymore. You’ll never have to worry about losing me, either. And I’m willing to wait forever, for you to come around, but you have to learn this lesson yourself.”

You can still breathe. You’re still yourself. But your fingers are curling around you knife, your hand under the table, and God seems to lost in his own monologue to notice. Maybe if you’re fast enough. Maybe if you let it all rip out, and-

“I’ve heard women don’t like you to do things for them.” He sighs, giving you an almost sad look. “But I do love you. And I want to help you. So I’m giving you a chance to back out, hit eject now. But it’s only a one-time offer. For both of us. It’ll be easier like this.”

“Like-“ You take a deep breath, his words banging around in your skull.

I do love you.

It’s in a horrible, twisted harmony with Dean’s voice. Baby. You know I love you, baby.

It’s sort of hard to think.

“Like what.” You manage to push out, and God shrugs.

“You and me. Together.”

No. One of your hands flies to your throat on an old instinct as the Silver rushes and roars, and no. “You- you said you weren’t going to take me-“

“Oh, I’m not.” He’s looking at you like he can’t even understand why you’d possibly react like this. “I’m offering you the change to run away with me. Tonight. If you got through with this, your little plan, you’ll be changing too much. Everything will be…” He sighs, and shakes his head. “A lot harder.”

“I-“

“Wait,” he holds his hand up, and your protests die in your throat. “Let me finish. You come with me, I’ll wipe everyone. Make things the way they should’ve been. But once we get past this, there’s no going back. I think.” He grins at you again, and it’s starting to make you want to claw out your eyes. “I’ve never done this before. It’s kind of exciting. But I just don’t want you to get upset when you break your favorite toys.”

You swallow, your words barely audible over the pounding of the Silver in your ears. “I- Don’t have toys.”

“Right, sorry. You’re not there yet. I meant Sam and Dean.”

Sam and Dean.

You’re not going to break them. You’re doing this to help them, to save them, to make up for all the times you’ve made things worse-

“Speaking of Sam and Dean, I think they’re coming now.” God gives you one last smile, and he’s right. You can smell cinnamon. “I hope you make the right choice, but I’ll support you no matter what. You know I’m listening. Just call me, before midnight, and I’ll be there.”

You’re not going to call him. It’s not even a choice, it just is. You won’t fucking leave Dean. And if you are running, it’s not into the arms of fucking God. You’d rather drown yourself, or fall to the deepest pits of hell, because at least then you’d be all yours. And you want to spit and sneer that at him, but the white flares one last time, and then he’s gone.

Barely a split second later, Sam and Dean round the corner.

“Do you smell something?” Sam frowns around the room as Dean walks to your side with a wide grin. “It’s sort of like, um, batteries?”

“Batteries don’t smell like anything, Sammy.” Dean stops at your chair, passing you a chocolate bar with a small frown.

“Yeah, they do, they smell like iron. And burning things.”

“Sammy, that’s-“ Dean sniffs the air, his frown deepening. “Huh.”

“Right?” Sam looks around the library, like he’s expecting something to jump out from behind the shelves. “It’s batteries-“

“It’s not batteries, bitch.” Dean glances down at you, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Princess, you eat any, uh- Fruit?”

You just stare at him. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that you love him, that God had just tried to ask you to run away with him, that you’re planning something insane, that you’re going to make everything worse-“

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean frowns down at you, big, careful hands frame your face, and your hands fly up to cling to his wrists. “Can you, uh- I need you to say something-“

“I’m okay.” You whisper, and his frown deepens, his fingers trailing slightly over your brow.

“You know you can tell me anything.” His voice is lowered, and Sam’s seems to be busying himself with staring at books. “I’m here, I’ve got you-“

“I know you do.” You give him a small smile, and the worry in his gaze doesn’t waver for a second. “Did you get all the stuff?”

Dean stares at you, and for a second you think he’s going to push it, but Sam clears his throat first. “Yeah, we got it. Do you need us to do anything else-“

You shake your head, trying to ignore the intensity of Dean’s gaze. “No, once we’re back home I’ll take care of it.”

“I can help.” Dean grunts, and you give him a flat look.

“It’s your birthday, De. You’re not doing shit.”

“What if I want to help-“

“No.” You hold his glare, and his lips slowly curl into a teasing grin.

“Bossy.”

“I’m gonna stab you-“

“Ah. Not until my birthday’s over.”

“Then sleep with one eye open, Winchester-“

“Hey, guys?” Sam cuts in, frowning between you and Dean. “Can you guys do, uh- That later? And not in front of me?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “We’re just freakin’ talking-“

“It’s not just talking, Dean, it’s foreplay.” Sam scoffs. “Actually, it’s worse than foreplay, because at least that would actually in sex instead of,” he makes a loose gesture between you and Dean. “This.”

You can feel the flush on your cheeks, and it doesn’t help that Dean isn’t pushing you away at the suggestion. He might be holding you closer. Moving his body in front of yours, blocking you from Sam—wide eyed and panicked, obviously realizing what he just said—as if he’s worried about your fucking modesty or something.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is almost a growl, and you can picture his set jaw and narrowed gaze. “Shut your face, or get shot.”

“Sorry.” Sam mumbles, and Dean grunts.

“You’re lucky I don’t tell Bobby you said that.”

You lean around Dean to see Sam shaking his head frantically. “Dean, c’mon, don’t- He’ll kill me-“

“I know.” Dean twists his arms slightly, palm spread, and you take his hand without thought.

He glances down, and you give him a small smile.

It doesn’t matter if you’re imagining the softening of his gaze. He’s here. Even knowing everything about you, having to deal with all your freak outs, Dean’s still holding your hand and grinning at you. Letting you smile back, and squeezing his hand once, just to make sure he’s feeling something like it.

The light, dizzy feeling that comes with his proximity. The warmth in your core when he helps you to your feet and keeps your hands tangled together. Not the inescapable, magnetic pull that’s always told you to stay near him, with him, next to him.

Not love, either. That might be too much to ask for.

But just something like it. Something that might give you a chance—even if God returns and takes back all his letting you come to him bullshit in the morning—for you to kiss him just one more time.

Because you’d kissed.

Two more times.

And Sam’s teasing isn’t anything new, but that had a sharper edge than usual. Like he knows—really knows something you don’t quite fully believe yourself—that there might be a chance.

It’s all you can think about, watching Dean shuffle around the kitchen as you and Bobby cook.

There could be a chance.

“Dean,” Bobby grunts, not looking up from his carrots. “Get outta the kitchen.”

“It’s my birthday, Bobby, I can be wherever the hell I want-“

“Not in here.”

“C’mon, Bobby-“ Dean’s words cut off, and you glance up again to see him starting at the cutting broad. “Carrots?!”

You can hear Bobby’s sigh from across the room. “They’re good for ya, Dean-“

“I don’t want shit that’s good for me-“

“Dean.” You interrupt him with a firm look, and his mouth snaps shut. “I’m making you cake and pie. You’re going to eat your carrots.”

He stands up straight, a smirk covering his face, and before you know what’s happening you’re pinned against the counter, and Dean is incredibly close to your face.

It must be the lighting, or your stupid soul vision, but he’s glowing. There’s his usual Gold, the light off his slight tan—it’s January, how the hell does he have a tan—and all the little bits of blond in his hair that you want to touch. You just want to touch him, to check that he’s real, to kiss his smug expression and hear him groan your name again, like maybe he’s just as desperate to have you as you are for him. You want to maybe drown in him. Have his Gold painted all over you, and breathe so easily because his eyes are full of life. They’re the prettiest shade of green in the world, and they’re dancing with amusement at your slack expression, and you never want him to stop looking at you like that.

Like he’s happy, and it’s only because you’re there.

“What kinda pie you makin’ me, Princess?”

You swallow, your voice a little breathy. “Cherry.”

His grin widens. “That’s my favorite-“

“I- I know, De-“

“And I get pie and cake.”

“Only if you eat your carrots.” You whisper, and he shrugs.

“Fine. But you gotta eat everything I eat.”

You frown. “Dean-“

“Nope. I eat something, you eat the same.”

“I’m going to eat-“

“Yeah, you are. Everything I eat.”

“Dean-“

He drawls your name back with a wide, boyish grin, and you haven’t seen that expression on him in so long. Maybe since before Hell, and if after, not this wide. This relaxed. Making the Spiderweb feel like almost a supernova, with so many colors and so much color and heat. One of Dean’s hands is holding your hips, and it’s sparking so much heat-

“Dean.” Bobby grunts. “Out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Dean pushes back like nothing happened at all, speaking to you like you weren’t seconds from jumping him right in front of Bobby. “If you guys need anything-“

“We’ll make Sam do it. Out.”

Dean rolls his eyes, whispering in your ear and making a small shiver run up your spine. “He’s grumpy.”

You don’t get a chance to respond—you’re not sure you remember how to speak—before Dean’s kissing your cheek, and then he’s gone.

And you get—as you sway slightly and reach up to touch your cheek, right where Dean’s lips had sloppily and easily pressed against it—why Sam has upped his teasing game.

Something’s flipped in Dean, since the kisses.

He hasn’t blatantly flirted with you like this since you met him. As if there aren’t a million obstacles in your way and the world isn’t ending as you speak. As if this night isn’t a single island in the ocean, and you don’t have a long way to go before any of you see land again.

But Dean’s flirting with you.

You think.

He’s kissed the top of your head before. And he’s held your hand before. He calls you princess all the time, as if it’s a second name. He also whispers in your ear all the time, because he’s your best friend and that’s what friends do-

Jo would say she’s his friend too. That he doesn’t do that with her. And she and Sam are friends, but Sam’s never pinned her to a counter. Sam’s never held her hand, either-

Oh.

Fuck.

Bobby clears his throat and you blink down at him. “You alright, kiddo?”

“Yeah?” That shouldn’t sound like a question. “Yeah. I, um- Yeah.”

Bobby gives you an unimpressed look. “I’ve been askin’ you to grab the salt for a damn minute, and you’ve just been standin’ there. Try again.”

“I-“ You swallow, setting down the bowl of your batter carefully. It would be really nice, not to have this conversation with Bobby right now. Maybe ever.

You’d gotten an awkward show of how to put a condom on a banana, when you were sixteen. And there had been a period, before the pain and White and Darkness had started, where Bobby had tried to send you elementary and middle school, under a fake name. There had been a few kids who’d made you feel fuzzy, and you’d told Bobby all about them, and he’d grumbled something about kids and their crushes. But then there had been Dean, no one else, and all of Bobby’s awkward attempts to tell you that he’s okay with it, and just wants you to be happy.

But you hadn’t counted those as real. They’d been just like Sam and Jo’s teasing, because there might have been a ring of truth to it, but everything else was too complicated.

But there’s a chance.

Bobby grunts your name and you shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach.

“Bobby?” You speak slowly, not wanting to meet his gaze. “When you met your wife, how did you know?”

He frowns at you. “Know?”

“That it was-“ You take a deep breath. “That it was something.”

There’s a long pause, and Bobby sighs your name. “I ain’t sure what to tell you. I wish I could say somethin’ like fireworks, but it just was. Nothin’ big, nothin’ special. She was pretty, and I was a little drunk, so I took the jump and asked ‘er out. Then we built from there.”

You frown at the floor. It had been something special with Dean. It hadn’t been fireworks, but just fucking gravity. A pull, then a strange, dizzying feeling close to euphoria, making your whole-body light up. Then a feeling of needing to know him. But maybe you’d just been young, and you’d seen the most beautiful man alive, and lost your fucking mind-

“John used to tell me ‘bout when he knew for Mary.” Bobby says, and your gaze shoots up to find him watching you carefully. “He said he just looked at her one day and got those fireworks. And they mighta been ordained for heaven or whatever shit Cas said, but fireworks don’t last. I’d gotten fireworks with plenty of ladies, before Karen. But with her, it always… more. Felt like lookin’ at the stars. When I decided to marry ‘er, it wasn’t cause of some movie like, time slowin’ musical bullshit moment. It was ‘cause I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, blinking sudden tears out of your eyes. “Bobby, I- I don’t know-“

“You know.” Bobby shrugs, giving you a gentle smile, and you shake your head.

“But- It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, sinking down to the floor. “It is the fireworks. And it’s where I’m supposed to be, but it can’t be ordained by Heaven and- It just- It feels-“ You wipe your tears with your palm, and Bobby passes you a cloth. He’s wheeled over to your side, and you haven’t felt this much smaller than him in a while. Like really just a kid. And his hand rests on your shoulder as you take deep breaths, trying to find an end to your sentence.

“It doesn’t have to be anythin’ big.” Bobby mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear it. “All you gotta do is throw that boy a bone, and he’ll eat out of your hand.”

You shake your head, sniffing slightly. “That’s a little dramatic-“

“Uh huh. When was the last time he said no to you?”

Fuck. “Bobby-“

“It’s his birthday,” Bobby sighs your name, and you look up to see him frowning at the air. “Like I said, don’t gotta marry ‘im right now. Whatever you can manage, long as you’re both happy.”

Long as you’re both happy.

Dean deserves being happy with anyone but you.

But you’ve always wanted it to be you. For there to be another life where you’re still doing this—maybe not crying on the floor until you’re ready to get up, but making Dean a birthday dinner—and there are not monsters in the shadows or wars on the horizon. For you always to be the one at Dean’s side.

Just like now, getting to smile at him as he drops into his seat and bumps your knees together. And you’re not going break it or infect it. Not going to be the reason it breaks, because it’s your whole life, and nothing about that is complicated.

Maybe—in that life—you have to pay a mortgage and student loans, and maybe sometimes you fight with Dean about stupid things, but nobody dies. There’s not a sense of one night, and one night only, as you, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Bobby eat and laugh and joke.

There’s no threat of God, wrapped around your neck like a noose set to yank you up without warning, so when Sam brings out the pie and cake—he has the biggest hands, and can walk—you kiss Dean before he blows out his candles.

You don’t kiss him.

Not here, or now. But you sing him happy birthday, and watch his eyes widen on yours as his lips part, and you want to kiss him here. With the soft light of the candles flickering over his face, and that same peaceful look washed over his features, mixing with one of almost awe.

You love him. And if it can only ever be like this—the painful, long, complicated way—you’ll be okay with that. It would be almost impossible not love him, which is why you’ve never been able to fault that faceless woman in your head. The one who someday comes along and takes Dean away from you.

But you’re the one who’s going to be taken away.

And right now, you’re the one he’s looking at. The one he’s giving fireworks, and keeping his thigh pressed against, and the one who belongs at his side.

So even if you only get one of these moments every ten years, you’ll keep loving Dean like it’s written into the fabric of your soul. It’s impossibly easy.

And Bobby’s right. It’s the only thing you’ve ever really known.

The rest of the night is just about Dean. Eating the cake and pie—Dean hadn’t lied, he’s refusing to take bites unless you take them first, and you’re either going to punch him in the gut or climb on his lap at the table and see what happens—then playing poker. You lose, horribly, and very fast, but Dean lets you hang over his shoulder and explains all his hands to you before he plays them.

“How are you this bad at poker, Princess.” He grins at you as Sam takes another million years to decide what he’s doing. “I know you don’t hustle, but that was- Real bad.”

“I’m bad at math,” you mumble, and Dean gives you an amused look.

“You make spreadsheets for fun.”

“That’s not the same,” Sam frowns up from his cards. “That’s data organization. I do it.”

“And you’re good at math, Sammy-“

“That’s correlation, not causation-“

“I don’t know what the fuck that means-“

Dean cuts himself off as you whisper in his ear. “Correlation is two data points that move together, but it’s just a coincidence. Causation is when two data points are the same because one is caused by the other.”

“Ah.” Dean nods slowly, and twists to give you a grin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You beam at him, Sam makes a gagging sound, and Bobby whacks him for taking a million years to make his move.

After the poker game ends—Cas winning by a mile, shocking Dean and Bobby but pretty unsurprising considering neither of them, at any point, knew what Cas was going to do next—there’s a quick exchange of presents, and you try not to look too lovingly at Dean while he opens them. It can’t be written on your face. You still have rules, and you still can’t tell him or indulge or make it about you either—this won’t be about you, if you open the door a crack and Dean is the one who breaks it down—and you can’t show it on your face.

But it’s hard, when he gives Cas a tight, sudden hug for the rare car parts he’d found during his God-travels, or Bobby gets the same treatment when he shows Dean the upgraded TV in the living room. Or when he grins at Sam for the joke toy gun, then crushes him in another hug for the rare jerky and Batarang shaped knives he found online.

He looks so happy. And he’s retreating to your room, as the night comes to an end. Because he’s not yours, but fuck, he’s something close to it. And that’s more than you’ve ever dared to hope for.

You never want to let it go.

“These are cool,” you hum, focusing on the Batarang spinning in your hand and trying really hard not to think about shirtless Dean, washing his face in the bathroom. “Do you know where Sam found them?”

“You know Princess, you can just have them.” Dean laughs, and you look up to find him walking over to where you’re cross legged on the bed, still not wearing a shirt.

You want to touch him. All the slopes and panes of his chest, every scar, the lines of his tattoo and then the muscles of his back, and he’s so Golden and if you pressed your face into his stomach, it would be soft and safe.

“They’re a gift,” you manage to whisper, blinking up at him. “I can’t take them, De-“

“You don’t have to,” he shrugs, dropping on the edge of the mattress. “But whenever you wanna use them, they’re there.” He pauses. “Is it rude if I tell you I really wanna see what you got me?”

You let out a soft laugh. “No, it’s not. And maybe I didn’t get you anything-“

“Don’t try to lie, sweetheart. I’ll know.” He leans forward, and you can feel the heat from his body. “And you have to show me. It’s my birthday.”

You give him a flat look. “For thirty more minutes.”

“And I’m gonna milk that half hour like you can’t believe. C’mon, please?” he gives you a dramatic, pleading expression, and you can’t stop your giggle. “You’re not supposed to laugh-“

“Sorry.” You grin at him, and he just rolls his eyes. “You want your presents?”

He blinks at you. “Presents?”

You nod, and reach over to the drawer of your bedside table. “You’re not allowed to say anything until I give you all of it. Okay?”

Dean doesn’t respond, and when you look over your shoulder, he’s right there. Inches away and grinning at you, not saying a single word.

You roll your eyes, his grin grows, and you shove him slightly so you can sit back up.

“I got you an iPod.” You say, holding out each item as you speak. “You need to get into the 21st century, Deano. But, I also got you a bulk pack of blank mixtapes because I know you won’t. And, um-“ You reach under the bed, not allowing your gaze to linger on his face for too long. “I also got you a cowboy hat, and I’ll watch one whole Clint Eastwood movie with you, and I promise not to say anything when it’s stupid.” You give him a small smile, carefully placing the cowboy hat on his brow, and tipping it up when it falls slightly forward. “Happy Birthday, Dean.”

I love you.

It’s all you can think, as he stares at you. Not saying a single word, but not kicking you out either, and you can’t really read his expression. Can’t figure out what he’s thinking, if you’re about to lose him, if he’s going to grab you into one of those hugs, if maybe, you get to crash into him and feel it more than any possible pain-

Dean reaches up slowly, tucks a little hair behind your ear with a feather-light touch, and you blink at him.

“Do you like them?” You ask, trying not to let your voice waver, and he nods.

“They’re awesome,” he mutters your name, and his eyes look slightly glassed over. His hand is still lingering on your face. “You’re awesome, Princess. These are- Really fucking awesome.”

You give him a nervous smile. “Did I break you?”

“No.”

“Then-“

He sets the cowboy hat off to the side and leans forward, but doesn’t kiss you. Dean’s brow just falls to yours as he cradles your face in his hands, and you’re really not sure what’s happening.

“De.” You whisper, carefully dragging one of his hands into yours. “Are you okay?”

He nods, but his grip on you only tightens.

“Dean-“

“I don’t wanna fight.” He mutters, and you frown.

“We’re not going to fight-“

“Yeah, we are. I’m gonna tell you, and you’re gonna get pissed-“

“No, I’m not-“

“Princess-“

“I’m not your Dad.” You say softly, and he lets out a shaking breath. “I know we fight but I- I’d never get mad at you for not liking something, or feeling something, or-“

“Being selfish?”

“You’re not selfish, Dean.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, I am.”

“Dean-“

“I asked Death.” He mutters, breath ghosting over your lips, and you still in his touch. “Asked him if you had a way out, from that God bullshit. And Hell, if he’d told me all I had to do was trade you for someone else or do a fuckin’ volcano sacrifice- Son of a bitch, I would’ve done it. Wouldn’t have hesitated, either. Even if it ruined some poor assholes life, losing his girl so I could keep mine.”

His.

“De-“

“But he said no.” Dean’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and when he pulls you a little forward, you don’t fight him. “That you are the Bride of God, and there’s nothin’ I can do about it. Fucking- I don’t know how the hell you did it.”

You frown. “Did with?”

“Didn’t fucking kill someone.” He rasps. “When you knew you were gonna lose me. Hell, I’m not even losing you and I- Shit-“

Dean leans back, scanning over your face with an intensity you can feel lighting up the Spiderweb, and you just hold his gaze.

“I need you, baby.” He mutters, and your fingers curl on his hands. “You’re my best friend, and I need you. And I don’t care if it makes me selfish, if God needs a wife he can take anyone else, but he can’t take you.”

Baby.

I need you, baby.

Again, you don’t think about it. You’ve never had to think about it with Dean. He moves, so you move.

And when you crash up into him, your lips slamming against each other like you’re trying to fuse together, you know it’s not going to go there. Not tonight. Dean can pull you fully into his lap and you can wrap your arms around his neck, but that’s as close as you’ll get. The bare skin of your thigh brushing his naked abdomen, as you try to climb up his chest. His hand tangling in your hair.

You can’t do more. Not when you can’t feel God watching, but some pain lingers on your wrists, and the deep, frozen fear that he’ll just take you.

That you’ll tell Dean the thing you’re never allowed to say—instead of just moaning his name down his throat or squeezing his hand three times—and God will rip you away. Or worse, that Dean will try to fuck you, and you’ll vanish from his hands.

But this can be enough. It’s Dean.

So it’s always enough.

A high whine leaves your throat as he angles his mouth over yours, deepening the kiss until it’s all just Gold and a high feeling brimming under your skin and rising in your chest. Dean’s hands are rough but careful as they start to roam under your shirt, lighting small trails of fire on your skin, and he groans your name when your nails sink into his shoulders.

The sound sends an ache of warmth between your thighs, and you start to grind down, trying to chase some friction as your breath hitches and your mouth falls wide open for Dean to take, you just want him to take you and touch you, because there’s no pain when his tongue is tangled in yours and his erection is pressed right over your core-

Dean grabs your hips, kissing the tip of your nose and rubbing his hands soothingly, and slows your pace.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, finger trailing up your spine and making you shake in his arms. “I’ve got you.”

He’s got you.

You melt into him with a happy sigh, and Dean’s got you.

You let him take the lead—you’d let him lead you anywhere, and apparently you can’t be trusted to control yourself when you can feel every flex of his muscles—and he turns the kiss slow. Not pushing, not demanding, just rolling you carefully onto your back, squeezing the skin of your hips and grinning at your soft sigh.

It’s more than the fireworks. It’s enough heat to maybe rewire a universe. But it’s also so gentle, the way he’s touching you and kissing you like he’s just as afraid as you are, that you’re going to vanish.

But most of all, when Dean presses a final, sweet kiss on your swollen lips and rolls onto his side, keeping you pressed to his chest, it’s comfortable. Easy. The Spiderweb singing in time with the drum of his heart, and his hands pressed into your skin in a possessive way that might leave a brand.

You hope it does. Or that the Earth grows around you both, and nothing ever tries to take you away from him.

Because this, here, in Dean’s arms with the taste of him on your tongue, and your legs tangled together, is right where you belong.

——————

Dean’s caught. Suspended. Trapped like a damn animal, unable to even gnaw its own leg off.

The two people that he loves the most are trying to kill him. They’re both genius, unmovable, determined idiots that he’d lay down his life for in a heartbeat, even though they both keep being insane.

Sam had cornered him last night, while She and Bobby had been in the library. Sat across from Dean at the table with a firm expression, dead quiet until Dean had raised his brows.

You got something you wanna tell me, Sammy?”

Sam had sighed—as if he hadn’t been the one who cornered Dean—and spoken with a heavy tone that set a stone in Dean’s gut. “We need to move soon. On Lucifer.”

Dean’s jaw had clenched. “Yeah, man, I know-“

“And we’re doing my plan.”

The fucking plan. The stupid fucking plan that was going to make him lose Sammy forever, that Death had made him promise to go through with. “Sam-“

“There’s no other way-“

“We’ll do it.”

Sam had blinked at him. “We will?”

Dean had nodded, staring at his beer bottle on the table. “Yeah. No other way, right?”

“Right.” Sam had stared at him for a long moment, before clearing his throat. “So, um- I wanted to talk to you about after. When I’m…” he’d swallowed, and Dean’s fists had clenched.

That wasn’t the Sam that hunted at his side and was addicted to demon blood and had all the same nightmares, but just strangled them in silence and kept moving.

Across the table from him was Sammy. The little kid who had been afraid of the dark and cried when he saw clowns. The one who had gotten lost in a grocery store when they were kids and hugged Dean first when they found him. And Dean goddamn knew that Sam didn’t want to do this either. Just like he knew that the kid was a stubborn bitch, and nothing Dean could say would make them turn back now.

“When I’m not here,” Sam muttered, and Dean might have been about to break the bottle. “What you do after.”

Dean had frowned. “The hell you mean what I do-“

“I know you, Dean.” Sam had sighed. “You’re going to want to try and bring me back, but if I come back, Lucifer comes back with me. And I- I don’t want you to have the stupid hunter death. You deserve better than that.”

That had pulled a dry, humorless laugh out of Dean’s throat. “No, I-“

“It’s not up to you.” Sam had cut him off, his eyes flicking in the direction of the kitchen, and something to the right of Dean’s heart had stuttered. “You know it’s there, Dean. I know you’re never going to be to- Y’know. With anyone else. And I- I’d feel better if I knew you guys would have each other-“

“We do have each other.”

“That’s not what I mean, dude.” Sam had given him a tightlipped smile. “I know she’s got her own thing with, uh- God-“

“I don’t give a fuck about that.” Dean had grunted. “She might not be ready, Sam. And I’m not gonna-“

“Tell a girl that you have a crush on her?” Sam had raised his brows. “That kind of sounds like me, Dean, not you.”

Dean’s eyes had narrowed, and Sam had just held his gaze casually, his tone bored.

“You could take another ten years to settle down. But I want you to stay with her, Dean. Try to stop hunting, don’t try to bring me back, and-“ Sam had sighed. “I don’t know, man. Have a life.”

“And you just-“ Dean had scowled, shaking his head. “Want us to leave you in there? The hell we’re just gonna freakin’ abandon you-“

“You’re not abandoning me, Dean.” Sam had given him a sad smile. “You’re saving the world, then resting. If not for me, for her.”

For Her.

Sam hadn’t needed to say what he meant.

That, if there was anyone to be worried about, it was Her.

Dean wanted it. God, he fucking wanted it. He’d never seen anything clearer than those fantasies in his head, where he woke up next to Her and got to kiss her good morning, and they showered together. Then he made her breakfast and she made him lunch and they ordered take out for dinner. He’d flip Her over on the couch and kiss down Her body, and She’d give him that blinding smile in the dark. Maybe he’d have a picture of Her in his wallet, and the assholes at his normal, tax-paying job would tease him about saying my girl all the time, but then they’d meet Her, and understand.

If they to be in Her orbit, they’d never shut up about it either. Not when all the world moved for Her, but She only moved to Dean.

And he cared about the Bride of God thing. He’d been lying through his teeth to Sammy, because he knew he was going to lose Her. He’d always known, but now it wasn’t just a cold fear in his ribs, making his breathing sort of shallow. It was just the truth. Sort of gospel, because it had been told by God. And when Her time came, if She didn’t want to go, he’d still fight to keep Her. And he’d end up dead—it was God—but at least he would’ve died in Her name.

The promise to Sam was the easiest one he’d even make. It was going to be real damn easy to stay with Her, when this was done. To maybe crack when he thought of Sammy, but then just hold Her until the pain eased a little. If he only got to have Her for a week, a month, a year, a decade, he wanted to have Her. To love Her well enough that when God came, She’d spend the rest of time knowing that Dean had loved Her. And he’d loved Her right, and She’d never wanted for anything as long as She’d been in his arms.

He hadn’t fucked Her, on his birthday. He wanted to do it right. Not in a storm of confusing pain his chest, warmth in his gut, and a high in his head from how She’d been on his lap and kissing him like She was starved. Gentle. Romantic. Like in a telenovela or drama show, where someone did a big, sweeping gesture, and the other person realized that they were deeply in love, and then they fucked on rose petals.

In the moment, with Her fast asleep in his arms and a tiny little bruise Dean had put on Her neck, it had felt like the right call.

But he should’ve known better. Sammy was right, Dean wasn’t the one to be worried about. It would fucking suck, and he might never sleep well again, but this was Sam’s last wish. And Dean had always wanted to grow roots with Her, and put up a white fence that She’d carve with Enochian, and hug Her from behind while they made apple pies for a dumb bake sale.

She was the one who never stopped running. Who was going to want to do something insane to try and get Sammy back.

Hell, She already was trying to do something insane.

They’d been hunting demon blood for Sammy, and She’d tipped Her head back on the Impala’s bench as they drove back to Bobby’s. Looked at Dean under fluttering lashes and with pouted lips, and his eyes had narrowed. That was Her expression when She wanted something.

“Deano.” She’d said softly, and his grip had tightened on the wheel. “Can you pull over, please?”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“Whatever you want, ask me while I’m driving.”

She’d sighed. “I don’t want you to crash.”

Son of a fucking bitch, things could never just be simple and easy. Something in the universe had to be out to fucking get him, because he’d pulled the car off to the side of the road, and She’d given him a sweet, full-lipped smile, and he’d known this wasn’t going to end with anything good.

“Remember how I completely and totally forgave you for going to see Death behind my back?”

Dean had given Her a flat look. “Princess-“

“This is like that. You’re gonna be mad at me, and I- I’m sorry, but-“ She’d taken a shuddering breath, and given him a nervous look. “We can kiss again, if that helps?”

It wasn’t fair how She was so damn adorable. How that would help, but She couldn’t know that Dean would probably let her get away with anything if She rewarded him with the right touches. If he had to carry Her out of playing in oncoming traffic, but got to make Her scream his name and arch off the bed, he’d never be capable of being really mad at Her.

She liked to test him, though. Liked to see just how much She could bring out of him—the answer was all of it, Dean was never more than when he was with Her—and, just like Sammy, goddamn kill him.

He’d muttered Her name, slinging his arm around the back of the bench and tipping Her face up to hold his gaze, and She’d let out a long, soft breath.

“Please don’t be mad.” She’d mumbled, and before Dean could respond, She was rambling. “This isn’t just my idea, it’s Cas’ too. I mean, it was my idea, but he helped. He found the apples, and he- He backed me up-“

“Princess-“

“Remember how I was able to pull Zachariah out of his vessel?” She’d said nervously, and Dean froze. “And, um, I almost did it with Raphael too? I- I think I can just toss Lucifer and Michael in the cage.”

Dean had stared at Her for a long moment, unable to fully form a thought, his own voice sounding a million miles away. “You think.”

“Yeah.” She’d whispered, Her eyes shining on his. “But, um- You’re not going to like how.”

That was damn right. Dean fucking hated how. And he’d fought with Her about it. Told Her it was insane, to fake-join Lucifer, to take magic steroids, to try and grab archangels-

“Dean.” She’d grabbed both his hands, pushing up on Her knee under her body, and it didn’t seem like a fair fight. She looked heavenly in the morning mist and light, and She smelled like fruit and sugar and god-

“No. It’s goddamn bonkers, Princess.”

She gave him a small smile. “Bonkers?”

“No.” He’d pointed an accusing finger at Her, and her smile had grown. “You can’t try and joke me out of this one, sweetheart, there’s no way in hell you’re doing this.”

“Please.” She’d scooted closer, and he’d just stared at Her, a little enchanted like an idiot. Dad had been right. She was dangerous, and She might make Dean an idiot.

But he could never hate Her, either. It wasn’t Her fault Dean liked falling under her spell, or dreamt about Her drowning him in all Her fruit and sugar and light.

“I’ll be okay, De.” She’d whispered, Her siren-like voice calling him down, down, down- “Sam will be okay, too, I just need to catch Lucifer off guard-“

“So we throw him a surprise party.” He’d grunted, and She smiled at him. The real, sweet smile that had always sort of melted him, because She didn’t really give it to anyone else.

“Dean.” She’d hummed, squeezing his hand three time. Fine. Everything was fine. “Please. I can’t do it without you.”

Fuck. He’d agreed. He was a weak willed, selfish asshole that wanted Her to love him and never look anywhere else for things she needed. And this could go wrong. This could, so goddamn easily, go a million ways wrong. Dean could think of about fifty off the top of his head.

But he’d always just been a weapon. A blood and dirt-rusted blade for the people he loved to wield. And apparently being that meant sitting awkwardly with Bobby while Sammy downed gallons of demon blood in the panic room, and She kept him company because She’d be the safest.

He and Bobby hadn’t really spoken. They’d played a card game and glanced at the stairs to the basement, waiting for Her to come up and tell them that they were ready to go. The original plan had just been turn themselves over to demons, but She’d rolled Her eyes like that was insane and insisted on using Her tracking spell.

And now, with Sam silent in the passenger’s seat, Her curled up in the back seat—slumped against a fully alert Cas, picking at Her fingers again, making Dean want to pull over and make Her stop, but they didn’t have enough time—and another bone guiding Dean on the dash, they were at the end.

This was it. She’d told him that She had that apple thing in Her jacket, and that She’d be fine. Lucifer wouldn’t hurt Her. And if Sam didn’t get a hold on Lucifer, she wanted to go for Michael, too.

Of course She did.

Because She and Sam were trying to fucking kill him.

Dean hated this. He’d never really hated anything more. He’d been staring at Death’s ring for hours last night, sitting up on the headboard and She’d been curled into his side, and hadn’t been sure it was worth it. The world. He was a selfish fucking asshole, and She might not be able to see it, but Dad had. Dad had known him better than anyone. He’d told Dean that the hard thing was the right thing, and that he just wanted Dean to be strong enough to do the right thing.

This didn’t fucking feel like the right thing. Letting the world fucking burn didn’t feel like the right thing either. The right thing maybe felt like using Death’s ring to kill God, because it was possible. Death had said God would die, and there wasn’t any damn reason it didn’t have to be now. Dean could use it to make God talk his asshole sons down from ending the world, then kill the douchebag anyway, so She never had to go.

Selfish.

This fucking sucked. And Sammy didn’t know about Her plan, and Bobby didn’t know Her plan—goddamnit, Bobby was finally going to shoot him—and Dean knew She was powerful or whatever, but fuck, She couldn’t just do this alone. She’d always told Dean she needed him, for when She fell apart or faltered and he could be Her weapon, carving them to the end.

But they were at the end. And unless this went perfectly, Dean wouldn’t be allowed to go with Her. If something went wrong, he’d still lose one of them.

That was the real fear, he knew. The cold, uncertain dread settled back in the cavity of his chest, splitting that pit more and more open until it was a canyon of just fucking empty dread.

He didn’t know who he was going to lose. And there was a dangerous light of hope deep in the pit—that he’d get to keep them both—but it was just going make this so much fucking worse.

“He’s in there.” Dean muttered, frowning at the abandoned building the Bone was angled towards. “Showtime.”

She and Cas exchanged at look that Dean could see in the rearview mirror, but went entirely unnoticed by Sam.

“Do I just… walk in and tell him?”

“Ideally, yes.” Cas muttered. “And Dean-“

“Got the rings.” He muttered, his hand sliding into his jacket. “And the incantation.”

Cas nodded, and Dean wanted to roar that this a mistake, all of this was a mistake, something was going to go wrong, and they needed to turn back now, but the brake lines had been cut.

They walked into the house, Cas waiting the car—She and Cas exchanged a strange look before they separated, making Dean’s stomach churn—and there was no way out.

Lucifer was waiting for them, arms spread wide and a manic grin on his face. His burnt, rotting, ugly face, the substitute vessel already falling apart. Dean wasn’t sure if the bile in his throat was from the sight of the motherfucker, or just what he knew was about to happen.

“Sammy! And Dean, and,” his grin fell to Her, and shooting his smug face wouldn’t do anything, but Dean really wanted to. “Hi, doll. I heard about your talk with Mikey. He really can’t charm a lady, can he? You finally realize that I’ve got the better deal?”

She didn’t response, just glancing to Sam, and Lucifer sighed.

“Guys, this is a safe space. We can all talk about our feelings, before I climb into Sam and Sam tries to jump us both to hell.”

The room fell dead silent, Lucifer grinning at them with an amused expression, and Dean’s blood curled in his body. He knew. The son of a bitch knew, of course he knew, Dean didn’t have a goddamn clue why they’d even fucking bothered because now he was going to lose Sammy-

“Here, I’ll start. Sam,” Lucifer put on a simpering, wounded expression. “While I am hurt that you’d try to do that to me, I forgive you. I would still love to hop in for a ride, though. And if you get the reigns, hey! Fair game! I mean, I will torture you for eternity for putting back there,” he spat the word, and Sam paled. “But right now? Let’s fucking dance, baby.”

No. This wasn’t going to end well, and Dean glanced down to see Her braced and ready, and no-

“Ready, Sammy.” Lucifer spread his arms wide. “What’d you say? Ready to take on the world?”

No-

“Okay.” Sam stood a little taller, but her still just looked like a kid- “Yes.”

Dean lurched forward. This couldn’t happen. Lucifer had the jump on them, so he didn’t give a fuck about cut brake, they had to go-

“Dean.” She grabbed his arm, and shook her head. “You can’t.”

“Yeah, Dean.” Lucifer grinned at Her, his body starting to glow, and raised his brows. “C’mon, doll, you’re the last thing we’re missing-“

“No,” Dean’s grip tightened on Her arm, and he didn’t care about the plan. Both of them, he couldn’t lose both of them-

“And you know Mike’s not going to be good to him.” Lucifer hummed, and something strange flashed over her favors. “I am going to win, but on the chance I don’t… Dean was the prettiest girl at the dance, and he turned Michael down. You remember my promise. You already lost the shoe in with Heaven, I don’t think you want Daddy coming back.” He extended a hand, attention entirely on Her, and no- “Join me. You won’t have to be the Bride. Just you, me, Sammy, and, well-“ He grinned at Dean. “You know the rest.”

She swallowed, and Sam’s eyes widened on Her’s.

“Don’t,” he said Her name in a pleading tone, and Dean felt like he was drifting in the Ocean.

He knew the tide had grabbed him. He knew what was going to happen. Sammy had said yes, and he couldn’t take it back. She had a plan, and Dean had the rings, but She wanted to go for Michael too. If he fought it, he’d just be dragged further and further down, but not into Her. Into the pit in his body, already feeling so fucking empty because he fucking knew-

Sam repeated Her name desperately, and She shook Her head.

“You have to promise.” She whispered, Her eyes not moving from Lucifer, and Dean knew it was an act, but She was too damn good at it.

“Promise. Easy.” Lucifer grinned at Her. “You in?”

“Yeah.” She let go of Dean’s arm, and he could still feel the fucking burn from where She had been touching him. “I’m in.”

Sam shouted Her name, and Dean didn’t fucking care about the plan. If this was being selfish, he’d live with it. He was going to fucking fight the tide, and he was going to let it kill him because fucking hell, he couldn’t do this without Her-

The room started to glow a red-gold light, and Dean was thrown back like a hammer had slammed into his chest. Fully out of the room with Her and Sam still inside, and Lucifer growing brighter and brighter as She stood at his side.

Their eyes met, for only a second. She gave Dean a small, sad smile and blinked three times, right before the door slammed shut.

But nothing was fine. None of this was fucking fine. Dean slammed his fist of the door and roared their names, and it wasn’t for the show of it. He didn’t care if Lucifer found out about Her plan, he just wanted Her back, wanted Sammy back, needed Sammy to fucking know that She wasn’t betraying them, She was just insane and brilliant and reckless, so fucking reckless with Herself when She was the most important thing in the world-

The door broke open, and Dean stumbled forward into an empty room. They were gone. Both of them were gone, and he’d just fucking let it happen. The rings felt heavier than a black hole in his pocket, and they were both gone.

He’d get them back. They had a plan, and he was going to get them both back. But he couldn’t really breathe. All the air felt like ash in his lungs.

He wasn’t going to be able to breathe until he got them both back.

Cas was frowning at him when he returned to the car, glancing past Dean’s shoulder to the dead empty house. “Did she-“

“Yeah.” Dean grunted, holding the rings up for Cas to see. “She’s going for the big game.”

“Michael.” Cas muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze. “We will need to find the location of the final fight, and meet her there. The prophet should be able to see it.”

“Chuck?” Dean glanced over, and Cas nodded. “You think he’s going to be able to see how this ends? If we get it?”

“I would not count on it. Without God’s interference…” Cas sighed. “We have no way of knowing what will happen.”

Dean didn’t understand the point of a prophet, if they couldn’t just know that everything was going to be fine. That he’d find them, open the cage, She’d pull Lucifer out of Sammy and Michael out of Adam, and it would be over. They’d have to figure out what the hell to do with Adam, if this worked. The dumbass had voluntarily handed himself over to Michael, like the dipshit hadn’t kidnapped him only weeks ago. And whenever he’d tried to bring it up with Her, she’d just shrugged and mumbled something about angels being convincing.

She’d know. Michael and Lucifer had made Her offers, and She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Dean they’d give Her paradise, but there had to be more. If they thought She wanted paradise, Lucifer would’ve offered her more. Heaven’s whole deal was bringing paradise.

And Lucifer had been a lot less suspicious of Her than Dean liked. As if he’d always known he’d win Her over. It didn’t make Dean feel any better, with how real the whole thing had felt. And he trusted Her, with more than his goddamn life, but son of a bitch She liked to pull the most insane shit without telling him.

He couldn’t think about it. They had work to do, so Dean couldn’t think about it. Just like he couldn’t think about how quiet the entire world was.

Like it was already in mourning.

He didn’t want to think about any of this. He just wanted to go the hell back, to when She’d been right next to him. To when he didn’t have to park the car and walk inside, look Bobby in the eyes, and tell him what happened.

Bobby just stared at him. And maybe Dean should just swallow the end of the shotgun, because whatever Bobby did to him for losing Her, he deserved it-

“She tell you she was plannin’ that?” Bobby grunted, his knuckles white on his wheelchair, and Dean nodded.

“She would have done it behind our backs.” Cas injected, and Dean apprenticed it. He wasn’t sure he could say anything without choking right now. “If we didn’t help her. I got her an aid, to increase her power. And Dean will open the cage, so she can keep the upper hand on Lucifer.”

Bobby looked at Dean for another long, impossible heavy silence, then nodded.

“We best get our asses to work then.” His voice was gruff, but Dean recognized the strain in it. It was the same strain he had over his own ribs. “If she’s doin’ all the work, she needs to two idjits to pull your share.”

Their share was making a fucking phone call.

“So,” Chuck’s voice was a little static through the laptop speakers as he said Her name. “She chose Lucifer?”

Cas sighed. “She pretended to choose Lucifer. She plans to put both Lucifer and Michael in the cage, and this is the easiest way.”

Chuck frowned. “Why both? Lucifer is the one starting the end of the world, right?”

“I don’t think Michael made that good an impression on her.” Bobby’s tone was a little dry, and Chuck’s frown deepened, but Dean pushed on. They didn’t have time for this.

“I’ve got the key to the cage,” he held it up to the camera. “So nothing’s happening until we get to her. And she’s not making a move until she’s got them both in one place, so we need to know when that’s going to happen.”

“Um, probably the final battle?” Chuck glanced at Dean nervously. “It’s at noon, in Lawrence, Kansas. Skull cemetery. And she’s really planning to put them both in-“

“Yep.” Dean shoved the key back into his jacket. “Well, Chuck, if there’s another side, we’ll see you there-“

“Wait!” Chuck sat up on the screen, and Dean’s hand paused on the top of the laptop. “Do you want to know what they’re doing? Her and Sam?”

Dean froze. He wanted nothing more to know that they were okay, but Christ, if they weren’t-

“I thought you weren’t able to see in her head,” Bobby muttered, and Chuck sighed.

“I- I can’t. But I can see into Sam’s, so I know she’s there.”

Bobby’s eyes flashed, and he wheeled a little closer. “She alright? Lucifer ain’t- He’s not hurtin’ her-“

“I don’t think he can.” Chuck frowned. “All I saw when I was thinking of Sam is- Um- Well he’s not really thinking clearly. He’s sort of angry, but mostly because she didn’t let him in on whatever she’s planning. And whenever I could see her, it was just kind of in a corner. Lucifer’s talked to her a few times about how when he’s done, he’ll help her burn her veil? But also that, um-“ Chuck brow furrowed. “She can do better than Dean. And she should take a second look at the menu, when they’re done.”

Dean’s grip on the laptop tightened, his words pushed through his teeth. “Alright. Bye, Chuck.”

He slammed the laptop, and turned to see Cas and Bobby frowning at him.

“What?”

They exchanged some strange look, and Cas cleared his throat. “We are… worried about you, Dean. You may not be going into this with the most stable state of mind-“

Dean cut him off with a scoff. “Stable states of mind are for assholes who do yoga and business douchebags. I’m fine.”

“Dean.” Bobby grunted. “I know what you’re thinkin’ right now-“

“No, you don’t-“

“That you feel like your whole fuckin’ life is on the line, and you ain’t able to do jack shit about it?” Bobby’s voice raised, and he held Dean’s glare. “I know that’s exactly what you’re thinkin’ boy, cause I’m thinkin’ it. At least you’re able to go out there and do somethin’ about it. Don’t get blinded and let all the shit they’re puttin’ themselves through go to waste.”

Dean’s hands curled into fists, and he shook his head. “They’re both in danger, Bobby, I’m going to do whatever the hell I gotta to get them out of it-“

“I know ya are, Dean. But I-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “Don’t be stupid about it.”

“I won’t-“

“Yeah, ya will.”

They stared at each other for a second, and Bobby let out a long breath, looking between Dean and Cas with the most open look Dean had ever seen. And it was filled with exhaustion, and desperation, and-

Fear. Right on the surface of Bobby’s face was pure fear, and it was so wrong. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever even seen Bobby afraid, but God, it was maybe the worst thing in the world.

“Bring them home.” Bobby grunted. “Both of ‘em. And come back in one piece yourself.”

Dean nodded, and didn’t bother with a goodbye. If he said goodbye, that meant he might not come back. One piece or not.

And it wouldn’t be one piece, if he came back without Her or Sammy. If Dean came back with just Her, a large piece of him would be missing that would take a long, hard time to fill.

If he came back, somehow, without both of them, the pit in his body would split open, and he’d never be whole again.

Cas sat silently the whole drive, and Dean was grateful for it. Cas was there. Maybe his angel mojo was fucked, but at least he wasn’t doing this alone. At least Cas put on the music for him, dealt with the directions, and didn’t try to make him talk about how this was making him feel, because the only answer was dread. It was settling deeper than his bones, the closer they got to the cemetery. He could feel it, heavy like iron and cold like death, sunken over maybe just the fabric of his being.

And the cemetery was dry. Gray and dry, with a dead crow sadly resting over one of the graves. Michael and Lucifer were glaring at each other and walking in circles like the worst high noon showdown in history, and Sammy looked fine, but he didn’t walk like Sammy, and She was sitting behind Lucifer.

Silent.

Her being silent had never been a good thing.

Dean climbed out of the car, trying to keep his expression natural, or his lunch from falling all over the ground. “Hi. Sorry we’re late, guys, but Cas gave me a wrong exit on 81.”

Cas frowned at him, and Dean just shrugged. He couldn’t really hear his own voice, or see anything but a Sammy that actually Sammy, and Her flat-out refusal to look him in the eyes.

“Dean.” Michael frowned at him through Adam’s body, and Dean felt the dread rising to his throat, making him sort of sick. “You are lucky I don’t smite you where you stand, for daring to be here.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “He’s here to plead with Sammy and his Princess, Michael, let him get blown up in the mess-“

“I’d rather not get blown up.” Dean raised his hand, both archangels glared at him, and this didn’t really feel fucking real. “If we’re choosing horrible fates for me to meet, I’d veto blowing up. Cas, you wanna take that one for the team?”

Cas stared at him, and—thank goddamn Christ—seemed to pick up the insane plan Dean had backed himself into. “No. I would rather not.”

Dean nodded, gave the archangels an apologetic half-grin, and he was never going to be able to give Her shit about her plans again. This was what happened when he was left without Her and Sammy. His grand plan to save the world was the same one he’d had to coast through high school.

Talk and talk and talk and say nothing at all, until the bell ran out, and class was over.

Only here, the bell was Her doing whatever she needed to grab Michael and Lucifer, and class was her throwing them in the cage.

It wasn’t a good metaphor.

Dean needed Her and Sammy for that, too.

“Lucifer.” Michael grunted, and Dean was pretty sure that glare might be capable of shredding him to ribbons. “Unless you have objections, I am going to blow them both up so we can continue-“

“I have objections. You know I have objections.” Lucifer said Her name, and she glanced up from where she’d been cross-legged in the grass. “Tell Mikey he can’t blow up Dean.”

“She does not command us, Lucifer.” Micheal muttered, even as he eyed her wearily, and Lucifer laughed.

“Uh, yeah, she does. She certainly commands you. Dad spent so much time telling us about how perfect she’d be, how he’d done this all for her, can you imagine how disappointed he’d be in you if you made her cry?”

Michael didn’t visibly react, but Cas tensed at Dean’s side. Maybe it was only visible to other angels. “She chose wrong. I hold no deal to her, Lucifer, when she decided to turn her back on all I offered her-“

“You didn’t offer me anything,” She whispered, and Michael froze. “You told me you’d make me forget everyone. That you’d just hand me over to God.”

“He wants what’s best for you-“

She let out a dry laugh, pushing up to her feet. “Everyone wants what’s best for me. It’s usually ends with me in a basement.”

“It would have been paradise.” Michael hissed. “And you’ll see, when I win and offer you a second chance-“

“I don’t think she wants your second chance, man.” Dean cut in, trying not to think about how She was next to Lucifer. How all she needed now was to get between them. “She doesn’t really do first chances. You’re either in or out, and I don’t think you’re in.”

Michael scowled at him. “You should watch yourself, Dean. A hundred years goes faster than you think, and that is all it will take for Her to forget you.”

“Maybe.” Dean shrugged. “But I don’t think she’ll ever think anything good about you. Cas?”

“Dean.”

He frowned, and turned to find Cas a whole lot closer to him than before. Braced. As if he was ready for something.

“Uh-“ He shook his head, and watched her take a casual step forward in his periphery. “What does paradise look like?”

“A lot of nature.” Cas muttered, and Dean sighed, giving Michael a sympathetic look.

“See, that’s where you’re going wrong. My girl doesn’t like the outdoors. Hates bug spray, says it makes her skin itchy. And you’re gonna have to keep soda fountains around. And, uh-“ Dean said Her name, and their eyes met.

Her’s were a bright as when the door had closed between them. Not empty, but made of more life than he’d ever really been able to understand.

Telling him to be ready. And to keep going.

So he did.

“What’s the name of that makeup store you like?”

A small smile that could’ve been nothing, but Dean would know anywhere, crossed over her lips.

“Walgreens.”

“Right.” He looked back to Michael. “But she doesn’t buy from them, she steals. So you might need to make that, uh- Not a sin anymore. Or you can win,” he nodded to Lucifer. “But you’re gonna have to make sure the fires of hell don’t burn the books. She won’t like that either.”

There was a long second of silence, and she was just in Michael’s reach. One more second. They were so damn close-

Michael said that strange, musical sound Lucifer had made in San Francisco, and turned to her with a glare. “That is what you’re willing to betray the earth for? What you’re willing to side with my brother for, when my father, when I have been ready to give you whatever you want, since the world began?”

She didn’t say anything, but She didn’t move either, and Michael’s eyes narrowed.

“This is all in your name. And our fight,” he gestured between himself and Lucifer, who was mostly just frowning. “Is not yours. Come here. I’ll put you somewhere safe, until you understand.”

She still didn’t move.

But Michael did.

He lunged for Her, and Dean didn’t think. He’d never thought, when he was on a hunt. When She or Sammy were in danger.

He’d only ever moved.

Dean sprinted forward, trying to put himself between Her and Michael’s hand, and he couldn’t hear anything over the blood in his ears. She might have screamed his name, but at least if he died here, that would be the last thing he ever heard. And She’d pull out Sammy, and they’d be fine without him. She and Sammy had already survived when he’d been dead, and when God came for Her maybe she’d drop in on him in hell, because he sure as shit wasn’t going to heaven when Michael was about to kill him.

But he wasn’t dead.

He’d been yanked back by the collar of jacket, but Michael hadn’t grabbed Her. The archangel had been knocked back by Cas, brawling in Dean’s place, somehow holding his own for more than a second, until-

Cas vanished, reappeared at Dean’s side, and Michael burst into flames.

Dean stared at the lingering ash on the ground, then at Cas. “What the hell did you do?”

“I shot him.” Cas muttered, holding up a gun. “I did not know it would have that effect.”

“That’s Bobby’s gun.” She whispered, and Dean’s head whipped up to find her blinking at him. “I enchanted it.”

“Oh.” Dean grinned at Her. “Cool.”

“Castiel.” Lucifer hissed, and the expression on his face was goddamn murderous. It couldn’t be anything good. “You should be dead.”

“I know how not to shoot myself-“

“No.” Lucifer clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Holding a fight with Michael, even cheating should have destroyed you, but-“ His gaze slid to Her. “Someone helped you. Gave you a boost.”

She swallowed, and Cas grabbed Dean’s arm before he could launch forward again.

“You shouldn’t be strong enough to restore an angels grace.” Lucifer hissed. “You ate an apple, didn’t you. You were going to betray me.”

“I-“

“Shh.” Lucifer held a finger to his lips, his gaze sliding to Cas and Dean. “You did a good job. It’s going to take a lot more effort than before to smite him. But I can still-“

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Cas vanished. A shout had barely left Dean’s mouth when Lucifer scoffed, and appeared right in front of him, wrapping a hand around Dean’s throat and lifting him off the ground.

“He’s alive.” Lucifer sneered. “Thrown down to the bottom of the Pacific ocean, but alive. And I’d be more worried for yourself Dean.” He tossed Dean all the way back against the Impala, and the pain had barely even gotten a chance to hit him before he was being lifted up again, and slammed back down.

She was screaming again, in the background. But Dean couldn’t get to Her, couldn’t calm her down or save Her from this one. He could only look at Sammy’s face, full of a pure hate that made Dean wish Lucifer would just get it over with, and feeling the snap of his ribs as a kick like wrecking ball slammed into his chest.

"Hear that?” Lucifer sneered in his ear, and Dean’s vision was starting to fill with spots as his head got bashed once more. “She won’t hurt you, or she’ll try not to. But she’ll snap, and kill you, and then neither of you will get anything. I’ll lock her up, just like Mikey would’ve, and maybe Daddy will come and take her. Maybe she’ll just rot forever. Or I can bring her back, make a duplicate of you, and make her watch me kill all those too.” Lucifer laughed, and Dean wasn’t sure what was Her screams or just his own pain anymore. “I’ll kill that old coot you both got, too. And Sammy will live happily,” Lucifer raised him up, glass crashing somewhere in the background, and Dean felt a sting near his back. “Without any of you-“

Lucifer’s words cut off, and Dean blinked. The light was too bright. It was making his vision blur and his head throb, and he could barely see anything but Sammy’s face-

Sammy.

That wasn’t Lucifer, looking back at him in shock and confusion and pain. It was-

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was weak, and Sam’s grip slacked on him immediately.

“Fuck, Dean-“ Sam’s eyes scanned over him, wide and frantic. “I- I’m sorry-“

“Not-“ Dean coughed, the motion hurting his lungs, and She was still crying. He could hear it. It might be making everything hurt more. “Not you. Wasn’t you, Sammy, but-“

“Dean, I can’t hold him long- The cage-“

“No.” He shook his head, looking over Sam’s shoulder to Her. On Her knees in the grass, curled into Herself, a hand around her own throat.

He couldn’t go to Her now. They didn’t have time. But after, he’d maybe hold Her for the rest of his life and not let go.

Dean whispered Her name, shoving the key into Sam’s hand. “Trust her. You gotta trust her.”

Sam followed Dean’s gaze, nodded—not a question, but Dean didn’t really Sammy’d had one about her since they met—and moved.

He felt like he was floating. Like he was watching something on a TV, instead of it folding out in front of him. Sam stopped in front of Her, offering a hand to stand up, and She glanced at Dean but took it. Then She pulled an apple out of Her jacket—iridescent and glowing—and started to eat it as Sam tossed the key on to the ground. The earth started to shudder and bend, and Dean was still just suspended in nothing, unable to real feel anything but numb pain and that dread. The wind shifted slightly, blowing right against his face as She gave Sam a small smile, and placed a hand on his chest. And Dean-

He could smell the fruit. Stronger than ever in his goddamn life, right on the wind.

The apple. It was the fucking glowing apple, and he could smell it.

He was crashing right back down to earth, right as it all blew apart.

Michael reappeared, a step behind Her. And Dean roared Her name in warning, ignoring the pain it shot through his chest., but Sam was faster. He grabbed Michael, turned them both to Her with a tiny nod, and when She slammed Her hand on Michael’s chest, Dean could see it.

All the dry color of the cemetery, vivid. The dead grass turning green and starting to bloom in all those strange flowers Dean had never seen before. The ground shaking and the crow that had been dead on the grave a moment ago, cawing then taking off.

Her pupils, blindingly silver as Her beautiful face sent in determination. All Her features seeming to glow as She pulled Michael and Lucifer out of their vessel.

Michael moved first, and Dean felt like that thing deeper than his bones was being ripped apart. Michael was all yellow and a flurry of a million wings that were going to make him go deaf, and fitting in Her hand and somehow still bigger than the sun.

Michael was thrashing. Trying to fight Her, as he was pulled all the way out and Adam’s body fell to the ground. But Lucifer wasn’t coming out.

Lucifer wasn’t coming out, and She wasn’t throwing Michael into the pit. Every time Dean saw Her turn, Michael twisted and roared, Her eyes squeezed shut, and a goddamn tree shot out of the ground. She couldn’t let him go. She couldn’t let go of Michael, and Lucifer wasn’t coming out.

Time seemed to slow, and Dean wasn’t suspended anymore, but he also couldn’t move. Lucifer had either broken his legs, or he just didn’t fully register what was happening until it was done.

She looked at Sam, said something Dean couldn’t hear over the pounding of Michael’s wings, and Sam took her free hand and said something back. They just looked at each other for a long moment, and then they both looked at Dean.

He tried to call for them. Tried to roar that whatever they were doing, it was insane, and he could do it instead. He could take the bullet, jump on the grenade, be the punching bag or put himself in the line of fire.

He might have gotten his plea out. Maybe not. It didn’t really matter.

Because She and Sammy turned away and, hand in hand, fell into the cage together.

It sealed shut before Dean could even get in a breath for a scream.

And they were both gone. Leaving Dean alone with nothing but himself, and the wind.

End Note: I think this might have counted as psychological torture? Please not call the UN on me, they’ll send me a strongly worded letter.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @kittycain @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

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five-rivers · 2 days ago

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Polychrome Pronoia

This is the first entry of the first of my two experimental audience participation fics. Participation instructions are below the fic segment.

Warning tags: none so far!

The creation of a ghostly lair has certain requirements.

Firstly, a ghost must linger there, making it their exclusive home.

Secondly, the ghost must stake their claim to the area, defending it against other ghosts or otherwise marking it.

Thirdly, the area must be sufficiently saturated in ectoplasm. Indeed, the ratio of saturation must be several times higher than that of so-called haunts, which are as close as ghosts can get to a lair in the real world.

Usually.

It should be said that there was nothing usual about the city of Amity Park, or the ghost that lived there.

Danny liked to stargaze from the top of the Ops Center.

When he was younger, it hadn’t been a very good spot to see anything except the moon. Light pollution bad enough to defeat the moon would have been bad for other reasons. Like imminent blindness. Even so, the neon Fentonworks sign and the lights from the city made seeing anything except the moon, the brightest stars, and sometimes the planets impossible.

But once he’d died, that changed.

The stars didn’t get brighter, and the light pollution didn’t get less bad, but ghosts, as it turned out, had better low-light vision than humans, and saw colors just slightly differently. It still wasn’t as good as some of the pictures from dark-sky areas Danny had seen, but he could make out constellations, and, with his telescope, even some Messier objects. And his vision seemed to get better over time, growing with his power levels.

Sam and Tucker came with him, sometimes. He knew that they probably couldn’t see anything, past the glare of the Fentonworks sign and the lights on in the house, but it was very nice of them to humor him, to do this when he wanted to hang out but didn’t want to go out. It filled him with a sense of bubbly companionship.

“What are you talking about?” asked Tucker, laying next to Danny on the blanket. “I can see stuff just fine.”

“I mean, other than, like, Vega,” said Danny, pointing. “Vega’s pretty bright.”

“No,” said Sam, slowly. She was on the other side of Danny. “I don’t know about Tucker, but I can see constellations and stuff. The ones you pointed out to us before. Cassiopeia, the Big Dipper, and all that.”

“The Big Dipper is technically an asterism,” corrected Danny automatically. “Not a constellation. But you… I thought the light pollution would be too bad for you to see anything.”

Sam shrugged, her shoulders pulling slightly at the blanket. “The light pollution has gotten better since we started doing this, but I just figured that the city put in those anti-light pollution shades on the street lights or something.” She made a face. “I haven’t been keeping up with that kind of thing as well as I’d like.”

“They haven’t,” said Danny. “I used to send letters before Vlad took over. After that, there didn’t seem to be a point.”

“Yeah, he sucks at his job,” agreed Sam. “Did you know, some people went through and tallied up all his appearances at his businesses and stuff, and he only barely meets the residency requirement for being mayor? He’s probably here even less than they think because of the ghost stuff. Running around cloning people has to take up a lot of time.”

“Well, I mean,” said Danny, distracted, “he might be here more than they think, too, since he can just… fly home.”

“I don’t know,” said Tucker. “Does that sound like something he’d do when he’s got a comfy private jet?”

“Probably not.”

Thank you for reading this far! If you would like to participate, please reply to this post with what you want to happen or want to see in the fic next. This can be an event (e.g. the lab suddenly explodes), a character appearing (e.g. Wes, Sam, Undergrowth), a headcanon being added to the story (e.g. ghost hunger), a POV switch (e.g. switch to Jazz), a setting element (e.g. the year is 2104), a ship (e.g. Everlasting Trio), or something else I've forgotten to list here. You can even just say to continue the scene as is!

To be used in the poll, your suggestions must:

Fit in a poll option (80 charaters or less)

Not include crossover elements

Not include minor/adult ships

Be compatible with already established story elements

Other feedback is also welcome! Feel free to send me an ask!

#danny phantom #dponly #poll fic #experiment: polychrome pronoia #experimental fic #audience participation #reader choice

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lewalrus · 1 day ago

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A LONG post about Deadman on DS2

Okay, so as a Deadman fan, I thought I should write my thoughts on him on Death Stranding 2.

As you may imagine, there will be HUGE SPOILERS for the game, so if you haven’t finished it, please, I don’t recommend that you read this post (Be careful with the tags on this post too)

I also should warn you that I will yap about him A LOT because everything this man does is special to me <3

Alright, first of all, it was so weird and at the same time cute as fuck to see Deadman acting all happy and doing little voices on the first cutscene. I think I never saw Deadman laughing and smiling that much as he did on that scene. I really loved seeing him that cheerful!

(Sam genuine tiny smile at Deadman being all silly is going to be the death of me) It makes me sad that we only got to see him with his actual body at the start of the game :/

Anyway, about his discovering that he has a soul, a beach and dooms, I already talked about it on twitter, but I think I’ll elaborate here.

I didn’t like it at all… Not only because him not having a beach in the first game was what made his relationship with the beach concept very unique, since he was the only character that didn’t have a soul. But also because it wasn’t explored at all, it felt forced and completely out of nowhere. I think it would be better if he found out that he has dooms, but his dooms are different from the others and allow him to lend anyone’s beach, even if it’s only for a short amount of time, it could even work with his later plot in the game.

I also would rather if they had explored more the reason why Deadman was even born, it feels like a mystery that could tie very nicely into the Death Stranding universe, I’ve had this thought since the first one, that maybe Deadman was the result of an experiment to create artificial BBs, but it failed because those BBs ended up not having a connection to the beach. But I guess it is what it is. Alright, now I want to talk about, what I consider, the craziest plot twist about him.

DEADMAN WAS RED FUCKING SAMURAI!

As it is also stated on Deadman's entry on Corpus:

(I'll be calling Deadman affectionately "hulking red warrior" from now on)

Since the first time I saw Red Samurai, on the first chapter of the game, I knew Deadman had something to do with it! Honestly, I got pretty obsessed with this idea and started looking at hints on the parts that I already played so I wouldn’t spoil myself.

Needless to say that my head fucking exploded when I rewatched Deadman’s cutscenes and spot a bunch of Red Samurai’s bodies at the background! So maybe that means that Deadman also had created/modified Red Samurai and that it was planned by him to control it, the last part is pretty much canon because he put his body/head inside of it.

(Here, you can see Deadman's size when compared to the hanging bodies, the body under the black blanket is also huge, I believe that's the one Deadman ended up placing his body inside)

And the way it saved and protected Sam multiple times! God, every time Red Samurai showed up I would squeal like a little girl and pray that my theory that it was Deadman was right because I was developing a huge crush on that red warrior lol And oh my god if it wasn’t one of the most romantic things I ever saw, even after death, Deadman was there to save Sam (and the way he played the odradek’s lullaby to Sam after he saved him from Higgs before disappearing, as a way to say “it’s okay, the danger is gone, don’t worry” like Sam used to sooth Lou with the odradek HBUYGHIDBGIYDBGF holy shit I fucking love Deadman.) There’s another detail to it that I found quite peculiar. At some point before we find out that Deadman can possess Heartman too, Rainy makes this post on the social media of the game:

I didn’t really get it back then, but when I found out that Deadman has been using Heartman’s body during the 3 minutes that he is dead, everything made sense! It was Deadman using the VR training room but with Heartman’s body, that’s why Heartman doesn’t remember doing that training at all! So that means that Deadman is secretly super tough? Because apparently Deadman can fight very well even on a weaker body (at least if we compare Heartman to Red Samurai).

Makes me really wish that with the “making short work of them with his expert use of the katana” part of the Corpus’ entry is actually talking about Deadman’s skills with the katana, not the Red Samurai’s body skills. Maybe I’m just seeing things, but when I compare Red Samurai’s performance under Deadman’s control with it’s performance under Higgs’ control, the Red Samurai looks way more clumsy and weaker with Higgs than when it was with Deadman. The reason can very much be because while Deadman was controlling it, Red Samurai’s performance was only for scripted cutscenes, so he could be very tough to fight, but when it was under Higgs’ control, it was a fight that the game expected the player to win, so they made him weaker and easier, but I digress. After finishing the game and looking back into it, especially Deadman’s cutscenes, I think there was some more hints about him being Red Samurai, like Deadman’s ugly red tie (I’m sorry, it just doesn’t look well with his red shirt skajsia) and the scene where he plays with two finger puppets, maybe they were hinting that he would be able to use Heartman and Red Samurai as puppets later.

I honestly love the addition that Deadman is a fighter, but I think that as everything they added to him on the second game, it also should have been more explored, maybe even with some entries on the Corpus. Like, does Deadman can fight since always or he learned that during the months between DS1 and DS2? I really like to think that he learned to fight with the katana on his youth, but ended up putting the training aside to pursue a medical career, and that means that, on Cliff’s battlefield, he could have fought against Cliff to protect Lou instead of running away, but the only reason he didn’t was because very unfortunately he didn’t have a katana with him at the moment LOL (sounds hilarious in my head, sorry)

Anyway, I want to let you all know that I’ll be spamming this fandom with fanarts of Deadman with a katana because HOLY FUCK THAT MAKES DEADMAN EVEN HOTTER sikahsiasjasiuahs

#lewalrus speaks #death stranding #death stranding 2 #ds2 spoilers #death stranding 2 on the beach #death stranding 2 spoilers #deadman #deadsam #sam porter bridges #red samurai

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lightsoutsunshine · 2 days ago

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𝑾𝒂𝒊𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑻𝒖𝒓𝒏

Sebastian/Farmer | Established Sam/Farmer | Hints of Sam/Sebastian

word count: 3k

summary: Sam’s got a kink, a wonderful girlfriend, and a best friend who are willing to help him realize his fantasy of being cucked. repost from my old blog

WARNINGS: MDNI, afab!farmer, consensual cuckolding, filming, dom/sub dynamics, use of “daddy”, “slut”, “whore” and “cuck”, m!receiving oral, squirting, creampie, f!receiving oral, cumeating, exhibitionism, degradation/humiliation, denial, choking/gagging, sam/seb content, three bisexuals enjoying sex in a living room, sdv has something like snapchat okay?, barely proofread

read on ao3

You don’t think he’s serious the first time it’s brought up. Mostly because Sam had brought it up after hanging out with his best friend, and casually teased that it looked like you wanted to fuck Sebastian. A joke you’d heard before and had even shot back at your boyfriend on a few occasions- it was funny, that’s why you didn’t believe it to be anything more than a joke.

So you’re surprised when Sam brings it up again the next morning. He’d cooked you a lovely breakfast, coffee made just right and toast not burnt, which wasn’t necessarily suspicious but made much more sense when he asked a question you weren’t expecting.

“You know what cuckolding is?”

You did, but you had no clue where this conversation was going to go should you confirm. So you look up at your increasingly nervous boyfriend, hands submerged in the sink as you continue to wash the plate in your hand, mumbling a soft “yeah” as he nods down at you.

“Do you have any thoughts on it?”

“No, but I’m starting to get the vibe that you do.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, a wet hand moving to the back of his neck in a nervous habit. “I- uh, I do. Wanted to ask how you felt about having sex with Seb so you could make me your cuck.”

The plate falls from your hands, sinking to the bottom of the porcelain with a soft thud as you just stare at him. Fuck his best friend in front of him, set the scene for Sam to get willingly cuckolded and fulfill a fantasy of his? A fantasy you didn’t know he had, and you’d been dating for a couple years. This was a lot for seven in the morning.

“We so totally don’t have to, I haven’t asked Seb anything, since I wanted to talk to you first and if you weren’t okay, then-“

“Sam relax!” You chide gently, drying your hands as he takes over washing your plate. “Please, babe, calm down.”

“You think I’m a freak.”

“Always have, baby, but I love it.” The assurance has him looking less nervous, but you can tell he needs a bit more reassurance. “I’ll fuck Seb if he’s down. But we gotta talk about boundaries and stuff too.”

“I’d personally want to see him absolutely wreck you, baby. Like, whatever he wants as long as you’ll allow it.”

You didn’t mean now, but you supposed any time was a good time to have this kind of conversation since Sam had opened the door, brought you inside, and you locked it behind you both when you had agreed to the idea.

Which leads you to Sebastian. You needed to talk to Robin about a home renovation anyway, then popped downstairs to where Sebastian was hard at work. Or deep into a game. His focus face was the same either way so it was difficult to tell but based on the time of day, you’d assume it was work.

“Hey, Seb?”

“Hey, give me a second and I’ll be able to give you my full attention.”

It’s a standard Sebastian greeting, one that has you sitting down in the other chair at his desk and enjoying the time off your feet. He’s humming as he types away, and you look up at the ceiling while planning the rest of your afternoon before your dinner date with Sam. You’d need to stop by Pierre’s and check the crab pots in the river on your way home, probably some extra time in the barn with the goats before taking a shower.

“Alright, what’s up?”

“We need to talk about Sam,” you start, looking at Sebastian as he looks at you. “He’s got this fantasy and I need your help.”

“He said you’d be by. Couple days later than I expected, though.” You’re going to let that slide, leaning back in the chair as he watches you. “But yeah I’m happy to help you cuck him. Did he tell you about the two thoughts?”

You nod; having been told that Sam would love to be surprised with a video in addition to the actual sitting and watching you fuck his best friend, meaning that you’d have sex with Sebastian twice. And while you’re not sure this won’t end on a weird note, you’re still open and excited for what was to come. Sebastian was very attractive, getting a pass to have sex with him was a gift you wouldn’t turn down even if the circumstances were unexpected.

“We can get part one done now, if you’re not busy,” he offers, pushing his chair back a bit and putting his hand over the bulge in his pants. “Surprise your boyfriend with a cute video of you sucking my dick?”

You agree without hesitation, sliding from your seat while requesting that he not get any of his cum in your hair since you had other things to do that day.

“Gonna choke on it like you choke on Sam’s?”

“What don’t you two talk about?” you ask as you kneel in front of him, sighing when Sebastian tells you that there isn’t a single secret between the two men. The only thing Sebastian doesn’t know is if you have any kinks that aren’t some of Sam’s, but those are things that can be discussed later. Not when you’re working together to push his pants down to free his semi-erect dick and he’s reaching for his phone so he can record the event.

“If it’s too much, tap my thigh or something, alright?”

At the notification stating there was a message from Sebastian, Sam halts his cleaning around the house to see what it was. He’s giddy when he sees it’s a photo, quickly opening it to see what was there only to almost drop his phone when he sees his darling girlfriend with Sebastian's balls in her mouth, shaft resting on her face, with the caption: Sure she’s only yours?

But he needs more, and they come in small chunks that have him literally praying that there’s a full recording that he’ll get. The POV of his girlfriend taking another cock in her mouth and gagging around it, having her head held in place by Sebastian’s large hand until she was struggling to breathe and leaving a mess behind when she came up for air. Sebastian calling her a messy little slut before telling her to clean up her mess makes Sam harder than he anticipated, his hand going into his pants to try and relieve some of the ache as he waits for the next one to come in. The third comes in a couple minutes later, and he smiles when he sees her gently kissing the tip of Sebastian’s cock before slowly taking it into her mouth, while Sebastian requests that she suck him “like she sucked her little boyfriend”. No caption on that one, but that was more than okay. She looked so good with cock in her mouth, and he knows that she’ll look just as good when it’s his own cock as soon as she gets home.

But then he has to wait for the next one - hoping there would be another one. Standing in the middle of the living room, cock in one hand, phone in the other as the broom rests forgotten against his chest. Edging himself is difficult when he could replay the videos he’d gotten, but if he’s going to get a cumshot video (Seb said he’d try) he’d want to cum to that.

It’s much longer than he’d like, but when he does receive the video he’s waiting for, it’s enough to have him spilling in his hand as he watches Sebastian cum in his girlfriend’s mouth with a hearty groan before he pulls out and tells her to show her boyfriend how good she is. And she does, opening her mouth to show off the cum sitting on her tongue before Sebastian sticks his thumb in her mouth and tells her to swallow, and the smile on her face when he pulls his thumb out and calls her a good girl. The caption?

Make sure you give our girl a good kiss for me bro.

And now Sam had to wash his hands and wipe his cum from the hardwood of the farmhouse. His lady farmer was very particular about her hardwood staying in top shape.

It’s only a couple weeks before part two comes to fruition, which took a fair amount of planning between you and Sebastian. More in depth discussion about hard limits, finding a free evening where there wasn’t a hangout or family dinner planned, and waiting for the emergency contraceptive to be delivered by mail. Once everything was in place, Sebastian came over for dinner.

Sam must’ve known what was about to transpire after dinner, because he could barely sit still through the meal. You only sip your wine with a smile, looking at Sebastian as he looked at you.

“I think we should watch a movie,” Sebastian states, and you nod with a smile as Sam deflates a little bit. “But I’ll help with dishes first.”

“No, it’s all good. I’ll clean up, you two go get a movie started.” The instruction from Sam has you nodding, letting him top off your glass before he shoos you and Sebastian from the kitchen and towards the living room. A couple DVDs are pulled from the shelf and put on the coffee table, but neither you nor Sebastian put any effort into actually picking a movie. You wouldn’t be watching it anyway. And you think it might’ve been the wine, but there was something different about the way Sebastian was looking at you tonight.

It’s only a few minutes before Sam is sitting beside you on the couch, curious why nothing was playing until Sebastian tells him that you were waiting for him to pick. And he does, pushing the disc into the player before he settles beside you with an arm around your shoulders. About five minutes into the movie you shift, leaning more into Sam but draping one of your legs across Sebastian’s lap. You’d worn a skirt with no panties to ensure easy access for him, and bit your lip when you felt his finger trail up your already wet slit to your clit.

“You’re such a dirty slut,” Sebastian murmurs, drawing Sam’s attention to where his friend’s hand was up your skirt. “Boyfriend right there and you’re dripping wet for me. Sammy not do it for you anymore?”

You can only grin, letting Sebastian pull you closer but push you back so you were laying on Sam’s lap. Your skirt is pushed up, giving a clear view of Sebastian’s hand moving as his fingers fuck your pussy, and you can feel Sam’s erection stir beneath your head as his hand pets your head. You can tell he wants to move, relocate to the armchair where he can get a clear view of what Sebastian was about to do to you, so you take a hold of his shirt as you look up at him.

“You’ll stay here.”

“But babe, I-”

“Cucks don’t get to cum, Sam.” Your tone is firm despite the smile on your face, and that has him nodding with a pink face as Sebastian pulls his hoodie and tshirt off. You take your shirt off as Sebastian gets out of his pants, and you bite your lip as he comes to stand before you. Your mouth opens as soon as he commands it, his hand pushing Sam’s away so he can hold you in one spot to fuck your face.

“If I feel teeth, I’ll spank that cute little pussy ‘til you’re sobbing.” You hum your acknowledgement around his cock, aware that Sam has fished his phone out of his pocket to try and record. The way Sebastian is bent over the two of you might make that difficult, but your concern is the thick length punching against the back of your throat as his grip on your hair tightens. “She’s an obedient little whore, how come you haven’t tamed her yet Sammy? Aside from the obvious.”

Sam doesn’t have an answer, and Sebastian pauses with his hips pressed to your face and carefully tilts Sam’s head back by his chin so he’d look up at him.

“If you’re a good little cuck, maybe you can suck my cock tonight, too.” And he’s pulling back, giving you a chance to breathe but tapping your cheek with his spit slick cock before he moves to settle between your legs. “But I can only handle one slut at a time, and she's my priority.”

“He’s used to coming in second,” you add, smiling when Sebastian leans in to kiss you as he pushes into your cunt. You’d had sex with Sam earlier in the day, so the stretch wasn’t as brutal as it could have been, but you know Sebastian is reveling in your discomfort at his size. He’d warned you that he could be mean, a bit masochistic, and here you were.

“Oh, am I bigger than your little boyfriend? Stretching your pussy more than you’ve ever had to hurts?”

“You’ve seen it,” you remind, looking up at Sam as Sebastian starts moving. “You know you’re bigger, Seb.”

“Wanted to hear you say it, honey. Now I want you to shut up and look at your boyfriend as I make you cum with my big dick.”

And you do, looking up at Sam’s awestruck expression as Sebastian fucks you roughly. Your shoulders scrape against the denim of his jeans as you rub against his thigh with every thrust. You’ve seen this look of adoration before, never once thinking that he’d be able to look at you like that while he watches you take his best friend’s cock, but seeing this helps you feel better about how this would end. Definitely not weird considering how into this both he and Sebastian were.

“Gonna cum already?” He asks, stopping when you nod. He fucks you harder, hand rubbing your clit furiously as you beg him for more. “Show your boyfriend how hard you cum for me.”

You know the men are just as surprised as you are when you squirt, wailing Sebastian’s name as you do while Sam lets out a “holy shit” and Sebastian just grins at you. That took a lot out of you, but that doesn’t bother Sebastian as he fucks you through it and continues to fuck into you.

“Cute little whore pussy squirting for Daddy. You know who owns you and your pussy, isn’t that right?”

“Uh-huh,” you whimper, hand gripping the back of the couch for some kind of stability as his thrusts increase in force.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours! It’s your pussy!”

“Who am I, baby? Who owns this pussy?”

“You, Daddy!” There’s a slap to your pussy that has your eyes rolling back, Sebastian’s hands gripping your hips as he nears his own end. “Please cum in my pussy Daddy!”

“After I put a load in you, your little cuck can eat it out and thank me for giving you such a big load.” You nod at the suggestion, biting your lip as it started to become too much. He was close, the flush creeping up his chest as his rhythm started to get more sloppy. “Fuck, gonna cum. Get on the floor, cuck, you can have some of my cum too.”

Sam moves quicker than you’d expect, and your head drops to the couch just as Sebastian’s hips still against yours and you feel the familiar warmth that was ropes of cum shooting into your pussy. A wave of his hand has Sam scooting closer, and you watch with vested interest as Sam opens his mouth for Sebastian. He had to have sucked a dick before, and you’re going to ask about that later, since right now you’re enamored by how eagerly he takes Sebastian’s dick into his mouth to clean it off as Sebastian had instructed.

Then Sam is watching you as Sebastian pulls you to sit in his lap. His cum is starting to drip from your pussy, but one crooked finger from Sebastian has Sam closing in like a starved man. The soft frenzy of Sam’s tongue at your opening was such a nice contrast to the harsh smack of Sebastian’s skin against yours, you can’t help but push your hand into his hair to bring him closer to your cunt so you can push for more contact. Sebastian whispering in your ear that you were in charge eggs you on in the best way, and his fingers on your clit bring a soft moan out of you that has Sam humming into your pussy.

“So good, Sam,” you mumble, leaning back against Sebastian as you continue to grind against the blonde’s face. You were close already, and you knew Sebastian could tell based on how he rubs your clit faster. “Fuck, s’good.”

“The cuck can make her cum, whaddya know?” Sebastian teases, moving his fingers from your clit when your body tenses in his arms and gently massaging your sides as Sam eats you through it. Sebastian kisses your cheek before he moves you to the space beside him, mumbling something about getting home before it gets too late that has you reaching for his arm to stop him from getting up.

“You should stay,” you mumble to Sebastian, looking down at Sam who nods his agreement while wiping at his mouth. “We want you to stay.”

“Shower and snuggle, dude.” Sam adds, carefully standing from where he was knelt in front of the couch before offering his hand to Sebastian to bring him to his feet. “After what you just did with us, we can make you a good breakfast.”

“Shower and snuggle,” Sebastian echoes, offering his hand to you as Sam does and murmuring “up you go, sweetheart” as they pull you to your feet. You would all be sleeping really well tonight, and you’re happy that Sebastian agreed to stay.

Having him around was always nice and maybe Daddy would come back to visit you and Sam.

#sdv sam x reader #sdv sebastian x reader #sdv sam x farmer #sdv sebastian x farmer #sambastian #sdv smut #sdv sam smut #sdv sebastian smut #sdv fanfiction #sdv fanfic #stardew valley fanfic

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samanthacreilly · 2 days ago

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"Nathaniel–" she echoed again, leaving him with only the glare for a long pause. Samantha hated when he spoke that way of himself when she saw so much good in the man. She'd droned on in the past to him just how much she admired things about him but it felt like she was talking to a wall sometimes. It was like he didn't want to hear any of it. "You couldn't be further from the worst. Especially to me," she opted for today instead of the typical spiel. "I usually love it but it seems to do me more harm than good most days. I guess it's the curse I'm meant to bear– we all have one after all, right?" she tried to shrug off with a little smile when he'd told her that wearing her heart on her sleeve was the truth, whether she liked it or not.

Samantha nodded with an energy that was unusual for her– reluctance. A reservation to want to touch on the topic further. But knowing Nathaniel, he wasn't the type to let anything slide. "Yeah... I mean I've gone on a few dates here and there, nothing too serious. At least not for them. I would always think there would be another date and then I'd get stood up or they'd stop responding to my texts," she explained. "But then there was one guy who... well we actually dated. I was his girlfriend. That's all I ever wanted, right? Was to be someone's," she sighed a little as the inevitable tears pricked in the corners of her eyes. "I thought he really liked me. Maybe even loved me," Samantha let out another exhale, the tears trickling down her cheeks now in steady streams.

Her voice started to tremble but she kept going, pushing the words out rapidly as though it'd be easier to get them out that way, "So I did everything to make sure he was happy. I wore my hair up or down depending on what he'd say and chose longer skirts and higher necklines– otherwise I was drawing too much attention to myself. He said people liked me better when I talked less, so I talked less. I laughed less. I smiled and nodded, spoke when spoken to, and did whatever I needed for him to look at me and hold me and say I was his," a watery smile that was admittedly heartbreaking graced her features as she tried to keep her head up about it all. "He was never like that around my friends or family. No– he was so charming, like he was with me when we were alone. He said all the right things and made everyone love him. But with time we started to hang out with my friends and family less and less. We went to places he wanted to go and saw his friends. I thought maybe this was his way of showing me off And so I just followed him around like–" her words crashed over like a wave against the shore into sporadic sobs, "–like some sort of lost puppy, I don't know," her voice defeated. "He constantly told me that I was 'too much' so I toned myself down. He had been the only one who'd stayed for this long, so it must've been working. It must've been the way to go to finally make myself worth a longterm relationship," Samantha tried to explain her reasoning at the time, having had to do a lot of healing to move on past that. It hadn't been easy to unlearn, but she had an incredible support system around her that she would've have been able to cope with the aftermath of this without them. "Only for him to dump me like the rest of them. One day he just stopped showing up, stopped responding... he just disappeared like maybe he'd never been there to begin with."

Sam took a deep breath. And then another. Counting down in her head as she went through the motions to try and subside the sobs. "Thank you, Nathaniel. You have no idea how much that means to me. Except I think maybe you do," she managed a little laugh. Samantha reached for the hand that had been on her pulse just moments before. "Very few have ever been as careful with it before as you have. That doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated," she told him, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting him go again. "Sorry for crying at you– but I guess it's not the first time and probably won't be the last either," she added with another laugh.

"I'm pretty sure I've always been quite forward with the fact I am the worst." In every possible way she could imagine and then some. Still, her outburst brought a small, amused smile to his lips, and Nathaniel couldn't help but feel like he'd smiled more in this short space of time than he had done in all the time since Scorpius had left. "But it's the truth, like it or not."

He let his hand fall from where it had been cradling her wrist, his gaze shifting to her thoughtfully. "Your track record?" Nathaniel echoed, a flicker of curiosity in his voice. Still, his expression softened, the light teasing fading as his tone grew more genuine. " If anyone deserves someone who can cherish and protect their heart, it’s you. And should that fail, if you ever need someone to help keep it safe... I’m not going anywhere. I'm here no matter what."

#c #nathaniel #c: nathaniel #tw: emotional abuse

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samsloves · 1 year ago

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GUYS GUYS!!!! ONE OF OUR OUTDOOR CATS IS STARTING TO WARM UP TO ME!! TODAY SHE CAME ON THE PORCH TO EAT WHILE I WAS ON THE PORCH!! SHES NEVER DONE THAT!! SHE DID RUN OFF LIKE 2 SECONDS LATER BUT STILL!!

#sam shush #cola has been starting to and i can now get on the porch before she hides under a bench #but pepper always runs #they were also just #lounging around on the porch earlier lol #meowy seems to recognize them i think #she hangs around the door whenever cola is outside on the porch #so today i picked her up and held her so she could look out the front door window and she didnt growl but started purring #so either she was purring because i was holding her or because she recognized cola and pepper

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marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

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Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачественный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

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navybrat817 · 2 months ago

Note

Since we see this mentioned in Game Nights, what does it take for Bucky to stab John and how does the team react?

That is an excellent question, Cole! I'm so glad you asked.

Don't Look or Touch

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky isn't having a good day and John suffers the consequences.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Stabbing (yes, Bucky stabs John), arguing, humor, kissing, implied smut, Thunderbolts spoilers, we love Bob, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: We have Not Exactly a Secret, Game Nights, and now this for our Tower Shenanigans. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the inspo!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't in a good mood today. He claimed he didn’t need as much sleep as the average person, but he still needed to get some shut eye and he hadn’t slept well the night before. Too many things were running through his head. You wished he woke you up to talk or help take his mind off things, but you knew he hadn’t wanted to disturb your rest. Had the roles been reversed he would’ve wanted you to wake him up first thing.

“I’m your girlfriend, Bucky. If something is bothering you, it bothers me,” you reminded him. “So, please, wake me up next time, okay?”

It didn’t matter how big or small of an issue it was, you’d help him through anything and everything.

“You need more sleep than I do,” he tried to argue, a ghost of a smile on his face when you narrowed your eyes.

“I can always catch a nap later,” you said.

“If you say so,” he said, sounding in better spirits than he had moments ago.

But that didn’t last when he started fighting with Sam via text. He didn’t like fighting with his friends and it wore on him as the day went on. You saw it in how he carried himself. If that weren’t enough, Alexei accidentally shot a paint gun in the common room and hit Bucky’s thigh. The flare in his nostrils told you he was two seconds away from losing his shit when John laughed.

You half expected Bucky to punch John, but he silently got to his feet and went to change. “So sorry!” Alexei called after him, also leaving the room.

“Did you have to laugh?” you asked John. Sure, you all gave him a hard time, but he dished it out as well and it was clear that Bucky wasn’t in the best mood.

John shrugged, not at all phased. “He’ll live.”

“You won’t if you keep pissing him off,” you teased, going to get Bucky’s jacket while you waited for him to come back.

Bucky returned a minute later, somehow looking more pissed off. Maybe it was because John scooted closer to you once you sat back down. As much as you adored Bucky’s signature grumpy stare, this was different. That look was on his face because of his bad mood. Your heart went out to him, and what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t try to cheer him up?

“Hey,” you smiled, holding out a hand so Bucky could help you to your feet. You gave him a quick kiss once you were close enough and handed him his jacket. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“A ride?” he asked, closing his eyes when you brushed his hair back.

“Yeah, a ride,” you smiled. As much as you both loved being in the tower, he needed to get out and you were more than happy to join him. “And maybe we can stop off at that bakery you love?”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. Between a ride with you and stopping off to get a treat, he’d be in a much better mood. “Let’s go.”

“Hang tight for just a minute. Just need to grab something,” you said, sneaking in another kiss before you headed toward your room. You wondered how much Bucky would argue if you tried to pay for the treats. He was always such a gentleman when it came to-

“FUCK!”

You stopped at the sound of John’s loud and piercing scream. It wouldn’t have been the first time he yelled, but that was typically done out of anger or frustration. This scream, however, sounded like pain.

“Oh, shit,” you mumbled, rushing back to the common room.

Your eyes went right to your boyfriend since he was always at the forefront of your mind. You took a step forward when he locked eyes with you, the coldness in the blues almost making you shiver. He happened to be right beside John who was a bit more pale than usual and gripping his arm like a lifeline. Your mouth fell open when you realized the former Captain America had a knife in his hand. And he wasn’t holding it, oh, no. Bucky’s knife was through his hand. You knew it was Bucky’s knife because you bought it for him.

What the fuck happened, and why did that excite you?

Ava phased beside you, likely drawn by John’s scream. Yelena and Bob came in seconds later though Yelena didn’t seem too concerned. “What are you…” she trailed off with a snort. “That’s not good.”

Ava sighed. “And we just got the blood out of the sofa from the last incident.”

“No fucking shit this isn’t good! And who gives a shit about the blood on the sofa!” John snapped, screaming again when Bucky yanked the knife out.

“You’ll live,” he muttered.

Your eyes went wide. Super soldier hearing and all, had Bucky heard John mutter his earlier comment? “What happened?” you asked. You had only been out of the room for a few seconds. What possibly happened during that time to cause this?

John scrambled to find something to wrap his hand with. “Your fucking boyfriend stabbed me!”

“Yeah, America’s Asshole, I stabbed you.” Sitting back on the sofa, Bucky got a cloth out of his pocket to wipe his knife. He stabbed John. He really did it. But why? “And you have the serum. You’ll be fine.”

You made the mistake of looking at Ava who had a smirk on her face. It didn’t do you any good to look at Yelena either since she also looked pleased. Only Bob looked concerned. And where the hell was Alexei?

“Okay, Bucky,” you began, trying to keep the laughter out of your voice because you had to be the mature one. “I know you threatened to stab him during Uno.”

“He put down Draw Four…” He sneered at John. “FOUR times.”

“I know, I know. Dick move. And I know I threatened to stab him because he raised his voice at Bob because, well, we don't yell at Bob.” You gave Bob a smile when he dipped his head. “But-”

“He’s lucky I didn’t cut this tongue out,” your boyfriend growled.

You tried hard not to whimper, which was tough since the sound was sexy as hell. “But why-”

“You can still cut out his tongue,” Yelena encouraged, taking out one of her own knives. “Allow me.”

You put your hand out while John took a few steps back. “No, Yelena. Not today,” you said, which earned you a pout in response before you turned your attention back to Bucky. “Just tell us why you stabbed him, please.”

“He talked about putting his hands on your ass!” Bucky snapped, wincing when he realized how loudly he said it.

You could hear a pin drop from the silence that followed. Your eyes darted between Bucky and John, seeing the mixture of anger and discomfort. There was no way John was dumb enough to say something like that in front of your boyfriend. Right?

“He what?” Yelena asked for you.

“Ew,” Ava whispered.

“But she… she’s not your girlfriend,” Bob added.

“I didn’t say I’d put my hands on your ass!” John defended himself, taking a breath when everyone stared at him. “Look, all I said was ‘I’d never leave my bed if I could get my hands on an ass like that’ and that’s it! That’s all!”

You were thankful you didn’t take a drink of something because you would’ve spit it out. As admittedly smart as John could be when it came to missions, he could also be an idiot. “Bucky, put the knife down,” you ordered when his grip tightened on the handle. You couldn’t have him stabbing him again.

Though it was kind of hot that Bucky stabbed someone in your honor.

“I might stab his other hand,” he said.

“Do it,” Yelena encouraged.

John sputtered when Ava nodded in agreement. “What the fuck?”

“Okay, one, Bucky, we both know I’d never let John touch my ass. Sorry, but. No,” you said, shrugging at the bleeding agent. Your ass was off limits to him. “Two, it doesn't sound like he said he was going to put his hands on my ass.”

“I don't care.” Bucky carefully inspected his knife. “As far as he’s concerned, you don’t have an ass.”

The girls scoffed with you and you weren't sure if you should've felt flattered or offended. “Okay, old man, so I have no ass now? Do I not have tits either?”

You held your breath when Bucky slowly got to his feet, his jaw clenched. It wasn't fair how hot and bothered that stance made you. “Did he look at your tits?” he asked in a low voice.

John quickly shook his head out of the corner of your eye. You felt for the guy, but you weren’t going to lie. “He may have glanced at them when I leaned over the other day.”

“Oh, when you were wearing that black top?” Ava asked, humming when you nodded. “Oh, yeah. He looked.”

“What the fuck, Ava?!” John shouted. “You looked, too!”

“I didn’t look,” Bob said immediately, his hands up in surrender. He was too pure for this world.

Bucky swung his head toward John. “Forget your other hand. Let’s see if that serum helps you grow your eyes back.”

Oh, shit. Maybe you shouldn't have said anything. “No! No more stabbing today!” You moved to block Bucky’s path. The mood he was in, you had no doubt he’d stab him again if he got the chance. “I appreciate you defending my honor and I always will, but we are going for a ride. Now.”

The former assassin pouting shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was. “But he-”

“You didn’t sleep well, you’re in a bad mood, and you need a breather,” you gently said, framing his face so he’d only see you. Your touch took most of the anger away. “Please, let’s go. We can go right to bed when we get back.”

Sex, cuddling, sleep, all of it, you’d give him whatever he needed later.

Bucky huffed, but put his knife away. He recognized that your tone wasn’t one to argue with. “He better not look again or try to touch you.”

“He won’t,” you said for John, looking over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Jesus, it was meant to be a compliment,” he told you, daring to glance at Bucky. “You have a good looking girlfriend, okay?!”

“Stop talking,” you begged when Bucky tensed up. You had just calmed him down.

“If you want to compliment him or her, tell them how murderous they look,” Yelena suggested, looking to the others for support. “That’s cool, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ava said.

“Um, Bucky?” Bob asked.

“Yeah?” he answered, slipping an arm around you.

Bob swallowed a little. “If she looks nice, am I allowed to say so? Or should I just avoid looking at her?”

You giggled. Bob deserved the whole world. “You can say whatever you want,” you replied. Bucky would agree.

“Okay,” he smiled a little. “I just. I-I don't want to get stabbed.”

“No one will stab you, Bob,” Yelena promised, ever the protector.

John looked around the room and asked, “So, Bob can say whatever he wants, but I can’t?”

“Yes,” everyone answered in unison. Bob wasn’t an asshole like John.

“Now apologize to each other so we can leave,” you said. The longer you stayed, the bigger the chance that Bucky would snap again.

The men stubbornly refused to look at each other, like children being scolded after a fight. John broke first when you cleared your throat. “Sorry for complimenting your girlfriend, I guess.”

“Sorry for not stabbing both of your hands,” Bucky mumbled.

“And we’re leaving now. Try to behave while we’re gone,” you announced, pulling your boyfriend away. Chances were that they’d start arguing over dinner or dish duty. “I can’t believe it.”

“What, that I stabbed him?” Bucky asked, grinding his teeth. “He gets under my skin.”

They were teammates now, but it didn’t get rid of the bad blood or the past. You sympathized with that. “I know he does, and I can’t believe that it took this long for you to stab him, but maybe try not to do that again?”

His warm laughter brought a smile to your face. “I’m surprised it took this long, too, and I’ll try not to again, but I’m not sorry that you were the tipping point.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Bucky Barnes stabbed a man because of me.” You weren’t exactly sorry that you were the tipping point either. “In his defense, my ass does look good in these pants,” you smirked.

Bucky waited a beat before he smacked your ass, making you shriek. “He still isn’t allowed to look or touch.”

Hadn’t you made it clear earlier that you’d never allow John to touch you? Even if you weren’t Bucky’s girlfriend, that would never happen. “So possessive, but I love that about you,” you teased.

His eyes softened, the look making your heart race. “I’m not too much?”

Your gaze softened, too. “You’ll never be too much,” you assured him, almost to the elevator when Alexei waltzed by in his robe.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“I stabbed John,” Bucky answered.

The Red Guardian looked stricken. “And I missed it?”

The last thing you heard before you and Bucky stepped into the elevator was John yelling, “What the fuck?!”

“Right to bed when we get back?” Bucky smiled, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it.

“Right to bed,” you smiled back.

He pulled you against him to give you a deep and thorough kiss, one that left you breathless and yearning for more. “And thank you.”

“For what?” you asked breathlessly.

“For trying to cheer me up,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “And for being mine.”

You leaned into his touch, thrilled to be his. “Thank you for being mine, too,,” you said, hoping the ride and treat would make him feel much better before you went to bed. Maybe tomorrow he could hash things out with Sam. And maybe you’d look through the footage later so you could see for yourself that Bucky stabbed John.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d make a copy of the footage for Bucky if he ever needed a laugh after a bad day.

So, did John deserve that? What other shenanigans do we think this group gets up to? ! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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chaoticwriting · 6 months ago

Text

New Gotham Rouge

Okay, in Danny's defense, it sounds like a very good idea when he thought about it. Danny is currently laying on top of the clocktower looking at the smog filled sky. A few stars can be seen occasionally while he is staring and thinking about his decision.

When Danny is outed as Phantom. He ran away as his parents tried to capture and cut him open. He hid in a nearby cave for a few days as he thought of what to do when he suddenly had a brilliant idea. Let's fake his own death!

Danny stole a few parts and materials around Amity Park and made a makeshift bomb and rushed towards the GIW base. He freed all the ghosts and made a cinematic scene of exploding himself thus taking the whole building with him.

Danny also sends the ghost to set up a few bombs in his house after making sure Jazz, Sam and Tucker are not there. Just as he 'exploded' himself, the house also exploded destroying the portal and all the remaining research paper about anything ghost related.

Danny dove into the ground as the explosion distracted everyone and chose one direction to fly towards. A few hours later, he found himself in Gotham and surprisingly there is a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham. He flies around invisible while looking for a place to stay and he lands on the clocktower to rest after flying for so long.

Now, Danny doesn't know what he should do because he realizes one key component in staying alive for him. Obsession. Contrary to popular belief (Sam), his obsession is not protection. It is love. Love as in any act of love will fulfill his obsession. Him protecting his town is an act of love towards his town people. Him loving and studying space is an act of love towards himself. Him not taking revenge against his family and people that wrong him is an act of love towards humanity.

So, long story short, he needs to find a way to fulfill his obsession. He is laying on top of the clocktower and suddenly a very good idea comes into his mind.

A few weeks later

-Batcave-

Dick: Are you still searching for the glitter thief?

Tim: Yes. And it's driving me insane how little clue there is of this thief. I even tried asking Selina and even she is impressed by this thief's MO.

Steph: Are you sure you need to be stressing about this thief? It's probably a group of kids stealing glitters just because they can.

Tim: Are you telling me a group of kids can do a heist better than Selina? And this thief or group of thieves for some reason only stole biodegradable paint and glitters from all across the city without us finding where they store them? There must be something I am missing.

Suddenly, an alert appears at the batcomputer and catches everyone's attention. A live broadcast is showing Joker standing in front of a switch as Commissioner Gordon hanging from a rope on top of a pool of acid. Every single batfam suits up and rushes into Gotham to find the Joker before anything can happen.

Joker: Hahahaha. Good evening Gotham and Bats! Today, I have a dear friend of yours playing my game. In front of me is a switch to activate a time bomb that will explode a whole district if not dismantled. You have 20 minutes to dismantle the bomb and with every minute that passes, I will slowly lower the Commissioner into the pool of acid.

Joker then walks slowly towards the switch and flips it.

Joker: Your time starts now! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Batman and the crew rushes towards Gotham as they turn Gotham upside down for the bomb. 5 minutes passed and they become desperate enough that they even roped in some of the rogues like Penguin, Harley, Ivy and Croc. But no matter what they do, they can't find the bomb.

Just as the last minute passes, everyone expects a big explosion engulfing Gotham. Except there is no sound at all. In fact, it is eerily quiet. Everyone turns on Joker live broadcast to see even the man is confused. He turns around and sees Gordon having his feet inside the pool of acid like nothing is happening.

Suddenly a giggle appears. Everyone that hears the giggles starts to get goosebumps as suddenly, a kid with a half clown facemask at the bottom of his face, a green leather jacket, black jeans and white hair appears behind Joker. His hands are holding his stomach as his giggles turn into laughter that is eerily similar to Joker.

???:Hello everyone. I am Trickster. And I am here to crash the party.

Everyone: ????

Trickster: Hehehe, it's so funny to see everyone's confused expression. But no worries I am here to have fun. See, I even have your toys with me.

The Trickster phases his hand into his body and pulls out a very familiar brick. He throws it to Joker and the Joker runs away screaming and trips on his feet falling down the stairs.

The Trickster: Hahahahaha. Do you see his face? Hahaha. Oh boy, I should have recorded this. Hey this is a live stream right? Someone clip that. Anyway, I have defused the bomb. And the acid isn't actually acid. It's just colored water with a light beam at the bottom. I still can't believe he doesn't check the acid pool first.

The Trickster then goes towards Gordon and pulls him down from the rope. After Gordon touches the ground, he unties him and pats Gordon's shoulder.

Trickster: Well I guess this is good enough for the apology.

Gordon: Apology?

Trickster: *Rubbing his neck* Yeah, about that. I was the one that glitter bombed your office last week. I mistook your office for another corrupt policeman and accidentally placed it on your desk. I am also technically the cause of you getting caught today. In my defense, you shouldn't startle me like that.

Gordon: Wait, you're the kid that punched me.

Trickster: I'm not a kid. I'm 16. Plenty old if you ask me. Whatever, here is your phone. Go call Batman to pick you up. I want to go back to sleep after having fun tonight. Adios.

Gordon: Wait-

Trickster then disappears into thin air like he is never there in the first place. If not for his phone in his hand and later confirmation from everyone that watched the live stream, Gordon might have admitted himself into Arkham.

That is merely the start of the many incidents involving Gotham's newest rogue the Trickster.

Part 2

#danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #batfam #dc x dp

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pixiexdusts-world · 4 months ago

Text

Nap time with you

Joaquin Torres x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Joaquin’s girlfriend can fall asleep anywhere, and instead of questioning it, he starts napping with her. Before long, it becomes their favorite routine.

Word count: 1012

Notes: no Captain America: Brave New World spoilers :)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Joaquin Torres was used to high-energy situations. Missions, training, and keeping up with Sam Wilson meant he was always on the move. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for dating you.

Because somehow, despite all the chaos, you could fall asleep anywhere.

At first, he thought it was a one-time thing. The two of you had been hanging out at his place, watching a movie, when he felt your head slump against his shoulder. He glanced down, expecting you to be watching intently, but—nope. You were out cold.

“Hey,” he whispered, nudging you slightly. “Did you seriously just knock out?”

You let out a small sigh in response, nuzzling into his hoodie like it was the most comfortable pillow in the world. Joaquin blinked, staring at you, before laughing softly to himself.

Alright, maybe the movie was a little boring.

But then it kept happening.

You would doze off in the passenger seat of his car five minutes into a drive. You fell asleep on a rooftop once, mid-mission debrief, and nearly gave Sam a heart attack. You even curled up in a booth at a diner after breakfast, resting your head on your folded arms like it was the most natural thing to do.

Joaquin quickly realized: you could nap anywhere, anytime.

And, well… that was kind of adorable.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

One day, after a long week of missions, Joaquin found you sprawled across his couch, dead to the world. You had come over to hang out, but somewhere between waiting for him to get out of the shower and picking a movie, you had passed out completely.

Joaquin just stood there for a second, hands on his hips, watching the steady rise and fall of your breathing. He shook his head with a soft laugh.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured.

Then, without really thinking about it, he grabbed a blanket, tossed it over you, and instead of waking you up—he joined you.

He had meant to just sit beside you, but when he felt how warm you were, the exhaustion from the past week caught up with him fast. The next thing he knew, he was lying down too, pulling you against him, his face buried in your hair.

And damn, this was comfortable.

Joaquin had never really been a nap guy. He always felt like there was something to do, somewhere to be. But being curled up with you, listening to your soft breathing, feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest?

Yeah. He could get used to this.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

After that, it became a thing.

Joaquin stopped questioning it and just started joining you.

You crashed on the couch after training? He slid in beside you, pulling you close. You curled up in the Quinjet after a mission? He threw his jacket over both of you and knocked out too. You flopped onto his bed, stretching like a cat? Yeah, no, he was claiming his spot too.

“You know,” he said one afternoon as you both lay tangled together in his bed, “I think you’ve corrupted me.”

You blinked sleepily up at him. “Huh?”

“I never used to nap,” he admitted, running his fingers through your hair. “Now I’m out here dozing off at random times of the day because of you.”

You hummed, not at all guilty. “Not my fault you make a good nap buddy.”

Joaquin grinned. “Oh, nap buddy, huh? That’s all I am to you?”

“Mm.” You pretended to think about it. “And a pretty decent boyfriend, I guess.”

He let out a dramatic gasp. “Wow. So generous.”

You giggled, snuggling closer, your nose brushing against his collarbone. “Admit it—you love it.”

Joaquin sighed, kissing the top of your head. “Yeah. I really do.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

One evening, after a particularly long mission, Joaquin was the one who crashed first.

You found him sprawled across the couch, his arm draped over his face, still in his flight gear. His wings had been set aside, his boots lazily kicked off. He looked exhausted.

You should have woken him up, told him to change, maybe convinced him to eat something first.

Instead, you climbed right on top of him and curled up against his chest.

Joaquin made a small, sleepy noise of surprise but didn’t even open his eyes. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer, his hand resting against the small of your back.

“Mmm… stealing my move,” he mumbled.

“Shh,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Nap first. Talk later.”

He chuckled sleepily. “See? Corrupted me.”

But he didn’t complain.

He just held you tighter and let himself drift off, safe and warm in your arms.

#captain america joaquin torres #mcu joaquin torres #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquin marvel #joaquin x reader #the falcon x reader #captain america brave new world #captain america 4 #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #mcu x you #mcu x reader #mcu x y/n

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willowsnook · 6 months ago

Text

breaking rules

Can we get heavy PDA Joe and everyone’s reaction

joe burrow x gf!reader

—-------------------—----

Your friends made fun of you relentlessly because, to a lot of the outside world, it looked like you and Joe were just friends, distant cousins even. PDA made you very uncomfortable, and that paired well with Joe, who hated anyone prying into his private life. Of course, his teammates and your circle knew that the two of you were together, but the media had yet to catch on, even though you guys lived together.

So imagine your surprise when it was now an hour into the team’s post-season dinner party, and Joe had not left your side. Usually, at these events, you arrive together but then break off, him going to find his boyfriend Ja’Marr, and you going to hang with some of the other WAGs. Then you meet up at the end to leave, and the cycle repeats.

But tonight, Joe’s hand had been snugly placed around your waist, even when you were talking to other people. Missing the playoffs had hit him hard, and you had watched him retreat into his shell these past few weeks; you were there for him when he needed it. So you weren’t shocked at his lack of conversation tonight but surprised by the touch.

The people you were talking to left to grab a drink at the bar, so you took the opportunity to turn to Joe.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concerned.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled. You looked down at his arm wrapped around you and back up at him, arching an eyebrow. “Just want to be close to you.”

Nodding, you decided you’d let him have a pass tonight to be clingy, even though you were cringing on the inside. Ja’Marr called over to Joe from the other side of the room and you were dragged along to join them. He was sitting on a couch next to Tee, and Joe sat down in an armchair, pulling you down on top of him. Both of his friends’ eyes widened at the sight.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Ja’Marr said once he came out of shock.

“I thought you guys would never beat the siblings allegations,” Tee chimed in and Joe flipped them off before settling his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

You felt your cheeks flush as you settled into Joe's lap, acutely aware of the eyes on you. Joe seemed unfazed, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip as he chatted with Ja'Marr and Tee. You tried to relax, reminding yourself that these were your friends, but you couldn't shake the feeling of exposure.

"You good?" Joe murmured in your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. Joe pressed a soft kiss to your temple, and you heard Tee let out a low whistle.

"Damn, Joe. Who are you and what have you done with our QB1?" Tee teased.

As the night wore on, Joe's affection only intensified. He peppered kisses along your shoulder, nuzzled into your neck, and whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Your discomfort battled with a growing warmth in your chest at his open displays of love.

"Get a room, you two!" Sam Hubbard called out as he passed by, earning a chorus of laughter and wolf whistles from nearby teammates.

Joe just grinned, pulling you impossibly closer. "Maybe we will," he shot back and you slapped him in the chest.

Deciding you needed some air, you walked off towards the balcony, naturally with Joe right behind you.

“I’m giving you a one-night pass for this kind of behavior only because you’ve been so depressing,” you told him and he smirked at your honesty. He stepped closer to you, sliding his arms around your waist while you rested yours on his shoulders.

“Then I better take advantage hmm,” he said, eyes flickering down to your lips. Before you could protest, his lips were on yours, moving steadily as he found comfort in you. His hands started to dip lower, and you swatted them, causing him to smile against you.

When you pulled back, you gave him an irritated look, and he pouted.

“Come on princess, I just need you,” he admitted and your heart clenched at his words. You knew he was holding on to you like a lifeline and he knew you’d do anything to be there for him.

“Fine, then let’s get a room hot shot,” you said, dragging him off the balcony and towards the front of the venue. Ja’Marr gave you a teasing wave goodbye and you flipped him off.

Joe chuckled at your gesture, his hand laced tightly with yours as you maneuvered through the crowded room. The whispers and knowing smirks from his teammates didn’t faze him in the slightest, but you could feel your cheeks heating up again.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” you muttered as you both stepped outside, the cool night air hitting your face.

“Immensely,” Joe replied, his grin only widening. “Can’t let them think I’m a robot all the time.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. Once you reached the car, Joe opened the door for you with a flourish, earning an eye roll that turned into a laugh. He climbed in after you, wasting no time pulling you back into his lap.

“Joe,” you started to protest, but he silenced you with another kiss, this one softer, less teasing, and more vulnerable.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your lips when he finally pulled back, his voice low and sincere. “For putting up with me tonight. For everything.”

Your heart softened as you reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Always, Joe. I’ve got you.”

His smile this time wasn’t the playful smirk you were used to. It was small, genuine, and filled with gratitude. You let yourself lean into him, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the chain around his neck as the driver started the car.

For all the teasing and awkwardness of the night, you knew one thing for certain: Joe Burrow might not be big on PDA most of the time, but when he let his guard down like this, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

#nfl imagines #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow #joe burrow x reader

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flowersforbucky · 1 year ago

Text

moth to a flame

bucky barnes x reader / winter soldier x reader

"I know you. even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

word count: 4.9k

summary: bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.

warnings/tags: SMUT, canon divergence (bucky hasn't been successfully deprogrammed in this), kind of dub-con, language, some violence, reader is afab, no use of y/n, friends with benefits situation, angst with a happy ending, 18+ only

“You've reached Bucky. I can't answer the phone right now but leave me a mess–”

You hang up before the voicemail recording finishes. You already knew he wasn't going to answer, just as he hasn't answered any of the other thirty-something times you've dialed his number over the course of the last few days. Or read any of the two dozen text messages.

The messages had stopped delivering and the calls had started going straight to voicemail almost two days ago at this point. And yet you still got your hopes up every time you checked your phone, only to be met with gut-wrenching, nauseating disappointment.

It had now been three days of this - not to mention picking your cuticles until they bleed, flipping back and forth between every news station on your TV in hopes (and fear) of seeing his name, a few collective hours of sleep each night, and too much Red Bull.

Just when you were thinking about trying to kick your caffeine addiction, too.

Three days of feeling completely and utterly helpless.

You place the phone back down on your coffee table, staring down at the thick, white cast encasing your left leg from your foot to just under your knee.

Useless.

You knew you were doing what you physically could - the spread of laptops and tablets on the table in front of you continuously supplying data from facial recognition programs across the United States.

Realistically, you knew he could be on the other side of the world by now, but that didn't stop you from checking. It was the only thing that you felt you had any control over right now.

But it wasn't enough. Not when Steve, Sam, Natasha, Sharon, and every other currently able-bodied team member are out scouring every safehouse and known former HYDRA base in the tri-state area while you're holed up in your apartment with a fractured fibula and a brain that won't let you stop reliving the moments before he went missing.

“This is as straightforward as it gets,” Steve re-assures you both for what felt like the dozenth time that day. “You'll be in and out in no time.”

“So straight-forward that you're going to hang back here while we do all the dirty work?” You joke as you make the final adjustments to your parachute.

“We've been monitoring this base for months,” he reminds you. “This place is as abandoned as they come. Get in, get the intel from the database, and get back to the jet.”

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Bucky adds with a devious grin.

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Steve agrees.

If only things had been as simple as he had expected.

You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach from the moment that you and Bucky landed on the ground outside of the HYDRA base. You told yourself that you were being irrational - but you couldn't shake the looming feeling that something was going to go wrong.

“See?” Bucky says after removing the USB drive from the computer. He sticks the device in the breast pocket of his tactical vest before edging you towards the desk. “Easy-peasy. You've been worried for nothing.”

“I have not been worried,” you deny, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This place is just old, and smelly, and creepy.”

Bucky takes a step closer to you so that there's no space left between you. He places his hands on the desk on either side of you, enclosing you.

“You think that I can't tell when you're nervous?” He says quietly, studying your face. You can smell a lingering hint of cool mint from his mouthwash. “That I haven't spent enough time learning your body to read you like an open book?”

Your thighs clench together and your nipples pebble at his words. You're almost embarrassed at how easily his voice, his scent, his closeness elicits a physical response from your body. Almost.

“What I think,” you murmur against his mouth. His hands come to grip your hips as he nudges your thighs open, standing between your legs. “Is you're crazy if you're thinking about trying to fuck me in an abandoned HYDRA warehouse.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh. “You can't blame me for trying.”

“I am relieved to know that you'd even want to do that here,” you say, hopping down from where you're perched on the desk. “I really think that shows you've processed your trauma–”

You're cut off by the room going completely dark. Every light, every computer, turns to black.

Bucky's flesh hand instinctively reaches to grab your wrist in the dark, tugging you to him.

“What the fuck,” he groans under his breath.

“We need to get out of–” you start to state the obvious but close your mouth when the computer that you and Bucky had retrieved the data from turns back on.

And then a computer to the right - and then across the room - and another to the right - and one to left - until every computer is on and showing the exact same screen. Bucky's hand grips yours so tightly that it borders on being painful.

Displayed on dozens of screens throughout the room is the face of a man. A man who you've never met, but recognize immediately.

“Zola,” Bucky whispers almost inaudibly.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola addresses him with a perverted smile. “Welcome home,” his voice pours from every computer speaker throughout the room and echoes off the walls.

“Steve?” You whisper urgently, clicking on the communication device hidden in your ear. “Steve, we've got a prob–”

“There's no use in that,” Zola interrupts you. “It's too late. They're almost here.”

The following sixty seconds were a jumbled blur that you were still trying to piece together in your mind.

You remember hearing the stream of words spoken in Russian.

Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.

You remember Bucky screaming at you to run, the sound of Steve's voice in your ear telling you that back-up was on the way and asking a dozen questions that you were too overwhelmed to respond to.

Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.

You remember begging Steve to hurry. You remember pleading with Bucky to come with you to try to get away; pleading with him to just look at you, just stay with you, help is coming -

Benign. Homecoming. One.

You remember the moment that Bucky went completely still as the room was infiltrated by HYDRA agents.

Freight car.

You knew that Bucky wasn't there anymore. You could sense it in his stance, in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, in his silence.

Before you could say anything else to him, close to a dozen HYDRA agents came barreling towards you both. He charged through them, taking down one after the next with ease, until there were just a few left standing.

It was a side of Bucky you'd never seen. You thought that you had witnessed his strength, his agility, his determination, his ruthlessness working beside him in this field - but you then saw just how much he had been holding back.

He fled past the remaining few, out the door and down the hallway of the warehouse. The agents turned to follow him, forgetting about you - until you threw a knife directly into one's neck from behind.

Another agent shot at you, the blow hitting your bulletproof vest and sending you flying backwards onto hard cement.

Before you could catch your breath, there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain radiating from your lower leg - but it was short lived.

The last thing you recall is the man's boot swinging towards your face.

You woke up some number of hours later, in a hospital bed with your temple throbbing and leg elevated in a cast.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls from your right. Natasha stands up from the singular chair in the room, both concern and relief evident across her features. “You're okay,” she begins to assure you. “You have a concussion and a fractured–”

“Where's Bucky?” You interrupt her, your voice scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is he okay? Did Steve find him? Did HYDRA get–”

“HYDRA didn't get him. Steve took care of the last of the agents after him,” she stops you from rambling. There's an immediate sense of relief wash over you.

“But we haven't found him yet,” she adds carefully. “Everyone is out searching for him now. You know we won't stop until–”

A gentle knock on your apartment door snaps you back to reality.

You freeze, your heart jumping to your throat. You stand as quickly as you can manage, grabbing your crutches propped up next to you on the couch.

“It's just me,” a feminine voice calls from the other side of the door. Your heart goes from your throat to your stomach. Not him.

“I'm sorry, I should have text you first,” Natasha continues. “But I brought you food. Street tacos from–”

You turn the deadbolt and unhook the chain lock before swinging the door open.

“You look–”

“Like hammered shit?” You finish for her, nodding your head towards the inside of the apartment as indication for her to come in.

“I was going to say exhausted,” she says, walking past you with a large paper sack of take-out food. Your stomach growls at the aroma - when was the last time you ate something more than a bowl of cereal or granola bar?

“Your favorite,” she tells you, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. “Extra salsa verde and lime wedges. Have you gotten any sleep recently?” Her eyes skim across the empty energy drink cans littered around the kitchen.

You maneuver yourself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen's small island, leaning your crutches on the edge of the counter.

“Yes,” you mumble. “For forty-five minutes from 2:30 to 3:15 today.”

She lets out a long groan, rolling her eyes at you.

“You're supposed to be healing from a concussion,” she reminds you, taking a seat for herself. “Which generally doesn't include sleep deprivation and excessive use of computer screens.” She stares in the direction of the array of laptops that overcrowd the limited space of your coffee table.

“Did you find anything in Connecticut? What about Sam, is he back from New Jersey?” You ask, ignoring her concerns as you unbox your food.

“Connecticut was a dead-end,” she sighs. “We're still waiting to hear back from Sam. There's a safehouse up in Vermont that Steve wants to head to tomorrow–”

“You don't think there's a chance of him letting me tag along for that, do you?” You tap the edge of your cast against the base of the island with your foot.

Her eyes soften as she looks at you. You already knew the answer.

“I know this is really hard for you,” she says delicately. “I may not know exactly what has been going on between you and Barnes these last few months, but it's obvious you care a lot for him. We all do. We are going to find him and bring him home,” she assures you.

You nod at her in agreement, not quite trusting your voice enough to speak.

Your eyes sting as you attempt to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. You had yet to allow yourself to spend any time crying these last few days and you didn't wish to start now.

Her words remind you that no one knows exactly why you are taking Bucky's disappearance so harshly. You assume that your friends have their suspicions about your and Bucky's arrangement but the two of you had agreed to keep it between yourselves.

They didn't know it had started off being a weekly occurrence - late Sunday evenings, your apartment. Or how it had quickly escalated from once a week to twice, and then from two times a week to three - and instead of just your apartment, it would happen anywhere the two of you had a private (and sometimes public) moment - up against the wall of the communal showers at the compound's gym, in the back of the Quinjet after missions while everyone else would be sleeping on the flight back home, even during team meetings with his hand creeping between your thighs while you try to stay quiet enough to not draw any attention to yourselves.

They didn't know you were supposed to be friends with benefits but that at some point during the days and nights spent underneath one another, the line between friends and something more became blurry for you.

You had just been too chickenshit to tell him.

Natasha sits across from you as you inhale the Mexican food that she brought you. She doesn't say anything else, just keeps you company in a comfortable silence as you eat your first legitimate meal in days.

“Thank you,” you tell her as you're finishing your food. “I appreciate you. I've been going a little crazy here by myself,” you add meekly.

“Of course.” She stands back up. “I would stay longer, but I've got to prepare for Vermont. We're leaving early in the morning.”

“Be safe. All of you,” you remind her. “Let me know if you guys find anything. Just tell me if there's anything at all I can do. And please let me know when you hear from Sam–”

“You'll be the first to know when there's anything to know,” she assures you gently.

“Thanks, Nat.”

“You just try to get some rest, okay?” She requests as she walks toward the door. “Maybe drink some water, possibly consider taking a nice, long shower…”

“Goodbye, Natasha.”

She's chuckling as she closes the door behind her.

You lower your nose to your armpit as soon as the door clicks shut, inhaling.

Maybe she makes a valid point about showering.

Half an hour later, there's a heavy rain beating against the windows of your apartment when you finish bathing. You secure a towel around your chest before yanking off the garbage bag that you had wrapped around your cast well enough for you to rinse off.

Belly full and body clean, you felt somewhat better; at least physically.

You listen to the rain pound down as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, massaging lotion into your skin, and wonder where Bucky is right now - if he's safe, if it's raining wherever he's at, if he's somewhere dry -

You come to a sudden halt in the middle of brushing your teeth. It's hard to tell over the deafening roar of the rain and your bathroom fan, but you could have sworn you heard the creaking of a door or window from your living room.

I double checked the door locks after Nat left, you rationalize to yourself. This apartment is on the fourth floor, no one is going to climb the fire escapes to–

There's an unmistakable shadow visible through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. It's gone as quickly as it appears.

Shit. You start to panic as you realize you left your cell phone in the kitchen. As quietly as you can, you look around the small room for something to defend yourself with. A hair dryer, dental floss, a few week’s worth of dirty laundry..

You hear the creaking of floorboards as footsteps seem to creep closer and closer to the bathroom door.

Crutches. You have two crutches. You can clobber them with your crutches.

“I can hear you,” you call to whoever is just beyond the door. “I know you’re out there.”

Silence. No hint of any further movement.

You place one crutch under your left armpit for support, keeping the other one ready to wield as a weapon. “You have ten seconds to get out of my apartment,” you say a bit louder, willing your voice not to waver. “I have a weapon.”

Yeah, a weapon. If you can call it that.

Ten seconds come and go, followed by another ten seconds.

You weren’t going to let someone play this game with you in your own home.

Taking one last deep breath and tightening your grip on the defense crutch, you sling the bathroom door open quickly.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim, immediately relaxing your weight against the crutches, releasing the death grip that you had on your uninjured side.

It’s dark in your bedroom save for a few pale orange string lights hung around your bed frame and the light that spills in from the bathroom, but you would recognize his broad frame anywhere.

“Thank fuck you’re okay,” you exhale, swinging yourself over to where he stands at the foot of your bed. When you’re a little over a foot away from him, you realize he’s sopping wet - his hair dripping water droplets and his skin dewy. His clothing, the same clothing that you last saw him in three days ago, clings to his body like a second skin.

He remains still as a statue, and as silent as one.

“Are you okay?” You ask him apprehensively. You give him a once over, from head to toe. You don't see any noticeable injuries, but he is trembling.

“Bucky?” You ask in a small voice.

His lips are set in a hard line. He doesn't answer, just stares at you. Stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why he’s here.

Stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he knows you or not.

The immense relief that you had felt at knowing he's alive is washed away by a sinking feeling.

His eyes trail from your face and slowly down your towel-clad body. He pauses when he gets to your foot, glancing back and forth from your cast to the crutches on either side. His brows furrow together - almost like he's in pain.

“I'm okay,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “It's just a fracture,” you explain. “I'll be healed in no time.”

You notice that his features relax a bit at your words - just enough to give you hope that Bucky, your Bucky, is in there and he's listening to you.

Do whatever you have to do to keep him here. Don't let him out of your sight. Help him remember who he is, your inner monologue screams at you. Just don't let him run away again.

“Are you cold?” You ask him. You're not necessarily expecting him to answer, you're just trying to put him at ease. “How about we get you some dry clothes?” You add, nodding towards his drenched henley.

You retreat into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd left over the last time he had stayed the night - the night before he went missing. They were at the top of the laundry basket - maybe not the cleanest, but better that the wet, dirty clothing he's in currently.

You limp your way back over to where he stands at your bed, leaning against the mattress for support. You set your crutches down and hand him the shirt and pants, which he hesitantly accepts. He makes no move to remove the wet clothes from his body, instead gently places the dry clothes onto the mattress beside him.

“Would you like some help?” you offer cautiously, terrified of doing anything that could cause him to run. You slowly reach towards the clothing that he had just placed on the bed, but he stops you before you can pick the t-shirt back up - grasping your wrist in his vibranium hand.

You can’t stop the small gasp that escapes past your lips. His hold on you is firm, but not painful. You could rip your hand from him if you wanted to - but you don’t.

Instead, you let him hold your hand as he begins to rub his metal thumb in a circular motion next to yours. You’re frozen; watching him carefully as he examines the movements his metal digit makes on your skin.

The goosebumps that appear in the wake of his touch don’t go unnoticed by him. His eyes trail from where his hand holds yours and up the expanse of your arm, until they land on your exposed neck. The towel covering your midsection has started to come loose, hanging low enough to reveal the top of your breasts.

He drops your hand, taking a step closer to you. You have to remind yourself to breathe - your Bucky is in there. Your Bucky, who is gentle, and soft, and would never do anything to cause you harm.

You have to trust that.

He brings his vibranium fingers up to the edge of the towel, trailing them across the mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden right away, visible through the thin material of the towel.

You would let this play out however he wants it to. However he needs it to.

When his index finger stops where the towel is tucked into itself at your side, you forget how to breathe. He pauses for a split-second before unhooking the cloth and letting it fall to your feet.

He drinks in the sight of you bare before him, his jaw clenched and pupils dilated.

Dozens of times he has seen you like this, and never have you felt so completely vulnerable under his gaze.

And still there's a slickness gathering at the apex of your thighs.

He brings his flesh hand to your waist, putting the faintest bit of pressure against your skin. You close your eyes at the sensation - he's barely fucking touching you and you could melt into him.

Your name falls off of his lips - it's barely even a whisper, nearly inaudible but unmistakable. Your name. He remembers your name.

“Bucky,” your voice cracks when you whisper his own name back to him. His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of realization and hesitation brewing in them.

You bring both of your hands to the tail of his wet shirt, giving him time to pull away before you start to tug the shirt upwards. He doesn't stop you - in fact, he raises his own arms to help you tug the soaked fabric off of him. You toss the shirt in the general direction of your bathroom.

You didn't think there would ever come a time that the sight of him getting naked for you wouldn't make you want to drool.

You unsnap the button of his tactical pants, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time, hyper-analyzing his expression for any sign of reluctance.

You dip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand travels lower.

He's already fully hard as you hold him, stroking him as best you can from inside the confines of his underwear and pants. You pump him in your hand and his head rolls back so that he's looking up at your ceiling.

Fuck, it takes all the restraint you possess to resist leaning forward and sucking on his neck.

Another time, you tell yourself, anxious about overwhelming him.

He curses under his breath - something in Russian that you don't recognize but the expression on his face indicates it to be a praise. There's a shift in his initially reserved, unsure demeanor when you begin to pump him faster.

His head snaps back down, his eyes raking up and down your body once more before he brings his hands to your lower back, maneuvering you against the bed.

You scoot until your back comes in contact with the cool satin of your pillows, relaxing into the bedding. At last Bucky begins to shed the layers of wet clothing covering his lower half, not taking his eyes off of your body as he removes his boots, followed by his pants and boxers.

He kneels on the mattress, crawling above where you lay. You want nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to yours, but you are going to let him call the shots.

He nudges your thighs apart with his knee, nestling himself between your legs. He grasps your breast in his vibranium hand, giving it a firm squeeze before rolling your nipple between his icy fingers.

He lowers himself so that he's belly down on your mattress, his face inches away from your pussy. He removes his hand from your breast and you let out a small whimper of disappointment at the abrupt lack of sensation. He uses that same hand to hike your uninjured leg over his shoulder, securing his head between the soft interior of your thighs.

He kisses you, starting at your belly button and working his way to your center. His lips feel like fire against your skin. You keep your hips planted firmly on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust your pussy up to his face.

“Please,” you whine. “Bucky, please.” You swear you can see the faintest trace of a smirk that looks so undeniably Bucky.

You clench your thighs around his face and he lets out a low, guttural groan as his mouth makes contact with you.

Normally, Bucky closes his eyes while he's going down on you - gets completely lost in it. Right now, his eyes are wide open - making sure he doesn't miss the way your mouth gapes when he rolls his tongue around your clit and the way your chest heaves when he nudges his tongue inside you.

You don't know which you find hotter.

You can already feel the tightening of a coil in your lower belly, making it impossible to resist rolling your hips to meet the torturous pace he's set with his tongue. You grind against his face, the thin layer of stubble that's grown across his jaw since you last saw him scratching against the sensitive flesh around your cunt.

You're approaching your climax when he pulls away, making you mewl at the loss of contact. His face glistens with your slick.

He flips you onto your side, placing you on your left side so that your injured leg rests against the mattress. You prop your head up with your hand as he slides in behind you.

His chest presses against your back, the heat of his body warming you all over. His flesh hand juts between your thighs, raising your right leg high enough for him to slap his cock against your pussy.

He strokes himself in his hand while he teases your folds - lubricating himself with your juices.

You turn your head to look at him right as he sheaths himself inside you, filling you entirely in one swift motion.

Fuck, you have to taste yourself on him. You can't handle not having his mouth on yours for another second.

You tilt your head back enough to connect your mouth to his - every worry you once had about coming on too strong and overwhelming him melts away as he opens his mouth for you, moving his lips against yours in an effortless rhythm.

He starts slow, quickly working up to a rapid pace as he repeatedly slams into your cervix from the sweetest angle. The sounds that you're making for him are pornographic - moaning into his mouth as his flesh hand comes around your front, landing on your engorged clitoris. He rubs languid circles while he continues to pound into you from behind.

You pull your lips away from his when you feel your orgasm building. “You always make me feel so good, you know that?” You ask him breathily, your mouth now right next to his ear.

“Every time you fuck me, I'm more sure that no one could ever compare to you. You've ruined me for everyone else. There’s only you for me.”

“Fuck,” he curses and groans your name again - it's the closest he's sounded to his normal self, which only spurs you on.

“I’ve become so fucking addicted to you in such a short amount of time,” you say in between moans as the head of his cock hits your sweet spot just right. “Think about you anytime you're not near me, drives me fucking crazy.”

He flips you - doesn't pull out - so that you're now underneath him. He goes right back to the same brutal pace, bringing his flesh hand to cradle your face as he stares down at you.

Clarity - you recognize it plain as day on his features.

He gives you a few more fast, hard thrusts before you're milking his cock through your orgasm. You crash your lips to his and he's coming - filling you up with his warm seed as he kisses you senseless.

He gradually stills inside you, his body going limp on top of yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, peppering kisses across his scarred shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I'm so sorry if I scared you,” he murmurs against the sweat-slicked skin of your throat after a moment. “I wasn't myself. Not even entirely sure how I ended up here - it's like I was pulled in this direction - to you,” he sighs.

You're overcome with such an immense relief at hearing him speak that you could cry. You tighten your hold around him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

“You could never scare me, Bucky,” you assure him. He pulls out of you, rolling off of you onto the bed beside you and tugging you to his chest. Your cheek rests just over his heart.

"I know you. Even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks for reading! as always comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

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daxisyzz · 4 months ago

Text

Just for you

Pairings: avenger!bucky barnes × avenger!reader

Summary: Bucky always catches you looking at him after you say something funny—because you love seeing him smile. But when a late-night conversation turns into something more, you realize he’s been looking at you for the same reason all along.

Based on this prompt I found on Pinterest :

Word count: 1.2k+

Tags: flooofy fluff, cute shenanigans, confessions, kisses.

Requests are open!!! Feel free to send them in

Bucky Barnes was a hard nut to crack. That was the general consensus among the Avengers. He was quiet, brooding, and had a knack for disappearing whenever things got too lively.

But you? You had somehow carved a space in his life, whether he’d meant to let you in or not.It started with small things—offering him a cup of coffee before he asked, handing him a protein bar during training, bumping his shoulder after a mission and saying, “Good job, Buckaroo.”

The first time you called him that, his face had twisted into a look of pure betrayal. Sam had laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch.But you kept at it. Not pushing, just… being there. And somehow, Bucky started looking for you when you weren’t around.

Tonight, the team was gathered in the common room, decompressing after a long day. A terrible action movie played on the screen, and you were curled up in the corner of the couch, throwing out sarcastic commentary like it was your job.

“Oh, sure, let’s just casually outrun an explosion in six-inch heels,” you quipped, waving a hand at the screen.Steve shook his head with a smile, but it was Bucky you looked at. Always Bucky.

He was across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. At first glance, he looked like he wasn’t paying attention. But you knew better. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes met yours, filled with something warm, something just for you.

Encouraged, you kept going. “Right, because bullets totally run out only when it’s dramatically convenient.”

This time, Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, and—God, it was ridiculous how much it made your chest ache. You loved making him laugh. It was like finding a hidden treasure, a secret meant only for those who paid close enough attention.

A moment later, Sam tossed a handful of popcorn at Bucky. “See, man? This is why she’s fun and you’re just there.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but his gaze flickered to you again, like he was checking to see if you’d caught that. You had. And you grinned at him, knowing—just knowing—that he’d never admit it, but he liked your stupid jokes.Maybe even you.And if he kept looking at you like that? Yeah, you’d keep making them, just for him.

The weeks passed, and the game continued—your jokes, Bucky’s almost-smiles, the way you always looked at him after saying something funny, just to see if you’d won him over. And more often than not, you had.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.It wasn’t just about making him laugh anymore. It was about how he always found the seat next to yours during movie nights. How he remembered exactly how you liked your coffee. How his fingers would brush yours when he handed you something, lingering just a little too long.

And you? You started memorizing the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, how his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. You started feeling it—him—in your bones.

It hit you one evening, when the two of you were alone in the kitchen. Everyone else had gone to bed, but Bucky had wandered in while you were making tea, his hair still damp from a shower, sweatpants hanging low on his hips.You didn’t know what made you say it—maybe the quiet, maybe the warmth of the tea in your hands—but you looked at him and blurted out, “I like it when you laugh.”

Bucky, who had been reaching for a glass, froze. His shoulders tensed for just a second before he turned to face you. “Yeah?”You nodded, gripping your mug a little tighter.

“It feels… rare. Special.” You exhaled a quiet laugh, suddenly nervous.

“Makes me feel like I won something.”

Something passed over his expression—something deep, something heavy. Then, slowly, he took a step closer.

“You don’t have to win,” he murmured.Your breath caught.

He was close now, close enough that you could see the little flecks of blue in his eyes, the way his lips parted just slightly, like he was weighing his next words carefully.

“I laugh because of you,” he admitted, voice low. “I look at you because… hell, I don’t even know how not to.”

The air between you felt charged, humming with something unspoken. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he reached out, fingertips ghosting over your hand where it rested on the counter.

And just like that, you knew. This wasn’t just teasing anymore. It wasn’t just banter or stolen glances across the room. It was him. It was you.

Bucky’s fingertips barely brushed yours, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine.You swallowed, heart hammering. “Bucky…”His name came out softer than you intended, like a confession. His lips twitched, just the tiniest bit, but his eyes—God, his eyes were so intense, like he was memorizing every inch of you.Then, so quietly you barely heard it, he murmured,

“Say something funny.”You blinked.

“What?”Bucky huffed a breath, his gaze flickering to your lips.

“You always look at me after you say something funny. I like it.”Your stomach flipped.

He was so unfair. Here you were, on the verge of spontaneous combustion, and he was just standing there, waiting—wanting.

You took a breath, trying to focus.“Okay. How about… yesterday?”

Bucky raised a brow. “Yesterday?”

You nodded, biting back a grin. “When Sam tried to show off during training and did that stupid flip, but his foot caught on Steve’s shield?”Bucky exhaled a short laugh, lips twitching.

“And then,” you continued, eyes dancing with amusement, “he went down like a sack of potatoes and just laid there for a full minute, groaning dramatically.”

That did it. A deep, quiet chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And just like always, you looked at him, waiting to catch it, to feel it—But this time, Bucky didn’t let you get away with just that.Before you could blink, his hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up, and then—warm, soft, Bucky—his lips met yours.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second. His fingers curled against your jaw, his other hand resting against the counter, caging you in but never making you feel trapped. Just held.

You melted into him, hands fisting into the fabric of his sweatshirt as his lips moved against yours, unhurried and unbearably sweet. And when he finally pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze, there was that look again—like you were something precious.

“You always look at me after you say something funny,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Thought I should give you something to look forward to.”You huffed a breathless laugh, still dazed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Bucky smirked, leaning in again, his nose brushing yours. “Yeah? Tell me another.”

You did. And this time, when you looked at him, he kissed you all over again.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #fluff #avenger!bucky #avengers #marvel mcu

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urfavfakeblonde · 4 months ago

Text

ₚₕₒₙₑ ₛₑₓ

You're in the middle of the most mind-blowing sex...when you get a call. Unfortunately, he clicked answer for you.

tfws!bucky x fem!reader

There was something so deliciously wrong about this. I mean, he's pounding into me, chest flush against my back as I'm bent over the couch-- and my phone rings. I wanted to ignore it, actually I did-- but he leaned over (which only pushed his dick in deeper) as I let out a sharp moan. He answers, bringing it to my ear. "Now don't leave Sam waiting, yeah?" he whispers in my ear, grinning as I take the phone from him. He stands back up, thrusting into me a slower, deeper, pace. My eyes threaten to roll to the back of my head, but I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "Sam? What's up?" I ask casually, covering my mouth with my hand. Bucky is quick to reach around and pin it behind my back, my teeth catching my bottom lip. "Hey, yeah I tried callin' Buck, but he didn't answer. Need you both down at the stake-out building in 20, we got a track on the Flagsmashers." Suddenly, Bucky pulls all the way out before pushing all the way in again. I let out a moan before covering it with a cough, pulling the phone away from my ear as my eyes roll the back of my head. I bring it back to my ear as Sam's voice comes through the other end. "You okay there y/l/n?" I cough again, trying to mask the fucking loud ass moan that I just let out. "Y-yeah, sorry, water just went down the wrong pipe," I groan, biting my lip. Bucky's pace is relentless, pelvis snapping hard against my ass. He releases my arm to grab my waist, pulling my body back as he thrusts into me. "Yeah, I get it. Alright I'll see you both soon, yeah?" He asks. Just then, Bucky hits that deep spot inside of me, letting his Vibranium fingers circle around my clit. "Yes! Yes, sorry. W-we'll see you then," I suck in a breath, hand clutching the couch to feel stabilized. "Yeah...drink some damn water or something y/n. Sounds like you need it." He hangs up the phone, a sigh leaving my lips. The coil in my tummy starts to unfold, a whiney moan leaving my bitten lips. "Fuck, you're so hot sweetheart," Bucky whispers in my ear, hips snapping into mine just a little harder. "I hate you," I groan back, letting out a loud moan with the cry of his name as white floods my vision.

"Yeah, sure sounds like you do."

if you liked this blurb...you might like this one too <3

reverse cowgirl

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months ago

Text

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter One

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, threatening language, death of a minor character

Word Count: 4.6k

On a scavenging run, two unknown groups arrive unannounced. Through the gunfire, you’re separated, cornered, captured. A skull-faced Lieutenant makes a decision, changing your life forever.

Chapter Two

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

Eden is a home.

It is a person. A place. A community

It is the scent of old musty books, and the quiet peace before the rising dawn.

You work by candlelight in the silent hours, an open book resting on the table in front of you. Wearing gloves to protect it, you carefully turn the page, gaze scanning the faded lettering. Most of it is legible, and with some time and care, you’ll be able to replicate it on new paper with fresh ink.

Preservation.

Not of your mortal life and those that live in your community, but the preservation of humanity, culture, and human history. Five years since the world fell apart, and yet you remain, carrying on with purpose, restoring books, transcribing those that are close to falling apart, and keeping records of the years that came before.

It is enjoyable, fulfilling work but you serve a greater need to your community. Here, within your sanctuary of several hundred people, you provide them entertainment and education. The children come to you for picture books and story time, and the adults visit when they need an escape.

You are but one piece of a large whole.

“What are you doing here so early?”

You glance up, smiling at your assistant. “Could ask the same,” you laugh, pushing back from the table. Standing, you remove your gloves and set them next to the book.

Sam, your archiving assistant yawns. “Thought I’d get here early since you’re going out today with Zac and his group.” They rub at their eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the gate already?”

“Shit,” you mutter, checking the mechanical clock hanging on the wall. Sam is right. You should be at the gate right now. “Double shit,” you groan.

Sam laughs and reaches for their own gloves. “I’ll handle this.” Putting them on, Sam settles into your chair. “We doing a refurb on this?”

“No,” you say, running around the room, grabbing your jacket and backpack. “Some of the pages are too faded. Binding is also bust.”

“Transcribe then,” murmurs Sam, gently closing the book to inspect the integrity of the cover. “Where are you going again?”

“Zac mentioned a small town they scoped out. No activity.” You walk over to Sam, yanking your jacket on. “He said there’s a library.”

Sam’s head pops up. “Seriously?”

You nod excitedly. “Said the place was locked up tight. Windows still intact.”

“Untouched?” asks Sam, eyebrows rising in surprise. You nod. Sam whistles lowly. “What a fucking find.”

“I know!” you exclaim. “Could really use some encyclopedias.”

“And dictionaries,” adds Sam longingly.

Tugging on the front of your jacket and then smoothing the front, you zip it up. “Zac said I can bring back as much as I want.”

“Did he really?” Sam shakes their head and opens the front cover of the book. “That man is sweet on you.”

“Which is why I take advantage,” you giggle.

Sam bursts out laughing. “Go. They’ll leave you behind.”

With a grin on your face and a hop to your step, you wave at Sam before heading out the side door and into the early morning. The sun is just starting to rise. Most people are still asleep or starting their day. You walk by the communal buildings where the earliest risers are preparing breakfast. You sigh when you get a whiff of what they’re cooking, wishing you could snag a meal before departing.

As you approach the gate, Zac raises his hand in greeting.

“Have I held everyone up?” you ask tentatively, glancing around.

“Not at all. Still loading up a few things. Your timing is perfect.” Zac smiles, and though you find him pleasant, nothing stirs within you. There is no lust or even romantic interest.

You observe the line of cars queued at the gate. Usually there are only one or two, but there are at least ten vehicles here including the salvaged U-Haul. “Taking a whole convoy?”

“We’re going to need it.”

“For a small town?”

Zac chuckles. “I’m dropping you off at the library. Ben will come with you.”

“I get a security detail?” you ask excitedly and Zac nods. “Fancy.”

Zac scratches at his neck, gaze roaming over the convoy. “There’s a car assembly plant a few miles outside the town. Gonna strip what we can. If things go well, we’ll come back.”

“No activity then?”

“None,” confirms Zac. “We’ve had a scouting team out there for the last two months. Not a soul has passed through.”

“That’s fortunate,” you murmur.

While your community has been largely untouched and unbothered by the outside world, there are still so many unknowns. There have been stragglers that have shown up, and while several have been accepted in and integrated, there are many more that have been turned away or shot on sight. Sometimes you think it cruel, but there are all sorts of horrors in the world now.

Ben walks around the front of the nearest car, and beams in your direction. “Hear I’m looking after you today,” he says, going in for a hug.

You accept it easily. Ben is the comedian of the community, always having a kind word and funny joke.

“And helping me haul books,” you add.

Ben winks in your direction and then turns to Zac. “We’re ready.”

Zac nods. “Load up!” he shouts.

Everyone around you heads to their designated vehicle. Engines roar and car doors slam. You follow Ben, hopping into a dusty Jeep Wrangler.

It’s several hours of open road and clear weather.

You and Ben pass the time by singing songs and playing car games. It’s a good distraction until Zac comes on over the radio and tells Ben their exit is coming up. The rest of the convoy drives on as Ben cuts away to take an exit ramp. A few more minutes and he’s coming to a stop just on the edge of town, parking the Jeep amongst a cluster of trees. The vehicle is completely hidden.

“Ready?” he asks, sliding the keys into his pocket.

“Backpack? Check. Gun? Check. Foldable wagon? Check.”

Ben blows raspberries. “Can’t forget the foldable wagon.”

You playfully smack him on the arm. “You want to haul all those books back yourself.”

“No thank you,” he mutters.

The walk is pleasant, but overall silent. Ben carries an M4AI. The arsenal back home is massive, and whenever there are trips outside the compound, the military-grade weapons come out. He keeps his head on a swivel, but other than the occasional animal sounds and the rustling of leaves, all is quiet.

“Here it is,” sighs Ben, extending one arm toward a stand-alone building at the corner of an intersection.

The library isn’t overly big. If anything, it’s what you’d expect from a small town.

“Now I know you’re excited,” he begins, slightly leaning in your direction. “But you stay close. We’re entering from the back.”

All you can do is nod eagerly, words escaping you. It’s been almost six years since you’ve been inside a library. This is a treat. It takes an insane amount of self-control to not skip all the way to the back of the building.

While the front of the building faces the intersection, behind the library is a small parking lot and two dumpsters. Ben does a slow sweep of the lot as the two of you walk toward the employee entrance. Satisfied that nothing and no one is around, Ben lowers his gun. Removing his backpack, he sets it on the ground, and rummages around inside before withdrawing lockpicks.

Adrenaline surges within you.

A few wiggles.

And then—

Click.

Grinning like an idiot, Ben slips the lockpicks into his backpack and puts it on. Grabbing his gun, he presses himself to the brick wall. Slowly, Ben opens the door with the tip of the rifle. It gives under his touch easily, the hinges even silent as the door swings inwards.

“Draw your weapon,” whispers Ben. “We need to do a sweep first.” As you reach for your Glock, Ben shakes his head. “And leave the damn wagon.”

Leaning the foldable wagon against the wall, you remove your gun from its holster. Ben enters and you follow, shifting your body to watch for anything coming up behind you. It’s a slow sweep. Starting along the wall, the two of you walk the perimeter, checking the back offices, and then finally the center-most area.

Ben comes to a stop near a collection of dusty chairs. Lowering his gun, he sighs with relief. “It’s clear.” He turns in your direction. “I’ll be keeping a lookout at the door. If anything happens, you come directly to me.”

“Got it,” you say with a mock salute.

Ben rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “And don’t drag those books along because I know you will. Leave them.”

You stare him down but Ben doesn’t budge, matching your stare with one of his own. “I mean it. If someone or something comes barreling through the front doors, you fucking run to me. Understood?”

“Sure. Got it. Understood.”

Ben checks his watch. “We have a few hours before we’re expected back at the meet point. Take your time.” He starts to walk away, and then abruptly pivots. “Wife packed a few sandwiches. Promise I’ll share.”

You snort and wave him off. “Bring me my wagon, Ben.”

“On it,” he calls over his shoulder.

As his footfalls recede, you linger in the quiet, dusty library, taking in the significance of the moment. Six years since you’ve stood inside an actual library. Five years since the world fell apart but a year before, third places were quickly disappearing. No one could spend money when wages were low and all the government’s resources were going toward the war effort. Libraries and free spaces shuttered first, losing all their funding.

This place is precious. Special. A rare opportunity.

Of all the books in your community’s collection, they’ve all come to you by the way of others, collected on routine trips and scavenging missions like today. Since stepping inside the walls you now call home, this is the first time you’ve left it. All the stories you receive of the outside world come from the mouths of those who witness it firsthand.

Like a jubilant child, you want to run around—to touch everything. The tips of your fingers buzz with an incessant itch. But you don’t dare remove anything from the shelves. Resisting is almost physically painful as you float through the aisles, taking it all in. To remove a book off the shelf, to open it up, the smell it and feel it would be paradise.

But you know better. You do.

Disturbing them without the right tools and care might cause damage or undo exposure. What you can do is look, to read the spines, and consider your options. Once you know what you want, you’ll drag your little wagon behind you and go about taking the books you want off the shelves.

Ben does leave you alone, and you’re left to wander.

Each step is light but purposeful as you move about the space. You think of everyone back home, of their likes and dislikes, of their needs and wants. More picture books would be helpful as well as some young adult novels. Some of the women have been asking for romance and few of the older folks would like some historical nonfiction.

“Where are you?” you mutter, digging around in your jacket pockets.

Crumpled paper brushes against your fingers. Withdrawing it, you smooth it out as best you can. Using the little light available to read your scribbled penmanship, you pull the wagon behind you, mentally reordering your notes by priority.

Sam wants dictionaries, and you need to grab a set of encyclopedias. Finding the “Reference” section, you survey all your options. Dictionaries and an encyclopedia set are a must, but you also consider the selections of atlases and then the thesaurus collection. The school could really use those resources, and your wagon is large enough to accommodate a few last-minute additions.

Kneeling, you admire the different editions of encyclopedias. Some appear a little worn but otherwise fine. Even though this place hasn’t had power or temperature control in five years, the place was sealed and untouched until you and Ben. It’s likely that everything inside is fine, and all you and Sam will need to do is a rebinding.

You’re completely absorbed, so focused on the tomes in front of you, that the whisper of your name has you spinning around and reaching for your gun.

Ben has his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. A snarky remark sizzles on your tongue. Ben brings a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence. Whatever you were going to say dissolves, leaving behind an acrid aftertaste.

Slowly, you swivel your head from side to side but see nothing.

Ben shifts closer, leans in, a glint of fear in his eyes.

“There are people outside,” he whispers.

That’s when you hear it. Distantly, you hear a car door slam, and a muffled shout. The marrow in your bones becomes ice. There are people. There shouldn’t be people.

You swallow, mouth becoming dry. “How many?”

Ben shrugs. “Not sure. But there’s two groups.”

“Two—” You shake your head slightly as that’ll clear your racing thoughts. “What do you mean two groups?”

Ben’s mouth turns downward. It’s an I’m sorry but even that is loaded.

We’re not getting out of this.

There’s a distant hoot of laughter, and then the breaking of glass as if someone’s thrown a beer bottle. It’s still far enough away that you cling to that one comfort. But if they stick around, they might come sniffing. If that happens, you and Ben will be cornered.

Ben nods his head in the direction of the front of the library. Staying low, the two of creep toward the front of the building. There are two sets of double doors. The first set open up into the library and the secondary set of doors lead directly outside. Sandwiched between them is a small atrium. Above the doors are massive windows that bring in natural light.

Out front in the intersection are several beaten up trucks. From what you can see, it’s all men, at least a dozen or two in total. They look haggard. Mean.

“Is that them?” you ask softly.

Ben doesn’t look back at you as he answers. “Just the one. These guys came in loud.” Ben shifts slightly to glance over his shoulder at you. “Surprised you didn’t hear them.”

“Lost in my books.” Ben snorts, and returns his attention to the glass doors. “What about the second group?” you ask tentatively. “Our people?”

Ben eases back a bit. He sits down on the floor, checking over his rifle. “No. Not sure who they are.” He licks his lips, gaze focused on the gun. “They’re all in black. Militarized by the look of them. Organized.”

Two groups. Two different groups.

Ben removes the clip and checks the cartridge. “Only noticed them when one of these guys went around back.” He gestures toward the men directly outside the front doors. “Fucker came out of nowhere and knifed him. Dragged his body away too.”

“Who are they?”

Ben shrugs and rummages in his backpack for a new clip. “No fucking idea. The ones out front might be marauders or slavers or—”

He pauses, gaze growing distant.

“Or what, Ben?” you prompt.

He doesn’t answer, only readies the rifle. “All I know is we need to go.”

All this work, all this effort, suddenly gone.

Your shoulders sag as the reality of the situation sets in. “I have to leave the books. Don’t I?”

“Afraid so,” replies Ben. But he smiles, and though he’s trying, you see the strain. “Next time I’ll make sure to bring you and Sam some books.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he affirms. “Let’s go.”

At the back door, you withdraw your Glock, posting up beside Ben. He cracks it open. Pauses. Opens it a little wider. He carefully sticks a small hand mirror out the opening. He turns it left then right then back again.

“Clear” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He exits slowly, and then gestures with his hand. You step outside, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust to the light. Ben starts to cross the parking lot, heading for the exit furthest from the intersection.

The voices of the men are louder out here. A tiny bubble of panic blooms. Then simmers. Then boils.

There is no one around. No one. And yet—

A loud crack splits the air. The wall next to Ben explodes, tiny fragments of debris bursting outward. Ben stumbles backward. He grabs for you. And tugs.

You’re yanked to the side, and then spun around.

Time seems to slow, and yet everything occurs so quickly you don’t entirely comprehend what’s happened until Ben shoves the two of you behind a nearby dumpster.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe. “Ben. We—”

Horror floods your lungs.

Blood.

Everything. Dripping from tiny holes in Ben’s body.

“Oh my god. Ben.”

You reach for him, but there are so many impact points. Too many.

“Go,” he gasps. “Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

As the words leave your mouth, a barrage of bullets bite into the wall directly over your head.

“Here,” he rasps, handing you the keys to the Jeep. “Leave me and fucking run. I’ll distract them.”

Shouting breaks out nearby followed by what seems like a never-ending deluge of gunfire.

Your eyes burn. “You promised me books.”

He smiles, and there’s more red than white. “You know I always deliver on my promises.”

With a groan that’s more a cry of pain, Ben stands and reloads with a new clip.

“Go,” he whispers just as he steps out from around the dumpster, gun firing.

You turn. Take off. Gunfire follows.

It comes from everywhere, but you don’t falter, don’t pause to check your surroundings. You’re not a raging bull or an agile cheetah. You are pure frenzy, pure panic, like a rabbit running from fox teeth.

“Fucking grab her!” someone yells. “Grab her!”

You don’t know if it’s the marauders or the men all in black, but there is little reason to consider who.

Survival is paramount. Survival is eternal.

In a world like this, survival is lifeblood.

It is everything.

With lungs burning and muscles screaming, you aim for the houses, knowing you can lose them if you scuttle through the overgrown backyards.

The blow comes out of nowhere.

You witness a brief taste of freedom.

And then it’s yanked right from under you.

A body barrels into you, knocking you sideways. The ground comes up fast. You throw up your arms to protect your head and face. It cushions but protects little else. You hit hard.

“Come here,” growls a male voice. Hands are on you. Grabbing. Twisting. “Let me get a good look at you.”

You kick out. Throw your fists in all directions.

“Stop your fussing.”

A quick blow to the face and you’re circling, everything becoming temporarily blurry as the person atop you brings your vision skyward.

“Look at you,” he laughs.

It’s one of the marauders. He smiles down at you, teeth brown and grey from decay.

“Pretty thing. Gonna look cute choking on my—”

His nefarious smile drops as the rest of him stiffens. You freeze, staring up in shock as you try to figure out what’s happened. It’s a slow unfolding. A trickle. Blood begins to pool in his mouth and then it drip drip drips onto your face.

With a soft cry, you wiggle out from under him as he tips over, falling into the grass. Scrambling backward, you start to push up onto your knees, muscles poised to keep moving.

“Don’t move.” A gun barrel presses into the back of your head. It’s still warm. “Get up.”

A pair of black boots come into view. Your gaze slowly ascends. Black boots give way to black pants to a black bullet proof vest to a black balaclava. The only part of him you can see are his eyes.

Someone grabs the back of your neck. It’s a harsh hold, and you’re yanked to your feet. You twist your neck and find another man, this one almost identical to the one in front of you. This is the other group Ben spotted, the ones tracking the marauders.

The one holding your neck squeezes and the other reaches for you. “Fucking move and I’ll shoot you.”

You remain perfectly still—perfectly silent as he pats you down. The knife in your boot is confiscated along with your Glock. When they snatch the Jeep keys, you instinctually reach to take them back.

“Told you not to fucking move.”

The man slaps your hand down and you feel the muzzle return to your head.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

He stares you down for a long moment. It gives you an opportunity to observe him, and his companion. They both wear identical all-black tactical even down to the patches attached to their biceps. The bottom one you recognize. Both American flags. The one above it is eerily similar but you can’t entirely place it. It’s an azimuthal projection of the earth but a top view from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches.

The stranger’s gaze shifts to just above you. He jerks his head, and then you’re shoved forward without warning. With each of them holding an arm, you’re half-dragged back to the intersection the marauders were at.

While their rusty trucks are still there, they aren’t alone. Four armored trucks are parked in a semi-circle around the marauders’ cars. More men in all-black tactical gear prowl the area. Of the first group to arrive, those that aren’t dead have been zip tied and lined up in a row on their stomachs, faces pressed into the asphalt.

When one of them moves, they’re kicked until they fall back into compliance.

“Found this one out by the houses,” says the man holding onto your left arm.

Soldiers. They have to be. This isn’t some ragtag group. They wear uniforms, all of which are perfectly maintained. Even the armored trucks are in decent condition.

A small trio of them standing nearby turn.

The centermost soldier speaks. “A woman?” His surprise is clear. And like the two men who hold you, this man too has an American flag.

He nods toward the group of facedown marauders. “These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.”

Breeders.

You almost snarl, bite back with an insult. But you keep your mouth shut. Their intentions are unclear, and you’re without a weapon. Entirely powerless.

Survival. Always survival.

He takes a few steps forward, approaching you, gaze assessing. Behind the balaclava, he gives you a once over. “Looks healthy,” he observers. Without warning, he grabs your face. You jerk back, and he clucks his tongue. “Stop moving.”

Turning your face to the left and then to the right, the middle of his brow creases. “Open your mouth.”

You glower, and don’t comply.

He grabs your nose, shutting off your air. You gasp, mouth opening.

“Has all her teeth,” he announces, dropping his hand. “Can’t be one of theirs.”

“We need to show the Lieutenant,” says the soldier to your right.

The man before you stares, and keeps staring. “Do we?”

You don’t like the implication.

“What’s this?”

A deep, masculine voice cuts through the air. It is accented. British. Every head turns, and the soldiers straighten, shoulders back and heads held high.

The man holding your left arm speaks up. “Found her running toward the houses, Lieutenant.”

All the soldiers wear plain black balaclavas. Simple. Straightforward. But the man who steps into view has a skull face stitched into his. A fucking skull.

Instead of an American flag, it’s a Union Jack.

His brown eyes behind the mask narrow. “They don’t bring their women out.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are their numbers that low?”

“With how we’ve been picking them off I wouldn’t be surprised.”

They bicker back and forth, arguing about you but not actually talking to you.

“I’m not with them,” you say, and they all go silent.

Skull Face glowers. “You’re not?”

“I was running from them.” You glance between the soldiers who shot the man. “They’ll tell you. They’re the ones that shot him.”

Skull Face appears unmoved. “Doesn’t mean you’re not with them.”

You laugh, and it sounds a bit hysterical. “Why would I be fucking running if I were with them? Wouldn’t I be shooting back at you?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “If you were with them, you’d be bloody running from them. Not shooting at us.”

“She has to be with them. There’s no one else here.” The man who speaks up this time is directly to Skull Face’s right. The accent is different. Scottish.

“I came with one other. Those men shot at us.”

Ben. Oh. Sweet Ben.

“And where are they?” asks Skull Face.

You swallow, knowing the truth. “Behind the library. Parking lot. Near the dumpster.”

Skull Face locks gazes with another solider and nods. Two men break off, heading in that direction. He returns his attention to you. “Who are these men?”

“What?” you ask, perplexed.

“These men.” He points to the facedown marauders. “Who are they?”

These men are strangers to you. “Slavers?” When no one confirms or denies, you guess again. “Cannibals?”

“She’s playing dumb,” mutters the Scots.

“Hush, Soap,” mutters Skull Face. “Who are they? What name do they go by? It’s an easy question. Everyone knows it.”

You shake your head. “I—I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Skull Face leans in, lowering his voice. “If you don’t answer truthfully, you and I can have an extended chat in the back of one of these trucks.”

“She had these.” The Jeep keys are tossed, and he catches them without looking. “And this.” The Glock is presented.

Soap takes the Glock. He turns it over. “They don’t give their women weapons, Ghost.”

So, Skull Face is named Ghost. Fitting.

“No,” he agrees. “Makes it easier for them to fight back.”

The very idea sobers you.

“Who are they?” you ask, feeling safe enough to do so.

Ghost glances up from the car keys. “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

“Lieutenant!” The two men that left for the library return. Jogging forward, they speak in low voices.

Ben is not with them. Ben is—

Ghost nods and steps back. “We’re taking her with us.” The two men holding onto your arms let go and Ghost immediately grabs hold of your shoulder, pulling you forward.

“Pick three of these bastards at random,” he announces, gesturing toward the facedown men. “Put them in Delta truck. Shoot the rest.”

Ghost’s hand at your shoulder slides up, grasping the back of your neck. He leans in close—so close you can pick out the little flecks of gold in his brown irises.

“You’re riding with me.”

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