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laurel-finch · 7 months

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'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch10: Winds of Change

Summary: Returning to the Winchesters does not meet expectations... Referenced Episodes: S1 E16 "Shadow" CW: Alcohol. Arguing. Normal Supernatural things. Another ridiculously long chapter, my b. Word Count: 8209 Recommended Song: Winds of Change -- Scorpions Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I gnawed on my lower lip as I jammed another number into my phone, praying that this time one of the brother’s would pick up. I had a handful of Dean’s phone numbers and only two of Sam’s, but I knew they had more that they hadn’t felt the need to share with me. It all came down to which phone they were actively using for the case they were on. There was no consistency with them.

I glared down at the number I knew to be linked to Dean’s ATF persona. There was a chance he would answer, but it was slim. I really needed a better way to get ahold of the brothers. I sighed and hoped I would have better luck with Sam as I dialed one of his numbers next.

After six long rings, the call dropped. No answer. I pinched the bridge of my nose and kicked at a pebble in the middle of the deserted motel parking lot. Apparently, I'd need to call all of their numbers.

Three numbers in I finally heard a receiving click on the other end and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hello?" came Sam's gruff voice on the other end. I was surprised to hear his voice instead of his older brother's.

"Sam? Hey, it’s me," I heard a lot of shuffling from the other end, like he had bolted upright from shock. “Where, um… where are you guys?”

Sam was silent for a beat before speaking again. "Is everything alright?" I flinched at the wariness in his tone.

"I'm fine, Sam. Better than fine actually," I answered quietly. I placed my other hand over the speaker of the phone and turned my back to the motel parking lot conspiratorially. My voice dropped to a soft tone. "Look, I… I know it’s been a while and you probably don’t want to see me, but-"

"I do," he interjected quickly and I clamped my mouth shut. "Believe me, I do- we do. But what about your pack? And, well… I mean, Dean’s pretty pissed. He’s been pissed. He’s been throwing himself into this hunt for dad."

I frowned at the worn pavement beneath my feet. I figured he would be mad at me, but facing the reality of the situation hurt regardless. Maybe I could just… ignore it all. Go back to my pack, forget it ever happened. Like I never met them. Would that be easier?

No. No, that would hurt more. I mentally cursed myself for getting so attached. "Did you tell him why?”

"Yeah, yeah I tried to explain it to him. But… well, look at it from his perspective. Dean’s spent his whole life killing, and the one time he decides not to…" he sounded distraught and I heard more shuffling from the other end.

He didn’t need to finish his thought for me to know what he meant. Dean had done me a favor by not killing me when we first met. At the time it hadn’t felt like much of a favor – maybe death would have been safer. But now, with how much our lives had changed… it was understandable that he was frustrated. The one different choice he made led to a human being killed and me running off without a word.

I fell silent, pondering what to say next. How was I supposed to explain to them why I left? I think Sam understood better than he was letting on. It wasn’t too dissimilar to why he left for college, although his reasoning wasn’t nearly as bloody. But Dean… it made sense that he would be hurt…

"I want to see you, Sam – both of you. I want to apologize to Dean, but I can't do that unless I see him."

Sam sighed from the other end. "OK. I'll… keep you updated on where we are.”

After a flood of profuse thank-yous and Sam's chuckles, the line finally went dead. He had given me a location amongst my gratitude and I was already slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

—

After half a day of travel, the sun was setting and I was thoroughly exhausted. Upon seeing the welcome sign that coaxed me into the small city I stretched my arms high above my head and allowed myself to slow to a steady walking pace.

Oddly enough, my heart felt heavy, like something severe was weighing on me. It was... an odd sensation that I hadn't felt in a very long time - not since my parents were still with me. Oddly enough, it was less of a weighing feeling and more of a tug. The tug itself was heavy, and it felt like it was pulling on a part of me that I didn't want to be released.

Something didn’t feel right.

I hummed and frowned slightly, my eyebrows creasing with worry. Maybe it was a mistake to come looking for the Winchesters before the pack? I had half a mind to turn back, but... I still didn't feel ready. If Sam and Dean were afraid of what I had done, how would my pack feel? They depended on the stability and different lifestyle my home provided. I kicked the occasional large stone out of my way as I traipsed down the road, headed toward whatever lay at the end of it. Hopefully a warm bed.

After another thirty minutes of walking, something I grumbled about to myself, I finally spotted dim lights behind a row of thick pine trees. My ears pricked at the sound of the engines roaring to life in the early night, something that oddly warmed my heart and made me want to prance. It wasn't long after that the stench of alcohol hit my nose.

The bar was a brick building on the edge of town, a neon sign glowing above the door and the building itself set into the corner of the block. The occasional car or motorcycle was parked out front. I smiled and brushed my hand affectionately over the front of an older motorcycle – I had always wanted to learn how to ride them. I wondered what it felt like to be on something so small, barrelling down a highway faster than I could run.

My eyes rose, scanning the line of cars until they settled on a sleek older model across the street. My eyes widened and a grin tore across my face. It was the Impala.

I whirled toward the door so fast that I nearly fell over, tripping over my own feet like a stumbling drunk. My senses dulled as the stench of alcohol hit my nose once again. The harsh smell practically threw me off my feet and made my eyes water. I couldn't place any other scent amongst the heavy, bourbon-filled air and that alone sunk anxious claws into my lungs, oxygen being stolen from them.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, grounding myself. The overwhelming scents and smells were driving my wolfish senses crazy, as they still hadn't calmed from my last escapade with the brothers. It had been weeks since I was in a room with this many people. I felt small and large at the same time. Small with worry and nerves. Large with fearsome hunger.

I rolled my shoulders and took a few more deep breaths, sifting through the heavily masked scents. My eyes flew open as a familiar scent hit my nose and I struggled to keep the rising gold color down.

Cherries.

I pushed my way through the crowd of drunkards and bikers. It was exactly the kind of scene Dean liked. Loud enough to quiet his own raging thoughts. Dark enough to dull the headache behind his eyes. Music he could get lost in, and a drink that burned just right.

"Hey," I spoke cautiously as I sat beside him and rested my forearms on the bar counter. Dean spared me a glance from the corner of his green eye and suddenly jumped. He did a double take out of shock and turned to me with wide eyes and parted lips. As suddenly as his surprise had come, it was gone and darkened with spite.

"What do you want?" he growled and took a long sip from his whiskey glass, failing to hide his frown.

I frowned, my brows knitted with frustration. I could already tell this wasn't going to be a good conversation. "I came to apologize."

Dean scoffed and tightened his grip on his glass. "Apologize for what? Abandoning us without a word?" he exhaled and glared at me. "That's not something I'll accept an apology for, sweetheart." I bristled. Although most of his nicknames were endearing, this one was spat out like it burned him.

"I had my reasons, Dean. You know I wouldn't leave without a good one-"

"Do I know that?" he snarled, spinning his stool to face me. "Cause it seems like you don't give a damn about Sam or me, or how we felt." I winced and opened my mouth to speak. He shushed me with a raised finger. "So what's your excuse? You got tired of us holding you back from going apeshit?"

Ow. I glowered at him. "You know I would never do that."

"Yeah? You seemed pretty content when you had your teeth sunk into Jared Bender's heart." I winced again, my glare cracking. "You didn't even know his name, did you?"

"He was trying to kill Sam," I growled, trying to justify my actions. "You would have done the same."

"Damn right I would have killed him. I would have shot his ass dead, would’ve been dead before he hit the dirt. But I certainly wouldn't have torn him apart and strung his organs around the room!" he growled between his teeth. He tried to keep his voice low, despite the uninterested roar of the bar occupants.

I balled my fists in my lap and glared at him as he twisted to face me. His jaw was set sternly, lips pressed into a thin line. It was the same look he gave Sam when the two argued. “You’re a hypocrite.” My tone caused my words to lose their bite.

"I'm a hypocrite? You fucking killed and nearly ate a man, and now you're trying to justify it to me!" he snapped, one corner of his mouth drawn up in a sneer. "You left Sam and me without a word! And now you're crawling back here to apologize and call me a hypocrite?"

My blood was boiling and once more my senses were raging. I couldn't quite grasp it, but it almost felt like a separation inside me, one side longing to beg for forgiveness and the other itching to sink its fangs into Dean's neck. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, struggling to ground myself again.

Maybe a few months as friends wasn’t enough to convince him I wasn’t worth the trouble. Maybe he should’ve aimed for the head when we first met.

Without missing a beat I snapped back at him. "Quit acting like a girl whose prom date stood her up. I had my reasons and if you'll shut up for a few minutes, I'll tell you what was going through my head," I exhaled shakily and glared, steeling myself for his own reproachful response. "I left to protect you, to protect Sam, and to protect everyone around you. I wasn't stable – you know that, you saw it. So stop talking like a self-righteous prick."

Despite the quick tongue-lashing, I still didn't feel better. I hadn't said half of what I wanted to. If I could have given Dean a glimpse inside my thoughts, I would have in a heartbeat.

His frown remained stalwart on his features, furrowed brows unyielding. His viridescent eyes surveyed my own with contempt and barely contained anger, an emotion I mirrored. Eventually, his gaze reluctantly dropped back to the beer I had passed him, which he took a swig of. I felt a small victory until he spoke up.

"Get out," he grumbled.

"What?" I demanded with equal, if not more, frustration.

"Get out," he ordered more firmly this time with rage coating his words. I blinked in confusion – not just at his harsh words, but at the gripping pain in my chest and the harsh scratching, I felt in the back of my mind, like something fighting to escape. It struck me that Dean was really, truly angry with me for leaving, despite my reasoning – and from what I knew of him, he wasn't just going to forgive and forget.

He swore under his breath and whipped his head toward me, eyes raging with rage and, to my amazement, pain. "Are you deaf?" he snarled lowly, "I don't want to hear your excuses. Fuck off." He gripped his beer tightly and guzzled it then slammed it onto the counter.

Wrath hit me like a semi-truck, and that familiar clawing sensation I kept hidden in the back of my thoughts lunged forward. Those nagging thoughts took the form of my wolf, black fur ruffled and fangs bared in anger.

Whatever wolfish instincts I had let escape were now clawing to take control. For the first time in a long time, I felt like two beings at once. As I had surmised earlier, I had the very human side that wanted nothing more than to avoid conflict, that just wanted to apologize to Dean and work things out. But my monster side...

I gulped and glared viciously at Dean.

I felt a rumble low in my chest, a familiar rumble that I had last felt with my father. My wolf wanted me to tear into Dean, a human that we had somehow bound to our pack. Now this pup was blatantly challenging me, as she put it. She snarled at him and I resisted the urge to follow suit.

She was pacing in my mind, stalking back and forth, her molten eyes fixated on Dean. My own eyes faded to match the warm gold of hers, whiskey-colored in the faded glow of the bar lights.

I hadn't even realized just how much I was shaking. My wolf wanted out, wanted to shred him for his disloyalty. It was an odd feeling to be separated from a piece of myself, although the more I focused on her, the more I realized that we had been separated for a long time. For years, I lacked the fluid mobility between myself and my instinct, not the mobility that I once had. I hadn't had it since I was fifteen. It felt like I was holding back a tidal wave of torrential emotions, a painful instinct that wanted me to embrace the monster I was and chow on some hearts. Not Dean though. She wanted him back in his place as my... pack member? Was that what she- I viewed him as?

Dean swore again, finally breaking eye contact. He reached for his beer with a shaky hand and took another final swig before wiping his mouth and standing. "Fuck this," he grumbled, "I'm out."

He hadn't even made it three steps before something in me snapped and I snarled. "Sit your ass down before I sink my teeth into you and drag you back."

Dean whirled on me, chest heaving with fury. I turned my blazing golden eyes on him, slowly, with my mouth set into a firm line and eyebrows slightly drawn together. It struck me that this was the same look my mother had given my father when she was pissed as all hell, a look that clearly said he needed to shut up if he wanted to keep his testicles intact.

Like my father, Dean responded with a slack jaw, opening and closing his mouth in surprise and confusion. His resolve, although still strong, was withering.

I nodded toward his vacated stool. He sat and shot me an angry glance, trying (and failing) to mask his nerves.

I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves. I stretched my fingers, feeling my joints pop after being balled into tight fists for god know how long. With a sigh, I locked eyes with Dean once more, his narrowed and wary.

"You know full well I had to leave, Dean." I snapped. "If I hadn't left, I guarantee you would have eventually sent me home, thinking my pack could help. Don't act pissy with me for doing what I felt was right."

Dean glowered and his nostrils flared. "Having a reason doesn't change that fact that you left without a word-"

"- If I had told you I was leaving, would you have asked me to stay?"

"Of course, I would have!" he hissed and leaned forward. "Whether you like it or not, you're part of this family now. I'm not going to just let my family walk out on me like that."

"That's the problem, Dean!" I argued. "I know that, if you had asked, I would have stayed! Sam wouldn't have asked, he would accept my decision and move past it, because he’s made that decision before for himself! You though, you would have gotten so caught up in your familial ideas that I wouldn't have been able to leave!"

"What's so wrong about staying with us!? About staying with me!?" he shouted back, a snarl set on his features. My eyes widened and he followed suit, realizing just what he had said.

"Dean, I had to leave," I uttered quietly. "For the second time in my life, I royally fucked up. I needed- need to get back on the same page. You know that feeling better than most."

"Why are you risking it?" he grumbled. I smiled weakly.

"Because you're my family too, Dean. Whether you like it or not, you're part of my pack now. You're family," I answered quietly. His own eyes softened. "Are you still mad at me?" I inquired with a nervous smile.

"Hell yeah, I'm still mad," he grunted. "But yeah... I get it. Wish I didn't, it would make staying mad at you a hell of a lot easier."

My nervous smile grew to a true grin, the gold fading from my eyes. My wolf scoffed and sat back on her haunches, melting into the background of my thoughts.

My human side had won yet again.

"Don't think you're off the hook," Dean huffed and stood from his stool. "You've got a lot of work to do to make it up to me, Scooby."

"Would pie be a good first step?" I teased, standing up with him.

His expression softened slightly. The harsh lines of his scowl faded and the corners of his mouth dipped down in a frown. His brows pinched inward, hiding slight surprise. “It’s a start.”

—

Unlike his brother, Sam was happy to see me. I practically threw myself at him when I saw him in the motel room. Dean sulked and ate his pie while Sam and I caught up, discussing hunts and my own journey.

"Wait, so what do you mean you can't change shape?" Sam said, raising a forkful of pie to his mouth. "Isn't that, like, literally part of being... you?"

"Kind of," I uttered through my own forkful. "It's a mental barrier. Sometimes I can get it… close, sometimes I can't. The times that I can take multiple tries and usually it's kind of painful. Hurts my joints."

"What kind of mental barrier? Like a trauma barrier or you just don't want to?"

I huffed and reached for another bite of my slice. "I don't know. It's... it's like my mind knows I won't always be able to control what I do in that form. It's like a piece of me is trying to keep that instinctive part of me tied down."

I heard a snort from behind me and spun to face Dean, who was sitting at a little table under the window next to the door. "Why're you talking like it's two separate people? It's still you, right?"

I exhaled softly, choosing my words carefully when I spoke up. "Yeah, it's still me, but it's a side of me that I'm not very... in touch with. I haven't been in a long time."

"So your wolf is that instinctive part of you that you're keeping 'tied down'?" Sam inquired. I nodded.

"I think so. And she's been a lot rowdier since Minnesota. Over the years I've just... made a habit of keeping her chained down so that I don't have any screw-ups."

"And yet," snapped Dean, "you still didn't have a strong enough grip on her." He shoved a large bite of pie into his mouth and chewed, his jaw tensing. I practically wilted and stared down at my feet that were stretched out in front of me. His opinion on the matter had changed so drastically since before I left.

"Dean!" Sam hissed. "I know you're pissed, but you don't need to be an ass-"

"It's fine, Sam," I uttered. "He's not wrong." I huffed and brushed a hair out of my face. "I know it's not an excuse but... when my pack is involved, I just lose control. I'm going to keep working on it," I sighed. "I've never had a pack before – never wanted one – so, it's all so new to me. And now I have to worry about six skinwalkers and two humans that have somehow wormed their way into my family-" Dean winced. "- I've got to worry about my self-control and make sure I don't kill anyone, I have to figure out these damn whispers, and-"

"Hold up," said Sam, throwing up a halting hand. "What whispers?"

I paled. I hadn't meant to let that slip out. I didn't want the brothers to worry about whatever weird-ass whispers I had been hearing - I knew that they'd get fixated on figuring it out and potentially killing whatever it was. They didn't have the time or resources to help me with that -- hell, I didn't even know if it was actually a living thing talking to me. For all I knew, some celestial entity was trying to give me advice. At worst, I was going nuts.

"I- uh," I stuttered over my words. I jumped as Dean stood, tossing his paper plate in a trash can and sitting on the bed beside Sam. I refused to turn to him and continued staring at my feet and my place on the floor. "I've just been hearing these weird whispers. It's nothing too crazy-"

"Whispers are pretty frickin’ crazy,” Dean remarked firmly. I frowned. "Keep talking."

"There's not much to tell, Dean," I snapped, twisting to face him with a scowl. "I just hear this whisper. When I try to follow it, it... it shows me things."

"It shows you things?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Like, I was chasing it when I met Marcus and Caeden. I just... followed the whisper and it led me to them. And with Calliope, it was... it wasn't whispering. It was screaming, frantic. It made me frantic. It knew she was in danger and it took me to her."

Dean swore under his breath. "How long have you been hearing these things? What are they saying to you?"

I scrunched my brows in thought. "It's been about three months I think? Maybe a little more?" Dean scoffed.

"And you're only telling us about this now?"

"Well, what was I supposed to say!?" I snarled back. "'Oh hey Dean, just wanted to let you know that I might be going a bit crazy, cause this voice I know literally nothing about it talking to me'!?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. "That is exactly what you tell us! And then we help you figure out whatever the hell it is and maybe kill it!"

I huffed and turned away from him, crossing my arms over my chest. "I don't think it needs to be killed."

"What?" Dean growled and leaned forward, "What if it leads you into danger huh? What if it drags you into something you can't handle!?"

I whipped around to glare at him. "Would you even care, Dean? Last I checked, you didn't want me around anyway."

"Guys," Sam silenced us with a warning tone, snapping out of his deep thoughts. "Quit going at each other's throats, it's pointless."

"She wouldn't go for the throat, Sammy," Dean growled, balling his hands into fists, "She'd go for the heart."

"If you don't shut the hell up I will beat the shit out of you," I hissed back.

"I'd like to see you try," he snapped back.

"Would you two just shut up!" Sam snapped and glared at the both of us like he was ready to maim. "We've got bigger problems than you dumbasses not getting along." Dean and I fell silent, dropping our harsh gazes from one another and onto the floor. I could practically feel Dean's blood boiling - he was seething. I was too. I hated the way he was talking to me, treating me. Sam placed his hands on his face, dragging them down languorously, and sighed out of frustration. I perked up as he said my name. "What are the whispers saying to you?"

I hummed in thought. "Things like 'come', mostly," Dean snorted and I glared at him. "Last time it said 'see' and 'go'. Pretty much as soon as I realized something was wrong it changed what it was saying."

"Is it always only one word?"

"Yeah, one word at a time. Usually, there's a long pause and then it says something else. Last time... last time it was screaming so loud that it felt like it was clawing inside my skull," I mused for a second, mulling it over. "Pretty much every other time it's been like an existential thing like I was chasing someone just ahead of me. That time it felt like it was... pushing me, almost. Like it was urging me forward instead of urging me to chase."

Sam ruminated for a few moments, looking puzzled. Finally, he turned to Dean and muttered, "What do you think? Have you seen anything like that in dad's journal?"

Dean shook his head and fiddled with the odd-looking charm hanging around his neck. "No, I haven't. Honestly, sounds like a possession of some sort," his words faded into deep thought. His eyes rose to meet mine. "Can skinwalkers even get possessed?"

"Not that I know of. To my knowledge, you have to have a soul to get possessed."

Sam's eyes widened and he leaned forward with interest. "You don't have a soul?"

I shook my head. "Don’t think so. My dad told me it's why we don't go to heaven or hell when we die."

Dean quirked a brow. "Then where do you go? And how did he know?"

I shrugged. "For all I know there's nothing after death for monsters. It's just... over..." my shoulders slumped. I had always hoped that my father was wrong, that maybe there was something, anything after death. I didn't want it to just be over.

"Well, if it's not possession," Dean grumbled and leaned back on his hands, "maybe it's a demon?"

"Dean, why would a demon be talking to her?" Sam countered. "It's not like she can sell her soul."

I frowned. "What if it's not anything bad? What if it's, like, her? Instinct? Maybe I just subconsciously know when something is wrong with the pack?"

"No," Sam stated. "It can't be that. You said it led you to Marcus and Caeden? They weren't part of your pack at the time. Unless your instinct latches on to potential pack members nearby, I don't think that's it."

“Well if it were that, it would have led me to Sasha, Booth, and Andrew long before you guys rolled into town.”

“Unless they were the catalyst that sent your… pack honing abilities into overdrive?” Dean offered.

"Whatever the reason is for it talking to me-" I started, referring back to Sam's previous statement, "- as long as the thing stays out of my way, I don't care what it says or leads me to."

Sam chuckled. "Fair enough. We can figure out our game plan for dealing with this thing later." The younger brother yawned, covering his mouth with his hand.

"We?" I questioned teasingly. "I don't remember agreeing to that."

Dean huffed and stood from Sam's bed and marched toward his own. He flopped onto the bed, landing on his back and locking his eyes with the ceiling. "Damn right this is a 'we' operation. No way in hell are we letting you figure this out on your own."

I chuckled dryly. “Doesn’t sound like you’re mad at me anymore.”

He scoffed. "Sure, soon we'll be frolicking in a meadow full of flowers together."

Sam chuckled with me as he rummaged through his bag, hunting for a toothbrush within it and setting out a set of clothes for the following day. "Alright, you two," he said, "we've got a hunt tomorrow, so enough talking."

I quirked a brow, my grin falling away. "We've got a hunt?"

Sam nodded and hummed in response. "Murder in Chicago."

I barked out a laugh. "Yeah, like that's uncommon for Chicago." A rustling caught my attention and I turned to see Dean rummaging through his own luggage.

Sam smirked down at his bag and turned to face me, toothbrush in hand. "This is the second one in two months. Two people found dead in their apartments, no sign of forced entry."

My brows rose in surprise. "Spirit maybe?"

Dean huffed. "We were thinking a cursed object. No way a spirit could move between houses like that." I nodded in agreement. I wasn't exactly knowledgeable on all the spiritual aspects of the supernatural world – ask me anything about certain monsters, and I could answer more than most hunters. But ghosts, psychics, witches... those were all foreign. Hell, I had only heard stories about psychics before meeting Missouri Moseley.

"We'll find out what it is soon," interjected Sam, always the mother of the group. "Just get to sleep - especially you, Dean, since you'll be driving tomorrow."

Dean grumbled something under his breath and flopped back onto his bed, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. I grinned and made my way toward a rather large armchair in the corner of the room. I dragged a cushion off the chair and motioned for Sam to toss me a pillow. To my delight, he tossed two and a heavy blanket that had been folded and lain across the end of the bed.

After putting together my relatively comfortable nest, Sam turned out the light and the sound of peaceful snores filled the room.

—

The Impala rolled to a halt on the side of the packed road and Dean expertly parked against the curb. Sam sighed and ruffled his hair, scanning the newspaper seated in his lap.

I leaned forward and gazed out the front window at the apartment building before us. The room was somewhere on the third floor. I fiddled with the hem of my costume and followed the brothers out of the car, my eyes following Dean as he moved toward the trunk and withdrew a toolbox. He had hardly said anything to me since the night I got back. The most he would do is give me the necessary information for the case or give me a clipped answer to a question.

I missed bantering with him. I didn't like this odd silent treatment I was receiving from him. It put me in a bad mood every time he gave me a brief answer or even none at all. I wanted nothing more than to scream at him to get over himself and just forgive me already.

"You know," Dean started as he paced down the sidewalk toward where Sam and I were standing, "I've gotta say, dad and me did just fine without these stupid costumes. I feel like a high school drama dork." He grinned and swung his toolbox lazily at his side. "What was that play you did?" he asked Sam, a smirk dawning on his features. He stumbled for a moment, struggling to remember the name. "What was it - ‘Our Town’? Yeah, you were good, it was cute."

Sam scoffed and a blush tinged his ears and cheeks. I chuckled, punching him teasingly in the shoulder. "You never told me you were in a play, Sam."

He chuckled nervously and turned his head to me. "It was a long time ago, and I really didn't have a big part. I was a background character."

"Main character in my heart," Dean teased. Sam rolled his eyes.

"But honestly, Dean. This getup helps us look the part. Do you want to pull this off or not?" Sam quickly changed the subject.

"I'm just saying, these outfits cost hard-earned money."

"Whose?" I countered and glared teasingly.

"Ours. You think credit card fraud is easy?"

It didn't take us long to reach the third floor and the door of the victim. The landlady grumbled and fumbled with the keys before pushing the white door open to let us in.

"Thanks for letting us look around," Sam said to her politely. Dean and I paced around the hallway, him fumbling with the alarm system while I checked for any signs of forced entry on the door.

"Well, the police said they were done with the place, so..." she trailed off and sauntered into the room with Sam close behind. I shut the door and quirked an eyebrow at the severed chain lock. I caught Dean's attention and nodded toward it, holding the two ends of the golden chain delicately. Dean frowned and turned to follow the landlady and his brother. "You said you're with the alarm company, right?" the older woman asked and spun to face the brothers.

"That's right," answered Dean, flashing his most sincere smile. It looked more like a grimace, in all honesty. He really wasn't that good at the acting part of this job.

The woman huffed wearily in response. "Well, no offense, but your alarm's about as useful as boobs on a man." I choked down laughter and covered my mouth with a hand. She leaned around the boys to cast me a sly grin.

Dean cleared his throat and flashed his own tentative grin. "Well, that's why we're here. To make sure it never happens again." The woman nodded and stepped aside to allow us to peruse the apartment.

"You found the body, right?" I asked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She nodded and swallowed dryly. "Were there any signs of a forced entry?"

"Any windows open?" Sam asked. "Was the alarm still active?"

"Windows were locked, front door was bolted. We had to cut the chain to get in here," she grouched in response. Dean frowned – that chain was the only lead we had. We were back to square one.

"Did you find her right after it happened?" Dean asked, referencing the girl who had been killed. The landlady shook her head.

"No, a few days later. Her work called and said they hadn't seen her in a while. I knocked on her door. That's when I noticed... the smell," she wrinkled her nose in disgust at the memory.

"And what condition was she in?" Dean pressed. The landlady huffed and glared at him.

"Meredith was all over the place, in pieces. I tell you, the guy who did it must have been a whack job. If I didn't know any better, I would have said it was an animal attack." The brothers looked first at each other and then Sam's eyes met mine. My brows furrowed. What could possibly have shredded her like that?

Sam's eyes flitted toward the woman. "Ma'am, do you mind if we take some time and give this place a once over?"

The landlady shrugged in response. "Go right ahead, knock yourself out." My eyes followed her as she walked out of the apartment, waiting for the door to latch before giving the go-ahead to speak.

"So a killer walks in and out of the apartment, no weapons, no prints, nothing..." Dean grumbled, trailing off as he rifled through his toolbox. I hummed quietly in response.

"There's got to be a trace of something here, some sort of clue. There's no way something could have killed her and not left a trail," I said, tracing a few fingers lazily over the large spots of blood.

"I'm telling you, the minute I saw the article I knew this was our kind of gig," Sam said, inspecting the windows. He jumped when Dean's EMF meter went off.

"I think I agree with you," Dean answered as he held up the box to show off the number of lights indicating supernatural presence.

"Did you ever talk to the cops yesterday?" I asked him.

Dean nodded and stood from his crouch position on the once white carpet. "Oh, yeah," he said, smirking. "I talked to Amy, a, uh, charming, perky officer of the law." I rolled my eyes.

"What'd you find out?" Sam pressed. I flashed him a quick glare which he looked rather confused by.

"Well, she's a Sagittarius, loves tequila - I mean, wow," Dean sighed almost wistfully, "Oh! And she's got this little tattoo-"

"Jesus, Dean!" I snapped. "Not about your hook-up, about the case!"

Dean grumbled something I didn't catch. I glared at the back of his head, almost wishing I could bore holes into it. "Nothing we don't already know," he carped. "Except for one thing they're keeping out of the papers."

"Enough with the suspense, Dean," I said. At this point, I just wanted this case to be over. I already was not a fan of Chicago.

"You're no fun," he sighed. "Meredith's heart was missing."

Sam and I both jumped to attention, whirling on Dean with twin, wide-eyed stares.

"Her heart? What do you think did it to her?" Sam inquired.

"Landlady said it looked like an animal attack. Maybe a werewolf?"

I barked out a laugh. "No way it was a werewolf. Moon cycle isn't right, and even if it was, I'd smell it. They reek, like the worst combination of rotten meat and cigarettes." I scrunched my nose at the thought. "My money's on a spirit. If it was a monster, I guarantee they would have left some trace other than blood."

"Yeah..." Dean mused thoughtfully. His eyes scanned the patches of blood, drawing a pattern in his mind. "Sammy, see if you can find a roll of tape."

Sam dug through his brother's toolbox as I went to stand beside Dean. "Notice something?"

"Maybe," he offered, holding his hands up to catch the roll of tape Sam had tossed his way. "We'll see in just a minute."

Dean got to work, connecting the patches of blood in a pattern I had never seen before. Hell, I wouldn't have even thought it would make a pattern like that. I chuckled morbidly, thinking that whatever killed Meredith must have been some sort of abstract artist - first the body, now the blood.

Dean stood and surveyed his work, crossing his arms. Sam moved to stand beside him, a puzzled look on his features.

"You ever seen a symbol like that?" Sam inquired, eyes following the sharp corners of the z-like symbol.

"Never," Dean responded curtly.

"Me neither."

—

"He could at least be helping us, Sam," I grumbled, flipping through the worn pages of their father's journal. "Instead of off doing- whatever it is with that poor bartender."

Sam snickered. "He is helping. Meredith worked here, so the bartenders are bound to know her."

"There's a distinct difference between helping us with the case and flirting with some painted bimbo, who we all know he is never going to call," I muttered, resting my chin in the palm of my hand as my eyes lazily scanned the page.

Sam opened his mouth to retort and quickly shut it, seeing Dean make his way back over. My gaze moved quickly toward him and fell right back to the paper. Honestly, the journal was a hell of a lot more interesting than anything Dean had to say.

John was incredibly thorough – he rivaled my uncle, who had always been compulsive and meticulous about his case notes. The journal might look like a mess of pages and hastily scrawled notations, but to me, it showed his dedication.

I flipped another page slowly, tuning out the brothers' conversation. My finger dragged along each line of writing with my eye following closely behind. My eyes fell on a string of numbers and my finger stopped its movement. I exhaled shakily.

I knew those numbers.

"Hey, Sam!" Dean called out, a tight grip on his beer. "Where are you going?"

I lifted my head, staring with a glazed look after Sam as he marched away from the table. Dean turned his confused eyes on me before standing and following his brother.

I looked back at the page, my finger running haphazardly over the string of digits. Why would John have his number..? I tightened my jaw and marked the page so I could find it later and shut the little book, tucking it under my arm and following the brothers. My eyes widened as I noticed Sam talking to a blonde girl, giving her a tense hug. My ears tuned in to their conversation as I stalked up behind Dean.

"Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I'm living here for a while," the girl said, fluttering her lashes at Sam. I took a deep breath, ready to interject, and coughed, gagging on air. God, this girl was drenched in perfume, it was blocking all of my other senses.

Dean cleared his throat and patted me lightly on the back. I brushed his hand away and took shallow breaths.

"You're from Chicago?" Sam asked.

"No, Massachusetts – Andover," the girl said with a giggle. "Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we'd run into each other?"

"Yeah, I know, I thought I'd never see you again." Although his back was turned to me, I could tell he was puzzled. It must have been written all over his features.

"Well, I'm glad you were wrong..." she trailed off and gazed up at Sam from under her lashes. I rolled my eyes. Dean cleared his throat and the girl's eyes snapped to his, a disgusted glare rising on her features. "Dude, cover your mouth."

Dean looked shocked and I suppressed a laugh, for fear of inhaling more of her sharp perfume. God, the girl must have bathed in the stuff. Did the boys really not smell it?

"Yeah, um, I'm sorry, Meg. This is, uh—this is my brother, Dean," Sam said, scratching the back of his head. The girl, Meg, looked surprised.

"Oh! This is Dean?" she confirmed. Sam nodded and Dean smirked at her.

"So you've heard of me," Dean mused, attempting to be smooth. Now it was Meg's turn to roll her eyes.

"Yeah, I've heard of you," she snapped. "Real nice, how you treat your brother like luggage." Dean’s eyes widened and I stared at Meg in shock. When did Sam even have time to meet this girl without Dean knowing? "Why don't you let him do what he wants?" she continued, spite lacing her words. "Quit dragging him all over God's green earth-"

Sam held up his hands in a silent plea to make her stop. "Meg, it's fine, really, we're fine." The three of them stood there awkwardly, Meg surveying the two, glaring at Dean with contempt and at Sam with an almost overprotective gaze. Her eyes skirted over me, likely because I hadn't been introduced.

I cleared my throat. "I'm, uh- I'm going to get a drink. You want to come with me, Dean?"

"Yeah- yeah," he said, already moving toward the bar. I flashed a sheepish grin toward Sam and Meg, waving goodbye and running to catch up with the elder Winchester. "Damn, that was awkward."

I sat on one of the bar stools, placing John's journal on the counter and running a finger over the spine. "So... when did she and Sam first meet."

Dean scoffed. "Probably after our first real hunt with you, in Kansas. He and I got into a spat and he left for a few days."

I glared at him, clenching my fist and resting it on the counter. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

"Well, we weren't exactly super close then. It was kind of a family matter, not something for you to stick your snout into."

"You are family, Dean," I hissed. "I have a right to know when these things happen."

He frowned and rested his hands on his lap. We sat in silence for a few minutes, long enough for Dean to get another beer from the bartender and have about a third of it.

"Listen, I-" he started. I cut him off, flipping open his father's journal to my marked page.

"Dean, I found something in the journal earlier, when you first came back to the table." He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something and shut it when I cast him a warning glare. Whatever he wanted to say, I really wasn't in the mood for it. He looked toward his lap bashfully and then his eyes rose to face mine, his jaw tightening.

"Anything relevant to the case?" he asked.

"No," I answered quickly. "But look at this," I slid the journal toward him, highlighting the phone number at the bottom of the page. His eyes flickered toward mine and he raised a brow in confusion. "I recognize this number, Dean. It's-"

"Hey!" called Sam, sauntering back toward us with his cell phone in hand. "You guys ready to head out."

Dean turned to face me, a promise being held in his green eyes. "We'll get back to this later." He stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and following Sam toward the door.

I groaned and dropped my head dramatically on the open journal. "Sure we will..." I muttered to myself. I stood, slamming the journal shut a little more roughly than I intended, and followed the brothers out the door.

"No, man, I mean like our kind of strange," I heard Sam say as I rushed to catch up with the brothers. "Like, maybe even a lead."

"What makes you say that?" Dean probed, sparing me a glance as I jogged up to him.

"I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road. And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural? You don't think that's a little weird?"

Oh. They were still talking about her.

"I don't know," Dean said with a dramatic sigh. "Random coincidence? It happens."

"Yeah, it happens, but not to us. Look, I could be wrong-"

"Dean," I interrupted Sam. "I think maybe Sam's right. There's something off about her. I mean, did you not smell the buckets of perfume on her? Had me gagging within ten feet of her."

"Perfume doesn't make someone a murder suspect," Dean countered.

"It does if it causes me to choke and die."

"Well, then it's a good thing you're not dead, right?"

"-I'm just saying that there's something about this girl that I can't quite put my finger on," Sam added to his unfinished sentence.

"I bet you'd like to. I mean, maybe she's not a suspect, maybe you've got a thing for her, huh?" he chuckled and nudged Sam with his shoulder. "Maybe you're thinkin' a little too much with your upstairs brain, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes as we stopped on the side of the road, waiting for the go-ahead to walk. "Do me a favor. Check and see if there's really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, and see if you can't dig anything up on that symbol on Meredith's floor." Sam marched away from Dean and I before his brother could protest.

"What are you going to do?" Dean asked as he ran to catch up.

"I'm going to watch Meg."

Dean laughed and clapped Sam on the back. "Yeah, you are!"

Sam grimaced and shrugged Dean's hand off his shoulder. "I just want to see what's what. Better safe than sorry."

The two bickered, Dean teasing Sam, and Sam arguing. I stopped on the sidewalk, watching the brothers make their way toward the Impala, Sam fishing the keys out of his pocket.

I glanced down at the heavy, leather-bound journal in my hands. Something about this case didn't add up. First the weird symbol, and now Meg showing up? Something was wrong, I could feel it. She was hiding something.

Dean called my name from his spot beside the passenger door and I perked up immediately. "You coming or not?"

I nodded and shoved the journal under my arm and crossed the street to where the boys were waiting.

#ugh here comes john winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #x reader #female reader #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3 #supernatural fanfiction #monster reader #monster #original characters #original monster characters #fluff #angst #slow burn

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odinsblog · 1 year

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• This is the 1st question of the debate: Was Joe Biden the legitimate winner of the 2020 election? (take a second sip if a candidate deflects the question)

• Someone says the word "woke" [only do this a maximum of 7 times].

• A candidate uses the words "two-tiered justice system."

• Someone uses Ron DeSantis's last name to create a punchline (i.e. "Ron DeSanctimonious" or "Ron DiSaster.")

• A candidate mentions a "three-letter enemy," including FBI, CIA, NSA, IRS, CRT (Critical Race Theory), ESG (Environmental, Social, and Corporate Governance), DEI (Diversity, Equity, Inclusion), CDC, EPA, DHS, ATF, CNN, NIH, DOE, or DOJ. [only once per three-letter word, and only counts if they say the acronym, not the whole thing]

• A candidate complains about boys wanting to become girls, or vise versa

• A candidate claims that there are 87,000 new armed IRS agents patrolling the country

• A candidate (likely to be Ron DeSantis) says he or she will eliminate these three agencies of government [it must be these three]: Commerce, Education, and Energy.

• Nikki Haley alludes to the idea that Joe Biden will die in his second term, and therefore, Republicans are really running against Kamala Harris. [only do this once]

• A candidate is asked whether they would sign a national abortion ban, and refuses to actually answer the question.

• A candidate is insulted for his/her poll numbers by someone talking about how far away they are from the center of the stage.

• A candidate says "Biden crime family."

• One candidate attacks another candidate (not counting DeSantis/Christie) because that candidate attacked Donald Trump [only do this once]

• A candidate openly supports the impeachment of Joe Biden [only do this once]

• Vivek Ramaswamy is directly or indirectly insulted for being a Hindu [only do this once]

• Ron DeSantis uses any of the 4 "MUST DOS" from the leaked SuperPAC memo

• The first candidate attacked by Ron DeSantis is Vivek Ramaswamy or Chris Christie

• A candidate says "Right here in Wisconsin"

• A candidate uses the words, "Hillary Clinton [or, "the Clintons"], "George Soros," "deep state," "cabal," or "groomers" in a sentence. BONUS: Chug half of your remaining drink if they manage to use two or more of those phrases in one sentence.

• A candidate gives a shout-out to Elon Musk. [only do this once]

#politics #lol #republicans #gop debate #republican debate #drinking game

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trukker94gurl · 3 months

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No Charges in Deadly ATF Arkansas Home Raid

No Charges in Deadly ATF Arkansas Home Raid https://link.theepochtimes.com/mkt_app/us/no-charges-in-deadly-atf-arkansas-home-raid-5669051?utm_source=andshare

That was blatantly beyond home invasion...28 seconds to answer your door and then ran it open at 6 am...not to mention he was involved with the Clinton family....makes you wonder

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illarian-rambling · 3 months

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Thanks for the tag @honeybewrites!

Incorrect Quote Tag

Rules: Use this site to generate some incorrect quotes :)

These, as always, are great

Twenari: I love being right. It’s one of my favorite personality traits.

Djek: I wonder who’s ruining my life.

Djek: *looks in the mirror*

Djek: So we meet again.

Sepo: What happened to your nose?

Izjik: I used it to break some guy's fist.

Djek: That sounds super! Doesn’t that sound super, Sepo?

Sepo: No.

Djek: I think I speak for Sepo when I say it sounds really super.

Twenari: I thought you were going to give me a book recommendation or something.

Izjik: *laughs* Book recommendation? I can’t read!

Elsind: Are you alright?

Mashal: Short answer or long answer?

Elsind: Short?

Mashal: No.

Elsind: Long?

Mashal: Nooooooo.

Ivander: Astra, I think we have a problem.

Astra: What, the fire?

Ivander: No, the- wait, what fire?

Astra: Oh forget about it, this sounds more interesting.

Ivander: If you aren't someone the church wanted dead 300 years ago, are you really living?

Mashal: One time I went to hand Astra a bowl of soup. I wanted to say “Careful, it’s hot!”, and “Here’s your soup!”, so instead I blurted out “Careful it’s soup.”

Mashal, learning how to drive: What happens if I press the gas and the brake at the same time?

Astra: The car takes a screenshot.

Avymere: Please pull over. I’m driving now.

Avymere: In the past year you have managed to piss off the LAPD, ATF, CIA, FBI-

Elsind: NBA.

Avymere: …?

Elsind: Snuck into a Cliffords game.

I'll tag @pluppsauthor @tildeathiwillwrite @cedar-sunshine @theprissythumbelina and anyone else who wants in :)

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #oc incorrect quotes

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goldenpinof · 11 months

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hi! was wondering if you can share info about dnp's new talent rep (and how the old one was if its okay to talk about) ^^ i've recently reconnected with the fandom through social media platforms, for the last few years i only followed them through their youtube uploads and the ocassional major news here and there. so im completely out of the loop with stuff like this. thank you so much!

hi! i'm not the best person to answer any of this, i'm so sorry.

about new management, it's InterTalent and i know only what's on their website and on google in general. as i'm typing this, only Phil has a page but Dan and dnpgames's business emails indicate that both dnp are represented by InterTalent now. which is super exciting!

about Above the Fray (they have a new website now). i'm not sure what you wanna know? if it's about why they left their previous management, then it's probably related to how Dan's tour was organised (allegedly, in my opinion!), among other things. you can see how stale Phil's career became, idk how much it depended on his manager but it's quite obvious ATF wasn't big enough for dnp and their potential. we unfortunately saw how Dan's team, including one of his managers, was unable to communicate with promoters. not to mention added shows that weren't properly planned and the cancellation of some of them. Iceland deserves a special mention: it got cancelled a month before the show. and we kinda found out about it before Dan (or his promo materials weren't updated in time and he didn't check it). he posted about available tickets with Iceland listed and in a couple of hours the show's page went down and people started getting emails about its cancellation. 2 days later Dan posted the news and apologised in Icelandic!! and also threw shade at people he worked with. it was a huge moment. i forgot how bad it was, so tragic (wad.iceland tag if anyone wants to cry over it with me again).

they left in the end of June/beginning of July 2023, i suppose. a couple of months without managers, Dan started following people who work at United Talent, and today it's October and we are with InterTalent :))

if you wanna know more about ATF i'll have to redirect you to Mandy (@alittledizzy). i'm also linking her posts about the company (the ones that show up in the search anyway. i'm sure there are more asks about it but i don't know how to find them, sorry). if you have specific questions you can ask her because my knowledge is limited :)

#i know which manager was with Dan in Europe during wad because i saw him #that's literally it ruedfshj #i asked Mandy so pls don't worry. you've got a green light #answered #above the fray #inter talent #wad

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alltimefail-sims · 2 years

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Heya!!! For the ask game 👋 sorry theres so many lol

Devil – which one of your oc’s would be the final girl in a horror movie?

*Vampire - Who is your favourite character to write for and is this the character you find easiest to write for?

*Changeling - An oc either gets turned into a (vampire, werewolf, witch, ghost) or meets one – what would they be? how do they react? Bonus how does another character react to them

Haunted House - Anything you have wanted to write but have been too scared to try?

🖤 Multiple protagonists vs single protagonist?

Hi!!! 🤗

Omg please never apologize for asking me a lot of questions, I love talking about my silly pixels!

DEVIL: Zoe would without a doubt be the final girl in a horror movie! She has that "energy" about her, being the most well-rounded/balanced when it comes to brains, strength, and emotional control.

VAMPIRE: my favorite character to write for right now would probably be a tie between Erwin and Junia. I find it extremely easy to write for Erwin, and extrenely difficult to write for Junia lol! Out of all my characters in my SV story though, Beckett is the hardest to write for.

CHANGELING: I already consider Tashia to be into occult stuff, specifically witchcraft; not to mention the gang is pretty accustomed to the paranormal/unusual because of their *shared circumstances* you'll see in the story. That being said though, I could totally see Beckett getting accidentally bitten by a werewolf because of his brazen and confident nature getting the best of him if in standoff. They'd all be extremely accepting in their own ways I think, but while Zoe and Anwar tried to help him find a cure, Tashia would be trying to get him to bite her just to see what happens; Erwin would be making him do stupid shit (breaking items, doing difficult stunts,) for "science purposes;" and Junia would want to spar with him just to see if she was stronger than a werewolf... and there's a good chance she would be (and she would definitely tease him/rub it in that she's stronger).

HAUNTED HOUSE: Honestly I was terrified to start my Strangerville story because I thought people wouldn't care or brush it off as being redundant for a pack they don't even like (even though it is one of my personal favorites). I started trying to build a legacy and do a more "normal" type of storytelling and it just wasn't coming together/felt forced. So now I write and create what I want at my own pace because I figure if I am passionate about the story and enjoy writing it, that's really what matters! But it's been such a bonus to see other people care about/have interest in this story and its characters whom I love so deeply!

Multiple Protagonists vs. Single Protagonists: Multiple! I love the found family trope and all that. And I (accidentally) give characters waaaaaay too many details to just have one central character!

Thank you so much for this ask ❤

#This was so much fun!!#thank you for your ask!#sorry my answers were so long lol #ask game #strangerville outtakes #atfs answers #ts4 ocs

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the-moth-from-elsewhere · 6 months

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since I forced Xeya to do it, here’s my epic opinions on every single Taocc ship. Cheese and crackers here we go.

for the sake of my sanity, I’ll only be sticking to either plausible or canon ships, and sectioning them off

The Canons That I’m A Part Of

Heartstrings - 10000/10 (they make me happy and they’re definitely one of my personal comfort ships please they’re so cute, they bounce off each other so well)

Goldenrain - 10/10 (my heart can’t handle the sheer amount of sweetness, I didn’t expect to like them so freaking much but guess what I do)

Yelena x Silhou - 6/10 (They’re kinda underdeveloped but I attribute that to the irl stuff that was happening at the time and poor pacing. There’s a version of them in my head with much more nuance and depth, but due to everyone being busy, that depth hasn’t really been realized yet. I still love them, and really want to see them developed in the future)

Rationality (guidance and reason) - 9/10 (Guilty pleasure ship, but I can see why nobody other than me and Lily would really care. Still, I love them to bits, they live in my head rent free, and I love their dynamic.)

Northeast - 10/10 (They’re really vanilla but whenever everything else is going to heck, they’re a nice pillow of fluff to fall back on. I love me a good “they’re two halves and they fit perfectly” ship, and they deserve the nice long break they’ve gotten. I do wanna bring them back tho.)

Arthur x Verie - 10/10 (You don’t see them often, but they deserve the world and make me feel good. They’re one of my best executed ships that use only my characters, and their backstory is just pure self indulgent cuteness oh my lands)

Merc and Juliet - 7/10 (love them to bits, just haven’t had he time to develop them yet :I)

Second Chance - 10/10 (Cute. Made of sugar. No notes.)

Ciana x Apollo - 10/10 (background characters, but it works and is cute)

The Canons that I’m Not A Part Of

Sigilbeam - 8/10 (entirely because I just want to see them more and see more nuance from them. I love them so, so much. Please I want more relationship development with them)

Crobias - 8/10 (Okay this is entirely personal taste. They’re fun, their dynamic is unique, but it’s just not my thing as much as it is others. But that’s probably just the whole “violence is always the answer” thing. They’re entertaining, tho, and they bounce off of each other surprisingly well, and are supportive and functional even if they’re kinda nuts, and I really appreciate that)

Lancia - 10/10 (SHJDEJSJOSJSUSJSJJSJSS LANCIA OH MY LANDS THEY’RE SO CUTE NO NOTES I COUOD GO ON FOR HOOOOOURS SJDHDKMEEJJDNDJEMDKSKSMSK)

Sob - 5/10 (Once again, personal taste. A bit too explicit for me, and holy crabs the angst must I even elaborate the angst is WILD. But if they ever broke up they’d need a REAL good reason or else I would SCREAAAAAM)

Egypt Yaoi - 4/10 (a bit too…much for me, but that’s personal taste again. The dynamic is very interesting tho, I’d just like to see more development from them.)

Gunshot/The ATF - 10/10 (You wouldn’t think it could work but it absolutely does. Finally, a functional ship for Mix. Please don’t hurt them-)

Pyxel x Thanatos - 5/10 (…They exist. I’m pretty neutral on them. At least they’re functional! And haven’t had too much angst!)

Latte x Lata - 7/10 (Forbidden love, aww. Please someone get them therapy /pos)

Firestone - 8/10 (not as into them because I just haven’t seen much of them, but like…So many subversions of typical shipping it makes me happy lookit themmmmm)

Hammer x Chaos - 5/10 (*shrug*)

Zombie x Skeleton - 7/10 (no notes, they’re entertaining)

It could’ve happened or is on the way to happening/Plausibly could happen/did happen at some point but isn’t anymore/miscellaneous noncanon

Mix x Silhou - 7/10 (The exes of all time, I could see it but moving on makes more sense for their character arcs)

Null Island - 10/10 (Yes. No notes.)

Alcoholove - 9/10 (So nonfunctional but so entertaining to watch. Yandere Drunkie was fun. Would never want it to be canon tho for both of their sakes.)

Bob x Affection anon - 3/10 (Remember this?? Yeah me neither.)

Samuel x Alexander - 7/10 (Neutral from lack of development so far, but we’re really early in so ye. Their dynamic is funny tho I like it)

Yelena x Charles (her ex) - 6/10 (it was nice while it lasted and left them both better off for it.)

Yelena x Any of Her Other Exes - 0/10 (FRICK. NO.)

Conny x Starro - 7/10 (yes, also no notes, just really early in)

Mage x Alchemist - Idk/10 (it…happened? I guess?)

Sign x Avian - 3/10 (Amusing and interesting. But also no.)

Damsel x Pharaoh - 4/10 (Fun while it lasted, but they both deserve different and it wouldn’t work nowadays.)

Damsel x Ace - 5/10 (Underdeveloped as frick but hey it’d be cute)

Helpful x Lucy - 5/10 (they amuse me. And I kinda like it. Not entirely my thing but hey)

Switch x Mocha - 6/10 (it’s cute what can I say)

TragedyShipping - 8/10 (yes.)

Switch x Nova - 6/10 (it’s also pretty cute what can I say)

Kopi x Mix - 2/10 (Entertaining but no.)

Kopi x Kumo - 2/10 (many feelings)

Hexe x Slynn - 0/10 (FRICK NO.)

Nuffle x Bob - 2/10 (remember THIS?? YEAH, ME NEITHER.)

The Dialtone Singularity (please help me)

Helliphone - 7/10 (enemies to lovers let’s go. But Gunshot is better.)

Prank Call - 1/10 (name is funny but NO.)

Helpline - 3/10 (any ship with helpful confuses me)

Dialchemist - 7/10 (shockingly functional)

Dialtone, just Dialtone - 3/10 (it’d save us the headache, that’s for sure)

Toxic Helpline - 6/10 (the og start to this madness, the sheer power imbalance is a bit of a dealbreaker for me but Dialtone has power imbalances with pretty much everyone he’s shipped with. That’s one of the reasons helliphone scored higher)

Helliphone plus toxic helpline - ???/10 (what)

Belle x Dialtone - 3/10 (morbidly curious as to how this would go)

toxic helpline plus belle - 3/10 (the morbid curiosity continues)

Toxic helpline plus Helliphone plus belle plus Lucy - screaming/10 (This is getting out of hand)

The Ultimate Phone Polycule (Dial x the entire circus) - 1/10 (1 point for sheer absurdity but otherwise frick no this does NOT work on so many levels)

Absolutely Not Happening

Nebonade - 0/10 (NO)

Spirals - 6/10 (poor Spring man)

Neb x Cardlan - 0/10 (The more y’all say it the less I like it)

Clara x Kumo - 0/10 (absolutely freaking not)

Mix and Drunkie get back together - 1/10 (entertaining but NO)

Bob x Belle - 1/10 (no.)

Dusk x Mix - 2/10 (interesting while it lasted, but no thanks.)

Easton x Lattia - 2/10 (not happening, never again.)

Raina x Icia - 3/10 (mmmmmno. I can see the logic but no.)

Achilles x Odette - 3/10 (doesn’t work for reasons. It’s an interesting thought.)

Achilles x Icia - 4/10 (interesting but no.)

Latte x Mocha - 0/10 (HA. NO.)

Clown x Carbine - 1/10 (doesn’t work on so many levels, but amusing)

Clown x Mix - 0/10 (if anyone ships this I’m gonna need a lot of explanations)

Icia x Arthur - 5/10 (it’d take breaking a lot of stuff to work but I could see it in a very different AU)

Icia x Aoki - 5/10 (In another world, it could work.)

Dusk x Sun - 0/10 (I will kill you, you will die.)

The Platonics. All of these are completely platonic ships.

Birdhouse (Clara and Chip) - 1000/10 (the parent and son of all time, please I love them so much)

Vaga and Nova - 8/10 (Awww…supportive brothers lezz go)

Sun and Dusk - 10/10 (please their dynamic is so nuanced and fascinating I have gone on for pages about them)

Latte and Mocha - 10/10 (the adoptive siblings of all time)

Mix and Silhou - 8/10 (supportive. :) )

Mix and Dusk - 10/10 (I love it, no notes)

Arthur and Icia - 10/10 (very interesting foils)

Odette and Yume - 8/10 (kinda sad but siblings aww)

Alpenglow and Silhou - 7/10 (can you tell I like found family yet??)

Suns entire family unit - 10/10 (so dysfunctional and nuanced it’s fascinating please give me more)

Mage and Lann - 7/10 (amusing.)

Lann and Alpen - 10/10 (MY HEART MY HEART MY HEART)

GTA4 - 1000/10 (I love how they all bounce off of and compliment each other so much, I could go on for hours about just these four. They bring out the depth in each other.)

Bob and Sun - 9/10 (mmmm angst)

Neb and Lemonade, platonic ver. - 10/10 (they make me happy, no notes)

Neb and Cardlan, platonic ver. - 10/10 (“has a big ego” “not helping”. Yes. It’s funny.)

Lemonade and Cardlan - 8/10 (I want more of this)

Guidance and Mix - 5/10 (has potential.)

Switch and Dialtone - 4/10 (way different personalities and barely exists but could be interesting)

Arthur and Chip - 10/10 (you don’t see them much but they’re fun, chip definitely won the found family lottery)

Yelena and Verie - 6/10 (they’re nice, and get along well enough)

Merc, Nymn, and Flare - 8/10 (more pls)

Aoki and Icia - 10/10 (SIBLINGS SIBLINGS SIBLINGS SIBLINGS)

Simon, Katrina, Octavia, and Steven - 100/10 (They make me ill in all the good ways)

Mix. By himself. - It’s complicated/10 (Essentially this is Mix with no romantic partner but in a “is okay without it” way. It’s interesting to me as a form of character arc for him, even if it’d never happen.)

Kumo and Clara platonic ver. - 7/10 (amusing to me)

Icia’s entire little friend circle - 1000/10 (amazing no notes)

#Taocc #cheese and crackers this was LONG

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bullet-prooflove · 4 months

Text

A quick round up of updates on the blog including new characters added to the ASK LIST and a list of fics that went out last week:

New characters were added to the ask list this week:

Danny LaRusso (Cobra Kai)

Johnny Lawrence (Cobra Kai)

Terry Silver (Cobra Kai)

New Fics:

Chicago Med:

Proposing - The lead up to Sean's proposal and how it would happen.

Proposing - The lead up and the proposal from Dean.

Bullets - Companion piece to One Day. Crocket finds you unresponsive on the floor of your office.

The Study Series: Part Two: Distance - Dean tries to discuss the distance between the two of you.

Cobra Kai:

Lifesaver - You bail Johnny out after he's for arrested for assault on a minor.

Namaste - Johnny gets a little hot under the collar watching you do yoga.

All The Places That You've Been - Terry makes you a promise after you read through his travel journal.

Wherever You Go - Terry thinks about the day the two of you met during a trip to Osaka.

Bourbon - You and Daniel meet at a hotel bar.

Criminal Minds:

Play - Luke has a special request.

Scars - Luke is embarrassed when his scars are put on display.

FBI:

The Last Time - You and Stuart face a problem regarding your wish to start a family.

FBI Most Wanted:

Good To Be Home - Clinton is happy to be home.

Haven:

Sensitive (NSFW) - Dwight knows just how sensitive you are.

Need You (NSFW) - You always know how what Dwight needs.

Law & Order:

Under Pressure - Cyrus and you get in trouble with the local police during a work trip.

Down With The Ship - You make a decision that changes everything for you and Nolan.

Escapism - Nolan and you are forced to share a bed during a work trip out of town.

The Musketeers:

Vigil - Your world is thrown into turmoil when you recieve news Jean has been shot.

NCIS:

Proposing - The lead up to the proposal and Alden proposing.

NCIS LA:

Waiting - Marty waits up for you.

Chevy Corvette - Harm asks you for an answer regarding a very personal question.

NCIS NOLA:

Proposing - How Dwayne would propose.

SOA:

ATF!Series Part Two: Fucked - Stahl fucks up you entire life in pursuit of Jax Teller.

White Collar:

History - Keller's history growing up and the development of his relationship with you.

#Dwayne pride #david hale #matthew keller #harmon rabb jr #Alden parker #dean archer #sean archer #terry silver #daniel larusso #johnny lawrence #marty deeks #captain treville #dwight hendrickson #nolan price #cyrus lupo #luke alvez #stuart scola #clinton skye

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years

Text

If You Weren’t You

Day 12: Hate/Angry Sex (Benny “Borracho” Magalon x F!Reader)

(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen. The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW: Rude and insulting language; misogynistic language; smut (angry sex but only kinda because most of the anger is pre-sex so maybe this is a poor entry for kinktober, I dunno, your girl is struggling here; PiV, unprotected; car sex). 18+ only.

Word Count: 5513

It’s Big Nick’s fault.

He sets the tone between Major Crimes and the FBI. He talks poorly about the federal agents, saves the worst of it for Lobbin’ Bob and his perfectly parted hair and perfectly pressed suits. Bob and his veganism, Bob and his good, clean living.

Big Nick sets the tone, and his detectives follow suit. Lobbin’ Bob responds accordingly…as do the agents who work under him.

Borracho’s thing with you actually starts because of Henderson. It’s a string of bank robberies; the suspects are a crew out of Bakersfield working around Los Angeles. The FBI is called in. When Lobbin’ Bob and his field agents walk past them to get to the crime scene, Henderson elbows Borracho and snickers.

“Looks like they got an ice princess on the feds now,” he says, nodding in your direction. You look like you’re cut from the same cloth as Bob: neat clothing, neat ponytail, stick-in-the-ass way of walking.

You walk past, already have your back to them, but you catch Henderson’s remark. You stop and turn, look at them. Your eyes, for whatever reason, settle on Borracho: matches Henderson’s words to him.

“Asshole,” you say, eyes narrowed, and you turn away.

“Got me in trouble, you dick,” Borracho snorts, shaking his head at his fellow detective. But to your retreating back, he glares from behind his shades and thinks, what a bitch.

-----

It doesn’t get any better.

You’re the only woman on Bob’s team, and Big Nick has nearly as many comments for you as he does for your leader. Which marks you as fair game to the rest of the guys in Major Crimes.

Borracho, for his part, has never been a complete follower—not the way Henderson and Z and Connors are—but it is easy to get swept up in the piling-on that happens when Big Nick starts on you.

You have two main approaches to the crude comments Nick lobs at you: utter silence and snarky retorts. You typically employ the former: Nick may say something incredibly rude—imply that your pussy is filled with icicles, imply that a hard fuck would loosen you right up—and you only respond with an unblinking stare.

You stare so long that it makes them squirm, makes the entire moment turn from funny to something heavy and uncomfortable.

But the latter approach, the snarky retorts? You employ those sparingly, and to devastating effect. And you use them mostly on the guys, Borracho included.

Most of Borracho’s insults for you hew close to Henderson’s original ice princess remark, with his own observations around you being uptight, robotic, and obsessive about proper police procedures. Your answering insults to him seem to cast him as a drooling moron.

Borracho calls you a frosty bitch.

You call him an idiotic asshole.

He calls you an uptight cunt.

You call him tall, dark, and stupid.

He says that any guy who might try to fuck you would have his dick fall off from severe frostbite.

You snort mirthlessly, tell him that’s funny, coming from a walking STD like him.

He implies that you and Lobbin’ Bob have a thing going on, two asshole feds having bland vanilla sex together.

You reply, completely monotone, that you’d rather fuck Bob than be Nick O’Brien’s little lap dog.

He tells you to shut the fuck up.

You reply that he too should shut the fuck up.

It doesn’t get any better. It only gets worse.

-----

It gets worse when Major Crimes and the FBI work a case together.

It involves other departments—LAPD, ATF—but the bulk of the work is done by your respective teams. Big Nick, unable to stand planning a multi-agency case, passes off much of the work to Borracho.

Lobbin’ Bob is juggling too many cases and hands off the FBI’s side to you.

If you weren’t…well, you…Borracho would be impressed. All the things he and the guys from Major Case harass you about…your work ethic is the flip-side of those things.

Your frostiness could be construed as consummate professionalism.

Your uptight, robotic nature could be read as a desire to solve a case quickly and with airtight evidence.

But you’re you. You’re the woman that called him a lap dog and a walking STD (though he’s called you things just as bad, a fact he tacitly ignores), so Borracho doesn’t let any admirable feelings for you take root, and he only does what he must to solve the case and never work with you so closely again.

*****

Despite all the new technology, sometimes things have to be old-school, which is why you find yourself setting up a listening post in an apartment building in Marina del Rey. It’s a high-end building, full of wealthy people, but the one you are targeting is on a top floor condo.

You work with building management to take over a utility room one floor down, right under the condo in question. It’s a cramped space, but there’s enough room for the audio equipment and recording devices.

And enough room for two chairs and two people.

You try to plan it any other possible way. You try to pull in an LAPD detective, but they are running their own piece of this case. Same with ATF.

You try to get another FBI agent to sit with you on the overnight shift, but Big Nick manages to speak up long enough to throw a fit—he accuses you of icing out his team, trying to steal all the credit when the case is solved.

So you try to get any other detective from Major Crimes. Literally any other guy.

It ends up being Tall, Dark, and Stupid.

You know his name is Magalon, just the way you know he knows your name. But he never uses your name, not a single time, and you do him the same courtesy.

-----

You’ve run a few listening posts. It is never as exciting as it looks in the movies, because usually there’s nothing to do but wait for that one, single clue.

Late on a Friday night, sitting in a cramped utility closet with Magalon, you wait.

And wait. And wait.

Your partner for the evening sighs early on, slides his dark glasses over his face, then leans back in his chair. You can’t tell if he’s asleep, but he’s silent, and that’s something. For once he isn’t calling you a bitch or a cunt or any charming variation on the same misogynistic theme.

It doesn’t bother you when he does. You’ve worked in law enforcement your whole adult life, and Magalon is exactly the same as the majority of men in the field.

You’ve run listening posts before. You know the drill. You set the equipment high enough to hear, low enough to not be heard through the utility room door. And then you pull your book out of your bag and start reading.

You swear you hear Magalon snort, very softly. You can imagine what he’s thinking. In his world, reading a book probably translates to stuck-up or boring or whatever other untrue things he thinks about you.

So you tilt your chin a little higher. Let him think whatever he wants.

*****

Borracho is bored and moreover, the guys had a piss test earlier in the day, which means he’s missing their usual party.

They drew names to see who had to run the listening post with Queen Frostine. Of course his name was pulled.

And of course you sit there completely composed, paging through a book, engrossed in whatever you are reading.

He watches you from behind his dark glasses. If you weren’t you, he’d think you were okay. Too well put-together for his tastes; Borracho prefers his women a little messy. Women with an edge. You’re too polished, perfectly rounded off. No edge to you.

But you are good-looking. He tries to picture you dressed down and finds he can’t do it. Even now—you’re in jeans and a button-down shirt tucked in—you’re too neat. Your eyeliner is perfect. Your lipstick is just a shade darker than your natural color.

He can’t picture you roughed up. He can’t picture you with eye makeup a little smeared, lipstick blurred at the edges of your lips. Hair tousled, clothes rumpled.

You’re probably the type of woman who sleeps in formal pajamas. The thought makes him snort, and it pulls your eyes from your book, your cool gaze settling on him.

“Something wrong, detective?”

He doesn’t answer you. “What are you reading?”

You look back to your page, turn it. “A book.”

“Funny.” A beat. “What’s it called?”

You turn the book so he can see it, tap the cover with your forefinger. The Devil in the White City, it says.

“What’s it about?” he asks.

“Crime.”

“Sounds fun.”

You glance at him again. “It’s about H.H. Holmes. Some consider him to be the first modern serial killer.”

“Sounds extra fun.”

You turn back to your book. “About as much fun as manning a listening post with an ice princess, I imagine.”

He snorts again, this time bitter. “Or with a walking STD.”

The smallest of smiles tugs at the corners of your lips before you school your expression. You don’t reply to him.

-----

An hour passes. No—it crawls by.

You read. He scrolls through social media, and it’s punctuated from time to time with messages from the guys.

Z sends a simple Miss you, bro.

Connors says It’s only 10 and Nick is already FUKKED up.

Henderson asks how’s it going with the bitch queen?

Borracho chuckles and replies Quiet. Listening post is dead and shes reading.

It’s Friday night and he already has that Friday night restless energy thing going on. He sighs and counts down the time remaining until the two of you are relieved by another FBI agent and a technician from the Sheriff’s department.

Twenty minutes later, Nick sends a text. Well, less a text than a series of pics: the bevy of women Nick has hired for the night. What Borracho is missing out on.

He sighs again, and you glance at him. You correctly guess at what’s bothering him.

“You can leave, if you want,” you say.

He’s tempted. He knows you can handle it, and further—he doubts you have plans on a Friday night. He doubts you’re missing anything fun. You’d probably be reading that same book at home.

“Big Nick wants one of us here,” he replies.

“I’d cover for you.”

“Bullshit,” he retorts. “You’d throw me under the bus.”

You shrug. “Yeah, probably.”

“Then why would you even offer to cover for me?”

Another shrug. “I like mind games. Most bitches do.”

He huffs out a breath, crosses his arms across his chest. He leans back in his chair and stares at you. “I wasn’t even the one who called you an ice princess that first time, you know. That was Henderson.”

“I thought you were Henderson.”

“Asshole. You know my name.”

You turn another page, and he almost misses the faint smile. If you weren’t you, he’d think you were teasing him.

“Honestly, all of you Major Crimes detectives look the same to me,” you say.

“All you agents look the same. Same stick-up-the-ass.”

“Better to have a stick up the ass than to be a thug with a badge and a gun.”

“You think I’m a bad cop?” He tightens his jaw, feels his molars grinding against each other.

“I think you’re all bad cops,” you clarify. “I think you care more about your parties. O’Brien certainly cares more about being the bad boy of the sheriff’s department, and the rest of you fall in line like his little ducklings.”

It stings to hear you say it out loud, though Borracho has long suspected that you’d thought that about them. You have a way of looking at them when they are joking around, a subtle way of shaking your head like a disappointed mother.

“It’s just letting off steam,” he replies, defensive. “How the fuck do you unwind?”

You look at him, tilt your head. “Spoiler alert, detective, but I unwind the same way. I drink, I fuck. I just keep it separate from the work. I don’t let it affect my job.”

That stings too, you obliquely saying that you’re better than him. That you have it more together, which (in a calmer moment) he’d probably admit. Right now, he stews—the guys are off having fun, Nick sent the pics of the honeys at the party, and Borracho is stuck sitting with you, being told that you’re better than him.

“Yeah, I can just picture it,” he snaps, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Half a glass of white wine, then you fuck some lame asshole in missionary with the lights off. What a fucking badass.”

You keep your head tilted, and now you pair it with an infuriating smile.

“I don’t need to prove to you if I’m cool,” you say. A beat, and then you add, “at least I don’t have to pay for it.”

“I don’t pay for it!” He hates how defensive he sounds, the way his voice cracks on the word pay like he’s a fucking child.

“Oh, sorry. O’Brien pays for it. That’s so much better.”

“I don’t…partake in that stuff.” Not anymore, anyway. He had a few times right after his divorce when he was in a bad way and wallowing, but he hasn’t since then. It always left him feeling cheap and a little scummy…but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy going to the parties and looking.

“Okay.” Your tone is clear that you don’t believe him, and you turn back to your book.

“I don’t.”

“Sure, Henderson.”

He huffs in frustration. “Christ, you are a cunt.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Isn’t it? Cunts are a lot of fun. Seems like a compliment, calling me one.”

It always goes like this. Every single fucking time. You always respond to his insults with these infuriating responses, deliver barbs and retorts back to him without being affected at all.

And just like always, Borracho settles on his usual closing statement.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says.

“You first,” you reply.

*****

The bickering kills off the remaining time of your shift, and before you know it, there’s a knock on the door and your relief is there to spell you.

What surprises you is Magalon doesn’t stalk away the moment he can. He keeps his steps measured to yours, falls in beside you as you go into the parking garage under the building.

He doesn’t speak. He just walks beside you, and you can feel the anger still radiating off of him. Of all of them, Magalon falls on the quieter end of the spectrum. O’Brien is Major Crimes’ chattiest asshole, and Magalon usually sits back and listens. You think sometimes he talks the most to you, which is probably a shame since you constantly squabble.

In the parking garage, he grumbles, “this was a lot of fucking fun. Great way to spend a Friday night.”

It stings, faintly. You offered to cover. He’s the one who stayed, in the end. There wouldn’t have been any repercussions if he left, especially from his boss. For fuck’s sake, O’Brien is the first to break the rules. He’d never reprimand one of his detectives for leaving their post with an FBI agent.

“Hurry along then,” you retort. “Maybe you can make it in time and get O’Brien’s sloppy seconds.”

You expect him to tell you to fuck off. You expect him to call you a name. You expect his usual weak finishing move of shut the fuck up.

Thing is, he does say shut the fuck up…he just says it as he turns and squares up to you, puffs his chest out and faces you, and you stupidly think he’s challenging you to a fight. He’s only half a head taller than you, but he’s broad through the chest and arms, and you take a defensive step back…

“Don’t you ever shut the fuck up?” he repeats, and he shakes his head at his own question, frustration writ across his face. “Why can’t you ever just…be fucking quiet?”

You open your mouth to answer (apparently you cannot ever shut the fuck up), but he takes another step to close the gap between you, and maybe Detective Magalon hates you, but something is driving him other than hatred at the moment. He reaches out and wraps a hand around the back of your neck, holds you steady. His eyes dip down to look at your mouth before they slide up and gaze into your own eyes.

Oh. Oh, shit.

You only just grasp the situation when his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent, but not cruel. His mouth slots over yours, his tongue pries your lips apart, and you hate that you open up to him so willingly. You try to logic out the situation—Friday nights always key you up, and the guy you had a friends-with-benefits situation moved away months ago—but the cool, logical part of your brain is falling silent.

It’s giving over to the baser part of your brain that chases pleasure, that sparks up like fireworks at the feeling of Magalon’s rough kissing, the way his lips are just a bit chapped. The way his facial hair tickles against your face. The way he grips your neck—firm but not too hard, and the pad of his thumb strokes the side of your neck.

Well, shit.

*****

Borracho convinces himself that he’s just worked up. He’s just confusing the nascent lust that bloomed from Big Nick’s pictures of the women with his ongoing irritation of you.

That when you took the mean shot about sloppy seconds, he was going to place his hand over your mouth to shut you the fuck up…but you looked at him in surprise, your lips parting, and the motion drew his eyes, and his brain (tall, dark, and stupid after all) did the wrong thing.

What surprises him is that you still for a second, but then you kiss him back. You open your mouth to him, allow him to sweep his tongue against yours. You breathe out through your nose, and after a beat, you reach up to circle your fingers around his wrist, around the hand that has a firm hold on you.

You don’t pry his hand away. You only hold him steady as he holds you steady.

It’s not love. It’s not even lust. It’s just months and months of irritation, finally bubbling over into this.

That’s what he tells himself. As he walks you backwards, as he presses you against your SUV. As he grinds against you, getting steadily harder against your thigh. As you make these little noises, these quiet whimpers. As you kiss him back, as your other hand hooks against his belt and holds him close to you.

This is just his irritation with you. He’s letting off steam. That is it.

He can’t fathom what you’re doing. If he’s constantly angry with you, then you have to feel similarly.

Maybe you’re unwinding too. What did you say earlier? You unwind the same way as him?

I drink, I fuck, you said.

Your prospects for the latter must be bleak if you’re willing to fuck him, but he’s not going to complain.

You release your hold on his wrist, and you reach down into your pocket, fumble until you pull out your keys. You hit the fob, and you unlock your SUV. He steps away from you, releases you from where he has you trapped against the door. You open the door to the back, and he starts to push you in, push you onto the back seat but you murmur, wait a second.

You turn away from him, and it’s automatic how his hands go to your waist, hold you. It’s like if he stops touching you, the insane spell will be broken, a current halted because of a break in the circuit.

There’s a protective cover on your backseat, and it takes you a moment to get it unhooked and tossed into the far back of the vehicle, and you turn back to him with a shrug. “Dog hair,” you say simply, and Borracho lets the comment slide over him. He is already pulling you back to him, kissing you again, pushing you into your SUV.

You hook your hands into his belt again and pull him in with you.

Car sex is always better in theory than reality. It’s hot in the abstract but fraught in practice. Borracho has a fair amount of experience—the sum total of his sexual history in high school was realized in the backseat of the shitty Acura Legend he inherited from his aunt.

At least your SUV is bigger.

It’s still awkward. Difficult to get you out of your jeans and panties, difficult to get his own pants and boxers pushed down enough. The backseat is too short for both of you, so it takes effort to arrange your legs. You bend one, press it against the back of the seat, and the other plants on the floorboard. Borracho kneels clumsily, shuffles to slot himself between your thighs.

It’s dim enough in the SUV that he can pretend you’re not you. Because aside from you murmuring yes to answer his question is this okay with you?...you don’t talk.

The thought occurs to him that maybe you’re pretending he’s someone else too.

You are far touchier than he thought you would be. You smooth your palms over his back, his shoulders, his arms. It makes him feel a little big-headed; he thinks maybe you like his build, maybe you’ve been studying him on the sly and are finally getting to touch him. You run your fingers through his hair, muss it up, and the strange intimacy of the gesture makes him shudder.

You still when he pushes into you. He reaches down and lines himself up with you, then inches his hips forward. He’s shocked to find you ready for him—wet and hot, and as he breeches your entrance, he can feel how your pussy is already twitching against him.

The first stupid thought that comes to his head is I’ll have to tell the guys that there’s no icicles in her pussy after all.

The second, better thought: No, this is between me and her. I’ll never say a word to the guys.

*****

Look: Magalon and O’Brien and their merry band of assholes can say whatever they like about you. They can call you a bitch or a cunt or whatever rude phrase they want, but you know you’re an ace at your job. You are efficient. You are smart.

Sometimes you aren’t quite as smart in your personal life.

Case in point, this moment. Magalon half-naked, you half-naked underneath him. In your SUV that smells faintly of salt water and wet dog from the weekend trip to the beach with your retriever. You know this is a bad idea, your great big brain screams a million warnings, but sometimes you just do dumb things.

The dumb thing you are doing right now is Magalon.

You have no idea what is driving him. He’ll probably go running straight to the dickhead brigade at Major Crimes and spill everything, but you don’t really care. They already say terrible things about you. This would just give them a new avenue to explore.

If he wasn’t Magalon, it’d be easier to fall into the fantasy. The man is not repulsive looking. He’s broad, and you run your hands over him, can feel how he’s built under his flannel shirt. He’s a decent kisser too, not too rough, not too soft and precious about it. An acceptable amount of tongue without trying to map the shape of your tonsils.

His hands are nice too—you’ve noticed them before. You can admit to yourself that you don’t hate the way they feel when they touch you, when they grip your waist or when they cup your hip as he settles against you.

When he pushes into you, it stuns you. You freeze underneath him, breathe in deep and shut your eyes at the sensation.

The universe is often unfair, you’ve found. Giving an asshole like Magalon that good dick, perfectly sized. What a waste.

Not a complete waste, not now, at least. Not when he’s sliding into you, and not when you give way to him. It burns just a bit, the way he stretches you, but it’s that good pain that bumps up so close to pleasure that the two are undiscernible from each other. He must feel his own version of it because he drops his head beside yours, breathes out a harsh fuck once his hips are flush against yours.

You know he hates you, but in this moment, he’s considerate. Almost sweet, actually. It’s awkward in your SUV; the door handle digs against the top of your head and he notices two thrusts in. He mutters something you can’t make out, but then he reaches up and cups the back of your head, helps hold you steady.

And he deals you gentler thrusts to keep from hurting you.

You would have never guessed he could be nice. Especially in a moment like this. You know it won’t last. It will end the minute this ends, but he’s being nice, so you’re nice too. You wrap your arm around his neck. You pull his face to yours and you kiss him, soft.

It must surprise him because he huffs against your lips before he kisses you back. Presses a second gentle peck to your mouth before he breaks away, drops his head beside yours again.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he mutters, and he sounds almost begrudging. Like he thought you’d feel terrible and is mildly pissed to find himself wrong.

You have no witty retort. You are stunned to near muteness as the feeling of him, the thick drag of his cock as he fucks you at a sedate pace. You reply, lamely, “you too.”

“Your pussy is gripping me like crazy,” he adds, and his breath against the side of your neck makes you shiver underneath him. “Fuck, what do you need?”

“Just keep going,” you say. You raise your hips to meet his thrusts, plant one foot firmer on the floorboard and press up. It changes the angle, changes the drag of him inside you. He bumps against that spot inside you, and tilting your hips like makes the base of him settle against your clit each time he bottoms out.

“Close?” He moves his head, whispers in your ear, and it shouldn’t be hot, him whispering in your goddamned ear. As he fucks you. In the backseat of your SUV.

“I can feel it,” he continues. “Feel you getting even wetter. You like fighting with me? It turn you on, being mean to me?”

You laugh—an actual, genuine laugh. “Guess so.”

“S’okay.” He’s getting out of breath; he starts to pant as he picks up the pace. He lifts his head to gaze down at you, and he’s actually smiling.

You didn’t think he was capable of smiling. It’s weird to see it on him. Magalon has actual dimples, a winning smile, and you bite back the urge to tell him that he should smile more, that he should drop the tough-guy, stone-faced routine.

“Guess it turns me on too,” he admits.

You can feel yourself getting close, the licking flames of your orgasm growing in heat and intensity. It shouldn’t be so fucking hot, but it is, and Magalon is too good and you kinda hate that you’re so close already. That the feel of him, the sound of him, the heavy press of his cock as he splits you open over and over get you so close, so quickly.

Even the smell of him—no obvious cologne, just the lingering scent of his soap or laundry detergent, the growing scent of his arousal paired with your own. Your SUV reeks of sex, and you wonder how long it will take to dissipate. Will it still be noticeable on Monday morning, when you drive into the office?

He drives into you faster, harder, but he keeps his hand on your head, shelters you from hurting yourself against the door. You feel yourself cross that threshold, the point of no return, and the heat blooms outward, consumes you as you come.

“F-fuck, right there, Magalon,” you whimper. “Don’t s-stop, oh fuck, don’t stop—”

“Jesus,” he breathes out, and he rears back to watch your face. His own expression is tense, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and you realize that he’s trying to hold on, trying to delay his own pleasure….

He fails. He deals you one, final punishing thrust, and then he pulls out with a curse. Reaches down and pumps his length, and then you feel the hot ropes of his cum as he paints your belly with his release.

“Jesus,” he says again, this time a low mutter. He drops his head on your shoulder, and you don’t know how to act now that the moment is over. You reach out and pat him awkwardly on the back, and you stop yourself before you say, “great work, champ.”

It’s a long moment of silence, then he lifts himself off of you. He doesn’t quite meet your gaze, but he asks, “do you have anything?” Trails off uncomfortably, then gestures vaguely at the mess he made of you.

“Napkins in the center console.” You sit up; he reaches past you and snags some napkins from between the front seats. He hands them to you, and you clean yourself up as best you can.

Then he reaches down, hands you your discarded clothing. You dress in silence except for the exasperated grunts as you each trying to shimmy back into clothing in the cramped back seat of a vehicle.

Then the two of you climb out of the backseat, and the moment gets so damned awkward and heavy, you try to break it with a joke.

“Now you can tell the guys that there’s no ice in my pussy,” you offer. You keep your tone light.

He glances at you but doesn’t respond.

“Or tell O’Brien that you gave me a hard fucking, see if it loosened me up or not,” you try.

Magalon shakes his head. He slides his phone out of his pocket, checks for new messages. He slides it back into his pocket, then mutters, “wouldn’t do that.”

“You could. I couldn’t stop you.”

Just like that, you’re back to bickering. Only now there’s a new weight to it, since he just had his dick in you moments ago. Since you just swabbed his cum off of you.

“I said I wouldn’t. I’m not a complete asshole.”

“Since when? Since five minutes ago?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.” He crosses his arms and his face goes stony. The smile, the dimples are long gone.

“Okay.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t do that shit.”

“What shit?”

“Okay.” He mimics you, meanly. “Don’t agree with me in that tone that says you don’t believe me at all.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t. I don’t give a shit.”

“You sound like you do,” you observe. “You still pissed you missed your party?”

“That I missed Big Nick’s sloppy seconds?” He snorts. “Nah, had you instead.”

“Poor guy,” you reply. “Had to settle for an ice princess.”

“Yeah, desperate fucking times call for desperate fucking measures,” he snaps.

For some reason, that stings. That’s a direct blow, and you don’t know why. Of all the things he’s said to you, all the things he’s called you…this actually hurts. Maybe because he had been nice in your interlude, that hand cradling your head, that kiss that had been gentle. It must have been an act—a convincing one—and now he’s back to being the real him. The him that was apparently desperate enough to fuck you as a last resort.

No wonder he won’t tell the guys. He’s ashamed to have fucked you. He’s embarrassed.

You’re a smart woman but you make stupid choices sometimes.

“Well, it’s over. You survived.” He can probably hear the hurt in your voice, but you don’t care.

You tend to deal with the consequences of your stupid choices by fleeing. Which is what you do now—you turn away, fumble your keys. Open the driver’s side door, and you catch the startled expression on his face, the surprised “hey” he says, but you ignore both.

You only climb into your SUV, turn the ignition, and then leave. And you send up a fervent prayer that the listening post yields something useful over the weekend, because Monday morning already looms like a bank of storm clouds.

#tropes-and-tales #tppkinktober2022 #benny magalon #benny magalon imagine #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon x reader #benny magalon x reader #Borracho Magalon x Reader #borracho magalon #Benny Borracho Magalon Imagine #den of thieves

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tuiccim · 1 year

Text

A Scarred Enigma - Alternate Ending

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC Lexa Green

Word Count: 3.3k

Trigger Warnings: Depression, anxiety, fear of touch.

Summary: Fellow Avenger Lexa Green is an enigma that intrigues Bucky to no end, but a painful past has left her scarred, both physically and mentally. Will she be able to overcome her past to find love in the future?

Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby

A Scarred Enigma Masterlist

Upon their return, the team is surprised to see Maria Hill at the end of the ramp.

"Agent Green," Maria says as she makes eye contact with Lex.

"Agent Hill," Lex nods to her.

"Lantern is on fire. I need you to join me in the conference room."

Lex goes cold hearing the coded message.

"Lex?" Bucky says from beside her.

"It's the compound I grew up in. They're in a standoff most likely. I have to go. I'll let you know what I can," Lex squeezes his hand.

"I'll come with you," Bucky says.

"Alexandria Naomi Cole."

"Who's that?" Bucky asks.

"Me. Lexa Green was the name I chose when I became an agent. Alexandria Naomi Cole is my real name and I think it's time I buried her once and for all. But I need to do it alone, Bucky. Do you understand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. But I'm here if you need me."

"I love you," Lexa says it for the first time without qualification.

"I love you, too. Can I kiss you?" Bucky smiles.

"Yes, always yes," Lexa leans into him as he kisses her. After a moment, they separate and Lex turns to Maria, "Ready."

Maria smirks, "Let's go."

In the conference room are agents from both the FBI and ATF. They grill Lex for any information on the compound, cult beliefs, and members. Sliding a photo across the table, FBI Agent Birch asks, "Do you know this person?"

Lex's stomach churns as she recognizes the face, "Levi Michael Walsh. He was my stepbrother."

"He's now the leader of the cult and is threatening deadly force if anyone attempts to enter the compound. We'd like you to try to talk to him. You know him and understand their ways."

"I don't think he'd take kindly to that," Lex counters.

"Why is that?" Agent Birch asks, curiously.

"I killed his father and escaped the compound. I'm probably the last person he'll speak to," she explains.

"I see," Birch raises his eyebrow, "We'd still like you to join us. Your insight could be invaluable."

Lex gives a curt nod.

"Can you be ready in ten minutes?"

"I'm ready now," Lex lifts her go bag onto her shoulder.

"Great. Helicopter's on the roof," Birch leads the way out.

"Good luck," Maria says as Lex passes her.

"Thanks," Lex follows the other agents out, heading back to the one place she dreaded most in this world.

–

Standing on a ridge overlooking the compound, Lex pulls out her binoculars and surveys the area.

"What are you doing?" Birch asks.

"Looking," Lex says.

"For what?"

"Activity. Has there been any communication with them?"

"He accepted a walkie-talkie but has been very curt answering any questions.

"Can you take a look at this, please?" Birch's voice has a slight edge to it as he rolls out a large sheet of paper.

Lex looks over the map of the compound and begins pointing things out, "This is all housing. This is the school. This is the chapel. There is a bunker underneath for the women and children and a tunnel that leads out to the southwest. There were plans to add more when I left."

"What kind of firepower are we looking at?"

"I wasn't privy to much of that but a lot."

"Is there any chance this could turn into a mass casualty event?"

Lex stares at Birch for a second, "It's possible but it would be a last resort. Levi is despot. He wants all of the power and control he can have. He won't give it up but if he's backed into a corner, I wouldn't put anything past him."

"Alexandria?" The radio crackles to life, "Alexandria, is that you? Have you finally come home?"

The voice causes a chill down Lex's spine. She immediately feels nauseated.

"Talk to him!" Birch points to the radio.

"No," Lex balks.

"This is the first time he has reached out. If you can get him to talk, maybe we can end this."

Lex puts her head in her hands and takes a deep breath, "Fine."

"Stay calm with him. Don't let him goad you. Ask if they need anything. Try to get us an in."

Lex nods and picks up the walkie-talkie, "Hello Levi."

"Alexandria! My long lost sister. Have you come back to rejoin us?" Levi's malevolence seeps through the radio.

"Is everyone okay, Levi? Do you need anything for your people?"

"We're all just fine here. Our only problem is these feds thinking they should be able to change our way of life. Are you trying to help them? Things have changed here since you ran away, Alexandria. I should be thanking you."

"For what?"

"For killing our father. It allowed us to finally move past the old ways and into the full light of God. It called forth the true leadership."

Lex goes cold, "That being you?"

"Yes, dear sister. Had you stayed, you would have seen."

"Is there anything we can provide you with? Food? Medical supplies? Anything?” Lex pushes.

“And what would you want in exchange for this generous offer?” Levi practically growls.

“Some of the children are sick,” whispers Birch.

“We understand that the children are ill,” Lex says.

“The children are taken care of,” Levi says.

“We can help them, Levi. Please.”

“I’ll give you the children.”

“What can we give you?” Lex asks.

“You.”

“What?”

“You in exchange for the children. You can come in and negotiate for us,” Levi says.

Lex feels sick. The thought of going anywhere near Levi was sickening but knowing the needs of the children, Lex knew there was only one answer, “Done.”

“Agent Green! He might only be inviting you in to kill you!” Birch exclaims.

“Am I worth more than, how many children?” Lex argues.

“At least 20.”

“It’s done,” Lex removes her utility belt and weapons. When the line of children begins to march towards the gate accompanied by a woman, Lex advances. Some of the older children carried the babies and smaller children. As they get closer, Lex recognizes the woman accompanying them. Sarah was her closest friend as she grew up. The gates open and the children walk out as Lex walks in.

“Hello Alexandria,” Sarah nods at her. “If you will follow me I will take you to Levi.”

“Hello Sarah. How are you?”

“I am very well. I was sad when you left but I see now that it was to help me fulfill my purpose.”

“Your purpose?” Lex asks carefully.

“As the wife of our leader. He took me as his first wife. It is the honor of my life to be by his side,” Sarah smiles.

“I see,” Lex says.

“No, you don’t. But you will, you will.”

Lex was led into the chapel where the entire commune sat as Levi stood before them.

“Here she is! My lambs, here is the woman who killed my father, one of our great leaders. And now, she returns with those who would force us from our home, take our God-given right to bear arms, and who will always persecute us for our beliefs. We will not stand for it!” Levi shouts.

Lex stared at the man who had abused her for years and knew nothing she said would calm him.

“Come along, Alexandria,” Sarah takes Lex’s arm and drags her up the aisle. Murmurings of murderer and traitor follow Lex as she approaches Levi.

“On your knees,” Levi says to her, “beg for your life.”

“No,” Lex says clearly.

“On your knees, now,” Levi holds up a detonator, “beg for your life and the lives of everyone here.”

Lex knows that whether or not she gives in, Levi has no plan to get out of here alive. She assesses the situation and makes the only call she can. Pulling the one knife she had kept on her person, Lex lunges for Levi and manages to get him to drop the detonator. A tussle ensues and after only a few seconds, the knife slides into Levi’s carotid and he falls to the floor.

“NO!” screams Sarah as she kneels next to him and watches her husband bleed out. “NO! LEVI!”

“Finish it,” Levi whispers to her with his last breath. Sarah and Lex lock eyes for a moment before they both lunge for the detonator.

–

Bucky paces his room. It had been 24 hours since Lex had been called away and he was irritable with the lack of information he had received. The TV in his room was tuned to the national news channel that was covering the standoff. He was kicking himself for not having gone with you. He should have insisted but he understood the need to face your past.

“There is movement here at the compound. It looks like the children are coming out! This is breaking right now. We are at the Torchlight Compound in New Mexico where the FBI and ATF have been in a three day standoff. It appears that the compound is releasing the children to authorities. And wait- an agent is entering the compound! It looks as if the compound is finally allowing law enforcement in to negotiate…”

Bucky’s eyes glue to the tv where he watches as Lex enters the gates, speaks to another woman, and then follows her into one of the buildings. His gut clenches knowing what you must be going through as she enters. She’s strong enough for this, he reassures himself, repeating the words as a mantra.

“Bucky!” Steve comes through his door with Nat and Sam on his heels.

“You saw?” Bucky asks.

“Yes. She’ll be okay,” Steve says.

“I know, I know. She’s strong enough for this,” Bucky says again. “Right?” His voice strains out the last word.

“Yes. She is,” Nat says, “Because of you.”

“Because of all of us,” Bucky says, his eyes glued to the tc.

They watched the tv, their only lifeline to Lex at the moment. The reporter droned on, repeating information from earlier and occasionally showing clips from the last few days. She breaks in announcing that while she can’t reveal the name of the agent who entered, they were getting reports that the agent had close ties to the cult. It was as she was announcing this that people began streaming out of the chapel and gunshots began ringing out. The reporter ran and it was obvious the cameraman was hit as he screamed and the camera hit the ground. Just before the feed cut, they watched in horror as the building Lex had entered, exploded.

“No!” Bucky screams.

Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, “She got out, Bucky. I’m sure of it.”

“How? How are you so sure?” Bucky yells.

“Let’s assume she did until we know any different,” Nat says.

“We gotta go. Let’s go!” Bucky stumbles towards the door.

“We can’t, Buck. We can’t bring more attention to this,” Sam says as he blocks the door.

“Move,” Bucky growls.

“I can’t let you go, Buck,” Steve joins Sam.

“Steve, Sam, get out of my way!” Bucky's voice rises.

“You can’t fight all of us,” Nat says gently.

Bucky clenches his fists, anger at his friends for holding him back quickly gives way to his fear, “What if she’s gone?”

“I’ll find out. Just give me some time,” Natasha begs.

Bucky nods, dropping down to sit on his bed and cradling his head as his worst fears play over and over.

Nat returned an hour later, “Everything is crazy down there .There are several people hurt. A lot of people didn’t make it out of the chapel. They don’t have word on Lex, yet. I’ll keep trying.”

She quietly slips out again while Steve and Sam stay, waiting with him. When Nat returns later, Bucky jumps up, “Anything?”

Natasha nods, “She’s injured but she’s alive. Tony’s prepping the quinjet. Let’s go,” Nat leads the way out.

–

“Agent Green?”

“Agent Birch, come in,” Lex invites the man standing in the sliver of open curtain of the emergency department.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Birch smiles as he enters.

“Thank you. I’m sure you have some questions. Take a seat,” Lex motions to the chair beside her hospital bed.

“I just need your statement,” Birch takes out his notebook and pen.

Lex relates everything that occurred since she entered the compound up until her disarming of Levi and then explains, “Sarah and I locked eyes and then went for the detonator. I got to it first and disarmed it. Sarah got away from me and I knew she was going to the bomb to set it off. I got as many people out as I could. When Levi pulled out the detonator, some of their faces told me they had no idea but some wouldn’t budge. I ran out the side door and made it maybe fifteen feet before I was shot in the shoulder, then the building exploded and I was thrown. I woke up here.” Lex paused for a moment before asking the question she dreaded, “How many did we lose?”

“We’re still sifting through the rubble. So far it’s forty-three dead but you saved twenty-nine children and more than a dozen members who did escape the chapel. Remember those.”

Lex nods, “Do the other statements corroborate mine?”

“I’m not really supposed to say but, the hell with it, some do and some don’t. Don’t worry about it,” Birch gives a small smile as he stands up. When the curtain flies wide open a second later, Birch has his hand on his gun as he takes a stance to fight.

Bucky stops suddenly seeing the man in a threatening pose.

“Bucky!” Lex smiles, amused at his clamorous entrance. “It’s okay, Birch. Stand down. This is my friend, Bucky.”

“Hi,” Birch looks over the Winter Soldier. Certainly not who he would have expected her to be with but he glad she had someone.

“Hi,” Bucky says but his attention is on Lex as he makes his way to the side of her bed. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay,” Lex smiles at the beautiful face she wondered if she’d ever get to see again as she ran from the chapel.

“Well, thank you for everything,” Birch’s voice said from the doorway. “I’ll, uh, leave you two alone.”

“Good luck with everything, Birch,” Lex said, never breaking eye contact with Bucky.

The curtain squeaked as it pulled closed and Bucky reached to touch Lex’s face. It was littered with tiny cuts, her arm was in a sling, and she seemed to be holding herself rigid.

“You’re hurt. Tell me,” Bucky looks over her with concern.

"Don't worry. It's nothing terrible. Just a through and through to the shoulder, a concussion, a couple of broken ribs, and some bumps and bruises."

Bucky nods, tears in his eyes, "Well, you know I'll be here to take care of you until you're healed."

"You have been since I met you," Lex says as she reaches for his hand.

Bucky stares down at her hand in his before lifting it to his lips for a kiss and his heart nearly bursts at the tender look Lex gave. Only a few weeks ago, she would have quelled at the touch and run away from affection. Now, she accepted and returned it. The other night they had kissed, her sitting on his lap for what seemed like hours, before falling asleep together.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. The, uh, team held me back until we knew something," Bucky says.

"That was probably best," Lex pauses.

Bucky picks up on her hesitation, "What is it, doll?"

"Are they here?"

"Yeah, they'll be here any minute."

"Then I have two requests before we’re interrupted. First, kiss me, please," Lex bites her lips as she watches a grin spread across his face as he leans forward. It's as perfect as she remembers when his lips meet hers. When they finally part, they sit smiling at each other for a minute.

"And your second request?" Bucky asks.

"Take me home. I want out of here."

"You got it." Bucky barely gets the words out before the rest of the team is clamoring around.

Lex finds herself laughing as they all speak at once but then winces at the pain in her ribs. Finally, Tony raises his hands and declares, "Alright, enough. You ready to get out of here, kid?"

"Yeah," Lex nods enthusiastically.

"I'll go wrangle a nurse," he winks as he heads out the door.

Lex is grateful when a couple of hours later, she is sitting gingerly in the quinjet headed for home. Home with Bucky.

–

Over the next few weeks, Bucky watched over Lex as she healed and, this time, she welcomed his presence. Lex’s shoulder healed up pretty quickly but the broken ribs took a while. Bucky was always gentle and treated her as if she was fragile until Lex had told him enough. They’re relationship continued with the physical part growing each day. Lex still shied away at times, overwhelmed and overstimulated by something that was still so foreign to her, and Bucky was more kind and gentle than she ever thought a human, especially a man, could be. It had any apprehension, all of her fears, melting away. Or, perhaps, morphing into the love that seemed to grow with each passing day.

One night as Lex and Bucky were wrapped up in their weekly movie night, she made a decision. Lex rested her head on his chest, his arm around her as they watched. When the movie reached its conclusion, Bucky turned the tv off and kissed the top of her head, “Do you want to get some ice cream or something, doll?”

“No. I, um… I want to go to bed,” Lex answered.

“Oh, okay-”

“With you,” Lex interrupted.

“Lex?” Bucky stared at her as he tried to make sense of the statement.

“Will you make love to me, Bucky? Please?”

“But, you… your ribs- You’re still healing,” Bucky stuttered.

Lex smiled and bit her lip, “I’m fine, baby, really. I love you and I’m ready. I want this, I want you. Unless… Unless you don’t want me, that, anymore-”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean- I want to be with you. I just want you to be sure.”

Lex smiled brightly and nudged his nose with hers, “I’m sure.”

Their lips met and Bucky was sure his heart was going to beat out of his chest. He had imagined this moment a thousand times. Even when he was unsure if she would ever be able to handle his touch, he had hoped, even pleaded with whatever god would listen, that this beautiful, amazing woman would one day be able to accept, not just his touch, but his love. He had placed his heart squarely in her hands from the first moment his eyes had met hers. She had looked away quickly, withdrawing into herself, but Bucky had known, somehow in that moment, that they were kindred spirits and soulmates.

Pulling back for a moment, he looks deep into Lex’s eyes, desperate for her to understand everything he was feeling, “I love you. I love you so much more than I can explain. I don’t have the words.”

Lex smiles, her eyes luminous, “Then show me.”

Bucky could barely hold himself back as he entered her body for the first time. Their fingers intertwined and foreheads pressed together as they both sighed with pleasure and fulfillment. When he looked down at her, his breath caught at the sight of tears.

“Did I hurt you?” Bucky questioned gently.

“No, no. I didn’t know it could be like this. I love you, Bucky,” Lex shuddered as the words left her.

“I love you,” he whispered as he kissed away the tears.

“Bucky,” Lex moaned. She never imagined that the physical could be like this. It was as if their souls had connected and her world had finally set itself right. Her scars would always be there, but with Bucky’s help, they had become just a part of the story instead of her whole story. She would be scarred always, an enigma sometimes, but now, her whole self. A whole person, loved and loving. The way it should be.

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