#but there are less than i thought when making this though

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

"Seriously!" Bradley yelled. "Stop reaching for the steering wheel!" He slowed down as all three of his passengers started loudly begging him. "You want to look at a bunch of college girls who couldn't care less about you more than you want burgers?" "Hell yes!" Payback sang as Bradley put his turn signal on and pulled into the parking lot where the collegiate softball team was holding a very popular looking car wash. There were so many cars lined up, and a lot of men milling around. Bradley parked next to a pickup truck and eyed the women in wet tee shirts and bathing suits while Jake pounded on the back of his seat. 

Hahah they are truly just teenage boys in grown up bodies 😂

"They are practically naked! Get out so I can get out!" Jake whined. Bradley groaned. "Yes, I see them. And don't call them girls. They're women. And please don't touch any of them. Oh my god, I'm already so embarrassed." "Let's go," Payback said, opening his door. "Time to flirt." "They don't want to flirt with you," Bradley muttered. "You're thirty five."

Bradley wants to be swallowed by the ground right then and there 😂

Bradley headed in the opposite direction, cradling his forehead in his hand. The last thing he wanted was to try to chat up some nineteen year old. He was almost thirty seven, for fuck's sake. But if they wanted to humiliate themselves, that was fine with him. But it didn't mean he needed to watch.

He physically can't watch haha

Jake's shirt was mysteriously missing, and Payback was spraying the hose while a few of the girls screamed. 

And they are only a minute in hahaha

 "Yeah, well, the deans at the college are always amazed by how much money our car wash fundraisers make every summer," you said, smiling at him.

I wonder why lol

"A bit of a handful" is an understatement 😅

"Your friends look like a bit of a handful," you told him. Bradley was treated to the sight of Coyote dancing to the music in the spray of the water.  "Just show them women in bathing suits, and this is what they turn into." You were laughing and gaping up at him, as Bradley quickly added, "They're harmless though! I promise! Your teammates have nothing to worry about! They just like to flirt."

"I used to play third base." And now Bradley was biting his knuckle, because he was thinking about getting to third base with you, unzipping those little shorts in the backseat of his Bronco and slipping his hand inside. "Oh god," he swallowed hard. He was worse than the rest of the guys who were currently covered in soapy water and surrounded by softball players.

Now he understands the others 🤭

You did look a little older than twenty two. And that's probably why you weren't actively washing the cars. He must have been staring for too long, because you were smirking again as you held out your hand and introduced yourself. "Head coach of USD women's softball." He took your smaller hand in his. "My name is Bradley, and I'm really hoping you're going to tell me you're like twenty eight years old?"

I love how realistic he is and looking for someone his age

"So, you played third base? Which school?" "University of Oregon." "Shit. You must be good." "I'm very good," you told him, and Bradley squeezed your hand a little tighter.  "I'll bet you are." "Bet I can guess which position you play," you told him before you bit your lip, and Bradley swore he was never going to let go of your hand. "Okay. Go ahead and guess." "But...if I'm right, you owe me a drink," you said coyly. Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "Then you better fucking get this right."

Their banter and chemistry is already superb👏🏻

Bradley took his sunglasses off with his left hand, and your smile grew. "Listen, as soon as you told me you're not a student, I was absolutely going to ask you out. So all you did was make it easier for me." You pressed your lips together in pleasure, and it was so adorable. "You're still holding my hand." "I know," he confirmed with a nod. "When are you free? Tomorrow?"

And if he could choose he woul9let go of that hand ever 🤭

He smirked at the way you were sassing him before asking, "Is it home or away?" "Home. At USD." "You gonna invite me to watch?" he asked, and you looked so damn pleased with yourself now.  "Would you be coming just to ogle the players?" you asked, nodding toward the soaking wet women who were now spraying the hose at Payback. "You know they wear their uniforms to the games instead of bathing suits, right?" He narrowed his eyes and glared at you playfully. "It's much more likely that I'd be ogling their coach." "Oh, I like that," you told him. "You can come then. And we can get that drink afterwards?"

They are such a great match 👏🏻😍

You glanced to the side and then met his eyes again. "It looks like your car's done. And your friends look like an actual disaster." Bradley groaned as he saw the three of them getting the soap hosed off so they could leave. "Yeah, let me go babysit them for the afternoon. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Tomorrow can't come soon enough for Bradley 😌

 "I can't believe we all struck out today," Payback whined. "We should have just stopped at In-N-Out." Bradley bit his lip and shook with silent laughter. "Yeah, you all struck out. What a shame." But he was already thinking about where he was going to take you out for a second date.

Bradley just shook his head. "Wring out your shirts and get in the Bronco. Nat's already going to kill us, I hope you know that." "Worth it," the three of them said in unison. And while Bradley waited for them to dry off a bit, he sent you a text.

He truly is babysitting them 😅

Hahah this is so good 😂 I really hope Nat gets to hear of this, she is gonna roast them to no end and deserving so 👏🏻

So Fresh, So Clean | Rooster x Reader

Summary: At first, Bradley is mortified when the guys force him to stop at a carwash featuring bikini clad women from a college softball team. But when he meets you there, he starts to think he should thank his friends instead.

Warnings: Fluff and swearing

Length: 2000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

I wrote this for a request and for @wicked-remarks Summer Festival! Check out my masterlist for more!

"Dude, stop at In-N-Out. I'm starving," Payback whined from the passenger seat as Bradley zipped down the road in his Bronco.

"Nah, just stop at Starbucks," Jake argued from the backseat. "I need more caffeine."

"We're going to be late," Bradley groaned, passing the fifth fast food place while Payback whined and pointed out the window. 

"We told Nat we'd be there around noon," Coyote said from the back. "I mean, if we stopped for food, we could grab something for her too."

Bradley rubbed his hand over his face, wondering why he had agreed to drive all of these idiots. "Guys, if I stop, I'm only stopping once. Then straight to the beach. So decide what you want."

Then Coyote started stuttering at the same time Payback said, "Holy shit! Pull over! Pull over!" Bradley looked where Payback was pointing, and then he saw a sign that said University of San Diego Softball along with a car wash and a lot of scantily clad women.

"Fuck caffeine. We're stopping here!" Jake said, practically climbing into the front seat. "Come on, Rooster!" He started trying to grab the steering wheel, and Bradley had to smack his arm away.

"Seriously!" Bradley yelled. "Stop reaching for the steering wheel!" He slowed down as all three of his passengers started loudly begging him. "You want to look at a bunch of college girls who couldn't care less about you more than you want burgers?"

"Hell yes!" Payback sang as Bradley put his turn signal on and pulled into the parking lot where the collegiate softball team was holding a very popular looking car wash. There were so many cars lined up, and a lot of men milling around. Bradley parked next to a pickup truck and eyed the women in wet tee shirts and bathing suits while Jake pounded on the back of his seat. 

"They are practically naked! Get out so I can get out!" Jake whined.

"Chill!" Bradley said, loud enough that he had the attention of all three of them. "You guys need to be on your best behavior. I'm not kidding!"

"Look at them," Coyote said, pulling his sunglasses lower on his nose and whistling. "These girls are hot."

Bradley groaned. "Yes, I see them. And don't call them girls. They're women. And please don't touch any of them. Oh my god, I'm already so embarrassed."

"Let's go," Payback said, opening his door. "Time to flirt."

"They don't want to flirt with you," Bradley muttered. "You're thirty five."

"I dunno about that," Jake drawled, fixing his hair. "That redhead looks like she might like a daddy."

"Oh my fucking Lord, we are going to get kicked out of a fundraiser," Bradley groaned as he climbed out of his door and was nearly trampled by Jake.

"Relax man, I'm about to pay for your car to get washed," he said, shoving Bradley out of the way to get over to the redhead holding a hose. "Hey, sweetheart, my name's Jake...."

Bradley headed in the opposite direction, cradling his forehead in his hand. The last thing he wanted was to try to chat up some nineteen year old. He was almost thirty seven, for fuck's sake. But if they wanted to humiliate themselves, that was fine with him. But it didn't mean he needed to watch.

He thought he had found a nice spot to stand and wait while listening to a car stereo blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. He was out of the way of the guys who were being roped in to helping the girls wash cars now. Jake's shirt was mysteriously missing, and Payback was spraying the hose while a few of the girls screamed.  

"Grown ass men," Bradley muttered, pushing his aviators up higher on his nose.

He heard soft laughter and turned to see you standing next to him. And of course you were gorgeous. And young. And looking up at him with a smirk that he should not have found adorable. 

"Yeah, well, the deans at the college are always amazed by how much money our car wash fundraisers make every summer," you said, smiling at him. He found himself smiling back. 

"My friends almost made me wreck trying to get me to pull over, so I guess that does make sense," Bradley replied with a nod. You were the only one on the team who was still dry, and he could see the straps of your bathing suit tied above the collar of your USD Softball tee shirt. You had on some tiny denim shorts and flip flops, and Bradley bit back a groan and forced himself to look away from you. 

"Your friends look like a bit of a handful," you told him. Bradley was treated to the sight of Coyote dancing to the music in the spray of the water. 

"Just show them women in bathing suits, and this is what they turn into." You were laughing and gaping up at him, as Bradley quickly added, "They're harmless though! I promise! Your teammates have nothing to worry about! They just like to flirt."

"Teammates?" you asked, head cocked to one side.

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, really trying so hard not to look directly at you. Fuck, this was getting difficult. He could tell that your bathing suit was red through your snug fitting white tee shirt, and now he was looking at your chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose over his sunglasses and rolled his shoulders, trying to focus on the dirt being rinsed off a filthy car. "Your teammates? Uh, are you a senior? Or team captain or something?"

Your laughter rang out as you said, "No, not exactly."

"Oh. Uh, what position do you play?" He knew he was rambling now. Really, he should just get out of here. 

"I used to play third base."

And now Bradley was biting his knuckle, because he was thinking about getting to third base with you, unzipping those little shorts in the backseat of his Bronco and slipping his hand inside. "Oh god," he swallowed hard. He was worse than the rest of the guys who were currently covered in soapy water and surrounded by softball players. 

"I'm their coach."

Bradley froze, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "You're the coach? The softball coach?"

"Yeah. They're not my teammates."

Bradley turned to face you and let his eyes drift down your body and back up to your face. You did look a little older than twenty two. And that's probably why you weren't actively washing the cars. He must have been staring for too long, because you were smirking again as you held out your hand and introduced yourself. "Head coach of USD women's softball."

He took your smaller hand in his. "My name is Bradley, and I'm really hoping you're going to tell me you're like twenty eight years old?"

"I'm thirty," you said slowly, still holding his hand and looking at him with a confused smile. 

"Even better," he said, smiling happily and pulling you a little closer by your hand. "So, you played third base? Which school?"

"University of Oregon."

"Shit. You must be good."

"I'm very good," you told him, and Bradley squeezed your hand a little tighter. 

"I'll bet you are."

"Do you play?" you asked, really sizing him up now. 

"Yeah, just on a Navy rec league. But I'm very good, too."

"Bet I can guess which position you play," you told him before you bit your lip, and Bradley swore he was never going to let go of your hand. 

"Okay. Go ahead and guess."

"But...if I'm right, you owe me a drink," you said coyly.

Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "Then you better fucking get this right."

With a bright laugh, you told him, "You look like a shortstop."

"Damn. You are good."

"I'm right?" you asked, and he nodded. "You owe me a drink."

Bradley took his sunglasses off with his left hand, and your smile grew. "Listen, as soon as you told me you're not a student, I was absolutely going to ask you out. So all you did was make it easier for me."

You pressed your lips together in pleasure, and it was so adorable. "You're still holding my hand."

"I know," he confirmed with a nod. "When are you free? Tomorrow?"

You licked your lips. "I'm coaching a game tomorrow, Bradley. You know, since I'm not a student."

He smirked at the way you were sassing him before asking, "Is it home or away?"

"Home. At USD."

"You gonna invite me to watch?" he asked, and you looked so damn pleased with yourself now. 

"Would you be coming just to ogle the players?" you asked, nodding toward the soaking wet women who were now spraying the hose at Payback. "You know they wear their uniforms to the games instead of bathing suits, right?"

He narrowed his eyes and glared at you playfully. "It's much more likely that I'd be ogling their coach."

"Oh, I like that," you told him. "You can come then. And we can get that drink afterwards?"

"Absolutely," Bradley said, and he finally released your hand as he added, "Can I get your number?"

"Mmhmm." 

He retrieved his phone from his pocket, unlocked it and handed it to you. He watched you enter your contact information, and then you handed it back to him, letting your fingers linger on his. "Text me later today, and I'll send you a ticket to the game."

"Sounds good, coach. I can't wait."

You glanced to the side and then met his eyes again. "It looks like your car's done. And your friends look like an actual disaster."

Bradley groaned as he saw the three of them getting the soap hosed off so they could leave. "Yeah, let me go babysit them for the afternoon. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, you will." And then you put your hand on his chest and kissed his cheek before you turned away to help one of your players who was calling for your attention. 

Bradley tucked his phone away and watched you as he made his way toward the Bronco. You waved to him and he smiled back before turning to assess his three sopping wet friends. 

"Rooster, you idiot!" Coyote said, dripping water on the pavement. "You just stood there like a lump, man."

"We got phone numbers," Jake drawled, holding his wet phone while Bradley snorted. 

"Yeah, we did," Payback said, high fiving Jake. "And we're going to meet up with Sylvia and Taylor later tonight at a bar on their campus."

Bradley just shook his head. "Wring out your shirts and get in the Bronco. Nat's already going to kill us, I hope you know that."

"Worth it," the three of them said in unison. And while Bradley waited for them to dry off a bit, he sent you a text. 

Can't wait for tomorrow.

And right before he pulled out of the parking lot, you wrote back.

XOXO

And there was a ticket to the USD softball game for tomorrow afternoon attached. 

"Hey, what the fuck?" Jake said as Bradley drove down the road toward the beach. He had his phone to his ear as he added, "Taylor gave me a bogus phone number!"

Payback scrambled to unlock his phone, and a second later, he had it on speaker. "Oops, it looks like the person who gave you this number is not actually interested in you! Better luck next time!"

"Damn," Coyote said, completely crestfallen. "Sylvia gave us a bogus number, too."

"I spent fifty bucks to get this thing washed for nothing!" Jake complained, gesturing around the Bronco.

"I can't believe we all struck out today," Payback whined. "We should have just stopped at In-N-Out."

Bradley bit his lip and shook with silent laughter. "Yeah, you all struck out. What a shame." But he was already thinking about where he was going to take you out for a second date.

-----------------------------

The way Rooster flirts, just holy shit. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

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[gay-dorito-dust]

‘What’s going on I can’t see!’

‘Shut up you’ll wake them both up with your squawking!’

‘Well tell John to move his fat head!’

‘Hey!’

Yelena, Ava, Alexei and John -while highly trained combatants- seemed to lack all sense of that training when it came to trying to claw their ways in looking over one another to see you and Bob cuddled up on the sofa.

Why?

Yelena and Ava knew you had a thing for Bob seemingly the moment he flashed that awkward but cute smile, where are John and Alexei were trying to get Bob to understand what it was that he felt towards you, but neither of them were that good of advisors for poor Bob in anything but bad advice and stuff that would only confuse the powerful but meek and good hearted man. Needless to say all four of your teammates were just wanting you two to cut the bullshit and the longing stares across the room, protective nature during missions, and the puppy dog pining and yearning and just be together.

That and Yelena and Ava made a bet with John and Alexei on who’d get you both together first and neither team was content with loosing to the other.

So when Ava phased into Yelena’s room to tell her that she saw you and Bob cuddling in the sofa in the living area of the Watchtower, Alexei and John coincidentally were walking past at the same time and happened to overhear Bob’s name and joined in on the conversation. ‘What about Bob?’ John asked.

Ava looked over to them both. ‘I saw him and (name) cuddling on the sofa,’ she repeats before looking at Yelena. ‘I told you that if we left them alone they’d get together eventually, both of them just needed time to be on their side and here we are.’

Alexei howls in laughter as he claps John on the shoulder with more force than he should as John tried to conceal his wince. ‘So the golden guardian finally makes his move, we are really good advisors Walker!’ He says as Ava and Yelena started to voice their thoughts and opinions on the matter of who actually won in getting you and Bob together.

‘Hey! No! Me and Ava were the ones that got them together not you!’ Yelena exclaims as she stands up from her bed with Ava following closely behind. ‘Besides what advice could you have possibly given Bob that would’ve helped in any situation?’ She asks as John and Alexei shared a look before looking back at Yelena.

‘Just go for it.’ John shrugged.

‘Show off your dominance in front of them and they shall fall at your feet!’ Alexei added.

Yelena and Ava looked to one another as though to ask the other how it was possible to be teammates with these two idiots who couldn’t organise a picnic never less a parade, they both felt bad for Bob as they could tell that he was given contradicting advice from both men that wouldn’t have helped him either way. So they assumed that either Bob did what felt right to him and made a move on you, or you made the first move and told him or secrete option number three; you just coincidentally fell asleep against one another and they all were making nothing into something that it’s not.

‘And you think that works?’ Ava asked, raising her brow.

‘Yep.’ Alexei said.

‘Kinda but it’s a 50/50 thing.’ John said once again shrugging his shoulders.

‘Yeah and I’m pretty sure women are thankful for you for that.’ Yelena waved him off as she moved past both men and into the hallway and strides towards the living area with Ava, John and Alexei following afterwards like a bunch of ducklings that didn’t want to get separated from one another, personally tripping one another up as they tried to not seem so eager in seeing you and Bob do something as innocent as cuddling on a sofa. Which had lead up to where they were now.

‘What’s going on I can’t see!’

‘Shut up you’ll wake them both up with your squawking!’

‘Well tell John to move his fat head!’

‘Hey!’

‘Yeah it’s not John’s fault his head is so fat!’

‘Alexei what the fuck?’

Their squabbling did nothing but ruin your moment of peace as you wake to being fulling cuddled in Bob’s arms as his head rested atop of your own, his hands at your waist tightened briefly before relaxing again. This would’ve been heaven to you had you not been rudely awoken to the sound of whom you could tell was Yelena, Alexei, Ava and John acting like children fighting over the last cookie in the cookie jar.

You had liked Bob for a while and Yelena and Ava were quick to notice this and tried to help you in growing the confidence in telling him your feelings, which you were thankful for but knew it wasn’t needed and yet too kind to say anything to them, only just sitting awkwardly on Yelena’s bed as she and Ava gave you what looked and felt like a million of options in how you could confess to Bob and not a single one of them felt right.

But as for how you managed to end up cuddling Bob, you couldn’t recall as it was late at night but it was a memory you wouldn’t forget about in a million lifetimes. It started out simply enough with the pair of you being unable to sleep for whatever reason, the peace between you both was comforting as you and Bob caught one another stealing glances at one another, smiling and looking away before doing it all again before you suggested watching a movie to take your mind off of things.

Bob agreed and before you knew it, the movie was halfway over and you were already pressed into Bob’s side, head buried into his shoulder as his hand traced patterns into your waist. It felt natural and unique you, there was no grand gestures of love but more or less a mutual understanding that what you felt for one another was beyond platonic, beyond anything either of you felt before and no words were exchanged that night; nothing else but forehead kisses and knowing smiles were all either of you needed to know that from this point forward things were going to be different from here on out and both of you were just happy to be within close proximity of one another.

Yet the sweetest moment of your life had to be ruined by the chaos of the morning after thanks to your team mates arguing in the doorway that you could just see from the corner of your eye. You didn’t dare move in fear of walking Bob, but you knew if you didn’t do anything he’d wake up rudely all the same, and you didn’t want that when it seemed as though he hadn’t had a good nights rest in a long, long time.

‘Guys.’ You hissed, causing Yelena, Ava, John and Alexei to shut up. ‘Can you all fuck off for five minutes? Bob couldn’t sleep last night and what he needs now is all of you shouting.’

‘Only if you answer one question.’ John replied.

‘Make it quick.’ You snapped.

‘Who confessed to who?’ Yelena asked.

‘And how did you do it.’ Alexei added.

You sighed. ‘We both did and we just kind of agreed that we liked each other, it just came naturally to us both.’ You told them as a silence fell over the room, one that lasted long enough for you to truly believed that they all had left, only for that silence to be broken as all four of your teammates collectively groaned. You couldn’t help but smile at this because while they got on your nerves for your feelings for Bob, they were still your teammates that never failed to make everyday an adventure of chaotic proportions.

‘No grand gestures? No kissing? No dominance of power?’ Alexei says in disbelief.

‘So…no one won?’ Ava followed as you laughed.

‘Nope, sorry to break it to you all.’ You replied as they all groaned again and left the living room to their respective rooms, blaming each other for their losses as four doors closed in unison. It wasn’t until after their departure did you feel Bob move, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he held you close to his chest, sighing deeply as though a huge weight had been taken off of him and your hand instinctively reached for his arm and began to trace patterns into it to calm him.

‘Are they gone?’ He asks you in a gruff voice, not wanting to wake just yet but not wanting to fall back to sleep without you.

‘Yes they’re gone baby.’ You tell him as you kissed his jaw, burrowing yourself into his chest as the feeling of sleep creeps back in, urging you to rejoin your golden guardian in the realm of dreams, and stay there indefinitely until you were both rudely awakened by your teammates who will still be sour at their losses. ‘They’re gone.’ You echoed in a softer tone as the fight to keep your eyes open was a loosing one.

‘Good, now come back to sleep, I miss you.’ He says cutely and you couldn’t help but smile as warmth spread through your chest. ‘But I’m right here in your arms, how can you miss me?’ You asked him in amusement as you felt him tighten his grip on you and hide his face into your head before continuing. ‘You may be in my arms but you’re not in my dreams with me, out of my reach, so come back to me so I can cuddle you in my dreams too.’ Bob was too precious for you as you eagerly rejoined him in the realm of dreams, where you were cuddled in his arms also, sat on a field within a countrywide somewhere tucked underneath a weeping willow as flowers bloomed before you both.

Your nightmares were no longer existent when your dreams were as beautiful as this and the man you were now lucky enough to call your own as he peppered kisses to your neck and shoulders.

[luckthebard]

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about storytelling vs. gameplay in Actual Play and finally had some solid thoughts coalesce around it when looking at Worlds Beyond Number and Thresher.

Thoughts after the cut:

This is going to be a hot take but I think, increasingly, Worlds Beyond Number is not an Actual Play but a collaborative audio novel/drama. While the margins between those things might seem on some level semantic, I think they’re really key for thinking about how Actual Play is different from other kinds of storytelling media. WBN was originally conceived of and advertised as “like the games you run in your living room” but as it has gone on the podcast has moved so far away from that that it is no longer delivering on that original conceit. This does not mean it is bad! I think WBN is actually succeeding more on a storytelling level as it sheds more of its obvious gameplay. But it’s gotten to a point where the game mechanics are either edited out and therefore not central to what is heard by the audience, or incidental to the story being told, which is driven far more by Brennan as the main worldbuilding storyteller than by game mechanics or player action. When a supposed Actual Play has a key narrative episode that finishes with almost 10 minutes of story narrated solely by the GM with no gameplay rolls or mechanics mentioned, of an epic, hugely narratively important combat, in my mind gameplay has taken enough of a backseat to the storytelling process that the podcast is no longer an Actual Play.

And I think we’ve seen an evolution over time of a lot of Actual Plays de-centering game mechanics or the conceit of gameplay in favor of more crafted narrative beats, to both the benefit and detriment of the stories themselves. In Critical Role for example, C1 and C2 in many ways felt more like a D&D game than C3, if only because of the presence of incidental, seemingly narratively insignificant combat moments. As late as late C2 with the Mighty Nein in Aeor, the players were rolling random encounters that had no relation to the larger endgame plot. This led some viewers to complain about pacing, but made other Actual Play enjoyers happy to the extent it showcased game mechanics and allowed character moments to emerge from the combat mechanics themselves, the core gameplay element of D&D. Contrast that to C3, which very early in the episode count did away with “meaningless” incidental combat and pushed forward with a very clear endgame narrative. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that fan engagement with mechanics really fell off in C3, with less meta about what spell or feat choices meant for character development. Similarly, the sunsetting of the CritRoleStats project, while certainly because founders were just busy and had put years into it already and were ready to move on, also was at least somewhat influenced by having less to work with as gameplay mechanics were emphasized less and less at the table in C3.

If you were to look at a lot of the more professional and academic study and critique of Actual Play, you might be convinced that a move away from centering gameplay and above table mechanics discussions was universally good for the medium, as an emphasis on storytelling over gaming would make it more universally accessible. I would posit though that at least some of this comes from the loudest, most professionally credentialed commentators on Actual Play coming from literature backgrounds, and therefore valuing storytelling and narrative over gaming for audience appeal. But I think that misses the gaming audience of Actual Play, who are less and less catered to as the medium becomes more mainstream.

There’s often not a lot of understanding of the appeal of gaming itself as an object of, especially curative, fan obsession, even as sports fandom exists as a huge example of the wide appeal. I am, pretty loudly, a baseball fan as well as a ttrpg and Actual Play fan. In many ways, these things hold similar appeal to me. I am interested in thinking about the game mechanics and action economy of certain character builds and how they fit into party composition in the same way I might obsess over a pitcher’s ERA and arsenal, as well as what his role is in the starting pitcher rotation or the bullpen. I find the prospect of a matchup between, say, Shohei Ohtani and Zack Wheeler appealing in the same way I’m excited about a mechanically strong D&D party fighting a Beholder. Gaming has long been interesting to people not only as something to participate in, but something to study and analyze. Win scenarios, optimal builds, and gameplay tactics are engaging to viewers as well as players. And I think, increasingly, Actual Play productions either forget this or, if the prevalence of editing gameplay out of edited AP is any indication, do not think the gameplay itself is of value or interest to the audience. Published Actual Play scholarship, in my opinion, continues to make this mistake as well. This has led to an increase of productions which are labeled as Actual Play and ostensibly have a gameplay component but are so far removed from watching/listening to people play a game that it is hard to argue that they are still Actual Play.

Which brings me to Thresher. Thresher was brilliant at threading that needle between production, radio drama vibes, and centered and narratively driving gameplay. I am someone who often complains about Actual Play production and editing doing Too Much but I actually loved the costumes and some of the editing gimmicks on Thresher because all of the storytelling and narrative was still so clearly grounded in the gameplay mechanics. Uses of drive mechanics and character abilities were clearly defined even as the audience could hold their breath in a tense horror atmosphere. Mechanics like Turn the Tide and Jasper’s move as the GM to allow the players to pass him secret notes were fantastic ideas to center player choice in crafting the narrative, and let the players surprise each other, leading to big and exciting moments a the table. The storytelling was enhanced by Abubakar’s above table exclamation of “what the fuck is this??” at the end, because it wasn’t just about the story that had unfolded but that his fellow players had surprised both him and the GM by using their game mechanic options to change the direction of the narrative and the condition of the story. I would love for more Actual Play to remember the value of the audience seeing that or being in on the extra-narrative elements of gameplay that shape story. Not all Actual Play needs to be the same, but I think we’ve lost something in the medium as a whole recently with a shift away from visible mechanics and toward streamlined, almost audio drama style story that just happens to have scaffolding from a tabletop roleplaying game.

[witchslove]

Rivals

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You and Wanda work together but you can’t stand each other, until one day your boss asks the two of you to fake date for a promotion.

Warnings: 18+ nsfw content; power bottom!wanda, top!reader, office sex, oral (w receiving), fingering (w receiving), mommy kink, praise kink, slight angst

A/N: I need a mean older Wanda in my life, when is it my turn?

——————————

It was a beautiful day with a slight chill in the air as you walked down the street towards the Stark building. You had left early for work that day to get a coffee on the way there from your favorite shop, a small space on the corner of your block.

Coffee in hand, you strode to work, thinking to yourself that you couldn’t have a bad day after so many things had gone right. You’d woken up to your first alarm, gotten dressed without second guessing your outfit, and even had time to pick up a drink before heading to your office building.

Not that you had many bad days in the first place - Stark Industries was good to you. Work usually went by fast as you kept busy most days, finding peace in your daily tasks.

There was only one thing that threatened to ruin a perfectly good day at work, and that was Wanda Maximoff.

She’d worked with you since you’d started there and she’d hated you from the beginning. You never knew why nor did you question it for too long, finding that the feeling was mutual.

She was competitive and made it her goal every day to be better than you at your job. She would brush past you, ignoring your presence, while greeting your boss and then promptly find some way to one up you, making sure to jab at you subtly in the process. When others weren’t around, she wasn’t much nicer. She made snide remarks, gave backhanded compliments, and treated you more like you were an intern than her equal.

Despite her less than pleasant behavior, you tried not to let her get to you, but it was hard not to fight back sometimes.

It did bother you at times how she seemed to look down on you. You wondered what you ever could have done to make her dislike you so much. If things were different, you thought you might actually like her or want to be her friend, or at the very least her acquaintance. The first time you saw her, you were taken aback - she was admittedly a very gorgeous woman, which was even more frustrating.

Today was going to be a good day though, you told yourself. You had a cup of your favorite coffee, a song you loved playing in your headphones, and a meeting with your boss that day discussing your recent work, which you knew you’d done flawlessly.

Today was going to be a good day. Was.

What you hadn’t anticipated when you entered the Stark building, swiping your keycard to get to the elevator and going up to the 21st floor, was to see your boss at the front desk, waiting for you with the one and only Wanda Maximoff stood beside him.

She wore a maroon blouse with a fitted black skirt, the color of her shirt making her green eyes stand out, and if she was literally anyone else you would’ve complimented her style. That was another thing about her that was infuriating - she always looked good.

Your boss, Mr. Stark, laughed at something Wanda said before he noticed you and waved you over.

“Y/N, you’re prepared for our meeting today, yes?” Mr. Stark greeted, smiling.

“Yes,” you replied, nodding.

“Perfect, I expect nothing less from you,” he started. “Also, Wanda will be joining us today. I have something very important to talk to the two of you about, regarding our deal with the Osborn group.”

You tried not to let your face fall, forcing a smile and glancing at Wanda, who seemed to be pleased that she was crashing your personal meeting with the boss. You’d wanted the one on one time with him as you’d been itching to bring up a possible promotion ever since one of your staff members resigned. Your numbers had been impressive lately and you were sure he would at least consider it.

Now, unfortunately, Wanda would be part of your meeting and knowing her, she’d probably laugh in your face if she found out you were interested in moving up.

“Sounds good,” you responded as normally as you could, feeling slightly nervous for what was to come.

“See you both at 11,” Stark said, making his exit and leaving the two of you standing by the front desk.

There was a bit of an awkward silence before Wanda spoke. “You don’t seem too excited about me being at the meeting later. Do you not like me?” The redhead teased, fake pouting. “Or did you just want some alone time with Stark? I wouldn’t put it past you to whore yourself out to the boss for a promotion.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not all of us are like you, Wanda,” you replied, trying to get under her skin, despite not actually believing that she was that kind of person. It even slightly offended you that she thought you might be, especially considering you weren’t into men to begin with. “See you at the meeting.”

You walked past her to your office, setting your things down on the desk and running a hand through your hair. It was going to be a long day.

By the time the meeting came around, you’d finished your coffee and gotten some work done to kickstart your day, trying to keep your mind busy after your encounter with Wanda earlier.

You stopped by the break room for a water on your way to the meeting and arrived to the conference room a few minutes early, taking a seat next to the head of the table where Mr. Stark would sit.

The door to the conference room opened slowly and Wanda walked in, taking the seat across from you with a disapproving look on her face.

“You should really invest in some new clothes if you want to impress Stark. Yours look like they came from Goodwill,” she remarked, making a point to look you up and down where you sat. You ignored the way your body heated up at the action.

“At least I don’t dress like I want the boss to bend me over,” you shot back, not missing a beat.

“Oh, do you think about me bent over a lot?” she asked, smirking.

Now all you could think about was what Wanda might look like in such a position and you hoped she couldn’t tell you were blushing.

Before you could come up with something to say back, Stark walked into the room, adjusting the collar of his suit jacket with one hand, the other carrying a set of documents. You and Wanda both sat up straighter and greeted him simultaneously, almost as if you were competing to see who could say something to the man first.

“Glad you’re both on time, we have a lot to cover today,” Stark announced before taking a seat at the head of the table. “Firstly, Y/N, I know this was supposed to be something of a performance review for you. We can reschedule that for a later date. Today’s topic actually involves both of you, which is why I asked Wanda to sit in.”

You felt your stomach turn at the possibilities of what that meant. Maybe he had a project the two of you would have to work together on, or maybe he had finally caught on to your disdain for each other and you were both in trouble for being unprofessional.

Before you could overthink too much, he spoke again. “As you both know, we’re currently in talks of a merger with the Osborn group. They want to give us a percentage of their company in exchange for a shared client base.”

You and Wanda both nodded in acknowledgment, listening intently.

“However, Osborn is a family business that runs on certain values. Mr. Osborn has agreed to the merger under two conditions, the first one being that the CEO of our company be married, which I am. The second condition is that I hire two people to take on the merging process, which means extra work, but extra pay as well.”

He cleared his throat before continuing. “Now, the two of you are my best employees. I want to bring you both in to help with the merger.”

There it was - you were getting promoted, but you’d have to work alongside Wanda, who was also getting promoted. You tried not to show your mixed emotions, excitement at the prospect of moving up in the company, paired with the stress and slight disgust of having to work with Wanda.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad - maybe you wouldn’t have to work too closely with her.

“Here’s the catch,” Stark said, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Osborn wants a couple to take on the project. I want the two of you to do it, seeing as you’re the best in the company at what you do. It is a promotion, but if you want it, then the two of you have to pretend to be together for appearances.”

Your jaw dropped. You were finally getting the promotion you’d wanted for so long, but there was in fact a catch, a massive one at that. You had to pretend to be dating your work rival - some might even call her your worst enemy - for however long the merger would take.

“What are your thoughts?” Stark asked, looking between the two of you.

Wanda had an unreadable expression on her face. You couldn’t tell if she was pleased with the promotion or absolutely pissed at the thought of fake dating you. The fact that you couldn’t read her when you wanted to was almost as frustrating as the bomb Stark had just dropped on you both.

“I think we can make it work,” she spoke first, putting on a friendly face for show. “Y/N and I are both adults here and we would be silly to turn down such an offer.”

You swallowed, nodding your agreement. “Exactly,” you said, your voice almost cracking. “I’m sure Wanda and I can find some common ground.” As you spoke, you looked her directly in the eyes, as if your stare alone could convey that you could see right through her act and that you were only playing along too for the money.

“Perfect!” Stark’s voice broke through the tension and you looked away from Wanda to give him your full attention. “We’ll need to go over what’s required of you both for the position you’ll be taking. Not just the work aspect, but the relationship aspect as well. Osborn will have his own employees and clients here often and you’ll need to keep up the relationship act at all times.”

Stark opened the folder in front of him to pull out two contracts, one for you and one for Wanda.

“The second you’re here every morning, the two of you are together. I’ll also be paying for you to go on at least two dates a week outside of work. I know this is a place of business, but the more PDA the better. Today is for getting your stories straight, I want both of you to work together for the rest of the work day to come up with a believable foundation for your relationship and get to know each other better. I’ll take care of your individual workloads for the next two days as well, so you can focus on each other and we can get through all the paperwork. I hate to ask you to do all of this, but I trust the two of you can handle it.”

As Stark began to go over some paperwork with you, explaining each page before having you sign, your thoughts were everywhere but on the dotted line. Two dates a week? PDA? You weren’t sure you would survive faking a relationship with Wanda.

You hated to admit it, but the thought of kissing her had crossed your mind before, usually accompanied by enough disgust that you could ignore the butterflies it caused.

Wanda was beautiful - anyone with eyes could see that - and she was absolutely your type, but her personality always squashed any thoughts you might’ve had about wanting her.

Now, it was all too real. You would have to pretend to like her despite the torment she put you through since your first day at the company. You’d have to put aside your rivalry for the sake of your promotion and act like she wasn’t the bane of your existence most days.

You would have to kiss her.

Your mind was stuck on that and you couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was something more, but whatever it was had your head spinning.

Your thoughts raced as you finished the paperwork with Stark and Wanda, who seemed far too calm and collected the entire time.

When the meeting was over and Stark had left, you ignored a snarky comment from Wanda and exited the conference room with haste. You walked back to your office, finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as soon as the door was closed.

The merger would begin in two days and you had no idea how long it would take or how long you’d have to “date” Wanda. Two days of normalcy didn’t feel like enough time to prepare, but you knew what you had to do. You were getting promoted, and Stark trusted you with one of the most important collaborations to ever happen within his company. You decided you would just have to focus on that to get through what was to come. Everything would be okay.

Two days went by fast, faster than you expected, and it was time to put on a show. You and Wanda had used those two days to prepare, coming up with a story of how you got together and learning more about each other to make your relationship more believable.

Of course, Wanda never missed an opportunity to insult you or tease you during those two days and you wondered if she’d be able to hold back when it was time to pretend.

It was easy enough to come up with a story. You met each other at work and fell in love over time. One night of working late turned into a first kiss and a date that would soon follow.

You’d learned a lot about Wanda as well. She lived close to work at an apartment complex similar to yours but slightly more luxurious. She walked to work some days and loved to stop for a croissant on her way when she had time. She had a brother named Pietro, who lived about an hour away. She was born in Sokovia and grew up there with Pietro before moving to the States to pursue better opportunities, which explained why she sometimes sounded like she had an accent.

She found out a lot about you as well and you weren’t sure if that made you uncomfortable for good reasons or bad reasons. It felt both exciting and also nerve-wracking to share parts of your life with someone you spent so much time hating.

You found yourself hating her a little less as you learned more about her. She was a very interesting person and you wondered what it would be like to know her as someone who she didn’t make it her life’s mission to annoy every day. You wondered if she was feeling the same way as she got to know you too.

Whether or not she was, today was the day where you’d both have to put your rivalry aside and pretend to love each other.

You stopped for a coffee on your way to work, knowing you would definitely need one, and walked purposefully to the Stark building. You arrived ten minutes early, hoping you would have some time to sip your coffee and take some deep breaths.

As you swiped your keycard and boarded the elevator, a familiar voice called out.

“Hold it, please!” Wanda said, running up to the elevator with an outstretched hand, heels clicking against the tile.

You put an arm out to keep the door from closing and let her in. “I should’ve let it close,” you said teasingly.

“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten sweetheart, but we have to be nice to each other now. Think you can handle that?” she responded somewhat condescendingly.

“I can handle it, can you?” you asked, looking over at her as you spoke.

“You underestimate me, detka.” That was new, she’d never called you that nor had you ever heard the word before, but it sounded lovely the way she said it.

Neither of you spoke again as the elevator finished its journey up. The doors opened and the two of you stepped out into the office area where Mr. Stark was waiting for you, accompanied by a man you’d only ever seen in pictures.

Wanda moved closer to you, placing a hand on your lower back as you approached and you were glad she didn’t notice your slight shiver at the touch.

“Good morning ladies,” Stark greeted. “As you probably already know, this is Mr. Osborn.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, shaking Osborn’s hand.

Wanda did the same after you, only removing her hand from your back to shake Osborn’s properly.

“Y/N and Wanda here are going to be taking on the merger, the paperwork is already done and they’ve been briefed on what’s expected of them,” Stark announced, gesturing to the two of you standing there closely.

“Ah, so you’re the lovely couple I’ve heard so much about.” Osborn smiled warmly as he spoke.

“Yes, and we’re so excited to work with you,” Wanda replied, subtly taking your hand in hers and interlacing your fingers.

You knew it was all for show, but it felt weirdly nice to hold her hand and you internally cursed yourself for thinking such a thing. But you couldn’t help it when her hand was so warm and soft and her thumb stroked the back of your hand idly as she conversed with your boss and his business partner.

After a few minutes of talking, Stark excused himself to take a business call and Osborn turned fully towards you and Wanda.

“Thank you for taking on such a big role in the company,” he started. “I look forward to seeing more of the both of you.”

“We can say the same, sir,” you said sweetly, leaning into Wanda a bit to help the act.

He smiled again and with that, he stepped away, walking off towards one of the offices he would be using during his time there.

You knew he had other employees around the office so you couldn’t drop the act for even a second, whether Osborn himself was looking or not, so you fought the urge to pull away.

“Nice touch leaning into me,” Wanda mumbled, so that only you could hear.

“Was that… a compliment?” You asked quietly, unable to resist the urge to tease her.

“I would say don’t get used to it, but neither of us have a choice anymore.” Wanda turned towards you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you later.”

She pulled away to go to her office and start her day and you did the same, knowing you needed some time to yourself after your first little performance with Wanda. You almost thought it was going to be a long day, but then you remembered this was going to be your every day for a while.

The charade continued as the day went on and you worked more closely with Wanda on the merger, going over paperwork and calling clients together. Osborn’s employees would come in and out of the conference room to discuss things with the two of you, so you had to endure more loving touches and heartwarming compliments from the redhead.

At one point, Stark and Osborn had a conversation in the hallway outside the conference room, which of course had glass walls, making it hard to catch a break from faking your relationship.

You were reviewing a document with Wanda beside you when she spoke.

“Can you sign this one for me?” She handed you a form and a pen.

“What, no ‘please?’” You joked.

“No, I don’t think I need to ask, you’ll just do it if I tell you to,” she remarked back, catching you slightly off guard.

When you took the pen from her, your fingers touched and you knew Wanda did it on purpose. You looked over at her, feeling small under her intense stare, before signing the form and sliding it back to her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, sounding slightly distracted, causing you to look at her again.

When you did, her eyes weren’t on yours.

“Osborn has wandering eyes,” she muttered under her breath, her gaze on your lips, and before you could respond she was kissing you softly.

Her lips against yours felt incredible, you couldn’t even lie to yourself. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and in that moment, you never wanted to detach from her. You would work through why that was later, right now all you could think about was her.

You kissed her back, lips moving together in tandem, fitted so perfectly against each other it created even more conflicting feelings within you.

It didn’t last nearly as long as you wished it did, wondering why on earth you were hoping for more when it was Wanda you were kissing.

After a few seconds, she pulled away, leaving one last quick kiss on your lips before saying something about printing more documents and walking off.

You sat there for a moment, trying to collect yourself. As you came back to reality, you noticed Osborn looking in from outside the conference room and you were coldly reminded that Wanda only did that so he would see it. It meant nothing to her and it shouldn’t mean anything to you either.

With that, you focused back on your work, knowing in a few minutes you’d have to go over more of it with Wanda and the show would continue. You just had to keep reminding yourself that none of it was real.

From where she stood at the printer, Wanda smirked to herself at how you reacted to the kiss - she wasn’t going to let that go anytime soon. She knew she’d have time to tease you about it later, after she was done cursing herself for thinking about how soft your lips were against hers.

The rest of the day went by fairly smoothly. Stark and Osborn spent most of their time in Stark’s office, so you and Wanda had some time to cool off from the kiss earlier. That didn’t stop Wanda’s teasing touches however, because Osborn’s employees could be anywhere, and it seemed she was enjoying torturing you in a new way.

By the time you were getting ready to head home, you were beyond flustered and fairly certain you’d need to change your underwear. If Wanda wasn’t infuriating enough already, it was only made worse by the fact that she had this effect on you.

The days that followed were similar to that first day. You and Wanda continued to pretend to be a couple, with Wanda winding you up every chance she got, almost like she knew what she was doing to you.

Osborn was at the office a bit less every day, but his employees were always there getting work done even when he wasn’t around.

Therefore, the show went on. Wanda had gotten in the habit of giving you soft pecks on your lips before she would get up to go take care of work-related tasks and it was driving you insane. The short and sweet kisses were too much and yet at the same time, never enough.

You had come to the conclusion that you definitely felt something for Wanda, something other than disdain and irritation. As much as you tried to fight it, you wanted her. You convinced yourself she would never feel the same way though; with how she had always acted towards you, it seemed impossible.

Every touch, every kiss, every pet name Wanda called you - it was all an act. You had to push your feelings down as much as possible because you didn’t want her to find out and you didn’t want to get hurt. So you kept your guard up and tried your hardest to ignore how you felt, despite the fact that Wanda wasn’t making it easy for you.

You were starting to wonder if the promotion was even worth it.

Even so, you carried on, doing excellent work under Stark in your new position and working surprisingly well with Wanda, from both a business perspective and a fake dating perspective.

You had also found it in you to initiate more of the relationship acts with Wanda, if not to satisfy your own desires then to at least mess with her. Sometimes you held her hand, sometimes you moved hair out of her face, sometimes you kissed her on the cheek - every time, she seemed to like it. You figured she was just acting, as you were supposed to, but part of you hoped she wasn’t.

You loved that she sometimes seemed nervous or flustered when you made a move or teased her.

One time when she kissed you, you separated first, while she was still attempting to keep the kiss going. You decided to mess with her and said jokingly, “if you want to keep kissing me, you could just ask” with a smirk plastered on your face. She blushed and hesitated before she spoke. “In your dreams,” she remarked, before going back to work. You considered that a win.

Maybe it was worth it if you could get a reaction out of her too.

It had been a week since the act started and tonight was date night. Starting tonight, you’d have to go on two dates with Wanda every week. Stark gave you a company card to put all of your expenses on for the night, telling you to take Wanda to a nice restaurant he recommended and enjoy dinner with her.

You were nervous to be alone with her outside of work, but you were also looking forward to it.

The restaurant was a block away from the Osborn building, which is why Stark had picked it out for your date. You’d have to keep up appearances while you were out with Wanda, but you didn’t mind. Part of you was excited to at least feel like you were taking her on a proper date. You wondered more than anything how she was feeling about it too.

At the end of the work day, you left the Stark building and walked home to get ready for your date. You decided to wear slacks and a black dress shirt, wanting to feel confident while also not giving Wanda the satisfaction of seeing you in a dress. You straightened your hair and touched up your makeup, hating the idea that you wanted so badly to impress Wanda.

Slipping into a pair of high heels, you finished getting ready just in time for a car to pull up in front of your apartment building, courtesy of Mr. Stark.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, giving you time to hype yourself up. It was just a date. It may have been just a date with your arch nemesis, but it was just a date. You’d been on dates before, you could do this. It wasn’t even a real date anyway, you told yourself, it was just another one of many performances between you and Wanda to secure your promotion at work.

When the car pulled up to the restaurant, you thanked the driver and got out, walking in to see if Wanda had already arrived.

As you spoke to the hostess about your reservation, the door opened and you were absolutely not prepared for what came next.

Wanda looked stunning; seeing her like this took your breath away. Unlike you, she had worn a dress. The black material hugged her body in all the right places, with a slit down the side, exposing her thigh.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” Wanda said smugly as she approached, a cocky smile on her face.

“You look nice,” you managed to get out, trying to compose yourself.

“You do too for once,” she responded, smiling, the backhanded compliment not going unnoticed by you. You found that you didn’t mind.

The two of you were escorted to your table, where you pulled Wanda’s chair out for her and then sat down across from her.

“So chivalrous,” she commented, fingers tracing the menu in front of her.

“Anything for my beautiful girlfriend,” you said back mockingly.

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful?” she asked, smiling.

You rolled your eyes. “I also called you my girlfriend.”

“Yeah but you have to call me that. Didn’t have to call me beautiful,” she responded, raising an eyebrow. She had you there.

“Well, maybe I meant it,” you mumbled, trying to hide the truth behind your words and keep up the playful banter.

“You’re beautiful too, you know,” she said, looking at you intently. You blushed, unable to hold eye contact after the compliment. You muttered out a quick “thank you” and decided the menu suddenly seemed really interesting.

After ordering your food and drinks - you made sure to get something with a little alcohol in it - an awkward silence settled over the two of you.

Wanda broke the silence first, chuckling.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s just funny. I never thought I’d be here, at this fancy restaurant, having dinner with you,” Wanda replied, but there was no malice in the way she said it, only amusement.

“Cheers to that, because I never thought I’d be here either,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“Where did you think you’d be? What kind of future do you see for yourself?” Wanda asked genuinely. You weren’t prepared for the conversation to take such a turn but you answered anyway.

The rest of the dinner went surprisingly well; the two of you talked about your goals, your lives before working together, your hobbies, and anything else you could think of.

You learned that Wanda loved to garden and you found it ironic that a week ago you never would’ve thought she was capable of loving something enough to keep it alive.

By the end of the night, both of you were slightly tipsy and actually enjoying each other’s company. You covered the bill when it came, using the card Stark gave you, and the two of you walked outside to wait for your rides home.

You leaned against a brick wall, laughing at a joke Wanda told you, catching your breath. As you calmed down, you looked at Wanda, who still had a bright smile on her face. It was so genuine and real, you couldn’t help but stare, almost as if you were memorizing her face at that moment. You felt like you were seeing her for the first time. She was undeniably gorgeous all the time, but something about her letting her guard down and laughing with you allowed you to see her differently - she was breathtaking.

She was everything.

You didn’t realize you were staring for so long until she noticed and returned your gaze. Her eyes flickered down to your lips and you almost shivered at the motion.

Just as you were about to speak, Wanda leaned in.

You met her halfway, kissing her softly at first, getting lost in the feeling of her lips against yours. She brought her hand up behind your head, deepening the kiss and you almost moaned when you felt her tongue against your lips. Your lips parted to let her in and she kissed you with more passion than you’d ever felt in your life.

This was the longest kiss you’d shared, and by far the most intense one. You never wanted it to end, kissing her back just as eagerly, allowing your tongue to swipe against hers. Your hands came up to her cheeks, one finding its way behind her neck to play with the hairs at the nape of her neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, just feeling each other and forgetting what you were supposed to be doing.

When her tongue licked into your mouth again, you whimpered, and that seemed to break the spell.

Wanda pulled back, pupils dilated, a slight look of panic painting her perfect features. “Sorry, I- I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” As if on cue, a car pulled up, one of Stark’s drivers, and Wanda got in.

She was gone as quickly as she was on you in the first place and it took your brain a moment to catch up with what had just happened.

The kiss didn’t feel planned, it didn’t feel fake, it didn’t feel like it was for Osborn or Stark or anyone at the company. It felt real - it felt like she wanted you just as badly as you wanted her. You wanted to believe that but you couldn’t let yourself. She left in such a hurry she obviously regretted the kiss and you weren’t entirely certain she hadn’t just done it because she saw someone from work walking by.

You groaned, reality sinking back in. Another car pulled up and you knew it was your ride home. You straightened yourself out and got in the car, letting your mind run through all the possibilities on the way home.

When you arrived at work the next day, something was off.

“Hey Y/N,” Wanda greeted you at the entrance and put a hand on your shoulder, letting her thumb rub circles, but it felt wrong. It felt calculated, like she was just going through the motions. Even the tone of her voice lacked energy.

You felt like she didn’t want to be there and didn’t want to be touching you - it was as if she was suddenly making no effort to be convincing.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, concerned.

“Everything is just fine,” she said back, forcing a smile.

Before you could say anything else, she walked to her office and closed the door.

You went to your own office and looked over the documents you had to deal with for the day, before heading to Wanda’s office to work on them with her.

You knocked before poking your head in. “Conference room?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in a sec,” Wanda replied coldly, void of any emotion.

You tried to ignore the way she was acting but you couldn’t. It wasn’t her usual cruelty towards you; this was somehow worse.

A few moments after you set up in the conference room, she came in, ignoring you and getting straight to work.

All day, she handed you papers to sign and occasionally put an arm around you when an Osborn employee walked by, swiftly removing it once they were out of sight.

At one point, Stark came in and gave you both a mountain of paperwork to do with a deadline of tomorrow morning at 8am. He apologized and said you could both stay late and get overtime, then left the room to meet his own deadlines.

So now what felt like the longest day of work was actually going to be the longest day of work.

Wanda’s behavior persisted throughout the day and well into your overtime hours. Everyone had left the office so there was no one left to put on a show for and Wanda made sure you knew that.

Her overall coldness towards you was bothering you more than it should’ve and you finally said something.

“You know, this whole relationship act is supposed to be convincing.”

“No one is here now,” she retorted nonchalantly.

“You’ve been acting like this all day.”

“And I’ve been touching you all day and being sweet with you in front of the others,” she said, before looking at you. “What, do you need more? In case you’ve forgotten, this whole relationship act is exactly that - an act.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you said, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach. “Like I’m making this something it isn’t.”

“If the shoe fits,” Wanda replied, going back to her paperwork.

“No.” You stood up. “You don’t get to act like I’m the one blurring the lines between real and fake. You didn’t have to kiss me like that last night, but you did.”

She stood up too. “Maybe someone was watching, Y/N. What do you want me to say? That I wanted to kiss you? That I did it because you’re so irresistible I couldn’t help myself?” she snapped back callously, like she was trying to hurt you.

“I don’t care about the kiss!” You raised your voice. “I care about this promotion and I won’t let you ruin it just because you can’t handle whatever happened last night.”

“Nothing happened last night, it was a kiss. We’ve done it before. It meant nothing!” Wanda yelled back.

“Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?” you said, holding eye contact.

With that, she shoved you against the nearest wall. “I hate you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, before she leaned in and kissed you hard.

Unlike your other kisses with the redhead, this one didn’t start out soft. It was rough and full of emotions. It was fueled by all the feelings swirling around within the two of you that you had yet to vocalize.

You kissed her back, you couldn’t help yourself. Just moments ago she had you on the verge of tears and now here you were, kissing her back like your life depended on it.

Your hands came up to her neck and you deepened the kiss, lips moving against hers purposefully as if you were trying to prove a point.

Your tongues met and mingled, both of you gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths. You didn’t separate until you needed air.

“Just a kiss, huh?” you breathed out, your noses still touching.

“Shut up,” Wanda said back just as breathily.

“Make me,” you challenged, wanting to be difficult but also wanting her to kiss you again.

She leaned back in, lips connecting with yours, kissing you much softer this time. Her tongue met yours and it made you weak in the knees, the slowness of this kiss compared to the roughness of the first one making your head spin. You knew in that moment that you weren’t the only one feeling things.

Her hands found your waist, pinning you against the wall harder, and you moaned against her.

“You like that?” she said way too cockily, the words from her mouth managing to irritate you even when you were just enjoying that same mouth so much.

You flipped your positions, pinning her against the wall and she raised an eyebrow at you. “I like this,” you replied, kissing her again.

You let your hands wander, running up and down her sides, teasing her but not quite going anywhere in particular.

When you squeezed, she moaned into your mouth and you felt a pang of arousal at the sound. You wanted to pull more sounds like that out of her and began slowly untucking her shirt. You slid your hands underneath the fabric, feeling her soft skin beneath your fingers.

“Mmm, stop teasing,” she mumbled in between kisses, giving you permission to touch her more.

Your hands went further up her shirt, palming her breasts over her bra before sliding under. You brushed against her nipples with your thumbs and she moaned again, breaking the kiss.

You didn’t hesitate to trail kisses down her neck, then back up towards her ear, making her whimper as your hands continued to stimulate her sensitive nipples.

You were dragging it out - you wanted to take things slow in case she wanted to stop and you also wanted to tease her as much as possible, almost like you were making her pay for how she always treated you.

You continued your assault on her neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin you could get your lips on, while she panted against you.

The beautiful sounds leaving her were only turning you on even more and you were slowly realizing that you’d wanted to do this for a while.

“Y/N,” Wanda panted out.

“Yeah?”

“Stop fucking teasing,” she demanded.

“What do you want?” you asked, running your thumbs over her nipples again to get a reaction.

She gasped, grabbing your throat with her hand. “Fuck me,” she said sternly, and how could you say no to her?

“Fuck,” you breathed out, kissing her again and removing your hands from her shirt.

You placed one of your hands on her thigh under her skirt, running it up her skin until you reached her underwear. Your fingers reached her panties, feeling a wet spot on the front of them. You moaned, your arousal skyrocketing at the thought that she was so wet for you.

“Yeah?” she said, teasing you. “Why don’t you stop feeling me up over my panties and fuck me, hm?”

You nodded and pushed her panties aside, feeling her wetness directly against your fingers. The fact that she was so turned on only served to turn you on even more. She wanted this just as much as you did.

Your index finger moved up to rub her clit, making her moan louder this time and if anyone was still in the building, they would’ve heard her.

“You like that?” You mirrored her words from earlier.

She managed to roll her eyes despite the pleasure she was feeling and leaned in to kiss you again, moaning into the kiss when you rubbed faster against her clit.

“Fuck me,” she whispered against your lips. Denying her felt like denying yourself at this point. You slid a finger into her opening, then followed up with a second finger, stretching her out.

She moaned and it was heavenly, making you want to hear her come undone for you. You started a rhythm inside her, fucking into her with purpose. The sounds leaving her lips made you throb with desire, she sounded so beautiful in the throes of pleasure.

You could hear how wet she was, sloshing sounds coming from where your fingers went to work, and it drove you crazy.

“Fuck, I can hear how wet you are,” you said, kissing down her neck again.

“You feel so good,” she panted out, moaning again as you hit a spot inside of her.

The sounds of her pussy were getting to you and you wanted to taste her so badly; you weren’t sure if you wanted her to cum like this first or if you needed your mouth on her before anything else.

“Can I taste you?” you asked, slowing your movements to both prolong her pleasure and delay her orgasm, as well as to give her a second to answer you.

“Fuck, yes,” she said, bucking her hips into your hand for more. “Wanna see you on your knees for me, detka.”

You couldn’t say no to her even if you tried, not when you wanted the same thing so desperately. You dropped to your knees, pulling her skirt up to reveal her pussy, underwear clinging to her folds and the stickiness between her thighs.

You practically drooled at the sight, pushing her panties further to the side to get a better view. You leaned in, kissing her pussy at first, then flicked your tongue against her clit, making her gasp. Her taste was heavenly and you wanted more, your tongue now exploring her eagerly.

“You taste so good, mommy,” you managed to mumble against her, the vibrations of your voice making her hips jerk against your face, which only made you more aroused. When you realized what you said, you almost stopped what you were doing. But a few simple words helped you to not falter too much.

“Call me that again,” Wanda moaned, hips bucking against you as if she was trying to get herself off on your mouth.

“Mommy,” you obeyed, unable to deny her at this point, and equally turned on by the name.

“Fuck. Such a good girl for mommy,” she breathed out, rutting her hips with purpose and grinding her clit against your tongue.

You moaned into her pussy at the praise, licking and sucking at her clit, letting your tongue dip inside her hole with every downstroke.

“Ohh, does my baby have a praise kink?” she cooed, somehow managing to make you flustered and embarrassed while you were bringing her to orgasm.

When you didn’t respond, too enamored with eating her out, she grabbed your chin harshly and made you face her.

“Answer mommy when she asks you a question,” she commanded, keeping you just inches from where you wanted to taste her again.

“Yes,” you whined, breathing heavily with how aroused you were.

“Yes what?”

“Yes mommy,” you said, looking up at her with lust in your eyes.

“Good girl,” she praised, redirecting you back to her dripping cunt, keeping her hand at the back of your head to guide your movements.

She moaned when you made contact again, your lips wrapping around her clit, sucking obediently. You wanted her to cum for you. You wanted to bring her pleasure, to get off on her sounds and her taste, but at the same time, part of you also wanted to assert some kind of dominance over her. She’d bullied you relentlessly since you started working for the same company as her and this was your way of taking back control.

She may have been in charge, with her hand at the back of your head, keeping you close so she could fuck your face the way she wanted to, but you had the power to tip her over the edge she so desperately wanted to reach.

And it was intoxicating.

But then again, everything about Wanda Maximoff was intoxicating. Her beautiful face, her hypnotizing voice, her sense of style, the sway of her hips when she walked, the quickness of her comebacks, and in the current moment, her scent, her taste, her moans, her movements against you. You had never wanted someone so badly in your life and you had her right where you wanted her.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum,” Wanda said, her grip tightening on your hair. Her clit throbbed under your tongue, her hole clenching around nothing as you brought her closer and closer to the edge.

You doubled down on your efforts, wanting to see her fall apart for you. Your index finger teased her folds, dipping into her hole as you sucked on her clit. When you pushed two fingers into her while continuing your stimulation on her hardened bud, she came, moaning your name so prettily as her cum coated your fingers and chin.

You lapped up as much as you could before she began to push you away and pull you back up. She kissed you, tasting herself on your tongue, a deep sound from the back of her throat emerging at the sensation.

“Maybe you can be a good girl after all, hm?” She mused, looking at you lazily as she pulled away from the kiss.

Her hand came down, reaching into your pants and then your panties to feel where you were turned on beyond belief.

“When have I not been one?” you questioned.

“Maybe when you’re talking back to me,” she said, biting her lip.

“I can think of something better I could be doing with my mouth,” you shot back.

Wanda moved her hand so she could really feel you against her, running her fingers up and down your slit.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” Wanda said. “Did I do that?” She asked, continuing to touch you.

You nodded, somewhat distracted as you admired the way she looked in her post-orgasm haze. You wanted her again - one time wasn’t enough.

“Can you go again?” you blurted out, staring at her with such want it almost surprised her. “Please,” you begged, stroking her cheek with your thumb as you looked into her eyes.

“What about you?” She asked.

“Just wanna make you cum again mommy,” you responded, practically pleading.

She couldn’t say no to you at that moment, and she didn’t want to either. “Okay detka, go ahead, make mommy feel good,” she said, her teeth coming down onto her lip as you descended once more.

Sliding her panties off, you brought your mouth down to where she was dripping and slid your tongue as deep as it would go, your thumb coming up to rub circles into her clit.

“Yes, that’s so good,” Wanda cried out, bucking her hips as you fucked into her with your tongue. “Fuck, eat my pussy just like that,” she said, making you moan against her.

After a few moments, she came again, and you licked at her folds until she rode out the aftershocks, twitching against your face. You couldn’t get enough, mouthing at her pussy for as long as you could before she brought you back up once more, staring at you so intimately it made you nervous despite the fact that you’d just done extremely unprofessional things to her in the conference room.

“So, a praise kink and a mommy kink, huh?” She chuckled, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

“Shut up.” You blushed, trying to hide your face in her neck out of embarrassment.

“Make me,” she said, using your own words from earlier against you.

You kissed her to shut her up, and also because you just wanted to. She could taste herself on your lips and on your tongue and it almost made her want to go again. The two of you stayed like that, lips glued to each other, for a long moment before separating, out of breath.

“So was this pretend too or?” You half joked, knowing it wasn’t but also unsure if she would ice you out again after this.

“No,” she started. “This did mean something, despite what I said earlier. I don’t sleep around just to sleep around,” she said earnestly. “I want you.”

You were somewhat surprised she didn’t come back with some snarky remark or crude joke, but you weren’t going to complain when the woman you wanted more than anything was confessing that she felt the same way.

“I want you too,” you uttered, looking down at her lips subconsciously.

“I kinda figured that out when you were getting on your knees for me, sweetheart,” she responded.

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes, leaning in to kiss her again.

When the two of you broke apart, you spoke again. “So what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“We still have to pretend to date. Can we do that?” you asked.

“We could pretend,” she started. “Or we could just do it.”

“What, date?”

“Yeah, why not?” she questioned, seeming slightly nervous as she proposed the idea.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “All this time…”

“I don’t hate you,” Wanda cut in. “I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I guess I just saw myself in you. Someone determined, ambitious, competitive, like a younger version of me. So of course, you were my competition. And I also saw something I wanted but couldn’t have, or so I thought. I never thought you’d want me too. I don’t know, I can’t justify how I treated you, I’m sorry.”

You paused, taking a moment to think everything over before speaking again.

“Look, I don’t know what I want out of this, but I’m willing to see where it goes,” you finally said, hoping she was on the same page.

“I’m okay with that.” She smiled, perhaps out of relief, and brushed some hair out of your face. “Let’s fake it till we make it, yeah?” She joked, making you smile back at her.

“Works for me,” you said, looking at her with an unreadable expression, one which you might later realize was pure devotion. Despite everything you’d been through with her, you were falling fast and there was no way to stop it.

The following week was something of a dream come true. You and Wanda worked together, but this time the only tension present was sexual. You acted like a couple and you didn’t even have to try anymore, it just came naturally.

Wanda’s teasing touches increased tenfold, with her constantly trying to turn you on in the most inappropriate of places, whether it was in Stark’s office with her hand tracing patterns on the small of your back or in the conference room with dirty words whispered in your ear and while everyone was still in the building.

The two of you stayed late a few nights to finish up paperwork, finding that it was hard to get any work done when you were left alone with each other.

You’d made Wanda cum against the conference table more than once and she’d even come home with you one night to continue your activities. You fucked her with your fingers against your front door and again in your bed with your strap, making her see stars every time you had your way with her. It was very quickly becoming one of your favorite ways to relieve stress, especially with the merger increasing your workload.

Mr. Stark was pleased with your “performance,” pulling you aside to tell you that Osborn absolutely adored the two of you and your relationship. You figured once there was a label on things, you’d break it to him that you were actually together now.

You and Wanda had not only been having regular sex, but had been talking about deeper things with each other, including your own history. She opened up about her insecurities and you did the same, kissing each other softly after and then snuggling up to watch a movie.

Wanda stayed over some nights and the following mornings you’d walk to work together, stopping at your favorite coffee shop for a warm drink on the way.

The two dates a week had originally felt like a burden, but now you were grateful for the chance to take your favorite girl on a date twice a week, all expenses paid by the boss. You didn’t care that Osborn employees might be lurking around, you touched Wanda when you wanted to and it had nothing to do with appearances.

Months passed, and the merger was finally coming to a close. Half of Stark Industries’ client base had become regular customers of the Osborn group, and Stark now owned a percentage of Osborn’s company.

You and Wanda maintained your higher positions, still working directly under Stark with a nice pay raise.

You’d asked Wanda to be your official girlfriend a few weeks after your first time sleeping together and she moved in with you two months later.

Stark was surprised to find out the two of you were no longer faking it, but he was happy for you and started calling himself the millionaire matchmaker.

Sometimes the two of you still fought, your snarky and sarcastic personalities unable to be pushed down so easily, but it usually ended with Wanda bent over a surface of the apartment or workplace after hours, with your fingers or your tongue inside her pussy.

If you really pushed her buttons, it ended with your hands tied to the headboard while Wanda touched herself above you and mocked your desperation to be the one giving her pleasure; “bad girls don’t get to touch mommy, so just sit there and look pretty for me,” she would say.

The teasing and the jokes were a huge foundation for your relationship so long as they weren’t taken too far, and you found that you loved that part of her despite how it used to be used against you.

Wanda could be incredibly sweet though and you loved that about her too. She knew when to pick playful fights with you and when to be softer; she knew how to act when you needed reassurance from her and she knew how to make you feel safe.

At the end of the day, you fell hard for the one person you never should’ve fallen for, and you wouldn’t change a thing.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Okay, I am finally able to settle down and read part 2 and I am so excited!!

Again, I really love the soft reader in this fic. She's lovely and kind and there's just something about her that's so endearing that it makes me want to give her a big hug. 💚

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

I'm melting over her reassurance to Dean that she doesn't regret a single second! And the kiss had me screaming!

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

As someone who loves to bake I felt this in my soul. Also I love that you've given us another reader like the reader in Midnight Espresso who likes to take care of other people, because again it's so warm and welcoming and fantastic!

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

Dean, Dean, Dean... you know why. We all know why.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

I'm so happy at this point, but I just know that Lisa is probably gonna ruin it. Dang it, I love that you included her to cause some friction and some angst, but I'm just living life on the edge of my emotions each time she comes in.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

And there she is. Why, WHY did he bring her!

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

Now I feel bad because I read the next sentence about Lisa being nice. Lisa I'm so sorry. Please accept this potato as my humble apology. 🥔

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though. “Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

Okay... before I dive into the five years later, I just want to say that I feel so bad for Dean, but at the same time you GO Benny! Because he's being so sweet and kind and isn't playing with her emotions, and he's literally there for her even though she's having someone else's kid. Like what a man. 👏🏻

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

Literally screaming yes! I'm so happy for them. And also I love the Robert Plant reference.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

Oh buddy... and just like that the happy feeling is starting to ebb away. I mean I'm happy that she has someone, but I hate that she feels like she can't be herself there. It turns into feeling trapped really quick.

Side Note: Love the Jurassic Park reference. I know that you're as big a Jurassic Park girlie as I am!! 🦖

But it's also terrible that he let a four year old watch that 😬

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?” He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.” “Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Baby, he wants to be the good man who treats her right. And don't think I don't see the subtle hinting that you've got going on Lisa. I'm about to take back my potato.

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.” Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—” “Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

Dang it. Now I feel bad for Lisa. It's true though. It's literally five years of on and off and where is it going? I see what she's getting at and I do feel for her.

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

Ah yes, the classic Dean Winchester get mad at other things because he's too afraid to say the one big thing that he's held close to his heart for the past 5 years. *sigh* 😒

It's sad to me because Dean could have done this five years ago and it would have been less complicated. Now he's been with Lisa for 5 years, and the reader has been with Benny for 2. And yes maybe the reader isn't happy, happy, but in the end there are four people involved in this rather than the two it could have been at the beginning (or maybe 3?).

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

Oh my word he's such a good dad to Robbie even when he's hurt and I can't take the feelings! 😭

And the fact that Benny calls Dean "brother" is just making the feelings even worse, because I know what's coming and oh man, it's gonna hurt Benny so much.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.” Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

Oh boy... this is... this is really... I have no words because both of them have points. But I would still like my potato back, thank you very much.

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad.  Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

This is KILLING ME ALEX! They just need to communicate with one another instead of shutting each other out! DANG IT! SPEAK! DEAN STOP DOING THE SUFFER IN SILENCE BIT! We all know you can look super hot while you're brooding, but COME ON! I just want to hit him with a frying pan!

And her! Oh my word. I love her but please, PLEASE call Dean! He's your friend! You like him!

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Nice and safe.

Like an end table. Because that's what every woman wants from her significant other 🤣

Also I'm literally cackling over the fact that Dean and Benny chose the same night to ask their ladies to marry them. Their brains are so in sync LOL.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh. The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time. The only one he can see is you. He knows the shampoo you use an

FINALLY!

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

She can have a whole truck full of potatoes. She did the right thing and the "Go fight for it," is just so lovely.

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…” And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone. That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

I especially love this little bit, because you describe what the reader wants in love (what we all want LOL) and then you add the difference when Dean touches her. But I also completely understand her hesitancy to go to Dean even though it's what her heart is telling her. She's trying not to get her heart broken and yet Dean is the person she's held there for so long.

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

Oh goodness THE WEDDING! IT'S HAPPENING!

Can I ask how long it's been since they got back together? I love the time skip, but I'm just curious to see how long Dean waited to pop the question. 😊

Also the stuff about Benny is so sad- I'm beyond happy for the reader and Dean (their love makes me so happy)- but dang he was Dean's best friend. And the stuff about Dean saying that this wasn't how he wanted to be promoted, I'm having so many feelings AHHHHH! But I wish Benny happiness. Who knows? Maybe he and Lisa will meet up in a few years and bond 🤪

(I also felt the need to add the next paragraph because I read the comments)

Also I'm gonna say this- I like what you did with Lisa and with Benny. I think that it made sense to add them in this and I think that Lisa added a catty/dramatic energy and Benny sort of became the (terrible word) placeholder for Dean to the reader, but both of these characters were helpful for moving the story along. And I think that Dean's character makes sense because yes at the beginning he was a playboy, but then he started to feel the stability of the reader, started to crave something more than what he had in his life- and instead of going with her, he clung to Lisa. Just as the reader wanted something more and started to date Benny, but missed the electricity of what the reader thought love should feel like. Dean and the reader both felt the need to push down their feelings and search in the wrong places for what they wanted from each other. At least that's how I took it and I loved every single second of this fic and how you wrapped everything up!

ALEX, this fic was amazing! It had me feeling all the feels on this wonderful, beautifully written emotional rollercoaster. I can't wait to read the epilogue!

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.  

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.” 

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this. 

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours. 

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines. 

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off. 

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt. 

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change. 

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything. 

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything. 

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. 

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary. 

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing. 

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes. 

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition. “I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet. 

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” 

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head. 

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time. 

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there. 

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself. 

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be. 

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh. 

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip. 

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask. 

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.” 

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes. 

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself. 

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks. 

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly. 

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.  

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.” 

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb. 

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really. 

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes. 

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you. 

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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[ma1dita]

written all over your face

'between certainties and doubts' installment  part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader)  wc: 2k  a/n: the stupid map is almost mocking him now that school’s back in session. since when were you so popular…with everyone?? jealousy trope, some self-deprecation from remus as usual, surprise at the end. feel free to send requests for them!

—

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

are proud to present…

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

“Come on mate, you’ve been staring at that thing for hours—it still says the same thing,” James drones from his spot on the floor, “Or at least it should, last I checked.”

Silence is his response, and a paper ball that suspiciously looks like Peter’s Transfiguration homework hits the bridge of his nose, effectively breaking his reverie. He takes a glance down at the crumpled scribbles, and tuts.

“P, you spelled Grindelwald wrong. Two Ls,” he squints harder, “same with McGonagall—how’d you miss that?” 

“Listen Moony, I’m good at actual Transfiguration,” the blond groans as Remus passes the poorly straightened parchment back down to him, a pale cheek resting on the wooden foot of the bed, “jus’ dunno why we have to write so much about it. Maybe Minnie hates me and wants me to die.” James snorts at the notion, “Don’t say that Wormy, we’d be much less entertaining without you!”

“And far less entertained as well,” Sirius scoffs against his pillow as he wordlessly turns James’ hair different colors with subtle swishes of his wand—green, then blue, then red, before the bespectacled boy looks up and shrieks. Contrary to popular belief, James Fleamont Potter is much more touchy about his hair than Sirius is—being the heir to the Sleakeazy’s empire does that to you; not a hair out of place growing up in more ways than one. The noise distracts Remus from his earlier task and the furrow in his brow deepens as he taps the bewitched parchment once more with his wand.

Messr Padfoot would like Messr Moony to know that the special missus is still on her way to the Great Hall with Kingsley Shacklebolt, as she was the last time he checked five minutes ago. 

Remus’s eyes flicker toward the actual Padfoot currently lazily flipping through his stack of records for something to play.

Sometimes their charmwork was more perceptive than they were. The guilt eats at Remus whenever he closes his eyes—hiding the secret of you from the boys that have accepted him body, soul, and wolf makes his head hurt when he thinks too much. Which he always does.

And now he’s thinking about how he’s more worried about what their reaction would be—would they think him to be foolish? Unkind, for stringing you along, a forever so forbidden to him that Remus can’t even fathom what a future with you would look like.

He won’t let himself get that far. To do that would be a death worse than the fate he’s been handed for this life. But he’s not alone—and for now, that works completely fine enough.

He hasn’t been listening to the conversation, their chatter going in one ear and out the other, and James notices.

“I dunno, red might be a good look on me,” he chortles, “Whatcha think, Moony?”

The words are almost branded into the back of his brain for how long he’s been staring at this stupid map. 

It’s like it’s mocking him. 

Messr Padfoot thinks Messr Moony should just grow a pair and ask the bird out. 

Messr Wormtail agrees, and thinks that maybe she’d like flowers. Not button mums though, save those for when you go crying to mummy about how you waited too long and missed your chance.

Perish the thought—the magic taking form in the personality of his three best friends—his brothers, if he were ever fortunate to have any, ribbing at Remus’ misfortune of being so protective over a girl he can’t even call his. He’s been hogging the blasted thing since they got back for the start of fall term, and is starting to run out of excuses for why it’s still in his possession whenever he sneaks around Hogwarts. Prefect duty is barely an excuse since James got promoted.

“Remmy boy, are you even listening to a word we’re saying, mate?”

He shakes his head of the reverie he’s put himself in, the sounds of you cooing his name in the dark of night echoing in the blood that rushes through his ears (and other things). But to the boys—that was as much of a response Remus has given them in the past two hours. 

He’s too busy following the trail of tiny footprints with your name floating above it. 

Messr Prongs thinks Messr Moony is a right idiot and can’t believe that he’s gonna let a numpty like Shacklebolt steal his girl?

All of them groan playfully, eyes flickering among the three until suddenly, they dogpile onto the brunet who feels the added weight in the creaking of his bones (and his bed—this thing is about to smash into pieces).

“Blimey. Siblings or dating is what it looks like, is that what you want me to say?” Remus huffs frustratedly, a tangle of dirty socks and elbows in his face as he pushes them off one by one—Sirius somehow still makes a spot for himself, denim-covered arse on Remus’ pillow (which he’ll need to remind himself to change the sheets later).

“Who pissed in your cereal this morning, Moony? There will be ginger Potters running around one day, I’ll make sure of it!”

“Godric forbid, Prongs. Sounds like a threat!” Peter grins.

“Why are you here again? And making so much unnecessary noise? Don’t you have a swanky dormitory that you could be snogging your girlfriend in, Mr. Head Boy?”

“If I had that privilege, I’d take advantage of the amenities—” Sirius waggles his eyebrows to all of them then interjecting, “WE KNOW!”

Sorry, not Messr Moony’s girl. Since he gets so touchy about the specifics.

The parchment is plucked out of Remus’ reach, and with it, his intentions of finding out what exactly your business is with Kingsley Shacklebolt. And Edgar Bones. And Dorcas Meadowes and Pandora Rosier too, for the hell of it. Those girls have been glaring at him since passing the Marauders’ train car on the Hogwarts Express and Remus thinks they know something they’re definitely not supposed to.

Fuck, he’s really got to get his head on straight about what to do with you. A few ideas come to mind, the visage of you swathed in summer so far away from his reach now, when the future was something he could meld with his fingertips and kiss into your skin.

“I just miss the old times,” James says amidst the laughter that fills the cramped dormitory, “This, all of us—when everything was so much easier. Can’t blame a guy for wanting it all back now that the real world is creeping in on us.”

The comment almost evaporates into thin air, a moment of contemplation before Sirius and Peter are whacking him so hard with pillows that the down feathers sprinkle down overhead like freshly fallen snow.

For a moment it feels like back then.

And Remus finds himself missing moments he’ll probably never get again.

With no time for excuses, he snatches the cloak slung across James’ bag and storms out of there as fast he can. 

“Can I borrow this? Thanksmatebebacklater—Got something important to do!”

—

Remus’ pops out from behind a column and you swear there was no possible way he could’ve been there as you walked past seconds prior. 

“Merli—Mmf!”

The cool concrete makes you flinch as you’re backed into it and Remus is kissing you senseless, almost as if he has something to prove.

And laughter bubbles up his throat, spilling into your smile when he realizes you’re kissing him back. You can taste it off his lips, raw from being gnawed on and a smidge of chocolate he nibbled on his sprint here to make himself feel better

Kissing you has done that and more—soothing the aching feeling he’s had in his chest all week. You’re not pushing him away and clearly not stumbling into shadowy corners with anyone else but him. Remus is pressing you against the wall so firmly that if you were a ghost you might phase through it. But it’s delicious to be devoured like this, much more so when he does it like a man starved. He’s propping one of his knees between yours when you break away in a daze, lips swollen and slick that they mirror the candlelight twinkling off your eyes.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell has gotten into you?”

There’s a stupid smile on your face that has his name on it when he sighs so loudly it wracks through his whole body in a wave of desperation.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to get you alone these days?”

Blinking slowly, your eyes flicker back down to his lips with a smirk, and his index finger pushes your chin up so you look at him again, “Lovely, eyes up here.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I…” Remus shakes his head slowly at first, then rapidly as the insinuation sets in, “Am not!”

“You do know I have a life outside of you right?” You say crossing your arms cooly. The way your eyelashes flutter at him reddens his cheeks, being so easily caught in a lie. He used to be better at that—now he’s letting your fist wrap around his tie and tug him down like a lovesick fool.

Which he is not.

“Of course you do. I’m not at all bothered that I don’t have you to myself anymore,” he mutters through a scrunched face, “Go hang out with Bones some more, bet he’s dying to give you his o—” You squeeze his face in your hands, lips coming into a disgruntled pucker as you grin.

“Dunno, you sound pretty bothered, baby.”

Evil, evil witch. 

The pet names come easier for him but from you they’re a special treat—only used when you’re ruffling some feathers or when you get what you want out of him. Remus glares at you now, knowing he’d eat out of the palm of your hand if he wasn’t careful.

“You could have whomever you want,” he grits, scratching the nape of his neck, “Even the boys think so. I’ve heard them say it.”

“And unfortunately,” you peck his lips, “I want you. Can I please go to dinner now?” You sidle out of his warm grasp, narrowly avoiding the fingers that chase your hips as you swivel towards the other end of the hallway with a playful glance. 

“Besides, I’ve already kissed James,” you reveal with a grin as if nothing of the sort.

“WHAT?”

You were third-years and paired up for a Potions project and a conversation about his crush on Lily led to him spilling his guts about his mortifying fear of being too inexperienced for her. You told him you had never kissed anyone before either. The shared giggles led to an awkward and then very pleasant first kiss and then tentative snog in the Potions cupboard, a vial of powdered unicorn horn raining down iridescent sparkles.

Quite magical, for a bunch of fourteen year olds, but the less Remus knows is better. His jaw is clenched and if you weren’t sure before, he is definitely bothered now. 

“Two down, two to go—HEY!”

—

James sneezes quite unglamorously, like a foghorn, or an avalanche with a landslide rolling off his shoulders as they shake. And then another time, one that echoes straight into his girlfriend’s eardrum and Lily grimaces.

“Blimey, James. Cover your mouth!”

“I dunno, sweetheart! Just came over me,” he sniffs, pushing his glasses back up. Sirius leans over the table, knocking over a goblet of pumpkin juice straight into Peter’s lap, “Pads!”

“This girl I used to see always said if you sneezed twice, someone was talking shit about you.”

“With the record you four have, you’d all be sent to St. Mungo’s,” Marlene drones, flicking a spoonful of peas into Sirius’ hair. 

There’s an empty spot next to Peter, James notices, even if the boy is eating for two. Excusing himself, he steps out into the hall and blows his nose into a napkin from his pocket, pulling out the map as well.

A simple tap of his wand reveals the truth, his hazel eyes widening at the sentence that writes itself with no preamble.

Messr Moony is up to no good with a lovely Miss…

The letters of your name spell themselves out slowly, along with two pairs of footprints sharing a space in the corner of the parchment, and he cannot believe his eyes—but then the distraction leads to Filch confiscating the blasted thing for good.

“Mischief managed!”

—

[amateurvoltaire]

Usually when an English speaker is getting into the history of the French Revolution and wants to go beyond Wikipedia, they stumble on The Twelve Who Ruled. It’s inevitable. Since 1941 it has been a staple of lecture halls and history aficionados alike.

For me it was one of the first things I read, many years ago, and it shaped, to some extent, how I approached the period. I read it again last year, expecting to see it differently. I didn’t. It’s an old book. But still, by the standards of 21st-century historiography, largely accurate.

So since it’s a book a lot of beginners encounter, and since I’ve had half a mind to review some of the dozens of books on the French Revolution I own, I thought it would be a good place to start.

I will be assessing this book (and all others I review) on a scale from 1 to 5 in eight categories:

Before we start, remember two things:

This is my review, which means it is, by definition, biased. I try to stay as neutral as possible, but no one is fully objective.

You should never take anything as fact. I research things. I enjoy researching things. I spend far too much time researching things. But I’m human, and that means I make mistakes. Challenge everything you read, including this.

Twelve Who Ruled: An In-depth Review

Historical Accuracy

For a book published in the 1940s, Twelve Who Ruled is remarkable in how much of it remains uncontested, especially given that archival access in France was impossible during the war. Using only the printed sources available to him, Palmer built a richly detailed narrative of Year II. He avoided major factual errors and did not indulge in the lurid exaggerations or mythologising that often plagued earlier accounts of the Revolution.

On the contrary, Palmer’s portraits of key figures and events have stood the test of time. His depiction of Robespierre, for example, was unmatched in its balance, nuance and restraint when the book was published. Subsequent scholarship has generally confirmed Palmer’s factual claims. Indeed, many of his interpretations have been validated by later evidence: for instance, he is one of the first to advance the argument that the Terror’s policies were reactive responses to severe crises, rather than a premeditated program of mass violence, and that Robespierre never exercised dictatorial authority.

Eighty years later, Twelve Who Ruled still holds up as a factually sound work. Far from perpetuating discredited myths, Palmer steered a middle course, avoiding both Thermidorian clichés about a “blood-mad” Committee and hagiographic Jacobin legends.

Historiographical Position

When situating The Twelve Who Ruled within the landscape of French Revolution historiography, it is important to remember that Palmer was writing in 1941, before most of the major scholarly camps had fully taken shape. His work does not fit neatly into the classic categories of Marxist, Revisionist, or post-Revisionist schools (1), though it engaged with and later influenced those debates.

Palmer’s approach was essentially a liberal narrative of the Revolution’s most turbulent phase. He focused on the pragmatic demands of governance during an existential crisis, rather than on class struggle or ideological abstraction. This already set him apart from the Marxist tradition. His attention remained squarely on the actions and dilemmas of the twelve men on the Committee of Public Safety, and on the political and military pressures that shaped their decisions.

He also diverged from what would later become the Revisionist school. While Palmer shared their scepticism of class determinism, he did not embrace their emphasis on ideology as the primary driver. His account treats the Terror less as a product of revolutionary rhetoric than as a contingent response to internal collapse and foreign invasion. He was wary of overly ideological explanations.

In short, The Twelve Who Ruled occupies a distinctive historiographical position. As the first serious monograph on the Committee of Public Safety, it predates the Cold War polarities that shaped later scholarship. In my opinion, Palmer might best be described as a pragmatic liberal historian of the French Revolution. He did not write in the Marxist tradition of Lefebvre or Soboul (though he admired Lefebvre enough to translate his work), nor did he share the iconoclastic edge of later revisionists like Cobban or Furet (2).

Use of Primary Sources

Writing during World War II from the United States, Palmer relied entirely on published primary sources available in America. These included a wide range of printed materials: the proceedings and debates of the National Convention, official documents and reports of the Committee of Public Safety, as well as memoirs, letters, and revolutionary newspapers.

This breadth of material allowed him to reconstruct the Committee’s decisions and actions almost day by day, giving his narrative credibility. Crucially, Palmer did not confine himself to Paris. Because he was interested in the representatives on mission and provincial enforcement of the Terror, he also consulted sources on events in Lyon, Alsace, and Brittany. For its time, the study had a notably wide geographic scope.

Even so, Palmer’s research was limited to what was in print. He lacked access to unpublished archives, local records, or police files that later historians would use to deepen the field of social history. His source base is political and governmental. It reflects the perspective of the revolutionary authorities, not that of ordinary people.

In short, Palmer worked almost entirely with documents written by the deputies and officials (all men) who “ruled.” As a result, the book pays less attention to marginal voices (3). The result is a body of sources broad in political scope, if limited in social depth.

Palmer’s use of sources is generally careful and even-handed. He provides context for the material he cites and avoids cherry-picking. His work relies on French-language sources, as expected for the subject (4). While not archive-based in the modern sense, the research was solid enough that the book’s factual foundation has remained largely intact even after eighy years of further research.

Methodological Rigor

The Twelve who Ruled is not overtly theoretical; its strength lies in a coherent narrative framework and a clear analytical focus. In an era when many academic historians were often abandoning narrative and turning to structural or conceptual models, Palmer resisted the trend. He showed that storytelling, when anchored in analysis, could still carry serious weight. He did not invoke grand theories (Marxist class theory, Tocquevillian social theory, etc.), nor did he fill the text with historiographical jargon. Instead, he focused on applying a steady interpretive lens to the events of 1793–1794.

The idea that the Revolution’s survival hinged on creating a unified, legitimate, and forceful authority during the crisis is the leitmotif of the book. Every chapter, whether addressing the war effort, economic controls, or factional purges, returns to this analytical core. In methodological terms, Palmer’s approach can be described as problem-driven narrative.He identifies the central issue (governing amid chaos) and examines how various factors (personalities, ideologies, circumstances) shaped the response attempted by the Committee of Public Safety. The result is a tightly focused analysis. Despite covering a tumultuous year, the reader always understands why events unfold as they do: because the revolutionaries were trying, with varying degrees of success and virtue, to resolve the Republic’s existential crisis.

In discussing key concepts such as “revolution,” “terror,” and “virtue,” Palmer adopts sensible, if traditional, definitions. He uses the term “Terror” in his title and narrative because it was (and remains) the conventional label for the period, but he is careful to unpack what it meant in practice. He does not treat “The Terror” as a monolithic or abstract force. Instead, he breaks it down into specific policies and events (the Law of Suspects, the Revolutionary Tribunal’s activities, pressure from the sans-culottes etc.) to show how violence was implemented pragmatically, not philosophically.

Notably, Palmer did not anachronistically impose the term “Reign of Terror” on everything, he knew that the term gained currency mainly after Robespierre’s fall. His narrative implies, in line with modern findings, that the revolutionary government itself did not treat “Terror” as a coherent policy slogan (5). Palmer’s treatment of terror as a concept is methodological. He presents it as an emergency government and analyses the mechanics and morality of state violence without becoming entangled in a semantic argument.

His treatment of “revolution” and “virtue” follows the same logic. He presents the Revolution as a struggle to preserve the Republic against its enemies, even at the cost of violating some of its founding principles. He regularly cites the ideals of liberty and equality, and the 1789 Constitution, not to celebrate them but to underline the irony of their suspension “until the peace.” The term “virtue” appears mainly in the context of revolutionary rhetoric, particularly Robespierre’s vision of republican virtue. Palmer does not deliver a philosophical essay on the term. He lets Robespierre and Saint-Just speak for themselves, then examines the consequences. His analysis makes it clear that he understands Jacobin virtue as a kind of austere civic morality, which he implicitly weighs against liberal values.

Methodologically, Palmer is rigorous and consistent. He poses an implicit question: how did twelve men govern a revolution in crisis?—and answers it through a chronological but analytical narrative. His framework is free of glaring contradictions. He weaves political, military, and economic history into a single, unified argument.

The clarity of Palmer’s conceptual handling is evident in how easily the argument can be distilled. Readers never wonder what Palmer thinks the Terror was. He sees it as a revolutionary dictatorship, a term he uses without apology. It was, in some respects, effective (securing military victory), in others, creative (experimenting with democratic forms and state control), and in many, morally troubling.

Narrative Style

This is a subjective category, but one of Palmer’s greatest strengths lies in his narrative style, which is both clear and engaging. Unlike some academic history books, Twelve Who Ruled reads almost like a story, albeit a richly documented one, of a dramatic year in French history. Palmer’s prose is accessible and relatively free of jargon. He was writing for an educated audience, but not exclusively for specialists, and this shows in the readability of the text.

The story is driven by the vivid personalities of the twelve Committee members and the high-stakes drama they lived through. At times, Palmer almost novelistically follows individual members into the provinces or captures the atmosphere in the Convention, which helps the reader visualise events. This blend of narrative colour and historical evidence keeps the text grounded.

That said, the book does not read like a novel throughout. Twelve Who Ruled is densely detailed, and Palmer does not simplify the complexity of Year II. Some sections, for example those on the organisation of war production or the Committee’s internal bureaucracy, are dry and require the reader to absorb a large amount of technical information. However, these are consistently interwoven with more dramatic material such as battles, trials, and political confrontations. The balance keeps the pacing steady across the text.

Palmer is particularly effective in his character sketches. Each of the twelve becomes memorable (Carnot the stern military organiser, Barère the silver-tongued pragmatist, Saint-Just the youthful ideologue etc.) without collapsing into cliché. These almost literary portraits make the reader more invested in the unfolding story.

Perhaps most striking is the absence of pretension in Palmer’s style.His prose has a classic literary quality: measured, erudite, but never self-important. Compared to many writers of historical research, Palmer’s style is disciplined. He doesn’t try to prove his intelligence with a flood of ornate language. He simply writes well.

Originality and Contribution

Upon publication, Twelve Who Ruled was an innovative and ground-breaking contribution to French Revolutionary studies. R. R. Palmer effectively pioneered the focused study of the Committee of Public Safety, a subject that, surprisingly, had never before been treated in a comprehensive monograph. In 1941, historiography on the French Revolution was rich in general narratives and class analyses of 1789 or the broader revolutionary period, but the intense year of the Terror and its governing body had received no sustained study. Palmer filled that gap brilliantly.

By focusing on the twelve men of the Committee and examining their rule as a collective, Palmer offered a new angle. Rather than writing a biography of Robespierre or a general history of the Revolution, he did something original: a group portrait of a revolutionary government in action. This approach yielded fresh insights by highlighting the role of less-famous figures like Billaud-Varene, Lindet, the two Prieur(s) or Saint-André in winning the war and running the country.

At the time, interpretations of the Terror tended to fall into polemical extremes, either apologetic or scathing. Palmer’s contribution was to demystify the Terror. He did not glorify it or denounce it in moral absolutes. He analysed it as a political and historical reality. That stance was unusual in 1941, especially for an American historian. His work managed to synthesise insights from competing schools: it acknowledged the Terror’s necessity in context, a point later taken up by leftist historians, while also recognising its moral and strategic failures, a view more often stressed by revisionists.

This balance gave the book lasting academic value. This synthesis gave the book a lasting academic impact, as it could be read profitably by people on different sides of the interpretive spectrum.

Authorial Bias and Political Agenda

Palmer’s personal values and context inevitably informed his work, yet Twelve Who Ruled is notably measured and fair-minded, without a heavy-handed political agenda. R. R. Palmer was a liberal-democratic American intellectual, and someone who valued the ideals of the Enlightenment and constitutional government. That perspective quietly shapes the book. Palmer clearly admires certain principles of 1789 and he often reminds the reader of what was lost when the Terror regime suspended civil liberties and elections. His sympathy for liberal democracy leads him to approach the Committee of Public Safety with a critical eye, especially regarding their use of coercion and violence. He does not defend the guillotine or the repression of dissent. On the contrary, he treats those as regrettable, if at times understandable, choices.

Crucially, Palmer’s liberalism does not reduce his book to a simple anti-revolutionary stance. If anything, there is a degree of admiration for the Committee’s sense of duty and purpose, even as he remains aware of the compromises they made. He describes the Committee’s rule as a “dictatorship,” but one born of necessity, reflecting a liberal’s reluctant concession that extreme times may call for extreme measures. His relief when the Terror ends is unmistakable. The tone around Thermidor suggests a welcome return to politics as usual, though he does not spare the Thermidorians from criticism either.

Throughout, Palmer shows a clear preference for moderation. He tends to praise figures like Barère or Carnot when they show pragmatism or hesitation toward the use of violence. Barère is labelled, for instance, a “reluctant terrorist,” someone who chose expediency over fanaticism. In contrast, Palmer is more critical of those he sees as driven by ideology. Figures such as Billaud-Varenne or Collot d’Herbois are portrayed less sympathetically, as hardliners whose insistence on revolutionary purity helped drive repression too far.

Even here, Palmer does not resort to caricature. He places the actions of extremists in context, explaining their behaviour as a product of pressure rather than inherent cruelty. His bias, to the extent that it appears, leans toward moderate, pragmatic politics. He gives implicit approval when the Committee acts with competence and restraint. He shows clear discomfort when ideological rigidity overrides practical judgment.

If anything, the book carries a mild Whiggish tone (6). Palmer seems to view the Terror as a detour from the path of democratic progress, a necessary detour but a detour nonetheless. This aligns with a classical liberal reading of the Revolution, where 1789 and 1793 are seen not as a permanent rupture, but as part of the long and painful emergence of liberal democracy. In the final chapters, Palmer’s relief at the Republic’s military victories and the subsiding of emergency measures feels almost celebratory, implying a return to the Revolution’s original liberal course. Yet, he also soberly concludes with the personal tragedies of the twelve, showing that history’s verdict is complicated.

It is also worth noting what Palmer does not do. Namely, propaganda.

Twelve Who Ruled is not a cautionary tale or propaganda tract. Given that it was written in 1941, with fascism on the rise, one might expect an American liberal to use the French Terror to denounce totalitarianism. But Palmer avoids crude analogies. He lets readers draw their own conclusions. A reader in 1941 might well think of Hitler or Stalin while reading about the dangers of concentrated power, but Palmer does not push that comparison. His portrait of the Committee, a dictatorial body that nevertheless saved France, complicates any simple moral about dictatorship. The lesson is not imposed.

Suitability for Teaching or Further Research

Over the years, Twelve Who Ruled has proven highly effective for teaching the French Revolution and remains a reliable point of entry for further research. Its structured narrative and wide scope make it a strong introduction for students and general readers, while its analytical precision offers more experienced readers material for reflection and debate. Within Anglophone historiography, few works cover Year II with the same aplomb.

The book’s focus on individual leaders and specific crises helps anchor the chronology of 1793 to 1794 in something tangible and humane. Because Palmer explains context as he goes, for example by giving background on the Vendée revolt, the Federalist insurrections, and the food shortages, it allows even newcomers to the topic to grasp the wider dynamics of the period.

Its limitations are those of its time. Now more than eighty years old, the book does not reflect more recent developments in the field. Questions of gender, global context, symbolic culture, and the experience of ordinary people are not part of Palmer’s framework.

Most importantly, the book is so well-written that even someone unaccustomed to reading non-fiction will find it engaging. It does not demand specialist knowledge, but it never talks down to the reader. As an introduction to the French Revolution, it is hard to beat. Few works manage to be this serious, this readable, and this enduring at the same time. It remains a book worth reading, not just for what it says about 1793, but for how well it says it.

Notes

(1) This is worth a post of its own, but in short—and this is an extremely simplified summary—the historiography of the French Revolution can be broadly outlined as follows:

Conservative reaction (1790s to 1890s): Sees the Revolution as a catastrophe that overturned legitimate order. Authors: Edmund Burke, Hippolyte Taine, Louis de Bonald.

Liberal narrative (1820s to 1910s): Praises the moderate reforms of 1789, condemns later extremism, and stresses continuity with the Old Regime. Authors: Adolphe Thiers, Alexis de Tocqueville, François Guizot.

Radical republican and proto-socialist (1840s to 1930s): Celebrates popular egalitarianism and defends Jacobin democracy. Authors: Jules Michelet, Louis Blanc, Jean Jaurès.

Marxist classical social school (1920s to mid-1960s): Frames the Revolution as a bourgeois class struggle that abolished feudalism and views the Terror as a necessary defence. Authors: Albert Mathiez, Georges Lefebvre, Albert Soboul, Michel Vovelle.

Revisionist critique (mid-1960s to late 1980s): Rejects the class model, emphasises political contingency and the culture of violence. Authors: Alfred Cobban, William Doyle, François Furet, Simon Schama, Patrice Gueniffey.

Post-revisionist and cultural turn (late 1980s to 2000s): Combines political and social analysis, focuses on language, symbols, and local experiences. Authors: Lynn Hunt, Timothy Tackett, Jean-Clément Martin, Mona Ozouf, Roger Chartier, Peter McPhee, Hervé Leuwers.

There are also several other areas of research like Gender History and Colonial Perspectives which emerged in the 1980s and 1990s.

(2) It goes without saying that recent post-revisionist trends, including cultural and gender-focused approaches, lie outside Palmer’s scope. These methodologies only emerged decades after 1941. Palmer does not, for example, examine revolutionary festivals, political symbols, or the “culture of citizenship” as later cultural historians would.

(3) This is not unique to Palmer. Most scholarship of his time ignores marginalised groups, including women, the poor, enslaved people, and colonial subjects.

(4) PSA: if you are reading a history book on a specific country or event, and most of its sources are not in that country’s language, stop reading.

(5) Palmer does recount the demand of 5 September 1793 to make terror “the order of the day,” but he treats it as a historical moment rather than an ideological programme.

(6) Whiggish refers to a teleological view of history, typically associated with 19th-century liberal thought. It sees the past as a steady march toward progress, constitutional government, and political liberty. A “Whiggish” historian tends to interpret events as steps on the road to modern democracy, even when those steps include violent detours.

[ohlawdthevoices]

HIII!! i just discovered your blog recently and I absolutely love your writing style 🫶🏻🫶🏻i was hoping we could get a bnha fic where the reader shaved her head a couple months ago because of hair damage and they feel self conscious about it?

If you can't its totally fine but Id be SO happy if you could

Byeee!!

Hiii !! tsym for your request i think this would be so cute so i tried my best ! :]

tags : bakugo , shoto, kirishima x reader (separately), fluff and comfort !

Bakugo notices the second you start acting different. you’re quieter, ducking your head more, tugging at your hoodie like it can hide you. and yeah, he might not be the most delicate guy in the world, but he’s not stupid.

“you been actin’ weird since the haircut,” he finally mutters one night, eyes flicking to you across the couch. you try to brush it off, say it’s nothing, big mistake. cue the aggressive affection.

next thing you know, he’s calling you “gorgeous” in the most pissed-off tone possible. glaring at you like it’s your fault he’s so in love. “I don’t care what your hair looks like. you think I’m with you ‘cause of that? tch dumbass.”

he’s not always good with soft stuff, but every now and then, when you’re half-asleep on his chest, he’ll grumble something like, “y’know, I actually like it,i can see your face better now s’cute.”

Shoto doesn’t say much when you first show up with your head shaved just tilts his head slightly, takes you in like a painting he’s trying to understand, and goes, “you look different. I like it.”

simple. honest. no fluff, no faking.

but he notices. the way your fingers linger on hats or how you suddenly start avoiding taking pics sometimes. he’s quiet, but not oblivious.

so he starts saying things. not often, and not loud, but always when it counts. like brushing your hair used to be a part of his routine with you, and now he just places his hand gently on the back of your head instead, thumb stroking soft circles.

“you’re beautiful,” he says one night, eyes fixed on yours while the glow of your phone screen lights the room. “you know that, right?” you try to deflect with a joke—he doesn’t laugh. just leans in and kisses your forehead like that’s enough to silence every thought in your head.

when you tell him you feel less than, he stares at you for a long second, then says, “you could shave it again tomorrow, or dye it green, or never grow it back at all. I’d still look at you the same.” there was a small silence as you could see him clearly thinking about something “okay maybe don’t do green…i don’t wanna feel like im kissing midoriya.”

Kirishima’s the type to be all “woah, that’s hot!” when he first sees your shaved head. his eyes light up, like you’ve just done the most badass thing in the world. he’s so hype about it, you almost forget why you’re self-conscious in the first place. almost.

but then he notices the way you start covering up more, or how you look away when he’s complimenting you, and he realizes—something’s up.

he’s not gonna let you slip under the radar, though. “hey, come on, you’re still the most awesome person I know,” he’ll say, making sure to keep his voice upbeat. “you’re literally the definition of sexy, so if anyone’s staring at you, they’re just jealous!”

and yea he’ll keep throwing in compliments like, “looking sharp as hell, babe,” and “can’t believe I’m dating someone as cool as you.” but when it seems like you’re still struggling, he gets a thoughtful look on his face.

the next day, you’re sitting on the couch, and Kirishima casually walks in with a freshly shaved head. “I thought I should join you,” he says with that signature grin. “we’re both gonna be rocking the bald look together.” he pats his head and laughs. “what’s the point of being the toughest guy around if you don’t support your partner?”

[pukefactory]

Ok so umm we need more crk content up in here so.. Eternal sugar cookie x angel like reader guys idc if she is not out yet. 😭😭😭😭

AUTHOR’S NOTE

At the time of publishing, Eternal Sugar Cookie has not yet been released, and key details about her character remain unknown. As a result, significant artistic liberties were taken while writing her portrayal, which may become outdated once her full character is revealed. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this interpretation, even if it eventually becomes obsolete. I simply couldn’t resist writing for the one and only.

- COMET

₊˚⊹⋆ ♡〜 YOU, I’M CALLING FOR 〜♡ ₊˚⊹⋆

˗ˏˋ ♡ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring Eternal Sugar Cookie X Angel Reader

˗ˏˋ ♡ Character(s): Eternal Sugar Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

˗ˏˋ ♡ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

˗ˏˋ ♡ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

˗ˏˋ ♡ Image Credits: @inkcomposer

❤︎ Eternal Sugar didn’t like you at first. She adored you. Resented you. Feared you. Worshiped you. You were everything she used to be—pure, winged, serene. The real deal. While she draped her corruption in silk and perfume, you radiated. You were everything she had lost and everything she wanted to taste again. So of course, when she first met you, she called you “darling” with a tone of acid sugar. You didn’t even flinch. That, somehow, made her knees weak.

❤︎ She teases you constantly, poking holes in your innocence just to see if you bleed gold or red underneath. “Oh my, do you blush when I call you precious? No, no—don’t look away, let me see~” The thing is, it’s never just teasing. Eternal Sugar is always testing boundaries, yours and her own. She’ll flirt like it’s a game, then flinch when you touch her hand too gently—because it’s easier to be adored than loved.

❤︎ Her Garden of Delights becomes your safe haven too, though she insists it’s purely practical. “One less realm you could be poached from, sweetheart. Can’t have little demons nibbling at your wings, now can we?” But she redesigns it. Slowly. Subtly. Everything becomes a little gentler, softer, holier. A part of her aches to make a heaven just for you, even if she can’t go back to hers.

❤︎ You’re the only one who sees her when the glamour cracks. She never lets it drop completely—never. But you’ve caught glimpses. In the mirror behind her throne, in the reflection of her lyre strings, in the split-second between blink and breath. The sluggish bitterness in her eyes. The flicker of exhaustion behind her smile. You don’t confront it. You just lay a hand on her cheek when no one’s watching. She always leans into it, silent.

❤︎ Eternal Sugar knows how to corrupt. But you? You purify. Without even trying. One time she offered you a kiss, dipped in pink sin and glittering promises, just to see if you’d take it. You did—gently, with a whisper of a touch. Not flustered. Not naive. Just… kind. “Thank you,” you’d said. “You deserve to feel wanted too.” She had to vanish into mist for a solid hour before she could look you in the eye again.

❤︎ She likes to fiddle with your wings when she’s anxious. No words. No sharp smiles. Just careful fingers brushing through feathers and threads, humming old celestial lullabies under her breath. “Don’t mind me, sugar. I just… needed to remember what grace feels like again.”

❤︎ Despite her dominion over sloth, she never rests unless you’re beside her. “You look divine when you sleep,” she murmurs, curled around your side like a ribbon. “But I look better. Don’t argue—angels don’t lie.” But when you kiss her forehead, she goes quiet. For once, there’s no seduction in it. Only reverence. Her halo dims and pulses faintly like a heartbeat.

❤︎ She lies to everyone else. But never to you. Or at least, she tries. The first time she attempted to trick you, she ended up confessing the truth five minutes later, lips trembling. “I didn’t want you to leave, okay? I thought if I said the wrong thing, you’d fly off and I’d never be able to reach you again.” You didn’t judge her. You just held her hand tighter.

❤︎ Sometimes, in rare private moments, she sings to you with her lyre. Not the seductive melodies that enchant her followers. Something older. A hymn from the age before the fall. Your eyes close. She watches the way your expression softens—like home. Like Heaven. She plays until her own hands shake.

❤︎ She still calls herself the Bringer of Happiness. But when she looks at you, her voice softens. “You know… I thought I’d have to trick joy into loving me. Seduce it. Lie to it. Twist it until it looked like something that could belong to me. But you just… offered it. No games. No catches.” She holds you close, breath warm against your ear. “You ruin me, angel. And I love you for it.”

[jinuaei]

Wait wait wait... TFP S1 E13 the cortical psychic patch with Megatron... Probably OOC Idc

Yan! TFP Megatron x medic bot reader

Uh... middle of the night writing hopefully it's understandable

Word count: 1.3k

Reader is Knockout's assistant and was tasked to basically be Megatron's bedside nurse. To Megatron, you were no one, just a bot that meekly follows behind Knockout or Breakdown. You are usually seen helping Knockout in checking up on him, or helping Breakdown clean up Megatron. But this time you were tasked to make sure Megatron never wakes up.

So Knockout — under Starscream's orders — had you connect to Megatron via the CPP, and gave you orders to stay low and ensure that Megatron stays in stasis lock. You do, observing him killing Optimus Prime over and over and over. You have stayed inside his head long enough to make you get used to the repetitive behaviour and become negligent on your task.

You were sloppy enough to have Megatron notice you hiding behind one of the rocks, tiredly nodding off. You snapped out of your short nap after hearing Megatron's canon preparing to shoot, scaring you half to death.

Megatron questions who you are, thinking you were an autobot and you quickly answer, fearing his wrath, but he doesn't kill you, instead he lowers his weapon, finally remembering that you are that shy little bort Knockout brings with him. Knowing that you are a Decepticon, he leaves you be, but you follow behind him regardless of his glare. 

Over time, he got used to your presence, following him or keenly observing him do whatever he does. The longer you stayed in his mind, the more he noticed odd quirks of yours that he deemed… adorable. Like how you kick your pedes that’s hanging off the edge of the platform above the arena while you observe him, or how you play with the loose rocks by stacking it on top of each other when you are bored.

Additionally, you tend to recharge a lot, understandable considering there’s nothing really happening much in his mind, other than killing Prime of course. He often sees you recharge on the cold platform, occasionally shivering. 

No, he definitely did not think it was endearing that you stop shivering when he gets closer, finding safety in his presence. And no, he did not think it was cute how you would nuzzle close to his servo when he moves to caress your cheekplate, that did not happen and will never happen again.

But when you woke up you found yourself on a berth, a proper berth on top of the platform, complete with a ‘pillow’, as those humans call it. You look over to Megatron in confusion but you find him killing prime (again), but if you only looked closer, you would see him smile as you cuddle the pillow close to you. He did not know how he managed to create that, but when he thought about how pitiful you looked on the ground, it suddenly appeared 

You don’t know how long you stayed inside his mind, you don’t know what day it is, where the Nemesis is or hell, you don’t even know if you’ll ever wake up in your original body again. But Megatron has been oddly sweet to you, or as sweet as Megatron could be. The berth has now expanded, it became a proper house now, complete with 2 berthrooms, a kitchen (that none of you really use but you enjoy the act of ‘making’ something), and a ‘living room’ with a tv (that only plays Megatron’s battles during his gladiator days)

It’s honestly rather cozy, and you noticed that Megatron has been killing Optimus less and less. Now instead accompanying you inside the house, oftentimes lazing on the couch or watching over you when you do something. 

I like to think this reader, though a cybertronian, has a thing for human homes and how domestic it is. So most of the ‘human’ objects came from your mind, doesn’t the CPP go both ways? So it is possible for Megatron to know about human domiciles due to your knowledge passing onto him. (I’m delulu let’s just say I’m correct on this :P)

One time you talked to him about flowers, and described to him how organic flowers look, he summoned one with the best of his abilities but what appeared was an amalgamation of metals that’s in the shape of a rose. Now those roses are planted outside your house accompanied by your flowers.

The moment you remembered that the bot you are with is the Leader of the Decepticons and is actually dangerous was when you tried to explore the place the best you can. When your pede reached the bottom of the stairs his voice called out to you from the top, it was cold, calculating… dangerous. And as you look up, his face is covered in shadows, optics bright, and frame tense. 

He does not like you being away from him.

Since then, you have not strayed far from your ‘home’ and when you tend to the flowers he is often found staring you down from within the home, his silhouette always standing behind one of the windows, looking over you, making sure you never stray away from his sight.

This routine followed the both of you until one day as you were talking to him, him softly responding to you, you suddenly disappeared. One klik you were there, the next, you were gone. He tried to find you within your home, checking every room, every nook and cranny that you could hide in. He thought you were playing that stupid hiding game, of course, he would always find you, but this time, he couldn’t.

And after searching every place he could think of, even outside yours and his home, he flips out. He deemed you a traitor and destroyed every piece of furniture within your home in anger.

How could you leave him? After giving you everything you wanted? All that stupid organic items, that stuffed bunny that you adoringly name as ‘Megatron jr.’, and even the flowers. How could you betray his spark and abandon him?

He started ripping apart the pillows, the sheets, even the walls are not safe. But when he is staring down at Megatron jr. he feels a sudden coldness on his spark.

Why did he blame you? No you would never, you are too kind to even be a Decepticon, nevermind a traitor, so someone else definitely took you away from him. Yes, that’s it, someone took you, far far away from his safe clutches. And he intends to hunt them down and kill them to even dare to touch you. With renowned energy he gently tucked Megatron Jr. inside his sub space and went out to seek you.

When he reached the arena he found himself staring at the autobot scout, enraged, he went to attack him but found himself unable to. Someone from the autobot team must have realized that Megatron is currently in a dangerous state because Bumblebee disappeared from his very optics, but by then it was too late, Megatron already knew the truth that everything was fake, the house, the plants, the battles, were part of his mind. And a thought crossed in his mind that maybe you were also fake… but he refuses to believe that. 

Due to his feral state or perhaps his obsession with you, he somehow manages to wake up from his processor dead state and is now staring at Starscream and Knockout, he ignores them and tries to find you. You were next to him, recharging, ‘forced into stasis lock by one of the autobots’ Knockout said, it was lucky that you would wake up soon, he would hate to kill Knockout if he was wrong.

Megatron then grabs your recharging form, intending to have you rest in his... no, both of yours berthroom. Just because it was all in his mind, does not mean it was fake, he can, and will be keep everything the same, but this time — everything is real.

[gamergirl-lumine]

Lance: *flirting on coms*

Pidge: For the love of everything, save your romance for after the battle!

Lance: Ugh, fine.

Keith: …you were talking to me, not Allura though?

Shiro: Sigh

Hunk: Really, he still hasn’t noticed?

Coran: I thought humans were less oblivious than this…

Allura: Lance, just tell him already!

Lance: I did, last week, he thought I was being weird.

Keith: Told me what?

Zarkon, cutting in on coms: HE TOLD YOU HE LOVES YOU, YOU QUIZNACKING MORON! THE PINING IS PAINFUL! FOR THE LOVE OF THE EMIPRE AND ALL THAT IS VILE, JUST MAKE OUT ALREADY!

Allura: You know it’s a good couple when even your enemies ship it.

Shiro: Ship it? Who’s been teaching Allura meme culture again?!

Allura: THIS BITCH EMPTY! YEET!

[r0-boat]

For last night's stream we streamed a cute little dating sin called "I JUST WANT TO BE SINGLE!!"

It was a game cast of mostly girls even the MC and it was very cute.

As you may not or may already know I have a challenge where every after stream I do I make a drabble or headcanons or any writing based on the game I've played! And since the dating sim was very generic at school transfer student I thought I would do the same with WHB!

So enjoy being the human transfer student at an all demon school.

What in hell is bad? Seven Kings X transfer student

Whb high school AU

Mammon's Dad is alive, Solomon is your father these devils are younger than in the Canon games. Strictly an AU for fun silly purposes. All people are adults I don't specify if it's a high school or a college, but if it helps you sleep at night it's college. Solomon is one of those cool teachers that every student loves, Solomon isn't the best father but he is trying.

Cw: very silly, sfw but suggestive, cliche, some mention of sex because of you know who.

Intro:

What the fuck???

Three words screamed into your mind as you look on at the building that was supposedly your school It looked less like a school building and more like a castle. It's even look like the universities all your friends got accepted in. It looked more than that. Like how we would picture a top college like Yale or Harvard would look like if you've never seen or even heard of it before.

You knew that mysterious all expenses paid scholarship was a bad idea. But it wasn't a prank fine print was fine print. And the icing on the cake. Your father Solomon I would never home because of work was the one who sent you the letter.

Whatever they saw in you must be damn good to be able to get a fucking scholarship and a school that looks like this. The courtyard was utterly deserted signaling that everyone was probably already in their classes. You sigh as you walk over to the huge gated fence slowly and struggling to push the giant iron Gates open enough for you to squeeze by. Seriously who the hell are these gates designed for prisoners?!

But as soon as you stepped through the door this school was a different place entirely. It looked so orderly and clean on the outside but on the inside... It looks like a war zone. Cracks and holes in the floor boarded up windows with broken glass scattered about. The place wreaked of cigarettes and weed and alcohol. Just what kind of school was this??

You would soon get your answer when you stepped into your classroom. Handsome yet dangerous looking men stared at you sharp teeth sharp eyes and even sharper horns that adorned their head.

Devils?!

As the teacher also a devil with a tail that fully moved in such a way that you ruled out the possibility of it being fake introduced you.

"This will be our first human transfer student in a long time! And from then on... You're peaceful school life would never be the same.

Satan

Captain of devil's football (cavalry as they call it), His seating is at the back of the room, and it just so happened that next to him was the only open seat. He stared at you intensely with a scary look, with those red eyes piercing into your very soul. Your heart is pounding as you turn over with a timid smile. "H-hey..." But the devil said nothing as he continued the stair. It was like this for a while until he finally said, "yer a human right?" The word stumbled out of you immediately: "Yes!" The devil studies you for a second but a smile widens as he points "I know you! Your Mr Solomon's kid!" Hearing your dad's name you whip your head around "What? Solomon? You know him??" Satan's toothy grin goes wider "fuck yeah I do He's awesome! I never knew you had a kid though! I wonder why...." You didn't know what else to say if your dad was here you natural you had an urge to go see him when he turned to certain age to be on your own he showed up less and less so it was really hard to get into stay in one place. But Satan's energetic words cuts off your train of thought "You're definitely not going to survive here!" You must choked on your own spit. Yeah no shit Sherlock You kind of known from the moment you walked in but still it was just a shocking to hear it from someone else. "Oh yeah especially since your Solomon's child! Everyone's going to be drooling over you. Nah fuck that I'm going to protect you." He grinded his teeth at the mere mentioned And he just decided this instantly no rhyme or reason not that you think anyway. And he was true to his word a lot more than you thought because they were way too many devils that Satan had to show away That being said he didn't even like his own teammates getting too close It kind of sucked if you wanted to make new friends but I guess having scary dog privileges does help if you want to avoid not so nice people. In your short time of knowing Satan you've learned few things One of them being he had a short temper and once he blew his top he exploded like a volcano. Out of sheer anger he picked up a desk and hurdled it at a devil smashing the wall in process. Now you can see why your classmates called him "Lord of Wrath."

Mammon

You met him when he saw a crowd in the schoolyard. You've had extra free time to kill since Satan's desk-throwing stunt blew a hole into the wall of the classroom, which means an hour of free time. The group of devils gathered Drew your curiosity for you to come closer. When you pushed through the crowd you saw a man sitting on a bench He was sculpted like a rugged a mountain His muscular arms folded His legs crossed with a smirk on his face You finally were able to focus on the words they were saying "Lord of Greed something I want to buy but I can't afford-" , "say no more... Say the amount and you may have it"

"Lord of Greed those rings look so gorgeous where did you get them?!"

"Oh these cheap things? Meh the solid gold can't remember how many carrots off the top of my head but if you want it knock yourself out... They're not the best in my collection and honestly been wanting to get rid of them for a while." He looked so casual just taking off a gold ring and tossing it to the devil who asked as if these rings were worth mere pennies to him. That's when his eyes fell upon mine. His smile widened as he scooted to the right opening a seat for me "Oh? You're that human. Come sit with me." As all eyes were on you in an instant peer pressure crushed under your weight like a styrofoam cup as you shuffle toward him as if he was a god and you were a mere peasant.

As soon as you sat down his He leaned back and forth his eyes sculpting you just like a certain devil this morning before saying. "Hm... I like you, You're mine now."

"Excuse me... " You didn't realize you said it out loud until the devil chuckles "I said I like you and I own things that I like... I think humans call it 'relationship' I'm not really familiar with human courting. But you are mine now and I guess That means I am yours too." The group of devils around you too eyes widen like saucers. You had no idea what's going on as the devil's around you whisper material wealth, money,richest person in the world, jealousy This was all going so fast your head was spinning This was the second devil today that just decided that they liked you for no reason at all.

"say... What are your plans for lunch today?" You didn't even get a chance to open your mouth before he talked over you "whatever they are cancel them. You will be having lunch with me a five course meal made fresh by my father's personal chefs." You wanted to talk to say something You didn't even get a word out of your mouth when arms wrap around you and suddenly your transported in other place entirely.

Leviathan

An empty classroom with nothing but desks the same cracked walls a bottle of what you assume is alcohol have has really thrown on the floor and sitting on the desk staring at the window a man with a princely pretty looking face hair with a pearly white color that was mesmerizing to your eyes. But when you turn to look at you that color was all but mesmerizing as he looked at you with pure disgust. "You..." He snarled as he got it from his chair. Making strides toward you You were terrified but you stood your ground Even as he grabbed your face that made you flinch forcing your head left and right. Your eyes squeaks shut before putting your hands on him and pushing him away. He clicked his tongue and snarled. "Weak and annoying pitiful humans and you dare to be related to Solomon."

That struck a nerve. All day you've hadn't said a single word and this devil insulting you was the final straw.

"at least I don't have the personality of a raccoon with rabies your breath smells worse than the garbage you ate this morning."You snapped back at that moment you regarded little for your safety of what this devil could do to you No one talks to you or your family like that. Especially not assholes like him. The devil's eyes went wide for a second only to scrunch back up and click his tongue. "Just watch your back human..." He hissed storming up the classroom. First day and you made an enemy Great.... You definitely can't wait to get bullied by demons.

Beelzebub

You met him on the way to one of your classes getting chewed out by a teacher. You couldn't know but watch as the man with a single horn just nonchalantly leaned against the wall as the teacher went off on him: "You're the future Lord of Abyssos... You have to take this seriously! You're missing a lot of classes....!!!" But to the Lord of Gluttony, all this information went in one ear and out the other. When the teacher finally stormed off that's when he realized you had eavesdropped way more than you should have. When your eyes met, He smiled and pulled you into the room.

"hey haven't seen you before...hmm... You're Solomon's kid right?" He said his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he leans near your face. " Um yeah. " You just accepted that probably every person in the school knows now.

"Hell ya." Please smile before something seemingly distracted him That's when he held the back of your head and leaned your head in burying his nose and your hair. Instinctually you pulled back. " Sorry sorry It's just, wondering where that smell was coming from so I thought I'd take a sample from you." with his arms still around your waist He got up from leaning against the desk walking out of the classroom dieting you God knows where. "One thing about devils. Is that if we like something we like to get 'intimate' with that thing. " He smirked and the way the word intimate rolled off the tongue major eyebrows furrow. You're not quite sure what he meant by that and honestly part of you is too scared to ask. " Where are you taking me?" You said half wanting to change the subject. "Cafeteria where else?"

"But it's not lunch?"

"pft so?" Beelzebub chuckled as if you were worried about skipping class as a mere funny joke. "You worry too much. You're Solomon's kid. The teachers won't do anything, trust." Even though You are the kid of someone who apparently was extremely popular in this school and left a bad taste in your mouth to know you were getting special treatment. And you were practically being yanked along by this random devil, so you couldn't really do anything well, not if you worried about your safety. You still remember Satan hurdling the desk like it was nothing.

Lucifer

Remember Leviathan well unlucky for you he remembered you. When Beelzebub was taking way too long to get simple drinks to bring back to you to the empty pafeteria You decided to say fuck it and just walk back to class. And does he walk through the empty hallway you stopped and that's when you saw him. His scowling face made your heart drop.

Here is a fun fact about devils you learned when you just tried to turn around and walk away. They know magic as a tendril coming up from seemingly nowhere wrapped around your neck and yanked you backward toward him when his hands grabbed your shoulders. He yanked you and slammed you against the lockers, pinning you, his face hovering over yours. "I saw you hanging out with those other dimwits... "You're not sure why, but you know exactly who he was talking about. " Someone like you shouldn't be around people like them. He hissed as you felt his fingers dig into your shoulders as he pinned you harder and harder against the lockers. When you tried to lift your arms to push him, those tendrils returned, wrapping around your arms and slamming them against the locker. His hand slid from your shoulders to your waist. And now you're confused... "You're just a weak human remember that." He got close to your face grinding his teeth before using his limbs to throw you to the side.

It wasn't until he was gone that you noticed The pain in your wrist and blood dripping from the cut. You sigh as you decide to take a trip to the nurse's office if the devil's even had one.

They compared this school's other rooms to those in the disaster state. This one seems clean, untouched... Dare you say professional? The only one working was a baby blonde-haired man sitting at a desk, spinning around a pen between his nimble fingers. When he looked up he noticed the blood dripping from your wrist he shot up before you could even say anything He gently takes your hand. "Your hurt. come with me." Wrapping a hand around your waist guiding you to one of the beds in the nurse's office as if your cut was more dire than it was when he sat you down he immediately grabbed the bandages and started to wrap you up.

"You're the transfer student aren't you?" He asked which you only nodded. "Nice to meet you, I'm Lucifer I believe we share one class together?" Wow an actual introduction, All day you've gotten no introductions all their names you learned by word of mouth or other devils introducing them for you.

"Oh." Slipped from your mouth with more surprise than you wanted to, and Lucifer's Stern face curled up slightly. "Thought I was a teacher?" You just nodded your head. "I get that a lot. Not many students come here since they're all devils, so I got this place for myself. I don't even think we have a nurse; I'd hate to see anyone get hurt. " Huh That's sweet. From what you had been witnessing all day something like this was definitely a rarity. When he was finished wrapping your wrist he saw you out as quickly as you came in.

Belphegor

It wasn't even the end of the day yet and you were being yanked in every direction by everyone in the school devil's flocked to you looking at you with curiosity or hunger (You're not sure which one it was)

So you escape to the only place you know, where you constantly come up when you know you can be away from people. The rooftop. As you walked closer to one of the benches to sit down and eat, you failed to realize someone already held that spot who was sleeping soundly until he woke up with a yawn and a stretch. "Hrm?" He hummed, rubbing his tired eyes and looking at you as you just stood there frozen in place with enough awkwardness to kill a man. He pointed at you. "You c'mere." He said his voice low and husky. He made the motion with his finger. From your experience with being dragged around all day, You probably shouldn't accept this man's request as, knowing your luck, you would just get dragged into more drama or trouble. But you did interrupt his nap, and all things considered, he didn't look like he was in too much trouble. So you stepped closer. He left the bench next to him, and since there was nowhere to sit, It was your only option. As soon as you sat down, he laid back down, his head resting on your lap. Turning from his back to his side, he muttered, "You're comfortable. Stay like this fo'me, Would ya? " He asked you to fall asleep instantly. You don't know why, but this touched your heart, kinda a moment of tranquility as you place you eat your lunch, gazing at the world below. You were surprised to know how fast he went to sleep. Knowing your luck he was probably another Lord, And you could guess he must be the Lord of sloth. You know you shouldn't, but you couldn't help it. It's not like he would wake up to you running your fingers through his hair, reveling in how unexpectedly soft his locks were. Out of the hellish day you dealt with this, it was nice.

And it only got worse once lunch break actually rolled around as that's when Beelzebub Mammon and Satan saw each other and realized that they were after you as well to spend their lunch together.

Fun fact that you learned about devils when you had the displeasure of seeing your two classmates making out in the hallway while every student ignored them. Devils have no sense of shame or a lack thereof. They just do whatever they want when they want, which explains why the school rules about alcohol, weed, and other miscellaneous drug substances you have found throughout the day were so Lax. And another fun fact you learned about devils... It is that they are very territorial, apparently. You saw it first hand, as when Beelzebub wrapped an arm around you, Satan puffed up and hissed like a cat as he ripped him off you. You were lucky you escaped the scene, as when Mammon made a comment about How short Satan was, He exploded and tried to lunge at him.

Asmodeus

Was it too late to drop out??? You thought it was the end of the day, and you were beyond exhausted. And these lords did not stop either. You thought you could meet up with your dad if the bell rang. You wish you could call him, but sadly, that was off the table since your dear father had little to no interest in Mobile technology. The only one he ever had was a flip phone just to get a phone number. You swore a phone call with him was like torture as you had to listen to more static than his voice. Other devils told you and confirmed that he had his own personal office somewhere. If it wasn't for the big ass school, you would have been okay with trying to find his office, but sadly, you were already wandering around the school to stop now. When you walked by, you noticed the janitor's slightly open call. When you got closer, you snuck into the closet, and your eyes widened. A devil, no two devils... No three?? It's getting a little hot and under the collar in there. Grinding and bugging their hips against each other when you accidentally made a noise, the black-haired devil who was sandwiched between the other two noticed your presence. Your soul jumped out of your skin as you ran as fast as you could in the other direction. If he was another Lord, he was 100% the Lord of Lust, and you wanted nothing to do with him. But it seemed like he wanted everything to do with you as you kept wandering around the school, trying to purge that memory from your mind. You felt arms wrap around you. You shrieked and jumped backward turning to notice a familiar face. His smirk and disheveled clothes and hair shivered up your spine as your trembling voice fell from your lips. "Oh, it's you... What do you want?" Asmodeus giggled. "My, aren't you cute? I've never seen someone look at me with such frightened disgust."

He was practically undressing you with his eyes. Eye molesting... Whatever it was you didn't like how he looked at you. "Never in my thousands of years has someone looked at me with such... Such a 'curious expression.' You're Solomon's spawn? " At this point, so many devils have asked You throughout the day you just nod your head now in acceptance.

"I knew it. You even have his gorgeous eyes. And his sexier features that I've always admired from afar. "

What the fuck, please don't fuck my dad!? You screamed in your head. But since he was talking to you maybe he could tell you where he was since it looked like he would know a little too much "Do you-Do you know where he is?"

Their smirk only widened as he pulled you close against him. His body pressed against yours. You ground your teeth to stop from screaming as he whispered into your ear. "I do but what's my payment? You don't seem to have any on you..." He said his hands rubbing up and down the sides of your body. Before you could do anything else, you probably beat the shit out of him like you used to do with kidnappers when you were a kid. He pulls away and laughs like what he did was the funniest thing in the world.

"I'm just kidding sweetheart, You just look so cute I couldn't help but tease you. Yeah his office is on the next floor It has a purple rug can't miss it."

It's like the stress left your body as you sighed. You gave him a smile before leaving, but when you turned around, you swear to God you heard him say, " I think I'm in love..."

Bonus

You have to fight off tears when he mutters your name in a broken string of sentences, dreaming of the past when you were in diapers. You took his coat hanging from the chair and draped it over him before leaving his office

When you finally saw his office and walked inside, it looked like an old antique shop as all kinds of knick-knacks and antiques decorated the old wood shelves, and on his desk were stacks of paper, and your beloved father was caged between all those papers. Now you understand why he's always so busy as he was passed out on the desk. You are upset that you didn't get to talk to him, but you would probably get the chance tonight as you are living with him now, you understand. You never knew your mother, and to take care of you, He had to move out of the house and into an apartment, working his ass off day and night just to keep a roof over your head.

[oncasette]

elfsong tavern — "you're allowed to feel these things." + astarion (because i fear this prompt was written for him)

the death of peace of mind

pre-confession!astarion x fem!reader

summary: 0.8k

“I’m okay,” you say, holding out the palms of your hands as if that were all the proof he’d need after seeing you nearly bleed out at the Inn. One of those winged freaks had dug their claws deep into your back. It would’ve been fine. You’d been through worse, even just on this journey of yours. Shadowheart had already been on her way to heal you when Astarion had lost it. Daggers flying and flaying skin from bone, fangs tearing through anything that had the misfortune of getting close, more than one arrow directed through the skull of a winged horror or, even, Marcus, the fist that had shown up and caused all of this. 

Then, his hands, cradled in crimson, had pulled you into a grip so tight it had stolen the breath from you.

or the one where astarion can't fight the fear of losing you.

masterlist

“Go away,” Astarion grunts. Your fingers hover at the seam of his tent flap, hesitating at the sound of being caught. You weren’t sure how you thought you could sneak up on him this late at night, or if you were even attempting to sneak up on him at all. Still, you waiver. 

“Astarion?” you ask softly. 

A scoff, then a rustle. His hand creeps out just enough to give you a glimmer of his face under the moonlight barely shining through the shadow curse. “Darling, you do know the meaning of the word away, don’t you?”

Blinking, you lower your hand. You’re a beat away from opening your mouth to respond when Astarion begins again. 

“Well, come in, then, if you’re just going to stand there gawking all night,” he grunts before shifting back to lay on his bedroll, the tent flap fluttering shut behind him. You crawl in after him.

His tent had always been on the sparser side. A bedroll, a tattered blanket, more than one empty bloodjar–a wonder no one had caught onto his affliction before his nighttime snack–and a backpack full of his arrows and armor. Recently, though, you’d noticed some additions. Nothing crazy, or gaudy, as he’d like, but enough to make note of. 

The dagger you’d found at the goblin camp. He’d been all fangs when you’d handed it to him, accepting it with little less than a barb at the fact that it’d been the first piece of equipment you’d found that was suitable for his needs. You’d found more since, but the ritual dagger still sits beneath his pillow in case your camp becomes compromised in the middle of the night. The toad teapot you’d nicked from the hag’s lair. He’d teased you mercilessly when he’d found it in the camp chest later that evening, ribbing you with a pinch at your waist and a curl to his lip. An amulet you’d found beneath a rock in the druid’s grove dangling like a chain from his backpack, one he put on each night after he fed from you to heal you from your bloodloss.

Additions, you realized, of your time with him.  

“Are we just going to sit here and stare at each other, then?” he asks. The ring on his finger glints as he twists it. The matching band sits on your own hand. The engraving on the inside of it feels heavy as you remember it. True Love’s Caress.

“Astarion,” you say, quieter this time, but just as soft. The tips of his ears droop a bit. 

“I don’t-” he cuts himself off, jaw clenching enough for the rest of his sentence to come out in a mumble. “want to talk about it.”

You eye him cautiously, your gaze falling over the way the candlelight softens his usually sharp features. 

“I’m okay,” you say, holding out the palms of your hands as if that were all the proof he’d need after seeing you nearly bleed out at the Inn. One of those winged freaks had dug their claws deep into your back. It would’ve been fine. You’d been through worse, even just on this journey of yours. Shadowheart had already been on her way to heal you when Astarion had lost it. Daggers flying and flaying skin from bone, fangs tearing through anything that had the misfortune of getting close, more than one arrow directed through the skull of a winged horror or, even, Marcus, the fist that had shown up and caused all of this. 

Then, his hands, cradled in crimson, had pulled you into a grip so tight it had stolen the breath from you. 

“I know you’re okay, Darling,” he says. His head tilts, eyes narrowed. The wall you’d been picking at for weeks now was starting to come back up. 

You shift closer to him, just enough to where your knees are pressed together while mirroring his criss-crossed legs. Your outstretched palms still linger in the air between you. 

“You’re allowed to feel these things, you know,” you say slowly. A scoff escapes him, bitten off and sharp. You don’t reach for him, don’t push, but you leave yourself open for him to take if he chooses. “You’re allowed… to be afraid… for someone else.”

He doesn’t meet your eye as his hand finds yours. It’s not hard, or even much of a hold, but he rests it there. Clean from blood, clean from the day, just your skin against his. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. 

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t-” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “What if you hadn’t been okay, Darling?”

“Withers would have brought me back.” “And what if he couldn’t?” he snaps. His hand is still in yours, gentle despite his tone.

“Look at me,” you murmur. He hesitates, but his eyes find yours in the low light. The carmine catches in the candlelight. “I’m okay. I’m alive. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that, my sweet,” he whispers. 

“Then let me be here as long as I can,” you reply. You’re not promising him the world, barely promising enough to ease the ache still clenching his lungs, but it seems to calm him. His shoulders ease, his ears droop further, his jaw unclenches. 

A short nod. “Okay.” 

[crazysandwich]

⚠️ Thunderbolts Spoilers⚠️

Okay, I really need to hear some thoughts on Thunderbolts—especially the second post-credit scene. If you've seen the movie, please share your opinions because I’m a little confused and kind of emotional about it.

So, as someone who loved watching The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, especially the dynamic between Sam and Bucky (yes, I even shipped them hard at one point, but that’s beside the point), this scene hit me weirdly.

In Captain America: Brave New World, I actually felt really good when they showed us Sam and Bucky’s friendship (and the hug scene, of course). Even though they were not working together anymore and had gone their separate ways, it was clear there was still respect and care between them. That bond was still there.

But now, after watching Thunderbolts, I’m honestly frustrated.

That second post-credit scene, when Bucky mentions trying to talk to Sam about the new Avengers stuff and it goes... poorly? I don’t even know how to feel. I get both sides:

Sam’s perspective: He’s worked so hard to earn the title of Captain America, to prove not just to the world, but to himself, that he’s worthy of the shield and everything it represents. In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, we saw him wrestle with the weight of legacy, with what it means to be a Black man stepping into a role so heavily tied to American ideals. He didn’t just inherit the mantle. At the end, he chose to carry it, despite the pressure, the doubts, and the pushback. And in Captain America: Brave New World, it’s clear he’s still fighting the systems and expectations around him. He’s building a new kind of Captain America. So yeah, I get why the “Avengers” name matters so much to Sam. It’s not just a title, it represents everything he’s fought for. The idea of leading a new generation of Avengers was more than symbolic to him. It was part of redefining what Captain America stands for in today’s world. So when another team, backed by the government, no less, comes in and starts calling themselves the “New Avengers,” it’s not just frustrating. It’s a slap in the face. Especially when one of the team’s leaders is his friend Bucky, and that friend is now working closely with John Walker, the very person Sam had to fight against for the Captain America title.

Bucky’s perspective: For the first time, he’s not just “the sidekick” or “the Winter Soldier.” He’s not following orders or going along with Sam/Steve. He’s choosing this path. This isn’t about redemption through someone else’s mission. This is Bucky finally taking things into his own hands. After everything—Hydra, the brainwashing, the guilt, the amends, the years of trying to prove he’s not the person they turned him into—this team, as chaotic and unconventional as it is, might actually be his. He’s not just helping; he’s leading. He’s in control. And maybe, just maybe, this is how he starts to wipe away some of the blood on his ledger. He can’t erase the past, but this could be the beginning of making peace with it.

So... are they really setting up Sam and Bucky to be on opposing teams? Are we heading into another Civil War-type situation? Because if that’s where this is going, it’s honestly heartbreaking for me.

I actually enjoyed the movie overall. There are some things I could nitpick, sure—but this particular storyline left me feeling really weird after watching it today. Like, is anyone else focused on this scene? Or am I just way too attached to their friendship?

Would love to hear everyone’s thoughts. Seriously.

[awionetka]

𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞! ♯

3, 2, 1, go! love and deepspace boys become street racers (while possibly romancing you in the process)...

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: fluff (?), drabble. street racer!Sylus x street racer!reader. could be treated as a preview for a (possible) longer fic.

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 / 𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 / 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 / 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 / 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠…

♯ million dollar man; lana del rey

♯ don't go insane; dpr ian

♯ i was never there; the weeknd

For Sylus, street racing was nothing more than a means to an end.

He had his reasons, some less morally acceptable than others, but nonetheless the rationality of his decision making could never be questioned. Nor anybody had ever tried to do so, certainly not with the amount of sheer authority Sylus emanated, enveloping all that was around him in a thick, sticky layer of awe and fear. Or perhaps, those two were just simply synonymous in their own, twisted way. Not like it mattered in the very end. Too much of either would inevitably result in him being left alone and unbothered, which was something Sylus longed for dearly.

Before he instructed his henchmen to purchase his car of choice, an impressively well kept Dodge Challenger, and made his very own tweaks to it in the quiet of his garages, Sylus had spent countless hours riding through the city on a vintage motorcycle. In a way, it helped him out when it came to street racing. Although the feeling of it was vastly different, he knew his way around the emptied streets and openly used that to his advantage. Ever the inventor, he kept surprising his rivals with the most peculiar of improvements, all of which he thought of, and constructed, entirely by himself.

The time Sylus made an appearance in the bustling nightlife spots of Linkon City was similarly particular. He was the right person at the right moment, in a place as good as any. And though he didn't exactly long for all the recognition he'd been receiving since he started racing, it certainly did earn him plenty of useful, more or less extorted, connections he was oh, so excited to put to use.

It was true, however, that after a while of getting everything he could ever wish for and more, even competing in such adrenaline boosting activities inevitably began to bore him.

That was, of course, until he heard a certain rumour one night. Sylus spotted it in passing; it was obvious that no one would dare to tell him that straight to his face. It'd been weeks since he moved all his endeavours to Linkon and staying on top proved to be less of a challenge than solving a crossword from the morning paper.

Apparently there was a reason his rivals were severely lacking in skill and experience – Sylus managed to kickstart his underground career mere days after the previous champion, sporting a name eerily similar to his own, almost kicked the bucket during a race. And now, having been brought back to a useful state once again, you were about to reclaim your number one spot.

And as soon as you were fully ready to take on that challenge, Sylus would be waiting, with a worn out leather jacket thrown over his shoulder and that one, specific quirk of his lips that didn't make him look any less intimidating whatsoever.

Oh, how enraged you were at that moment.

"That is just absurd!" Your arms spun in the air with fervour. "I need that done by tonight. Am I speaking gibberish?"

The woman in front of you shrugged, apparently not very moved by your display of force. "Yeah, well, and I need some utter peace and quiet. What do you have to say about that?"

"This is fucking insane. Insane! I cannot go back like that!"

You pointed at your beloved Mazda, now situated on a car jack in an almost compromising position. It looked positively miserable, with its mismatched rims and bits of chipped paint here and there. An image of utter and complete despair. Much like you, it had been through hell and back, and somehow made it out okay. You weren't just going to let her go as though it was all nothing.

The mechanic sighed audibly, wiping her hands off with a questionably dirty cloth, then sat down next to you.

"If you were to ask me," she began cautiously, much like one would approach a bomb of unknown origin. "I'd say that people will love that shit. Rose from the ashes and whatnot. It sells."

"I don't care what 'sells'. The only thing I need is to show that poor excuse of a racer where his place is – below me."

She scoffed, apparently deciding to give up on your case and therefore leaving you with your own problems.

"You know, Ruby..." She glanced at you above her shoulder before stepping out. "A skilful driver will never blame their ride. It's a shame, though. I really thought that you'd be among them."

You would make them all swallow their words back up. Onyx included. Him especially.

Only him.

[whore-ibly-hot]

Hello! i hope you’re having a wonderful day. i’ve been a fan of your fics for a while especially the Yandere boarding school. You’re writing is always so good and i love your characters sooo much, normally i don’t do oc content but yours is so so good.

I was wondering what the yandere birding schools faculty favorite positions and/or kinks are if that isn’t too much to ask. Thank you so much and i hope you’re having a wonderful day!

Working through older requests for pre-eltingville rn, so I thought this one was perfect!

Mr. Critch- Missionary, for sure. He's a simple man, he wants to come home and have a quiet dinner, then indulge in you that night, the sight of you under him, accepting him. He relishes in the feel of your submission, if you'd just done this sooner he tells you he would have been much less strict. This isn't entirely true, but it's a nice thought.

Before he gets you into a committed relationship, he'd prefer refraining from full on intercourse, but he gets plenty aroused administering a firm smack to your rear, with or without a ruler for discipline, or seeing you under his desk, cleaning the floor like he'd instructed. After, he'll get you cleaned up, and probably dressed in some old, scrooge looking night clothes, before brewing some tea and staying up late, grading or reading. He ensures his desk light is low, allowing him to work while keeping an eye on you, but not disturbing your slumber.

Coach Koslov- He's an athlete, first and foremost, even in his old age. Now, while he may not be in his prime, you are. He wants prone bone, or something that makes you stretch, legs practically behind your head while he pounds into you, or even sex that requires standing up. He'd take you wherever he could, legs around his hips in his office, or against the locker room counter. Either way, it's sure to be a rigorous session.

He keeps it amorous, though. He finds praise to be important in all things, even during sex. He'll whisper all sorts of sweet affirmations in your ear, relishing in the way you preen. If he thinks you're being overstimulated or worked too hard, he'll take up the brunt of the work, whether it being holding you up or lowering your legs a bit and angling himself. His favorite part isn't the sex, honestly, it's the passionate shared shower he has you take after. He can touch and cradle you, and you do the same in return. That's the difference, he doesn't have a post workout high, a rush of competitive adrenaline, he's just comfortable with you, his love.

Mr. Burton- Bro is a FREAK. He's got art books of erotic photography and paintings, which he keeps as coffee table books. To be fair, he doesn't have anyone over but folks from his artist days and you. He wants to try every position you can think of. Despite how refined he is, he definetly has one of those dumb 'position a day' books, and the kama sutra.

He's also (as we can tell) into watching. Let him paint you teasing yourself, watching how you squirm and ask him if you can finish yet. He won't let you, painting takes time, but he's suffering too, cock aching in his boxers behind the canvas and Easel. One of his favorites is sixty-nine, something about balance.

After the fact, he's kind of... goofy? More light hearted than you usually see him. He'll playfully smack your ass and tell you to 'hit the showers' before cringing that he sounds like some jock. He'll make a meal for the pair of you, he doesn't cook fancy for himself, but he's got guests! When you come out, he'll put on some shittt TV comedy and flip through cable. He'd never watch 'mass media trash' usually, but right now he's lost in the laid back domesticity of the moment. He feels like he doesnt have to be a great artist, a critic, and a man of culture in this moment. He can be Mr. Burton, with you in tow.

Mr. Koffman- Also a missionary fan, he's too shy to try initiating anything else. But he likes any position that let's him be close to you. He's also a fan of mutual masturbation, it's even more intimate than touching eachother in his eyes, it's such a private thing.

I've also mentioned he's got a bit of a breeding kink, he wants a pretty little family with you, and he's eager to get you away from the others at this academy and knocked up quick. In truth, he doesn't dislike them, he actually feels they are more right for you, popular and young, with their lives ahead of them. He feels selfish but he can't let you go, and surely you wouldn't leave if he knocked you up? So everytime you have sex, he insists he'll provide condoms, keeping spares in his loft and library desk, after all, he couldn't be sure the ones you bought had holes in them, not like his.

Mr. Murphy- Breeding kink, doggy, and restraints. Simple as that. The restraints is all a part of his ego, he's pretty proud of his orienteering skills, and he's eager to show off his knot tying skills. He'll admit though, tying pretty velvet and ribbon is a lot different than clunky rope. He's had to cut you out a few times. As far as doggy, he likes how animalistic it feels. Pure, practical, and in his words 'doing it like dogs in heat' is the best kind of sex. Besides, gets him deeper than missionary, and he's got a major thing for breeding.

He wants to see you pregnant almost as much as actual kids. You'd look so pretty all swollen up, and if you can't get pregnant, he's sure as he'll gonna try anyways. He also sees it as a claim of ownership, not insecure about the boys at the academy but well aware the nature of your relationship is odd. Surely if he gets you knocked up, then your father will want you swept up to the altar, and he can get his family plan on.

He gets dead tired after sex, he can barely keep his eyes open. He'll clean you up, and himself, but as much as he wants to get you water or food, he can't. He'll pass out, snoring like a bear with you pressed to his hairy chest, holding you close. It's in the morning he realizes how great that all was, whipping up some breakfast in bed and some painkillers for your sleepy form.