#everyone else is deeply confused

[4devon]

ada & sophie were truly the only ones on this app who actually knew what they were talking abt

[relaxxattack]

rereading the hivebent commentary makes me so annoyed that people are never really willing to analyze the actual effects that alternian culture clearly had on every troll, especially the highbloods. pretty much the only troll who ever actually gets taken in the context of her upbringing is vriska.

no one ever seems willing to think about the character arcs of trolls like equius and terezi, who are also bluebloods with extremely hypocritical and toxic understandings of the people around them-- equius is boiled down to a gross creep who is just like that naturally and definitely didn't get it from his society in any way, whilst terezi is scrubbed of virtually all her flaws and turned into a strange sort of based love interest character who is all about being gay and too cool to be tricked by any of the alternian propaganda. quadrants? classism? how silly! terezi would never believe in stupid shit like that. she's quirky! and GAY!

despite the fact that equius and terezi both obviously have much, much more to their personalities than that-- and the alternian empire is informing way more dangerous things about these kid's beliefs than "kiss annoying people".

[bcneheaded]

I was just thinking and... Artemis is not kind. yes, for all his friendliness, and all the fancy and amicable language and behaviors he displays outwardly to just about everyone who enters his shop... he's not genuinely nice. Artemis is a demon. in any verse of his, he used to be something akin to a spirit/god of LOVE, but was twisted into Wrath, or Hatred - which is the opposite. After leaving the pits of hell, having his little demonic tantrum and breakdown and finally growing weary and finding some semblance of clarity, he's grown out of what he was once again, and became something new. He's still wrathful, hateful, angry, and morose, but now he's so much more without even realizing. He's evolved and will continue to do so over time even if he stagnates for decades, centuries even. The friendships and relationships with other muses that he develops will influence his personality and the way he views things in time, as we've seen it happen already countless times ofc! And for those who did earn his respect and care, he does truly care for them and would gladly go out of his way for them (to what degree depends entirely on the level of closeness). But again.... Artemis is not kind, by nature and he hasn't been for a very, very long time. He was genuinely just plain and simple EVIL He was a villain - a monster, unrecognizable to how he acts now- doing horrible, unspeakable deeds for the pleasure of it. It's how he got the bones he wears in and on his body. So while he might be polite, charming even, and friendly - if he does not know you... he doesn't care about you nor what happens to you. If say for example, he sees you wandering that ruined cityside he lives in - rampant with entities that prey on the Living - and he saves you from being taken by evil spirits or demons? Chances are good that he did it for himself, or to be spiteful - to deny the other entities their prize (you / your soul). If he doesn't know you, the likelihood that he'll go out of his way for you is very low. But if there's something in it for him, some kind of reason as to why it might be worth his time and energy to actually step in... he might! But like all demons, it's good to be wary and to assume he doesn't care about you or your well-being, at least at first!! Artemis is not nice, but that doesn't mean he's malicious or cruel (anymore. not intentionally - he's quite literally under the mindset that he's just 'too old and tired for that nonsense'.) Artemis is manipulative, charming, cunning - he's everything you expect from a demon (though without a host, so he's certainly not attractive in any semblance of a conventional manner lmao - but he dresses well! and I think it's also telling just how-- *gestures at all that* --that he actually is, considering he's NOT attractive... but still puts people at ease, mostly, and can charm them to hell and back if he wanted to. He uses that not to manipulate people per say ?? like, he does not have an evil agenda by any means. He's just existing at this point, distanced from the gods and devils and just living his... life(?) if you can call it that. He's TRYING to do better. But he's still just... a demonic entity. A greater demon, for sure, if he had to be equated to some kind of level or whatever, but a demon nonetheless. But even for demons, there can be growth! and he is growing, very very slowly.

[heister-shmeister]

dont get me started on the slow, gradual deprogramming of russia-typical bigotry sokol has to go through

hes got toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia out the ass dont get me staaaaaarted

[sheltoner]

ok as the local ben shelton blog i’m saying that the “i didn’t get the ending of challengers” is objectively funny. that being said i get extreme, i mean extreme second hand embarrassment every time someone brings it up

[mgrover]

There is something very human about Emhira/The Raven Queen in Downfall, particularly the "family drama portions"—just being the baby of a large, complicated family. Before your time, there was a loss, and there's this air of grief that you can't quite get, but you aren't a child now. You are an adult and want to participate, but you will always be outside that grief and everyone's shared history and memory because it was before you were the You that you are now?

Obviously, there's the whole nother layer of them kinda blaming the RQ for what happened and also what we found out later with BH about the RQ.

But I remember watching Downfall for the first time and going huh Emhira is so separate in such a specific way due to this lack of shared history and loss that I really get, especially during the first meeting with the betrayers.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

five is gay and arospec thank you for coming to my ted talk

[honey-tongued-devil]

▶[Arcane preference] reacting to you wearing their clothes [Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika, ]

If you know me, hello little deers, I'm back! If you don’t know me, welcome! Just a heads-up that I don’t use "Y/N," but rather the impersonal "you," and even though I talk about clothes, no sizes or weight are involved. Enjoy the read!

Jayce:

  - It’s not that rare when you’re together; he’s a real gentleman through and through. If it’s cold, he’ll give you his jacket, his scarf, anything to keep you warm  

  - But when you’re the one taking his clothes, it’s different  

  - When he sees you walking around the room in his shirt, just after waking up, something in his brain malfunctions  

  - It’s how it fits you, no matter how big or long it is, it seems like it was made just for you, to give you that look  

  - And to him, it feels like some kind of subliminal ad, as if the universe is making you so attractive in the simplicity of that gesture just to tell him he needs to hurry up and put a ring on your finger so he can enjoy that sight every day  

  - It’s hard for you to get anything done in the morning when he wakes up with those thoughts  

  - Those are the days when you stay in bed, cuddling under the covers, with him looking at you, hand on his cheek, getting more lost in you by the second  

Viktor:

  - For Viktor, the idea of a “little thief stealing his clothes” is an interesting one  

  - He’s never been a fan of tight-fitting clothes, plus, with his physique, it’s rare for anything to fit snugly anyway  

  - That’s why, except for his Academy uniform, the rest of his clothes are comfortable and at least two sizes too big for him, without mentioning Jayce's oversize ones in his closet  

  - What Viktor didn’t expect was that, once you started liking them, you’d just take them straight out of his drawer  

  - The first time he knocked on your door to ask if you’d seen his shirt —the very one you were wearing— he first stopped, confused, wondering how it had ended up on you  

  - And then, though he didn’t show it, he paused to notice with satisfaction how well it wrapped around your body  

  - Sometimes he pretends to forget his clothes at your place, just to see them on you, and to get them back with your scent on them  

  - For the nights when he feels lonelier  

Ekko: 

  - Communism  

  - There’s not really a strong sense of what belongs to whom at the Tree, although some clothes (jackets in particular) eventually get so personalized that no one dares to take them anymore  

  - The first time you grabbed Ekko’s jacket, it was simply because you were freezing, it was really cold, and he was resting, so he didn’t need it  

  - But when he saw you wearing it, his pupils dilated so much you could notice it despite his very dark eyes  

  - Ever since then, it’s him who gives it to you and insists that you wear it, because he likes it: there’s something extremely intimate and deeply personal about walking around with you in his jacket  

  - It’s like marking you as his, but really, also reminding himself of it  

  - And Ekko may be proud, but one thing you quickly and painfully learn in the alleys is to say ‘I love you’ before it’s too late, and that small possessive gesture makes him feel fulfilled because it’s like he’s telling everyone that he couldn’t live without you 

 

Vander:

  - Vander’s clothes have this super-secret ability to change depending on who’s wearing them. For example, what are shirts on him turn into dresses on you  

  - When you put them on, even just for the sake of convenience, you find yourself laughing in front of every mirror you pass by  

  - And if he notices, he can’t help but hug you from behind, leaning down to rub his nose against your neck, smiling against your skin  

  - “You know,” he says every single time, “it looks better on you than it does on me,” and no matter how false it might be, in his eyes, it’s truer than almost anything else  

  - After seeing you a few times in his grown-up man's clothes, he decided to dig through an old box to find the clothes from when he was younger and mend them before leaving them folded on your side of the bed, like a little gift  

Silco:

  - Silco’s strangest habit was the connection he had with his clothes: they looked like Piltover garments, except for the boots and the shirt under the velvet vest, yet they were torn, poorly mended, and worn out in several places  

  - Despite being the richest man in the undercity, he never changed them  

  - The only newer piece in his wardrobe that he used to wear was his coat, which was in perfect condition, scented with cologne, and lined with soft velvet that followed the direction of your fingers when you touched it  

  - Sure, there were ceremonial outfits, pajamas, and something comfortable yet always elegant, but he had worn them so little that they almost didn’t seem like his  

  - That’s why one day you simply decided you were bored, and while he was in a meeting, you could take the opportunity to try on the ones that fit you  

  - But that little fashion show from his wardrobe to the mirror probably took longer than expected, and definitely you were too focused, because you didn’t notice the tall figure watching you, leaning against the doorframe  

  - “Don’t take that off, I’ve got an idea or two,” his voice broke the silence, making you jump  

Jinx:

  - Her clothes are more like a flea market than a wardrobe: there are men’s clothes, women’s clothes, from Piltover and Zaun, intact, held together by metal staples, clean, splattered with paint, torn from explosions, some so small you wonder who they could even fit, and some so large that you and at least four of her father’s henchmen could comfortably fit in them with room to spare  

  - She’s the one who tells you to grab something from the pile the first time you ask to help her with her calculations and experiments, and in the end, you choose something comfortable rather than something intact or clean  

  - It took her a good half hour to notice, and then another hour to stop talking about it  

  - It was something she hadn’t done since she had a family, sharing clothes with someone else, and suddenly she realized just how much she missed it  

  - Every now and then, she’d give you oversized shirts on purpose, just to disappear under the fabric and snuggle up to you, where she felt sheltered enough to feel less vulnerable  

Vi:

  - Vi’s mentality was interesting because, by accident, if she noticed you were eyeing someone’s clothes with interest, somehow the next day those clothes would end up on your bed  

  - Vi would do anything for you; if it were up to her, you’d be dressed in pearls and gold, but neither the place nor her situation allowed it  

  - That’s why she never offered you her clothes: the older ones were tattered, barely definable as rags, which she stubbornly patched up every month  

  - The new ones were stolen, spoils from street fights, but they always came in looking battered and worn, or worse, stained with blood or strange substances, so they weren’t good for you  

  - When she saw you wearing a sweater from her wardrobe, stained and burned in spots, the first thing she felt was guilt  

  - She hated not being able to treat you the way she wanted to  

  - But from that day on, she made sure to at least wash her clothes before putting them away, and slowly she learned to love the clothes you stole a little more than the others  

  - That sweater, for example, she would defend it with her life  

Caitlyn:

  - Whenever you stayed over at her place, she always made sure to provide everything for you: slippers, socks, pajamas, anything you might need  

  - And it was always the highest quality you had ever seen  

  - So seeing you in her clothes wasn’t new, although she sometimes liked to have you try on things she didn’t wear anymore, partly because she couldn’t due to her important name, and partly because she spent half her time in uniform  

  - Those little fashion shows almost always ended with her on top of you, while you are very busy figuring out how to stay quiet so none of the servants, or worse, her parents, would catch you  

  - It didn’t matter if the clothes didn’t suit you, being able to see you in so many different lights made her fall even more in love with everything about you  

  - The final blow? One day she decided to look through the enforcers’ uniforms to find one that would fit you, and for the first time, she saw you in clothes that matched hers  

  - There was something about it that made her hope that uniform would change the chemistry of your brain too and make you join the force, just so she could spend more time with you, just so she could see you like that more often  

Mel:

  - For Mel, it wasn’t an event: she was used to everything, mastering her emotions, and seeing you wearing something of hers had only left her confused for a second, from which she quickly recovered, smiling at you  

  - “It looks really good on you, you know?” she had asked  

  - It didn’t bother her. Objectively, you seemed stupid borrowing those elegant clothes tailored exactly to her body  

  - It almost felt like heresy to wear the clothes of a goddess-like figure. But the goddess had sensed something, and she began buying and commissioning outfits for both you and her, matching, so you wouldn’t feel like you were missing something  

  - But there was one moment, a specific one, where seeing you in one of her dresses had left her speechless  

  - When you told her that the sweater was so beautiful it was almost a shame knowing she couldn’t wear it on the day you’d marry her  

  - And Mel Medarda came from a land of war, where it was hard to get attached to people, let alone objects  

  - Yet from that day, that piece of clothing became a constant for her, even if it meant layering or pulling it down to keep her shoulders bare  

  - Because it no longer just warmed her skin; it began to warm something deeper, something she hadn’t even realized she had  

Sevika:

  - Her clothes reflected her line of work: dirty, unpleasant, dangerous  

  - But despite that, she would drape them over you herself, no matter how worn they were: if she thought you might be cold, without a word, you’d find a sweater or hoodie on your shoulders  

  - And even though she’d glance at you from the corner of her eye, she wouldn’t stop watching you for a single moment when you wore something of hers  

  - It was a matter of homeland—there was no ownership in Zaun, not even last names, as even the family you belonged to was irrelevant compared to what you could do  

  - And the gangs, thugs, and troublemakers wouldn’t hesitate to steal what was yours  

  - But you were hers, and you couldn’t be stolen. And that shirt was hers, but she didn’t feel mutilated, like she normally would, when you wore it  

  - In fact, she loved it, opening her arms to invite you to snuggle up, holding you carefully so the prosthetic wouldn’t bother you, adjusting the clothing on you ten, a hundred times, almost unconsciously  

  - And when you wore her clothes, it felt like for a little while, you could wear her skin too, to understand her better, and she suddenly seemed more vulnerable  

[princessbellecerise]

Snow With A Bimbo Reader

──── ✧*･ﾟ*��˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | Coryo loves how dumb you are. It makes him look even smarter

warnings | toxic!coryo, dumb!reader, slight innocent!reader, smut, slight housewife!reader

this is an eighteen plus fic. minors do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

When he first met you at the academy, it was safe to say that from the moment he saw you, Snow was obsessed

You weren’t in the same class as him, though there was really no reason you ought to be because you were not nearly as smart as the other students, but he still noticed you in some classes

Coryo figured that your parents must have bought your way in, because bless your heart you are so dumb

When he first meets you, it’s almost pitiful how he notices that you’re nowhere near his academic level, but that’s okay because you sure are pretty

And despite being insanely attracted to power and intelligence, Coryo finds himself focusing all his attention on you

He can’t think of anything else in class other than the way your pretty little face scrunches up because you’re not understanding any of it, or the way your lips pout because you’re beyond lost

You’re just so beautifully stupid and cute and Coryo can’t stop thinking about how he can’t wait to get his claws into you

So at first he starts by tutoring you as way to get closer to you

God knows that you need it, and when he offers of course you accept because hello—everyone knows that Snow is on top

So, he begins to tutor you, and that’s all it is at first

A few flirty remarks here and there, like him telling you your hair looks pretty or your outfit fits you nice

Nothing too crazy, but the more time Coryo spends with you, the more you drive him insane

He has amazing self control because even though he wants to do nothing but grab you and kiss you the entire time you’re talking, he holds himself back

He takes it slow as to not scare you or confuse your dumb little mind. After all, you can only process so much

Which is why he doesn’t actually tutor you—not the hard stuff anyways. He just finds little easy thing for you to accomplish so he can watch as your face lights up when you solve something he’s done a million times before

He builds you up before he plans on breaking you down, before he plans on molding you into his perfect partner

Coryo will gain your trust at first and only when he’s got it will he strike

Like a snake, you don’t even see his plan or see him coming until he’s right there in front of you, poisoning you with his sweet lips and kissing you one day

It comes so sudden for you that you’re shocked, not even kissing him back till he’s squeezing your jaw a little so you let him in

He’ll kiss you deeply so that you can feel what he feels for you, so that you know just how desperately he wants you

Through his lips, he’ll spread his venom, and since you’re not smart enough to even know that you’ve been bit, you fall for it easily

You kiss him back, and your giggles when you pull away make Coryo smirk. He loves seeing you nervous around him and fuck; does he love tasting your pretty lips

Once you start agree to start dating him, it’s already too late for you. And for Coryo, it’s just the beginning

Coryo already has plans that you’re not apart of, but he’s excited to carry them out because you are everything that he needs

He needs someone that won’t question him, that will obey him and do everything he says. He needs to be in charge and with you, he is

Like a good little girl, you do everything Coryo tells you to do. Miss class for him, sit on his lap, stop doing your assignments

Pretty soon, he’s got it to where all you do is hang out with him. Make plans with him. Do things for him

He’s got you wrapped around his finger and you don’t even know it. You’re just so happy with him that you don’t even question it when he tells you to quit

“Leave the academy and I’ll take care of you. I promise,” Is what Coryo says, so you do

You stop attending class, you drop out and slowly you move from your home to be with Coryo in his

It’s a little packed, but you make it work especially with Tigris and his grandmother

They both adore you, though Tigris is a little concerned with you dropping out. She’ll try and persuade you to continue your education but don’t worry—Coryo will never let that happen

When you tell him Tigris’ words, he simply scoffs and tells you that pretty girls like you don’t belong in academics. You don’t belong in that terrible, toxic work force

No, no, you deserve to stay home and to serve him. An easy job, he convinces you, and a soft life

“It’s what you deserve,” He tells you, so you give up on the idea of returning

Instead, you stay at home and wait for Coryo day and night. During the days, you’ll cook, clean and during the nights you’ll be there for him

In the privacy of your now shared bedroom is where he fucks you, the mattress squeaking from how hard he pounds into your tight cunt

Coryo loves it when you whine and beg, crying out how he’s too big for you

He loves to hear you praise him and for you to stroke his ego. With a hand wrapped around your throat, he’ll fuck you until you’re screaming his name into the mattress and until you realize that you belong to him

The love bites and marks he leaves on your thighs are a constant reminder. He tells you that you should be lucky, grateful that you don’t have to use your head anymore

Grateful to have someone like him to take care of you, and you are. Coryo gives you a life that people can only dream about

Once he becomes President of Panem, you’re spoiled with riches that you didn’t even know existed. Diamonds, silks, luxurious foods

And the best part is, all you have to do is smile and wave. After all, you are his best asset

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

In general, I think it's currently really important for progressive Christians to be very loud about being both progressive and deeply religious Christians, and for everyone else fighting for progressive values to be supportive of them doing just that. I know that's like, idk, counter-intuitive or cringe or whatever, but seriously folks, the alternative is that progressive Christians have to be quiet about their faith to be accepted within broader secular and interfaith progressive advocacy, which means that the regressive asshole Christians (a) sound that much louder and (b) dominate the USian religious landscape all the more. That's a problem, for all of us.

We need people pushing back within the faith as well as outside of it, because that destroys any edifice that this is about Christianity and religious freedom.

You can be a devout Christian and also:

Openly, proudly, and without being forced to remain celibate or otherwise limit your full expression of self, identify as LGBTQ+ or be a supportive ally.

Advocate for full reproductive autonomy and comprehensive sex education.

Love and support people of other religious groups, non-religious people and/or atheists, by choosing to believe that a truly loving God would not pursue anything less than universal salvation.

Stand against evangelism and proselytizing as they have thus far been interpreted and used, because there are ways to interpret the Great Commission that don't promote colonialism and cultural genocide.

A steward of the earth, protecting God's beautiful creation and lovingly tending to it as the unique and incredible gift that it is.

A believer in science, rationalism, and human progress as part of God's divine plan for humanity.

A believer in history and someone who understands that the Bible can be both divinely given and open to interpretation (no really)(if you're confused, please talk to a knowledgeable traditional Jew)

An ally to Jews, who stands against supercessionism and antisemitism in the church.

And in before regressive Christians come shouting at me that (1) what do I know, I'm a Jew and (2) no lol you can't because of ___ reason:

My source is that I've personally met and talked to Christians of great faith and integrity - people who embody the closest forms of kindness I've seen to what Jesus himself advocated - who are each of these things.

It is 100% possible; you just choose to believe otherwise.

[always-coffee]

In case you need to hear it today...

Earlier today on Bluesky, I wrote about how—and I firmly believe this—no one is hard to love. That, if someone makes you feel that way, it’s entirely on them. And that love—in its myriad forms—never judges us by the small quirks and details of our less polished selves.

This is 100% the hill I will die on.

The thing is, I’ve often been told I am too much. I have too many feelings. (Like, you can just…remove some of them?) This used to bother me, until I realized that was someone else’s hangup. The reality is I have a very big heart and I am not shy about letting someone I know I care about them.

Why? Several reasons. One is that I am always true to myself, and I don’t believe in playing it cool. Another is that the world is a harsh mess, quite literally often on fire. It’s the warmth and love and the connection that help us through. And if a kind, honest word or gesture might matter to someone, I’m gonna do it. No hesitation.

I have also been the person who didn’t know how someone else felt, and that didn’t feel great. (Understatement.) And I never, ever want anyone else to feel that kind of awful confusion. Because by the time I did find out, it almost broke me. (Almost! I’m very stubborn.) So, if it’s within my power, no one else is gonna go through that.

Back to the beginning: no one is hard to love. Are we mutuals? Do we chat? I can rattle off at least three things I love about you, if asked. Hell, even if you don’t ask, I might randomly tell you anyway. Because ninja compliments make everyone smile!

I am always deeply happy when I get to show my affection for someone. It makes my heart happy. And the reverse is true, too: I am deeply happy to be cared about. It’s affirming. And yes, it also quiets the voices in my head that pop up, from time to time.

You are, right now, more loved than you probably know. So, consider this a reminder, from a weird little witch woman shouting on the internet.

[buckyalpine]

I've always had this acting AU idea where you and Bucky are co-stars in a movie/tv show and your characters are enemies. It makes people feral because you're both so crazy attractive but you just hate each other so much on screen and your story lines have you at each others throats.

Now the part I love with this idea is the press actually thinking you don't get along with him whatsoever and thinking there's drama between the cast because you're never around with them. Whenever they hang out together, literally everyone by you is there. There are so many rumors about how Bucky can't stand working with you and how the cast leaves you out. Natasha even had a thanksgiving dinner recently and the Instagram photo she posted has literally everyone present but you.

Things heat up even more when you barely update your own socials after filming wrapped up. You basically disappeared and it confirms everyone's suspicions. The only time you post here and there is when you're at home alone, doing your own thing. You're never present in any of the interviews. No one ever comments even when they're directly asked about you. There has to be drama.

It's been over a year of near radio silence and people anticipating for the release of this movie.

I love the idea of the movie premier day being full of anticipation and people buzzing over if Bucky would bring a date, if you'd even show up, wondering how you'd interact with everyone else. No one's even seen you but you're one of the main characters so you have to show-

A large black SUV rolls up.

Then Bucky steps out.

Everyone screams. He looks stunning in his all black suit, with his scruffy beard and chestnut locks. Instead of making his way down the red carpet, he stays in place waiting for someone to join him.

Confused murmurs start among the screaming.

And then.

He holds his hand out to help you out.

And everyone goes absolutely wild as you step out, seeing your very round baby bump and that ring on your finger. He makes a show of kissing you deeply before walking you down and of course the cast showers you in love and hugs as if you're all in your own little bubble.

They already knew all long. The secret, low key relationship with you and Bucky. You didn't want people to know because it would bring on so much speculation and scrutiny. When everyone bombards you both with what's going on, Bucky only answers one reporters question with a simple "I'm here with my wife"

Seriously, people can't handle it.

A few days after the reveal, Bucky, you and the rest of the cast including Sam, Steve, Nat and so many others post all the outings they had where you were actually present. The "thanks giving dinner" was actually your baby shower. So many pictures where they're holding your bump with "aunt" and "uncle" sashes tied around them. Pictures from the secret wedding. The honeymoon. The cutest pictures of Bucky cuddled up with you; wholesome intimate moments with you and him. Moments with getting mani pedis with Nat and Wanda.

No on can understand how this was all hidden so well. No one would have guessed.

Weeks later you have your babies and this time everyone posts pictures, all of them surrounding you in the hospital.

Seriously, this reveal breaks the internet in a way you'd never imagine.

[maskedbyghost]

Letters to You

Summary: Simon has been writing letters to you for months, but he’s never had the courage to send them. One day, while cleaning up after a mission, you accidentally find a few of these unsent letters tucked in his gear, and it’s through his written words that you finally see how deeply he cares for you. Word Count: 2.6 k

The safe house is quiet when you and Simon step inside, both of you covered in dirt and sweat from the mission. The adrenaline that kept you going for hours is finally fading, leaving behind a heavy exhaustion that weighs on your body. You glance over at Simon, who moves quietly, his mask still on even though you’re technically safe now.

He doesn’t say anything—he never does after missions. His eyes are focused, movements controlled, as if he’s still on the battlefield. You drop your gear by the door, glancing at him again, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but he just keeps to himself. That distance between you, the one you’ve noticed growing lately, feels wider now. It’s strange because you’ve always been close as teammates, but lately… it’s like something’s shifted.

Simon’s been more protective of you, always positioning himself between you and danger, his hand lingering on your shoulder a little longer than usual. But he never talks about it, never says what’s going through his mind. It leaves you confused, wondering where you stand with him. You want to ask, but the way he pulls back into himself, walls going up the moment the mission ends, makes it impossible.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you start to clean up. Simon is already in the corner, checking his weapons, focused on his task as if nothing else exists. The tension between you lingers, unspoken, thickening the air. You want to break through it, but you don’t know how. Not with him. Not when he’s like this.

For now, you just try to shake off the weight of the day, but the distance between you and Simon feels heavier than anything else.

You move toward the small bathroom, splashing cold water on your face in an attempt to wash away the grime of the mission. It doesn’t help much. You glance at yourself in the mirror, wondering if he sees the same thing you do—the exhaustion, the tension, the uncertainty about him that’s been gnawing at you for days.

When you step back into the main room, Simon is still in the corner, his head tilted down as he meticulously cleans his knife. The mask stays on, a barrier between you and any chance of a real conversation. You hate that damn thing sometimes. It feels like he’s hiding behind it, using it to keep everyone—including you—at a distance.

You drop onto the couch, the cushions sinking under your weight. For a few minutes, you sit there in silence. You try not to stare at him, but it’s hard not to. He’s been like this for so long now. But in the middle of battle, you felt it—the way he hovered a little closer to you, how his hand brushed yours when pulling you out of danger, how he was always just there.

It’s messing with your head. You’re teammates, sure, but it’s more than that now, isn’t it? You just wish you knew what it meant to him. What you mean to him.

Finally, you can’t take the silence anymore.

“Simon,” you say, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. You clear your throat and try again, “Are we ever gonna talk about it?”

He freezes, his hand stopping mid-motion, the knife still in his grip. For a long moment, he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even move, like he’s debating whether or not to even acknowledge what you said. Then, slowly, he sets the knife down and leans back against the wall, his arms folding across his chest. His eyes, dark and unreadable behind the mask, finally meet yours.

“Talk about what?” he asks, his voice low, almost dangerous.

You exhale, frustrated but determined to push through. “You know what. The way you’ve been acting lately. You’re… different. Always keeping me close during missions. And then after…” You wave a hand toward him, gesturing to the space between you. “You shut down. Like nothing ever happened. Like I’m just another soldier to you.”

His gaze sharpens, and for a split second, you think you see something flicker behind his eyes—something raw, something real—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He tilts his head slightly, his voice colder when he finally speaks. “You’re not just another soldier.”

You feel a flicker of hope at his words, so you push on. “Then why can’t you just tell me what’s going on? Why are you acting like this?”

He looks away, his jaw clenched tight under the mask. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, strained. “It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” you challenge, sitting up straighter. “Because it’s sure as hell not better for me.”

The air feels heavier now, every word between you like a stone being added to the weight on your chest. Simon doesn’t respond, doesn’t move, and you can see him retreating, pulling back into that familiar shell. But you’re not ready to let him do that. Not this time.

“Simon,” you say softly, “you don’t have to keep everything bottled up. Not with me.”

For a moment, it feels like he might actually open up, that the wall between you might finally come down. But instead, he rises from his seat, towering over you as he stands.

“I don’t have a choice,” he mutters, the words sounding more like a confession than a statement.

Before you can respond, he turns on his heel and heads for the door, leaving you there with more questions than answers. The door closes behind him with a soft click, and the room falls into silence once more.

You take a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. Determined to keep busy, you turn your attention to organizing the gear and supplies scattered around the safe house. It’s a way to distract yourself from the emotions coursing through you after that conversation.

As you move through the small space, you check the bags and weapons, ensuring everything is in order. You reach for one of Simon’s duffel bags, and start sorting through its contents. You pull out a few pieces of tactical gear, a flashlight, and some extra ammunition.

Then, as you reach deeper into the bag, your fingers brush against something unexpected—something that feels like paper. Curiosity piqued, you pull out a stack of papers, their edges worn and slightly crumpled.

Frowning, you set the other gear aside and unfold one of the papers. The letter is addressed to you, your name written in Simon’s familiar scrawl, and suddenly, everything else fades into the background.

Dear Y/N,

I know this probably isn’t the best way to say it, but I’ve been trying to find the right words. You mean more to me than I can say. There are many moments when I can’t help but think of you, of how you always seem to know what to say to lift my spirits. Your laugh, your determination—it all keeps me going.

Shock floods through you. This isn’t just a letter; it’s a glimpse into Simon’s heart, the parts of him he never shows. You swallow hard, scanning the rest of the letter, the words spilling out like an emotional floodgate.

I’ve been trying to protect you, but I think I’m the one who needs protecting—from my own fears. I’m scared of what I feel and what it means for us. I hope one day I can tell you all of this in person.

You can hardly breathe as you continue to read, your heart racing with each line. It’s like Simon is laying bare his soul, his struggles, and his affection for you in a way he can’t seem to do face to face. You unfold another letter, then another, each one revealing more of Simon’s feelings, his fears, and the way he sees you as more than just a teammate.

As the reality sinks in, you feel a mix of shock and warmth. He’s been writing these for months. Each letter is a testament to the bond you share, to the love he’s been too scared to express.

You unfold more letters, your heart racing with each new revelation.

In one letter, he writes about the way you make him feel safe, how your presence acts as a shield against the chaos of their world. “When you’re near, it’s like the weight of everything else falls away,” he writes. “I don’t have to be the soldier, the protector. I can just be Simon, and that’s enough.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you realize the depth of his longing for normalcy in the midst of your turbulent lives. His words paint a picture of vulnerability you never expected from him. You can almost hear his voice, filled with emotion, spilling out the thoughts he never dared to share aloud.

Another letter reveals how your laugh is the only thing that makes the dark days bearable. “It cuts through the shadows like a ray of light,” he admits, and you can’t help but smile through your tears, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. It’s a reminder of the connection you’ve always shared, but you never knew just how much it meant to him.

He goes on to confess how he watches over you, protective yet fearful. “I’m scared of getting too close,” he writes. “But the thought of losing you is even worse. It keeps me awake at night, wondering if I’m doing the right thing by keeping you at arm’s length.”

As you read, the contrast between the Simon you know—the stoic, reserved soldier—and the Simon in these letters is clear.

You never knew he felt so deeply about you. The way he talks about your shared experiences, the way he highlights the little moments you thought were insignificant, makes your heart swell. You’ve always felt a bond with Simon, but this? This is something entirely different.

As you read the last letter, you find yourself smiling through the tears that have begun to spill over. “I don’t know how to tell you this face to face,” he writes. “But I’m ready to try. I just hope you’ll be there to catch me when I fall.”

The realization hits you like a tidal wave—Simon is not just your teammate. He’s a man capable of deep love, and he needs you as much as you need him.

You hold the final letter in your hands, feeling the weight of it—both literally and emotionally. The date at the top is recent, just a few days ago.

As you unfold the letter, your heart pounds in your chest. “I’ve fallen for you,” it begins, and the simple admission sends a rush of warmth through your veins. But then, as you read further, the words become more filled with fear. “I don’t know how to tell you this. I’m scared of ruining everything we have.”

Each line pulls you deeper into his turmoil, the truth of his feelings laid bare. He writes about how he feels unworthy of you, how he’s haunted by the thought that he might not be good enough. “You deserve someone who can give you everything, someone who isn’t broken like me.”

Tears spring to your eyes as the weight of his insecurities crashes over you. You never realized the extent of Simon’s struggle, the silent battles he’s fought in his mind while maintaining his sharp exterior. The realization that he’s been carrying this burden alone, fearful of sharing it with you, breaks your heart.

He continues, pouring out his soul on the page. “I want more than just being your friend,” he writes. “But every time I think about taking that step, I freeze. What if I mess everything up? What if you don’t feel the same?”

Your chest feels tight with emotion, and you can hardly breathe as you take in the gravity of what he’s saying.

“I can’t help but want you. But I don’t want to ruin what we already have. You’re everything to me.”

You wish you could take away his fears, to show him that you see him—not just the soldier but the man who longs for connection, for love, and for something real.

You’re so absorbed in rereading that you don’t hear him come in. The door creaks softly, but your focus is solely on the words. “What are you doing?” he suddenly says, breaking the stillness of the room.

You jump, startled, and quickly look up to find Simon standing in the doorway, a mixture of surprise and concern etched on his face. “Simon!” you exclaim, your heart racing. “You scared me!”

He steps further into the room, his eyes darting to the letters in your hands. “I thought I told you to stay away from my stuff,” he says, though there’s no real heat behind his words.

“Why didn’t you give these to me?” you shoot back, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “You idiot! You’ve been hiding your feelings for so long, and you could’ve just told me!”

Simon’s expression shifts, and you can see the surprise showing in his eyes. “I didn’t know how,” he admits quietly, running a hand through his hair.

“I want to be with you, Simon,” you say, your voice steady. “You didn’t have to keep this from me. I’ve felt something more between us for a while now.”

His breath catches, and for a moment, you can see the tension in his shoulders relax, relief flooding his features. You stand up, your heart racing, and without thinking, you step forward and pull him into a hug.

He tenses for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly as if you might slip away. “I’m such an idiot,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and filled with warmth. “I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“Neither did I,” you whisper back. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.

As you pull back slightly, he tilts your chin up, his gaze softening as he studies your face. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says, the sincerity in his voice making your heart race even faster. “But I was scared.”

“I was scared too,” you admit, your breath hitching as he leans in closer. His thumb brushes against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Let me show you how I feel,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, he lowers his lips to yours, kissing you gently. It’s soft at first, but then he deepens the kiss, pouring all the emotions he’s been holding back into that one, sweet moment.

He pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I’m so glad I found you,” he whispers, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You smile back, your heart full as you realize that this is just the beginning, and as he kisses you again, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Finally, as you pull away, you glance down at the letters still cradled in your hands. “I’m keeping these,” you declare, holding them close to your chest.

Simon chuckles softly, the sound warm in the air between you. “Good. I was hoping you would.” He leans down and kisses the top of your head, his breath tickling your hair. “And I’ll write a thousand more, love,” he promises, a playful glint in his eyes. “This time, I’ll actually give them to you.”

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

finally got to finish this fic. isn't he so cute?? i would frame those letters honestly.

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[vaguely-concerned]

My two cents on how much of Mind!Varric is Rook’s mind trying to fill the blank space and how much is Solas actively talking through a convenient blood magic paper doll of the mind: I think it's a mix of both, a truly collaborative psychosocial horrorshow if you would, but waaaay more towards the second. It feels too directed and tactical at times to be anything else. Rook's mind is willing to go along with the denial phase as far as it can fucking carry them to not have to face the grief and regret and does its part in papering over details that don’t make any sense, the way brains will strive to create coherent meaning even out of deeply confusing input, but to my understanding it's a collaborateur in how that plays out, not the instigator or control center. Solas is using it as a path to agency and to gather insight into Rook as a person unguarded as he can't count on in his own guise. (That stoic option that leads to him being like 'oh I see you're cautiously denying me access to your inner life. well. at least you still have Varric to talk to. y'know as an outlet :)'. You absolute BITCH Solas! That alone convinced me that he HAS to have an active hand in it on some level.)

My guess is that it takes considerable effort on Solas’ part to make Mind!Varric do anything more involved or complicated than seeming to sit up in bed and give casual commentary, and that’s why he keeps having eerie five minute shallow pep talks with you before he announces he conveniently needs a nap aaanyway good luck kid you got this haha. When he’s just spouting NPC lines from his bedrest, I’m ready to believe that could be Rook’s mind being allowed to improv lines for him more freely because it’s less about Solas trying to get something out of them or working an angle and more ‘Still here! Still totally alive and fine and the mentor figure you know and love and trust :) don’t even worry about it! Thankfully there is no war in Ba Sing Sei, as we all know’ upkeep work lol. Rook’s mind is allowed to set the tone of Varric, the outlines, but not always the content. 

AND, on a (beautifully fucked up) character psychology level, I feel like Solas is indulging in actually getting to be the good supportive mentor figure to Rook with one hand to assuage the guilt he feels about what he's done -- and what he's going to do -- to them with the other. Same internal logic as he uses in Trespasser about the Qun. ‘Almost everyone is going to die from the course of action I’m doggedly pursuing eventually. But at least I can make their last years happier and freer and kinder than they would have been otherwise. and that kind of makes up for it right. a little bit. doesn't it. doesn't that make it better at least. I need that to make it better)'. Did I really take your beloved mentor and friend from you if you don’t know yet that I did? Some philosophers would argue not really! So it’s probably almost ok actually. Isn’t it even a little noble that I’m taking all this grief and guilt on myself and shielding you for now. With undertones that I’m not sure he would realize himself (and might be mortified by if he did) that he is so incredibly lonely, and even a dishonest and indirect emotional connection is more than nothing when you’re that desperate. In this setup he gets idk. Both the control he craves so incredibly badly in relationships and over himself, and the scraps, the fading afterimages, of intimacy and warmth and companionship, even second hand. The one thing Solas and Rook agree on deep deep down is that they really wish Varric weren't gone. They're handshake memeing this in the saddest and most creepy way possible.

I think an important element too is that Solas needs Rook and their team to *succeed* —  up to a certain point. He needs someone to hold the two other elven mean girls off until he can get out of here. Ideally, in a perfect world, even do all the hard work of killing them so he can swoop in at the end and do his thing when both sides are exhausted and out of resources to stop him, and then Bob’s your uncle! Same logic as he was using with Corypheus, and after that worked out so well, too! King of choosing to never learn from a single solitary mistake he’s ever made even though i fully believe he could have the capacity to Fen’Harel <3 The underlying idea isn’t flawed, you see, it was just unforeseen circumstances getting in the way. This time for sure it’ll all work out the way I cleverly imagined it in my head beforehand. Cue By Talos this can’t be happening etc. in the form of a statue almost crushing him like a bug. 

So he's providing guidance and forging Rook into a leader from two angles: one Rook might not trust, and one they probably will. Shaping them into what he needs slowly and carefully. He’s helping you hone your team into their most effective state, as he might have done with his own agents back in the day, setting up his chess pieces even if he has to squint through two glimpsed realities to do it haha. Pincer maneuver of an insidious stealth mentor you never asked for. Also… at one point mind Varric gives you a whole little monologue about how Solas' problem is that he’s always seen his interpersonal connections as flaws and see where it’s landed him, all alone and the worst part? it hasn’t even worked. it’s all been for nothing he’s back where he began with nothing to show for it but his mistakes. Like...that has such strong 'uh okay happy to play your therapist from two rooms away here what the fuck kind of traumadump is this' energy to me, I’m not sure Rook like. Thinks that much about Solas as a private person. So much of Solas' self-loathing and futile insights into his own flaws seem to shine through in Mind!Varric's dialogue all the time — I just can't believe that there's no guiding hand behind it as it were. 

Most of all. I feel like people underestimate the degree to which Solas is incredibly funny. As in, he has a very consistent and recognizable sense of humour. It’s one of my very favourite things about him. We must remember — it is crucial that we always keep in mind — Orlesian accent and wig Solas from May The Dread Wolf Take You (my beloved, the explanation for why I love this dude even with the. All of the everything else. No one does it quite like him). He is not at all above doing things or adding little flourishes for his own obscure amusement, in fact that seems to me to be one of his most consistent traits. The Randy Dowager Quarterly comment Varric has? The ‘Maybe this is the Dread Wolf’s revenge. Forcing us to house sit for him’ thing? To Me this is 100% Solas amusing himself in his boring Fade jail surrounded by the screaming hellscape of all his regrets. Source: it came to me as divine revelation through pure vibes trust me bro 

If nothing else I find it much more narratively interesting personally if the connection between Rook and Solas really is that defenselessly intimate and entwined (and so unbalanced!), and the sense of violation and invasion and betrayal afterwards consequently all the more nauseatingly intense. Even if you kept him at arm’s length in the open, he’s been under your skin the whole time, looking around, gathering what he needs to destroy you, wearing the face of a friend. Regretfully, probably, but choosing to do it every step of the way anyway. (Sound familiar, Inquisitor? Solas doesn’t have that many tricks when you actually look at it, he keeps returning to old tried and true ones like a dog with a bone haha.) Maybe he even genuinely meant some of it as mercy, which only makes it so much worse. It makes his sin against his own core principles of autonomy and the freedom of all beings in mind, spirit and body so much more juicily grave if it’s something he pursues actively and consistently, rather than it half-falling into his lap as a happy accident mainly orchestrated by Rook’s own subconscious. Solas, too, is at his very lowest point, the closest to giving in and becoming his own antithesis fully that he’s ever been, and it makes the choice of whether you still reach out your hand to him one last time or not all the more impactful and difficult.

[annievrse]

the special t-shirt

roronoa zoro x reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb a/n: just a little stupid thing i wrote to get away from the angst of labyrinth

“Dude, c’mon.”

You blink, your chopsticks full of rice pausing halfway to your mouth. The crew continues chattering around you. “What?”

“What?” Zoro gives you a deadpan look, food pushed into the side of his cheek. "This is serious."

Robin watches you two across the table, a smirk playing on her lips. She watches Zoro furrow his eyebrows at you as you ignore him.

"I said I was sorry," You say. "What else do you want me to say, bro?"

"Bro?" Zoro scoffs, turning his body toward you. He props his elbow on the table and leans to the side to glance at your face. "Call me that again... see what happens."

You shake your head, your laugh is humourless. "You're unbelievable."

Zoro makes a sound of indignation. "Me? You called me bro. I'm not your bro."

"Yeah, and you called me dude! What's the difference?"

You barely notice the chatter slowing down and coming to an abrupt halt as you and Zoro glare at each other.

"Hey," Franky says, nervous laughter following. "What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing."

The crew eyes you wearily, Nami jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. Luffy tilts his head in confusion, and the rest get up quickly, their plates forgotten.

"Oh!" Luffy giggles. "Trouble in paradise, huh?"

"You idiot!" Nami whispers harshly, pulling him to stand by the collar of his shirt. "Hurry up."

You watch her drag Luffy out of the galley, Chopper and Brook sulking as they follow everyone else out. Sanji hovers in the doorway, eyes on Zoro.

"Don't fuck this up, mosshead."

Zoro scrunches his face, opening his mouth to retort, but Sanji's gone before he can. "Dick."

You sigh deeply, rubbing your forehead with your palm. "Zo'."

"Hate that guy—"

"Can you please tell me what's wrong?'

Zoro's eyebrows raise, and he shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah."

You wait for him to speak, but when he says nothing, you poke him.

Zoro swats your hand away, face set in a deep scowl. "You used my favourite shirt to wipe the ink off your hand."

You blink, sighing as the guilt rises again. "I know, I'm sorry. The ink pot spilled, and it was so close to the logbook; your shirt was the first thing I saw, and I panicked. I—I'll buy you a new one—"

"No," he mumbles, eye cast down to his lap.

You purse your lips, your throat thick with emotion. "Sorry..."

"Besides, you have no money."

You gape at him. "Do, too! Who do you think buys all your alcohol?"

Zoro's eyes soften, and he tilts his head like he's trying to get a better look at you. But before he can get too sappy, he rolls his eyes.

"Anyway, the point is that you can't buy me a new one."

"Why not?" You reach over to pick a piece of fluff off his shoulder. He lets you, his gaze on you. "It's a plain white shirt. They have those everywhere."

"Because you can't," Zoro shrugs, his fingers fidgeting in his lap.

Chewing your bottom lip, you know there's more to this than he's letting on.

"Zoro," You say, resting your palm on his cheek. "What's this about?"

"I—uh, the shirt... it was. No," he shakes his head. "It's nothing."

You've rarely seen him this nervous, especially around you, in all the years you've been together. It scares you.

"Please," You whisper, sliding down the bench. "If it's bothering you this much, it's more than nothing."

Zoro huffs and looks to the ceiling before closing his eye. His hand circles around your waist, pulling you near. Your shoulder is under his armpit when he's done getting comfortable—as comfortable as you can get on a wooden bench.

"It's my favourite shirt."

You nod, urging him to go on. "Mmhm."

"And it happens to be the same shirt I was wearing when... when we... you know."

A smile spreads across your cheeks. "Say it."

Zoro scoffs lightly, a blush dusting his cheeks. "When we first met."

You make a sound of pure happiness. "You little sap!"

"Shut up," he mumbles, though his words have no bite. A sheepish grin pulls at the corners of his mouth.

But your joy is short-lived when you realise the problem. "And I ruined it."

Zoro shakes his head. "Don't be stupid... it's not like it still fits me. You know, since I've gotten bigger muscles and chest and all that..."

"Yeah, your tits are huge."

"They're pecs."

You laugh, kissing his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"You already said that," Zoro mutters, face warming when your lips meet his skin.

"I can wash it," You say. "I'm sure I can find some super, powerful soap that'll wash the ink right out."

Zoro shrugs. "If you want."

You tilt your head as you consider him. What he really means is, yes, please.

"Wanna come with me? You can sit pretty on the sink while I wash it."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

You stand from the bench with an eyebrow raised. "What?"

"I don't sit pretty. That's your job."

You ignore the comment and step out, holding your hand out. "C'mon."

But before Zoro can clasp his fingers around yours, the galley door swings open, the crew comically crowding the doorway.

"We good?" Franky asks, voice tight. Chopper, Brook, and Usopp hold their breath, and Nami and Robin smile. Sanji rolls his eyes and Luffy bursts through everyone to get back to the food.

Zoro's soft expression morphs into a scowl at the sight of them. "Yeah, not that it's any of your business..."

"Good! I'm starving," Luffy exclaims, plopping himself down at the table and scoffing down food from the remaining plates.

"Hey! That's mine!" Usopp yells, rushing over to Luffy before pulling him into a loose headlock.

You wrap your hand around Zoro's bicep and tug him toward the laundry room below deck.

After scrubbing at the t-shirt for an hour, the water murky and the soap almost empty, Zoro holds the too-small shirt against his torso. He gives you a gleaming smile, one reserved for you, and despite the sparse grey splotches visible, he's more than content with the effort. Zoro leans down to press his lips to your forehead, mumbling about his gratitude.

Safe to say, the following morning, Zoro stretches the shirt onto his body, the seams cracking and the hems cutting off the circulation in his arms. The crew laughs at him, but he smiles proudly when he sees your giggles.

You didn't ruin his shirt but added a new memory that he will treasure until the end of time.

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧

→ premise: all of deans life pain has always ran parallel to love. he needs them both, he needs you to hurt him and take the pain away all at the same time, turns out you were more than willing to, you may even need it reciprocated.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: 2.3k words, small bit of angst that turns quickly into smut | 18+, kinda switch!dean, pain kink [slapping, biting, pinching, scratching, etc], praise kink [both reader and dean], unprotected sex, small bit of choking, multiple mentions of blood & reader nearly dying

→ a/n: kinktober 08

Dean was accustomed to pain, he learned to tolerate and push through it from a young age as his father hammered into him that it was his job to always look after Sam and conditioned him to become a hunter. Love always came alongside pain in his life, losing everybody he ever cared deeply for; it happened so often that he began to associate one with the other. And so somewhere along the way he came to yearn for both pain and love as he felt they always came together. When Dean began having feelings for you, he was scared like he’s never been before. He avoided telling you for a couple of years simply because he thought if he voiced it out loud then he'd lose you like he did everyone else.

However when a demon came very close to killing you when you were being reckless, that scared Dean a hell of a lot more and in a screaming match about it he revealed his feelings on accident.

“You couldve fucking died, ya’ know that right? If me and Sam got there even a minute later you’d have been laying in my arms dead not just unconscious” when he mentions sam, he gestures towards the couch in the small motel room where the younger brother last sat. Though when he turns to look over hoping for backup he finds Sam gone, he groans out in annoyance. Sam had figured it was best to leave the two of you to your fighting alone, yes he was also upset with your careless decision but not as heated as his brother.

“Well I didn't okay? I can take care of myself. I had it under control!” you scream out, punching your words out to get your point across, flailing your arms in frustration though the fast movement aggravates your injuries making you wince slightly. Seeing you in pain makes Dean stop short for a second, a ping in his chest as his heart aches, it however only morphs into making his blood boil more when the memory of finding you beaten and bloody on the floor of that warehouse flashes in his head. “I'm sooo glad you can take care of yourself, but what about me HUH?!” He screams out, sarcasm dripping from his voice until the latter half with his question where it breaks off taking you back. Confusion crosses your face but before you can say anything back to him he continues.

“I dont know what I’d fuckin’ do without you, im so pathetically and utterly in love with you that the thought of you dying makes me wanna lie in the dirt just so i can be buried with you!” he had been stepping closer and closer as he yelled out in frustration, not realizing exactly what he just said. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline from his confession and proximity coursing through your veins.

“You love me..?” Your voice comes out softer than Dean swears he's ever heard it before and it melts all the anger out of his body. He knew there was no turning back now that he blurted that out and even though he was worried more than ever, he couldn't stand not being with you anymore. “I think i fell in love the moment i met you sweetheart” he sighs and brings his rough hands up to cup your face and wipe away the tears you hadn’t noticed we're slowly falling from your eyes. After a long stretch of comfortable silence as the tension of the fight has dissipated you speak up.

“Would you just kiss me already ya’ idiot” you tease, smiling softly at him through your tears as you stare deep into those stupid green eyes that turn your brain to mush.

Using his hold on your face he pulls your lips against his in a desperate kiss, trying to drown out all the swarming negative voices in his head. Your soft lips mold against his perfectly and he thanks any and every god he can think of for letting him have something he knows he doesn’t deserve. Your eyes flutter shut as you kiss back, the fight over your thoughtless decision not forgotten but put on the back burner. You were deans the second you told him to kiss you and if you thought you were gonna be able to continue with your bad decisions boy were you in for a surprise, he just finally got you he wasn't ever letting go now. You grab at his chest, your hands balling up his shirt as you try pulling him impossibly closer deepening the kiss. In a tangled mess of limbs and mouths still latched to one another’s you and Dean tumble back and fall down onto the rundown motel bed. Dean landed on his back in the middle cushioning your fall with you landing on top of him between his legs.

“Baby..” he mumbles against your lips making your heart skip a bit at him calling you a name normally reserved for his impala. He even squeezes your hips lightly to break your focus from the make out.

“I need you to do something for me” he groans out as the kiss heats up and your tongue slips in his mouth during his statement, your hands running all over his chest and arms. Your body was pressed up to his, hips flush against each other making it impossible for you not to feel his hardening cock on your thigh. “Anything, what do you need, baby?” You question, desperate to please him and more than willing to do whatever he asks. Now Dean was well aware if he said jump you'd ask how high, he just hoped this request as odd as it was didn‘t make you run for the hills.

Reluctantly he pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath as well as watch your face when he tells you what he needs. You open your eyes and look at him with that same sparkle they always hold when your gaze is locked on him. His cock was getting painfully hard now from the mixture of the make out session and your body so close to him.

”I- shit okay im just gonna say it uh. I need you to hurt me. I just- I need you to get the image of you laying in a pool of your own blood barely breathing out of my head” he rambles, his voice sounding unfamiliar to his own ears with how pathetic it comes out. He silently prays you won't just get up and walk out of his life at his weird desire. He avoids eye contact when you are still silent after a minute. A fire ignites in your body and settles in your core as a million and one thoughts are running through your head at the speed of light. Every single last one however being the different things you wanna and finally get to do to Dean.

You grab ahold of Dean’s face squeezing it as you turn it so he is looking at you again. You now have a small taunting smile on your face, your nails are lightly digging into his cheeks making his cock twitch. “I can do that, but can you be a good boy?” You teasingly question as you lean up maneuvering your body so you're straddling his hips, peering down on him. The sight of you on his lap, thighs spread either side of his body and lust blown hooded eyes staring down at him knocks the breath from his lungs. It's an image pulled from his many dirty depraved dreams of you that riddled him with guilt but now it's a reality, his wonderful heaven like reality.

He frantically nods his head yes while your hand not pinching his face is working at undoing his belt.

“Gonna be such a good boy, can be s’good for you baby” he huffs out and lifts his hips to help you out as you pull his jeans down and off his legs. You let go of his face and dean has to fight back an actual whine when the small sting of pain leaves with it. Though he swallows his complaint as he watches you strip yourself of your dirty still blood soaked t-shirt, going at a teasingly slow pace when you undo your own belt pulling it through the loops and discarding it on the floor besides his pants. “Come on don't be a tease sweetheart please” he softly begs as he grabs your hips, thrusting his up to grind his bulge against your core. The rough fabric of your jeans sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine as it rubs over his aching boxer covered cock. You bite back a moan and slap his chest to stop him before lifting your body up to help you rid yourself of your remaining clothes. He is quickly behind you nearly ripping off his shirt and tugging down his boxers making his leaking cock bounce free between your bodies.

Saliva practically pools in Dean's mouth at the sight of you stripped bare for his eyes scanning over every inch of you. Your thighs spread back over his hips leaving your pussy on display for him, your slick coating his cock as your hips take up his previous action of grinding. “Such a good boy” you praise and lean down digging your nails into his sides, the pain making his eyes screw shut in bliss. Lifting your hips once again this time however sinking your pussy down onto his throbbing cock. Your slick and his precum help to aid your cunt into taking every inch of Dean's cock to the base as you smash your lips against his in a passionate kiss. The mixture of stinging pain and sweet praise and pleasure drown out all bad thoughts, all images that were flashing in Dean's head of your limp body unmoving and bleeding fade from his head finally, his only thought being of how good you feel.

“Mhmm~” He whines out in pleasure and surprise, the sound muffled in your mouth. Your hips immediately set into a rhythm of grinding and softly bouncing, his cock dragging across your velvety walls and his tip hitting your cervix when you bounce down. “Ah- Ahh~ fuck sweetheart knew this fuckin’ pussy feel amazing” he grunts out, his fingers holding onto your hips in a bruising grip that has your head spining. You bite down on his plush bottom lip in retaliation making a small almost growl erupt from his chest. The sound vibrates through your body to your core making your hips flatter a bit and a whine escapes your lips.

Within the blink of an eye dean has your legs wrapped around his waist when he sits up and flips your position breaking the kiss. Laying you flat on your back with him nestled between your thighs his cock still buried deep inside you. “Dean~” your whimper morphs into a wanton moan when his hips start at a punishing pace, your slick already forming a creamy ring at the base of his cock as it pounds into you. His heavy balls smacking your ass creating an obscene noise that fills the room with your moans and his grunts. “As much as i love how you sound and wanna hear it for the rest of my life baby, you gotta be quiet sweetheart” he taunts as his hand slips up the side of your body to palm at your bouncing tits. you whine out and paw at his lower stomach and v-line almost pushing him away slightly to stop his tip from abusing that one spot deep inside you. “Mm~ I can’t, it s’good, feels too good, i needa cum” you whine out your words slurring together as the knot in your stomach tightens. “Aww well don't want the staff or other guests hearing you scream my name now do we?” He questions with a small smirk that morphs into an almost slack jawed look when your nails dig into his back and drag down. The stinging pain of you scratching at his back so hard he's almost certain you drew blood makes his hips speed up even more.

“Bite down on my shoulder to muffle yourself when you cum okay baby?” He softens a bit though his hips don't slow down, you nod desperately in understanding. “That’s my good girl” he beams at you praising you in a sweet tone making your pussy clench down on his cock.

You grab at his hand that rests on your breasts and pull it up to your neck hoping he gets the message. A smile forms on his lips as what you want registered in his head, you wanted pain the same as him. Dean didn't think he could love you anymore than he did and yet as his hand wraps around your throat his heart swells, you're the same as him, you needed the pain with the love and pleasure, he was the luckiest fucking man alive in this moment. He smirks and softly kisses your lips as he leans down and his cock somehow reaches even deeper inside you.

The new angle causes the knot in your core to snap and your high to crash into you, making you pull away from his mouth and bury your face in his shoulder. Baring your teeth you bite down a bit hard onto his shoulder to muffle your loud moans and cries as you cream on his cock. “Oh fuck yeah, there we go sweetheart good girl baby” he praises, his head going foggy in pain and pleasure as his climax hits him head on, spilling his cum deep inside you not caring about the loud noises that leave his own mouth.

→ a/n: as always this wasnt proofread and its late, whos shocked? anyway i got a bit carried away well more like a lot. this is only my second time writing for dean and i got excited i really like writing for him. It is however my first time writing smut for him so sorry if hes out of character.