#anyway. i might check this out when i have time!!!

[mintedwitcher]

something I'm workshopping for my "Buck leaves the 118" fic below the cut:

He sits in his car for a long time, just staring out at the waves. He used to surf. He used to love surfing. When did that stop, he wonders? Was it when the tsunami happened? Or was it before that? He can’t remember the last time he went surfing.

His phone is in his hand before he really registers picking it up, and then he’s dialling a number that he’s been avoiding for weeks.

“This is Kinard.”

“Tommy,” Buck says, and it’s like he can finally breathe.

“Evan? What’s wrong?” Tommy asks immediately.

“I’m at the beach,” Buck says. “Just got off work. Did you know I used to be a surf instructor? I can’t remember the last time I went surfing.”

“Which beach?” Tommy asks. “And no, I didn’t know that. I can see it though, it suits you.”

“More than being a firefighter?” Buck asks. “I don’t know which beach, I wasn’t paying attention. I just ended up here.”

“No, firefighting suits you better,” Tommy says. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Buck says. He might be lying. He doesn’t really know. That last call did get a little hairy, but he doesn’t feel hurt. Mostly he just feels… “Tired.”

“Stay awake for me,” Tommy says. Buck can hear the sound of Tommy’s truck revving. He’s driving, too. He’s probably going to work.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have called,” Buck says. “I’m not even sure why I did, I just… I guess I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Evan, sweetheart, you’re scaring me,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds urgent now.

“I’m not killing myself,” Buck tells him, because that’s important. “I won’t do that. I’m getting a transfer next week. Can’t mess things up for my new Captain before I even start working for him.”

“Good, Evan, that’s good,” Tommy says. “I’m on my way right now, okay? Just keep talking to me, sweetheart. Tell me about your surf instructor job. I’ve gotta know, were you blonde?”

Buck barks a laugh. “Frosted tips,” he says. “It was Peru. Wait, no, that was the bartending job. God, there’s been so many, I can’t keep track of them all. Maybe I’ll ask Maddie. She’ll know. She kept my postcards.”

“You sent her postcards?” Tommy asks. Buck knows that he’s trying to keep him awake, keep him alert and oriented. He’s a firefighter, he knows the drill. He goes with it anyway.

“Yeah, one from every place I lived in, before LA,” Buck says. “There’s like, twenty of them.”

“You’ll have to tell me about all of them,” Tommy says. “How many jobs have you had?”

“Too many,” Buck says with a sigh. “I liked most of them. Surfing, carpentry, bartending… I was a ranch hand for a while. Can’t believe it took you kissing me to realise I’m into men. The signs were there, Tommy, let me tell you.”

“You checked out my ass the day we met, remember,” Tommy says. Buck laughs again. It still sounds wrong, but maybe it’s because he hasn’t laughed in a while. Maybe he needs to relearn how.

“In my defence, you have a great ass,” Buck says.

“You’re right, I do,” Tommy says, chuckling.

“And so modest, too,” Buck says. He’s teasing. They’re flirting. Buck’s smile feels a little more genuine this time.

“A triple threat,” Tommy agrees. “I’m pulling up now. I can see your truck.”

“Yay,” Buck replies, and Tommy laughs. The sound is warm and rich, like Tommy’s favourite coffee order. A few seconds later, Tommy’s truck parks next to his.

“Can I come sit with you?” Tommy asks, still on the phone. Buck can see him through the car windows. He nods. The call disconnects. A moment later, Tommy’s knocking on his passenger side window. Buck moves his duffel bag into the back seat and unlocks his doors so Tommy can climb inside.

He’s still in his sleep clothes.

“Did I wake you up?” Buck asks, eyeing the pyjama pants that he bought for Tommy back when they were dating. Buck’s matching set is in his dresser drawer at home, along with the few shirts he managed to pilfer from Tommy during their relationship that he hasn’t gotten around to returning yet.

“Yes, but I don’t care,” Tommy says. “You call, I come running. Or, driving, in this case. Are you okay?”

And maybe it’s the pyjamas, maybe it’s the forty-eight he just worked, maybe it’s the takeout boxes in the kitchen and the empty fridge at work, or maybe he’s just done. Buck gets one full breath in, and the next one hitches, and before he knows it, he’s sobbing. Tommy reacts immediately, pulling him in. It’s uncomfortable and awkward with the centre console in the way, but Buck doesn’t care. He hides his face in Tommy’s neck and cries, and cries, and cries.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Suburban Sunrises and City Sunsets !NSFW!

Avenger!Agatha x Avenger!Pregnant!Reader

Word count: 11,178

Content Warnings: MDNI; soft smut, pregnancy, morning sickness/vomiting, childbirth/c-section, needles/epidural

Summary: The nine months following you and Agatha finding out you're pregnant--also known as Agatha having a crisis and realizing you've turned into a suburban family.

A/N: Hiii!!! I absolutely loved writing this. Panicked, worried Agatha is always fun to write, plus pregnant reader really adds to it. This will probably be my last oneshot for a couple weeks unless I have some free time! The next one on my list is a Maya Mason x reader!!!

Read Part 1 here

Spotify playlist here

Ao3 here

Masterlist here

Tag list: @sweetmidnights @warpdrive-witch @katrina-3-37

You sit in the warm bath, clouds of bubbles up to your chest. Agatha sits on the edge of the tub, pouring some kind of floral scented bath oil as you sigh and flip through the packet of OB/GYNs and prenatal information the nurse gave you.

“What about Jen?” you huff, and toss the packet on the side table beside the tub, reaching into the bag of candy Agatha got for you. “She’s a midwife.”

Agatha recaps the bottle of bath oil. “She hasn’t been a midwife since 1925.” She sets the bottle on the table and crouches down beside you. “I’m not trusting her with you or our child.”

“She’s been wanting to get back into it,” you try to reason.

Agatha sighs. “Do you actually want Jennifer as your midwife?”

“I mean–I don’t know!” you groan. “I know Jen. I like Jen. It would be a little comforting to have someone that doesn’t see me as a statistic, and actually…” Your voice goes quiet. “Sees me–us–as a person and a child.”

Agatha smiles sadly and her hand runs through your hair. “Okay,” she says softly. “If it makes you more comfortable, Jen can be part of it–but I would like it if we had someone who hasn’t been out of practice for 105 years.”

You take her hand and press a kiss to it. “Thank you.” 

“I’ll call the OB office by the Tower,” she says. “See if they can fit you in soon.” 

You order in for dinner tonight–some vegan place where Agatha made sure every single ingredient is organic. She nagged the poor employee on the phone for almost ten minutes.

“So, every ingredient is organic?” she double checked. You heard the girl on the line mumble something and Agatha nodded, flipping over the menu that’s on the counter. “And the tofu? Is that pasteurized? Okay. And your sauces–? Well, excuse me for not wanting to give my pregnant wife a foodborne illness!”

Sitting at the kitchen table, Agatha unpacks the bag of food. “I called the OB office earlier. They have an ultrasound appointment available tomorrow, but it’s at nine in the morning.”

“When’s the next one?” You ask, opening your container that has a vegan grilled cheese. 

“In two weeks,” Agatha sighs, and takes a seat to weather dinner.

“Alright,” you say. “I guess since it’s so close to the Tower, we might as well just go back.”

“Are you sure?”

You shrug. “Yeah. I mean, we’ve calmed down–” You pause, completely forgetting that Wanda guessed.

“What?” Agatha asks. “What’s wrong?”

Your voice is steady. “I forgot to tell you…Wanda knows.”

“How?” she gapes.

“She called me to check in right after you went into CVS,” you explain.”I didn’t tell her. She guessed it.” As you watch Agatha’s face contort into frustration, you lean forward, taking her hand. “It’s okay! Honey, it’s fine! She said she won’t tell anyone.”

“Okay,” she sighs. “It’s your place to tell, anyway. Not mine.”

“I’d like the coven to know first,” you say. “I guess Wanda’s part of the coven. She’s been to a few meetings. But I want to wait until after the first trimester…just get settled–out of the high-risk-for-miscarriage-zone, have a few ultrasound pictures to show them. When’s the next meeting?”

Agatha gets up, checking the calendar on the fridge. “Looks like March 7th–two weeks.”

You sit back in your chair, sighing. “Alright, yeah. We’ll tell them then.”

“And the rest?” Agatha asks, raising an eyebrow as she sits back down. “The team is gonna be suspicious sooner or later.”

You groan. “It’ll come out eventually.”

It’s like the nausea only appeared after learning that you’re pregnant. There’s a deep, unpleasant feeling in your stomach when you wake up in the morning. The sun is just barely above the horizon. Dark  shadows are still cast across your bedroom ceiling, but you’re out of bed immediately, rushing to the bathroom.

Your heavy footsteps and rushing stir Agatha from sleep and she’s out of bed quickly. Hunched over the toilet and retching, you feel Agatha’s hand on your back as the other holds your hair back. 

“Oh, god,” she mumbles, her voice still rough from sleep. Back in the bedroom, you can hear Agatha’s alarm go off for the doctor's appointment. “It’s okay, honey.”

She opens the bathroom closet and grabs a rag, running it under the tap. Agatha sits down on the floor beside you and when you sit up she gently wipes your mouth and nose. 

“Thank you,” you sigh, sniffling and wiping the tears from your eyes.

Agatha kisses you on the forehead and stands up. “I’ll go get you the nausea meds.” After turning her alarm off, she goes downstairs and retrieves the medication. It helps, mostly. Your stomach has settled by the time you finish getting ready, but there’s still a twinge present. Despite your protests, Agatha makes you eat two pieces of toast.

The ride back to New York City is uneventful. Commuter traffic is always heavy, but you slept right through it, and you even slept through Agatha picking up her coffee order in a drive-thru. When outside of the OB/GYN office, she wakes you up with a gentle shake of your shoulder.

You blink against the bright sunlight and stretch before you look down at the cupholder. “Where the hell did you get coffee from?”

“I went through the Dunkin’ drive-thru,” she says, and reaches into the car door pocket. She holds out a baggie to you, “I didn’t wanna wake you up. You looked so peaceful. But I got you a donut if you get hungry.”

“Aww, thank you,” you say, eyes still heavy with sleep as you lean over to kiss her.

When you walk in, it’s much warmer than it is outside. Agatha’s hand is on your lower back as you check in at the front, and it doesn’t leave its position in the waiting room. There are a few other people there, and as you sit there, you have a weird feeling.

Across the room, a couple whispers to one another and looks at you and Agatha. You lean over subtly, “Are they talking about us?”

Agatha doesn’t even get to respond before they approach you. The woman is meek and soft-spoken, “I’m so sorry to bother, but are you two part of the Avengers?”

Shit.

“Um–no,” Agatha lies, politely smiling. “I guess we just look like them.”

You feel Agatha’s hand tighten on your back when the woman’s husband persists. “Are you sure? You guys look ve–”

“Sir, I’m just here for a pap smear,” you sigh, watching in delight as his face drops.

When your name is called, Agatha’s hand is in yours. Her thumb gently runs over your skin as you feel your heart race. Your vitals are taken along with your height and weight, and when you’re brought to the room you’re given a blanket and instructed to remove your pants.

“The sonographer will be in soon,” the woman tells you.

You remove your coat and pants. On the table, you get yourself situated, blanket over your legs as you lay back. You smile as you watch agatha fold your pants and drape your coat over a chair before straightening your shoes below. “Agatha, stop obsessing over my clothes,” you say. “Come here.”

She sighs and takes your hand as a knock sounds on the door. The sonographer enters, smiling way too brightly for it being nine-thirty in the morning. She introduces herself in a chipper voice and you can almost feel Agatha wanting to roll her eyes.

“I have to say,” the sonographer chirps, “this is the first Avenger we’ve had here.”

“Glad to be the first,” you muse.

Agatha, with her hand holding on tightly to yours, stares intently at the blank TV screen on the wall. She rocks side to side and only looks away after you say her name twice. “Hm? What?”

“You’re hurting my hand,” you say softly. “Relax, please.”

The gel on your lower belly is cold, but the gasp comes from Agatha. The TV screen lights up when the probe is placed on your belly and there, on the screen amidst the black and white coloring, is a small blob. 

“It looks like you’re at around ten weeks,” the sonographer pipes up. “So just at the tail end of the first trimester. And if I turn up the volume here, we should be able to hear–there we go!”

Above you, Agatha stops breathing. The sound of your baby’s heartbeat is loud, and over top of it you can hear Agatha sniffle. 

The sonographer turns her computer screen toward you, pointing at different areas. You turn your head, looking closely.

“Right here, you can see the arms and legs,” she says, pointing to them. She moves her finger to the tiny head just barely visibly. “And here, you can see their face–it’s not super prominent, but you can see it starting to form.”

As you watch the screen up close, he heartbeat loud and strong in your ears, you can’t help but wipe away tears.

The OB comes and goes. Your clothes are put back on. Ultrasound photos are in Agatha’s purse. 

You’re back in the car, maybe five minutes from the Tower, and you’re quiet. 

“I know I got you a donut,” Agatha says, “but do you wanna get breakfast at that one pla–What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” you sniffle, wiping away tears. “I know we were gonna see them today, but I didn’t think we’d hear the heartbeat! Oh, my god. And their little arms and legs–!”

“Yeah,” she says quietly, buckling in, “let’s go get breakfast.”

You sniffle again, wiping away your tears. “Okay.”

The coven meeting is held at your home in Westview. Wanda joins again, arriving with Billy and complaining about his driving skills.

In the kitchen, you and Agatha prepare tea, wine, and snacks while everyone waits in the basement. You can hear laughter drift up through the staircase as you cut slices of cheese and place them on a platter. 

“How are we gonna tell them?” you mutter.

“I don’t know,” Agatha sighs. “I’m sure when you reject a glass of wine, they’ll catch on soon enough–that’s if Wanda holds her tongue.”

“Oh, be nice,” you hiss. 

Agatha grins, “Not my forte, hon.”

So look at the cheese platter and pause. “Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the brie,” you say. “Brie’s my favorite. They’re gonna know something’s up.”

Agatha looks at you, knowing that you’re probably right, but not wanting to say it. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she says, completely unconvincing. 

You take everything downstairs to the coven, and with a little spell, trays of hors d'oeuvres, tea, and wine are floating around the table. Lilia sits beside you and when you take your seat you can feel her eyes narrow at you.

You look back at her, raising an eyebrow and watching as she looks you up and down. 

“Something’s different,” Lilia says.

Damn her intuition.

“Like what?” you ask, and you feel Agatha’s hand rest on your thigh, clearly listening in on the conversation. 

Lilia narrows her eyes more, finger at her mouth as she focuses on you. Her eyebrow twitches and you can see it in her face when she realizes. “Ah, yes,” she mutters to herself. “I know what it is.”

You curse under your breath and Agatha turns her head. “What?”

“Lilia knows,” you mumble behind a napkin, disguising it as wiping your mouth. 

“Fuck,” she sighs. “I knew she’d find out just by looking at you.”

The meeting is in full swing. Multiple conversations are going on at once. Wanda and Agatha–despite bickering–are mentoring Billy, Jen and Alice are going over protection spells, and Lilia…is reading your tea leaves.

She rotates the cup in her hands, focusing on each shape and pattern she could interpret. “So, how far along are you?” she asks quietly.

You sigh and lean in close. “Almost thirteen weeks. We’re planning on telling the coven tonight, we just don’t know how.”

She hums, “Well, congratulations.”

Towards the end of the meeting, you hear your name called and when you look over Agatha has the cheese platter in hand. “Are you finished with the hors d’oeuvres?”

“Yeah, honey, thank you,” you say, stacking cups around the table to clean later.

“You’re not eating the brie?” Billy asks.

You’re so focused on the task at hand that you answer his question mindlessly. “No, I can’t have it, sweetheart.” And then you freeze. And agatha freezes. And you see Wanda and Lilia trying to hide their smiles.

Billy and Alice both look confused. “Why can’t you have it?” Billy asks.

You look at Jen who starts to connect the dots. There’s no way to dig yourself out of this. You look at Agatha and finally sigh. “I’m pregnant.”

Billy’s and Alice’s jaws drop. 

“Oh, my god!” 

“What?”

Shocked laughter reverberates around the room before hugs and congratulations come. 

“That was the hardest secret secret I’ve ever kept,” Wanda sighs before hugging you. “I’m so happy for you.”

You run upstairs quickly and take out the ultrasound pictures from your nightstand. When you’re back downstairs, the coven has moved to the living room. “Here,” you say, letting them pass around the pictures. Agatha stands beside you, hand on your back as you continue talking. “That was a ten week ultrasound. It’s almost at 13 weeks. They said the due date is around September 10th.”

“You guys are the first ones to know, so don’t go running your mouths…Billy,” Agatha says, and then glares at him.

“I think it’s gonna be a girl,” Alice says, handing it to Jen.

“Mmm,” Jen looks at the picture, almost analyzing it from how focused she looks. “I think it’ll be a boy.”

“I’m not saying,” Lilia comments, looking at the ultrasound picture and smiling.

After they’re passed around, you take the pictures back and hugs and goodbyes are exchanged. Just before Jen’s able to leave, you pull her aside.

“I know you’ve been wanting to get back into obstetrics,” you say. “So, I was wondering if you’d like to be one of the midwives in the room. We have an obstetrician, so it wouldn’t be everything, but you know, just some extra help…”

Jen looks shocked. “Seriously?”

“You don’t have to!” you hurry. “But we–” You look at Agatha and then back at Jen. “I trust you.”

Jen glances at Agatha before smiling at you. “If you’re comfortable, yeah, I’d love to help you. Don’t stay up reading baby blogs, those are never helpful. I’ll get you some reliable info, okay?”

You hug her tightly. “Oh, thank you, Jen!”

After everyone’s left and the house is quiet, you move to the kitchen where the dishes from tonight’s meeting sit in the sink. You stand in front of the fridge, looking at all of the pictures and recipes and christmas cards from three months ago that hang from magnets. Arms wrap around your waist and the smell of Agatha's perfume calms you as her lips skim over your neck.

“What are you doing?” she asks quietly. 

You sigh, leaning into her touch as her hand splays over your stomach. “Trying to figure out where to put the ultrasound pictures.”

She hums behind you and then takes the roll of pictures from your hands. Her arms reach out on either side of your head, and you watch as she slips the pictures beneath the magnet that holds a picture of you and Agatha at the reception after your wedding.

“There,” she says simply, wrapping her arms back around you and placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Perfect.”

__________

The second trimester rolls in quickly. You’re feral. Absolutely feral. And Agatha loves it.

It starts with a single kiss in the morning. And then the raspy morning voice when Agatha says, “Good morning.”

You bite your lip, fingers running over her bare arms as she leans over you. Agatha eyes you suspiciously, “Why are you giving me that look?”

You sigh, eyes wandering over her body–the satin nightgown that clings to her curves, her blue eyes lit up in the morning sun, the stale perfume still lingering from the previous night. 

“I just love how you sound in the morning.” You pull her down for a kiss. “And how you look, and…” You have no clue where you’re going with this and you start to ramble. “…It’s our wedding anniversary, and I’m overflowing with hormones and…” 

She giggles as she kisses you again, her voice low and seductive, “And you want me to touch you?” Her hand sneaks under your shirt as she kisses you, but she pulls away quickly, brows furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Agatha pulls up your shirt, eyes wide as she looks at you. “You’re starting to show.”

“What?”

“You’re showing!”

Laying on your back, you tilt your chin to look down, and sure enough, there it is. “Oh, my god,” you mutter. You lay back, hands over your eyes. “We’re gonna have to tell them,” you huff.

Agatha’s hand rubs soothingly over your belly. “Your 20 week scan is in a couple weeks, hon. It’s gotta happen soon. Quite frankly, I was surprised they didn’t catch on when you declined the sushi they offered you.”

You drop your arms, smiling painfully up at her, “I know…I kind of liked just us knowing–aside from the coven. But everyone else is gonna make a big deal out of it.”

“Because it is a big deal,” Agatha says, pressing a kiss to your belly. “Sweetheart, you’re an Avenger. You can’t be training and doing missions. We’ve been lucky enough that Steve’s been taking ‘no’ as an answer for training recently. But sooner or later we’re going to be called for a mission, and we both know that Tony won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

You glare at her, “I hate you.”

“Only because I’m right,” Agatha smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can feel her hand drift higher, fingers wandering underneath your bunched up shirt and over your nipples. She leans in close, lips over yours as your heart races. “Would you hate me less if I give you what you want?”

“Maybe,” you tease. “I’ll be the judge of that after.”

Agatha kisses you softly, trailing her lips down your throat as her hand slips beneath your underwear. She moves back to your lips and your hands tighten their grasp on her shoulder and nightgown as her tongue moves with yours. You can feel her smile as her fingers tease you. “It’s not even nine in the morning and you’re already this wet for me?”

“It’s the hormones, I swear,” you huff, quickly pulling her back down to kiss you as she laughs.

Your head is thrown back into the pillows and your back is arched as her fingers work. She hovers over you, arm flexed, veins visible through the skin, and it turns you on even more. Agatha kisses you softly, “You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are like this.”

A loud moan escapes you as her palm presses against your clit and she smiles. “You’re fucking beautiful,” she says, jaw clenched and fingers working faster. “You’re glowing. I did this to you, and everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Yes! Yes, yes!” Your hands grab at any part of her they can reach. Your lips press hard into hers and you breathe deeply. “Fuck, I’m all yours! And I want everybody to know!”

Your legs close around Agatha’s hand as you shake beneath her. You moan loudly into her mouth when she kisses you hard, fingers curling as you finish. Her kisses become softer and softer as you catch your breath.

“Okay,” you breathe. “I guess I don’t hate you as much.”

Agatha laughs and kisses you again. “What do you say we take a shower and then we can go out to brunch, and then…” She places her hand back on your belly. “..we go to the mall to look at maternity clothes?”

Before you can get out of bed, she stops you. “Wait! I almost forgot. I have an anniversary present for you.” She leans over to her nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling something out, and when she faces you again, she has her hands behind her back. 

You eye her suspiciously as she smiles, and without a word, she hands you a pair of tiny yellow rain boots with duck faces on them. You gasp and sit up quickly, turning them in your hands. “They’re ducky boots!” You look up at her with tears in your eyes. 

Agatha takes one in her hand and examines it. “They definitely won’t fit for like…a year,” she chuckles. “But when I saw them at the store I couldn’t help myself.”

You sigh and sniffle as you hold back tears. “I love you.”

The shirt you put on today is a lot more snug than it used to be, and when you actually take a look in the mirror, you’re showing more than you thought.

“How did you not realize?” Agatha asks, spitting her toothpaste into the sink.

You go into the closet, looking for a shirt or a dress that’s looser than what you have on right now, and more appropriate for brunch. “Well, I don’t–I’ve been wearing nothing but sweatpants and baggy, lazy clothes, and–leave me alone!” 

You can hear Agatha snickering as you get defensive, and you step out in another outfit. “What about this one? Is it obvious?”

Agatha wipes toothpaste from her mouth and smiles. “Give me a twirl, princess.” When you do, she acts like she’s thinking hard, but you already know how she’ll answer. “Beautiful!” she says.

You sigh, “Okay, but is it obvious that I’m pregnant?”

“You know, most people say ‘thank you’ when called beautiful,” Agatha teases, pulling you into her by your waist as you roll your eyes and hold back a smile. She places a kiss on your forehead, “But no, it’s not obvious.”

The maternity store at the Westview mall is cute. It’s not super big, but they have a decent sized selection. 

“Why are there so many dresses?” you huff. Agatha holds up a pair of maternity jeans and you make a disgusted look as she giggles. “Why can’t there be a luxury maternity clothes store?”

“For someone who grew up with very little money, you certainly are picky,” Agatha chuckles. 

You shrug, looking through a rack of shirts. “What can I say? I’ve developed a taste for more than just White Star Line stewardess uniforms.”

You end up at the checkout counter with an armful of clothing. You get antsy as you look at the cashier, seeing the recognition of the both of you in her eyes. She smiles politely, making friendly conversation, but her eyes keep drifting to your belly. You uncross your arms quickly after realizing that they’ve pushed your blouse in, defining the bump that you were trying to hide.

“Do you have a rewards account with us?” the cashier asks.

“No,” Agatha says, going to put her card in the reader.

“Would you like to sign up?” the cashier continues. “It’s free, and you’ll earn points for your next purchase.”

Agatha huffs, “Okay, sure. Fine.”

You leave the store with three bags of clothes, Agatha carrying all of them.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry one?” you ask.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she snaps. You’re taken aback by her attitude, and while it normally wouldn’t affect you, she panics as she watches your eyes flood with tears. “Oh, my god! No! I am so sorry!”

You sniffle, trying to wipe them away, but they don’t stop. “No, don’t apologize! I’m not–!” You take in a heavy, shuddering breath and Agatha takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom.

When the door closes, she locks it, setting the bags on the tiled floor. Her thumbs come to your cheeks and wipe your tears.. “Hey! Hey, look at me!” You do and she kisses your forehead, resulting in even more tears. “Take some deep breaths! Sweetheart, I need you to calm down.”

You do as she says, breathing deeply through your nose and out your mouth. “Okay,” you whimper, repeating the breathing until your tears slow.

Agatha’s hands cup your cheeks and she looks you in the eyes, voice apologetic and soft, “I am so sorry for snapping at you. It was not directed at you one bit.”

“I know,” you sniffle. “I know. It’s okay.”

Agatha grabs a paper towel and wipes away the mascara that’s running down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “Just, seeing how that cashier was looking at you–how uncomfortable you looked. It was pissing me off.” 

She tosses the paper towel into the garbage can by the door and pulls you into her arms. Her hand holds the back of your head, thumb stroking along your hair as you sniffle into her shoulder. “ She recognized us. Im sure by the time we get back to the Tower, it’ll be all over the Facebook, or the Twitter, or whatever the fuck people use now.” 

Your laugh is muffled and watery, and you sigh as it sinks in. “Yeah…” You’re quiet as she holds you, but you’re thinking. Thinking hard. “Agatha…I don’t think I wanna be an Avenger anymore.”

She pulls away quickly, shocked as she looks at you. “What do you mean? I thought you loved it.”

“I do. I do love it,” you say. “But…” Your eyes get watery again and you take a deep breath. “We have no privacy. We probably won’t even get to tell the rest of our…” You trail off, trying to find the right words. “Of our…family…that I’m pregnant, because a cashier at the maternity clothes store recognized us! We were at the OB’s office and someone tried to get it out of us!” 

You let out a sob as she holds you tighter again. “Agatha, nothing we have is ours! I don’t want our child growing up surrounded by paparazzi. I want our baby to be ours!”

Agatha wipes away her own tears quietly and pulls away. Her hands gently hold your face, like if she held you tighter you’d shatter–and maybe some of that is true. Her eyes are soft and glassy with held back tears. “Okay,” she says, voice cracking. “If you want to, we’ll leave.”

“Maybe not permanently,” you sigh, and press a kiss to her wrist. “I do love what we do, and our kid’s gotta go to school at some point, and that leaves a lot of time open on our schedule. But just…for now…do our own thing.”

“Like, picking out baby clothes?” Agatha smiles softly, thumb stroking your temple. “Painting a nursery? Having me go out in my pajamas at three in the morning to the 24-hour gas station because suddenly you’re craving a very specific kind of ice cream that only they sell?”

You let out a teary laugh, voice quiet. “Yeah…”

She tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead. “Then we can do that.”

The drive back to New York City is quiet. You doze off about halfway through the drive with your hand in Agatha’s lap, and you’re woken up with a kiss to your palm.

“Wake up, buttercup, we’re here,” she says. “You can take a nap in your luxurious, unbelievably-expensive-bed.”

“Oh, what about the clothes?” You sit up quickly, rubbing your eyes.

“It’s okay,” she reassures you quietly. “I’ll put a concealment spell on the bags.”

You almost fall asleep standing up while on the elevator with Agatha. Your head bobs to the side, resting on her shoulder before you’re jolted awake by her. When in your room, you change into comfier clothes, removing your makeup and laying down on your side of the bed.

Agatha slides in beside you, hand brushing your hair back as you face her. “I love you,” she says quietly. “And no matter who gossips about us or invades our privacy, I won’t let them touch either of you.” Her hand settles on your waist. “Both of you are the most important things in my life, and if you want us to stop being Avengers for a few years, then that’s perfectly alright with me. I don’t want you stressing for any longer.”

“Okay,” you whisper, lip quivering.

“We can stay in New Jersey–which sucks, I know,” Agatha continues, and wipes a tear from your cheek. “We’ll come here for the weekend, or whenever the hell we feel like it.” She smiles as you let out a quiet laugh. “I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters to me right now.”

“I’m sorry I was too tired to do anything fun for our first anniversary,” you sigh, sleep heavy on your eyes. 

“Honey, we spent today having brunch and picking out maternity clothes for you,” Agatha says. “You’re carrying our child. I could not ask for more today.”

When you wake up, it’s dark outside and you’re curled up in front of Agatha. Her arm holds you close to her, hand resting on your belly as she breathes softly against your neck. Your hand reaches out, blindly searching for your phone on the nightstand. 

Your movements wake her and you can hear her groan behind you. “What time is it?”

After checking your phone you roll over and curl into Agatha. “Nine,” you mutter.

Agatha stretches, her arms wrapping around you. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” you mumble. “But you’re so warm, I don’t wanna get up.”

She hums before sitting up, ignoring your whining. “Come on, sleepy head. Let’s go turn food into a baby.”

The following morning doesn’t come with kisses, but with loud explosions in the dark of your blackout curtains. Your reflexes kick in and both you and Agatha are out of bed, robes on and out the bedroom door. You opt to take the stairs to the lounge and when you open the door, every resident of Stark Tower is there.

The floor-to-ceiling windows looking over Manhattan show what no one wants to see at nine in the morning: another fiery crisis to deal with and alien spaceships hovering over the city. 

“Alright, everybody on the deck in ten minutes!” Tony commands.

As the team heads for the stairs, you look at Agatha and there’s only one thing in the look she gives you. 

‘You’re staying here.’

You stay put as she follows but Tony looks back and huffs, “Come, on! Let’s go!”

“No,” Agatha says, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

Agatha’s response stops everyone in their tracks and you can see the frustration in Tony’s face border on anger. “Excuse me?” he says, whirling around to face her. 

“No,” Agatha says more firmly. “She’s not going.”

“And why not?” Tony asks, nostrils flaring.

Agatha hesitates, “She’s not feeling well.”

“I don’t care if she has the damn flu!” Tony shouts. “All of New York City is under attack right now! She’s one of the most powerful people here–!”

“I said, she’s not going!” Agatha yells back, and you can see every eye in the room on the three of you. You make eye contact with Wanda and she looks like she’s about to intervene, but she stands back.

“Why?” Tony snaps. “How sick could she possibly be to not–!”

You can see it in Agatha’s face. She’s trying to hold her tongue, she’s trying to hold back from screaming, but in the end, it slips out. “She’s pregnant!”

The room falls quiet, and the only sound is the distant explosions. Agatha sighs, her hands rubbing her face tiredly. “Shit.”

Tony turns around to look at you, and it’s like he’s an angry father who just found out his teenage daughter is pregnant. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” you sigh, looking defeated. 

“I–” Tony opens his mouth and closes it again, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Okay, both of you stay here–”

Agatha looks appalled. “What?”

“Both of you!” Tony snaps. “We’ll talk about this after.”

There’s a heavy silence as the room clears out, and when the doors to the stairs swing shut you take a heavy seat on the sofa. Agatha follows, arm immediately pulling you close as you drop your head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs. “It shouldn’t have come out like that.”

You press a kiss to her shoulder and take her hand. “It’s okay. Like you said, it had to happen sooner or later.”

The day drags on and eventually, in the lounge, it’s only you, Agatha, and Tony. He’s on his third whiskey after dinner and he sits back, sighing. “So, what’s the plan?”

Mindless TV plays in front of you, your head on Agatha’s shoulder, but when he asks his question, you sit up. You can feel her arm tighten on your waist and you hesitate. “Well, the twenty week ultrasound is next wednesday…” He nods carefully and you fiddle with your fingers. “And–umm–we’re moving back to New Jersey. We’re gonna leave the team for a few years…but we’ll visit on weekends.”

“I figured,” Tony shrugs. “That house is pretty small, though. Nice backyard, but that second bedroom can’t even be called a bedroom.”

Agatha scoffs. “I’ve been trying to tell her that, but she won’t listen.”

 “I’m not arguing about this,” you sigh. “I’m too tired for it.”

“You know, if you’d like, I could move you closer,” Tony suggests. “Doesn’t have to be in the city, but close enough that you don’t have to drive almost an hour to and from.”

You smile tiredly, “That’s a very nice offer, Tony, but we can’t ask you to do that. You’ve done so much already.”

He finishes the rest of his whiskey, and gets up, setting the glass down on the liquor cart. “Just think about it.” When he comes back over, his hands are on his hips. “We’re gonna miss having you around here. Both of you.”

“I’m having a baby, Tony. I’m not dying,” you deadpan. 

“I’m happy for you, really,” he says. “You’ve done a lot for us, so I want to do everything I can to help you out–even if that means buying a brownstone for you in the Upper West Side.”

Wednesday morning you’re woken up by a flurry of kisses on your face.

“Good morning,” Agatha mutters, pressing a light kiss to your lips. “Are you excited to find out what we’re having?”

You hum in amusement, “Don’t you want it to be a surprise?” 

“Are you serious?” Agatha asks, kissing you again. “This entire thing was a surprise.”

“Touché.” You swish your lips from side to side. “Alright, fine. But only because I’m too excited to go clothes shopping for them.”

Agatha kisses you on the forehead and smiles. “That’s a good enough reason for me.”

Once again, you’re on the table watching Agatha fold your clothes. The lights are dimmed when the sonographer comes in–this one is much less chipper than the previous one–and Agatha’s at your side immediately.

“So, are we wanting to find out the sex of the baby today?” the sonographer asks as she sets up her equipment.

Agatha squeezes your hand and you smile, “Yeah, when you’re having a baby at 149-years-old you don’t need any more surprises.”

The sonographer pauses for a moment and then a look of realization flashes across her face. “Right–witches, Avengers.” She lets out a breathy laugh. “Alright, now my favorite thing to ask: what do you think it’ll be?”

As she applies the gel to your belly you look up at Agatha, smiling. “What do you think it’ll be?”

You notice a brief flash of anxiety on her face before she answers, “A girl.”

“Alright, we’ll go with girl,” you say as the wand presses into your skin.

The heartbeat is strong and the sonographer points to various parts of the screen. “They are all curled up in there! Here’s the profile of it–you can see the little nose and–oh, looks like they’re yawning!”

You smile brightly and you hear a shaky breath from Agatha. Her free hand goes to your head, a comforting weight as she sits beside you.

“Alright,” the sonographer says, “a little pressure–we’re gonna move over here. There are the little feet, its legs, and you can see a hand right there.” As she goes along clicks can be heard when freezing the screen to take a picture. “And, if we move over here…it looks like…you are having…a girl!”

When you look over, Agatha’s smiling. But there’s more to it. Yes, there’s happiness, there’s excitement, but there’s something else there–relief. She presses a kiss to your forehead and sighs.

The appointment goes by quickly and soon, Agatha’s helping you into your newest pair of maternity pants. She slips the roll of ultrasound pictures into her purse and takes your hand, but when you’re back in the waiting room you freeze.

“Why the hell are you all here?” 

A receptionist comes up to you, talking quietly, “I apologize, ma’am. I told them they can’t–”

“It’s okay,” you say, cutting her off with a polite smile. “Thank you.”

A whole group is standing there. Tony, Steve, Nat, Wanda, the whole coven, Billy and Peter, Bucky, Sam, Clint, Bruce, Thor, and Loki. 

“We wanna know what you’re having!” Steve smiles brightly, waiting for you to answer.

You and Agatha look at each other, and when your eyes meet you can see that you both have the same idea. 

“A healthy baby,” you smile. You pull Agatha through the waiting room. “Come on, I’m craving that one lunch place a few blocks away.”

Before you can open the door, you’re stopped by them again. “Can we please know what you’re having?” Billy asks.

You look at all of them as Agatha opens the door for you. “A healthy baby,” you repeat. “That’s what we’re having. You can find out the sex in twenty weeks.”

You survive their endless pestering throughout the day, and now, you lay in bed with Agatha, talking into the dark–baby names, nursery themes, whose eyes the baby would get, what color magic. But there’s one thing on your mind.

“Agatha,” you say. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

“When the sonographer said it was a girl…” you start, thinking about how to word your question. “You looked relieved–like you didn’t want it to be a boy.”

“That’s not a question,” she mumbles into your collarbone. 

“Agatha,” you sigh. “You know what I mean.”

She’s quiet, and you can tell she’s thinking hard. You hear her swallow and take a deep breath. “If…we had a boy…do you…” You can hear the wheels turning in her head, wondering if she should even ask it, if it’s even worth being vulnerable. “Do you think Nicky would feel like he was being replaced?”

Your stomach drops and you feel the hand she had on your belly recoil into herself. “Agatha,” you whisper, heart breaking. “Look at me.” You turn to face her and you can see the uncomfortable look on her face. “Nicky would never think he was being replaced. Do you think you’re replacing him?”

Agatha turns over to lay on her back, huffing in frustration. “I don’t–maybe? I mean, it was 300 years ago, I shouldn’t…even be thinking…”

“Agatha, you’re not replacing him,” you reassure her. You lean over her, forcing her to look you in the eyes. “Loving your daughter doesn’t mean loving Nicky any less, okay?” She nods slowly and you kiss her. “This isn’t going to be like last time. You can be happy, Agatha. You deserve to be happy.” 

“Okay,” she mutters. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You kiss her again, and when you pull away you sigh. “And do you know what I deserve? A pregnancy pillow.”

Agatha laughs and kisses you again, pulling you into her arms. “We’ll go out tomorrow to get you one. How about that?”

You’ve forgotten what life outside the city was like. You’re three weeks into living in Westview. It didn’t take long to move everything back to Westview–most of it was clothes, and even then, you were building a new wardrobe that actually fit you. 

Your life is much quieter now–filled with lamaze classes, doctors appointments, and tea with the coven. It’s slow. Peaceful. You wake up, take your vitamins, Agatha makes you breakfast, and with it being spring, you’ll usually retire to the backyard to work in the garden. It’s pure, domestic bliss.

You stand in the cereal aisle of the grocery store. The list crinkles in your hand as you stand there, looking at the vast expanse of cereal options, and Agatha waits patiently beside you with the cart.

“So…” Agatha starts. “What cereal–?”

“I don’t know,” you say absentmindedly. “It just says cereal.”

Agatha swishes her lips, “Okay, well, while you decide what cereal you want, I’m going to get the frozens.”

You barely acknowledge her, only offering a quiet, “Mhm.” 

You can barely remember your name–it’s like your brain is completely shutting itself off and refusing to remember anything. Just the other day, you were heating up leftovers in the microwave and you sat down on the couch, completely forgetting about them and dozing off. When Agatha got home an hour later, the TV was on, you were knocked out, and the leftovers were still in the microwave–cold again.

And when she woke you up to tell you, it led to tears.

And now, you’re in the cereal aisle with a half-complete grocery list and only a vague idea of what kind of cereal you want.

Agatha rounds the corner quickly, frozen foods in her arms. She drops them into the cart, clearly frustrated as she huffs, hands on her hips. “We have a problem.”

“Oh, hi,” you say. “Where’d you go?”

“Frozen food aisle,” she sighs. “We have a problem.” She leans against the cart, fingers tapping on the metal impatiently. “We’re in the suburbs.”

You look at her, confused. “Um…Yeah…?”

“No,” Agatha huffs. “I mean, we’re a suburban family. We’re grocery shopping at a Trader Joe’s.” She starts gesturing around her dramatically. “There are vitamin supplements in our cart. I was just in the frozen foods aisle and I was met with “hey neighbor”. I just ran into one of our neighbors. I don’t even know his name! We are not suburban people!”

“Agatha, honey. It’s okay,” you say softly.

Her jaw tenses and she purses her lips. “Do you know what we were doing, what, five months ago? Fucking in the Adirondacks.”

“Okay. Lower your voice, first of all,” you scoff, throwing whatever cereal boxes into the cart. “Second of all, yes. I know. The result is right in front of you. And, third…maybe it’s good.”

As you push the cart through the aisle she walks beside you. “Good?” she repeats, eyes wide.

“Yeah…” you shrug. You turn down the snack aisle and push a bag of animal crackers off the shelf and into the cart without stopping. “I mean you’re almost 356 years old and I’m 149. We’ve been through a lot—sinking ships, witch trials, like…a shit ton of wars. Maybe it’s good that things are slowing down.”

Agatha sighs, “Well can we slow down in a luxury apartment in Manhattan?”

“You actually wanna move to New York City? We’re about to have a baby in four months.”

“It doesn’t have to be midtown,” Agatha says, and puts a bag of veggie chips into the cart. “There’s Greenwich, the West Village—townhouses have more than one and a half bedrooms”

You pause and raise an eyebrow at her. “One and a half?”

“Oh please, that bedroom might as well be a storage room,” Agatha scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Besides, we haven’t started on the nursery yet. And Brownstones are nice.”

“Brownstones are expensive,” you counter.

“Tony told us that he’ll move us closer to the Tower.”

“What about backyards?” you ask. “I don’t wanna have to go to a park every time I want our kid to go outside.“

“I looked up some brownstones in the city. The backyards aren’t bad,” Agatha says, hand resting on your back.

You stop in the middle of the aisle, looking up at her with a hand on your hip. “You’ve already looked up new houses for us to move to?”

“They’re bigger!” Agatha says, exasperated. “There’s one with four rooms. We should move now instead of when we have more kids–”

“When?” You start grinning. “More? Our daughter hasn’t even been born yet.”

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. “Um–well–I mean–I quite like you in this state…”

“Oh, so you wanna keep me like this?” you tease. “Your perfect, pregnant little wife?”

“We’re getting off topic here,” she says, giving you a pointed look as you keep walking. “Just think about it. We’ve lived in the suburbs since 2026–me since 2023, no thanks to Wanda—and now we’re about to have a kid. Things are already going to change. Why not move now?”

“Okay fine,” you sigh. “You have some good points. I’ll think about it.”

It didn’t take much convincing later that night, which isn’t surprising considering the position you were in when she brought it up again–on your back, slick with sweat, and in her arms as you both laid in the post-sex bliss that she always brought you. 

She called Tony the next morning, discussing each feature the new house needs to have–at least three bedrooms, a decent sized backyard, hardwood floors, a fireplace, renovated yet classy, she had more needs than you. They spent days with a realtor, discussing pricing and location and selling your current house, and then came the tours.

You and Agatha saw at least five houses in the span of two weeks: two in Greenwich, two in West Village, and one on the Upper East Side. You were in the Upper East Side townhouse for less than ten minutes before she turned it down, and by the time you’re reaching the third trimester, you’ve both decided on one in the West Village.

It’s cozy, with four bedrooms and hardwood floors from the original build. There are two fireplaces, one in the living room and one in yours and Agatha’s bedroom, and a nice backyard with a patio and room to run around in. And as Tony promised, he paid for it all–leading to you sobbing your ‘thank you’s.

By the time you’re completely moved in, you’re approaching your eighth month of pregnancy. Your ankles are swollen, you’re the size of a cantaloupe, and your back aches constantly. Agatha eventually has to sleep with ear plugs because of how loud you snore–and you cried when you found out–and every time you stand up, you feel like you’re going to lose balance.

After finishing the nursery, Agatha guides you in with her hands over your eyes. When she removes them, you’re met with elephants and soft greens and dusty pinks. The cream colored crib that you had picked out together sits against the far left wall and all of the furniture is placed exactly where you wanted it. And it’s perfect. It’s exactly as you imagined. 

“Are you crying?” Agatha asks softly.

You sniffle and wipe your eyes. “Yeah, it’s okay. It’s good crying. I promise.” You hug Agatha tightly and kiss her. “Okay, my back is killing me. I need to sit down.”

You take a seat in the plush armchair that you chose specifically because it’s a rocking chair. When you lean back, hand on your belly, Agatha sits down on the small ottoman and takes your foot, fingers rubbing the pressure points as you sigh.

“How many people do we have coming to the baby shower?” you ask, resting your head on your hand as you stare at her with nothing but love in your eyes.

“Well,” Agatha starts, “there’s the coven, that’s five. Then there’s Tony, Nat, Steve, Clint, Bruce, Peter and Sam. And Thor and Loki said they might be able to come. So, possibly fourteen.”

You hum, thinking. “We’ll have to lock the door to this room. The only one who knows is Jen–and probably Lilia–and god knows someone will try to snoop around to find out.”

Thankfully, everyone who arrives at the baby shower gets what’s only on the registry–Agatha was very stern about it. But when Alice walks in, your jaw drops.

“You brought wine and premixed margaritas to my baby shower?” you gawk.

“Who brought wine?” Wanda perks up at the kitchen table. “I’ll get the cork screw.”

“Margaritas too!” Alice cheers, and joins Wanda in the kitchen with the rest of the coven. 

Lilia pours herself a glass of red, “Agatha would you like a glass?”

“No, thank you,” Agatha says, hand rubbing your back as you cross your arms.

The coven stops and looks at her.

“What, are you pregnant too?” Jen scoffs.

“No,” Agatha pipes up. “I’m standing in solidarity with my wife.”

You’re beginning to regret having your baby shower in the third trimester. You’re exhausted, and by five o’clock you’re growing irritated because you and Agatha haven’t been able to take your daily walk, and on top of that you’re being continuously kicked in your ribs. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Agatha comes to stand behind the couch, her hands running over your shoulders as she leans down to kiss your temple.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Just tired.”

Agatha glances around the room at everyone and lowers her voice so only you can hear. “Do you want me to kick everyone out?”

You giggle and shake your head. “No, you don’t have to kick everyone out.”

“Dammit,” Agatha groans. “I was really hoping you’d say yes.”

By seven, everyone is gone and it’s just the two of you. These have always been your favorite moments–the quiet nights spent in Agatha’s arms while something plays on the TV in the background, and the only other sound is her heartbeat beneath your ear.

“I know we got a pretty good amount today,” Agatha mutters, “but do you wanna go shopping for baby clothes tomorrow?”

Your hand fidgets with the wedding band on her ring finger. “Sure.” 

When you pick up that first frilly, pink satin dress you want to cry–and a few tears do slip out. “It’s so cute,” you whimper, and throw it in the basket. “We’re gonna have the cutest baby ever.”

Agatha’s hand settles on your lower back as you continue through the store, gasping at every piece of clothing you see. “”Sweetheart, you can’t take home every single article of clothing you see. I know you’re nesting, but you’re going a bit overboard,” Agatha says. “She won’t even grow into any of this for at least three months.”

“Well, you know me,” you shrug, and look through a rack of clothes. “I like to be prepared.”

“One more dress,” Agatha sighs. “And that’s it.”

“One dress and two shirts,” you counter.

Agatha stares at you and then relents, “Fine. One dress and one shirt. And then I wanna get dinner after this, I’m starving.”

You’re a week overdue, and you’re miserable. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, honey?” Agatha asks from the stove as she cooks breakfast. 

You take a bite of an apple slice at the kitchen table and huff, “Oh, I dunno. Can you get this baby out of me? Or, you could apply my hemorrhoid cream for me, how about that?” Your words get louder as you go on. “Oh, maybe you could remove a couple ribs so that the soccer player I’m carrying has room to move!”

Agatha looks around awkwardly. “Well, I mean–I could apply the–”

“I was being facetious, Agatha,” you say, glaring at her. When she sets your plate in front of you, she presses a kiss to your forehead and you sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m just exhausted. I can’t sleep, I need help putting on my shoes, and I’m the size of a fucking pumpkin.”

“How about we go to the nail salon today?” Agatha suggests. “You said you wanted to get a pedicure done, but we never had time.”

You sigh, “Yeah, alright.”

The fumes of the nail salon hit you stronger than ever before. You’re settled into the spa chair with Agatha right beside you, picking out a color for her toenails as the technicians set up their stations. 

“I usually go for purple, but I’m thinking maybe pink this time,” Agatha murmurs, thinking to herself.

“I think pink would look cute,” you shrug. “What about orange for fall?”

“Mm…Maybe closer to Halloween,” she mutters, and looks over at you, smiling. “Yeah, I’ll go with pink.”

The nail technicians assigned to you and Agatha are engrossed in her stories. You lean back, relaxing as you listen to Agatha gossiping with the woman who starts to paint her toenails.

“I just think she should mind her own business, you know?” Agatha scoffs. “And then there was the time…” 

She could talk for days and days and you would never get tired. But a low, dull ache begins to settle in your abdomen. Your face contorts into obvious discomfort as you adjust your position in the seat.

Agatha pauses her story and looks at you, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you wince. “I’m fine. Just uncomfortable–Oh!” Your hand squeezes the arm of the chair as dull ache tightens.

“That was not a Braxton Hicks,” she says, and the two techs look at you with concern.

“No, I’m fine! Finish the pedicure!” you insist, and while the tech continues to paint, Agatha doesn’t relax. Her jaw tightens and you can feel the warning look she's giving you. 

When the tightening sensation returns you try your best to hide it, but when you know someone for almost 120 years, you pick up on their tells.

“Okay, no!” Agatha says sternly. “Come on, we’re going!”

“No!” you cry, and look at the tech in front of you. “Finish my nails! We have time!”

“You’re a week overdue, we’re going now!” Agatha says. She gives the tech assigned to you a sharp look. “Put the nail polish down, now!”

“Agatha, no! It needs to dry! Let him finish!” you beg, and another wave of pain crests through.

“Is it gel?”Agatha asks him quickly, and when he shakes his head, snaps her head back to you. “Put your flip-flops on, they can dry in the car, hon!”

With her own nails still wet, she gets down from the chair and slips her sandals on. She digs out her wallet from her purse and tosses a fifty on the chair before helping you down. Her arm goes around your waist as she rushes you out, all eyes on the both of you. 

“Wait!” you cry, waddling towards the door with your hand in hers. “I don’t want to mess up my pedicure! Slow down!”

“Sweetheart, that is the least of my concerns!” she shoots back. When Agatha helps you into the car, she pulls out her phone and you can hear her on the phone with Jen as she rounds the car.

She starts the car quickly, and she has a complete disregard for the rules of the road.

“Agatha!” you shout, holding onto the dashboard. “Pull over! Now!” She does as you say and you turn to her, “Take a deep breath. Please. You’re more worried than I am and I’m the one in labor.”

She looks over, nostrils flared, jaw clenched, and knuckles white on the wheel. “Okay,” she croaks, and breathes deeply.

“Okay,” you repeat. “Are you okay?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Okay,” you say again, your own breath shaking. “Let’s go.”

This time, Agatha decides to follow the rules of the road. Her hand doesn’t leave yours once until you pull into the hospital parking lot. When she helps you out of the car, you snicker to yourself. “I bet you’re glad I nagged you to put the hospital bag in the car the other day.”

“Walk,” Agatha groans, and you giggle.

In the hospital room, you slip the gown on as Agatha watches, perched on the edge of the bed. “Give me a twirl, princess.”

You huff and give her a slow, cautious turn. “Good?”

“Perfect,” she smiles.

Agatha makes you as comfortable as possible in bed–pillows in between your legs, under your arms, cups of ice chips after cups of ice chips. As the hours pass, Jen arrives, helping with pain management and whatever the nurses can’t do for you. 

Around four hours later, at 6pm, the whole coven plus Tony, Nat, and Steve, are in the room, despite you being doubled over on the bed, clutching on tightly to Agatha’s hand. You’re becoming irritated quickly, even with all the well-wishes and balloons and flowers.

“I don’t want them in here,” you groan, another contraction washing over you. 

Agatha looks confused. “What?”

“Get them out of here!” you seethe. 

“Oh, okay!” Agatha pauses. “Um…Even Jen?”

“Yes! Send them to the fucking waiting room!” you cry. “I only want you in here!”

Agatha ushers the group out of the room, and for once, apologizes to Jen.

“It’s not personal,” Jen says. “I understand. It’s okay.”

At midnight, you’re in the hallway of labor and delivery taking a walk when your water breaks, and you start crying because of how bad you feel. Agatha reassures you that you’ve done nothing wrong, but you’re a complete mess.

She sits on the couch in the hospital room. Your forehead rests against her chest as you rock on a yoga ball, her hands massaging your lower back. Your hand tightens its grip on her arm as a strong, sharp pain rips through you. 

It’s then that you finally decide to take the offer of an epidural–and you’ve never been more relieved. You sit on the edge of the bed, squeezing Agatha’s hand as the catheter is placed in your back, and after about twenty minutes, it starts to kick in.

“You should try and get some sleep,” Agatha murmurs, coming to sit back down beside you after dimming the room lights.

You hum, trying to keep your eyes open. “You should too.”

But there’s no chance in hell of that. 

You’ve been asleep for maybe an hour when two nurses assigned to you enter the room and wake you. The older one washes her hands and slips on a pair of gloves and the younger goes over to the fetal heart monitor, analyzing the graph in comparison to your contractions. When the first nurse is finished checking your cervix, she joins the other nurse.

“What’s the matter?”

Agatha’s hearing seems to increase tenfold. 

“Looks like the baby is having late decels,” the second nurse mutters.

“She’s only at four centimeters,” the older one whispers.

“How long has she been in labor?”

“About nine hours.”

“I’m sorry,” Agatha speaks up. “What’s the matter?”

The nurses turn toward you, the older one wearing a look that she’s rehearsed for these kinds of conversations. “The baby’s heart rate is dropping. It’s not too serious right n–”

“Not too serious?” Agatha repeats, her tone sharp. “Our child’s heart rate is dropping and you’re saying it’s not serious? I want a doctor in here right now.”

“Ma’am, I assure you–”

“I want a doctor in here!” Agatha shouts, standing up from her seat. “Now!”

Both of the nurses leave the room and Agatha lets out a frustrated sigh, sitting back down and taking your hand. Her other hand goes to your forehead, pushing back the flyaways sticky with sweat.

You lay there, eyes closed and trying to even out your breathing as you feel her thumb stroke along the back of your hand. Your eyes, still heavy with sleep, open when the doctor enters the room.

She reads the fetal monitor, analyzing every last bit of information on it. You watch her lips purse in thought and then she sighs. “You should have gotten me sooner,” she says to the nurses.

“What the hell is happening?” Agatha asks, eyes wide with panic.

“Your baby’s heart rate, for about the past hour, has been decreasing,” the doctor explains. “It’s not uncommon after receiving epidurals. Hypotension is seen a lot and your blood pressure has dropped a bit, and that usually ends up decreasing blood flow to the placenta. We’ll administer some fluids and have you lay on your side. But if it doesn’t change within an hour, maybe an hour and a half, we’re looking at a possible cesarean.”

Before the doctor can leave, Agatha gets out of the hospital recliner and lowers her voice. “If it’s possible, I’d like a nurse that actually knows what the hell they’re doing when caring for my wife.”

You watch the doctor nod and leave, and sure enough, fifteen minutes later, there’s a new night-shift nurse walking in with IV fluids. You lay on your side, facing Agatha while she holds your hand. With the bed rail down, and her reclining, it’s almost like you’re side-by-side in bed. Almost. 

You doze off again, hand limp in Agatha’s. When the lights flicker on an hour later, the new nurse and the doctor are back. In the past hour you’ve barely dilated and you can see the worry in the doctor’s face. 

She sighs after typing something on the computer. “Unfortunately, your baby’s heart rate hasn’t gone up. Your contractions aren’t doing what they’re doing, and the stress of that, combined with the hypotension is causing that. We will need to perform an emergency cesarean.”

“No,” you mumble, shaking your head. “No, I don’t want surgery.”

Agatha sighs, eyes heavy as she looks at you, “Sweetheart, I d–”

“It’s not optional,” the doctor says. “If we don’t deliver the baby as soon as possible, both you and the baby are at risk of injury.”

Your lips tremble and tears prick your eyes. “Okay,” you cry. “Alright.”

The clock on the operating room wall reads 4:03am.

Agatha sits beside you in the blue scrubs they had her change into, mask covering her mouth and nose, and blue hairnet containing the brunette mess of hair on her head. “I’m sorry it’s not going how you planned. You didn’t even want an epidural and now look where we are.”

“It’s okay,” you sigh as a nasal cannula is placed around your head. “You look hot in those scrubs, though.”

Agatha smiles, “Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “You’d be a really hot surgeon. You sure you don’t wanna watch them slice into me?”

Agatha makes a gagging sound. “I think I’ll stay here.”

“Okay,” the surgeon says. “10-blade, please.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Her hand rests on the cap that holds your hair, thumb running soothingly over the soft skin of your forehead. “It’s okay,” she mutters behind the mask. 

It takes the surgeon about two minutes to do the procedure. Agatha stands, eyes watering and watching as they pull your baby from the opening in your abdomen. But it’s quiet. Too quiet. And then there’s the dreadful sight and sound of doctors rushing around.

“I don’t hear crying,” you panic, tears starting to fall down your temples. “Why isn’t she crying? Agatha, what’s happening? Why isn’t–why isn’t she crying?”

And then you hear it. The piercing shriek that means life.

You watch Agatha exhale with relief above you and you yourself do the same as tears flood your eyes. Your daughter, tiny and squirming, is wrapped loosely in a blanket and handed to Agatha. She sits back down beside you on the stool, lowering her carefully so you can see her properly. 

You crane your neck to press a kiss to her forehead, lips trembling and eyes watery. And as you look at her, you’re unable to form any thought that isn’t about her.

By the time you’re brought back to your room, the sun is rising. You’re exhausted, but the sight of your daughter in your arms makes you want to stay awake for as long as you can. Agatha sits beside you on the bed, shoes kicked off and completely relaxed. One arm is wrapped around you while the other reaches down, finger brushing against the soft cheek of your newborn daughter.

“What about ‘Daphne’?” you ask quietly, not wanting to wake the baby.

“‘Daphne’?” Agatha repeats.

You look down at your daughter, smiling softly. “It was the first name that came to mind when I saw her.”

Agatha smiles, watching as the baby looks up at you both, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as she gurgles. “Daphne it is then.”

At nine, Agatha receives a text. “Tony’s bringing breakfast for everyone. What would you like?”

“Everyone?” you repeat.

“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “You know they’re all coming to visit this morning.”

You chuckle, “Surprise me. I’m starving. I’ll eat anything.”

By ten in the morning, your room is filled with people and the smell of breakfast foods.

“Alright,” Tony says. “We’ve patiently waited. What is it?”

“It’s a healthy baby,” you shrug, and pop a grape into your mouth as you cradle her in one arm. You and Agatha giggle together as everyone groans, but you finally give in. “It’s a healthy baby girl,” you smile.

“You owe me fifty bucks, Rogers!” Tony says.

“Wanda owes me ten,” Nat comments.

Alice hands Billy a twenty from her pocket and you sit there in shock. “You were gambling on what sex our child would be?”

“You made us wait until they were born to find out,” Nat says, shoving a piece of pancake into her mouth. “What do you expect?”

“What’s her name?” Billy asks.

Agatha sits on the edge of the bed, a genuine smile on her face. “Her name is Daphne.”

As you sit in the hospital bed wearing the fuzzy pink robe Agatha brought you, you watch your family. You watch them talk, and hear them laugh. You think back to that day in the parking lot–crying as Agatha held you, panicking because you had no idea if this was something you truly wanted or thought you could do. You think back to every moment filled with anxiety, every late night conversation with Agatha, fears spoken in the dark. 

But a weight in your arms grounds you. You look down at the tiny baby fast asleep in your arms. You look at the yellow crocheted blanket that Lilia made for her. The ducky boots that Agatha gave you on your anniversary. The frilly dresses, and the hair bows.

You questioned once if you were okay with this. But now, as you look around the room, you realize that you’re more than okay with this. You’re more than okay with the family you found, and with the woman you love, and more okay than ever with what the two of you created–your little Daphne.

[companionjones]

Not Your Fault

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Fandoms: Marvel, MCU

Summary: Bucky reacts accordingly.

Warnings: Cursing

*******

You always liked the quin-jet after missions. Successful missions, anyway. After successful missions the atmosphere on the quin-jet was so light and airy. You loved it.

"Honey, you're not making sense," Bucky, your boyfriend said suddenly, interrupting your thoughts.

Wait, had you said that out loud?

Everyone on the quin-jet was staring at you.

Had you said that out loud too?

Bucky slowly got up and approached you, "Y/n? Honey, are you okay?"

No, you weren't. Now that you thought about it. Your head hurt a little. You brought a hand up, hoping pressure to the painful area would help. It didn't. What also didn't help with your growing headache was seeing that your hand was then covered in blood. "Huh. That might explain why I'm narrating out loud."

The last thing you remembered before everything went to black was Bucky catching you before you hit the ground.

You woke up in the medbay back at the compound. You were surprised to see Bruce there. Usually, he was only involved in super-powered medical cases. As far as you could tell, your head injury resulted from hitting a wall that was not made of gamma rays.

"Hey, Banner," you smiled as you noticed your drug-induced haze.

The doctor reflected your grin. "Hey, look who's awake. And don't worry about me being here. Your head's all stitched up. It was nothing serious. Bucky just insisted I be involved to cover all our bases.

"Oh, Bucky." You face-palmed when you thought about your boyfriend. "Is he okay?"

Bruce was confused. "Yeah. He's fine, of course. Why wouldn't he--?"

"I know he's okay physically, Bruce. I mean--" You didn't need to refer to how Bucky usually got when you were in trouble.

"Oh," Bruce immediately got what you were saying. "Yeah, no. Buck is sorta..."

"Losing his shit out there?"

"Entirely," Bruce nodded.

You snorted, but the humor didn't stay. "Could you send him in here please?"

Again, he nodded. "Of course. Regarding the head injury, you'll be fine. Just stay on bed-rest for a couple weeks, okay?"

You mock-saluted, "You got it, doc. Thank you."

"Anytime." Bruce smiled just before he ducked out of the room.

Bucky entered less than thirty seconds later.

He looked like shit. You'd talked out loud on purpose that time. "How long was I out for? It couldn't've been that long, right?"

"Only a few hours, but it felt longer," Bucky explained.

He really did look horrible. "Oh, baby. Come here." You held out your arms to him.

Bucky approached you and sat down on your hospital bed. He took your face in his hands. "Banner said you're okay. Do you feel okay?"

"I do. Baby, baby." You took his hands in yours, partly to get them off your face. "I'm okay."

He was tearing up. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? I know you couldn't've stopped me from getting hurt, if that's what we're talking about...Bucky." You brought his gaze up to meet yours again when it fell. "Look at me and say that I'm okay."

"...You're okay," he mumbled.

"Now tell me that this isn't your fault."

"It's...it's not my fault."

"I'm sorry, what? I couldn't hear you."

"It's not my fault!" he laughed at how stubborn you were. "Happy now?"

"Almost...Come here," you smiled and pulled him to you for a kiss.

*******

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlists. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[atlantis-just-drowned]

Okay but can we talk about this whole scene where Pluto has to hold the doors alone while the two others bicker and do their own thing?

I have so many thoughts about this I don't even know where to start. Like, I don't think it's the first time this dynamic plays out, but I think it's the clearest example we were ever given. And I hope all the Pluto stans who were hoping he'd get a cute found family are hurting just as much as I do right now.

I think Pluto is an extremely reliable character. He's attentive and caring and always here for his friends, damn he's ready to kill for them. Not to get some sort of personal revenge like Duke, no he's ready to kill just for the sake of protecting the ones he cares about.

He's a pillar of the misfits because while Lenore and Duke have all the cool dangerous ideas, their plans wouldn't be able to work without someone to actually give them the right conditions and execute all the ground work. But hey, don't worry! Pluto takes care of it! Not even just for the risky shit, he's also the one to try and appease tensions when they appear.

Which means he's kind of on the front line, yeah? He doesn't hesitate to make himself a target, and has to witness everyone arguing and be the one to make them stop, and on and on and on. But when it comes down to it, the others leave him to fend for himself because they're too caught up in trying to save themselves or executing their plan.

In the last episode, Duke and Eulalie both rely on him to maintain the door. They don't even doubt for a second that he'll be able to handle it alone, so much that even when he asks for help, they both argue on who should take care of it instead of worrying about him. It's not until he gets hurt that they actually check on him.

Because Pluto also happens to be extremely independent, and even if he complains, the Misfits usually consider he can do whatever he has to do alone anyways. Except if they continue to treat him like this, they're going to push him to his limits, and he might end up getting way more hurt than what we've seen.

[youdontknowe]

OK take two for this week cus I took a bit longer to read the last chapter 💙

(Gonna start using numbers cus I always have to cross reference when I read your replies lmao)

1. He’s so caring it’s sickening (I’d melt)

2. Cackling ‘proposing is probably off the table’ and the funniest part is it’s not even off the table if he did ask

3. lol cas being concerned about her drooling

4. I love a good cas drop in cus he has all the lore

5. I hope you include Dean enjoying cooking when/if the bunker comes along. My favourite thing about Dean is he can cook

6. Lmao she’s always gotta throw in some words that can be taken suggestive by Dean. Keep him on his toes and horny

7. Dean you will ALWAYS be better than your arse of a father. I bet John wasn’t even that good of a husband compared to how Dean already is (I have no base for this I just feel it in my soul)

8. Dean really has a power kink huh like he just finds her being powerful a huge turn on

9. ‘Dean needed to steal one of those and give it to Cas, just to know what the hell She was thinking about all the damn time.’ And you’d love it if you knew

10. “No.” “You got a better idea?” “…no” that just sums up their dynamic mostly

11. Dean isn’t god fearing he’s Bobby fearing

12. Lmao sammy snitching is so fucking funny and then he’s got a oh shit moment and then He’s back to it

13. It’s funny he always considers the possibility of being stabbed for risk factors like she wouldn’t personally check herself into hell if she hurt Dean

14. These fuckers are about as bad at procrastination as I am

15. Oh ho ho I do love me a cat fight with ruby

16. ANOTHER GODDESS REFERENCE! (I’m keeping track of that from now)

17. Awh flashbacks of Bobby??

18. ‘The word—words?—are glowing, and sinking into Dean’s skin,’ oooooo unintentional equivalent of cas marking ribs thingy?

19. Poor Jo she’s gotta learn to knock otherwise she actually might walk in on them mid sex

20. “he’s gonna get like, all fuckin’ commanding. And you’d be into that.” I see you and your kinks 🫵 (me too, me too)

21. “ Sam told me he’s been moanin’ your name in his sleep” OH MY GOD?!

22. Jo ‘just fuck him already’ harvelle

23. Awh Jo would be an amazing sound tech

24. Oh he’s so gonna short circuit when he finds out he’s the first EVERYTHING

25. Her just throttling the damn thing is so awesome

26. Anndddd the wheels fell off the car (the roof fell off the church?)

27. Oh no I’m scared for jo please don’t let this be the ‘ehehe secrets’ from weeks ago 🥲

28. Oh no

29. Oh my god I don’t usually cry but I’m crying. Owie

30. Oh god poor Dean first Jo now she’s leaving again

31. Oh god everyone’s crying even Dean

32. End note: the ultimate fridging but atleast YOU gave her a personality (take note directors)

33. Your mean, why would you put me in a false sense of security and Rip it away that fast??? Do you want me to just cry why way through this fic??? But seriously that’s some fucked up goood writing. none does angst like you do, and imma just go eat my pasta and cry some more. See you next week 💙💙 pls be nice to my lil heart (even if your not I’ll keep reading anyways cus I love you)

Chapter 20 - Wait For Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: first chapter that made me cry writing it. Enjoy.

Chapter Title from Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men

Word Count: 18.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has a lot of feelings, and you make a plan. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 19 - Chapter 21

Read on A03!

“What happened?” 

Sam’s question was low. Quiet. Careful, because the last thing they wanted to do right now was disturb Her, passed out on the back bench of Baby. 

She hadn’t moved since Dean guided Her there. Her eyes had fluttered, She’d hummed his name in the prettiest sound he’d ever heard, and then slumped right over. And Dean had indulged himself. He’d wrapped Her in a blanket, and carefully shifted Her around until she was in a comfortable position. He’d even pulled off Her shoes and placed a kiss on Her brow, scanning over Her one last time, just to be positive nothing was wrong.

And it wasn’t.

Visibly.

There was no blood, and Her hair was a little matted, but he had found Her lying in the ocean. 

No blood. No wounds or scars. 

Nothing but Her eyes and lips a little puffy from crying. 

And the taste of Her back on Dean’s lips. Fruit and sugar and salt, and Dean got damn well why She liked those colorful girl drinks so much. They tasted like heaven. 

But he wanted to keep tasting them on Her. 

She’d kissed him. She’d kissed Dean. She’d been crying and freaking the hell out, but son of a bitch, She’d kissed Dean, and that had to mean something. His shirt was still wrinkled where She’d grabbed him, and he wasn’t going to smooth it out. He kept touching his lips like a teenage boy, and running his tongue over Her teeth because She’d done that during the kiss, and he wanted to feel the rush of it again.

And what happened was that Dean was addicted. There had never been a chance of him going back, but now he was gone. Her’s. Only Her’s. He’d have sat down in the ocean at Her side—until they were both just salt and brine—if it meant the mud washed off, and Dean got to be Her’s.

He wasn’t sure now was a good time to tell Her that. He didn’t have the words for it yet, and he didn’t trust that kiss to mean She’d be his. She’d been emotional. Sobbing in Dean’s arms then trying to climb him, and he’d never have Her any other way but blinding and demanding, but Jesus, he wouldn’t know what to do if She turned him down. 

Dean couldn’t get on his knees and swear that he was Her’s aloud, only to be kicked back down into the mud. It might make him a pussy, but he wouldn’t survive it. Then She’d leave, and Bobby and Sammy and Jo would kill him for making Her leave, and they’d be fucked because they couldn’t do this without Her.

But that’s not what Sam meant by what happened. Sam wanted to know about the seal. The case. He didn’t want to hear about how Dean was trying to work out what Her wanting him would look like.

Probably like kissing him, and crying for him, and climbing onto his lap in the dead of night. 

He didn’t have a damn clue what to after he worked it out. Proposing was probably off the table. They’d kissed twice, hadn’t even slept together, and weren’t technically dating. 

He’d figure it out. When all of this was over, Dean would figure it out. Right now he had to answer Sammy’s question. 

“Found her on the beach.” He muttered, glancing to Her in the rearview mirror. Her hair was shiny again. That was a good sign. “She was just lying in the water, dude. Tide was rising and she was just fucking lying there. Nobody else around, no blood. Nothing.”

“Did she say-“

“Nope.” Dean’s jaw twitched. “Mentioned that she took care of it, but that’s all I got. Sammy, I’m…” Dean trailed off, looking to Her again. He couldn’t damn help it.

“I know.” Sam muttered, and Dean wasn’t sure he did—Sam didn’t live in Her orbit, didn’t feel like the world was worse when She was sad, didn’t dream about Her and crash down into Her all the time—but he let it go. “But you know we might have to go back, right? After we drop her back at Bobby’s, we can’t just leave the seal unresolved.”

“She said she took care of it.” Dean grunted, and Sam sighed.

“Dean, it’s- We can’t risk it. I trust her, I do, but I’d go back and check your work too, just like you’d go back and check mine-“

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would-“

“I wouldn’t.” Dean snapped, shooting Sam a glare. “You told me you took care of it, I’d take you at your word. And let’s face it, Sammy, between the three of us, she’s the most likely to deal with one of these by herself.”

Sam gave Dean a sad, too soft look. “She was trying to drown herself, Dean. We still don’t know what happened, while she was gone-“

“Sammy. Drop it.”

“I’m not doubting her, man, but she’s always been- You know-“

“I do know.” Dean hissed, his grip strangling the wheel. “I know better than anyone, Sam. I’ve seen it a hell of a lot more than you have, and I’ve seen it worse, and you know what? At least she’s fucking eating and sleeping. And I know shit happened, I’ve had to stitch up her goddamn stomach because shit happened, but she says she took care of it, and I’m trusting her, because that’s what you do, when you-“

“Do not crash the car.”

Sam started, and Dean sighed, glaring back to see Cas sitting in the backseat. He didn’t care that he’d gotten cut off. It was good he’d gotten cut off. 

He cared that Cas was in the backseat. Where he could’ve disturbed her. 

“Jesus, Cas.” Sam muttered, running a hand through his hair. “That was- I mean, I appreciate the warning, but shit.”

“My apologies.” Cas muttered. “I needed to speak with you as soon as possible, and I could not wait for a better time.”

“Fine. Just keep your voice down.” Dean grunted Her name. “She needs the sleep.”

He glanced back to see Cas nodding, watching Her with an odd expression. She’d slumped into his side. Not like She slumped into Dean’s—where She’d fall half over his lap and Her face would end up buried in his body—but with Her head on Cas’ shoulder and her body relaxed.

That was good. Dean could trust Cas with Her. He’d seemed to respect Her, and he’d been willing to bend further stupid Heaven laws for Her, so Dean didn’t have to worry.

“Should she be sleeping like this?” Cas looked up to them with a small frown. “It doesn’t seem like a peaceful environment, and there is drool falling out of her mouth-“

“She does that.” Dean muttered, and Sam smirked. “Shut up, Sammy.”

“I didn’t say anything-“

“You were gonna. She drools Cas.” And it was freakin’ adorable, but that didn’t feel like the point right now. “What’d you need to talk to us about.”

Cas said Her name slowly. “The seal is… dealt with. Thanks to her.”

Dean shot Sam a smug look. “Told you.” 

“Yeah, alright. You did.” Sam sighed, twisting in his seat to frown at Cas. “Is that it? You just wanted us not to worry about the seal?”

“No. I am here to…” Cas took a long breath, his frown deepening. “Warn you. We are displeased. With how this case was handled.”

Dean scowled. “We? Is that you talking, Cas? Or just the asshole angel department managers?”

“I do not know what a department manager is-“

“He’s asking if you’re mad about the case.” Sam interjected carefully. “And I’m wondering too, Cas. If you’re mad at us-“

“I am not mad at you.” Cas said, and Dean didn’t miss his weary glance at Her. “I was not told the details of what happened, only that we are angry.”

“You keep saying we.” Dean muttered, narrowing his eyes at Cas in the mirror. “I don’t care what a bunch of holy dipshits think of what happened. Hell, I don’t even know what happened, but-“

Cas cut Dean off with Her name, and his whole body tensed. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Cas, we’re really not following-“

“It is her.” Cas repeated Her name, his words slow and careful. “She is… complicating things. Lilith made a move to break the seal that crossed several lines. We are not sure her intention was to break the seal.”

“Well, what the hell does this have to do with-“

“She stopped the seal, but she is not supposed to be involved with the seals. Or you. At all.” Cas met Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “I warned you to be careful. This is why.”

Dean’s teeth were going to break. He had been careful. He was always careful with Her, because he’d been real goddamn reckless before. When when Dad was in his ear, telling him that women were mostly good for longer nights and better days, but nothing compared to family. That careful wasn’t any way to treat a person, because they had to be able to fend for themselves.

She could fend for herself. She’d stopped a seal by herself. That was why Dean needed to be careful with Her. He couldn’t just fuck around with the living, breathing star, dropped right into his hands. He had to hold it, soothe it, care for it.

“We were careful.” He grunted, and Cas sighed.

“Not careful enough.”

Sam shook his head. “But you haven’t told us why, Cas. We’re not sending her away, and we can’t be careful if we don’t know what we’re being careful against-“

“Because I cannot tell you.” Cas snapped. “There are things at play that I do not understand. That I suspect my superiors don’t understand. My brothers and sisters are still dying, Lilith is still opening seals, and all I have been told is that the girl can’t be allowed to interfere. That precautions will be taken if she continues to step out of line.”

Something was tight around Dean’s throat. “You said she couldn’t get zapped-“

“And that is still true, but there are… other ways. To put her back in line.”

“In line?” Sam’s voice had risen slightly. “In- In what line-“

“I do not know.” Cas sighed, and She was still fast asleep. 

Dean hoped She was dreaming well. That She was entirely obvious to the conversation, thinking of only pink-sand beaches and movies and sugary drinks. That maybe, in Her sleep, he was there. He didn’t even had to be wrapped around Her or kissing her stupid. He just wanted to be there, for Her, by Her choice.

“We’re not ditching her, Cas.” Dean muttered, making his words firm. Final. “She stays with us. And if you’ve got a problem with that-“

“I have no problem with it.” Cas muttered, glancing down to Her peaceful face. “But I have no sway in what Heaven desires. And they have deemed her a threat. We cannot account for her, and that makes her dangerous.”

“She is not dangerous-“

“We both know that is not quite true.” Cas gave him a flat look. “I am risking a fair amount by being here, Dean. By warning you.”

Sam swallowed. “Warning us?”

“Be careful. I am still trying to learn more about exactly what the Magdalene is meant to be, but…” Cas sighed. “My progress is slow. And if it comes down to it, I will not be able to interfere directly. So be. Careful.”

There was a whooshing sound, Cas vanished, and She was left curled on the seats. 

Sam and Dean didn’t fight for the rest of the ride. They barely even spoke. Cas had said more than enough.

They needed to take care of Her.

And Dean wasn’t good at a lot of things. 

He could sing, but he couldn’t really carry a beat. He couldn’t bake, but he was fine with that. Wasn’t like he’d ever had a kitchen to practice in anyways. He didn’t have a damn clue how to do all that art critic shit, because as far as Dean understood it, color was color and words were words. He couldn’t take apart a painting and point to all the ways it worked. He liked things because he liked them, there was no fucking reason to justify it, and that was all anyone needed to worry about.  

He was alright with kids. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he’d be able to see a little kid with his nose and bright eyes, laughing the way Dean did and grabbing at shiny hair. Then he’d push that though way far down because now wasn’t the time for that. That wasn’t something he even got to have. No apple pie life was barreling in his direction right now. Maybe not ever.

He’d like one. He’d always liked one. Years ago, he would’ve lain on the bed and imagined a time that Dad would tell him and Sammy to hang it up, and Dean would’ve been allowed to build something like that.

Dad never did that, though. He left Dean and Sammy to deal with Hell and demons and angels and the rest of the shitshow, and he’d yanked Dean’s chance for that away. Told Her to leave. Made Her leave. And the what-if game wasn’t useful—it’s never been useful—but Dean still had a secret fantasy that helped him fall asleep sometimes. One where She was in his arms, but nightmares weren’t a worry. He would be allowed to bury his face in Her hair, and in the morning he’d wake Her up with kisses all over her face. Then She’d giggle, and let Dean pull Her into the shower, and he’d touch Her everywhere as She dropped her brow on his chest with a soft, happy sigh. 

But it was just a fantasy.

And Dean had done that to himself.

Because most of all, he wasn’t good at being good. A good man didn’t torture people. A good man didn’t damn the rest of the world for one woman, a good man got the job done, and a good man didn’t make pretty girls cry. If Dean was good, he would be guarding all the seals without a problem. If Dean was good, Dad would be proud of him, and Dean was pretty goddamn sure Dad would beat him into the dirt if he could see what Dean was doing now. 

Parking the car, and carrying his girl to bed. Grinning to himself when She nuzzled her nose into his neck.

“Dean.” She mumbled, her eyes fluttering up onto his, and his cock twitched in his pants. 

She needed to stop doing that and pouting. 

It was going to make him lose his damn mind.

“Hey, Princess.” He muttered, keeping his voice low. Sam had called and told Bobby they’d be home early, so they wouldn’t get killed for walking inside, but if Bobby woke up and saw Dean carrying Her bridal style into her room, Dean might end up on the wrong end of a shotgun.

“Where’r we.”

“Home.”

She hummed. “You smell good.”

“Thanks.”

“S’ like… cinnamon.” She blinked up at him again. “You’re so big.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Ba- Sweetheart, you should go back to sleep-

“Are you going to sleep?” She poked his chest as Dean set Her down on the bed. “You need it too, Deano.”

“I know, I just gotta get you down first.”

“‘M not a child.” She started to pout. She was trying to kill him. “I can put myself to bed.”

Dean just raised his brows. “You want to put yourself to bed?”

“No.”

He chuckled, letting himself be a little fucking greedy, and brushed some hair from Her eyes. “I know, Princess. I’ve got you.”

She made another cute grunt, and let Dean help Her to bed. He faced the door while She changed—managed to fight off a boner when he realized She was wearing his shirt—smiled to himself when she flopped onto the bed, and felt like he was goddamn flying when he scooted in next to Her, and she wiggled right into his side.

Dad wouldn’t have wanted him to be a good man like this. Being Her shadow and falling into Her every single fucking second, not doing the hard thing and leaving Her to focus on the seals. Dad would’ve called Dean weak.

But Dad hadn’t been a good man, either.

And Dean still had too much of Dad in him. Too much anger, too much hate, too much mud built up under his nails to ever fully be clean of it. People had always said he looked like Dad, too. And he used to stand a little taller because of it. Because John Winchester was the best fucking hunter in the world. A shield of a man.

Just as Dean had wanted to be.

But Dad hadn’t been a shield. He’d been a bludgeoning, dull-edged blade that hacked up everything then left it behind him. He’d hacked up Ellen, and Sammy, and Dean, and Her.

Dean was a blade too.

A weapon that carved things up and spilled blood and would follow whoever wielded him around like a sick fucking dog.

But in all of Dean’s sins, he’d always have one thing Dad never did.

Her. 

Dad had Mom. He’d lost Mom, and lost his goddamn mind trying to get her back. And Dean needed that to be the difference. 

Dean wouldn’t lose Her. He wouldn’t even think about it. 

So he wasn’t good at being good. Or being gentle. Or knowing when to stop, or keeping himself in check, or keeping peace.

But he was good of taking care of things. Baby was in perfect condition, and she’d stay that way until Dean was in his grave, then a long while after that if Sammy didn’t want to get fucking haunted. He folded all his clothing in his bag, and washed out all the stains on his jacket because it was all he’d ever really had. His guns were always clean, and whatever they needed for a hunt, Dean always found. 

And he took care of Her. When he kept himself in check, Dean took damn good care of his girl. Even if She only got to be that in his head, Dean would always take care of his girl. Since She’d gotten back, he kept some of Her favorite snacks in his bag, like he was trying to lure a damn stray into his house. Sometimes he’d be showering and check on Her fancy shampoo and conditioner that no one else was allowed to use—not that Dean would know how to use it—just to make sure She didn’t need any more. He always ordered Her a drink, because that was another way to take care of Her. He’d started to leave his shirts casually on the dresser, trying to bait Her into wearing them.

It was working. She started sleeping in them almost every night after Florida, and—just like how neither of than slept without the other anymore—they didn’t talk about it.

They didn’t have The Conversation.

But for now, Dean just wanted to have Her. And if this was how he got Her, that was all he needed. 

Still Her shadow, because—for reasons Dean couldn’t begin to understand—he didn’t need to be a good man to be Her shadow. So until She banished him from Her side, he’d stay. All the way down. 

If Dad had a problem with that, he shouldn’t have tried to take Her away.

Dean had found Her anyway. He’d always find Her. 

If Dean knew anything, he knew that Heaven and Hell could do whatever the fuck they wanted to him, but he’d always come back and find Her. And until that hand was forced, he’d do fucking anything to keep Her at his side. Maybe kiss Her, just one more time. Just to say he had. 

She’d been sleeping in his shirts. She’d kissed him. And Dean had been risking soft touched on Her arms when he wanted Her attention, been getting sweet smiles in return, and son of a bitch, he didn’t have a fucking idea how Dad could’ve ever hated Her. 

She was awesome.

She called Dean smart when he told Her about how he’d worked out the magician case. She’d sat with him while he fixed the Firebird’s headlights, smiling at him and holding his beer as they talked about anything but the everything. She was still crawling over Dean in bed and looking at him with bright, hopeful eyes, asking if he was hungry then holding his hand as they drove back to the convenience store. Leaning Her head on his shoulder as they ate in the car. 

And Dean still had all his fantasies. He was still a sick, rotten asshole, because when She called him smart, he wanted to swallow Her pretty words with his lips. Wanted to roll his body over Her’s, to kiss Her stupid into the couch cushions and not stop when he got hard enough to poke into Her thigh. Maybe She’d moan his name, grinding up into him, and Dean would get to love Her until she was shivering and whining under him. 

She’d whine. Dean knew Her, even if he’d never been Her shadow like that, and She’d be pretty and snarky and bratty under him, and son of a bitch, he wanted to see it. He wanted to indulge it and tame it and hold Her when she was a writhing mess, doing that eye-flutter thing as she came. While he’d been fixing the Firebird, all his thoughts that weren’t devoted to fix the car you got Her—you idiot, because she deserves Heaven at her feet and the best you can offer her is a car—were made of setting down his wrench, walking between Her legs, and seeing if she’d push him away.

If She didn’t, and he’d been brave and wrong enough to push his luck again, Dean would’ve palmed Her over her jeans until she was panting and begging for him. Maybe he’d shove two fingers into Her pussy, and see if he could get Her eyes to glow silver again. 

See if he could worship and hold Her well enough for Dean to be the only person She needed.

And it was getting out of control.

Everything was rushing around them—Lilith had broken more seals, and Ruby still had her claws sunken in Sammy, and the angels kept being fucking douchebags—but all Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Her. About a life where She’d still crawl over him in bed, but he’d roll Her over and fuck her into the mattress. They’d still go to the Convinces store, and still hold hands, but there wouldn’t be any looking over their shoulders for demons or monsters. She’d lean on him all the time. She’d love him all the time, and Dean would find a way to give Her all the comfort and luxury She deserved. 

He wouldn’t get that world. Not anytime soon, while they were still dealing with everything. But at least, for now, he didn’t have to worry about losing Her.

She’d benched Herself. When they’d gotten back from Florida, and carefully told Her what Cas had said, she’d benched herself.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay with that?” Sam had asked, watching Her carefully, and She’d nodded.

“I can still help.” She’d mumbled. She’d been writing on a napkin again, that same repeated word from the resort. Dean needed to steal one of those and give it to Cas, just to know what the hell She was thinking about all the damn time. 

Bobby had said Her name, his voice low and firm. “It’s not that I don’t love havin’ you home, but you’re gonna drive us both up the damn wall if you’re just sittin’ around-“

“I won’t just sit around. That angel girl is still missing-“

“Anna?” Sam had frowned, and She’d nodded.

“Yeah, and I can try to find her. If she hates heaven, she might be willing to help us. And, Bobby, the book I made you guys get before...” 

She’d trailed off, and there had been a glossy look in Her eyes as she was picked at Her nails-

Dean had grabbed Her hand. Just to stop more blood from being drawn, he’d grabbed Her hand in front of Sam and Bobby. 

He hadn’t gotten shot.

Bobby had barely even scowled. But he’d also been mostly focused on Her.

“The one in Romanian?” He’d grunted, and She’d nodded.

“It’ll take a while, but I want to try and work through it. See if there’s anything we can use.”

Bobby had nodded, and She’d gotten the book. That was, apparently, how She spent most of Her days while Sam and Dean were gone. Bobby said that She’d curl up in the library and translate until she passed out on the couch, and Bobby carried her to bed. 

It wasn’t as bad as in those few months before Dean’s death.

But it still wasn’t good.

She hadn’t told them exactly what had happened. How She’d stopped the seal. But when they’d asked, She just shrugged it off, refusing to look Dean in the eyes. All he knew was that they hadn’t kissed since, and that She was trying to goddamn kill him. 

Because the benching had lasted for exactly a month before She was gathering them in the kitchen, the table scatted with a lot of loose papers, all of them fucking covered in Enochian. 

Sam picked up one of the papers—squinting at it like it might suddenly turn into something he could read—as Dean dropped at Her side. 

There was nowhere else to be.

“Any luck on Anna?” Sam asked, and She shook Her head.

“I still haven’t figured out how to summon an angel. I mean there’s like, prayer. But they don’t have to answer that.”

Bobby frowned. “Could ya’ figure out how to summon an angel? I mean, I know you got all your rituals, kiddo, but we ain’t even sure how angels work-“

“They’re beings.” She shrugged, sorting through the papers. “And they don’t have souls, but they can still be summoned. I remember seeing something about it in the original book-“

“The one you lost?”

She nodded at Sam. “Yeah. So it’ll be in here,” She tapped the Romanian book, her gaze never leaving her papers. “But I just have to find it.”

“You never told us how you lost it.” Dean muttered, and She sighed, giving him a soft smile.

He got a soft smile. Between Dean, Sam, and Bobby, Dean was the one who got a soft smile.

His grin back took up his whole face, even as She dodged around his question. She’d smiled at him.

“The hunter people in Mexico stole it.” She hummed, twisting the skin on Her finger, and that was a lie. Dean wasn’t sure which part, but it was a goddamn lie.

“If you don’t have Anna,” Sam said, before Dean had a chance to push Her. “Then what’s, you know.” He gestured to the table. “This.”

She grinned at Sam, a smug sort of light dancing in Her eyes. “I’m so glad you asked, Samuel. This is our way out.”

“Out?” Dean frowned. “Out of what?”

“The seals.” Her smile was almost manic. It was still pretty. “Anna said that there were 600 of them, right? If Lilith fails one, she can probably either try again, or move onto another. But,” She grabbed the paper out of Sam’s hand, presenting it to Dean. “I can lock them.”

They were all silent for a long moment. Staring at Her as she looked around the room, sitting tall in Her chair with her chin raised. It was a chipped, old, wooden piece of shit that Dean knew had been broken before, but under Her, it looked like throne. 

Dean cleared his throat, glancing back to the paper. “I can’t read this, Princess.”

“Oh, right.” She flushed slightly, pulling it back and scanning over the Enochian words. “It’s basically just a recipe. We can either do a trial run, scale it down and have me lock one, or we can go for the big game and I’ll lock all of them at once.”

Bobby frowned at Her. “What does lock ‘em mean?”

“It means Lilith will try to break it, and it won’t do fucking shit.” She glanced down at the paper, then grabbed a chewed-up pencil to scratch another note. “I think if we had more time, I could maybe re-make the already broken seals, but she’s already gotten thirty-four of them. I don’t want to wait.”

“How do you even know this will work?” Sammy frowned around the papers. “I mean, was it in the book?”

“No.” She shrugged, spinning the pencil between Her fingers. “I thought of it. Myself.”

“Course you did.” Bobby grumbled, and She stuck her tongue out of him. 

“You raised me like this-“

“I ain’t complainin’ kiddo, I just.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know how ya even begin to think of this shit. And Sam’s got a good point, we don’t got anythin’ to prove it’ll work-“

“It will work.” Her words were firm as She rubbed her wrists, and She gave Dean an almost desperate look. Like he was the only one in the whole world, the only one who needed to hear Her and stand by her side. “Please, I just- I know it’ll work. And I can do it, I promise. Cas said I’m made of magic. He said I’m half Magdalene. Maybe this is my thing. My change. I’m not making super-demons, I’m stopping the rise of Lucifer. Lilith doesn’t get to win.”

Dean just stared at Her. He couldn’t even find any words. This was way above his paygrade, even if that same paygrade had been getting higher and higher every year. It was too big a jump, going for just stopping one seal to trying to lock all of them, but She was always making insane plans and moves like that. And She always said there was another way, and Lilith doesn’t get to win, but there must be a catch. A cost. There was always a fucking cost, and Dean wouldn’t pay it if it was Her, but Her eyes were blinding and consuming and pleaded on his, and She’d never led him wrong before-

Sam coughed, and Her attention turned away. 

“What’s a super demon?”

She shook Her head. “Don’t worry about it. I just- I can do this. And I think that we should go for the big one, because once I do this the angels are going to be on my ass-“

There it was. 

The price.

“No.” Dean snapped, and Her gaze shot back to him as Bobby sighed.

“Dean-“

“No. We’re not doing this.” Dean grunted Her name, gesturing around the table. “You’ve been staying off the radar to avoid the angels, not give them a big, neon sign to come and take you.”

“They won’t take me, Dean, I’ll be fine-“

“You said it would take big game to lock all of them-“

“And I have that big game.” She folded Her arms over her chest raising Her chin. “And I’m ready to do it. Jo’s got all the ingredients for us, we just have to meet her at the roadhouse.”

Sam blinked at Her. “Jo’s been helping you with this?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, rubbing Her wrists. “I- I was talking to her about Florida and Bolivia, and she- That’s not the point. We can do this. I can do this.” Her attention turned back to Dean. “Please.”

Son of a bitch. She was saying please and giving him the flutter eyes, and Dean had a horrible, boiling and dreadful feeling about this, but She said please.

And he should’ve known better than to think She’d just bench Herself. Of course She’d been working on something like this. A way around. A risky, insane way around.

“I don’t like it.” He muttered, and She gave him a flat look.

“Do you have a better idea?” 

Son of a fucking bitch. “No.” 

She gave him a sweet smile, and he sighed. 

He’d back Her up, because it was Her. Dean had to back Her up. That was how this worked. He was Her shadow, and he couldn’t protect Her if he didn’t back her up. She’d just fuck off and do it anyway. At least this way, Dean could take all the blunt ends of the fallback. Bobby could have someone to blame if it went wrong. If She lost it, Dean would take care of Her. 

She needed to do this, so Dean would do it with Her. Whatever She needed to be happy. If She thought this was Her Magdalene thing, then Dean would stay with Her all the way down. 

But he’d need to have some fucking words with Jo, after. He was trying not to think about how She’d told Jo about Florida and Bolivia—about everything Dean didn’t get to know—but that wasn’t what the words would be about. They’d be about encouraging Her to push herself, to make stupid fucking plays that might end in Her getting hurt. 

Some small voice in his head kept muttering that if this worked, it wouldn’t be done—there would always be more monsters, more horrors, more problems to solve—but all those fantasies he had would be closer to reality. Maybe Dean would finally find the guts to take Her face between his hands and have The Conversation. 

Princess, I want you. Always want you. Even when we were kids and I was a fucking idiot, I wanted you. Wanted you since you walked into my life, and it felt like you shoulda been there the whole time. I’d want you if the world was ending. And if you’ll have me, I’ll worship the goddamn ground you walk on and build you a million cars. Buy you a house. Give you the apple pie life you deserve. 

That was it. What he’d have to say.

If they got through this, he’d just have to say it. 

And he’d faced literal fucking Hell, and walked out on the other side with Her still staying. And nothing Dean could do that made Her happy, made Her satisfied, could ever be a sin. 

She was more than angelic. She was bigger than anything in the sky. 

So Dean would do this. For Her.

“What’d you boys know about what Thing One and Thing Two have been plannin’?” Ellen asked, and Dean sighed.

They’d left Bobby’s soon after the kitchen meeting. The longer they waited, the better chance Lilith had of getting more seals. Of getting some type of wind of their plan, and stopping it. She’d explained how this was a Magdalene spell, so even if it wasn’t directly from the Book, if Lilith heard about someone ordering dirt from Jerusalem to the States, she might put two and two together, and it would end poorly. 

Dean was already pretty sure it was going to end poorly. And he’d been trying not to drink when they’d gotten to the roadhouse. When She’d been sitting right next to him—close enough for him to smell fruit and sugar, close enough for their thighs to be pressed right together—but then She and Jo had scrambled off early, and he’d made Ellen give him the strongest shit they had. 

He wouldn’t get drunk. She never said She hate it when he drank, but he’d seen Her nose twitch at the smell of it. So he’d moderate, just enough for Her to still want to share his bed and press into his side.

But he’d still drink.

“Ain’t nothin’ more than you.” Bobby sighed, frowning at his own bottle. “Ya know, I got half a mind to beat Cas’ angel ass, tellin’ her ‘bout it like that. Know he meant well, but, fuckin’ Christ.”

Sam frowned. “I thought we wanted to know what she was?”

“We wanted her to have some peace.” Bobby grumbled. “I’d been hopin’ we’d find out she’s just some typa fallen angel or hybrid or somethin’. Not this.”

“Jo mentioned your angel friend said she was like Cleopatra?” Ellen gave Dean an amused look. “That make you Antony, or Caesar?”

Dean scowled, ignoring Sam’s snort. “I don’t know what the hell that means.”

“Cleopatra was married to Caesar, and had an affair with Marc Antony.” Sam shrugged, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Dean just stared at him.

“What.”

Sam said Her name, giving Dean a pointed look. “She’s Cleopatra-“

“She ain’t Cleopatra.” Bobby snapped. “She ain’t anythin’ but her, not matter what heaven seems to think.”

“It doesn’t sound like she has a choice, Bobby-“

“Always a choice.” Dean muttered, cutting Sammy off with a glare. “If the angels got some sort of contract with her that she didn’t sign, we get her out of it.”

Something scratched at the back of Dean skull. It was made of how She’d told him about her family tracking their bloodline, while the Magdalene’s were genetic. And how she was destined for some sort of crazy marriage, and Cas had said there was more about Her. He couldn’t talk about it now. Dean had promised not to tell anyone about Her family, and he’d rather cut off his own arm than betray Her trust. 

But he’d have to talk to Her about it later. She’d probably take all the pieces in Dean’s brain and connect them quickly, because She always understood him like that. 

He missed Her. She was just upstairs with Jo, but he fucking missed Her-

“Do you think it’s like, a predetermined thing?” Sammy said, and they were talking about the Magdalene thing. “You guys made it sound like heaven doesn’t even know what the Magdalene’s bring-“

“That’s cause Cas made it sound like that,” Dean muttered, turning his bottle in his hands. “Said they tracked them, but didn’t know where they came from.”

Ellen frowned. “Ain’t those big boys supposed to know everythin’ about everyone?”

Dean shrugged. “Apparently not.”

“Good they don’t.” Bobby grunted. “Means we got a leg up on ‘em. Cas said he ain’t been able to track her-“

“No,” Dean shook his head. “Cas wouldn’t tell me how he tracked her. But he could. It’s just one of his dramatic secrets.”

“But she’s still off the angel’s radars.” Sammy frowned into the air. “Did Cas mention anything about the soul stuff she can do?”

Dean shook his head, and Ellen cleared her throat. 

“I wouldn’t worry about the angels findin’ her. That one could hold Her own against an army of gorillas and robots.” Ellen paused, tilting her head slightly. “In fact, I ain’t that worried at all. She’s strong, and stubborn, and less somethin’ drastic happens, She’s not goin’ anywhere that Dean isn’t.”

Dean choked on his beer, shooting a quick look at Bobby. Silent on his stool. Staring at his own bottle. 

Likely still carrying a gun.

“I, uh- I don’t-“ Dean stuttered Her name, trying to find his way out of a hole he hadn’t even dug. “I’m not- We’re don’t- I mean, she’s-“

“Jesus, Dean.” Ellen gave him an amused look. “You’re give yourself a damn heart attack, if you don’t slow it down.”

“But-“

“Look,” Ellen gave him a flat look. “I’ve been tryin’ to be subtle ‘bout it for a few hours, kid, but that clearly ain’t workin’. What the hell is goin’ on with you two.”

“I, uh- Nothing. We’re friends.“

“Friends.” Ellen didn’t believe him. 

Dean didn’t need Ellen to believe him. He just needed the horribly silent Bobby to believe him. 

“Yeah.” He said quickly. “I mean, we’ve always been friends. Good friends.”

“Really good friends.” Sam drawled, grinning like a fucking bitch. “Such good friends that you’re sleeping in the same bed, right?”

Bobby already knew that. That was fine. “We get nightmares, asshole-“

“I get nightmares too. Do you think I can cuddle with-“

“No.”

“Why not?” Ellen looked far too fucking amused at Dean’s torment. He was starting to worry this had been some sort of trap. “She and Sam are friends too. What’s wrong with her sharin’ his bed?”

Dean was going to fucking vomit. Bobby still hadn’t looked at him.

“She doesn’t want to share my bed.” Sam sounded amused, and victorious, and Dean was going to knock his teeth out. “I don’t call her princess, or make her cars, or drive her to the corner store in the middle of the night-“

“How the fuck did you-“

“I was taking a shit when you guys got back last night.” Sam shrugged. “Saw all the food wrappers.”

Ellen sighed, giving Dean a look that was almost disappointed. “Dean, if you really think you two are just friends-“

“He doesn’t.” 

Dean needed to run. 

“I mean, they are friends, but he knows there’s more.”

Before Sammy ran his big mouth, Dean needed to run.

“Because you don’t make out with friends, do you, Dean.”

Later, Dean was going to run Sammy’s head through a wall, then throw some very stainable foods on all of Jo’s clothing for snitching. 

But for now, he was dead. Dean was fucking dead. 

Bobby was looking at him. Probably sizing up where the best place to shoot him would be. If Dean got a vote, he’s like it to be the brain. Gone quick, no pain. Just put down like the wet, mangy dog who’d been trailing after Her, who’d never deserved Her light and beauty, let alone Her love or touch. And Bobby knew that better than anyone. Bobby might be the only other person who understood just how vital She was to the world continuing to turn. And Bobby knew Dean. Knew what Dean had done. That Dean could never, ever be more than Her shadow, and even that was pushing it-

“You kiss her?” Bobby grunted, and Sam’s eyes widened slightly. The little shit seemed to have been so caught up in snitched to Ellen, he must have forgotten Bobby was there. 

Dean hoped that this time, he’d get to come back as a ghost and haunt to fucker to his own grave.

“Yes, sir.”

Bobby scoffed. “Don’t sir me, Dean. She kiss you back?”

Dean nodded, and Bobby let out a long, slow breath. This was it. He was dead-

“Thank fuckin’ Christ.” Bobby muttered, shaking his head. “Finally.”

Dean froze. “I- Uh-“

 “I ain’t fucking stupid, ya ijdit.” Bobby gave him a flat look, and Dean swallowed. “I got eyes. Ears. A damn brain. If you think I ain’t noticed how you look at her all the fuckin’ time, then I’m worried about your brain.”

Dean blinked, and shook his head. “It’s- I didn’t- We only kissed. That’s it. No funny business, and she kissed me the second time-“

“The second time?!” Sam looked far too happy about this information. “When was the second time?”

“Florida.” Dean grumbled. “That’s not the point, Sammy. She kissed me-“

“You two bein’ safe?” Ellen raised her brows, and maybe Hell could do him a favor, open up, and swallow Dean whole. 

“It was just kissing, and we’re not fucking idiots-“

“So you will have sex-“

“Sam-“

“Dean.” Bobby voice was low, but they all fell silent. “Listen. I meant it. I’m… glad. She needs someone who gets her, and you two- I ain’t able to be mad at ya for makin’ her happy. But if you break her heart. You leave her waitin’ for you, make her cry even one fuckin’ time.” Bobby narrowed his eyes. “I’ll make your time in Hell look like a fuckin’ nunnery.”

Dean gave a small, firm nod. He could live with that. If he ever hurt Her, he’d more than deserve whatever Bobby fulfilling that promise looked like.

And Dean didn’t bother to tell them that The Conversation still hadn’t happened. That Dean’s brain kept running away from him and calling Her his girl, but in reality, that wasn’t anything different than before.

Nothing Dean felt or thought about Her was different from before. Parts of it were amplified—he’d had a very firm and now impossible rule about never fantasizing about Her outside of touching himself, but now he couldn’t listen to her talk without imagining what She’d sound like when Dean shoved his face into Her cunt or stuffed her mouth full of his cock—but it was still the same. 

Even before the kiss, he would’ve spent the rest of the conversation thinking about Her. If it wasn’t those fantasies, it would be Her siren-like voice haunting him on the wind, all while he tried to figure out what the hell She and Jo were doing, and if he’d get stabbed for trying to crash it.

He would’ve found a good reason to leave a little early before, as well. Would’ve ended up slowly opening the door to Jo’s room, and grinned at just the sight of Her. All the lights were off, save for the glow of the TV—still playing some sort of chick-flick Dean didn’t recognize—and She still looked like a goddamn dream.

She and Jo had fallen asleep against each other, under the same blanket. 

And It was good She had Jo. A friend that didn’t have anything complicated. Sure She had Sammy, but at the end of the day, the kid was still Dean’s brother. So if for some reason Bobby ever had to fulfill that oath, She’d still have Jo. 

And Sam was also right.

Dean wasn’t just Her friend. He’d never been just Her friend. Even when he’d been keeping Her away from Dad, hunting with Her in secret, they’d never been just friends.

They had to have The Conversation. Dean would find a way to survive if She ripped his heart out of his freakin’ chest, but Bobby hadn’t been mad. If Dean was really bad for Her, Bobby wouldn’t have thanked God Dean kissed Her. If She didn’t want Dean, on some level more than just a quick fuck or two emotional kisses, Bobby wouldn’t have said She needed Dean. 

Maybe She craved him too. 

Maybe.

Princess, I want you.

He could do it. 

Later.

He’d do it later.

For now, Dean would pick up Jo’s beer and Her soda, brush all the hair from Her face and smile at Her in the dark—there didn’t need to be any witnesses, because Dean wasn’t touching for anyone but Her and his own selfish hunger—before detangling Her from Jo to get her to bed. 

She made an adorably disgruntled sound as Dean hauled Her up his chest. And it amazed him sometimes. How the same glowing, soft eyes blinking up at him could give dagger stares that made demons afraid. How those slightly parted, soft lips could curl into deadly sneers, and the same haunting voice that was mumbling his name could spit the most venom he’d ever seen. 

“Dean?”

“Yep.” He walked slowly, trying his goddamn best not to disturb Her more than he had to. “It’s late, you know.”

“I’m not clock.” She grumbled, giving him the cutest fucking pout in history. “How do I know you’re Dean?”

He frowned at Her. “Cause, uh- I’m me, sweetheart. Unless you got another Dean on the side-“

“Just you.” She shoved Her face right into his neck, and he had to be fucking dreaming. “’S always just you, De.” She giggled to Herself. “Was a stupid question. I know you’re you.”

“Yeah?” He hummed, shouldering their door open. “How do you know, Princess.”

“You’re gold.” She hummed. “And strong right here.” She poked a little to the right of his heart, and Dean stopped in the center of their room as She blinked up at him. “Only my Dean is gold like that.”

She might as well have fucking shot him. Her Dean. He was Her Dean. 

He’d be Her whatever. Son of a bitch, Dean would be Her court jester if that was the only place She offered him.

It wouldn’t be. 

Court jesters weren’t allowed to share the Princess’s bed. They didn’t get to help Her into one of their shirts, keeping their eyes firmly fixed away from the bounce of Her breasts. Jesters didn’t get to kiss Her brow and have Her wrap her arms around their neck.  

That was a job for shadows. 

She’d told him that She could sense when souls wanted each other, and hadn’t really explained it, but Dean needed his soul to start doing some fucking work for him. To make it real fucking clear that, the moment She said the word, Dean was going to wrap around Her and never let go. Do half The Conversation before it even started, so that Dean could finally be allowed to kiss Her brow and trail down Her nose, ending on Her lips and pulling every perfect sound She had to offer from her throat. 

Make Her happy.

Bobby had said Dean could make Her happy.

It was a little fucking terrifying. Just how much She was to him. More than the world. More than all the stars in the sky. 

And laying in the dark, Her curled into his arms, Dean was glad Dad was Dead. That he’d gone a fucked-up kind of heroes death.

The alternative was that Dean would’ve kept crashing up into Her—covered in mud and feeling so fucking good every time She took him all the same—and then Dad would’ve kept prying Her away. Making Her leave. Making Dean lose Her.

And Dean would’ve killed him, or punched him, after simply losing his fucking mind trying to convince himself he didn’t want Her on Dad’s orders.

Princess, I want you. Always want you.

He’d always wanted Her. It didn’t matter what anyone did to him or told him, Dean would never stop wanting Her. The only thing that would keep him away was Her saying no. 

But son of a bitch, if She said yes. 

Dean fell asleep to fantasies of Her saying yes. Of Her telling him she wanted him. 

He woke to Her still in his arms. 

And he didn’t stray for the rest of the day.

For as long as Dean could manage, he stayed at Her side. Hanging over Her shoulder as She and Jo went over the plan on last time, running down the ingredient list. Guiding Her to the Firebird with a hand on Her back, and tailing after Her in the Impala as they headed away from the roadhouse. 

She’d wanted space. Just in case, She’d demanded that they do this somewhere with space. Just a few towns over, where it was mostly field and birds. Bobby and Ellen would be on standby just in case. Sam, Dean, and Jo would bring their guns, just in case. They’d get a motel and wait a day, just in case. 

“I thought we wanted to move fast?” Sam frowned at the Firebird ahead of them, and Dean sighed.

“Apparently there’s a sweet spot, Sammy. Not slow enough for Lilith to hear about it. Not fast enough for demons to show up and have us miss them.”

And no demons showed up. They got a two bed to share, did routine sweeps of the town every few hours, and found no demons.

But one demon found them. 

There was a knock on the door, and they all froze. Jo one the bed with a book, Dean on the couch with the TV and Her and Sammy at the table, doing something on the laptop. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was slow as they all stared at the door. “Did you order food?”

“Nope.” He muttered, and Jo stood up slowly, her gun in hands. Dean reached for his own, he knew Sam was doing the same, and She-

Her grip was white-knuckled on her knife, and She was staring at the door with a little more intensity the rest of them. Her face was colorless, and Her eyes were wide, and Her mouth opened as Jo touched the door handle.

“Jo, wait-“

Jo pulled back, but she’d already unlocked the door. 

And when it swung open, Ruby was grinning on the other side.

“Could you guys at least pretend you’re happy to-“ Ruby’s eyes landed on Her, and the bitch paled. “Fuck.”

A lot of things happened at once. Jo slammed the door shut before Ruby could run, Dean aimed his gun at Ruby’s temple, and Sam threw himself in front of Ruby as something in the room started to shift.

She wasn’t advancing with the knife. It was just spinning in Her hands as she stared at Ruby, and Dean had never seen her look at anyone with that much pure fucking hated. Usually there was some sort of starlight dancing or flickering in Her gaze, even if She was angry. 

Maybe Dean just hadn’t seen it up close last time. Because it was the same as Boston. She was amplified, and everything seemed to be revolving around Her, and her pupils were silver.

And it wasn’t just starlight anymore.

It was a supernova.

It was wrathful. 

“What the fuck,” She hissed, and Dean could swear Her voice was echoing around the room. “Is she doing here.”

“I don’t know.” Sam said quickly, giving Dean an almost desperate look. “Dude, I swear I don’t know. I didn’t bring Ruby, I didn’t even tell here where we were-“

“He didn’t!” Ruby jumped in quickly. “Fucking- I’m here to help, I’m always here to help, and that’s not going to change, no matter how much you id-“ The world grew technicolor, and Ruby stammered over herself. “I’m trying to warn you! Alistair knows you’re here!”

Dean felt his blood go cold. Alistair. Alistair had promised to take Her, to hurt Her, and he knew they were here. 

Sam said Her name slowly, not moving from in front of Ruby. “She doesn’t have any reason to lie. And if Alistair does know-“

“Then we’ll move fast tomorrow.”

Ruby frowned. “Move fast on what-“

“Shut the fuck up.” She snapped, and Ruby paled. “How do you know Alistair knows.”

“Because I’ve been tracking Hell’s Assassins. And they’re headed here.”

Jo blinked. “I thought they’d been takin’ orders from Azazel-“

“They take orders from the top dog.” Ruby said, still watching Her wearily. “Right now that’s Lilith. And she’s passed them onto Alistair, to help him however he wants. And he’s sending them after you guys.”

Her cold glare on Ruby didn’t waver. “And why are you telling us?”

“To help-“

“Don’t lie.” She hissed. “You fucking left me-“

“Because Lilith pushed me out of my meat-suit! I- I told Sam-“

She raised Her hand, and Ruby fell silent. Dean felt like he should be doing more than just standing here. Maybe he should be going out and getting every bit of candy and sugar, and a collector edition copy of Indiana Jones, and a whole lot of body scrub and makeup, and forming some sort of fucking alter to the goddess in their motel room. 

And it was still just Her. It was just Her, everywhere. In everything. The whole fucking world was Her, and Dean could feel it. 

He wanted to live in it. Live in Her.

Another thing that would have to wait for later. Because right now, it seemed like Ruby was pretty damn close to getting killed, and Dean wanted to see that.

“Here’s how this is gonna go.” She said, Her eyes still locked on Ruby. “I’m not going to kill you, because Sam’s my friend, and I care about him, and I want to trust him. But if anything goes wrong tomorrow, if anything other than a few, easy-to-kill Hell’s Assassin’s show up,” her eyes narrowed. “I won’t kill you. I will obliterate you. Literally. Got it?”

Ruby nodded, and She smiled. A toothless, mocking, crude smile that made Her look a little like a Queen. 

Dean shouldn’t be this turned on by how mean She was being. Knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting to launch himself at Her and pin Her to the wall. Kiss Her until all that raw fucking power was directed at him, and he could throw it right back at Her with only his hands and dick and mouth and care.

Not in front of Jo and Sammy. 

But later. If Dean got Her, he wanted to figure out what that fun little trick could do in bed. If he could use it to fuck Her, if She’d be able to see his soul while they fucked, if maybe he could bury himself deep enough inside of Her that he’d be enough of Her to see Her soul.

It would be beautiful. All of Her was beautiful, so Her soul would have to be too. 

Dean would have to wait for later. A lot of things were going to happen later. 

But now, he watched Ruby shuffled back out the door, and ran to Her side as the world collapsed back into Her. She was swaying slightly on Her feet, as the world became just the world again. And Dean caught Her.

That was his job. 

“We should go to bed.” She mumbled, Her head rested slightly on Dean’s shoulder. “We’ll need to be up early tomorrow.”

“Can we do it tonight?” Sam suggested, and She shook Her head. 

“Need the Sun for it.”

“Oh. Sure.” Sam gave Dean a confused look, and Dean just shrugged.

His job wasn’t to question about Her methods. 

It was to orbit around Her as they all got ready for bed, crawl into the mattress at Her side, then pull Her right into his chest and lean down to whisper in Her ear. Low enough that Sam and Jo couldn’t hear, because this wasn’t for them. 

“I still don’t like this.” He murmured Her name, and She met his gaze in the dark. “There’s gotta be another way-“

“This is the other way,” She whispered, offering him a soft smile. “And I can handle some Hell’s Assassins-“

“I know you can, b- Sweetheart-“

“Then let me-“

“I will.” Dean leaned forward, their noses bumping slightly. “This is what we’re doing, I’m backing you up. All the way down. But I want you to know I still think it’s a pretty shit idea.”

She giggled. “Your objection is noted. Go to sleep.”

He rolled his eyes, unable to fight his grin. “So bossy-“

“Can’t hear you,” She burrowed Her face his neck. “Night, De.”

“Night, Princess.” He muttered, running a hand through Her hair, and the boiling dread was back. 

But he’d still do this. 

For Her, Dean would do anything.

He clung to Her, through the whole night. Kept his face buried in Her hair and his body half on top of Her’s, because he was allowed to. Maybe She’d feel it. See it with Her magic soul pheromones.

And if She didn’t, Dean would tell Her in the morning. 

—————

“Look.” The big man made of green—who hadn’t hurt you and all the birds and flowers seemed to adore—was kneeling down to meet your gaze. “I don’t know if you ain’t able to talk, or if you just won’t, but I can’t keep callin’ you kiddo. You know what a name is?”

You know what a name is. You have one. This man has one too, although you’d forgotten after he told you. You’ve just been calling him the Big, Green Man.  

And he’s still looking at you. You’re supposed to answer his question, but you don’t remember how. You know your own name, but you’re also the pressure of the house foundation, and the weight of all the beer the Big Green Man is keeping in the fridge, and the tension of the guns on his wall.

You hate guns. The last gun you saw had been in your father’s hands, and it had been aimed at the head of your cousin. 

He’d gotten in trouble because he’d tried to touch you. Hurt you. Half his face was already covered in boils, because you’d screamed and all the Silver light in your body had surged up to protected you. And you’d just wanted him to go away. You’d just wanted all of them to go away, and leave you alone again. They hadn’t stopped hating you, after the ritual. They only hated you more, because it wasn’t supposed to be you.  

You hadn’t wanted him to die.

But your father had apologized to him, and pulled the trigger. 

He’d never apologized to you. Nobody did. 

Most of this is your fault anyways. And nobody wanted to hear you talk. To plead for it to stop, because it was too much and you could see your cousin putrid, greasy sort of brown sinking down into the floor, and his blood on your clothing already missed him, and you wanted to go home.

You didn’t get a home. You were on hold until the Sky decided to take you.

And you haven’t seen the Sky, since you ran. 

You haven’t spoken for a while before that.

So you’re just blinking at the Big Green Man. And he’s blinking back, scanning over your face for an answer you don’t know how to give him.

“You know how to write?” He grunts, and you blink at him. “Shit, wait here kiddo-“

The Big Green Man walks away, and you wait. He’s safe. His guns aren’t angry like your fathers are, and there’s beer in his fridge but it’s sad. Not violent like the wine your grandmother and aunts poured down your throat to keep you satiated. 

You’d vomited that up, before you ran. It made you tired, and you couldn’t afford to be tired. 

But the Big Green Man was making you sleepy. You could rest in his big house with all the books, and nothing would try to hurt you. 

He comes back with a pen, before you can curl up to sleep. 

“If you’ve got a name,” he grunts, placing a paper on the coffee table and passing the pen into your hands. “Write it here.”

You look between him and the pencil, and give it a little testing scribble. Its ink is red, and that’s wrong. You’re not red.

The Big Green Man frowns as you push the pen back across the table. “You able to write?”

You nod, and he sits up a little straighter. 

“Somethin’…” He glances down to the table. “Wrong with the pen?”

You nod again, and slowly push to your feet. The Big Green Man has a desk, and the desk must have a pencil, and-

There it is. There’s a yellow highlighter too. And it’s not Golden, but it’ll do. 

The Big Green Man watches you as you return to the couch, and scribble your name on the paper. The graphite is a little silver. And that’s you.

“Huh.” The Big Green Man repeats your name back to you, and you nod. “You remember my name?”

You shake your head, and the Big Green Man reaches for the highlighter. You snatch it away with a frantic shake of your head. That’s not for him. That’s for the boy the Sky says he hates and doesn’t want you to find.

And you—not the you staring at the Big Green Man, who’s going to grab a pen from the desk until he finds the right color and writes down that his name is Bobby, but the you now—don’t remember that part. But these types of dreams tend to have small things that you’d forgotten, or maybe made up in the first place. You’re never sure if it’s real or just another dream at all until-

“Hi, Princess.” 

There he is. “Hi, De.”

Dean’s pressed right into your side on the couch, and suddenly Bobby isn’t so big anymore. You’re not that small, either. And it’s a little like you’re flickering back and forth between the little girl who’d sat on the couch and the… Whatever you are now. Who’s leaning into Dean’s side.

“Why does Bobby look so young?” Dean mutters in your ear, and you laugh. 

“This was eighteen years ago, Deano. Would be a little sad if he didn’t look young.”

“Huh.” Dean frowns at the air. “Eighteen years ago I was…”

“Ten.”

“Uh, yeah.” He raises his brows at you. “How’d you know that?”

“I did math, Winchester.” You grin at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. “It’s this thing with numbers, where you add them together and take them away, and then you get other numbers-“

“Alright, alright.” He rolls his eyes, but his arm his looped around you, and you’re lying against him on the couch as Bobby keeps talking.

“You didn’t add a last name,” Bobby mutters, and he looks back to you. “You got anyone, kiddo? Family?”

You shake your head, and Dean tenses beside you.

“You’ve got me.” He mutters, sounding a little like a dejected puppy, and you give him an amused look.

“I didn’t eighteen years ago. This me,” you gesture around the room. “Didn’t have anyone.”

“But you had me.”

“I didn’t know you.”

Dean scowls, like the very fucking idea of that is intolerable. “You coulda. I coulda found you.”

You hum, your smile never wavering. He’s adorable, and you love him, and you can’t say it aloud, but you grab the yellow highlighter from the table—Bobby seems to be caught in some kind of static as your attention remains on Dean—and hold Dean’s gaze. “Do you want to have me, Dean?”

And it’s a dream. You have to remind yourself it’s a dream.

But the open, hopeful, sheer look of desire on Dean’s face isn’t as foreign as it should be. 

His voice is low, almost hoarse. And the whole dream seems to be filling with a golden haze that makes you feel a little high as he leans down, holding your gaze.

“I always fucking want you, Princess.” He mutters, and you swallow. “Wanted you since you walked into my life and it felt like you shoulda been there the whole time. I’d want you if the world was ending. And if you’ll have me, I’ll worship the goddamn ground you walk on, baby.”

Baby.

You know I love you, baby.

But this sounds more real, and yet it’s just as fake, and you don’t know why your mind hates you so much. 

Yet you’ll take all of Dean you can get. Even if it’s just a dream. 

“Okay,” you whisper, uncapping the highlighter and slowly moving it to his brow. 

You’re not sure what you’re doing. Dean clearly isn’t either. 

But you let the Silver take over, and start to write on his forehead, just like you’ve been practicing. His name, but running away from you as you add more, and suddenly it’s your name too, and then-

The word—words?—are glowing, and sinking into Dean’s skin, and he’s holding your gaze, and you love him, and the Sky can never be allowed to take him away or you’ll do a hell of a lot more than just scream and beg-

Your eyes flutter open, and you’re staring at the ceiling, covered in a big, warm weight and drowning in the smell of spice. 

Dean’s snoring above you. And you don’t know when you flipped over, but he’s pinned you between the mattress and his body, and his face is in your neck. 

You could stay here forever. 

But you have a job to do. And you have to move. Fast.

“Dean,” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair, and this isn’t overindulging. He’s on top of you. You’re just trying to wake him up gently. “Wake up. We’ve gotta go.”

The snores hitch, and your smile grows.

“C’mon. Up.”

“No.” He grumbles, and you giggle softly.

“I know you’re awake now, Deano.”

He pauses, tensing slightly. “No, ya’ don’t.”

“Sleeping people don’t talk.”

“Could be sleep talkin’,” he mutters, still not moving. “You don’t know.”

“Yes, I do.” You push at his shoulders lightly. “Up, you big baby.”

His head turns, eyes blinking open, and if he doesn’t decide to get up now, you’re not going to have the strength to push him. 

He’s so pretty. And in the morning light, there’s no part of him you can see that isn’t Golden. It’s in his eyes and soft on his skin and woven through his hair, and you love him, and you’re not allowed to say it. 

You can’t let it affect work either. And it can’t show on your face. 

So you’re trying to smile at him the same way that you’d smile at Sam or Jo. But he’s perfect, and all around you, and it’s not affecting work if Sam and Jo aren’t even here to do the work-

The door slams open, and Jo waltz through it with the timing of some sort of sick joke. 

“Oh, good, y’all are-“ She freezes in the center of the room, eyes widening. “Shit, I didn’t mean to- I can come back, if you’re- y’know-“

You flush and Dean twists to shoot Jo a glare.

“If we were, it would’ve been ruined already, Jo.”

Jo’s eyes are going to burst out of her head. “So you were-“

“Not yet.” Dean pushes up off of you, pauses, and leans down to press a kiss to your brow. 

Not yet.

Baby. I love you, baby. 

You’re just staring up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, and you’re going to melt into the mattress. The Spiderweb loves this. It’s bursting and sparking everywhere, the ache between your legs building as you just stare up at Dean, and his lips tighten slightly.

“You good?”

You smile at him, nodding a little stupidly. “I’m awesome.”

His mouth twitches slightly, and he nods. Brushes a little hair from your face before he moves away. 

And you just keep lying there. Dean and Jo are talking about how Sam’s at a shitty diner down the street, and Dean should go join him so they can case the old church you’re using before the ritual starts. Jo will stay with you, going over the plan one last time, and Dean will survive one damn hour without you.

“But she needs to eat-“

“And I brought food.” Jo calls your name. “You want some pancakes?”

“Yes, please.” You might be whispering. You still feel sort of molten. 

“See.” Jo’s talking to Dean again. Her voice isn’t ever really firm like that when she’s talking to you. “Go get your own food, Dean. And I already yelled at Sam ‘bout Ruby, but double teamin’ never hurt.”

Dean grumbles something about killing Ruby himself, if she shows up, and you hope he does. Sam and Dean fight about that kind of stuff all the time, and you really don’t want to be the one who has to kill Sam’s demon friend.

Dean can do it for you.

Dean’s always doing stuff for you.

“See you at the church.” He mutters, suddenly hovering above you like the angel he is, and you smile at him. 

“Okay.”

“Eat what Jo brought you.”

You nod, still a little dizzy and lost in just the sight of him. “Okay.”

His lips twitch slightly. “You sure you’re alright down there?”

“Yeah.” You’re definitely whispering, and Dean’s face splits into a grin.

“Don’t do anything insane.”

“I would never.”

He rolls his eyes. “Jo-“

“Nothin’ insane. I heard ya, Dean. Now go.”

“She’s so mean to me.” Dean mutters, his fingers brushing so easily through your hair, and the Silver has never been this happy in your body. “You’d never be that mean to me, Princess.”

Jo snorts. “Yes, she would-“

“Nah.” Dean grins at you, and you can only grin back. “Pinky promise you’re gonna eat.”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak, and lock your pinky with Dean’s. His smile is the best thing you’ve ever seen. This plan has to work, so Dean can smile like that all the time. 

“Good girl.” He mutters, and his attention turn away just before your love and need for him escapes, splattering all over your face. 

Dean and Jo exchange a few low words, and you just keep staring at the ceiling. Baby. I love you, Baby. You know I love you-

“Y’all are so gross.” Jo groans, dropping down on your mattress. “I mean, that was worse than if I did walk in on you fuckin’-“

“Jo.” You mumble, giving her a flat look. “We aren’t fucking.”

Jo sighs. “You’re not holdin’ out on him cause of... that thing, are ya?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it-“

“He won’t care.” Jo’s voice is firm, and you turn to see her almost glaring at you. “Don’t ruin this for yourself just cause you think he’s gonna get weird about it.”

“I’m not-“

“You are. Dean’s not gonna give a shit if you’re a virgin. I think he might get all caveman about it, actually. He seems like the type.”

You need to stop telling Jo everything about you. At this point, all she doesn’t know about is how you-

“I mean, you love him. Don’t think you’d love him if you really thought he’d get all fuckin’ shitty ‘bout something like that.”

Fuck. “Jo, I- I don’t-“

“You don’t need to say it.” She shrugs, holding your gaze. “’S why I’m sayin’ it for you. Dean wouldn’t do that to ya’. I really think if you tell him, he’s gonna get like, all fuckin’ commanding. And you’d be into that.”

“Jo-“

“C’mon. You can lie to each other, but you can’t lie to me.” Jo is lucky she’s basically your sister. Anyone else would’ve been stabbed by now. “You love him. Sam told me he’s been moanin’ your name in his sleep, when you ain’t there.”

“He has?” You need to sound less hopeful. It’s not selling the I don’t love Dean angle that well. “I- I mean, I don’t care-“

“Yeah, you do.” Jo smirks at you. “You want him to kiss you, and hug you, and fuck you- Shit!”

You slam a pillow over Jo’s face, and when she tries to retaliate, you let just enough of the Silver out to make the pillow burst into only feathers.

Jo scowls. “I hate when you do that.”

“Yeah, well, I hate when you tease me about Dean-“

“But you deserve it! You are so obvious, it’s like- Oh my god, you remember when we were at the roadhouse a few months back, and that hunter from Louisiana started talkin’ to you?”

You blink at her. “No?”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Course you don’t. You were lookin’ at Dean.”

“Hey-“

“Well the asshole was tryin’ to get in your pants, and you were just makin’ those fuckin’ I love you eyes at Dean-“

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, you do. It’s like,” Jo flutters her lashes, pouts slightly with an open mouth, and you hit her with another pillow.

“I do not fucking do that.”

Jo seems completely unfazed, which is really annoying. “Yeah, ya do. And you were makin’ those eyes at Dean, and the hunter didn’t see ‘em, but you didn’t see him. You were bein’ polite, but you’re real fuckin’ shit at flirting-“

You gape at her. “You’re really mean this morning-“

“I’m sick of you and Dean dancin’ around each other!” Jo throws her hands up in the air, flopping back down on the mattress. “And you keep interrupting my story! The point is that Dean got all barky and mad at the hunter, and you didn’t even notice cause you were too busy eye-fuckin’ him!”

“Barky?”

Jo grins. “I think he fuckin’ growled. I’m tryin’ to tell you that you’re not good at pickin’ up signals, and you love Dean, and he wants be allowed to love you, and if you’d just fuck ‘im, shit would be so much easier.”

You let out a long, slow breath, and before you can even open your mouth and ask Jo to drop it, she’s holding up a finger.

“Look, how about this. What’s your dream life?”

Dean’s asked you that before. And you’re not sure where Jo is going with this, but she’s going to get the same answer he did. “I’ve never thought about what else I’d do-“

“I’m not askin’ what else you’d do.” Jo shrugs, holding your gaze. “I’m askin’ about your dream. If everything works out and you get a perfect world, what’s it look like?”

You stare at Her, and the Silver is rioting inside your body.

A perfect world. Not a realistic one, where you’re either still locked up, or the Sky has taken you, or you’re just hunting until it kills you, or everyone around you dies and you turn to stone, waiting for them to return. 

A dream. 

You can see it, forming far too fast. It’s just water-painted colors and ideas, but it’s still clear. No monsters or demons or angels, and the Sky is gone. Bobby’s just running his yard, and Sam’s back in college, doing whatever he wants to do. You and Jo get coffee every weekend, and these kinds of conversations never have an underlying sense of danger around the corner.

And Dean’s everywhere.

All his clothing doesn’t stay in a room he never sleeps in, but is tucked into the same drawer as yours. He works in the scrapyard with Bobby, and you don’t know exactly what you’re doing—you’ve really never thought about it—but it’s something useful, where you get to read a lot and talk a lot, and nobody ever gets hurt. 

And you come home to Dean every night, and he kisses you everywhere. He falls asleep with his head in your lap and your fingers in his hair, and all your rules are broken because you tell him you love him all the time. And there’s a future. It’s not just the thing to get to tomorrow.

Tomorrow is promised. 

The longer you think about it, the more the Silver spreads. And you’re a little afraid to say it aloud. Aloud makes it real. 

So you just shake your head, twisting the skin on your finger. “I don’t know.”

Jo knows you’re lying. She raises her brows, and her lips tighten into a line, but she doesn’t push it. She knows you well enough not to. 

“Think about it,” she shrugs, and you nod. Now that it’s in your head, you don’t think you’re ever going to stop thinking about it. 

“Do you have one?” You ask, lying back down at her side, and Jo frowns at the ceiling. 

“I think it used to be this.” She mutters. “Huntin’. But I dunno, I’d just wanna fuckin’ chill. Get a cat.”

You give her an amused look. “A cat?”

“Yeah. I’d relax and get a cat, work in somethin’ with sound. I was really good at that,” she says your name, giving you a grin. “The sound shit? From the lich case. I liked it. Lotta buttons.”

You snort. “You want to work in sound cause there’s a lot of buttons?”

“Yep. And don’t act like buttons ain’t fun to push.” She sticks her tongue out at you. “I’d love to have a job that’s just pushin’ buttons. This job is… you know.”

You do know. And if this works, Jo could have an out. Your dream world is just a dream. You have too much hanging around you for it to be any more than a dream. But the Sky doesn’t watch Jo. Demons don’t hunt her. She’s not a Magdalene, or salvation, or damnation. 

That’s why you’re doing this ritual in the first place. For Jo. 

You didn’t tell Bobby, because he’d tell Ellen. You didn’t tell Sam, because that would involve explaining that Jo got the idea from hearing Ruby talk about it, and then he’d say that’s not what Ruby meant, and try to make your talk to Ruby. 

You couldn’t tell Dean. If you told Dean that Jo had overheard Ruby talking about the possibility of locking all the seals, then came to you to see if it was a possibility, he’d get mad at Jo for pushing you. And she hadn’t pushed you. Not on purpose. But she’d wanted to know if that was in the cards, and it had been, and then she’d wanted to do it. 

“If you think you can,” she’d said over the phone, her words slow. “I don’t think we’re getting’ a better solution.”

“I know.” You’d sighed, frowning at your notes. “But I- I don’t trust it.”

“If you think it’ll take too much-“

“No. I’d be fine. I just- I don’t know. We’ll do it.”

“I’m serious, if you ain’t on board-“

“I’m on board. I’ll pitch it to them tomorrow. Can you start-“

“Been workin’ on the ingredients since you gave me the list.” Jo had said your name carefully. “Thank you. I know this is dicey, but it’s gonna work. You’ve got it. We can do it.”

You’d nodded, and hung up. 

You’ve got it.

You don’t feel like you’ve got it, but you had to have it. This ritual was volatile, and the Silver still feels like a muscle that spams and tenses and seizes up under the wrong amount of pressure, but you’ve got this.

Ruby showed up last night, and that was making the Silver roll and howl in a kind of alarm over your skull, but you could deal with Ruby. You’d meant it. If she’d set this as some sort of trap, and you showed up tomorrow to find hundreds of demons, or a pack of hellhounds, or Alistair himself, you’d crush Ruby with the Silver until she was fucking nothing. 

And you want to tell Dean about it. Tell him that you have this itching, rash-like feeling over your wrist and along your bones, and something just feels wrong. You don’t know if you can do this, but you’re repeating it over and over until it feels a little more true. 

But if you’re going to use the monster for something, you might as well use Her for this.

It has to stay between you and Jo.

And you’ve got it.

“We should start movin’.” Jo mutters, pushing up off the mattress. “Ready?”

You’re not ready. 

You nod anyway. 

Jo runs over the ingredients one last time while she waits for you to change, and everything is in order. You’ve got your jacket, your knife hidden safely inside, and the flask in your pocket. Filled with whore tears.

You don’t really want to know how Jo got those. 

“I think you should tell him where we’re done.” Jo hums in the Firebird, and you shoot her a glare.

“Don’t you have your own love life to worry about?”

“Ha! So you admit it’s a love life-“

“I’m gonna crash the car-“

“No ya won’t. Dean gave it to you.” She bumps your shoulder, and you can’t stop your small smile. “And I was serious, before. You don’t even have to jump right in with the love shit. You can just say I like you, and if you wanna fuck, I’m down.”

You sigh. “Can’t I make you do it for me? Like we’re in middle school?”

“Nope. Cause then you’re gonna tell him that he’d be the first, and like, I know we don’t wanna fetishize that, women are more than their bodies, he’d want you if you’d fucked a million dudes-“

“Jo-“

“He would. Right now, it probably ain’t even occurred to him that you haven’t. And I want you to see his dumb little monkey brain explode when you tell him.”

You shoot her a glare. “Dean’s not dumb.”

“I know.” Jo shrugs. “But he’s gonna short-circuit. Promise.”

You just shrug, and try not to think about it. It’s easier if you don’t think about it.

There are just too many other things to think about, besides is Dean going to like you back. The Romanian translations, and the ingredients, and if the Silver is going to settle the heel down and cooperate. If Hell’s Assassin’s do show up, how you’ll handle them.

But he might. Everyone can’t be wrong. There might be a world where you can wrap your arms around Dean, rest your chin on his chest, and say Deano, I like you, and if you wanna fuck, I’m down.

You’ll rephrase it.

And you’re not supposed to overindulge. Asking Dean to fuck would definitely be overindulging. 

But he smiles at you, the moment you and Jo walk into the church. Dean grins at you like you’re not about to take a huge, deadly fucking gamble. Like he’s about to ask you to go get some food and watch a movie.

Like a date.

Softer than just fucking. And instead of sweeping the pews for lingering sulfur and demon marks, you could lean over the table and hold his hand. 

Maybe.

If he asks you, you’ll never be strong enough to say no. It’s why you’re not telling him you don’t want to do this.

He’d say don’t do it, Princess. And then you’d go home.

He’ll talk you out of it. You don’t really want to be talked out of it, not when it could be the way. Not when you promised Jo.

So you’re going through with it. It won’t be rushed or experimental. Jo tracked down all the right ingredients—and you’ve really decided to not ask questions about it—and the Church is supposed to help the spell draw power as holy ground, but you’re mostly using it for your own peace of mind. 

Because this all on you.

“Do you guys-“

“We’ve got everything.” You mutter, turning over the skull of a sickly bird in your hands. “Sun’s almost through the windows, and we- There needs to be one thing in every cardinal direction. This,” you hold up the skull. “Comes with me to the dais. Jo’s taking the South and the tooth, Sam’s West and the blessed fruit, and Dean’s-“

“Black pearl covered in lamb’s blood, East.” Dean frowns down at his item. “How the hell did you get this stuff, Jo-“

“Don’t worry about it.” You and Jo say in unison, and Sam snorts. 

“Is that really it?” He asks, frowning at his apple. “Just stand in the corners of the room and all the seals will lock?”

“You have to stand in the corner of the room.” You mutter, pulling your flask from your jacket. “Bottoms up.”

You down the whore tears in one gulp, trade the flask for the knife like it’s a security blanket, and turn on your heels before you can lose the nerve.

Everyone finds their places fast. And all they’ll have to do is stand there, with their items at their feet.

You have to work.

Sam’s looking around the room. Jo’s looking between you and the teeth, a taut but hopeful expression on Her face. 

Dean’s looking at you. Only at you.

If you look at him, you’ll run to him. But you have to focus.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and let the Silver move out. You’re the freedom of the wind and the wisdom of the Earth, the warmth of the sun on a river miles away, and every single leaf on the trees. It’s all bending toward you, as you continue to expand. 

And you keep your eyes squeezed shut. You’re the dirt and the flowers and the stars, you’re flying up and you’re all the invisible stars in the Sky, and it’s watching you, closer than usual. So fucking closely.

Then you bite your lower lip until you drawn blood, grab everything by the fucking neck, and focus. 

You’re not sure what you’re throttling. Only that you’ve found it, deep, deep, deep under the Earth, and you’re choking it.

Lock. You hiss at it, and it balks. Close and lock.

There’s a boom through a little more than the world and the Sky is flaring in warning. 

It’s angry. 

That means you’re fucking doing it. 

Lock.

This time there’s a rattling sound like bones and insects.

Fucking lock.

Something hisses and crashes, and Dean roars your name. Sam’s shouting too, and so is Jo, but you can’t really hear any of it. 

You’re in the blur.

You’re fucking everything, and you and feel the wind ripping and biting at your skin, but it doesn’t hurt because you’re not you. You’re all Silver, and you’re everything, and the hissing is growing. Like something is fusing together. And you’re so big, you’re fucking everything, and you’re close. You’re so fucking close. You can fucking do it- 

Then you feel it.

 The Silver building too high, and the hissing starts to ring in your ears. It’s blaring and going fucking wild, ripping through the world to try and get back to you, because something is wrong.

You’re everything, but you’re not the Gold. And He’s roaring for you and running with Silver, but there’s no need to grab it and command it like to rest of the universe. Because you could grab the blue and the infected purple, and command them. Will them. But you could never touch the Gold like that, because it’s not something to be played with or harmed. The bit of Silver in it is pure. 

And He’s calling for you, so you have to answer.

Something is wrong.

Your eyes shoot open, still in the blur, and you’re crashing back down into the Gold.

But every falls apart so fucking fast, and you’re not fast enough to piece it all together until it’s done. 

The roof of the church is gone. Half rubble around you, and opened up for the Sky to see. Sam’s knocked out on the floor, and there’s an angel. Not Castiel, because even in another vessel, he’d still be running with electric blue. This angel is filled with yellow.

Not yellow like Dean’s gold. 

Yellow like poison. 

She’s got a long blade aimed at Jo’s throat. And you’d rip her apart with your bare hands.

But Dean. 

Dean’s surround by Hell’s Assassin’s. Three of them. Two holding him on his knees, the third aiming a shotgun at his skull.

The Spiderweb is going haywire. The Silver is scratching at your ribs and skin to be let out, but you’re keeping it pinned down your knife on your forearm. It’s too uncontrollable. If you let it get too far from you, it might not just be the angel and the demons who die.

So you’re frozen. 

And Dean’s in danger.

“What-“ You clear your throat, because you sound a little like a scared fucking child. You are a scared fucking child. But you can’t let it show. “What do you want.”

“I don’t know about the girl scout.” The demon with the gun hisses, jerking it’s head at the angel. “But we’ve been sent by Lilith to warn you to stop. She says that you’re meddling in things you don’t understand, and that if you don’t back up, we’ll kill your little human toy for real this time. Lilith don’t need him no more. And this time.” It’s lips curl into a horrible smirk. “There won’t be no coming back, so-“

“I’ll stop.” You say it quick, and it’s the easiest trade in the world. You’re not losing Dean twice. “Please, I’ll stop, just-“

Dean groans your name, and there’s a little blood trickling from his temple. You hadn’t stopped it. You’d been to fucking big, and you’d let him get hurt. “Finish it- Don’t- I’m not worth it-“

“Shut up.” You snap, and Dean just shakes his head, coughing a little bit of blood. 

He’s staring at you. Blinking once, over and over and over. Not safe. 

You know it’s not safe. That’s why you’re going to stop.

“Is that it?” You ask, looking to the angel. “If I crawl back to my hole and stop interfering, will you leave?”

“I don’t care about the interfering.” The angel says, and she almost sounds sad. “You can’t be trusted, and if you don’t come with me, I’ll kill her.” The angel gives Jo an apologetic expression. “Sorry.”

Jo just glowers at her, and you swallow.

“If I come with you-“

“No!” Dean’s roar echoes around the ruins, and the even the demons flinch slightly. “You’re not going fucking anywhere. Anna, you’re being insane-“

“I am being rational. Seeing clearly.” The angel—Anna, the one they’d told you about—sighs. “Ruby’s right. She’s been warning you, but you wouldn’t listen. And she may be a demon, but she,” Anna nods to you. “Is far worse. I know she’s a Magdalene. Castiel is not as good at snooping as he thinks. And she’s warped your mind.”

You shake your head frantically, the Silver still pounding. “I- I’ve never- No-“

“Men of God are drawn to Magdalene’s.” Anna mutters. “You are the Magdalene. You’re unstable, and too dangerous. You’ve blinded them-“

“I’m not fucking blind!” Dean shouts. “I don’t give a goddamn fuck about all of heaven’s drama and politics. Ruby’s the unstable bitch, Anna, you’re being insane-“

“Dean, please be quiet.” Anna presses the blade further into Jo’s throat, you’re fucking dizzy, and there’s a soreness deeper than your muscles. “I’m trying to help. We can do this peacefully. She’ll go, and the demons will release you. Or we can finish the seal ritual, then go. But she can’t be allowed to live. Her name is written in languages humans can’t even read. I’ve seen it in the parts of Heaven Castiel has never been allowed. She’s their tool-“

“I’m not.” You mumble, and it’s somehow enough to make Anna listen. “I’m not their tool. And I- Dean, I’ve never warped you-“

“I know, Princess-“

“But I’ll go with you.” You keep your eyes on Anna. On the blade, poking into Jo’s throat. “Let Jo go, and I won’t even fight.”

Jo’s eyes widen, and Dean’s shouting your name, but you can’t look at him. You have to keep looking at Anna, or you’ll see the gun pressed against his skull and the world will split in half. And the Sky is watching, and it’s always hated you looking at Dean. You can’t afford making it angrier. Not right now.

Anna’s trying to protect Dean. You can understand that, more than anything. You’re going to do more than just kill Ruby, but you won’t blame Anna for trying to protect Dean. And maybe you have warped him. She’s not wrong that you shouldn’t be allowed to live. That you’re unstable and dangerous. 

Maybe she’ll be strong enough to do what John Winchester couldn’t. 

“I’ll let you take me.” You whisper. “Just let Jo go.”

Jo’s trying to shake her head, but it doesn’t work with a blade pressing against her skin. And Dean will be fine. He’ll have Sam and Jo, and they’ll explain to Bobby, and everyone will be fine. If anything, you’ll be saving everyone a whole lot of trouble, by going with Anna. Sam won’t have to worry about you killing Ruby. Jo can use this as her reason to get out. Dean and Bobby will have a harder time, but Bobby will never have to deal with your insanity again, and Dean can find that sweet, easy girl he deserves, without you in the way.

And the Sky is watching. If it wanted you to live, it would do something, but it’s only watching.

So you’ll-

“Anna.” A horrible cold voice is coming from right behind you. “You’ve done so well. Much better than we expected. Almost enough to be forgiven for your… Transgressions.”

Dean’s lips curl into a sneer. “What the fuck are you doing here, you bald douchebag-“

“I believe you were told to be quiet, Dean Winchester.”

And Dean’s voice just… dies. Goes silent. 

You move before you think. Whirling around, your knife raised, and aimed for the neck of a balding man that vanishes with a ruffling sound, then reappears a little off to the side.

“Oh! You’ve got a bite!” The man laughs to himself, soothing his suit, and there’s a clattering sound as Dean starts to struggle against the demons.

“Do I just, uh, shoot him-“

“Don’t be insane, Fiona.” The bald man gives the demon a flat look. “If you kill Dean Winchester, we kill you and bring him back.”

Another demon scoffs. “You ain’t ever been strong enough to kill us, Zachariah-“

“But she could.” The bald man—Zachariah—nods to you, and the room goes quiet. “Anna is quite correct. Which is a little more impressive than usual, as she is so often wrong. The best thing to do would be put the beast down, but I’m afraid that might cause quite some problems with my bosses, so for now, just a muzzle will do. Kill the girl.”

Dean’s mouth his still opening and closing, but no sound is coming out. You feel like a haze. Like this is just a horrible waking nightmare, and soon the Sky will crash over you in a fury, and you’ll wake up.

You need to wake up.

But you don’t.

And the Sky just watches.

“The girl?” Anna whispers, glancing down to Jo in her arms. “No I- That would be wrong Zachariah, even for you. I don’t think it’s even her time-“

“Yeah, but it would’ve been.” Zachariah shrugs. “What’s a year, really? And this’ll be faster, and- Look! I’m thinking outside the box! Blondie still goes, and she’s barely consequential. The whore heads back to her place, the bosses are happy, and you get off scot-free! You don’t even have to come home, but we can reset you. Give you that vile little human life you always wanted, two point oh.”

Anna’s still not moving. You need to do something, but if you do it wrong, you’ll just kill Jo yourself, and take Dean with her. And you can’t hurt them, you were supposed to stop hurting them, but it feels like something is keeping the Silver coiled, and when it explodes, too much might go with it.

Zachariah sigh. “C’mon. Be honest with me, Anna. I know you hated being one of us, but she,” he points to you. “Is not an angel, or a human. And aren’t you mad at her for taking what might have been yours? For ruining everything, and making Dean Winchester barely give you more than a second glance? She will be damnation. She’s reckless and emotional. I mean, even more than you.”

You need to move. To do something, other than standing here and being sick, but it’s all moving in the stupid fucking blur.

Anna looks at you. Then Jo. Then Dean, and all the spineless fucking demons, who aren’t even trying to do anything. They might see this as a win. You’re dealt with. You’re put down. That’s all they needed to do. 

Then Anna looks to Zachariah, like a nervous fucking child, and he nods. 

“You’d be free.” He says, and Anna’s throat bobs. “And you could come home. We’d listen to you, this time. About the humans.” He holds his hand up. “Promise. You just need to give us something, and it’ll be like you never left.”

The world falls apart all at once. 

Anna’s blade tilts down, drives into Jo’s stomach, and you lose control.

Zachariah’s gone. The Silver tears through the world for him, but he was fast, and may have known what was coming. Must have known. He killed two birds with one stone.

You. 

And Anna. 

Because when the Silver can’t wrap around Zachariah, it wipes out the Assassins in one wipe, atomic blow, and moves into Anna. Into every single arm and eye and wing, and grabs them. Shreds them. Rips them apart, all of Anna’s grace moving out and out and out into the world and evaporating into nothing, bigger parts falling onto the floor and being ground into the same, and then she’s gone. 

Her vessel’s body is dead on the floor, and there are no wings splayed behind it.  

Dean’s skull and soul are still intact. 

But Jo-

You sprint over the rubble, not caring as pipes and brick scrape at your skin. Your knee’s burn as you skid onto the ground at Jo’s side. 

“Shit-“ She’s coughing blood as you pull her off the ground, into your lap. “’S bad, ain’t it-“

“I can fix it.” You mutter, and it’s mostly to yourself. You can fix it. It’s just a wound, and the Silver can fix it.

“Can you tell my mom I’m sorry, and-“

“I need to focus, Jo.” You swallow, laying your hand on her stomach. Already hot and sticky. 

Your fingers already stained in red.

But you can fix this.

The Silver leaks out. Carefully at first, just enough to start the flow and mend. You just have to stop the bleeding. If you can stop the bleeding, you can get her to a hospital, and she’ll be fine.

She’ll be fine.

Every time the Silver patches over something, it rips back open, but Jo will be fine.

She has to be fine.

Jo mutters your name, and you shake your head, biting down on your inner cheek. “It’s okay-“

“No.” You mutter, and the Silver runs itself deeper into Jo’ body. Fuck stopping the bleeding, it’ll just weave into her and offer her a little while longer, and- “I need- The car, we need to start the car-“

Dean says your name, his hand carefully on your shoulder, and you don’t really care when he got there. “I don’t think-“

“Start the fucking car.”

It’s almost a screech, but Dean doesn’t flinch. He just offers a hand in your periphery to Jo, who meets it with shaking fingers. 

“Don’t be dumb.” Jo whispers, and you can’t tell if you’re choking on your own blood or the air. She’ll be fine. There’s no need for this, because you’re going to make her hold on, and she’ll be fine-

The Sky flashes above you, and the Silver is almost rocketed out Jo’s body. Her whole body shakes with the cough.

Dean squeezes Jo’s hand, kisses to the top of your head before walking away.

You’d screamed at him. You hadn’t meant to scream at him. And you want him to come back. You can’t do this without him. 

And you’ll get through this. You always do. 

But every time you find a new way to keep Jo, the Sky rips it away. 

She’s too pale. The pastel blue in her body is faded. Washed out. Like a river draining, leaving only a mud bank. 

She says your name, and you shake your head again. 

“Can ya look at me instead of tryin’ to fix it-“

“I am fixing it. It just keeps- Fuck-“ Your fingers curl against her, and this re-tear is bigger than it had been before. “No-“

“Please stop.” Jo mumbles, her voice wavering. “You heard ‘em, I’m gonna die anyway-“

“Don’t say that word-“

“But I’m gonna. It’s alright. Least you already avenged me. No hauntin’ for me. Maybe I can have a grave.”

“Jo.” You whisper, and the Silver retreats one last time. 

The Sky won’t let you fix her. 

And you don’t know what to do.

“Is it gonna hurt?” Jo’s voice is too soft, and you shake your head, fighting the lump in your throat to speak. You won’t let her go alone.

“For you?” You ask softly, and Jo nods. “No. I don’t think so. I- I think it might feel a little weird at first, but then it- It won’t matter.” 

“What about for you?” Jo blinks up at you. There’s almost no blue left. “Is it gonna hurt for you?”

“For me…” You don’t want to tell her. She doesn’t need to hear the truth.

But you’ve never been good at keeping things from Jo.

“For me it’s going to hurt a lot.” You can taste the salt as you speak, but you push on. For Jo. “For a really, really long time. But I’ll be ok.” 

“Promise?” She mumbles, and you swallow.

“Promise what?” 

“Promise you’ll be ok?”

“I-“

“Please.”

You’re not sure.

But Jo deserves something.

So you nod.

But the blue is already gone when you find your voice. “Promise.”

You sit with her. Until Dean comes back to take you from the desolated church, you sit with Jo. And think you whisper to him that she wanted to be buried, and not burned. And he might have told you that Sam’s up, and he’ll make sure it’s taken care of. 

You’re not sure though. 

It’s hard to think past the little remnants of blue, still on the tips of your fingers. Clinging to you, because the rest of them is gone. And you press your fingers into Dean’s neck as he carries you to the Impala. Hard enough for a little to stick to him as well. 

You might be crying. You’re not sure of that, either. The world is horribly blurry, and you can’t speak because it’s too much.

You feel like the little girl again. The one who hadn’t wanted anyone else to get hurt, and never knew what to do, so she never spoke. The only difference is now, Dean’s wrapped around you. The car stopped at some point, and Dean’s covered you in him. It numbs everything. Makes you breathe a little easier. And his thumb is running down your nose as he murmurs in your ear, and the world is still awful, but at least you can breathe. At least Dean is here.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, Princess. That- I’m sorry.”

Your body shakes with something, and it’s probably a sob. 

He’s sorry. You did this, but Dean’s sorry. You should’ve gone with Anna, and Jo should still be okay, but Dean’s sorry.

You curl into him. He’s the only thing you don’t think you can hurt, so you sink your fingers into Dean’s back and hold on. And he stays. You’re certainly sobbing and shaking, and you’d screamed at him, and it should be your body on the ground, but Dean stays. 

It’s twice now. That it should’ve been your body. That you should’ve done better, but you lost. Failed. That all that stupid fucking power you don’t even want failed.

And this is different than Dean’s death.

Dean came back. Cas saved him.

Jo was killed by an angel. 

She’s gone.

And you did this. You should’ve told her no, I’m not doing to seal thing. We’re already pushing our luck. You should’ve been in more control, and killed Anna the moment she showed up. You shouldn’t have drowned in the power, and been faster when everything went to shit.

You don’t think you can hurt Dean. The Silver’s always moves around him.

But you killed Jo. You were weak and emotional and sick, and you killed Jo. Everything that’s gone wrong has been you. The lich. The boto. The angels have been angrier because of you, and Hell’s Assassins had a gun to Dean’s head because of you.

And you can’t hurt Dean. And he’d never hurt you. 

But a gun had still been pressed to his head, in your name.

And you know what you have to do.

“Dean?”

He grunts, and the sun might have set then broken back into the sky. It doesn’t really matter either way.

“I need to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, and you know he doesn’t understand. “Sammy’s getting her home, Princess, so we’ll meet him there-“

“No.” You whisper, leaning back to meet his gaze. “I need to go.”

You can see the moment it hits him. And his features harden, and his jaw clenches as his grip on your body tightens. Like he can keep you there with force. “No.”

You give him a sad smile. “You can’t stop me, De-“

“Wrong.” He snaps. “I can stop you. I- I’ll fucking call Bobby, and I’ll siphon all your gas, and I- I’ll sit on you-“

“You’ll sit on me?”

“You’re goddamn right I’ll sit on you!” He’s shouting now, and you don’t flinch. He’s not mad at you, and you can’t really stand to be angry right now. “You’re not allowed to just leave, you-“

“You owe me a favor.” 

Dean’s eyes flash. “That was fucking years ago-“

“Less than two.” You shrug. “I need to go, Dean. I- I can’t stay here. I can’t. I’ll hurt someone-“

“No, you-“ He shakes his head, and you hope his hold leaves a bruise. “You fucking promised you’d stop running. You promised.”

You did.

But you also promised Jo you’d be okay.

And if you stay somewhere that you’re the problem—the sickness, the monster, the damnation—and Sam or Bobby or Dean get hurt because of it, nothing will ever be okay again.

“I’m not running.” You curl your fingers at the top of his shirt, keeping your words gentle. “I can’t be here, but I told you. You can’t lose me. You’ll know where I am, and we’ll call, and I’ll come back.” You scan over his openly pained features, and try not to feel it too deep in your own body. “You and me, Dean. All the way down. I’ll come back.”

You’ve never seen Dean cry before. It’s nothing different than his usual sadness. Just a little bit more. Tears rolling down his cheeks that catch the light then fall between your bodies. And he knows you’re not moving on this. Dean knows you, and if it comes down to it, he won’t really try to stop you.

“You gotta come back.” He mutters, his voice barely a rasp. “If we’re using old shit, you owe me a dance, Princess.”

“Okay.” You whisper, and it’s hard to smile. You’re so fucking tired, and you’re not going to sleep in Dean’s bed for a while, so it will only get worse.

But you have to smile.

Otherwise you’ll be selfish, and breakdown again in Dean’s arms. And he might not be fighting you, but once again, if you let him hold you and care for you, you don’t think he’ll ever let go.

Dean holds his pinky up with raised brows. He doesn’t need to say what it’s for. 

You’ll come back.

So you hook your pinky through his, and when he uses it to pull you down into another kiss, you let yourself have it. 

Long and slow. He’s not trying to rush it, or take more. You think Dean knows that the moment this is done, you’ll be gone. So every bit of this kiss is about time. His hands roam your body slowly, and his lips mold and nip and press into yours, and you let him have whatever he wants. Soft sighs and moans, knuckles brushing back under your shirt, a hand tangled in your hair to pull your hair back. He kisses over your neck and collarbone, and you only let out a soft hum of his name.

It’s more of him that you’ll get to have. More Gold on your skin, some of it covering over the blue. Preserving it.

And you don’t tell Dean you love him, when he pulls away. Or when you both refuse to say goodbye, and Dean just ghosts a softer kiss over your lips before you climb off of him, and stand in parking lot alone. 

But you still broke a rule. You’re too tired to keep your love off your face. And if Cas sees it, when he takes your prayer and lands at your side, he doesn’t say anything. 

“You wish to go.” He mutters before you even open your mouth, and you sigh.

“I need you to fly me away. Far.”

“Will you be returning?”

You nod, and you can’t look over your shoulder. Dean’s still in the car, and if you look at him, you’ll run back to him. 

“And this is really what you-” 

“Yes.”

Cas sighs, and nods. “Alright. It will be… uncomfortable.”

“I can handle it.” You mutter, and you can’t look back. “Cas?”

He tilts his head at you, his hand already resting on your shoulder, and you sigh.

“Please be careful. And make sure Dean…”

You trail off, but Cas understands. “Dean will be in one piece, when you return. I swear it on my grace.”

“Thank you.” you mumble. “I’m ready.”

It’s right before you’re gone, that you look back.

You never could help it.

And Dean’s watching you, and you want to run back to him, but it’s too late. The world turns into a rush of color and cold, and you’re gone.

You’ll come back. 

You promised.

End Note: Fridging Jo for a *woman*, now that’s what I call progress (i’m joking because if I don’t I’ll start crying again)

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

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[noxsspace]

Don’t Be a Stranger

summary: Joel meets someone at a coffee shop he’d never been to—and he decides that it’s his favorite place to be.

tags: slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, coffee shop meeting, Joel loves coffee, soft Joel, parent Joel (Sarah is alive!!) Ellie and Sarah are friends, Joel is bad at feelings, no outbreak

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65384158/chapters/168253165

a/n: i know i have to continue my other series’s, but this was calling me (i need happy soft Joel)

———

“You got your stuff?” Joel asked Sarah, who was devouring her breakfast. Plate of eggs and bacon, shoveling it into her mouth with urgency. She was cutting it close, school would start soon and she wasn’t even out the door. She blamed Joel for sleeping in, but she got herself and made the both of them breakfast before he even walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Mmph,�� she nodded, finishing the last bit of food on her plate. Joel kept his plate in his hand while he walked, eating almost as fast as his daughter.

She rushed to put her plate in the sink and grabbed her backpack, urging Joel to hurry. He did the same, gathering his wallet and phone when she pointed at his shirt.

”Inside out,” she said, then crossing her arms. He sighed and fixed it while she threw the backpack around her shoulders, stepping over to the front door waiting not-so patiently.

Joel and her were out the door in seconds, him loading up his truck with his box and a spare jacket. With a sigh, he pulled his door open, the creak making him wince, and he started up the engine, quickly taking off down the street. He’d drop her off at school, then would have to hurry to the site where his coworkers would be waiting. He cursed himself for oversleeping, ignoring the blare of his alarm that seemed to taunt him.

“Gonna have to turn the volume up on the alarm, Dad,” Sarah commented side eyeing him. “Gettin’ old.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, not that old,” he murmured. His hand was on the wheel with his other arm occupying the edge of the window, rolled down to let a nice warm breeze in.

“I even knocked on your door, you didn’t wake up,” Sarah sighed. She rested her chin in her hand while staring out the open window, admiring the way the sun hit the windows of the houses, the trees rustling in the wind. It was a nice day, only to be wasted going to school.

“Late night,” Joel replied.

“I know, you didn’t come home at the usual time,” she remarked. “Woke up hearing you walk in the door, thought it was an intruder.”

Joel side-eyed her comment, knowing what was coming next.

“But then I saw it was you, and figured you were too old to be breakin’ in,” Sarah finished with a smugness Joel remembers seeing in himself, her eyebrows raised to put emphasis on her sass. Joel had been the same way with Tommy, always pointing accusations his way with a quick wit he didn’t have much anymore. Not due to age, though.

Joel rolled his eyes. This was something that would stick with her the rest of her life—something he’d just have to endure. It was warming, but damn, her words were sharp and she knew how to use them. He wondered if some of the kids at school were just as snarky as she could be.

Soon enough they pulled into the school parking lot where Joel then ushered her out of the truck, a quick ‘love you’ before the door shut and the tires squealed as he drove off.

He checked his watch instinctively, but then remembered, it was frozen in time. He sighed and pulled out his phone, seeing the time in the corner of the screen.

Shockingly, he had about ten minutes to spare, and figured he might as well get coffee that he missed earlier. Even if he ended up being a few minutes late, it wasn’t the end of the world. Not like anyone else liked to do any work anyways. Besides, he hadn’t had time to make his usual coffee, but it was mostly because he forgot. He was too busy rushing Sarah to school. He never gets coffee anywhere else, but his morning was already off to an amazing start, he figured, might as well just try. He was too damn tired to even care at this point.

As if he conjured it, he noticed a small shop just up the road, their sign hanging off the side of the building with the highlighted words Caffeinated, a coffee cup lit up right under. He stopped at the shop, seeing that it guaranteed a straight shot to the site, which eased his anxiety. He parked his truck in a free spot, eyeing the number of cars that lined the lot. Busy, but should make it in time. It was only a coffee.

He walked through the door and was met with a couple people in line, and sighed. The bustling workers by the register and displays and loud conversations rang in his ears, and he immediately had a sense to turn back—but someone caught his eye, noticeable as the brightest smile in the room, at least, from what he saw. The woman seemed happy despite the rush of people, catering to each and every persons needs, something he rarely saw nowadays.

He shook his head. He needed to get coffee and leave.

The line grew smaller in front of him, and suddenly, the people were gone, and it was his turn. The drink he was parched for was no longer in his mind.

She greeted him, asked what he was in for today, the curiosity in her eyes shimmering when he didn’t respond.

His mind was swarmed, he couldn’t think of what to say, how to say it, what words even were—

“Sir?”

He blinked, feeling his face flush, immediately finding the scramble of words that were so hard to put together. Even then, he couldn’t form a normal sentence. Sarah would laugh in his face if she knew.

“Coffee. Black.” He said, regretting his tone of voice. She didn’t seem to care, but she gave him a look that send his heart pounding. Her eyes never left his while she took his payment, the feeling lost when she walked across the shop to get the coffee going.

He patiently waited at the end of the counter, taking in a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. There was no reason to feel like this.

Within minutes, she returned and held the drink out for him. His fingers barely touched hers while he felt himself smile, causing her to do the same.

“Enjoy your day,” she said, and while she paused for a second, he found the opportunity to say; “Yes ma’am,” hoping she’d see it in his eyes he was capable of manners, of kindness.

It made her laugh, her voice was lilted. Despite the loudness of surrounding conversations, he was able to focus on just her. For a split second he could’ve sworn he saw red on her cheeks, but she turned and waved him off, getting back to the register.

He left the coffee shop and planted his forehead in his palm.

Well, that was stupid.

He took a sip of the piping hot drink, letting out a sigh when his worries were relieved. It was damn good coffee. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his withdrawal, or because of the kindness she seemed to put into it, but his head was fuzzy with the smell of coffee and lightness of her touch it made him want to burn his tongue on the hot liquid.

———

“How was your day, baby girl?” Sarah closed the car door with an exasperated sigh.

“Boring, and everyone in my group is stupid,” she murmured, slouching in the passenger seat. He huffed and smirked, hand on the wheel while he backed out of the parking spot.

“Yeah, well,” he started, recalling his own workday. “People can be stupid, but that’s why you gotta help ‘em out sometimes.”

Sarah hummed in confusion, waiting a beat before responding;

“Isn’t that the teachers job?” Sarah questioned, frowning at him.

His brows knit while he thought about it.

“…Yeah.”

She smirked and rolled her eyes, and suddenly gasped, pulling something from her bag.

“Oh, I made this for you!” she exclaimed, retrieving a mug with a heart carved into the martial, a poorly scribbled ‘best dad’ on the side.

“It’s not perfect, but you could use one. Yknow, to wake your ass up in the morning.” Her smile was wide, proud of her work and retort. She made the coffee mug during an art class, and the clear coat was finally dry to be able to take home and set on his shelf of other mugs.

His heart welled with pride when he glanced over at her work, clearing his throat when his eyes returned to the road in front of him.

“That’s amazing,” he said, “Can tell you worked hard on it.” And she could tell he was happy, making her satisfied in return.

“Although, he began, tilting his head in her direction, as if contemplating her remark. “Not the mug that was the issue,” he said.

“Oh, come on,” Sarah rolled her eyes, putting the gift back in her bag. “Just enjoy the new cup to be added to your collection.”

He laughed a little, turning into their driveway.

“Trust me, I do,” he mumbled. “Always have, always will.”

Sarah got out of the car with a sigh and held her backpack by the handle, waiting for Joel to grab his stuff. He looked down and noticed he kept the coffee cup she gave him, a small bit of residue at the bottom noticeable after taking the cap off. He bit his bottom lip, and took the cup in with him. Best not to leave trash in his truck anyways.

He sighed and grabbed his box of tools, listening to Sarah greet their neighbors.

The steps on his porch where wood was covering cement showed cracks, and he decided to put that on his mental to-do list.

“Go on, kiddo,” Joel told her after opening the door. She mumbled something about how stupid homework was and how it had nothing to do with her assignment, but Joel ignored her. He set the box down and made his way to the kitchen, searching for a glass for some water.

He found himself alone in the dimly lit room with the sun beginning to set through the dirty window. Another thing on his list, he supposes.

Really, anything to keep his mind of her.

He never felt so drawn to a person before. He kept replaying the moment in his head, the color of her eyes when the light hit them just right, the way she looked up at him and felt her skin in the brief moment he retrieved the cup—he felt so stupid.

No way in hell would he normally be so caught up in feelings like this, it hadn’t happened in a long while and he didn’t expect it to ever happen again. Tommy tried to set him up with a woman before, told him he needed someone to love, someone to love him, especially after Sarah’s mother. He told Tommy to butt out of his life, to focus on his own women, his own relationship. Tommy had laughed and smacked his brother’s shoulder, saying he’d find love at some point in life, just a matter of when. Joel had rolled his eyes and kept any mention or thought of love buried deep down, determined to make sure it never surfaces.

He decided he just needed to keep busy, maybe he wasn’t working enough, he wasn’t keeping his mind active.

Maybe he was just bored.

He sighed and set the glass on the counter, and stepped into the living room to sit on the couch. He ordered a pizza for him and Sarah, in which came about thirty minutes later. He tipped the driver and took the boxes into the living room, setting them on the coffee table. Sarah came, grabbing a slice while telling him they had to watch a new episode of her favorite show, and so they did. She eventually fell asleep and he carried her to her room, settling her in her bed before walking back down the steps to sit back on the couch.

He certainly felt exhausted, but the crave that plucked at his heart made him want to run, to see her, to just get her name. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well keeping thinking, and he couldn’t help but think about her.

He figured, if he sees her one more time, he could put an end to the nagging persistence.

———

The morning comes and he’s startled by Sarah banging on his door, and he realizes that yet again, he’s slept through his alarm. He swore, pulling the sheets off and grasping for his shirt, slipping it over his head while he made his way through the second story hallway to the stairs.

Downstairs, Sarah was still in pajamas, and his breakfast was on the table along with hers, a couple glasses of orange juice to accompany it. He wasn’t sure if he was seeing right.

He adjusted his shirt and looked down at his watch, remembered the stopped hands, and instead glanced at the clock on the stove, rubbing his eyes to see that the time showed 6:23 AM.

God damn.

He looked back at Sarah, confusion flashing across his face.

She looked pleased with herself, putting the carton of juice back into the fridge and closing it, hands on her hips.

“Woke you before your alarm, figured now you can take your time.” She smiled at him and then walked over to sit at the table, gesturing to his seat across from hers.

He sat with a yawn, blinking several times to try to grasp his bearings. “Woke me almost forty minutes before we both usually get up,” he grumbled, though he wasn’t upset. She had taken the time yet again to cook, something he wasn’t the greatest at, but still, something that he usually did. Maybe it was because of his cooking that she decided to take on the role, but regardless, it was a nice gesture.

“You’re welcome,” Sarah said in a taunting voice, then took a sip of her drink.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smiled at her. He was grateful, and she could tell.

They ate, this time without time threatening them, and it was comfortable. That is, until Sarah pointed to the cup on his counter.

“When did you get coffee?” She asked, taking a bite into her eggs. He looked up to see the cardboard cup, on the counter for all to see, and he mentally kicked himself in the ass.

“Oh, uh, yesterday,” he said. She raised a brow.

“Before work?” She questioned. He gave her a look that said ‘why are you asking’ and ate his food.

“Just saying, never seen you get coffee there before, let alone go anywhere for coffee in general.”

He hummed in response, glancing at the small logo on the white cup. He usually makes coffee, he has a to-go mug he uses religiously, mostly because no one makes it exactly how he does, despite it being black coffee every single time. Never tastes right anywhere else, he had said countless times, to Sarah, to Tommy, but they all looked at him crazy. Coffee is coffee, they all said before. Sure, he’s drank hotel coffee, work coffee, really any time of coffee just to get him through the day, but he complained about the taste each time.

“Tryin’ new things,” he murmured. She smiled, though suspicious.

“Let’s go there,” she announced. “Before school, I want to try their coffee.”

Joel’s hand waved over the food she made, the drinks she had poured.

“We got ourselves a high quality breakfast here,” he remarked.

“I said coffee,” she said, tone all-knowing. “None of this is coffee.”

“I’ll make you some if you’re that desperate,” he replied.

“I want to try that coffee,” she pointed at the counter.

He rolled his eyes. She could tell something was up, there was a reason he was keeping her away, as to why he accidentally left the cup out.

It truly was an accident.

“Fine, get dressed.” He sighed and stood, grabbing both their now empty plates and setting them in the sink.

Sarah smiled a victorious grin, walking upstairs to get ready.

Joel shook his head and sighed. What if she isn’t there today? Or if she is, what if she isn’t the one that will serve them coffee? The one that doesn’t make it?

He didn’t want to go back.

“Let’s go!” Sarah said, her backpack on her shoulders. “Surely they’re open, right?” She asked.

He pondered the time, coming to the realization he didn’t catch their hours.

“Not sure, we’ll go find out.”

Sarah nodded and followed him out the door.

The drive there was pleasant, the sun was rising and the weather was just as nice as the day before, if not better.

“So, what’s her name,” Sarah’s words prodded his head, and he cursed himself for not getting her name.

Sarah laughed. “You didn’t even read her name tag?”

He huffed. “Not sure she was even wearing one,” he grumbled.

Sarah snorted and went back to looking out the window, leaving Joel to realize all of his stupid mistakes.

Hadn’t gotten her name, the hours of the shop, hell, he didn’t even read the menu. What if the didn’t serve black coffee? No, that would be stupid to think. He was losing it.

He brought his hand up to wipe his thoughts away, moving his fingers through his hair.

When they arrived, the shop was noticeably more empty than expected, making him wonder if they were too early. He didn’t recognize the cars, but the again, he hadn’t paid attention to much.

To his surprise, the shop was open, had been for about an hour or so now, and Sarah eagerly walked in. There was no line, and Joel stayed right behind her while telling her to figure out what she wants.

He glanced up causally, taking this time to look around. The decor was obviously coffee related, dim lights that gave the place a cozy feel. He eyed the display that showcased breakfast sandwiches, deserts, and pastries. Sarah gasped and pointed at one of the small breakfast cakes.

“We have to try that one!” She said.

“We just had breakfast, yknow,” Joel reminded her.

“Oh, hello again.”

He looked up and was met with the kind smile he saw yesterday. It was almost startling, as he hadn’t heard her walk up to the counter. She greeted Sarah, who then nudged Joel.

“Dad,” she whispered.

“Hello,” Joel said, giving her a small smile. The woman laughed lightly.

“So good you had to come back, right?” She teased.

Wow, his heart couldn’t take that.

“Damn right,” he replied, diverting his attention to the display instead. The way she stared at him sent a warmth flushing through his face.

“Uh, we’ll take a couple of these,” he pointed at the desert Sarah wanted. “And one—“

“Two,” Sarah told him.

“Sorry—two black coffees.” He gave her a look, and she crossed her arms.

“Whole reason we came here, right?” Sarah taunted him quietly.

“Oh, shut it.” He couldn’t help it; he laughed.

The barista winked at him, telling him the order will be done soon. He wasn’t exactly nervous, but he felt a sort of comfort that radiated from the woman’s presence. He wanted to talk to her, to get to know her. He wanted to ask her what her favorite type of coffee was.

They waited at the end of the counter, where they were greeted with their cakes and coffees.

“Never got your name,” the woman said. “I usually know all my regulars.” She used the word on purpose, it seems, saying he was bound to show up again—and she wasn’t wrong.

He felt his hand scratch the back of his head instinctively.

“Ah, sorry, Joel,” he said. His eyes were locked with hers. Her dark hair was pulled back with a clip, a few single strands covering the side of her face.

“This is my daughter, Sarah.”

The barista said something to her, but Sarah made a disgusted noise after trying her coffee.

She then looked back up at him, and gave him her name.

l“See you again soon, Joel,” She said, and it wasn’t a ‘I hope to’, but a definitive, ‘see you again,’ and his heart fluttered.

[motherofpirates]

“Dustin called he wants to have a movie night round my place. So, here I am looking for movies, because I am now apparently one his father figures.” Eddie gave a put-upon sigh that Steve recognised.

“Sucks to be you man.” Steve commiserated. “Did you walk here? You didn’t pull any stitches, did you? That must have taken you forever.”

“No, sweetheart, I did not pull any stitches. I took my time and waited for my meds to kick in before I left. I can’t get anywhere any other way, not got the all clear to drive until next week. Besides my van is still on your drive, Harrington, I hope you’re taking good care of her.”

“The best, man, she’s chilling on a big ole drive in the shade up in Loch Nora. I can take you to see her after work so you can check up on her if you like.”

Robin punched him on the arm, “Aren’t you supposed to be taking me home, dingus?”

The store’s phone began to ring, as Robin was closest to it, she picked up.

“Hello, Family Video, Robin speaking how may I help?” She made a face and shoved the phone into Steve’s hand. “It’s one of your children.”

“Yello?”

“Steve? Thank god, I need a ride to Eddie’s-“ Dustin started.

“We all need a ride to Eddie’s!” Lucas interrupted.

“I can’t believe you made Eddie walk here when he just got out of hospital last week, do you have any idea how inconsiderate that is?”

“He didn’t get hurt, did he?” Asked Dustin.

“Well, no… But that’s not the point.” Blustered Steve.

“Everything is fine then. No need to worry, wind in the need to mother-hen, Steve, he’s a big boy.” Steve rested his head on the counter and groaned. Eddie and Robin rubbed his back in commiseration.

“Exactly how many of you need a ride to Eddie’s?” There was some muttering as someone executed a head count.

“…Six…” Said Lucas.

“Can’t Nance take you in her Station Wagon?”

“She’s out somewhere with Jonathon and Argyle.” Shouted Mike.

It was Steve’s turn to give a put-upon sigh, to which Eddie and Robin laughed. Eddie began to look for movies that he thought the younger members of the Party would like. “I can’t wait for one of you little shits to learn to drive because you will be chauffeuring my ass around Hawkins.”

“You know, you love it, dumbass.” Max informed him.

“You’re not all gonna fit in my car, some of you are going to have to bike there.”

This statement caused uproar at the other end of the phone; Steve pulled the handset away from his ear as a squabble ensued.

“They have zero fucking chill.” He complained to Robin and Eddie. “I’m going to go prematurely grey.”

“We could take my van,” Suggested Eddie.

“I’ll drive.”

Eddie harrumphed.

“Hey, dingus, I still need to get home.” Robin reminded him.

“Why are you so desperate to get home, Birdie, you got a hot date?” Eddie asked from the horror section he had drifted over to; Robin threw an empty video case at his head.

“Rude.” He retorted as it narrowly missed him, he didn’t look up from his browsing.

“For your information I need to tell my parents I got into college.”

Steve was trying to get the kids over the phone to listen because they were still arguing.

“Can you guys shut up and listen for once in your lives!” He yelled trying to get them to notice him. “We’re coming to get you in Eddie’s van, you can all chill the fuck out!”

“Language, Steve, there’s children present.” Replied Dustin sarcastically, followed by laughter from the younger members of the Party in the background.

“Carry on and you’ll be the only one walking there, Henderson.” Steve threatened.

“As if you’d do that to me.”

“Want to try me, it might help with your attitude. Now where do I need to get you from?”

“Mike’s please.”

“That’s better, we’ll see you in-.” Dustin had got what he wanted and had put the phone down.

Steve groaned in frustration. “I’ll drop you off before we go to my house to get the van, Rob.”

“Make sure to make them wait, they deserve it for being obnoxious little shits anyway.” Eddie said as he brought his video choices up to the counter. “You dropped this.” He handed the empty case back to Robin.

“They get their obnoxiousness off you, you know.” She accused Eddie pointing the video case at him for emphasis as she rang up his videos.

“What can I say it’s a talent.” He shrugged.

____________________________________

If you enjoyed this snippet please head on over to AO3, my fic is entitled I Want You to Want Me.

[samplerbot]

Update notes: another batch of pattern PDFs is up! Regular versions + Pattern Keeper ones.

I also fixed a math error in the DMC color-calculating function.

Actually, math moment incoming:

The bot gets its colors from the PyPalettes library, which is designed primarily for people who want to make good-looking scatterplots and bar graphs. It has a couple thousand color palettes in it, and the bot takes one at random and uses its colors when it makes a sampler.

To convert those colors into DMC ones, it takes each sampler color's RGB colors (like '0, 0, 0' for black, or '255, 255, 255' for white) and treats each as essentially a 3D coordinate-- like with 'x, y, z' coordinates. Then it checks to find which of the existing DMC threads has color coordinates that are closest to it in that 3D space using the distance formula:

√((x₂-x₁)² + (y₂-y₁)² + (z₂-z₁)²)

(if you've made it to high school math, you should recognize this! it's the same as the regular 2D distance formula, but with three variables).

(also the bot doesn't actually bother with the square root, since it doesn't care what the distance is, just which possible distance is smallest).

Anyway I messed it up the first time, and had it cube the binomials instead of square them, which led to some kinda wack negative stuff happening. The effect on the samplers wasn't noticeable, except that some of the samplers had less-harmonious color palettes than they might have.

So-- the samplers might be a little prettier from here on out! Or possibly similarly-pretty, but the math that makes them is nicer, at least. :)

I have some big ideas for things I'd like to add next, but life keeps me busy~

And as always, feel free to @ the bot if you see any cool posts!

[anythinggoesbutme]

When You Can’t Stand

Grayson Hawthorne x Lyra Kane

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, illness (fever, fatigue, weakness), Grayson feeling helpless/vulnerable, nurturing care, soft touches, gentle intimacy, implied past trauma (briefly mentioned), crying, tenderness, and recovery themes. This is a slow, quiet fic focused on emotional closeness during a physically difficult moment.

Synopsis: When a relentless fever brings Grayson to his knees, it’s Lyra’s quiet strength that reminds him he doesn’t have to face his weakest days alone.

Word Counter: 1,469

The house was unusually quiet.

No clicking keys, no buzzing phones, no distant shuffle of Grayson pacing the upstairs hall while mentally running through stocks, meetings, or Hawthorne family drama. No gentle creak of Bee’s door opening as he checked on her for the fourth time. Nothing.

Just quiet.

Lyra paused in the kitchen, holding a mug of warm honey tea in her hands, her gaze drifting toward the stairs. Grayson hadn’t stirred in hours.

She’d known something was off the moment he walked through the door the night before—his usually perfect posture slouched, his eyes bloodshot and dull, his skin flushed with something that wasn’t the usual post-boardroom heat. He’d waved her off, of course, because that’s what Grayson Hawthorne did. He minimized. He endured. He pretended his body wasn’t betraying him.

But this morning, the bed beside her had been cold. Not empty—no, he was still there. Just cold. And burning up at the same time.

He hadn’t even had the strength to argue when she’d coaxed him back under the covers, her palm resting against his damp forehead, whispering soft things like, It’s okay. I’ve got you.

Now, Lyra stepped softly into the bedroom, the door creaking only slightly as she entered.

The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a silvery-blue haze. Grayson lay curled slightly on his side, sheets tangled around his waist, his gray shirt soaked through with sweat. His skin, usually golden, looked pale beneath the fever’s flush, and his lashes—long and dark—fluttered weakly with every shallow breath.

She crossed the room in silence, kneeling by the bed and setting the mug down on the nightstand.

“Gray,” she said softly, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. “Time for tea.”

He stirred, brow furrowing before his eyes barely opened, like even that was too much.

“I don’t…want anything.” His voice was hoarse, cracked at the edges, the words sluggish with exhaustion.

“You don’t have to want it,” she murmured, dipping a cloth into the bowl of cool water she’d set beside the bed earlier. “You just need a few sips.”

Grayson didn’t answer. His eyes slid shut again, and Lyra could see his jaw clench—out of discomfort, maybe, or frustration. Probably both. She dabbed the cool cloth along his temples and down his neck, trying to ease some of the heat radiating off him.

After a long pause, he whispered, “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I can’t think straight.”

“You don’t have to,” she said gently. “That’s my job right now.”

His lip twitched, and for a moment she thought it might be a smile—but no, it was something closer to defeat.

“You shouldn’t see me like this.”

The words cracked something deep in her.

“Gray,” she said, setting the cloth aside and leaning in closer. “You held my hair back through two days of food poisoning and a panic attack in the middle of a hotel lobby. You’ve seen me ugly-cry over old photos and scream into pillows. Don’t tell me I can’t see you sick.”

“It’s not—” He broke off with a wince, curling inward slightly. “It’s not just that. I feel…helpless.”

Lyra reached for the tea, careful to help him sit up just enough to take a few slow sips. He winced at the temperature, but drank it anyway.

“You’re allowed to feel helpless,” she said softly, holding the mug steady. “You’re still human.”

“But I’m not supposed to be. Not here. Not with you.”

That hurt. And not because it was cruel—because it was honest.

“You don’t have to be a version of yourself for me,” she said. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, or in control, or…anything other than you.”

Grayson’s hands were trembling. She hadn’t noticed until he tried to set the mug down himself and nearly dropped it.

Lyra caught it, quietly, placing it back on the table before easing him down again.

His eyes were watery now. Not from fever—but from something deeper. Some part of him that hated being seen like this, fragile and weak and human. Not the Hawthorne heir. Not the calculated strategist. Just Grayson.

And she loved him.

“Gray,” she whispered again, this time climbing into bed beside him. Carefully. Slowly. Curling around him the way he often did for her on harder nights.

He didn’t fight it. Just let his head fall onto her chest, his arms trembling until one found its way around her waist. The other curled against his chest like he was shielding something invisible.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“Because you’re exhausted. Because your body is overwhelmed. Because you’re finally letting yourself be held.”

He didn’t respond. Just pressed closer, breath stuttering once, then again, until she felt the dampness against her shirt.

Lyra didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to. She held him the way he’d held her a hundred times—without needing to fix it, without asking for more. Just there.

Just love.

She ran her fingers gently through his hair, slow and steady, until his breaths evened out again.

When she looked down, he was asleep against her chest, brow finally smooth. Vulnerable. At peace.

She kissed the top of his head.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “Even when you can’t stand.”

⸻

Grayson woke to the faint hum of rain against the windows and the soft, steady rise and fall of Lyra’s chest beneath his cheek.

For a moment, he didn’t remember falling asleep. His mind was foggy, caught in that space between sleep and wakefulness where time didn’t feel real. The blankets were pulled snug around them, and Lyra’s arm had remained looped loosely around his back, her fingertips idly stroking the fabric of his shirt.

She was still here.

He blinked slowly, trying to piece things together. His throat still ached, and his body was sore—like every muscle had run a marathon without him—but the burning heat that had wracked him before had dulled to something tolerable. His breathing was easier now, steadier. Still shallow, but not forced.

Most of all, he didn’t feel alone.

Lyra shifted beneath him, half-asleep, her voice thick with drowsiness. “You’re awake.”

“I think so,” he rasped, closing his eyes again just to feel the moment stretch a little longer. “Barely.”

She smiled against his temple. “You’ve been out for hours. Fever finally broke about an hour ago.”

“You stayed.”

“Of course I stayed.”

He exhaled slowly, eyes still shut, letting her warmth anchor him to the bed, to this moment, to her.

“I cried,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could decide whether he wanted to say them aloud.

“I know,” Lyra replied gently. “You needed to.”

“I hate that you saw it.”

“I’m glad I did.”

That made him flinch a little. Not because he didn’t believe her—but because part of him had spent years believing that love, once earned, was kept by performance. By perfection. By giving the best of himself and hiding the rest.

But Lyra… she never looked at him like he was less when he broke.

She looked at him like she was proud he let her in.

He pulled back just enough to see her face. Her hair was messy, her eyes tired—but she was beautiful. Not in a way that made sense on magazine covers or gala steps. Beautiful in the way she existed so fully. So fiercely. Especially when he couldn’t.

“Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse. “For… everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” he insisted. “Because you let me fall apart.”

She tilted her head, brushing his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead. “Grayson Hawthorne, you fall apart so beautifully.”

That startled a laugh out of him—croaky and small, but real.

Lyra leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and unhurried. Her thumb brushed against his cheekbone where the tears had dried. “You never have to hide with me. Not the good, not the bad. Not the sick, not the sharp edges.”

He closed his eyes again, overwhelmed by the quiet honesty in her voice.

“I don’t know how to be like this,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to know,” she said. “You just have to be.”

For a long moment, they didn’t speak. Rain tapped steadily against the glass, and the world outside their window stayed soft and gray. It felt far away. Irrelevant.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he whispered again, softer.

Lyra leaned down and kissed the crown of his head, tucking him beneath her chin like he was something breakable and beloved all at once.

“You’re not a burden, Grayson. You’re just someone I love.”

And this time, when his eyes welled up, he didn’t look away. He just let himself feel it.

Let himself be loved.

Let himself rest.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

Thinking abt the concept of a twst!au...

Universal love!reader?

Like think about it...

Let's say this could happen after years of trauma in your world... like suddenly, you have no motivation to do anything, no brushing teeth, no showering, no nothing. So then you slept that night. Right? So you're living in your apartment, low minimum-wage of salary in your part-time job, an apartment that (thankfully) had a clean bathroom and other rooms. And a left necklace... huh? So, you've asked the apartment manager abt it, they said they didn't know at all. The previous homeowners did not have that, sparkly magica-madoka looking necklace. So, of course you've kept it with you since it reminds you of Magica Madoka. And you wore it. Now, time to sleep...

Suddenly you wake up, roll over your bed, and get teleported magical-girl transition style. Into the fucking aesthetically pleasing location of the sea. Of course, you had no clothes on (how did that happen??), BUT then, you get suddenly pushed up, and you met with a bathtub in the center of a beautiful-looking gazebo. And when you lay back down to sleep again, you felt a very comfortable and soft pillow-headrest. WTF? The water you were I was somehow connected to a very clean and sparkly river. And the petals around you were your favorite flowers. And two space-like hands, gentle, firm, and soft. The hands of a woman. But from where? The cracked seams of reality BEHIND YOU? Uhm, well shit, where was this spoiling when you were born???

So after that luxurious bathtime, you fell into the waters (again), but the background was new. IT LOOKED LIKE BARBIE'S WALK-IN CLOSET FROM BARBIE'S DREAMHOUSE??? YAAA- Anyways, you were met with a shit-ton of aesthetic college uniforms that definitely matches your taste and make your classmates jealous. So, of course, like the universe itself is reading your mind (bc it is), dressed you up in a comfortable clothing of your uniform. Before it could finish giving you socks/shoes of your choosing.

You were on your bed. With your bag leaning sideways on the bed beside you. So, enough of this bullshit where you were on drugs early morning. You grabbed your bag, checked your mirror to see if you were high or something.

You weren't.

So after a hectic and diabolical day of college, you of course, slept (after the magical-whatever thingy happened again) since you were tired. (The classmate you hated tripped down the stairs as you were praying for it, that one teacher you hate suddenly got sick and had gone absent, gym was dismissed early bc of an incident, and the other subjects like math were a bit easier to understand), so when you slept AGAIN.

Okayyy, so... Maybe it stopped now? Nope. You went to the kitchen to take a quick breakfast since you MIGHT be late to school (secretly you weren't but shh), then you see. On the counter, a freshly made breakfast of your favorite dish. You tasted it ofc. Bc it smelled so nice. And surprisingly it wasn't poisoned! Yay! You went to school, tripped over air, but vines had shot out to catch you? Oh, well things just got even weirder. Until it happens everyday. Everytime you mentioned or even THOUGHT of getting your favorite fashion clothes (look those styles ESPECIALLY MORUTES OR ANGELCORE OR OR EVEN CUTECORE, CELESTIAL CORE-) and whatever, suddenly you have a closet JUST FOR THAT. Huh...did the universe finally take notice of you? Yay! (And maybe other multi-universes justttt incase you suddenly go to their world, haha.)

...You were transported. (And it wasn't the universe or ANY universe doing that...) to... Twisted Wonderland? What. Are you in a kids cartoon show... (no you aren't bby🫶 your in a psyche ward). And after the whole Showdown in that ceremony shit (dark mirror saying you have no magic in the MOST respectful ways possible while still sounding nonchalant and mysterious, the whole showdown with Grim happened and blah blah blah). You get sent to Ramshackle's. Yikes. Oh, but instead it kinda works. Just looks like a doll-house of sorts. Creepy but aesthetically pleasing.

Wdym it wasn't supposed to look like that, Crowley?

So, imagine this, you can ask the dark mirror whatever you like, and it'll answer you (not abt your home though... smh), and whatever you do in school (directing this to the ghosts and whoever works there), actually treats you nicely! (When you and Grim were assigned as janitor you didn't do any of the work. The broom was doing it for you... IS THE TRASH PICKING ITSELF UP?)

How would YOU think the cast will react to that? (Not taking requests rn! Just talk with me please 🙏)

[johanna-swann]

Not to make it all about Buck, but the way the character dynamics were portrayed last episode made me so sad for him.

In 8x16 we got the scenes with Maddie and Chimney. Maddie's got her own shit going on, but she took the opportunity of Buck showing up at her house to check in and make him feel seen and loved. Chimney was focused on his own grief, he was angry, he felt guilty, but he didn't put that on Buck. It was a really emotional and great scene that showed Chimney's grief and how he can be open with Buck and accept his advice.

Those scenes perfectly demonstrated Buck following Bobby's "orders" while still giving him connections. But this week I just got the impression that Buck is alone, both from what was directly said and by contrast.

Everybody has someone who they can go to and who will talk to them, even beyond their spouses. Athena has her children, Hen and Karen who all check in with her. Eddie drops by Henren's place and they keep the conversation light, but they can talk openly about several big topics. Chimney gets continued support from his wife, he also spends time with the Wilson-Han children and takes all three of them out to the movies and he briefly chats with Hen.

They all have their own complicated details to work through that could get awkward or even uncomfortable depending on who they bring it up to.

Hen bringing up to Athena how she was offered the Captain's position - meaning she'd replace Bobby in a way - probably made her at least a little nervous, but they talked about it and it was fine. Athena being angry at Chimney is probably complicated for Karen, but she reaches out to Athena about it anyway to make sure she's okay. The way Madney talk about Bobby, how the existence of their kids could've been the detail that convinced Bobby to sacrifice himself, how Maddie is grateful Bobby saved Chim (instead of himself), all of that is emotionally complex and they talk about it. Hen and Karen confront Eddie about his living situation which he explains away quickly and it's no big deal, but they don't just let it slide even though the topic could be difficult for Eddie.

What I mean to say is: These conversations aren't easy. They're complicated and hard and exhausting, but the characters still reach out to each other and take care of each other anyway. Because they love each other and they're family. Sure, Chimney and Athena are at odds right now, but this episode showed again how beautifully interconnected the firefam is. Or can be when the writers decide to show it.

Somehow this doesn't apply to Buck. For some reason he's the one who's too hard to handle, so they don't reach out to him and they don't talk to him and they don't take care of him. And they won't tell us why.

"He spirals after the funeral" -> Okay, so show us the ways in which the team thinks he's spiralling. All I saw and heard about was him checking in on his friends and crying while talking to his dead father figure which a) seems like a very normal thing in that situation, not a spiral, and b) none of his friends know about the confessional.

"He's being weird with this grief assessment thing" -> So they're avoiding him because his grieving is weird? Chimney suddenly took up running which he hates, avoided talking to people and almost missed the funeral to get drunk on vodka instead, but Buck using questions from a psychological questionnaire about grief to check in on his friends is too weird?

Eddie implies that all of them talk about Buck, but not to him because they think it might upset him more. Ergo, they know he's already upset and not okay right now. They're all worried. But if they think he's spiralling and not properly processing his grief, isn't that all the more reason to talk to him?

I think if this was brought up next episode by Buck, maybe him getting angry how no-one will just talk to him, they could do something interesting here, but that's not what's going to happen. At most they will give Buck a moment where he admits to someone that he's been trying to repress his grief, he will cry about Bobby and the person will tell him that he needs to properly grieve because he can't avoid the pain, only delay it. But at this point I'm not even holding my breath for that scene partner to be a family member. They might put the priest in there again for all I know or, hey, maybe another extended family member like Bobby's mom or Mr Lee. Maybe Brad is still around.

Buck feels like the family is falling apart, like they're pulling away, but the truth is that the family is very much still there, meeting for coffe, taking the kids to see a movie, talking about Bobby over baby furniture. The only one they're pulling away from is Buck and it is a blessing that Buck hasn't realised that yet.

[gay1204]

another one 🙂🙂🙂

okay anyway… let me know if i mess anything up😌

cw: smut, bestfriend-ellie, pet names, pussy-eating, weed, smoking, errmmmm i think that’s all

after you shower and shave literally everything because you always say “anything could happen… might as well be prepared” even tho you and ellie are supposed to be just friends and only thing that happens is like little touches on the hand or thigh. those moments always make you feel some sort of way. you always try to convince yourself that you and ellie are just friends,and you don’t have feelings for her but it never really feels like that.

after getting ready which took way longer than you told her, you were pulling up to her house. you text her “pulling up ” she says “just walk in” and you do. you see her on the couch already rolling a joint she looks up at you and you see her check you out. “ oh so that’s why it took so long” ellie says smiling. “shut up” you say while sitting down next to her on the couch. she finishes rolling the joint and puts it in her mouth lighting it. she takes a long hit before handing it to you. you guys always smoke together but it just makes you want her more for some reason. after a little bit of just talking the joints almost gone and she puts it out. “im hungry, didn’t you say you have snacks” you say leaning forward off the couch. “oh yea. you can get something” “okayyy, do you want something” you ask while walking to the kitchen. it’s not far you can see a little bit into the kitchen when your on the couch. “nah im good” ellie says grabbing the remote. “hey do you want to watch that one movie that just came out” ellie says while scrolling through apps on the tv. you’re making popcorn in the microwave and you don’t even hear her. she looks into the kitchen because you didn’t answer and she sees you kinda bent over the counter waiting for the pop corn. you start swaying your hips back snd forth and she bites her lip “fuck” she whispers under her breath. she already forgot what she was even talking about or doing. you come out of the kitchen and set the pop corn down on the table next to the couch. you sit down and put your legs on ellie’s lap, you she her get flustered and panic for a second. she puts her hands on your ankles and you start eating the popcorn and she asks again “do you uh want to watch a movie” ellie asks again. “ if I didn’t know better I would think you’re nervous right now” you say teasing her. “your crazy. i’m just high” ellie defends her self even tho she knows your right. “im just teasing you and yea let’s watch that new movie”you say.

after a little bit of the movie you finish the bowl of popcorn and ellie’s hands have already shifted to above your knee. you try to act like you don’t notice but you love every second of it and you want her to get closer. you look at ellie and she breaks eye contact from the tv and looks at you. “this movie is kinda boring” you say looking down at ellie’s lips. she notices this and you see her squeeze her legs together and like shift her self on the couch. “yes kinda” she says looking you up and down. “fuck, come here” she says almost like she’s been wanting to say that all night and she definitely has. you waste no time and almost immediately straddle her lap and start kissing her. it’s passionate and needy. you start grinding against her a little and she buckles her hips against you harder and you start kissing her neck and she starts unbuckling your bra from under your shirt and takes off your shirt and suddenly she remembers y’all are on the couch and there’s barley any room so she picks you up and carries you to her room and places you on your back on the bed.she crawls on top of you and kisses you more and she starts kissing your neck snd unbuttoning your tiny jean shorts she loves. she starts making her say down to the place you need her most. “fuck please baby” you moan. she pulls your wet underwear off “your so wet” she says while going to kiss your inner thighs. she kisses your swollen clit and starts kitty licking your folds. you buckle your hips against her face for more and she understands and give you what you want. she starts going faster and harder. “omg yes els” you saying her name could make her cum in her boxers right there. “mmm good, that’s it ma” she praises. you feel the knot in your stomach about to snap. “oh yes f-fuck im gonna cum” you moan as you finish all over her face and bed. ellie looks at you and you see her mouth dripping with cum. “fuck that was so hot.” ellie says “c’mere” you say out of breath. ellie makes her way to he face to face with you. “take off your pants” you say sitting up “wait what” ellie asks “im gonna take care of you too baby, just lye down” she frantically takes off her pants while you position your self between her legs and start kissing her stomach moving down and she starts squirming so you grab her legs and hold them down “i got you, relax please” you say looking up at her. you place your thumb on her clit and she whimpers a little bit. “mmm fuck”. you slide two fingers into her and she throws her head back. “there you go, atta girl” she knows she’s close and so do you. “mm im gonna gonna cum. please” she begs. she finish’s after she says that and you lick your fingers. after both of you calm down ellie’s asks to shower and you both go shower, after she drops you off at your house and kisses you before you get out.

[spiritsglade]

hi hi helloooo the promised ditf ask

i would like to know your thoughts on!!

 “All life’s a game” (if you have any, its not as popular or iconic of a line but it means very much to me)

bruce and the choices he makes throughout the comic

sheila haywood. anything about sheila. her relationship with jason, the story she told, her actions before/during death literally anything

this

and anything else you want to talk about!!

HI HELLO DON'T WORRY ABOUT HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME TO RESPOND TO. eventually i will dig up the utrh discussion reblog chain and add to that too. it'll happen (trust).

ANYWAY. lets dive in.

All life's a game

unfortunately i do not have many thoughts but i bet i could synthesize something from scratch really quick. okay from a doylist perspective i could see this being starlin's way of trying to make jason more hateable. like oh this kid doesn't get that things are serious. idiot.

in general it's a line that implies that... y'know. life doesn't matter?? like there's a level of dismissiveness to it. it's not that serious/that deep/just a game. this can be read as jason thinking that he's invincible. like the main character in a video game he's destined to win. a callousness towards death. some sort of apathy or nihilism thing.

jason is getting more reckless at this point. more uncaring of his own life. we're a little bit out from the impact of diplomat's son + consequences. he is exhibiting suicidal behavior right now. in that passive way where you'll drive without a seatbelt or take more risks because you don't really care if you bite it.

so i think that attitude makes sense perhaps!! why he'd be like that. perhaps some way of trying to cope? esp since at this point jaybin might be just like. too jaded by everything. between judy n gloria n batman the cult.

idk i'm just spitballing here. remember when he made a lot of references to it all being a game in hush also. i don't think there's actually any worthwhile parallel there but woah same thing happening twice !! notice it.

bruce & choices

OKAY THIS IS INTERESTING. i'm gesturing at PROVE YOU LOVE ME right now. that's like my thesis on bruce & choices, at least in terms of jason. bruce chooses mission over jason every time. the one time he didn't was that cherished memory from rhato in which he did choose to take care of sick jason over patrolling gotham (aw). and also this other time we'll discuss shortly.

i'm not pulling out citations for this but i do find it really really interesting how starlin specifically highlights that bruce is making a choice between the mission and jason like. multiple times. stop the joker's nuke or go after that kid of yours that ran away. prioritize that medical convoy about to unknowing joker venom entire villages or saving your son's mother. except the last time.

does he go after the joker & co or does he go to the warehouse to check on jason? he checks on jason!!! but it's too fucking late. L.

anyway i don't think bruce is like ever. necessarily wrong in making these choices. yes i would also choose to stop the guy who kills people for fun when he has a nuke. i would also prioritize that over my hypercompetent child who will probably be okay with me not supervising him for a while. but it DOES speak to this general pattern of bruce choosing the mission over his kids, which is something he does over and over and over and--

anyway bruce choosing jason comes too little too late not because he was wrong for prioritizing the medical convoys, not because he was wrong for stopping the nuke, but because the way he has failed jason is a deeper underlying rot that cannot be so easily cured.

he went wrong when he created an environment where jason would rather run halfway across the world for a woman he's never met than stay with bruce. aditf is a tragedy and the dominoes were already in place by the time it started.

sheila haywood

girl this prompt is too broad okay.

sheila chooses herself over jason when she invites him into the warehouse & when she lies to him & when she pulls a gun on him & when she pulled out that cigarette to smoke instead of looking at him & in the end ends up choosing trying to save him too over her self preservation but it's too little too late <3 wow that's crazy a parent choosing parent over their own priorities at the last minute when it's already too late that's crazy where have i heard this before. bruce & sheila parallels I SEE YOU.

um. ossification is my sheila haywood manifesto. at least regarding how jason feels about her. tl;dr he could never hate her. how did sheila feel about jason? i think her dying words summed it up. he's a good kid and she doesn't deserve him. and he must've loved his mom (catherine) so much.

idc what everyone else is out there theorizing about sheila gave birth to jason. and catherine is jason's mom. but jason will always think of sheila as his mom despite her really not deserving the title.

i do not care at all for the implication that she had to leave gotham because she fucked up an illegal abortion starlin i am killing you. HOWEVER. i LOVE that she is a selfish bitch (i say bitch affectionately) who puts herself and her self-preservation first <3 embezzling from a FAMINE RELIEF CAMP. GIRL WHY. she's so awful. i love her.

anyway i also appreciate that she's like a mundane kind of evil. like oh she's friendly she's nice she is a qualified doctor who is helping. and she agonizes over what the joker is making her do. and that one human moment she has where she tells jason we'll get out of here. together. BUT SHE STILL WENT ALONG WITH THE JOKER'S PLAN!! SHE PULLED THE GUN ON JASON. her turning around for jason is not something that absolves or redeems her. it's just another nugget of her being an awful horrible but ultimately human person!!

anyway i don't remember the entirety of what she told jason about the circumstances of his birth but from what i remember i think she believes what she's saying. even if she's omitting key information. idk the whole 'sheila was lying about being jason's bio mom' thing is a theory that makes sense i guess but never quite clicked for me.

shiva vs. bruce

wow i don't remember this part of ditf at all LMAO. anyway i think helping bruce was instinctive here because even though jason ran away from him that is still his dad. it's the same reason why jason did not blow that man up in the batmobile. jason loves cares about cherishes bruce. and he will never be able to let go of that no matter how much he hates bruce in the meantime. sad for him.

on some level i think it's also like bruce is the known ally and shiva is the unknown third party who might not even actually be jason's mom. jason knows he can talk bruce down from murder if necessary (has done this before) like the choice is so very obvious. like can you imagine any version of jason that actually assists shiva here? no. because he wouldn't do that. it's certainly interesting that he contemplated doing so though, for however short a time.

free space

jason did not fuckign die to smoke inhalation. that is all.

okay actually i do have more to talk about.

i think we need to talk more about how willis knows all these women. when did he meet lady shiva i wanna hear that story.

that entire joker superman united nations plot is so fucking dumb and should be forgotten forever and i HATE every time someone brings it up without context. but i hate acknowledging the actual comic EVEN MORE so i'm in quite the bind here. if there is one thing i could delete from dc forever i think it would be the 2nd half of 428 and the entirety of 429. ditf stopped being a relevant foundational jason todd comic after the funeral just ignore everything else i am begging you.

joker killing all his henchmen with joker toxin in batman #428 vs. lost days #1 having the loa torture and interrogate joker goons who were present at robin's beating. this is a contradiction. that i was obsessed with jason enough to notice so now i am telling you about it too.

in conclusion. sheila haywood :thumbsup:

[missbluez]

Kintsugi Pt. 1

Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Title song (it inspired me to write this fic lol)

Ao3

TW: Violence, Injuries, Blood (this will be present throughout the fic. It’s a gang world AU)

You lie in bed, blinking slowly as the fogginess of your sleep drifts away.

Your phone is still ringing, but you don't even want to pick it up to see who is bothering you at this ungodly hour of the night. “They'll eventually get tired and hang up,” you think. But a few seconds after the ringing stops, it starts back up again, making you regret your ringtone choice for the umpteenth time this week.

After what seems like a hundred missed calls, which in reality are only three, you pick up.

“You better be fucking dying if you´re calling me at…” You glance at the clock on your bedside table. “Three am”, you finish flatly.

“I know I know…I´m fucking hammered and that weasel I call best friend has ditched me for some blondie…I need you to pick me up, please, please, please!” your good friend and roommate, Satoru, pleads with a whiny voice.

“Ugh…fine, but you're paying for the cab fare and you're buying me breakfast AND lunch”

“Yes, whatever you want!” He replies quickly.

With a sigh, you hang up as you stand up to get changed. You don't bother with changing out of your pyjama bottoms, so you just throw on a black hoodie.

After grabbing your phone and keys, you walk out of your building to wait for the taxi you called, it shows up a few minutes later. You get and tell the address of the club Satoru is in, to the driver.

It takes a little less than twenty minutes to get to the club. You ask the driver to wait as you get out. Before you even start looking, you spot him waving at you.

“You don't look to me like you need help going back home, you scoundrel”

“ I might have sobered up a little, be proud of me, come on,” he jokes while walking towards you.

“Very good boy, you tease him before flipping him off.

“You break my heart, my love,” he says, dramatically holding his hand over his chest.” Anyways, before we go, I need to take a leak,” he says with a toothy smile before walking towards an alley.

You look away to give him some semblance of privacy and shield yourself from what would definitely be a traumatising image. When you sense he is taking too long, you look back at where he is. He seems to be crouching over something. “Satoru, what the fuck are you doing” you walk towards him.

“I think he's dead” he says poking the big lump in front of him.

“What are you talking ab–?” Your eyes widen when you walk closer to him, to them,

The lump you saw was a man, a beaten, bloody man.

“Stop touching him, oh my god” You push Gojo away as you crouch next to the apparently deceased man. Your hand goes to his neck to check his pulse.

“He is alive! thank god….” You push away the hood from his face, and he is covered in blood, and you can't even tell the extent of his injuries. You pull up his shirt, his abdomen is covered in bleeding wounds, you quickly remove your hoodie, leaving on only your sports bra, you don't particularly care about your nakedness as you push the hoodie onto the wounded area. The pressure makes the unconscious man hiss as he tries to push you away from him.

“ It's okay, I'm trying to help you. What happened? We need to take you to a hospital, at the mention of taking him to a hospital he shakes his head as he keeps trying to push your hands away from him, but you won't budge.

“ N-no..no no hospital” He croaks out shakily. “Just..leave me here”

There was no way you were leaving him in this dirty alley to bleed out. You stood up and beckoned Satoru to help you pull the behemoth of a man up to get him to the taxi. Between the two of you, you manage to make it to the cab without dropping the poor guy.

The driver seems alarmed at the sight of a bloodied man but while you sit in the back trying to keep the pressure on the man's torso, Satoru climbs in the passenger seat to try and distract the driver, a hefty tip for him to mind his business and he swiftly took you back to your building.

It’s all a blur as you make it upstairs, as soon as you’re inside the apartment, you leave the semi-unconscious man on the couch as you run for your supplies.

“Gojo, I need you to bring me a couple of saline bags I have in the fridge and the IV kit in my other emergency bag…. They’ll help, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

You keep some saline bags in the apartment in case any of your borderline alcoholic friends take it too far partying and end up dehydrated and hungover. You never expected to use them for this, though.

You cut open the bloody t-shirt to start cleaning the wounds and to have a better look at the damage done to his stomach. After removing the blood, it looks like he was stabbed twice, and the bleeding has significantly reduced since you found him in the alley. It doesn't seem like any major arteries or organs were hit, so after stitching him up, he should be fine.

After sewing him up and starting the IV drip, you leave for the bathroom to clean up, you seem to be working on autopilot, barely even blinking as you wipe the blood away from your hands and arms, but your clothes are still covered in the man’s blood. You jump lightly when Gojo walks into the bathroom. He seems awfully calm despite the circumstances.

“Should we call the cops?... I feel like that’s something we should be doing” He says before taking a sip from the mug.

“I…I don't think so, for some reason…just…just keep… keep an eye on him while I take a quick shower.” He nods before leaving.

After getting undressed, you get in the shower, the hot water washing away the remaining blood from your body, you stare at the reddish water going into the drain as you think about what happened. As a medical resident, your first instinct would be to disregard his pleas and take him to a hospital as soon as possible. But the look in his eyes, haunting, like his eyes carry a heavy, painful depth that seems to tell untold stories of sorrow. And they glistened slightly, as though on the verge of tears never shed. You don't even notice your tears falling at first, your vision blurry. You quickly wipe the tears away before reaching for a towel. You wrap yourself in the towel and walk out. After going to your room to get dressed, you step into the living room. Satoru was sitting on the couch next to the man, playing on his phone.

“Did he wake up or anything?” you walk closer to them, before he even has a chance to respond the previously unconscious man groans in pain. The man stirs at first, a subtle twitch in his hands, then his eyes snap open, wild and disoriented. His breathing is heavy, and rapid, his face tenses with confusion and panic. With a sudden burst of energy, he jerks upright, his muscles tense and coiled, as if ready to fight.

His eyes dart around, sharp and defensive until they land on you, his gaze softened, his mind still catching up to the reality of his surroundings. There’s an undeniable intensity in his every motion, raw and unfiltered, as though he’s prepared for a threat that no longer exists.

” Who the hell are you and where the fuck am I?

“This is our apartment…we…we found you all bloody in an alley next to Pandemonium…uhm...the club. You didn't want to go to the hospital, I have medical training, so…yeah… what happened to you?” he stands up holding his side while you’re nervously explaining what happened. Despite his bloody clothes and slightly pale look, one would never guess what had happened to him, his eyes now dark and detached.

“Well, thanks for the help but that is none of your business…” he says, his voice deep yet raspy. He grabs his bloodsoaked jacket and walks toward the door, with one last look at you two he leaves.

Now that he’s gone, it seems like it was some sort of fever dream. If it wasn’t for the pile of bloody gauze and the empty IV drip, you’d think it was some sort of shared hallucination between you and Gojo.

“Now what the fuck was that” Gojo says pointedly.

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After the events that unfolded last night, you could barely sleep, your thoughts racing. Since it was Sunday, you decided to try and catch a couple of hours of shuteye. But you just couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious man, you don’t even know his name. The only thing your addled brain could remember was those deep eyes, you’ve never come across such an intense gaze, and that image has been seared into your mind.

Giving up on your failed attempts to sleep, you walk out of your room and into the kitchen. Satoru is already there, which is surprising, considering that it’s barely ten in the morning and it’s Sunday.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” he says while pouring coffee for both of you. You shake your head as you reach your hand for the mug.

“I was drunk as fuck, but that halfdead guy was a sure way to sober me up” he says sarcastically.

“Yeah, and I didn’t even catch his name, he's going to need antibiotics and to redress his wounds, if not, he’s going to get a nasty infection…” You take a sip of the hot coffee, making a face at the slightly bitter taste.” You spend a lot of time with your friends in Pandemonium. Have you ever seen him around? He was near the back door when we found him…maybe he works there or something”

“ No, he looked like he could be a bouncer, but not in any of the clubs around that area…I know them all…he didn’t look to me like a drug dealer either. He says with a shrug.

“ After I cleaned the blood off his body, I noticed a lot of bruises…some were new…but there were a lot of old ones, a couple of weeks old maybe. And he had some broken ribs.”

“ Girl, he left of his own volition, whatever happens to him isn’t on you. That guy looked dangerous, we should just forget what happened and move on,” he says as he leaves the mug in the sink and walks towards his room. He never did the dishes right away, he always waited until they piled up. A habit you used to share, but not anymore, living with a messier roommate than yourself pushed you to change that.

With a deep sigh, you say,”Yeah, I guess you’re right” And he was, but that doesn’t mean that you’re going to forget about him any time soon.

His eyes were green, a deep shade of green that reminded you of the darkest leaves of a pine tree. You’ve never seen such a vibrant and breathtaking eye colour, but for some reason, they reminded you of someone, someone who was buried with memories that were too painful to resurface, no matter how hard you tried.

It’s been almost a month, but every night since the incident, his eyes haunted your every dream. No matter how hard you tried to forget what happened, his image would always come to you in your sleep.

You couldn’t afford to let it distract you during the day when people trusted you and put their lives in your hands. Medicine was your passion; it wasn’t always what you wanted to do with your life, but when you lost your mother to cancer, being a doctor seemed to be the only right thing to do, despite how difficult med school was.

Being a resident in the ER isn't any less stressful than med school was, and even though you can never fall asleep in the hospital, you take any minute of respite you can get. Usually, you go to the cots to lie down for a while. That’s where you have been for the last thirty minutes, staring at a weirdly shaped stain in the ceiling, thinking again of the mysterious man. He refused to go to a hospital, which must mean that he didn’t want the authorities involved. And any doctor or nurse would have reported the stabbing to the police.

The sound of your pager beeping distracts you from your thoughts, and you quickly slip your shoes on and run out to the entrance bay.

” Male, twenty-seven years old.GSW to the abdomen, vitals are stable, but he’s losing blood quickly!” The EMTS informed that as they pushed the gurney, a surprised gasp leaves your mouth as soon as you come close to the unconscious man, it’s him. That makes you stop in your tracks, earning you a few weird looks from your colleagues.

” I…I know him…he’s…” You don’t even finish the sentence, not even knowing what to say. So you just step back, letting the doctors do their job. Once he is stabilised, he is wheeled to the OR.

You stayed back in the triage room. You notice the pile of bloody clothes that were cut from his body, including the bloody jacket that the EMTS left. You remove your gloves and throw them away before grabbing the jacket to search the pockets, not much in them besides his wallet. His ID in it, Toji Fushiguro, that’s his name. The name of the man Satoru and you found in that alley. You don't know why, but something compels you to hide his wallet in your coat.

You never thought you would see him again, much less in the hospital where you work. You decide to see if he is out of surgery and has been brought to a room yet. You ask a nurse, who points you to the room.

When you walk in, he is still unconscious, he looks exactly like he looked that night, except for the lack of bruises and blood covering his face.

You walk closer to the bed and you reach for his chart, but you can’t help but stare at his face, the face that has been haunting you for a month.

They have him on a mild dose of oxycodone, which will probably keep him out of it for a couple of hours, so he isn’t in any state that will allow him to answer any of the questions you have for him, deciding that your time is better spent trying to figure more about him now that you have a name, you walk out of the room.

You are distracted, so you don’t make it far when you bump into someone. A blond guy was waiting next to the information desk.

” Sorry”, you mumble before trying to walk past him, but he straightens up and offers you his hand.d

” Oh sorry doctor, I’m Detective Nanami Kento and I'm here regarding the gunshot victim.” the blond man says with a polite smile as you shake his extended hand.

” Don’t worry, Detective, I was a bit distracted. Our John Doe is in no state to answer any questions, but you are welcome to come back in a few hours.”

” I think I will wait here, doctor. Do you know if they were able to retrieve the bullet from him?”

” I think so, we can go ask the surgeon who operated on him, though. If she was able to get it, she probably already sent it over as evidence”

Before either of you can say anything else, a loud crash sound comes from the room, making you rush back into the room. A nurse is standing in the middle of the room with a tray of medical supplies on the floor, which was what made the sound.

“ Where is the patient?” you ask, alarmed. You left barely five minutes ago. How can he be gone already?

“ I… came in and he was already gone, he was here just a minute ago though when I came to check on his IV before I went to get the tray,” she says with a nervous tinge in her voice.

The detective sighs as he rakes his fingers through his hair, obviously frustrated.

” He probably left as soon as he woke up because he didn’t want to speak to the police. Anyways, was he brought with any personal items? He asks.

” Yes, just his clothes which are only bloody scraps now, and his jacket but there was no wallet or ID in it.” the nurse responds, at the mention of a wallet your hand goes to your pocket, the wallet hidden in there suddenly feeling like it weighs a hundred kilograms.

” Sorry detective, but I have patients waiting for me.” you excuse yourself before walking away trying your hardest to not seem suspicious.

Once again, he has managed to leave as soon as he regained consciousness, just like a month ago in your apartment. he has to be in some extremely dangerous business to have to be on the run like that.

You are barely able to focus on the two hours you have left on your shift, earning you a few reprimands from your attending. Your mind is constantly going to Toji, and after a month of torturing your mind with a nameless visage, you finally have a name to put to the face.

As soon as you are dismissed you rush to the parking lot, not even bothering to change your clothes. You get in your car and drive away from the hospital. When you arrive home the first thing you do after throwing your bag on the couch is take the wallet out of your pocket, being alone at home gives you the privacy you need to calmly go through it.

Besides his ID, you don’t find much in it: his driver’s license, some cash, an accountant’s business card, and a receipt from a coffee shop. The time stamp shows it’s from around the time when he was shot. Two different coffee orders in the receipt, which means he either wasn’t alone when he was shot, or the person he had coffee with shot him.

You are about to leave the wallet on your coffee table when you notice what seems like a piece of paper sticking from the back of it. You flip the wallet around, there’s a much more inconspicuous pocket in the back. You slowly pull out the piece of paper, which turns out to be a small picture of a young boy who looks to be around six or seven years old. His dark hair drooped around his pale face, and his eyes sparkled with pure joy, but the colour of his eyes was exactly the same as your mystery man’s, Toji. This kid has to be related to him, probably his son.

You flip the photo around, and something is written in it, it’s a bit smudged but you manage to read it: a date and a name, Megumi twentysecond of December 2023. The photo is a little over a year old.

Just as you are thinking about what to do next, you hear the front door being unlocked, which means Satoru is back from work. You know he wouldn’t want you looking into this, and he would make you turn in the wallet to the police, but you need to discover what it is about Toji that is so painfully familiar. You quickly stuff the wallet and its contents into your bag and pretend you were playing with your phone.

” Good afternoon, Spunky,” he says with a groan before throwing himself on the couch next to you. ”

” Hello, Gojo…how did today go?” you ask with a smile

” You know, same old same old. But at least it’s finally Friday. And we are going out, my friend,” he grins.

” Sorry to burst your bubble, but I can’t. You have fun, though,” you say with an apologetic smile.

” Another weekend shift?!!! Why did you have to choose to be a doctor, ughhhh” You don’t say anything and just shrug, you didn’t have to go in this weekend, but you didn’t want to actually lie to Satoru either. His going out would give you the time and privacy to continue your investigation, you had Toji’s address, which means that you might have his address. Going to the home of someone who seems to be dangerous might be the stupidest thing you have ever thought of, but your instincts tell you that letting go of this is not the right thing to do.

” I guess we’ll have to have fun without you. Well, at least we can have dinner together, my treat. Just go wash off your hospital germs before we go.”

” My hospital germs?!!” You say in a mock front as you throw a decorative pillow at him.

He dodges it before he makes a run for it towards his room, he trips on his bag that he had haphazardly thrown on the floor when he got in, making you snort a laugh.

You make your way to your room to take a quick shower. It takes you less than fifteen minutes. Considering your later plans you decide to forgo any makeup and dress in something comfortable, you end up choosing some black leggings, that you pair with a dark purple hoodie and your favourite black sneakers.

Since you work odd hours in the hospital that sometimes include walking alone in a parking lot at night, you always have a taser and some pepper spray in your bag. You check that they are still there before closing it and walking out to the living room.

You wait almost an hour before Satoru walks out all dressed up, he always takes his time getting ready, not in vain, he always looks handsome in his cleancut outfits. You aren’t oblivious to his good looks, what with his bright blue eyes and his white hair that make him appear ethereal, especially under club lights. But he has been like a brother to you ever since you met him in high school.

You met Satoru when you started high school after you moved to the country. He and his friends adopted you into their little group when you barely even knew how to speak the language. You are still really close with Suguru and Shoko, you even went to medical school with the latter. The three of them are closer than family, especially considering that both of your parents are dead, and your stepfather shipped you off to another country as soon as he was able to.

The year that you lost your mother, you were involved in a terrible accident that put you in a coma for a couple of weeks. The accident left more than just physical scars; that entire year is gone from your memory. You can’t even remember the last year of your mother’s life, but you do remember waking up in the hospital, scared and disoriented. You also remember the nurse's face falling when you asked for your mother. You didn’t believe that she was dead, not until your stepfather took you to her grave and told you everything.

It was pancreatic cancer, she didn't even know that she was sick until it was too late. By the time the doctors found out, there was nothing that could be done. So your mother decided that living her last months having fun with you was a better option than having to go through round after round of chemotherapy that would do nothing but weaken her and render her unable to enjoy her last moments with you. You have even seen the pictures of all your trips, but no matter how much time you spent looking at the photos, you just couldn’t remember any of it.

You had given up on recovering your lost memories years ago, but Toji stirred something in you, something that made you want to remember.

” It was nice to meet again, all of us finally. Just like old times” Shoko says with a wide smile as you share a hug.

” Tell me about it, It seems like work has consumed you all. Not me, though.” Satoru complains, earning him a jab to the arm from you.

” Well, Shoko and I work in hospitals, and Suguru is a prosecutor. Those tend to be very time-consuming jobs. Not all of us chose boring office jobs,” you say, earning you a laugh from Suguru and a whine from Satoru.

” Are you sure you can’t join us for the rest of the night?” Suguru asks, looking at you.

” No, sorry, I will make it up to all of you, though.”

After a few more minutes of light banter, you say your goodbyes and get into a taxi. You give him the name of the street you saw on Toji’s license. It was in a part of town that you never went to, and when you get there, you can’t help but be a bit scared. It’s almost midnight, and the streets are empty except for a small group of people in front of the bar where the taxi stops next to. You pay him and get out, a shiver running down your spine as you feel the group staring at you. You pretend not to notice and just start walking towards the address you have scribbled on your hand.

It doesn't take you long to get to the building, the main door is locked. “Shit, just my luck” you think to yourself as you try pulling and pushing the door. You approach the intercom and decide to ring someone’s doorbell. Chances are, they’ll tell you to go to hell, but you have to at least try. You ring a random one, and a few seconds later, the voice of an old lady comes through.

” Um… hello ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you this late, but my boyfriend is sick and I lost my keys to his apartment. I just wanted to check up on him. Can you please buzz me in?” you say with the sweetest voice you can muster up to convince the old lady.

” Well, of course, aren’t you a sweetheart? That boyfriend of yours ought to make you his wife for coming over here this late.”

You hear the door buzzing open, you push to go inside, You look around the lobby until you locate the mailboxes. If you are lucky his name is in one of them and that will tell you which apartment unit is his, hopefully, he still lives here. You look through all of them until you find one, it’s just his initials “T.F.” but they match, sixthfloor apartment D.

You go to the elevator pressing the button for the sixth floor, it looks like an old elevator, which isn’t surprising but it still scares you when it starts making weird noises. Once it stops you step out making your way towards the apartment door.

You try listening in but there is no noise coming from inside, you raise your hand and knock slowly while still listening in, nothing. It seems like no one is going to answer so you knock again. You’re about to give up when you hear light shuffling coming from inside the apartment, you step back and wait. The door is suddenly yanked open, and it’s him.

He is leaning on the door, and he doesn’t look that well. His pale face is covered in sweat, and his arm is around his stomach, you can see blood seeping through his white shirt. He steps closer to you, his eyes unfocused and his breathing laboured. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he has the chance, his eyes roll back and he slumps forward.

[lyn31]

Love and Deepspace - What If?

Summary

On what should be her triumphant first day as a Hunter, Ever Xiang is pulled from the field by a health complication—only to find herself face-to-face with Zayne Li—her childhood friend—whose presence brings back a memory she didn’t expect to surface.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

This is an old WIP, I commission an art for my OCs last month because of queu we just start last Saturday and now it's finish Friday! So I was like this is the perfect time for it! It's nothing grand but if you’ve been reading my other works (especially the Parenthood AU), this takes place just before all of that happens :) CW: Implied human/children experimentation.

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Here is Rose and Ever! From Beeyo on IG!

These two fools trying their best lol

I usually keep my MC vague because I want the other to imagine her however they want but ofc I have her in my mind as well and that just how she look to me 👀💕

Also you might notice I made MC name Ever, rather than Everlyn (like in my Vampire AU), because even though it's not my real name I use it quite a lot on the internet and it still feel hella weird..... So she's Ever now! Dark humor I know.... EVER chasing Ever, Ever might be destroying EVER? lol

*Ahem* Anyway sorry! Enjoy!

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Ever Xiang—today is her day.

Well, hers and her sister’s. Rose Xiang.

Together, they're finally stepping into the world as official Hunters. After everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve survived, today should feel like a victory. It should mean something. And maybe it does—maybe it would—if she weren’t currently pacing through a hospital hallway instead of standing with her squad.

Not exactly the grand start she had in mind.

A quiet sigh slips past her lips as she pushes forward, boots tapping out a steady rhythm on the tile floor. The mission was supposed to be simple: investigate a flagged warehouse. No real threats, just intel-gathering. At least, that’s what the higher-ups claimed. And from what she saw, her team—Rose, Tara, and Lara—still had it under control when she left.

And yet.

Her fingers curl into the hem of her jacket. Even knowing that, even trusting them, she hates being away. It’s not just her sister she left behind—it’s her people. The ones who should be at her side for their first real operation.

But no. Instead, she’s here.

Because of her damn heart.

Technically, both she and Rose have it—Protocore Syndrome. A heart condition caused by the very thing that makes them choose to be Hunters. Living with an Aether Core fused into your chest isn’t exactly natural. Some days, it behaves. Other days, it reminds you that your body was never meant to contain that kind of power.

It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it lands her right here—under the Bureau’s thumb, dragged off-mission for mandatory checks. Protocol. Tiresome, inconvenient protocol. She feels fine now.

Not that saying so will get her out of this any faster.

She exhales sharply, shaking off the edge of frustration as she finally reaches the assigned office. After an irritating amount of forms and biometric scans, she rolls her shoulders and knocks on the door. Then, without waiting for a response, she pushes it open.

And freezes.

What she didn’t expect was a slap of familiarity so strong it nearly knocks her off balance.

The office is pristine—too pristine. White walls, a wall-to-wall shelf of medical journals, and a desk arranged with surgical precision. But it’s not the sterile setup that hits her.

It’s him.

Standing beside the desk, leafing through a patient file, is a man with sharp features and hazel eyes that catch the light like glass—flickering between gold and green. His silver-rimmed glasses sit low on his nose, and his lab coat is crisp, not a wrinkle in sight. He looks up, expression unreadable—until recognition flickers.

Ever hasn’t seen Zayne Li in years.

They still talk, sure—but never in person. Not since they all moved away and begin to get busy with their own things.

Her childhood friend. The boy who once scolded her for climbing too high in trees. Who always looked serious, always kept a distance—except with her. She remembers the way his eyes softened when she teased him. The way he’d sigh like she was dragging him into trouble he didn’t want—but always followed anyway.

And now? Now he��s here.

Her doctor. Assigned by the Bureau.

Of course.

Ever blinks. Then, slowly, a grin tugs at her lips.

“Well. If it isn’t Doctor Li,” she drawls, stepping inside. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you in a place like this.”

Zayne doesn’t flinch. His expression barely shifts, but she catches the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I could say the same.” His eyes flick down, taking in her posture—the way she’s favoring her left side, just a bit.

“You were supposed to be on a mission.”

She shrugs, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Technically still am. Just made a little detour.”

He sighs. Classic Zayne. “Sit.”

She doesn’t move yet. “So you didn’t think to tell me you moved back to the city?”

He glances up again. “I was going to call you today.”

And just like that, it feels like no time has passed.

But Ever knows better. Time has passed. Too much.

She opens her mouth, maybe to poke at him, maybe to say something more—except the words never come.

Because the light shifts.

It’s subtle. Barely noticeable. But for a second, the fluorescent overhead catches his face differently. His hazel eyes lean green. Not just any green.

That green.

A color that slices clean through the years and hits something buried deep. A flash of memory. Not just of Zayne—but of pain. Of fear. Of being small and broken.

Suddenly, she’s not in the office anymore.

She’s back in that cold, sterile room. The scent of antiseptic in her lungs. The bite of metal beneath her skin. A monitor beeping steady and impersonal in the background.

She is small again.

A girl lost in a nightmare made of bright lights and quiet suffering.

A girl who once reached out for the only warmth she could find in a colorless world—a boy with hazel eyes that always, somehow, looked a little bit green.

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The color is the first thing she registers.

Green.

Thick, hazy, all-encompassing. It’s not just in the air—it is the air, a filter draped over everything, heavy and suffocating. For a second, her brain misfires, tries to twist it into something softer. Someone’s eyes. Someone safe. But this green isn't safety.

It's sterilization. It's containment. It's control.

It fills her lungs like smoke, dry and acidic, and coats her throat with something synthetic. Machines hum around her, slow and detached, like the world is moving through molasses. There's a weightlessness that should feel freeing, but doesn’t. Not when her limbs don’t respond. Not when the cold doesn’t come from the outside, but from somewhere deep beneath her skin.

She could move. She thinks she could. If she really wanted to. Press a palm to the glass, curl her fingers—prove she’s still here.

But she doesn’t.

Because maybe she isn’t.

She’s slipping. Not just from the present, but from herself. Downward, inward, back into a space made of metal and silence and memories she tried to forget.

Then—

The world tilts.

A flicker. A glowing screen in a dark room. A user interface, soft sci-fi blue, names scrolling, a scene frozen mid-dialogue. Her—a version of her—sitting at a desk, watching pixels with a strange kind of ache in her chest. His hazel eyes staring back from the screen, warm in a way nothing real ever felt.

And then—

Another flash.

Cold fingers around her wrist. The sharp sting of a needle. A voice, neutral, void of empathy.

"You're lucky. You survived."

But she wasn’t lucky. She just lasted longer.

Another.

A blanket too thin to protect. A girl too small to run. A boy at the door, silent, fists clenched. A red light screaming from the walls. Run.

Another.

A hand, gripping hers like a lifeline. A voice beneath falling debris.

"Keep moving. I’ll get you out."

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. No one could.

Another.

A boy kneeling, wrapping a bandage with too-steady hands. His expression unreadable, fingers trembling.

“Next time, dodge.”

Another.

Steel glinting in low light. A blade to her throat, a smirk just inches away.

“You’re not scared?”

She should be.

She isn’t.

And another.

Him—hazel eyes dimmed, back turned, walking away.

Don’t go.

She reaches, but the green drags her down—pulls her back into the dark.

Then—

The liquid drains.

Tubes retract.

Weight returns in a crash of sensation.

The softness beneath her should be grounding—a bed, maybe—but the memories don’t let go. They crawl up the back of her throat, tangle in her chest, make it hard to breathe.

She isn’t here. Not really.

And then—

Warmth.

Small. Trembling. Real.

A hand finds hers, tentative at first, then more certain. A whisper rides the edge of the silence.

“…Sister?”

The word shatters something.

She breathes. Shakily. Like it’s her first real inhale in years. The warmth of the hand—small but sure—holds her steady, stops her from falling further.

She blinks. Her lashes are heavy, crusted with whatever fluid had once surrounded her. The light overhead is too bright, too harsh. Her eyes adjust slowly.

And then she sees her.

Rose.

Perched at the edge of the bed, drawn in on herself. Her posture is closed off, like she hasn’t decided if she’s really allowed to be here.

Her silver hair clings to her cheeks in damp strands, and her red eyes—the unusual color reflects to Ever's own hair—don’t flicker with relief. Just quiet exhaustion. But behind them is something else. Something hollow.

Ever swallows hard. Her throat burns, scraped raw by more than just the tube that had been there.

“…You’re awake,” Rose murmurs, like she isn’t sure it’s true.

Ever tries to answer. She wants to say something sarcastic, something stupid. Something to make this feel normal. But all that comes out is air.

The memories won’t leave her. They cling like wet fabric. Every blink brings back a flash of something—static, green, pain. Familiar voices that shouldn’t still echo.

“Run.”

“Dodge.”

“Don’t be scared.”

The pulse she hears isn’t even her own.

But Rose is here. Real. Solid.

That should be enough.

“…How long?”

Her voice is a scrape across dry stone. Barely audible.

Rose’s fingers twitch, then tighten around hers, just enough to be felt.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I woke up first. They left us here.”

A beat.

“I didn’t know if you were going to wake up at all.”

That lands like a punch to the chest. Not because it’s cruel. But because it’s honest.

Before Ever can think of a response, before she can reach for that casual bravado she usually hides behind—

Click.

The sound of a door. Small. But it shatters the fragile stillness like glass.

Rose tenses, but doesn’t let go of her hand.

Footsteps approach. Quick. Hesitant.

Then the door opens fully.

A boy steps in.

At first, all Ever sees is motion—damp hair, uneven breaths, tension in his shoulders.

Then it clicks.

Caleb.

His deep indigo eyes dart from Rose to her, wide and searching. His purple hair is matted to his skin, still damp like he came from the same tank, the same nightmare. His clothes are the same sterile white. His hands twitch at his sides, unsure if they’re allowed to reach.

Rose breathes out. Not quite relief. But something close.

“…Caleb.”

The name is a thread, tugging something loose inside her.

Rose moves fast.

The bed shifts, and Ever's hand stretches outward as Rose pushes off and crosses the room in two strides. She doesn’t hesitate—just wraps both arms around him like she needs to prove he’s real.

Except—she doesn’t let go of Ever's hand.

Their fingers stay locked across the space between them. Even as Rose clings to him, she keeps that anchor.

Like she can’t bear to lose either of them.

Caleb stands there for a beat—frozen, startled—before wrapping an arm around her, tentative at first, then firmer.

“I was looking for you both,” he murmurs. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

His voice is hoarse. Ragged. He sounds like he hasn’t slept in days.

Ever watches them. Their joined hands. The way Rose trembles, but doesn’t break.

She knows him.

Not just from before.

From dreams. From flickers. From pieces.

She doesn’t know if that makes her feel better.

But for the first time since she woke up, she knows she isn’t alone.

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

Notes

Yeahh... Not as fluffy but it's necessary! God, I start to sound like my friend..... Imma just ignore that.... For anyone that is interested for more, I'm putting this story in Ao3! :)

[vryptidart]

ok i need to procrastinate in a different manner than usual and everyone has been talking twc couple wedding and engagement rings so im gonna try and do that too

which is gonna be hilarious bc i dont understand jewelry

nat/morag, salt/ava and ada/mason under the cut

these ideas might get a bit flexible depending on future fic developments and whatever

Salt and Ava:

one day Salt's mother just fucking Appears in wayhaven, hands over a claddagh ring and walks back into the forest and Salt starts Sweating. luckily Ava proposes first. she's probably a little Almost Annoyed that her mother in law kinda semi-spoiled it, but Salt was so relieved that it all worked out fine.

so Ava gets a Wax family heirloom! it's silver, and the design is a bit more artistically interwoven than the Basic Claddagh Design. Salt asks if she wants another ring, but i think they end up just staying with the one ring each

Salt gets emeralds and sapphires in a silver band that's shaped to flow around them- i've seen some versions where it's just ripples like water or where it's leaves, i'm unsure which rn but something along those lines. she likes running her thumb along the lines of it

Nat and Morag:

i just checked what N would apparently propose with and just imagine morag with the biggest hunk of diamond on her finger. imagine it. im losing it

anyway Morag is very plain gold band coded to me- if Nat got her platinum she'd wear that, probably grizzle about the cost, and struggle to wear it anywhere outside the house. she's the one who proposes to Nat (somehow managing to take even Nat by surprise) so Nat gets an engagement ring and a wedding ring but Morag insists she doesn't need two to worry about losing, one's bad enough.

Nat's engagement ring is probably something they pick out together. but for Nat's wedding ring she'd get something that's on the border of vintage and historical, like of a provenance that rivals Ava's Whole Existence. maybe like an original Fabergé. it's fucking insane and she's possibly put on a watchlist for whatever backalley shit she pulled to get it, AND she probably didn't Deliberately plan on doing this but hey now she has a ring that feels good enough for Nat she might as well seal the deal

Ada and Mason:

ooh now i have to think about what a traditional gargoyle proposal might be...

i like the idea that as an act of absolute devotion, a gargoyle will carve a marking in the stone of their body. so ada decides to carve a groove around her ring finger, and gets it filled in with metal to form the ring, with a design by an artisan pressed into it while it's soft. it's honestly EXTREMELY painful and also EXTREMELY risky in that if it goes wrong it could snap her finger- which she doesn't let Mason know ahead of time and they probably have a bit of a Fuss about that after, because these two get very silly when they're trying to be in a relationship together (it works out fine but they're both a little dense in the worst ways ghfhg)

so then he gets his finger tattooed, and she gets very emotional about that and neither of them ever regret these VERY BIG PERMANENT GESTURES (they're such silly gooses i love them)

how did they propose? that i do not fucking know. considering she already technically Proposed Making Children with him thru the Sanctuary declaration, i bet it happens by assbackward accident ghfhgf