#i will say i did see it with my brother and he loved it so 🤷‍♀️

[satoshy12]

Isekai Fantasy

Bruce looked around. He had been told that this was where he would meet Dantael, the villain of this story. Well, he would later become the villain, if the books his children had told him were true.

He was the son of Bruce's new body as King of this place.

Dantael would talk to him privately about something and then the king would kick him out and Say no to what he wanted, that was the story.

That later he would start the civil war.

Dick and Jason told him that no one was sure what they were talking about because the book doesn't show it, just that the King and his family won against the evil brother and are heroes for it.

Well, Bruce should meet him face to face and find out the truth.

++

Danny was in a book again. He kind of loved this isekai fun that the ghostwriter sent him. To rewrite books he reads. And Danny loves to travel in the book universe. This time he even took Dani with him. And that was before the main fiasco in the books, and he was fully prepared to really go the warpath of the book. If this father King, who looks like a runt of his real father, Jack Fenton, says no.

++

Bruce wasn't sure how to start, but he did. "So you wanted to talk to me. What is it?"

Bruce didn't like talking like that, but he had to. He needs to play save with this villain.

Danny:" I don't ask for much, as I live alone in my town and guard that place. I just ask you to do me one favor".

Bruce hoped to finally get the favor that started the civil war:" What would it be? Is it to have my crown?"

Danny:" No! I have sired a child. I want you to legitimize your granddaughter".

Bruce was shocked. This is what the King refused to do and started the Civil War. It's that simple!…was the King even the good guy before he took over!

Bruce:" I am willing to do that, but I want to meet them first".

Danny was surprised. He was sure he would be told no:" I agree, if you want to meet her?"

Bruce:" How about a family party? Everyone can see it and no one can question it."

Danny smiled. Sure, I am okay with that. I will call Ellianor about it."

Afterward, Danny left to return. Bruce lost his smile and ran to his children. They seem to forget to talk about the whole story. And they should get ready to meet their new niece in this world.

[ak319]

Lovesick bubbly hubby x fem reader

ミ☆ Slice of Life

♥︎ Syno: Narin and you had a baby, and it's a boy! ♥︎ Warnings: bxg but matriarchal themes e.g. mpreg mentions! Fluff and lots of it and a bit of spice too..;) ♥︎ previous

If someone had told Narin how different his life would be now, he would pause, blink, and then smile. Because they’d be absolutely right.

In the small moments carved out of his busy routine, as your dearest, only, and unquestionably prettiest husband of the century, and now, as a papa too, Narin finds himself glowing. He’s the proud father of the cutest baby alive: Mylo. Your son. His son. A perfect blend of everything he finds magical in this world. From this marriage to the beautiful home you’ve built together, Narin can’t stop thanking God.

Even his parents, especially his father, noticed a subtle shift in him, something like maturity. Narin, the boy who once barely finished assignments on time, now insists on knowing every detail about how to feed Mylo, how to burp him, how to swaddle him just right, how to lull him to sleep, and still find time to cook your favorite meals.

You and his parents have gently suggested hiring a maid, just to ease the pressure.

But Narin? Absolutely not.

"Are you kidding!? A MAID!? What if he flirts with you!? What if he tries to seduce you while I’m in the nursery, elbow-deep in diaper duty? DON'T EVER SAY THAT!" he’d shriek and break stuff, already imagining dramatic betrayal scenarios.

No stranger was stepping into this home. This sanctuary. His wife, his baby, his perfect little life, he was going to protect it with every inch of glittery, sleep-deprived resolve he had.

Speaking of...

🍭 "Do I look fat? Have I changed a lot? Have I lost the baby weight or no-"

"My little angel, cupcake, you’re perfect as alwa-"

"YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT!"

And there come the tears.

As if cradling Mylo and keeping him quiet wasn’t enough already. One wrong movement and that baby will erupt. Two crying babies? Definitely not what you signed up for after coming home completely knackered.

"I say that 'cause it’s true, babe!"

"Oh really?! Then why did your brother TAUNT me about-"

"I told you to ignore what my family says! Why do you always listen to them-"

Insert loud wailing from Mylo.

Perfect timing.

"Shh, it's okay. Your father is just having a moment-"

"EXCUSE ME?!"

Oh no.

His routine is even more exciting for him now! From you cuddling them both in the morning for at least an hour, showering your boys with kisses, to him getting himself and Mylo ready before you come back from work-

Absolute heaven.

And do you think that after having a baby, he lost his own flair? That cunning, minxy flair? Think again.

🍭 He leans back into your chest as you cuddle him closer, your arms wrapped around him and Mylo nestled peacefully on his lap. Narin hums softly, inhaling the familiar scent of his beauty products and the sweet, distinct baby smell clinging to Mylo’s blanket.

"How’s work going, Coco? I hate seeing you… work yourself this much…" he murmurs, his fingers absentmindedly stroking Mylo’s tiny sock-covered foot. But you...

You weren't listening. Too busy nuzzling his neck and stpping yourself from devouring him right then and there.

"I mean, I get it, you’re amazing and a hard working woman, wife and all, but maybe... maybe just lie down here? Just for a bit? On me?" he whispers, tilting his head back to look at you with those wide, pleading eyes. "I promise I won’t move. Not even a twitch."

The way he's acting all meek--God, he's gonna get it.

He shifts slightly so the blanket covers your legs too. "I even warmed your favorite one. See? I planned this nap. It’s romantic."

Then, a pause.

"...Unless you’re leaving again. Are you leaving again?" His voice wobbles, and his lower lip starts to jut out, slowly, dramatically.

That pout. That ridiculous, practiced, award-winning househusband pout.

If you even hint at standing up, he’ll clutch your sleeve like a Victorian widower watching his love go off to war.

"Mhm...who said anything bout' leaving, mhm?."

You shift slightly behind him, your chin resting on his shoulder, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"Y’know," you murmur, "for someone who says he’s too tired for anything but naptime, you sure know how to trap me under a warm blanket like you’ve got an agenda."

Narin gasps, actually gasps, his hand flying to his chest like you accused him of a crime.

"Excuse me?! I’m a sweet, innocent papa trying to get his hardworking wife to nap! How dare you-"

You trail a finger down the curve of his waist, slow enough to make him shiver.

"Mmhm. Innocent, huh? That why you keep wearing those silk pajama pants around me like you don’t know what they do to my self-control?" You gave the side of his hip a firm swat.

Narin’s cheeks go red immediately, cherry blossom red.

"Th-they’re just comfy! And breathable! And postpartum-friendly!” he stammers, clutching Mylo like a tiny shield. "Besides, I-I don’t control how good I look in them, okay?!”

You smirk against his neck. "Sure you don’t."

He lets out a tiny squeak, torn between wanting to argue and silently bask in the fact that you’re still that into him, he keeps fussing over, and the fact that he hasn’t done his skincare routine in two days.

You hum against his skin, and then, without warning, press a slow, deliberate kisses to the side of his neck. Just below his ear. Right where you know it’ll make him flinch and curl his toes.

Narin freezes.

You feel his whole body tense in your arms, his breath catching in his throat like a cartoon character short-circuiting.

"H-Hey… hey-C-coco…" he whines, his voice high and wobbly. “You c-can’t just-! I’m holding the baby!"

Ignoring him, you kiss him again softly on his neck, biting in between.

His head tips back against your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted in surrender.

“You missed me?” he breathes out.

You grin. "Of course...so much, my doll...."

Another kiss, this time to his cheek, and then one right at the corner of his mouth. His fingers curl tightly around Mylo’s blanket like it’s the only thing keeping him from completely melting.

You finally press a rougher kiss to his lips full of passion to shut his quiet whining. He doesn’t even move at first, just sighs into it like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, letting you bite and suck his pouty plump, fruity lips.

When you pull back, he’s blinking up at you with that dazed, heart-eyed look.

"…Okay," he says, dreamy and breathless. "Maybe I do have an agenda."

Damn right he always did, from the moment you stepped in the house, with your sleeves rolled up and the loose tie.

But of course, this little vixen of yours would see your child as a perfect tool to manipulate you. Like, duh. As if groveling to him alone wasn’t humiliating enough, now you’ve got two people to apologize to: one with dramatic eyeliner and the other in a fluffy cat onesie. And honestly? It scares you. The way Narin can just pack a bag and threaten to take Mylo to his parents’ place the second he’s mad. You’re never sure if he fully understands the kind of hurt that leaves behind, or if he does, and simply doesn’t care. It only took one real scolding from you, one sharp, serious reprimand, for him to shrink back, eyes wide and glistening, murmuring apologies with shaking hands. He hasn't dared to do it again since. Not openly, at least. But deep down, he’d been a little pleased. Pleased to discover a weakness in you. That just by giving you a son, he’d carved himself into your life so deeply that no matter how angry, how exhausted, how heartbroken you got... he’d always be a permanent fixture. You weren’t just his love now. You were bound.

🍭You unlock the door, stepping in with tired shoulders and your work bag slung low. The house smells like baby lotion, leftover pasta, and ....suspicious amounts of drama.

Silence.

Too much silence.

Then you spot them, curled up on the couch. Narin’s in his robe, hair up in a little bun, Mylo nestled in his lap with his tiny face squished against his father’s chest.

Narin doesn’t even look at you.

"Oh," he says. Flat. Chilly. "Look who decided to come home."

You blink. "Babe, I told you I had a late meeting-"

He holds up a hand, still not facing you. "No, no. You don’t get to ‘babe’ me right now. We had plans. Mylo and I were going to watch that cheesy prince movie together, and I made themed snacks. Themed, COCO! Do you realize the effort in that?!"

You try to step closer, but he scoots dramatically to the side, shielding Mylo’s ear like he’s protecting a witness.

"Don’t talk to him," Narin says in a stage whisper. "He doesn’t want to hear it. Do you, Mylo?"

Mylo just hiccups and chews on Narin’s robe tie.

"That’s right," Narin murmurs, leaning down conspiratorially. "She abandoned us. Left us to suffer. Alone. No goodnight kisses, no evening cuddles. And we looked so cute today too, didn’t we?"

"Narin-"

"Shh." He gently taps Mylo’s lips with a finger. "Don’t say anything to her, baby. Silence is power."

"You are coaching our son against me again?"

Narin gasps theatrically, clutching Mylo to his chest. "Cover your ears, baby. She’s using the Voice. That rough, work-weary, tempting Voice that ruins our boundaries."

Mylo lets out a giggle.

Narin gasps. "Traitor."

You try not to laugh as you make your way to the couch and lean over, kissing both of their foreheads in one go. "I’ll bribe you both with cookies and twenty minutes of undivided attention if you forgive me."

Narin narrows his eyes.

"…Fifteen minutes of forehead kisses."

"Deal."

"Only cuz', you are hot."

You grinned. "I know."

He slides you a smug, victorious grin while Mylo coos and shoves his foot in your face anyway.

Great coaching, no doubt.

[womanofwords]

Frozen Heart (Part 18)

TW: forced infantilisation and yandere behaviour.

Bruce became even more smothering after Dr Tripp talked to him. "I had no idea what was happening to you, little one," he cooed, carrying you into the house. "But don't you worry, Daddy is taking care of everything."

"What? But no! Only Alfred can do this stuff for me! I want Alfred!" you wailed.

Bruce continued as if you weren't even saying anything. "This is going to be a steep learning curve, but we'll get through it. Dr Tripp said that this age regression stuff helps little ones like you. Well, we can do that. We'll do anything for you."

Bruce renovated your room scarily fast. Your room had a mural of a magical forest wrapped around the walls, and your clothes were a lot more cutesy than before. It was part nursery, part kindergarten classroom. Exactly what you needed to be raised in a loving home.

"You are so adorable, Y/N," Barbara gasped, brushing your hair. "Would you like accessories? Bows? Ribbons? Hair clips? You're getting whatever you want!"

"Don't overwhelm them, Barb!" Stephanie insisted. "Oh, our little Y/N will look so cute with anything!"

So adorable! Cass signed. She pointed at the chart of finger signs. Y/N, can you sign your name? What about our names?

The door slammed open. "Hand over Y/N or I'm gonna scream!" Dick yelled. "Jason, get away from me, you - UGH!"

Jason shoved Dick away from your room, leaving him sprawled on the floor. "Keep away from the door. I'm going to be taking care of them. You're way too much of a crybaby and you'll set them off," Jason grunted.

"I am the blood sibling and all of you will part for me!" Damian demanded, standing on Dick to do so.

"Honestly, you should be getting age regression therapy with them." Tim jerked a thumb over at Damian's direction. "Y/N needs the therapy and you need manners."

Damian's jaw dropped. "You can't make me do that. It's only a requirement for Y/N!"

"It could do you some good," Duke mused. "Hey, Damian, want a stuffed polar bear? It'll go well with Y/N's panda."

The boy assassin rolled his eyes. "I'm an Al Ghul and a Wayne. I do not require such insipid tokens of sentimentality."

You rolled your eyes. "Could I have a lollipop, please?"

Five hands shoved lollipops at you, waiting for you to take one. "What are you doing?" Barbara asked. "This is the sugar-free one that won't hurt their teeth."

"Well, this is the one that'll actually taste good," Tim said, brandishing a lollipop that was huge and hypnotised you with swirls. "Did you raid a dentist's office for those, Babs?"

"Come on, Y/N, get the lollipop! It's your favourite flavour!" Dick sniffled, literally still on the floor. He was tearing up already.

"They're not going to want your offerings when you act like that," Jason said. "Hey, Y/N, how about you and I go somewhere and read a book? Y/N, I'll let you read whatever you want, I promise."

"BABA! JASON'S STEALING Y/N!" Damian screamed. He latched onto you like a shipwreck survivor clings onto driftwood.

"All of you, stop!" Bruce wrestled you out of Jason's arms. "You're frightening Y/N! There, there, Y/N, Daddy's here and we're going to be doing some word association. After your tutor come by for your lessons, of course."

"Tutor?" That word snapped you out of this weird childish haze. "I thought you'd be sending me back to school."

"Absolutely not. My little Y/N is not going back to the place that broke them," Bruce said. "You're staying with us, where it's safe, and where nobody and nothing will hurt you. Nothing can hurt you here."

You pointed at Damian. "I would like some distance from my brother," you said. "He set Titus onto me and I now have a fear of dogs."

That was Dick's cue to be your hero. He dusted himself off, picked Damian up, and threw him out of your room, literally. "Done!" he said, pretending not to notice the thump of his body against a wall that everyone definitely heard afterward.

"Master Dick, why did I see Damian hit the wall with great force?" Alfred asked.

"Y/N's comfort," Dick said. He snuggled as close to you as he could while you were still in Bruce's arms. Bruce put some distance between you and Dick.

"Dick, you are also going to be keeping some distance from Y/N. After your midnight actions concerning Cassandra and Damian in their room, you could do with some distance," Bruce said.

Dick's mouth opened and closed as if he were a fish. "Cassandra started it!" he eventually spluttered.

"I know. She's staying away from Y/N, too. Along with Damian for waking Y/N up in such a traumatising manner."

"Seriously? Ugh, you are so mean! We'll bond soon, Y/N!" Dick sobbed, as you were taken to your tutor.

Once tutoring was over, Bruce had his own lessons to teach you. "Read my lips, sweetheart. Daddy . . . loves . . . his . . . baby." He spoke to you in a baby voice, his own rendition of Miss Rachel. "Daddy. Papa. Baba. Father. Plain old Dad. Just not Bruce."

"I'm not a baby. I'm doing advanced stuff. I'm going to graduate and go to college," you said.

Bruce sighed. "Not letting you out of our sight, kiddo. Those nasty people might get revenge. So we're going to make sure that you're OK by keeping our little jewel under tight supervision."

"No, you can't!" You tried to struggle away from your father. "I want to leave and get away from here! Damian will kill me before anybody or anything else does!"

"I will make sure Damian doesn't hurt you," Bruce promised. "Nothing will ever hurt you again."

Bruce took you downstairs and painstakingly fed you your meal. It was one of your favourites, but you couldn't enjoy it. "You are going to have everything you ever want," Bruce promised, as your siblings cooed at you. "And everything will be perfect for you, at long last."

You felt all the fight leave your body. You would never get to leave the family you'd grown to hate, or the mansion you wanted to escape from. You'd even heard Bruce talk to Alfred about custody papers so you could 'have more time with your new childhood'. Daddy's baby forever.

Bruce took you into your room when 8 PM hit, claiming you would be cranky if you had to stay up for longer. Your siblings clawed at him, following him and you up the stairs to your room. Bruce placed you down into your bed, which smelled faintly of herbs. "Why does my bed smell weird?" you asked.

Bruce smirked. "A little trick Daddy learned from his time with those Tibetan monks. Helps you sleep very fast. Daddy is going to have you out like a light, little one. You're going to be so happy, darling."

"You did . . . that?"

"Of course. Daddy needs to put his baby to sleep himself. And to think I let Alfred have you to himself." He chuckled at his own prior negligence. "Well, I'm parenting my baby from now on. Relax, little one, close your eyes. You are safe, you are loved, and Daddy is here."

That wasn't good. You were going to leave. You needed to go. But your body wasn't loyal to you. It shut down on command from your father, your eyelids shutting while your mind strained to leave. You fell into sleep without a sound, and Bruce kept watch.

"You are never leaving my sight," he whispered. "Never."

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[outtathisworld-imagines]

You are my sunshine

☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️

So after seeing Thunderbolts today I just had to write a little something for Sweet Bob 😭🥹🫶🏻

Just a little wholesome fluffy fic! Some mentions of fighting, Hydra testing, nightmares, Bucky is a sweet big brother.

—————————————————————————

“Y/N, look,” Bucky nodded to the sky and you looked up. “This ain’t good.” After getting your ass well and truly handed to you by Bob, or rather Sentry, your gut was telling you it’s mess about to get a whole lot worse.

“So much for ‘Sweet Bob’ huh,” John huffed out, mocking you for your earlier remarks when you first met the sweet, slightly odd, Bob in the middle of a hostile warehouse. He was a moment of calm there.

Or at least that’s how you felt.

As the team hurried everyone into shelter, trying to get as far away as they could, especially as those around you vanished into their own shadow. You didn’t run however. You walked towards the chaos.

Bucky frantically searched for you and then saw you facing a black horizon, a glimmer of sunlight standing at the edge of oblivion. He screamed at the top of his lungs for you to turn and come back towards them.

But your feet were locked in place at the edge of darkness.

“I know he’s in there, I know the sweet Bob I met is in there.”

The shadowy figure softly chuckled, looking down at you in what almost looked like pity. “He’s gone.”

You felt heat rise in your chest and tears well in your eyes. “Then I’ll find him”.

The screams as you stepped forward into the darkness became quiet. You opened your eyes with a groan and realised you were on a table. “B..Bob?” You croaked out. Further taking in your surroundings, you noticed scattered bottles and drip bags and then looked down at your arms and noticed you had an abundance of tubes coming out of them. You winced ripping them out and stood up, the room having a familiar air to you.

Then you looked at the wall and saw a Hydra symbol. “Please, please don’t do this. Where are you Bob?” The door opened and you watched as they brought your unconscious brother in. “Buck?” You swallowed hard as they hooked him up to a multitude of serum’s and unknown substances. The door was still open just a crack and you made your way to the hint of light. You glanced through and saw a figure sitting with their legs in a basket “Bob…?”

You stepped through and into the room “H..hi, hey.”

“Wh…what is this? Where did you go?” You softly asked him with a tear streaming down your cheek.

He signed and looked down to his feet “This place is the nicest. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. It’s just sometimes, sometimes I have bad days.” You sat beside him “You’re right, life is lonely.” You remembered confiding in him at the base, after fighting with your brother and bursting the admission out of rage.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you quickly answered. “Look at us now. Here together. No one could ever get in the way of that.”

He softly attempted to smile “You kept calling me sweet, you’re sweeter saying that.” You told him it was true and he reached out for your hand. “You came to find me.”

“I would have searched and fought the darkness forever for you,” you wrapped your fingers around his. “You know, when Hydra captured me and my brother he used to sing a song we had heard on the wireless, it used to lull me to sleep.” Bob tentatively asked you what the song was. “You are my sunshine,” you replied “You know, ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray, you'll never know, dear, how much I love you,’” you squeezed his hand a little tighter as you sang the last lines “Please don't take my sunshine away…” you softly whispered out and looked up to Bob who was smiling at you.

“You’re a true form of sunshine…I can’t not let you shine again. Not because of…it…not because of me.” Bob pulled you up “Let’s get out of here,” suddenly a loud bang made you both yelp. In the dust and the debris was your brother and the others.

You locked eyes with Bucky who looked instantly relieved upon seeing you. Then he noticed your hand in Bob’s, making his brow raise. “You guys came to find us?!” You smiled and ran over to hug everyone, being practically lifted by Alexei.

“How could we not? You took all the stupid with you.” Your brother half-heartedly joked and it reminded you of all the times you both hung out with Steve. “We got a plan to get out of here?”

“This way guys!” Bob pulled you along, still holding your hand, as you transported through different, horrendous rooms. That’s all before you reached the last one and saw a familiar shadowy figure at the end. Bob defensively stood in front of you. Before you knew it you were being pinned against the wall beside your brother and across from the others as Bob battled his personal demon.

“Stop Bob! This isn’t the way!” You screamed and you felt the crushing pressure get worse.

“Stop. Hurting. Her.” Bob said between gritted teeth with each blow that just made his own void laugh, taunting him even more.

You used all your strength to try and push away the metal beam, Bucky saw what you were doing and tried to help. “I think you might be the only one that could get through to him.” He struggled to say. “Show him how much you care.” With one string final push, you broke free and ran towards Bob. Artfully and skilfully dodging everything that was flung your way until you flung yourself around him.

“I’m here. It’s just us. I told you, I would fight the darkness forever to find you.” You whispered as he kept throwing punches, your arms not having quite regained as much strength as you would have liked at this point. “Please stop Bob.” You pleaded.

And then began to sing to him. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine” you softly sang to him as you felt the arms of the others engulf you both. “Please don't take my sunshine away…” you begged of him and he felt a pull into you, like he could be at peace.

You softly opened your eyes, finding yourself hugging into his side in the middle of Manhattan. The sunshine shone on all your faces, standing up you could see it filling the spaces where the shadows once were.

“Everyone okay?” John asked as everyone slowly stood.

“Bob are you good?” Yelena asked.

“Uh yeah, I’m good. Why wouldn’t I be?” He looked around. “Whoa, what happened here?” Bob chortled. The group shared a concerned look with one another as he glanced around.

—•—•—

Three months later…

“He doesn’t remember, I don’t know why everyone keeps pushing him. It’s not fair.” You defended Bob, again, late one night. It was just you and Bucky sitting looking out over New York with a drink in hand.

Your brother sighed “Not everyone cares about him as much as you do.” Your head snapped to him “Don’t look at me like that. Everyone sees it, everyone knows it.”

You blew a raspberry “I don’t know why you’re saying that, there’s nothing to see or know.”

“Oh so you don’t spend every waking moment worried about him, or concerned for him, or just generally thinking about him?” You could feel your stomach burst into a flurry of butterflies at his words. “Because he spends every moment doing that over you.” You blinked, surprised at your brother’s observance. “And you’re also telling me that since you care about Bob the same as everyone else, you don’t sit by or on the edge of his bed each night, holding his hand or chilling his sweaty forehead with a cold damp cloth? Because you care for him at the same level as everyone else does, right?” He sent you a pointed look. “Look, I care for the guy, but I wouldn’t be doing all that…” he took a sip of his drink “And I wouldn’t lull him back to sleep with a song that helped us thorough the worst moments of our life, to comfort through the worst moments of his.”

You toyed with the button of your cardigan with your thumb and forefinger as you listen to Bucky ramble on. “I just…care about him.”

“I know you care.” He said, now turning to fully face you “But I think your feelings are a lot deeper than just caring.”

You smirked and took a sip from your glass “James Buchanan Barnes- therapist. Who would have thought that.”

He let out a puff of amused air from his nose at your playful jibe before becoming serious again. “I always dreamt of a day where you would be happy again, especially after all those days in the lab. I’m glad Bob makes you happy. I’m glad I’m alive, that we both are, to see you happy and in love.”

You swallowed hard as your brother stood up and walked towards the door. “Watch your time,” he warned. “He’ll need you soon.”

Before Bucky fully turned away you called out to him, between the wind and the traffic blaring below the tower. “What makes you think he will love me back?” You rhetorically asked and shifted to look at him. “I’m a super solider who’s over a hundred years old, I’m not the prettiest in the world and he could have anyone. Not to mention-“

“Stop,” he cut you off with a raised hand. “Just stop.” He walked back over to you and pulled you up from your seat, holding your arms with his hands. “That man looks at you like you are the sun. Like nothing in the world matters unless you’re standing beside him. Tell him how you feel Y/N, you might just be surprised how he reacts.” He gave you a small peck on the cheek before heading inside.

You shortly followed, gathering a tray of items you might need for Bob during the night. About a week after the incident, he had been getting awful night terrors. You had spent your nights by his side to ease the nightmares away. At first Bob felt awful that he was keeping you up, but you assured him you didn’t get tired because of the serum anyway. As the nights went on, the more you shared stories until he fell asleep again, then you’d softly sing him into pleasant dreams.

You took your tray into his room and sat it down in the nightstand. Beads of sweat were forming on his face and he was starting to shift. You took his hand and began singing. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray, you'll never know, dear,” you stopped and longingly sighed out the words “How much I love you…so please don't take my sunshine away.” You chilled his head with one hand as the other remained wrapped around his. He stirred awake, first in a panic until his eyes met yours in the glow of the moonlight. “Hi my sleepy, sweet Bob.” You teased with a smile.

He reached to turn on the light “My sunshine.” He lazily breathed out just loud enough for you to hear. It was the first time he had called you by that nickname. “Thank you.” He tossed back the covers to try and cool himself down.

You noticed the damp spots on his chest and arms. “Let me get you some fresh pyjamas,” you said and as much as nether of you didn’t want to let go, however you did momentarily so he could freshen up a little. You carefully placed them beside him and he stood up, pulling off his top and making you softly gasp at the slight before frantically turning away from him.

He let out a quiet laugh “Sorry, the quicker I change the quicker to sleep I guess.” He wrestled out of his pyjamas and you turned when you heard him crawl into bed again. You bent down and collected them before putting them in the laundry hamper and sitting on the side of his bed. “You’re from a generation that didn’t really allow that sort of thing, huh.”

That made you laugh and Bob smile at the sound. “I’m from a generation where I wouldn’t be able to be in a room alone with you never mind anything else.” You looked at him, snug as a bug and far too innocent for the world he was forced into. “Besides I know that was an age joke and I will tickle you…” you playfully warned and softly jabbed his side, causing him to laugh and you smile at the noise.

You continued, just to drawl out those laughs and know that he was having a good day. A good moment. A good moment with you. He pulled you towards him and your breaths hitched when you both realised how close you had suddenly become. You were about to move but Bob wrapped an arm around you, keeping you close. “Do you know after my nightmares, when you come in, after that I have dreams.” You smiled, rubbing your thumb over his own.

“I’m glad I can help you have nice dreams.” You said.

He smiled, “The best dreams, because do you know who I see in my dreams?” He asked and you shook your head no, eager for him to continue on. “You.”

“Really…?” Your smile became wider and wider.

“We dance, and we laugh, and I see us in the kitchen making dinner.” He said. “We go to the beach, and to the moon and the stars and beyond, and when we are in the sunshine that’s when I tell you over and over that I love you.” His head moved forward and his lips softly pressed against your own for a moment. “W-was that okay?”

“That was more than okay,” you kissed him again and sat up a little to straddle his legs. “Was that okay?” You asked, pulling back and seeing his flushed cheeks.

Bob smirked and rolled over, taking you with him and pinning you against the mattress “That was more than okay, my sunshine.”

The sun began to rise, Bob shuffled to spoon you as the two of you watched its light chase away the shadows. “I love you too, Bob.” You threaded your fingers with his “You make me happy when skies are gray.”

[negotiumcrucis]

Yep. I mean, kinda.

Like, we know some things didn't make the final cut because there are flashes of them in the first trailer, like this famous Nile line:

But according to Greg Rucka in this podcast released on 8th December 2020 (he starts talking about the deleted scenes at 22:35, but there are other TOG-related questions since 16:00), there is one particular deleted scene that involves Joe and Nicky. In fact, we see a flash of it in the first trailer, when we have this frame of Joe wearing sunglasses and looking handsome as ever:

Tumblr user @wickedpact made a live-blogging about that podcast back in the day, so you can read the transcription of the deleted scene here, but it's basically a scene where Joe arrives at the safehouse in Goussainville with the groceries and has a wordless, lovely interaction with Nicky. The fandom as a whole was very bummed out we didn't get to see it (personally, I was so mad, cause I love all Joe-related things, that I ended up writing a missing scene fic inspired by it like two days later). I mean, look at them 🥺🥺🥺

Another scene we are pretty sure was filmed but didn't make it into the movie is Nile being introduced to the boys. We have stills from that scene, tho:

And we know the scene was in the screenplay because we had access to it in June 2021, though it probably played a little differently on the screen. You can check a couple of screenplay bits about Goussainville here (which has Joe and Nicky discussing Joe's grocery shopping, lmao, with bonus Nicky being a mean older brother to Booker) and here (more Nicky and Booker being little shits at each other, followed by Nile and Andy interrupting them middle-fight).

Anyway, I recommend checking out the screenplay cause it has other delightful bits that probably didn't even get filmed (my personal favourite is JoeNicky at the border checkpoint in Morocco), but it's fun to speculate about them. Anyway, I have a tag for it (which includes artwork people made inspired by the screenplay), so have fun perusing it!

.

Also, something to consider when the trailer for TOG2 drops tomorrow. As we saw it here, the first trailer had scenes that didn't make the final cut, but the second trailer (which was released one week before the movie dropped) did not -- everything in it is in the movie. So idk, maybe there's a chance people's reaction to the first trailer will have some influence on the final cut we will see on July 2. I say, we all should go to all Netflix social media and comment on the things we love about the trailer or things we want to see in the movie (like more family moments). I know TOG2 had many test screenings, so it's unlikely they will change things at this point, but one can dream.

any day now there's going to be a trailer for tog2, like, the real thing, two minutes or so long and we are going to see our immortal family back together again and people are going to make gifts and edits and then proceed to dissect every single frame and elaborate theories and marvel and despair and feral and write fics and make art and holy shit it's going to be everything i can't wait

[mitsulov]

Prologue – Cold Night

Content Warnings / Trigger Warnings:Themes of suicidal ideEmotional neglect and parental absenceBullying, including by authority figuresGrief, loss of a parent, and traumaMild violence and verbal aggressionFeelings of abandonment, isolation, and worthlessness.

Have you ever wondered if, in a past life, you did something so unforgivable that the echoes of that guilt still haunt you? As if they were shadows silently following you, existence after existence. Because, really, what else could explain the chaos that insists on surrounding you?

No matter how much you try to prove you're someone worthy — what you get in return is humiliation, contempt, and violence. Without pity. Without mercy. Ironic, isn't it? To be so fragile, so insignificant, that you're now here — standing on top of an abandoned building, staring into the void, the cold wind whispering promises of relief.

Your mother... was Bruce Wayne’s wife. She died giving birth to a child. [Name] Wayne. Yes, you. A baby that might have been something special, a spark of hope in this gray world. But you grew up — not in a warm home like fairy tales promise, but surrounded by the cold, endless halls of Wayne Manor, where silence weighed more than the marble stairs.

Your relationship with your father? None. How do you relate to someone who was never present? Who never offered a glance, a word, a presence? You tried. You were kind, studious, hardworking. But he was just a figure in the mansion's portraits and on newspaper covers. Alfred said Bruce was still mourning. That you should be patient. That he loved you — he just didn’t know how to show it. (It would’ve been more honest to say hated you. At least that wouldn’t raise false hopes.)

Then came Richard. Dick, to those close — not to you. You were four when he arrived. Your memories are blurry, except for one: the day he, in a fit of rage, threw your embroidered handkerchief — the only gift your mother had left you — into the fireplace. You tried to run to the fire, crying desperately, but Alfred stopped you. Later, he asked you to forgive Richard. Said he was confused, still grieving the loss of his own parents. You tried to understand... but from that day on, you avoided him. You were afraid. Afraid that next time, it would be you tossed into the flames.

Jason. Jajay, as you called him. When Bruce brought him in, you feared he would be like Dick — cruel. But Jason was different. Within days, he became your real brother. He read to you at night, cooked with you, shared secrets. And the greatest of all? Your brother was Robin. It was like living a dream. For the first time, you believed things could finally be okay. Until, one day... he didn’t come back. Alfred said he’d gone to a better place. (But then why did everything feel so much darker?)

Then came Tim. But you felt no affection for him. You barely spoke. Sometimes, you'd see him at breakfast, but he wouldn’t even look at you. And deep down, you despised him. He wore the Robin mantle as if it were his. (But Jason... Jason was supposed to come back one day, wasn’t he? And how would he feel seeing someone else wearing what was his?) Other than that, Tim was just another shadow among many.

Even though you were the best in class, always striving for top grades, the example student — you were the target of bullying from everyone at school, even the teachers. Maybe because you never introduced yourself as a Wayne. Maybe because your father never showed up for parent meetings. You had no one. And the only person who ever truly mattered to you... was gone...

So why stay alive?

Now you're here. One step from the end. The wind lashes your skin. Just one second, and everything disappears.

But then... a voice.

An adult’s voice. A woman’s.

You turn slowly. Stare at the one who dared to interrupt your final decision.

Hello😃! This is my first post, I wanted to post it earlier😕, but I procrastinated as much as possible🤓, but well, I apologize if it's bad or if there are any English mistakes, since English is not my first language🥲, depending on my creativity, I may post the next part this week😙.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Demeter's Walking Days

Demeter sits in the ruins of herself, legs buckled, head bent low as if for executioner's blade. The earth gapes and it is a wound that should have bled. The crack in the soft soil should have wept ash and billowed smog, choking rivers and blotting out sun. Hecate, who stands between heaven and earth and does not balk, points. She need not. Her daughter’s last cry splinters through Demeter’s head, mind’s eye summoning all.

The thunder crack of hooves and eyes widening in fear. The other daughters bolting, skinny legs flashing and soles of their feet licking the earth. Flowers scattered. Golden tuft of hair disappearing beneath. Daylight bleaching over emptied fields and ravished earth.

Demeter wraps her arms around her belly and lets out a low braying moan. A breeze rustles the tall grasses, and the sun warms her cheeks. “Why?” she rasps. Unfairness is an eating thing, drilling down, down, down into the soft meat of the body.

“Why?” Tears stain Demeter’s cheeks and the crack in the earth remains dull and quiet. Salt wets her lips and the feelings stretch into an unbroken ocean. Oh, but she knew why. She could hear his voice before she even stepped foot into the court of the gods. Before she went to beg.

Because she was beautiful, her brother says, echoing forward and back, because she was there.

Demeter swallows her heart hand over fist, swallowing and swallowing. She stands.

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

Before Demeter walks the earth under barren days. Before the rivers splinter white. Before the soil hardens, unsoft enough for even corpses–why should they get to bury their sons and daughters when she would not? She makes her petition.

“You know our brother,” Zeus addresses the air above her head and all who could listen, “a King in his own right and the only one of our thrones without a bride.” Zeus gives a wry little smile that lights the clouds. Deep and sonorous, his chuckle shakes through her ankle bones. “He’s complained enough, don’t you think? He has to be alone with his gruesome little kingdom while the rest of us fritter about.”

Demeter holds herself perfectly still and the court drones around her. “I did not know.”

“No, no, it was I who promised her,” the father says, despite how little that word meant. “We are lucky to have created such a beautiful daughter.”

“I am her mother.”–how little that word meant as well–“She is only a child.”

He rubs his whiskered face with one hand. “Is this not how girls become women?”

Demeter swallows. “My daughter, she will wither. No sunlight, no fields, no love. You, all of you, you know her. She’ll waste into a shadow of herself.” Silence spread like infection. Demeter’s voice rose, frantic. “She’s not eaten yet, I’m sure! Please, let me go to her, see her, kiss her tender cheek and stroke her hair–”

“You know as well as I there are far worse husbands than rich and patient Hades,” Zeus rumbles through his mighty chest. “Dear heart, you must have known you couldn’t hold onto her forever. You’re wiser than that.”

Demeter clenches her jaw and the Goddess of marriage, who hates her so, speaks. 

“She’ll make a fine bride.” Hera’s voice is smooth and melodic. “And will learn to make her bed where she finds it.”

Demeter’s gaze cuts across the throne room. “How do you know?”

Hera scoffs. “Don’t be naive.”

Demeter looks between their divine figures. The flame in her belly burns low, growing with every breath. Golden head dipped into the dark. Scattered flowers. Voice swallowed. Demeter’s long hair falls around her face. “I can’t allow it.”

“What does that mean?” the Messenger asks, not unkindly.

“You have misplaced your loyalties,” Zeus says, still laughing, tall above the clouds.

“You’ve misplaced your sense of ownership,” Hera tuts. “How many go to Hades willingly?”

Demeter snarls for the first time. “Not my daughter.”

Hera, cruelly, hating them all, laughs. Her lips curl back. “Yes. Her.”

“Hush! This is Hades. Hades!” Zeus raises his voice. “She’ll be taken care of.”

Demeter sets her jaw. “She was crying out for me.”

“Dear heart, I understand you must be feeling lonely now . . .”

The rushing in her ears replaces all murmurs of court. Demeter focuses on Zeus and Zeus alone. He, who loves the mortals more. “If you do this, if you won’t give her back,” Demeter gnashes her teeth, “I will take what you care about in turn.”

They protest. They call out her name. They offer her comforts and consolations and promises. The drumbeat in her ears drowns out all sound. Demeter puts down her sickle.

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

The nymph's howl in one voice, their rivers menaced to a standstill and trees unclothed piece by piece. The crunch of leaves as the crunch of bone under Demeter’s step. Helios grows dim. He, who watched fair Persephone gathering flowers and witnessed the silent one pilfer her away, did nothing. And he knew, even more so, Demeter carries a double-headed axe.

Snow falls like shooting stars bent for dying and the clouds transform the land into themselves, harvest buried and buried and buried again. Sunken eyes and wizened bodies. Hands dyed blue and given to tremors.

At first, they try to appease their hollow bellies. Wine into the fire. Slaves at the altar. Blood and beast and prayer. Demeter is not listening. Not to the people, crying out, and nymphs sobbing at the roots of their trees.

One by one, by hearth and forge and stone, they ask her to lift the curse. Could she not hear them in her own fields? It was not they that stole the girl. Did she not have her own divine purpose? And had she not known? Her daughter was beautiful after all, and she was there.

Hermes comes on lighted step, and begs her last of all.

“She’s already gone. Let her go,” he says, not unkindly.

“I did not know,” Demeter answers.

“You misuse your purpose.”

“If my daughter must live in lands of gloom and death, then so must all.”

“Let her go,” the people cry. “Where does this end?”

“I will freeze the world over,” answers Demeter. Hermes leaves to find a different, more listening ear.

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

Demeter strokes her tender face and kisses her lovely cheeks. She is taller, heavier, more womanly. Persephone weeps in her mother’s arms. She hadn’t meant to eat. She clings to her mother’s skirts. She hadn’t meant for any of it.

“I know, I know.” Demeter rubs her daughter’s back and bursts with it—alive and breathing, this girl of hers.

“I’m sorry mother.”

“It was not you.”

Persephone wipes her damp cheeks. “You sent so many down to us . . .”

Demeter sets her jaw. “It was not you.”

After Demeter carries her daughter home and sets the sun to rights. After she beds down the frost and unbreaks the rivers, teaches buds to push and birds to roost home, they do not speak of the six seeds. The half a year of hunger—that damnation of Persephone. The girl and the mother embrace as if not but a day has passed instead of the invention of ugly hurting mourning.

“Did he honor you?” Demeter deigns to ask.

She buries her face in her arms. “He will make a godly husband.”

“Does he treat you well?”

“There are worse ones. Far worse.”

“Did you ask to return to me?”

Persephone rises and blinks the tears from her eyes. “Of course. Of course, mother. I would not stay. I,” she swallows, “I love you so.”

“And he?” Demeter asks, petting her hair. Persephone opens and closes her mouth as if drowning. “Could you love him?”

Persephone wipes her cheeks with the meat of her palm. The question collapses around itself. Persephone cannot answer and year after year, she never can, and Demeter forgoes herself for the robes of despair.

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

How many times? How many lives lived? In Demeter’s walking days, she goes to the mouth of a cave. Black birds peck at the ground, eyes like liquid ink, and warm air leaks from the earth. A man sits, slumped inside, shrouded. He watches waves crash against a gray shoreline.

The crows peck at the ends of Demeter’s cloak—a trailing gown always scattering the tender seeds of next year. She has already begun to forget.

“You. You came back once,” she says through the fog of her own memory. The man’s lips pull apart like an opening wound.

“He is aware.” He has a warm voice, too big for his large body.

“You know the way. You’ve walked the path.”

His eyes glint from under his hood, bright as tiny suns, too sad for such a large life. “It’s not for you,” says the hero, shooing away crows. “What use would the deathless ones have for such a path?”

“He takes her,” she mumbles.

“What did you expect?”

Demeter’s hand clenches around her golden axe. “Step aside. I’ll visit him myself. At last.”

“The Hospitable One has no fight with you, lady,” he wheezes and gathers the shroud around his bulk.

“He will.”

“He is a fair lord.”

“Does a fair man need a strong grip and a chariot?” Demeter let her chin fall to her chest.

“You would have never let her go.”

“She was a child.” Demeter’s gaze unfocuses, remembering and forgetting. Her own failure sours on her tongue. “She was crying out for me.”

The hero shrugs his vast shoulders. “She’s not the only one—just the one that gets to come back. Is that not enough?”

“No.” Demeter passes the ghost, strayed far from his home and given the leeway of heroes of old or a man so full of life it buoyed him above. She side-steps the phantom and his gaze returns to the sea. She goes to the crack in the earth.

Gloom thick as cobwebs covers the way. Demeter steps into the dark and the dark pushes back. She grits her teeth, and it clings to her, tugs like thorns, pushes back and back until her skin stretches like long rays of sun. But she is a goddess. The sun burns at her back and the crows peck at her cloak. She forces her way through, leaving hair and cloth and flesh behind. Golden ichor trails after her in the dark.

The road narrows and stones pierce the soles of Demeter’s feet through her fine shoes. Muffled voices whisper at the edges of the dark. Fog gathers along the path, ghastly and unlit and forever narrowing. Demeter walks until her head pounds and the way forks—one into the caves and the other into ever-distant black hills.

Ahead, always ahead, a figure turns and pulls down her hood. Her face is the color of bony moonlight, and she wears her crown of thorny branches. A dog bays at her heels and at the crossroads, she holds up her lantern.

“I heard you might be wandering. Do you know where you are?” Hecate goes to Demeter, pushing back Demeter’s tangled hair and rubbing her bare shoulder. “You don’t belong here.”

“I can hear her.” Demeter looks everywhere the girl is not. Voice swallowed. Flowers scattered. Demeter gnashes her teeth. Because she was beautiful. “I can hear him.”

Hecate gentles her. “You can’t be here.”

“But I am.”

“It will cost you. Keep costing.”

Demeter laughs, a throaty sound of puking dogs. “Pay me then. Bribe me. Make me an offer of something worth having that I don’t already make.”

“Have you forgotten? She’ll return to you. Have patience.”

Demeter shakes her head over and over again. Her voice is diminished in the cold and the black and the blood leaks freely from her ankles. “You too?”

She kisses her cheek. “I heard you were wandering.”

A goddess of magic and doorways, Hecate takes her by the hand and turns Demeter. Her shivering is violent, violent enough to come apart, and Hecate’s grip is firm. They walk. There is slim light ahead and the ghosts are murmuring, forgetting more than they will ever remember. The goddesses take the higher path, hand and hand, and the fire drains from Demeter’s belly.

She holds her pounding head. “He’s here, isn’t he? He sent you.”

Hecate rubs her shoulder. “Knowing will not soothe you.”

“Or worse.” Demeter pulls away. “He thinks me impotent.”

“He thinks you lost. They all do.”

Demeter’s eyes flash in the dark. “And you? Hecate.”

Hecate peers over one shoulder and then the other. Her dog sniffs the air. The way is much as it was, dank and unlit and forever narrowing. The other goddess presses a cold metal ball into Demeter’s palm and folds her fingers around it one by one. She whispers an old woman’s whisper, gossip from the funeral pyre. “It can take generations.”

Demeter nods. She clenches her fist around the blunt metal. They walk and the dark shifts from inky blacks to browns to greys. A sliver of brightness breaches the wall, and Demeter jerks her fist up.

“Wait,” Hecate hisses but Demeter goes to the light.

She holds up her gift to the crack and squints. A silver whistle the size of her thumb twinkles between her fingertips. An etching of a wheel is pressed into the belly and time leaks out from inside, the tug of the fates.

She brings the whistle to her lips.

Hecate puts a hand up. “You don’t have to–”

No sound comes out. The ball is missing from inside and Demeter’s eyes water. She breaks from Hecate and runs from the road of the dead, dripping ichor, cursing the games they play. The earth gives her up, splitting like ripe fruit, and Demeter is pushed into a field of sunlight and frost. Her daughter is not there. And she breaks the world.

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

She forgets, in her walking days, and the same months play out in the rise and fall of lungs. The light will die along with Demeter’s hope and the gods will turn away. Demeter stalks the land, torch in hand, looking for the girl they cannot save and she will not let go. Remembering is for the muses and the bards and when Demeter runs into a group of mortals, they cower back, and she tilts her head.

“Where are you going, mother?” asks the bravest one, shivering.

Demeter searches her person. “Here,” she says and to her surprise, holds up a silver whistle. It is only in the pale light of the moon that she recognizes how the mortals huddle together with their bags bulging. They are fleeing something, she thinks, and they point her to the mountain. She thanks them in kind.

Between the naked trunks, a set of tracks is stitched into the land. Beams of steel and wood form a single unerring road. She would love that, wouldn’t she? The thought pushes Demeter to move. Iron spikes pierce the soil, and the wooden beams form a path that does not curve. Demeter follows the unbroken way, clutching the whistle, and listening. Smoke billows in the distance and a whistle like a hunting horn, leading her further into the night.

Glimmering like a fish scale in the water, a station waits on the side of the tracks. The building lies in the deep shadow of a mountain and windows glow faintly blue against the dark. A wheel is carved above the doorway and a large clock ticks from inside. Mortals and gods cover their faces and bustle in and out of the front door.

The night is still and unwatched. Demeter tilts her head back, inhales the frigid air that hits like puncture wounds, and climbs the steps. Passing mortals study her face and hurry in the other direction. The minor gods give her a wide berth and take their leave a few steps after. The station at the edge of the track empties.

A large desk takes up the middle of a room caged by bookcases and filing cabinets. An old god sits, rarely alone, always forgoing rest and carrying on. Her head bows beneath the clock and a train conductor’s whistle hangs from her neck. The scratch of pen against paper fills the room and they are alone.

Demeter tosses the whistle down at Nemesis’s feet. Nemesis frowns, a private motion, and raises her head. She wears a conductor's hat and holds a new kind of pen and new kind of parchment, like many times before, Demeter finds her silly. She has little appreciation for the other side of memory, the continuing. A goddess stuck in her own gyres staring down a goddess wearing man’s hat and man’s jacket and man’s unending problems.

Nemesis opens her ledger and trails her finger down a list of the dead propped up against a ledger of deeds. She glances up, eyes like silver coins at the bottom of a well. She clears her throat.

“You aren’t here for me, are you?” Her tone is clipped, professional.

Demeter opens her arms, mourning shrouds spread like wings. “Has it been long enough?” Nemesis narrows her gaze. “How much longer must I wait for your services?”

Nemesis folds her hands. “I don’t set the terms.”

Demeter darkens, rising to her full height above the smaller goddess. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“I do. Spare my house your cold fronts,” Nemesis says, who was born immune to grief. “I am a busy woman.”

“We have much in common.” Demeter takes a seat across from her.

Nemesis scribbles calculations on the side of her ledger. “What punishment would you see fit for the lord of the dead? We can send him more subjects he takes little joy from. Deprive him of wealth he has little to do with.”

“Fair Hades, generous Hades.” Demeter’s lips peel back. “They have been charitable. Granted him room enough to fall.”

Nemesis snaps her book shut. “Be at peace, goddess. You forget your daughter will return soon.”

“That’s all you have to say? Betrayal and violation and the goddess of vengeance—”

“You have been injured.” Nemesis stands and a train shouts in the distance, a long baleful cry. “You carried out your own justice.”

“You are not my brother’s creature.” She exhales a long breath. “You need not be.”

Nemesis looks out the window to the shadow of the mountain. “I am a busy woman.”

“Here. An offering.” Demeter reaches into her pockets. “For your books.” She scatters hay seeds and wheat stalks and bits of golden pods. They clatter in waves across the open pages, landing on the scrawls of her endless notes.

Nemesis’s eyes glint, cold and implacable. A bird crows and Demeter gives a small smile. They’ll come soon, harvest always does, to pull apart the worms and seeds and work of yesteryear. To undo the seams of books and words and let the eating begin. A new world still bends to the rules of the old.

“He is not here,” Demeter whispers furtively and Nemesis sighs. She pushes herself away from the desk.

“Stand.” Nemesis, who was born immune to grief and carries on, rises. “Walk.” Nemesis, without looking back, leads her through the stacks. They pass the mountain outside. Behind the many cases, is a tucked-away door, boxy and dark and opening inward. Demeter has to duck her head to enter.

The furniture within is covered in sheets and surrounded by stacks of scrolls, weaponry, and animal pelts. Demeter sniffs the air, and the dust is thick and generational. She steps to the side and Nemesis goes to her knees.

A train whistle sounds once more and Demeter’s heart thrums. She feels a foreign thrill and pumps her hand in the air. “We’ll master the first injustice.”

“Hardly!” Nemesis throws her arms up in turn. The room is lit by scattered brass lamps, a bridle on the wall, and sword on the floor and the scraps of good bedding in the corner. Demeter privately thinks it sad. Nemesis rifles through her piles.

“We might slay him,” Demeter offers, eyeing the sword.

“Yes. Your daughter will make a perfect sole hostess of the dead, solitary lord of all she touches and rich beyond means.” Demeter frowns and rocks on her heels. Nemesis lets out a tiny laugh. “You cannot undo it.”

She adjusts her mourning cloak. “You’re wrong.”

“I have heard that before.” She laughs again.

“You’re wrong,” she repeats, louder, and Demeter adjusts her sleeves. “She’ll go where she pleases at the very least. She can grant herself that.”

“Will she come back to you then, my lady? Is that where she’s going?” Nemesis pauses. “Do you know where this leads?”

She begins to fold Nemesis’s stray bedding. “I do remember. I have taken . . . steps.” Nemesis nods, shifting a scale aside and digging up molded books. “I have not been idle over these long years. Grown food more richly than ever before, more of it, hardier. Would that not be fit for a dream? To tempt him. Tempt her with fruits rich enough to topple the halls of gloom.”

Nemesis shakes her head. “Sounds like you have little use for me.”

Demeter wrinkles her nose. “You see better than me. Then almost all of us.”

“Flattery will not change my nature nor make it true.” Nemesis dusts off a box no bigger than a hare and lifts it high. She turns over a box of metal and wires, over and over in her hands.

“They made this. It won’t turn things back but may make a difference.” She holds it out, and the same sense rushes from inside: fate, blowing her cool breath.

Demeter finishes making the bed and turns in a circle. “Have you eaten?” she asks all at once.

Nemesis blinks and looks at the window, the mountain, and back. Demeter turns on her heels and waves. “Come. Before the sun rises.”

Nemesis carries her metal box to the other room. The kitchen is smaller than the bedroom and poorly stocked, but Demeter works her small miracle. Bread and wine and grapes. They dine and talk and have little use for past feuds as they are old goddesses and know how to carry on. The wine is good, and time is late.

Nemesis only offers again, once, only once, her box of metal and wires, of lightning and glass and mortals. Demeter stands, paces, and faces the door. The other goddess checks her watch. “You are the one that came to me, mistress.”

Demeter stares down at her own hands, her feet, over her shoulder, awash in bile in the back of her throat. “Would you also have me let this go? You. Of all of them.”

Nemesis folds her hands in her lap, never hurried, never squeamish about the ugliness or beauty in a heart. She waits.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say,” Demeter swallows around the fist in her throat. “Say I’m like them, like any of them. Say you’ll have me too.”

Nemesis crosses the room, a head shorter than the Lady of the Golden Blade, and darker. “You were wronged.” The Implacable one lifts herself up. Her hat crooks backward and her breath smells of cold iron and rain. “Perhaps it is too early. But what is early to you? Here. Take it.”

Nemesis kisses the Mistress, hard on the lips and Demeter breathes in what there is to take. She cradles her small frame and pushes her down to the sad bedding newly made. A small goddess, always carrying on, and another filled with need that towers over cities and topples over fields. Demeter begins anew.

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

They cannot say why Demeter walks or why she wakes, and the years spill past. On one twilight, Demeter’s feet carry her over ravished lands. The fields are caked in frost and frozen blood and small metal apples that are prone to burning. She passes a city opened like a ribcage, and an orchard she once knew.

Hot cider, she thinks in her own deadness, hot cider for the long night. There is a low brown building among the rubble and a note of perfume in the air. She follows the scent all the way to the door. The men inside are not soldiers, leftover grandfathers and teens with bum knees and cowards with better lies, all greet her as fellows.

“Good evening, Mother,” says a man with his jacket undone. “They have taken the last of the meat, but the drinks are strong, and we have a good lady upstairs. Come, get warm.”

Demeter nods at the drunk men, far too many, stuffed into this tiny post office. They cheer and watch the skies, singing about morning—and who knew what morning meant! The space is dim and the perfume strong and Demeter climbs the stairs away from the men’s unwatchable merriment.

A woman lounges on top of a stack of burlap sacks. She is resplendent in nurse’s white; and wears her hair loose and long. Aphrodite is in her prime, reclining as only a goddess can, and flips through crusting yellow letters. She beams at Demeter.

“Look at you, lone little dove!” Aphrodite cries and sets down the letter. “What a pleasure it is for you to stop by.”

Demeter furrows her brow, jostled from the depths of herself. “Are you occupied?” Her mind sparks. Buildings smolder outside, the trees blackened, and skies red. Demeter takes a step back, looking above and below. “Are we alone here? Is he coming?”

“You’re safe with me.” Aphrodite’s smile stretches wide. “You know, the others speak so ill of you when you’re in this way. They have no imaginations. I like you better in your blacks.”

Demeter stalks the edge of the burlap sacks. “I cannot say I like you better in pinks or whites, good lady.”

“See? Delightful.” She smiles even wider into something painful looking.

Demeter goes to the window and inhales.

“Do you know where we are?” Aphrodite asks, kicking her feet up.

“They used to grow apples here,” Demeter murmurs, running a hand down her long face. “You forget what they can do to themselves.”

“Must we talk of work? Tell me of your new lovers.” Aphrodite tosses her thick hair aside and squeals. Demeter needn’t answer. “You’re so predictable, really! The little grim goddess. But that's why I like this version of you best.”

“You shouldn’t.” The men howl a song from down below. Demeter presents her own dim smile. “But maybe you’re predictable too. Is he really not here?”

Aphrodite’s smile falters and she smooths out the note in her hand. “Aren’t they all? My husband is even in the skies if you listen.”

Demeter hums in return. All here. . . She takes out a little box given to her by the vengeance goddess.

“Do you know this?”

“Oh! Do I know it!” Aphrodite scrambles down from her perch. “I love it. I adore it. I am on fire just thinking of it. They invented it for me if you think about it.” She takes the device in her hand and turns it over and over.

“Help me,” Demeter begs, only just. “I do not know how I’ll ever be whole again, you must know.”

Aphrodite smiles, warmly, manic light in her eyes. “You are a testament to the best of us. Come. Let us kiss and make merry. We can invite the little goddess too, if you like, however dull she is. Or any of them, Themis, Dike, if you care for the likes of whatever justice gods come next.”

Demeter, for not the first time, and as much as she can bear it, stares out the window. “I do not think they are awake. Only you and War may even survive such a long night.”

“You are so dramatic in your walking days, kiss me, kiss me next and let winter end or last forever this time.”

Demeter shook her head. “How do I work this? Nemesis said I might.”

“Nemesis is quite busy right now. Quiet busy when she isn’t being devoured for it. Are you really still looking for this girl of yours? So single-minded. Don’t you know there’s a war on?”

Demeter meets her gaze. “Don’t you?”

“I know better than anyone,” says the goddess in her prime. “I am needed.”

Demeter snorts at that and Aphrodite scowls, both thinking the same thought: the mortals could live without the other, but not without her. Aphrodite relents when the sun begins to set, so early, so soon, and she must slip out the back. Aphrodite holds up the camera.

“Click, click,” she says, a bit like a child and Demeter loves her for it. She shows her how to aim the lens and press the button down. “That’s all, click, click. You’ll see.”

Demeter cradles the camera, and she must walk, and the skies must burn, and Aphrodite must slip out the back, carrying several letters with her. Letters that maybe, just maybe, will be delivered. Aren’t the dates off? they ask, nothing else made it out. Oh, but the mail system is unpredictable. These last ones must have made it out. Don’t think too hard, they must all carry on.

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

A young mortal man meets a mother and daughter. They live in a farmhouse that spans a small neighborhood. Endless parlors and bedrooms and closets, and the two seem to occupy two rooms—living room to kitchen to living room and back again. His lover does not bother to knock and hurries them to the living space. The walls are painted yellow as dawn and the carpets are a thick cream color. A girl lounges on the couch. She wears a tank top, blonde hair piled on her head, and phone on her lap. The young man wonders what she could possibly be looking at.

“Hello, dear!” His lover strides forward. Nicholas gives a weak wave from behind. “Good to see you again.”

The girl looks up from her phone. Her expression is endlessly blank, and Nicholas must shrink down to the size of two pins. They had met before, back when he was touring and being shown off as a prize and he would like to say he hated it. The girl sticks out her bottom lip.

“Mom!” Persephone’s voice splits the air. “Your appointment is here. He brought a guest.”

“Does she know me?” Nicholas mumbles to his lover and Apollo squeezes his shoulder.

“It’s been a season,” Apollo says in answer. “I’ll be right back, love. Won’t be a moment once I finish up.”

Which is a lie because his lover is never done. He leaves him. Nicholas goes to the edge of the room, eyeing the golden-haired, golden-eyed girl. He had been surprised at her features when they first met, rough-hewn, prominent, clifflike cheeks and sturdy nose, beautiful and strange. Her eyes are the most unnerving part. Their golden color feels natural, yet they are so deep-set in her face to the point of shadow. Most of all, she is young, and younger when she looks up.

“Mom!” she shouts again. “The guest.”

“Send him to the kitchen, dear!” a matronly voice calls, and Persephone groans and throws her head back, ponytail flopping.

“It’s your house. He’s your guest!” She lurches to her feet in the same breath.

Nicholas puts his hands up, face heating. “It’s fine, really. No need to get up. We’ll only be stopping by a moment,” he says, though he knows he’s lying.

“Come on.”

The little goddess takes him to the kitchen and fills up a tall glass of water.

“Here,” she says, and he has to stop himself from staring.

“Thanks,” he says, holding the glass but not taking a sip. “Do you two live alone?”

Persephone raises an eyebrow, stuffing both hands under her arms. “The farm hands . . .” she mumbles and turns away from him. “But we’re not here year round. Mom can’t stand an empty house.”

Her golden eyes blaze against his cheeks and Nicholas realizes too late, she’s expecting conversation.

“Mine too,” he says, chuckling awkwardly. “My mom’s an empty nester and she says she can’t bring herself to turn my room into a home gym even though I’ve been touring for like, what? Almost a decade now.”

He has no idea if this makes sense to her. He’s met Persephone before, but she was different then, even more golden, laughing.

She chews on her bottom lip. “We have a home gym, but I hate using it. I’m a runner, and I dunno, I feel like it doesn’t count if I’m not doing it outside? But my mom hates that too.”

“Sure.” He watches the way she slow-blinks like a person, like she’s forgotten she’s something else as well. He rotates the cool glass in his hand. “Is your dad around?” he asks, because he’s curious and never met the man, thundering and awful as he might be.

“Of course not.” Persephone leans in conspiratorially. “She hates him.” She snorts. “Aaaaand his wife hates her even more.”

He joins her in a small laugh and speaks into the glass. “I can only imagine what she thinks of your husband.”

Persephone’s face goes blank and impassive. She turns and leaves him there. 

Nicholas will spend two weeks in the farmhouse, their errand never done, and wonder at the golden-haired girl and the mother. Demeter plies him with more food than he can eat and has him play songs with “no curse words.” They share meals and jokes and even watch TV. The harvest goddess is taller than he could imagine and has long wavy salt-and-pepper hair. Her lined-eyes crease when she smiles, which is a lot.

During their tucked-away moments in the guest room at the end of the day, his lover feeds him bits of story. How the girl will fall soon, like she always does, and after that long silence, she will run. She will run like it’s the first time and the only time. They’ll wonder if she really means it, but it won’t matter because Persephone cannot answer.

Nicholas, though, is young and mortal and raised to be cherished. And oh, this goddess has long salt-and-pepper hair that falls down her back in bushels. She wears it in twin long braids sometimes along with gardening boots covered in mud and it makes Nicholas want to cry. His own mother would never turn his room into a gym.

Nicholas cannot help himself. When he digs out a camera in one of her long hallways, in one of her deep closets, he dusts it off and brings it to her for inspection.

“Do you want me to develop these?” he asks, and Demeter squeezes his shoulder.

“Only if you want to, honey. I know you must be getting bored. I’ll bother Apollo to take you on a proper date with less old ladies present, I swear.” She chuckles.

He smiles. “No, you’ve been the perfect host. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The mortal develops the photos and before Persephone falls and Demeter walks the earth, before the gods avert their eyes from another long season, he hands her a stack of photos. He must have seen them, must have known, but the images disappear like water through a sieve the second they leave his hand. He never will know what the goddess sees in those pictures, only that she stops smiling.

It’s summer then, perfect summer, and Demeter’s head falls forward like a ragdoll. 

“Is this true?” Her lips tremble and she brings the photos to her chest. She doesn’t wait for him to answer. Demeter crosses her own neighborhood-length farmhouse where she and her daughter orbit each other in two rooms. Persephone is in her chair. Demeter enters, cradling the photos. “He takes you.”

Persephone glances up from her phone. She blinks. “Who?” 

“It’s never going to be over.” Demeter shuts her eyes against the world. She remembers, and how she remembers. Tears fall in long dull streaks and a braying moan escapes Demeter’s body. “You never come back.”

Persephone leaps to her feet. “Mom, I’m right here.”

“No!” Demeter snaps, backing away one wobbling step after the other. Her back hits the wall and she takes tiny panicked breaths.

“What have you done?” Apollo asks the mortal, though he need not. Nicholas’s mind is thrashing against itself. What was it he saw? Demeter turns from her daughter. She’ll goes to find her two-headed ax and don black. Persephone’s voice cannot reach her. When Demeter bends her head to Apollo’s ear, she hisses.

“I have another errand for you.”

His sun, this sun too and all of them, watching and unmoved when Persephone is taken. The same song played in different notes. Time spins forward on an axis of freezing and burning and growing, and Demeter is given the knife of memory to plunge down into herself. The unheard plea to let her stay. The answering of many gods that this is how it goes.

It would be her, of course. The mother at the side of a casket that she is unallowed to close, because shouldn’t she know better? Time lurches forward. Soon, summer, perfect summer, begins to hurt. Temperatures rise. Oceans boil. Demeter burns the world.

FIN

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[moth2flamewriting]

Jealousy

This will be a series of one shots. First time so bare with me. AHHHHH IM NERVOUS!! 😁

Annie x Smoke

Warning: Sexual content. Dirty talk. Unprotected sex.

ENJOY.

"Smoke you fucking me like a dog," Annie managed to muster enough strength to say.

"I have to remind you who you belong to, cause you must've forgot", he grunted out through quick but precise strokes.

As her eyes rolled back in her head she knew she'd asked for this. She wanted this. Her plan worked.

Earlier that day..

"FUCK YOU SMOKE! YOU COME BACK HERE AFTER 7 YEARS? DOING WHO KNOWS THE FUCK WHAT IN CHICAGO AND THINK WHAT? I'm gon' open my legs to you cause you love and miss me?" Annie raged.

He didn't know what to say.. he wasn't expecting full out rejection. He was always her weakness the same way she was his.

"I shouldn't have expected that from you, I just needed to have you but I see you not gon' make this easy on me", he sighs. "Can you just come to the juke tonight? Fry up some fish fo' me? I'll pay you real good?"

"Your money means nothing to me," she spat.

"Annie, I'm begging you. Its real potential and longevity for this juke, and I need your help." She wanted to stand firm in how she felt, which is simply fuck Elijah "Smoke" Moore, but she wanted to help. Reluctantly she agreed.

"Don't you try no funny shit with me Smoke, I don't want to fuck you and I don't want to be with you". She spoke those words but she lied them.

She longed for him. Her pussy was hungry for him. She felt him as soon as he arrived in the Delta. But she gotta stay strong. You don't get to leave and come back in and out as you please.

Many nights she longed for the touch of her husband. His hands caressing her soft, plump titties. His tongue lapping up her juices as they ran out of her. His dick pumping in and out of her, so deep she couldn't see. BUT IT HAD TO BE FUCK HIM.

Arriving at the Juke..

Greeted by Stack as soon as she arrived, it was always good to see him. Always been a brother to her and looked out for her.

"Annie, you looked more beautiful than the last time I saw you," Stack says through a huge grin. They hug and she goes into the juke to begin prepping for the night.

She can feel him watching her. His eyes burning holes into her.

"Smoke, what'chu with me? I'm doing what you asked? What else you-" she rants but he cuts her off.

"I want you. I want my wife. I want you to act like you know who you belong to. You're mine and if you think I won't have you, you got another thing coming", he snarls at her.

Anger. Rage. AUDACITY? This nigga gon feel me.

"I'm yours? I belong to you? Nigga, I'm not one of them bitches from Chicago! I don't belong to you. You think i didn't move on?" She didn't. "You don't think I got fucked? You don't think these men out here know what they got the first time? You not the only motherfucker on this Earth that wants me", she had him right where she wanted. Seething. Jealous. Raging.

"You gon regret giving my shit up", hehissed and walked out

Sweat dripped down Annie's forehead. She didn't know how far she could push him until he snapped. But she wanted more from him. She wanted him angry. She wanted him to feel it. She wanted him. She wanted him to take it. She wanted him.. jealous. And she knew just how to get it.

Opening Night..

It was hot in this motherfucker. People were dancing and drinking and eating. Having a good time.

He was still watching her no doubt. She was walking around the room trying to catch her breath from the cooking. She found a nice spot to sit next to a cracked window letting in cool air.

In walked a man she knew wanted her all too well, Joshua Macon. He glanced around the room until his eyes fell on her. But no doubt Smoke was watching too.

He walked up to her as said, "Annie, you're look especially delicious tonight, may this be the night you give me a chance?"

Perfect. He did exactly what she needed. No notes.

"I don't know about a chance but how about a dance?" she cooed.

Hand out he led her to the dance floor.

Smoke still watching. Hot. Steam coming out of his ears. PERFECT. Now it was time to turn up the heat.

Joshua was so polite, hands around her waste but that wasn't enough.

Annie turns putting her ass on his crotch directly. Grinding hard. Sliding her body up and down against his.

His hands are roaming now, passing over her breast. Pulling her close so that she can feel his dick hard.

It does nothing for her. She knows who she wants and he was making his way over to her right now.

"I'm gon' give you a fair chance to get your hands off my woman," he barked.

Joshua was not moved. "HA! NIGGA YOU AINT GON DO SHIT," he continues to rub Annie all over.

She's getting hot in the best way seeing Elijah angry. She silences a moan when he pulls a gun on Joshua. He's just so sexy when he's angry. I know he's at his wit's end. Exactly where she wanted him.

"So what? You gon shoot em? Just like you to come over here thinking you run something" she smirks egging him on, begging him to do something.

POP. Shoots him right in his leg.

"Cornbread come get this nigga out the muhfuckin' spot." He's in charge and she knows what's coming.

He grabs her arms pulling her into the nearest closet. Both panting and glaring at eachother. So much tension that needs to be released. So much anger. Some much sadness. But even more jealousy.

"I got half the mind to go back and kill that nigga cause you wanna be playing mind games," he seethed. "Fuck do you think this is? Fuck do you think I am?" He's gave her no room to respond. "You think I won't kill ever nigga that talks to you? You think I want beat the fuck outta any and everybody? Cmon baby, you know me better.. so what the fuck you boutta do?"

"Elijah let me out this room right the fuck now, I don't have time for this I have to see if Joshua is okay.. being as though you just shot him" she says with no urgency or even care in her voice. She's excited. Because she knows that was his last straw.

Smoke grabs her by her neck and pulls her close. Hovering his mouth over hers before he sticks his tongue in her mouth nice and slow. "You're mine," he barks. She smirks, "I am not."

He turns her around, pressing her body up against the nearest wall. Hurriedly he gathers her skirt so he can get under it. He waves his fingers over hers mouth. She knows what he wants. She opens her mouth slow as he inserts two girthy fingers into it. Swirling her tongue around them as he gags her to create more spit.

She's dizzy. Her pussy is a river and she can't wait til he puts his fingers in her.

"You're such a good girl for me baby, I'm gon' slip my fingers in you and feel that pussy stretch for me.. I just have a few questions and if you can't answer than I'll stop" he breathes in her ear.

He's digging inside her like he lost something. She's dripping down his hand trying her best to contain her moans.

"Who's pussy is this?"

"Yours daddy."

"Did you fuck anyone while I was gone? You gave my pussy up?"

"No daddy, I would never."

His fingers are so deep she's seeing stars. She fucking back to create more friction. She needs to finish.

"You wanna cum baby? Then do it. Let me feel you finish all over my fingers the way I like it."

"Elijah.. I.. Ughn" she barely can get a word out.

"Elijah, you making my pussy cum so hard I can't take it nomore," he's pumping his fingers in and out of her at lightening speed. "This aint even half of what Im finna do to you."

"I'm cumming! Oh my god it's so good, thank you oh my godd yessss." She's panting and writhing all over the fingers he has yet to pull out of her gushy, wet pussy.

He backs away from her and all she can hear is the clinking of his belt coming undone. She scared to turn around and see the monster coming out of his pants.

A girthy, long, black dick. Her mouth was watering. She wanted it in her mouth. But he knew that.

He grabbed her by her hair forcing her onto her knees. His dick swinging back and forth before her lips.

"Open that fucking mouth." Her mouth dropped open. Sucking his dick felt so good. Lapping her tongue around the head and taking it as far into her mouth as she could.

"Oh fuck Annie, you sucking my dick so good" he grunts out. He's pumping into her mouth so fast, dick hitting the back of her throat.

She puts two fingers into her panties and pleasures her self spreading the wetness on her clit. Moaning around his dick as she makes herself leak down her legs.

"On your back." FINALLY EXACTLY WHAT SHE'S BEEN WAITING FOR.

On her back, she spreads her legs so that he has a full view of her pussy. Glistening under the dim light. All for him.

He teases her entrance. Rubbing the head of his dick back and forth on her pussy. Teasing her.

Annie squirms under him, trying to inch closer to get the head in at least.

He enters her in one swift move and waits for her to adjust to him.

"Oh my god baby you stretching me out again, my pussy is so tight please," Annies cries out.

"Fuck, you gon make me fill this pussy up. You feel so good." Smoke moans trying to control himself inside her. She was so tight she was squeezing the nut out of him.

A couple seconds go by and he finally starts to move. Moans fill the space between them as they are finally back one. He's fucking her so good. Sucking on her nipples and neck. She's getting fucked so good she can't even think.

Her pussy is squirting with every thrust.

"Oooo shit this dick is so good, please keep fucking me Smoke, dont ever stop fucking me Smoke," she's crying now. The dick is bringing her to tears.

She's egging him on. He starts pounding into her so hard, her juices are running down both of their legs.

"Smoke you fucking me like a dog," Annie managed to muster enough strength to say.

"I have to remind you who you belong to, cause you must've forgot", he grunted out through quick but precise strokes.

As her eyes rolled back in her head she knew she'd asked for this. She wanted this. Her plan worked.

"Daddy please cum in me, give me another baby.. Make me yours," it stung but she meant it. She wanted his seed. She wanted to bare his children.

"Keep fucking talking like that, I'll give it all to you baby. I'm so sorry, please forgive me," he slips his tongue in her mouth as he pumps in and out of her. Deep in her. Looking for release.

"Elijah, I'm about to cum on this dick. Make me cum," she squealed.

Her words were getting him close. He thrusted faster, holding on to her neck to keep him steady as he fucked the life out of her. 3 strokes and he emptied his seed inside of her. Filling her up to the brim, he watched his cum leak out of her pussy.

"I lied earlier," she says through pants.

"I want you. Seven years and I never even looked another mans way, cause I belong to you. I love you. I miss you."

Brown eyes starting back at her, "Annie, youre my stars and moon. It hurts to come back here. But I'm back for good. I love ya, and I missed ya. Please have me back."

Her intentions were to always have him back. She just wanted him...

jealous.

I hope you enjoyed this fanfic. My first one so be kind but I would love feedback! ❤️

[waynes-multiverse]

Gaaawwwd, I'm loving this, Beth! 😭🩵🩷 The nostalgia!!! The boys when they were little! (Fucking hell is Sammy cute and precious 😭🥹 and my heart breaks for little Dean who's already hell-bent on hunter life 💔). And then damn Bobby being the perfect foster dad for these two! And Rufus! Rufus had me fucking cackling with his commentary and sheer presence 😂

God, this was so amazing! Favorite parts and thoughts below 👇

“I don’t,” Bobby said. But just as Dean didn’t realise the significance of you in his life at the time, Bobby hadn’t realised the boys in his either.

This made me tear up a little! Just makes you wish Bobby could’ve been their dad full time 🥲

But Dean only shrugged, still defiant he should’ve been out there with his father.

Oh God, Beth! Stop it! My heart can’t take it 😭 This is one of the moments where you just want to wrap your arms around him and tell him that it doesn't have to be this way. That he doesn't have to be this way 🥲

Did he have to give these kids the bird and the bees talk, too? Hell no, he wasn’t!

Yes. Yes please do! 🤣

“No!” Dean lost his chin to his neck. “She’s my friend, and she’s a girl.”

So fucking cute. I wanna pinch his dimpled cheeks 😆

What was your name? Dean couldn’t answer that because he didn’t know. You were a girl, you’d been nice to him, and you didn’t like orange juice. That was the extent of it. You’d played your game after that. The one where he chased you, and you ran, much like what hunters did. Only, you weren’t a monster, and he didn’t hunt.

Lmao typical kid shit. "You wanna play?" – *shrugs* "Sure!" And off the fucking go 😂🫶 Why is it never this easy with adults?

I loved all the little kid tidbits you wove in there btw! Like Dean also saying he knows Uncle Bobby isn't related to them. I heard it in that sweet, cocky "I'm old enough to know shit now. You can't fool me anymore" voice 😆

Or this 👇

Of course, to a nine-year-old, “You like Batman?” was far more important.

Both Winchester boys had a chance at normal life. Well, semi-normal due to the talismans and arsenal in his basement.

Why do you aim to maim my heart, Beth???? 😭💔

The air was warm when they stepped outside. As Dean always did, he put the needs of his baby brother first, pulling off the four-year-olds jacket, then tying it ‘round his waist.

He's such a good brother and he would've deserved to be a dad!!!! Dear God, Beth, stop it. I'm begging you. This is torture for my poor heart!

And as a side note, Dean really is doing a good job here, considering the kid is only nine and four year olds ain't easy to please and keep track of 😝

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. The electronic piano jingles and a rocking soundtrack that tried its best to overcome everything else greeted you when the tinted glass doors rattled open. Lights, as far as the eye could see, of neon pinks, greens and blues and a carpet, littered with stains of mud and grass from the other kids already there, matched all that was overhead and surrounding.

God, I loved this description! You really took me there and hooked me right in! Loved how you wove in all the colors, too 😍🩷🩵

With a huff, and one eye on you both at all times, Dean jogged over to the change machine by the door and swapped his money for quarters. You guys were the worst. Annoying. Impatient. Yet the way you grabbed the chair for Sam, and held it steady for him while he climbed up, had Dean’s nose buzzing again.

I can just so see little Dean with his little huffs and eye rolls whenever they annoyed him hahaha 😂

And that nose buzzing thing is so cute! Is that a thing? I've never heard of it before or heard a kid describe feelings at that. But it's adorable that his little crush on her shows this way and he notices it 🥰

And fuck yes, gimme 1997!!!!! I'm living for this!! 😍😍😍

IF YOU LEAVE

Chapter 1: Pretty in Pink

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

In the spring of 1988, Dean meets the girl of his dreams. He just doesn’t know it yet. 2k words

Tags: fluff, angst, young Sam and Dean, slow(ish) burn romance, childhood sweethearts, friends to lovers, 80s, 90s, season three, spans three decades, eventual smut, Rufus - crotchety at any age

@chevroletdean is celebrating 500 followers with a writing challenge! Liane made the beautiful mood-board above for me to work with. You can find more about the Milestone Celebration HERE. I’m gonna try and finish this before the 18th, but consider this chapter my piece for the challenge 😘

Next Chapter

April 1988

The first time Dean saw you was in third grade, Mrs Petersen’s class, but it wasn’t until during recess on the second day that you spoke. Your hair in pigtails, him with dirt on his knees, and a simple exchange over a juice box, because you were yet to learn how to filter.

At that point, as children often do, you didn’t think to ask for each other’s names, and when both boys walked through Bobby’s front door that afternoon, and he asked “How was school? Did you talk t’any other kids today?” He got a smile and a grunt as both boys ran up the stairs to their room.

“That great, huh?” He scratched his forehead under his cap, and went back to the kitchen to continue supper, and the hex bag he was making up for Rufus. The idjit had shown up on his doorstep earlier that day.

“I thought you didn’t have any Rugrats?” Rufus thumbed to the hall he’d come out of. A bottle of Jack in the other.

“I don’t,” Bobby said. But just as Dean didn’t realise the significance of you in his life at the time, Bobby hadn’t realised the boys in his either.

Dinner was simple that night. Bobby wasn’t a chef, but he was determined to give the Winchester boys something normal for once in their young lives. It’s why he’d enrolled them in the local school in the first place. Bought them bags and shoes. New clothes for Sammy because Dean’s hand-me-downs were far too big for the little tyke.

He’d even taken them to a barber, somewhere he never took himself, and signed Dean up for the school lunch program.

Yeah, he was growing soft. Lucky he had Rufus to point out the fact further with his outright stares and grins.

He was just doing a good deed. Looking after the future. Wasn’t that a part of being regular folk? Never mind the lady ringing up his groceries at the supermarket had frowned at him when he didn’t have a valid excuse for why they weren’t at school that day or two days before that.

Balls. That’s what it was. And he’d kick Rufus’ if he were close enough to reach with his boot.

Comments about him getting old, also balls. If Rufus was dumb enough to keep hounding him, he deserved a gun to his sack. Don’t worry ‘bout his steel caps.

He cleared his throat. Took a swig of beer and then settled his eyes on Dean. The kid was a smartass, but he was respectable, and had to open up, eventually. “So, did you learn anything today?” he asked. Tried to force a smile onto his face.

But Dean only shrugged, still defiant he should’ve been out there with his father.

“Well, what about your teacher? What’s her name?” He knew she was a she from the paperwork, Mrs Peters, or something like that. He just didn’t bother to remember in front of Rufus.

It didn’t matter though, because Dean shrugged again and shoveled another bite of meatloaf into his mouth.

Kids.

“My teacher is Miss Reeves,” young Sam piped up. Kid was smart for a four-year-old.

“Yeah? And what’d you do with her?” It’d been a long time since Bobby had graduated high school. Had no idea what kids in preschool did, besides the ABCs, he supposed. “Did you, ah,” he looked at Rufus for guidance, but the idjit had none. “Did you colour…or…sing a song?”

“I used blue, and red, and green for the grass I draws.” Sam beamed.

Okay… “That’s great, kid,” Bobby said.

Rufus downed another shot of Jack. The glass, sharp against the table when he hammered it onto the linoleum top. “Real great.” His tongue clicked. “What about you Dean? You colour, too?”

But when Dean said nothing, “Didn’t think so,” tumbled outta Rufus’ mouth.

“You could’ve given him a chance to answer.”

“Didn’t need to. He’s not gonna. Look at him.” Rufus swiped his hand out in front. His brow raised when Dean opened his mouth, though, and then he looked interested.

“I met a girl,” he said, resorting back to his former slouching when he noticed both men frozen and staring at him.

It was the loudest he’d spoken since living under Bobby’s roof. The first time he’d shown emotion other than attitude, and Bobby couldn’t help but smile. Until he thought harder about the issue.

Did he have to give these kids the bird and the bees talk, too? Hell no, he wasn’t!

His fingers scratched through his beard. That smile of his fell to a thin, pursed line. Bit of teeth spiking through the gap.

“A girl, huh? Like a girlfriend?”

“No!” Dean lost his chin to his neck. “She’s my friend, and she’s a girl.”

Simple. Obvious. Bobby felt the fool. Until he asked the all important question.

“What’s her name?”

What was your name?

Dean couldn’t answer that because he didn’t know. You were a girl, you’d been nice to him, and you didn’t like orange juice. That was the extent of it. You’d played your game after that. The one where he chased you, and you ran, much like what hunters did. Only, you weren’t a monster, and he didn’t hunt.

Not allowed to. Too young to do anything more than babysit Sammy and stay with Uncle Bobby.

He knew they weren’t related.

When he stepped into the classroom the next morning, books in hand, his eyes swept the room. No, he wasn’t interested in the US map, or the globe in the corner. He didn’t care that Mrs Petersen was scribbling sums on the board ready for the day’s lessons or for the tall boy with the extra tires whose farts created a war zone as he walked through the dust cloud.

No. He focused on you. Hair once again in pigtails, hot pink t-shirt and matching nails, which he thought little of because it was all too…girly, but then you smiled at him and his nose tingled as a result.

“Hi Dean,” you even said, and it was all he could do to not smile back as he took his seat in the row behind you and the Bat-signal drawn onto your right heel.

He needed to learn your name.

Of course, to a nine-year-old, “You like Batman?” was far more important. He asked you that when he sat down next to you at lunch that same day. The pale green plastic of his lunch-tray, just fitting in between yours and the boy’s to his left.

Your look of disgust was apparent even from your side profile, and unlike his smile, Dean couldn’t hold back his laughter when you turned. Not only did you spit out the word, “No,” but a sliver of strawberry jello came with it.

You wiped at your chin and poked your tongue out, which made him laugh harder.

“I like Michelangelo more, but my brother says he’s stupid.” Your head and eyes dropped to look under the table. “Didn’t like it when I told him the Ninja Turtles would beat Batman up.”

“Well, Leonardo might,” Dean said, and you frowned. “With his help,” he added.

His nose tingled again.

There was lots of that over the course of the week and the one that followed. Dean learned your name, and that your mom’s middle one was Mary - it only took a couple of extra days - but from the moment you bonded over your favourite cartoons, the two of you became inseparable, and Bobby was pleased.

Both Winchester boys had a chance at normal life. Well, semi-normal due to the talismans and arsenal in his basement.

And while Rufus refused to show his face again, as long as Sam and Dean lived under his roof, Bobby didn’t mind. He rather enjoyed that. But it didn’t stop other hunters and their problems from showing up on his doorstep, and on one particular Saturday morning after hearing from Bill Harvellle, he dug deep into his wallet for a couple of dollar bills and handed them to Dean.

“Why don’t you take your brother and that friend of yours to the arcade or somethin’,” he said, then narrowed his brows at the boy. “Call the house line ‘round five. Make sure it’s safe to come home.”

Dean took the money and shoved it in his front pocket. “Yes, sir.” He nodded once, and then grabbed Sammy by the hand and pulled him to the door.

The air was warm when they stepped outside. As Dean always did, he put the needs of his baby brother first, pulling off the four-year-olds jacket, then tying it ‘round his waist. He did the same with his and they were off. Sam on the handlebars of the bike Bobby had fixed up for them, Dean peddling with all his might into town.

It was hard work, and by the time they reached your house, he was out of breath, but it was worth it to feel the wind in his hair.

Cheeks puffed, neck hot and sweaty under the collar of his T-shirt, he knocked on your front door with a tight fist, and took a step back.

The dark wooden floorboards creaked underneath his sneakers. Footsteps from the other side moved closer, and he was soon met with your grinning smile and a bright pink scrunchie in your hair.

He scrunched his nose up, but that turned upside down when he saw the Ninja Turtle action figures in your hands.

“Hi Dean,” you said, peeking around him to look at Sam standing next to their bike. “You guys wanna come in and play?”

But they didn’t. Just as Bobby had suggested, Dean had other plans, and after checking in with your mom, the three of you headed to the local arcade.

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. The electronic piano jingles and a rocking soundtrack that tried its best to overcome everything else greeted you when the tinted glass doors rattled open. Lights, as far as the eye could see, of neon pinks, greens and blues and a carpet, littered with stains of mud and grass from the other kids already there, matched all that was overhead and surrounding.

Sammy clung to Dean even tighter. His little hands tugged on the base of his shirt. While on the other side of him, your face reflected the excitement hammering up his legs.

Until this stage in his young life, Dean had only been to an arcade once. The lucky timing of a classmate’s birthday party at a different school he spent all of two weeks in, well before being dumped here at Bobby’s.

That place was awesome, but this? It was awesome, too. There was just something about not being accompanied by adults that made it better.

Pacman and Donkey Kong called his name. Q-Bert, whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Space Invaders. Pin-ball and claw machines.

“Look! They have a Ninja Turtles one!” You pointed towards the back where a large machine plastered with their now fluorescent green faces stood out amongst the rest. “C’mon Sammy.” You grabbed the youngest boy’s hand and ripped him away from Dean.

“Hey, wait,” he called, but under all the noise, it was a lost cause.

With a huff, and one eye on you both at all times, Dean jogged over to the change machine by the door and swapped his money for quarters. You guys were the worst. Annoying. Impatient. Yet the way you grabbed the chair for Sam, and held it steady for him while he climbed up, had Dean’s nose buzzing again.

His nose buzzed like that every time he saw you. Playing games, eating lunch in the cafeteria. Riding your bikes through the streets of Sioux Falls, side by side, that same wind in your hair.

It’s just a shame it didn’t last long.

Never did.

Sam and Dean Winchester flew through towns as many times as there were months in the year, sometimes more. The Spring of ‘88 a rarity. Their stint at the local school and preschool, even rarer, and one soon forgotten.

Until 1997 when Dean found himself enrolling at another school in Sioux Falls.

He didn’t know the significance of that either, but he soon would. You’d make him.

Next Chapter

Am I shooting myself in the foot by releasing this part when I haven’t finished the rest? Probably, but I’m used to it. We’ll be diving into three stages in Dean and readers life in this one - up next - 1997.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

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If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[ysrjune]

《 MAKE EVERY NIGHT

YOUR VALENTINE 𖹭 》

STEPHEN GLASS X READER FT. LITTLE BROTHERS!SAM & SCOTT

freaked out Stevie 😈🤑 #stayfreaks

It had been a while since you've visited Stephen's parents' house. It had been at least 5 months since there were no family events going on. Being there felt a little weird, especially since his parents weren't even there, and you were going to be baby-sitting his brothers. Well, he was gonna babysit. You were only here to keep him company. Scott and Sam liked you. Maybe a little more than they should, but that doesn't mean that both of them aren't annoyed that you would be there. They didn't need to see Steve cuddled up to you 24/7 while they're not allowed to have their girlfriends over.

"It's cute that your room never changes." You smile at how Stephen's childhood room was still the same even if he no longer lived there. Video-game action figures that were still in their boxes, posters from movies and bands he still loves to this day, old books and other things that were in storage on top of his closet in a box. "Mom doesn't want it to. She says she comes in sometimes when she misses me." Steve grins and begins putting his and your clothes away in the old dresser. "I always knew I was her favorite. Maybe it's cause I was never a brat."

—

What was the one rule that Stephen had for his brothers when their girlfriends were over when he still lived there a year ago? Don't be loud. The boys had turned 16 and had finally gotten permission to bring their girlfriends over, but they only did it when their parents weren't home. Stephen never cared if the girls came over. He just didn't need to hear his stupid brothers going at it in the middle of the night. He also never cared that his brothers were sexually active. Those two were (hopefully) smart enough to be safe.

But tonight, Stephen had broken that rule. It's literally the first night of staying there, and he was already all over you. Large hands groping at your tits through that bra he loves and his lips pressing small kisses to your tummy. He was quiet at first while engaging in foreplay, but once he was actually fucking you, he couldn't shut up. He's always been very vocal and loud while having sex. It's sort of weird to him. He could stay quiet while jerking off, but not when he's having some fun with your pretty body..

The other thing about him is that he acts so dominant while talking sex up. "I'm gonna fuck you so good right on this stupid creaky bed. I remember when we were first talking, I used to touch myself thinking about how it would be like to make you cry my name." He mumbled against your leaking pussy. "I'd get off on just thinking about fingering you." He sucks on your clit once more before sliding two digits in your wet entrance. "Just. Like. That." He's so good with his fingers. Too good. Long and warm.

"Do you fucking hear that?" Scott barges into his twins room. "Yeah, he's such a hypocrite." Sam rolls his eyes, pausing his game. "Wow, learned a new word?" Scott insults his brother and sticks out his tongue. "Shut the fuck u–" He was about to say before hearing a loud moan coming from across the hall. Sam slowly turns his head over there and raises an eyebrow. "How about you tell him to shut up." Scott huffs angrily and leaves downstairs.

Steve keeps his hands on your hips as you ride him. Not guiding, just there for him to grab onto. "Keep fucking me like that, oh my God.." He rolls his eyes back. "I need you so bad. I missed you so much." It had only been two days that you and Stephen hadn't fucked, but he swore he was dying. Seeing you walk around you apartment in only your underwear and then refusing to touch him was torture.

The blond forces his thumb inside your mouth, whimpering at the sight. "Fuck, you look so hot.." You swirl your tongue around his finger, making his cheeks go red. Then he pulled it out and shoved his ring and middle finger inside instead. You know just how pathetic he is? He came just as soon as you sucked on those. "I-im sorry! I just.. I—.. I couldn't help it. You looked so good.." He cries as you roll your hips, still trying to reach your orgasm and working him through his high.

He was being pushed into the headboard and the bed was creaking loudly. "cum for me? give it t'me, I dont.. I don't wanna leave you hanging.." His thumb finds your clit. He kept moaning loudly, and honestly, you felt bad for his brothers. Yes, they terrorized him all the time by doing the same thing but Stephen was honestly too much of a goody-two shoes to actually be doing this. Or atleast he was. "Shut up, your brothers are probably annoyed with you already." You slap his cheek. "Mmph.. s-sor—mmhh!! so-rry.." He whines in between words.

You shove your fingers in his mouth and he goes crazy. Deep throating them and bobbing his head. What a little freak..

His glasses fogged, and he set them aside on his desk. "Are you close? Please tell me you are.. I wanna fuck you in another position. pleasepleaseplease." He begs sweetly with his blue eyes and needy tone. It only took a couple more minutes for you to finish, and once you, he flipped you around and arched your back for you. He pressed down on your middle and then gave your ass a smack. "just staring at you could get me off." He eases into you.

Again, he was a pathetic whining mess. And again! with his fingers in your mouth. He didn't even realize how often he does it. He thinks it's so attractive. "Y-you know.. I was thinking mmh.. that.. that I could maybe do your homework for you so that you can get it done faster.. and you can give me all your attention.." What. An. Attention whore. You hum a 'mm' around his fingers as a yes. Maybe he wouldn't be this way had you never spoiled him with your attention. He deserves it anyway. He's always so nice, and he never really got much attention growing up.

"I'm gonna cum I'm gonna cum oh my God. Don't stop moving on me baby, aah.." Stephen whines, his thrust growing more sloppy but still feeling delicious. "Im—mm.. uh.." He spills himself inside you, feeling extra sensitive due to you cumming around him as soon as he was done.

But he doesn't stay dominant when you suck his cock or when he's in you. "Stroke it while you suck it..aah..aah.. auuhh.." His moans get higher pitched with every one that comes out of his mouth. "Yesyesyesyes," He closes his eyes and rolls his hips into your mouth. "Mmm, mhm.. y—es.. oh my God.."

Breakfast that morning at the table was.. surprisingly not awkward? It was more like.. you know, just a normal conversation. Well, for the boys at least.

"It's not fair that you get to scream at the top of your lungs when you get head, but when it's ME, I get in trouble. I!! get called ANNOYING." Sam complains while chewing his pancake. "Or when the bed makes a bunch of noise and it's only a problem when it's because of me. Like, you're such a hypocrite." Scott rolls his eyes. "Hey, that's my word." Sam cocks an eyebrow at his brother. "You didn't know what it meant last week. Shut up." And then the boys suddenly forgot about why they were complaining the first place. They took their frustration on eachother in the living room, tackling eachother.

"We are so having sex every night and being loud to piss them off." Stephen smirks as soon as you wrap your arms around his neck from behind. "Because you wanna get back at them for those sleepless nights?" You giggle. "Yeah. And for all the picture frames that fell and broke." He scoffs.

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaasxo @anakinca @dollfilmz @alexlovesysrjune @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far

[fabbyf1]

besties,

i was debating on whether to share this or not - because it's very personal and has nothing to do with this fandom - but i've always kept it real with you all, and i wanted to let you know why i'm going to be MIA for a bit.

my grandfather died unexpectedly in his sleep last night. he was pretty healthy, all things considered, so this came as a shock to all of us. on one hand, i'm glad he went peacefully and didn't have to suffer or spend ages in a hospital, but on the other hand, i wish we had some warning.

my grandparents raised me and my brother as if we were their own, and i spent more time at their house than i did in my own childhood home. i'm not close to either of my parents, but i never felt like i was alone growing up because of my wonderful grandparents.

they were there for me every time i needed them, or needed a parent, or needed someone to listen to me cry and whine about my teenage problems. they made me meals, and bought me my first guitar, and made me believe that nothing was ever out of reach. they taught me all of my life skills, gave me my sense of humor and potty mouth, and always encouraged me to do whatever i wanted to do.

my pop knew that i liked to write, and while he didn't quite understand what fanfiction was, he always asked me how my writing was going and if i had written the next great novel yet. he was always asking me how our family book was coming along (which is NOT being written) and liked to joke that i should title it "My Grandmother: A Pain In The Ass" just to rile my grandma up.

and it worked, every single time.

i don't ever plan on writing a book about his life, but we loved to talk about writing together. i'm not sure how he'd feel knowing that i wrote explicit gay fanfiction for the masses, but i'd like to think he'd get a good laugh out of it and tell me something like, "Well ain't that a fucking choice."

here's to you, pop. you wonderfully grumpy old man.

it's weird to think that my grandparents are gone now, when they had such an impact on my life. grief is weird, and sadness is weird, and i don't always know where to put it. when my grandma died a few years ago, i sat down and wrote vapor over the course of a few weeks. now... i'm not so sure what i'll do or where i'll put my grief. i guess I'll let you know when i figure it out.

for now, i'm going to be traveling home for the first time in years to say goodbye and see the house one last time before it's sold. i know a lot of you have sent a bunch of asks this weekend about what i'm working on, trying to inspire me to write, etc. and i wanted you to know that i wasn't ignoring you... life has just gotten in the way.

see you soon, fam.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane Bonus SMAU Chapter

(simply because i missed doing smau posts)

no warnings. no written parts. just fluff.

japan 2025 ms.emma.meyer (private) posted

76 likes liked by madmaxx33, land-ho, leosdad, and others ms.emma.meyer not a bad first week of work, yeah? ☺️ vicverstapp good luck keeping my brother in line! >>>ms.emma.meyer he's been behaving...for now >>>madmaxx33 yeah, because i'm terrified of you >>>ms.emma.meyer as you should be

bahrain 2025 ms.emma.meyer (private) posted

89 likes liked by smooothoperator, madmaxx33, vicverstapp, and others ms.emma.meyer always on the move lately...japan->bahrain alexstmeow pretty pretty girl! can't wait to see you again next week >>>ms.emma.meyer ❤️ madmaxx33 wait, are those my headphones??? i thought i lost those! i ordered a new pair yesterday! >>>ms.emma.meyer consider it a business expense. a happy assistant means a happy boss 😃 >>>madmaxx33 nobody warned me you'd be so...expensive >>>ms.emma.meyer ok, rude simbas.mom love bug!! it was so nice to meet you this weekend!! can't wait to see you in miami!! >>>ms.emma.meyer kika! thank you for coming to my rescue with that fan ❤️ you're the best >>>madmaxx33 fan??? why'd you need rescuing from a fan???

Cyprus (in between Bahrain & Jeddah) ms.emma.meyer (private) posted

91 likes liked by vicverstapp, alexstmeow, madmaxx33, and others ms.emma.meyer quick break vicverstapp i thought you were going straight to jeddah! >>>ms.emma.meyer that was the plan. and then your brother threw a tantrum. now we're in cyprus. >>>madmaxx33 i did not throw a tantrum. and you were the one that chose cyprus. >>>ms.emma.meyer i only had to choose cyprus because you threw a tantrum >>>land-ho GOD i love seeing you whip him into shape, emmy >>>ms.emma.meyer shut up, lando ❤️ >>>land-ho anything for you, bby girl ❤️

ms.emma.meyer (private) posted

87 likes liked by madmaxx33, simbasmom, land-ho, and others ms.emma.meyer week three...crushed. alexstmeow that outfit was genuinely the hottest thing i've ever seen a human being wear >>>ms.emma.meyer this really cute friend of mine helped me pick it out. she's a genius. 🫶🏻 madmaxx33 i still say you cheated during our run...had that fan not spotted me and demanded an autograph, i would have beat you to that stupid palm tree... >>>me.emma.meyer cry about it maxie 😘

monaco. april, 2025

ms.emma.meyer (private) posted

97 likes liked by madmaxx22, viccerstapp, leosdad and others ms.emma.meyer april was a dream maxmaxx33 whoever took those pictures of you is a pretty good photographer, if i do say so myself >>>ms.emma.meyer so humble 😉 >>>land-ho let me take your picture next time...they'll probably turn our better 🤭 >>>madmaxx33 no way in hell is that ever happening >>>ms.emma.meyer now now maxie, play nice >>>land-ho yeah maxie, play nice >>>madmaxx33 i hate you both >>>ms.emma.meyer 😘

[youdontknowe]

Book report time of the week!!!

Only book reports I’ve even willingly done fr

* Strong start when we thought we were past the avoid the conversation stage 😩

* Awwww Dean yearning so bad for her is everything for me 💙 he’s gonna like buffer so bad when they finally are just together

* Chronic overthinker core

* ‘You’re like the universe, and I’m sorta like the stars, so how this should work is I fill you up-‘ Dean you horny man! I’m in.

* The circumstances around their mutual existence is exhausting no wonder they’re like yk what we don’t need more on this plate

* Being included with sammys life of the line is SERIOUS for him (I like that you add these lil things cus if it’s the car or his brother your getting chosen with or above its big)

* He’s so down bag he’s gotten one moment and he’s wearing the tape down on it

* I wonder if he’d ever just play dumb and pretend he didn’t know a word just to see her smile and tell him (it’s very on brand)

* Lmao Sam being like no you don’t get to ask him he agrees with everything you say!

* Sam getting teamed up on so he will go flirt is his version of getting a taste of his own medicine

* The banter in that scene is also chefs kiss

* I’m always like crying over the sun/shadow sun/moon and the sun/plant thingy you have going it’s so cute

* ‘Scary pretty face important people have’ but like old money pretty or actress pretty?

* I’m sobbing dean freaking out as soon as he woke up is heartbreaking

* I can’t wait for the arc about what she changes cus like topping the ROMAN EMPIRE? Icon behaviour

* OH Dean experiencing the sky? I wonder if that’s a result of her kinda melding into his soul

* Literally giggled when I read she’s trying to figure out how to write deans name

* PLEASE “I raised you better than that!” “No you didn’t” “I tried not my fault it didn’t take” GOLD ABSOLUTE COMEDY GOLD

* Holy shit, cas sayin she looks like god is INSANE (dean is gonna love this also connection to the earlier prayer thought? 👀)

* Everyone just has ptsd by now ( is it ptsd if the stress is ongoing?)

* Damn she’s really spiraling thinking about a hypothetical woman dean could fall in love with

* Oh little theory pause! So by little comments she’s getting more powerful from just Dean being him, what if when they finally get together and she’s like properly soaking up that love she gets to goddess status and then something big happens (leading from a previous thing I said) and then she has her moment and deans her like god equivalent Prince consort (god-consort?)

* Uh oh her trauma is bad and god she’s gonna feel terrible for hurting Sam

* FINALLY Sam gets to say something

* Holy shit I did not expect the boto to be pretending to be dean! And she’s a virgin who knew (not me but I did kinda think hey she’s been a. Lonely b. In love with Dean c. Surrounded by overprotective males. )So yeah makes sense lmao

* YES MORE SMOOCHES

* End note: yeah there would have been some heavy foundation damage to whatever place it occurred before now lmao

* I loved this so much it was more fluffy than last chapters I think, and I’m so happy girly got the balls to go just grab him and I love that he got hard too lmao

Chapter 19 - That's Nothing New

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome to my favorite part of any slow burn: horny

Chapter Title from Vertigo by Griff

Word Count: 18.4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A very special valentine’s episode. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

Read on A03!

They hadn’t talked about it. 

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. He didn’t know where that conversation led. 

It could be simple. He could corner Her in Bobby kitchen, ask Her what it meant to Her, and they’d have to have The Conversation. And Dean—for once in his life—might get pretty damn lucky, and She’d say it meant the same to Her that it had meant to him.

Everything. 

The kiss had meant everything. It what most of what he was made of, now. The memory of it playing on a heavy loop in his head, the taste of Her lingered on his tongue—he was starting to develop a small habit of licking his lips every single freaking second, trying to gather up whatever little bits of Her remained like some sort of creep—and his hands were itching to touch Her again. 

He didn’t have a goddamn clue how he’d managed to go so long without touching Her. Kissing Her. Trying to find out every single way She could possibly moan his name, because son of a bitch, that was the best thing he’d ever heard.

She was the best thing Dean had ever had. 

And he didn’t even know if it had meant anything to Her.

There were a lot of ways that conversation could go, and Dean had played out most of them in his head already. It was a like planning for a hunt. He’d grab her in the kitchen, because that would give Her more of a warning than if he started The Conversation in Her bedroom, and a better place for him to escape than if he used to Impala.

In some versions, he started The Conversation, then pussied out and ran away. He was a fucking coward. Dean knew how to talk to ladies. He was good at talking to ladies. He was good at talking to Her.

But not about this. 

“Why’re you up, Princess?”

Dean had woken up a few days ago, and She hadn’t been in bed. The only thing that kept him from freaking out was how he could still smell Her on the sheets. And She wouldn’t have just left. She’d pinky promised him She wouldn’t just leave.

He’d found Her in the library. Of course he had. Absentmindedly scratching notes on a small piece of paper as she read, Her brow furrowed in the cuter, less painful version of Her little wrinkle, not even flinching or starting as Dean made himself known.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She’d muttered, and Dean had shrugged.

“You’re not gonna sleep, if you’re down here.”

“I’ll be fine.” She’d written down another note that—when Dean had craned his neck—was obviously in Enochian. She’d been doing that more lately, and Dean didn’t really want to think about why. “Go back to bed, De.”

He could’ve. But that would mean leaving Her, and Dean had promised not to do that. And this had been the perfect time. For The Conversation. No Bobby to try and shoot him, no Sammy to tease him, no Jo to make little jokes about it. Just Her and Dean, in the dead hours of the night.

In the moment, he’d really thought he could do this. 

“So, uh,” He’d cleared his throat, and She’d glanced up from Her book. “Angels.”

She’d frowned. “What about them? I- Nothing has tried to break through the wards, right? Because a lot of those sigils are experimental, but they should start like, glowing, if something is coming-“

“Nothing’s coming.” Dean had mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just. You know. Lotta stuff happening.”

“Like…” She raised Her brows, and Dean wasn’t sure how She always managed to look so perfectly put together. “Angels?”

“Yeah.”

She’d hummed, scanning over Dean with an unreadable expression, and he’d felt like She was looking right into his soul-

Son of a bitch, She probably was. She could see Dean’s soul, and if Hell somehow hadn’t made Her run, this was going to. He didn’t know how it worked, but the want in his body for Her wasn’t pure, and if She saw it and hated it, Dean would end up alone-

“Are you feeling okay?” Her voice had been soft as She cut off Dean’s thoughts, and he’d blinked. “De, you- You’re really red.”

“‘M fine.” He’d mumbled, and She’d shaken Her head.

“Did you get sunburned or something? I know it’s winter, but you’re outside all the time, and I have aloe if it hurts-“

“Nothing hurts.” He’d thrown Her his best, widest, most charming smile, and moved to drop at Her side. “What are we reading?”

She’d smiled slightly, pulling Her book away from Dean’s gaze. “We’re not reading anything.”

“I can read-“

“Not this.”

“But-“

“It’s a girl book, De.” 

He hadn’t known what a girl book was. He still wasn’t entirely sure. 

He’d stayed anyway.

“C’mon, I did those face masks with you and Jo. I can read your girl book.” He’d reached out a hand, and Her eyes had widened.

“Dean-“

“I’m not going back to bed.”

She’d stared at him, and Dean had known She’d heard the silent words. 

Without you. I’m not going back to bed if you’re not there.

“Do you…” She’d swallowed, Her eyes never leaving Dean’s, and maybe he should’ve damned it all and kissed Her again there. “I’m hungry. Are you-“

“I’m always hungry, Princess.” Dean had grinned, and offered Her his hand. “Gas station?”

She’d given him a small smile and nod, The Conversation hadn’t happened, and Dean had decided that bringing it up naturally—which had, somehow, been the plan in the library—had to be taken off the table as an option.

But he didn’t know how to do it otherwise. 

Hey, Princess, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and if you want to kiss me again, I won’t stop you. Wrong. She was beautiful being that was above goddamn heaven, Dean couldn’t ask Her out like it was a suggestion to get him more pie. Like this wasn’t the most important thing he’d ever done. 

I’m a piece of shit, sweetheart, but I want you, so I’m sorry about that, but could you please fucking kiss me again before I lose my mind. Wrong again. She shouldn’t have to. It didn’t mean anything if She kissed Dean to keep him from losing his mind. She had to want it.

I think you’re fucking awesome. She knew that. It had never gotten Her to kiss him before.

Every single time I dream, it’s about you- 

He wasn’t a teenage girl.

Do you have any idea how fucking hard I get whenever you smile at me? How many times I’ve imagined grabbing you and pinning you to the wall, or bending you over the table, or getting on my knees and-

Bobby would shoot him. He’d deserve it.

You’re like the universe, and I’m sorta like the stars, so how this should work is I fill you up-

He was going to shoot himself.

And there were too many variables for what She might say. Maybe it really had meant nothing to Her, and She’d tell Dean that, and he’d just have to fucking live with that. 

Worse, maybe it had meant everything to Her. Maybe Dean really, fully had Her if he wanted Her, and now he could lose Her. Break Her. Maybe She’d say Deano, of course I’m the universe, but you’re somehow the best thing that happened to me too, and climb on his lap and kiss him again, and he’d get to hold Her, but know angels were hunting Her and Alistair might try to take Her away.

Even if that was the case, even if She did—against all odds and reason—want Dean, he had to have The Conversation about it, first. 

He still didn’t know how to do that. Because it was exactly like planning for a hunt. And the number one rule of making plans for hunts was that you were going to have to improvise. Move on instinct, and stay alive. Speak on instinct, and keep Her by his side.

Dean did not know how to speak on instinct. And if he stumbled or tripped in a hunt—he didn’t, really, ever, as killing monsters was a whole lot easier than trying to tell Her that he’d kill and die to kiss Her just one more fucking time—the only thing it would cost Dean was himself. He never hesitated, when it was Her or Sammy on the line, so the only person that ever ended up hurt because of Dean fucking a hunt up was himself. And that was acceptable.

He didn’t know how to do that for The Conversation. How to find his way with all the right words should he lose them. He could say something horrible, say something wrong, fuck it up and lose Her forever. There were no bullets or blades to jump in front of, if She started to get upset.

Son of a bitch, what if She started to get upset.

What if She started to cry, and Dean wasn’t allowed to calm Her down because he’d fucked it all up. He couldn’t live with himself, if that was how it played out. Dean could barely tolerate himself now, when he’d down and swear that there was blood on his hands once more. She’d stayed when She knew about the blood. If Dean lost Her now, because of his words, there would be no one else to blame but himself.

He was supposed to be Her shadow. And this was part of being Her shadow, but the most important part was keep Her safe and never let anything hurt Her.

Dean could have hurt Her.

But She’d kissed him back. Over the past few weeks, whenever Dean would roll over and look at Her in bed, he’d remind himself that She’d kissed him back. She’d wanted it. He was a piece of shit, but not that low and ugly in the mud. He’d never do that to anyone.

But he was still fantasizing about Her. And it was wrong, so fucking wrong to look over Her in the night and brush hair from Her face because he was allowed to, only to turn around and shuffle into the shower in the morning, and replay the kiss over and over in his head until his cock was raw in his hand.

Even now, sitting in the dark of a parking lot with Her at his side, Dean was having too many fantasies.

They’d been doing it every other night, since the library. Going out to the gas station in the dead of night, just them, together, whenever one of them couldn’t sleep. Tonight She’d even woken Dean up with big glossy eyes and a sad little furrow on Her brow. 

“I- I’m sorry.” She’d whispered, looking a little too much like the exact image that had been in Dean’s head only seconds before. Where She was hovering above him, but his hands were on Her hips, and his mouth was wrapped around one of Her nipples as She rode his cock and screamed his-

He'd been dangerously close to getting hard, and forced himself to focus on the soft nervousness of Her voice—obviously distressed and, for reasons he'd never understand, seeking his comfort—to calm down.

"You can go back to bed, if you want, but-"

"No, 's alright." Dean had rubbed the sleep from his eyes, holding Her against him before she decided to run away. "I was up anyway."

That was a lie. They both knew that was a lie, but She smiled, and it was worth the consequence of another sin added to his roster. 

"You need a ride?" He'd asked, and She'd flushed, giving him a small nod.

"I- Um, yes. Please."

It hadn't been until they were in the car that Dean caught his own wording. Or the fact that holding Her to make sure she stayed had meant grabbing Her by waist and pinning her to his body.

That would be a good way to start The Conversation.

Baby, if I had kissed you right there, would you have stabbed me for real this time, or let me take care of you.

Dean wasn't brave enough to say it. But he could think it, over and over until he drove himself insane. And he could stare at Her in the soft shadows and lights of the parking lot, and know that he'd never be able to have The Conversation. 

He couldn't afford to push his luck. When he didn't dream about kissing Her, he dreamt about Hell. And She'd started to infect those dreams too, since Boston. Since Dean found out She'd been there, and still hadn't left him. He would've left him, if that was an option. Shit, Sammy and Bobby still didn't know, and he dreaded the day they looked at him and saw him. Saw that vast fucking pit that had been in Dean his whole life, ripped open into a chasm by his own hand, and knew what he was.

Worse than a monster. Lower than the mud. 

Never fucking worthy of anything, let alone Her. The drop-dead gorgeous, ethereal, literally fucking magical woman made of stars, who could see him, and was staying.

Dean couldn’t take more from Her than she was already offering, just by staying and letting him care for Her at least like this. He'd gotten to kiss Her once, and that was more than he deserved. He got to be the one She came to in the dead of night for comfort and company. She wasn't leaning against anyone else in the car. Wasn't holding their hand like it was a lifeline as they wandered through the gas station. Didn't stand on Her toes to whisper in anyone's ear but Dean's, because he was Her shadow. No one else.

She'd asked if they could get ice cream. Asked it like Dean wouldn't give Her the fucking Sun if he could figure out how to grab it.

And now She was curled up at his side, a little bit of it stuck on Her nose, and Dean would be fine never kissing Her again, as long as he got to be the one who wiped the splotch away with his thumb and licked it clean. 

“Do you want some?” She held the tub out with raised brows, and Dean gave Her a small grin. 

“Nah, I got my pie.”

“But you gave me some of yours-“

“Cause you were staring, Princess, and I’m a-“ Dean paused, frowning at the air. “What do you call those guys who give people all their things?”

A small, soft smile covered Her features. Dean had never seen anything prettier. “Samaritans?”

“Yeah, that. I’m one of those.”

She giggled, leaning Her head back on the bench. “You know, Sam told me you threatened to exorcise Ruby if she tried to take your ice last week.”

“Well, the bitch didn’t fucking pay for it.” Dean grumbled. “And it is Ruby. You’d have threatened worse.”

“Touché.” She turned Her head to the side, watching Dean through the dark, and he knew She could see it. If She could see his soul, She had to see the chasm as well.

And She was still looking at him. Staying at his side. He didn’t fucking understand why.

“Dean?”

He grunted, fiddling with his jerky bag. She’d grabbed it before anything else. They’d barely been in the store for ten seconds before She’d shoved it into Dean’s hands, the same way he’d grabbed a root beer and passed it to Her without a thought. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. 

“I’m worried about Sam. He’s- You know I don’t trust Ruby, and they’ve been hanging out a lot-“

“I know.” Dean muttered. “I am too, but- I don’t know, sweetheart. He’s not listening to me about it anymore. Says I’m blinded about-“

He cut himself off, because the end of that sentence was Her. That Dean was blinded in his worry about Her, and how because She and Ruby didn’t like each other, they couldn’t bring Her on the seal cases. 

They’d gotten in a fight about it, last week. On the drive back, Dean had grumbled something about missing Her, wanting to bring Her on the next one because She’d fucking nail it—these were Her exact types of cases, weird and impossible to understand until she gave it a once over and got it in ten seconds—and thinking it was unfair that Sam got to bring his untrustworthy demon everywhere, but Dean couldn’t bring his awesome, brilliant, perfect Her.

Sam had sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want her here, Dean, you know I do, but- Ruby’s worried she’ll kill her-“

“Good.” Dean had muttered. “She will.”

“She shouldn’t! Ruby’s the only demon we’ve got completely on our side-“

Dean had snorted. “Jesus, Sammy, I really thought you were smarter than thinking a demon would ever be on our side-“

“Ruby is, she’s proved over and over that she is-“

“Proved to you.”

“She’s tried to prove to you as well, man, but you’re just never wrong about people, I guess-“

“I am wrong about people! I know I’ve been wrong about people, but you know who’s never fucking wrong about people?” Dean had spat Her name, and Sam’s mouth had snapped shut. “I don’t need Ruby to prove herself to me, she needs to prove herself to-“

“The woman who wants to kill her?” Sam had mumbled, watching Dean carefully, and he’d been damn near close to strangling the wheel.

“To the woman who can see fucking souls. She’s not wrong. And I want her on the next seal.”

Sam had sighed. “Dude, if you just want to stay with her, you can skip the next case. I- It’s not just about Ruby.” Sam had said Her name gently, giving Dean a sympathetic look he didn’t fucking want. “If we put her on a seal case, the angels will notice. It won’t be safe for her-“

“I’d protect her.” 

“But what if you can’t, Dean.” Sam’s voice had been too fucking soft. “It’s- The seals are a lot, but all the Magdalene stuff is… different. You told me Cas doesn’t understand it, and Ruby-“

“Don’t.” Dean had pushed the words through his teeth. He was done with the conversation, because he would protect Her. That was the whole point of being Her shadow. If he couldn’t touch Her, at least he could protect Her. And if He couldn’t do that, he might as well just be another asshole in the mud. 

“Dean-“

“No. Don’t tell me what Ruby thinks of my-“ Dean had snapped Her name, and if Sam caught his slip, he didn’t say anything. “Ruby called her a bitch. You know that, Sam? Ruby called her a self-important bitch.”

Sam had—wisely—looked down at his hands with a shameful expression. “I- Dean, I’m not trying to-“

“I don’t care. You know she’s better than Ruby.” She was better than all of them. “And I want her. On the case. Got it?”

Sam had nodded, and that had been the end of it. If She wanted, they’d bring Her on the next seal case. 

If She wanted.

Dean hadn’t asked yet. He hadn’t found a time for it. She was already dealing with enough. 

Yet was another reason they hadn’t had The Conversation. Between the seals, his fights with Sam about Ruby, and the whole dangerous bringer of change thing Cas had dropped on them, this was simply not a good time to start begging Her to tell him what he meant to Her, like he was some kind of pathetic little yipping dog. Trying to get Her attention and affection, when she needed to be working. 

They all needed to be working. 

Dean still spent too much time staring at Her lips, and wondering if just licking them would let him taste the fruit again. 

He’d been staring at Her for too long now. Where She could see it. She’d asked him a genuine question, Dean had been a piece of shit and lost himself in thoughts of licking Her. 

“I, uh- At least you’re coming with us. Instead of Ruby.”

She frowned at him. “What?”

“Next seal case. You’re-“

“Dean,” She sighed, and he’d done something wrong. She was pouting at him a little, and rubbing the scar on Her palm—She’d never actually told him how She got it, but it would once again be far too greedy to take more—so Dean had done something wrong.

“If you want.” He added, trying to keep his voice perfectly even and natural. “They’re just a lot of weird, crazy shit, and you love that stuff-“

“It’s not that.” She whispers, giving him a sad smile. “You remember what Cas said. I- Sam’s right, keeping me away from the seals. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Dean had a lot of issues with that. To start, Sam was not right. She should not be kept away from anything. Second, and more importantly- “What are you worried about, then?”

“I- I think she’s doing something to him.”

“Ruby? To Sammy?” Dean frowned. Sam was the same. A little angrier, and more exhausted, but the same. 

But She nodded, the movement nervous. “I- I don’t know how. Or what. But I’m really worried about him, Dean, I shouldn’t have run when you-“ She swallowed, and Dean hadn’t missed how She’d been doing that. Aside from their fight in Texas, She never said dead, or died, or death. And Her lips were being chewed raw by her teeth, and Her eyes were a little glazed as she stared at Dean, and- 

There was the wrinkle.

Dean pulled Her fully into his arms without thinking about it. If She wanted to shove him away, She could, and he wouldn’t fight it. But she just dropped Her head into his chest with a long breath, shaking Her head against his body.

“We’re past that, Princess.” He murmured, not sure what else to say. “You’re not running anymore. Remember, I’ll catch you if you try.”

She sighed, the sound a little shaky. “You still need to explain that, Winchester.“

“I’m good.” He shrugged, smiling a little into the air. “I’m not blaming you for what Sam did while I was gone, same as I’m not blaming Sam for you.”

That was a little bit of a lie. But it made Her relax, and She didn’t need to know that he’d shouted at Sam and Bobby for losing Her, so he let it go. 

“Sammy’ll be fine. He’s an idiot, but he’s the smartest little idiot on the planet-“

“He is not little.” She mumbled, and Dean chuckled.

“His soul is little.”

“No, it isn’t.” She buried Her face a little further in Dean’s body. He couldn’t think about it. “It’s big and shiny.”

“Huh.” Dean frowned down at Her. “What about-“

“You’re big and shiny too.”

Warmth inflated in his chest, and that shouldn’t have made him as proud as it did. He was big and shiny. Even if She was obviously hitting the point of sleepy where Dean would think She was drunk if he didn’t know better, She’d called him big and shiny.

And golden. She’d said Dean was golden, and no matter what She could see on his body after Hell, she hadn’t taken it back. 

“What are you?” He asked, running his fingers through Her hair and making his voice soft, and She shrugged. 

“‘M not anything.”

“You-“

“But I can feel it. Everything.” 

“Oh. Of course.” Dean smiled down at Her. “You ready to go home, b- Princess?”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Her fingers curled into his shirt. “What about the next case?”

Dean sighed. He wanted Her there, so fucking much. 

Almost as much as he wanted Her to get what She wanted.

“You don’t have to go-“

“I want to go!” Her voice was almost a whine, and Dean couldn’t let himself think too hard about it as She leaned back, looking up at him with big eyes and shiny hair falling around Her face. “I wanna go Dean, but I- What if the angels don’t want me there?”

“Who gives a shit what they think?”

“I do.” She whispered. “What if they put you back in Hell?”

Dean didn’t know if they could do that. “They won’t.” He hoped he sounded more confident in that than he felt. “They need me for all the seal stuff, and you’re gonna be great at it, so they need you.”

She shook Her head. “They don’t need me. They don’t want me interfering. Cas said they’d take precautions.”

“I don’t care.”

“Dean, I care. I- I’m not already pushing it just by staying with you at Bobby’s, I don’t want to-“ She took a shaking breath, staring at Her hands on Dean’s chest. “We still don’t really know what I am. And if the Magdalene who brought the Roman Empire was barely even five percent…”

“Magic?” Dean offered as She trailed off, and she nodded.

“What am I going to do?”

They hadn’t really talked about this either. The Magdalene thing. Dean didn’t really have anything to say about, because it really hadn’t been an actual answer. They had a name, but no matter how many books She and Sammy read, how many contacts Bobby and Ellen reached out to, nobody had ever even damn heard of it. And angels and demons freaking out about Her wasn’t anything new, and nothing had shifted where She was suddenly some sort of lamb to be sacrificed, or monster to be caged.

She was still just Her. As far as Dean cared, no matter how they framed it, She was Herself, and nothing else really fucking mattered. He’d keep looking for answers because She wanted them, but for Dean, She was enough all on her own. 

“You’ll do whatever you want.” He muttered, holding Her gaze. “And if you want to come on this next one, that’s it.”

She sighed. “Dean-“

He hummed Her name back, and grinned at Her glare.

“What if I’m a seal?” She grumbled. “Have you thought of that?”

“Nope.” Dean slid Her back into her place, pressing a greedy kiss to her brow at the last second. “And I’ll have you however, arfing or not.”

She giggled, shaking Her head. 

It was resting back on his shoulder.

He’s not allowed to think about it.

“That’s not funny.”

“You laughed.”

“I’m tired-“

“And I’m trying to get you to bed.” Dean started Baby’s engine, and She let out a soft hum. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, Princess. Let’s get you some rest.” 

She didn’t fight it. When Dean pulled Her out of the car, she slumped into his side. He got to all but carry Her up the stairs, and help her back into bed, before crawling in right beside Her. And that was more than anyone else got.

It would have to be enough. For Her to let Dean touch Her at all, when she’d seen what he’d done. For Her to listen to him at all, and agree to go on the case, when all She’d have to say was no, Dean, and he’d drop it. He’d suck it up and deal with Ruby for another week, forcing himself not to grab his phone and call Her every ten minutes. 

But She’d agree. 

She was going on the case. Dean wouldn’t have to deal with Ruby, and—more importantly—he’d get to see Her. All week. In the rearview mirror on the car ride and on the other side of his motel bed, across from him in the diner and next to him at the bar. 

“It’s good we know this is a seal going in.” Sam said, watching Her draw on a paper napkin. 

She’d been doing that a lot, lately. In Enochian, without bothering to tell Sam and Dean what she was doing.

Dean really wasn’t sure how he’d ask. The best he could offer himself was pressing right into Her side and staring over Her shoulder, only half listening as Sam tried to talk about the case.

In his defense, none of them were really paying attention. Dean was staring at Her, She was focused on her napkin, and Sammy kept getting distracted by a redhead making fuck-me eyes at him. Then he’d make the eyes back, before coughing and trying to continue the conversation whenever Dean glanced over and caught him.

She paused, glancing up with a small frown. “Do you usually not know?”

“Sometimes Cas drops in and gives us a heads up,” Dean leaned a little further forward. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He wasn’t magic, and he definitely couldn’t speak angel. “Told us that heaven knows Lilith’s making moves in Florida, and whatever she’s starting, we need to squash.”

She gave Dean an amused look. “Cas did not say making moves.”

“You can’t prove that, sweetheart.” Dean winked at Her, and Sam cleared his throat. 

“We also know what she’s doing-“

“What moves she’s making-“

“Shut up, Dean. A lot of couples have been murdered at the resort we’re headed to.” Sam wrinkled his nose. “Like, a lot. Too many to be normal.”

She hummed, looking back to Her paper. “How many is a lot?”

“Eight.”

“That’s not a lot.”

Sam frowned at Her. “What number would be a lot?”

“I dunno. Fifteen?” 

“That is not a-“

“Yes, it is.” She looked up to Dean. “Fifteen’s a lot, right Deano?”

Sam scoffed. “You can’t ask Dean, he’s just going to agree with you.”

Dean scowled. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are, dude-“

“Well, you’re not giving him a chance to answer, Sam-“

“And I wasn’t going to agree with her-“

She turned to give Dean a pretty, wide-eyed look, and son of a bitch, his cock twitched in his pants. “You weren’t?”

“I- Uh.” Dean coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t really think about it! You and Sam started yelling and shit, I wasn’t really paying attention-“

“Why?” Sam raised his brows, suddenly looking a hell of a lot more smug than earlier. “What were you looking at instead, Dean?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Shut up, Sammy. Go flirt with the redhead who’s been making eyes at you and leave us alone.”

Sam sighed. “We’re in the middle of a case, Dean-“

“Technically the case hasn’t started,” She hummed. “And we get it. Dying couple, resort, Lilith, figure out exactly what the seal is and stop it from being broken. Easy.”

“It’s not easy, and you haven’t even heard the actual plan yet-“

“We’ll go undercover,” She refocused on Her napkin, voice smooth and bored. “We’ll need a patron, a bartender, and a staff member. Optimized access to the facility, a lot of good reasons to talk to people, none of us too out of place for talking to each other.”

Sam frowned. “How would staff and patrons talking not be conspicuous-“

“Staff could be work friends. Patron could be just nosing their way into the conversation. As long as we’re careful, it’ll be fine. The patron will have to stay in their room, to keep appearances, but I doubt Lilith is wire-tapping phones.”

Sam’s mouth opened and closed, and he finally gave in with a sigh. It was a good plan. Of course it was. It was Her plan.

Dean let that show all over his face, as he shot Sammy a smug look. They hadn’t even gotten to the seal yet, and his girl was already killing it. Ruby would’ve talked about sneaking around and breaking in and other stupid shit. She was smarter than that. 

“Go flirt with the redhead, Sam.” She didn’t look up from Her napkin, and Sam sighed.

“I’m not- It’s almost valentine’s day, guys, I’m not trying to be. You know. The guy.”

She looked up. “The guy? What’s the guy?”

“You- Dean knows. He’s been the guy-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted. “Shut it. Go flirt.”

She shook Her head, frowning between them. “I- Sam, what’s the guy-“

“It’s a dude thing.” Dean snapped, and She scoffed.

“I thought we were breaking gender barriers, Winchester. You did me and Jo’s girl things-“

Sam grinned. “What girl things?”

“Nothing. Both of you, shut the fuck up. Sam,” Dean pointed firmly at the red-head with the fuck-me eyes. “Flirt. And you,” Dean turned his glower down to Her, and she covered his mouth with a hand.

That shouldn’t have been as effective as it was. Dean was suddenly too consumed by Her hand—warm and soft and over his mouth—to keep protesting.

“Sam, what’s the guy.”

At least Dean got an apologetic look first. “It’s, uh- The valentine’s day bar guy. Who sleeps with lonely women, because he knows that’s all they want. And,” Sam was still talking. Why the hell was Sam still talking. “Dean hasn’t been that guy in a long time, I promise, I was just making fun of him.”

“Oh.” Dean couldn’t read the expression on Her face. “Okay. Go.”

Sam frowned. “Go-“

“Redhead, Sam.” Her hand dropped from Dean’s mouth. He wanted it to come back. He could kiss Her knuckles, then pin her arms over her head and-

Dean could not get another boner in public, just from thinking about Her. He needed to pull it together.

“But, uh-“ Sam was still protesting, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not-“

“Maybe she’ll be your soulmate or something.” She shrugged, looking back to the napkin. Dean couldn’t read that tone either. “Go.”

“I, I haven’t done that,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down the bar. “In a while. What if-“

“You’ve got this, Buddy.” She gave Sam a thumbs up, and Her voice was bubbly. Dean’s never heard Her be bubbly before. “Go.”

Sam nodded slowly, scooted out of his chair, and the moment Sam was out of earshot, she sighed and rolled Her eyes at Dean.

“Thank god. I could like, fucking feel her.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

“The redhead.” She nodded to where Sam had disappeared in the crowd, Her attention back on the napkin. “She’s been staring at him all night, and god, she’s horny, Dean. It’s like, all over the table.”

She wasn’t tired. She’d actually slept really well last night. And She still didn’t drink, so Dean didn’t need to be worried about that.

He still didn’t have a clue what She was talking about.

“What.”

She sighed, looking up to Dean. He couldn’t breathe. “Her soul. When someone want companionship, they put out like, pheromones. Kind of. It’s hard to explain when you can’t see them.”

“Oh.” Dean paused, then tensed as it hit him. She could tell when people were horny.

Dean was horny all the fucking time.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Are you-“

“Yeah, Princess I’m-“ He swallowed. “Can you just like, see it? When people are, uh. Lookin’ for action?”

“No. It’s, like- It’s not a smell, but it’s not not a smell, and they’re kinda like tentacles-“ 

“Tentacles-“

“No, but yes, and-“ She sighed, shaking Her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain it-“

“Hey,” Dean grabbed Her hand before he could second think it, and Her lips parted. Hitched breath. 

Shit.

“You’re fine.” He muttered. “I was just wondering. Don’t hurt yourself, Princess.”

She nodded slowly, still staring at him, and Dean could feel the heat on his face. This was getting too close to something that might cause The Conversation. Dean was not ready for The Conversation.

“Uh, since when can you see that shit?”

She let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know. Being around people is doing… A lot.” She frowned at the napkin. “It’s kind of messy.”

“Messy-“

“Colorful.”

Dean nodded slowly. He didn’t really fucking understand—with Her, he never did—but he knew what mattered. “It’s it too much?” He tried to keep his voice soft, and he was rewarded with a small nod. 

“Too much.”

“Alright.” Dean pushed off his stool, moving his hand to Her lower back. “Let’s go. We’ll pick up Sammy in the morning.”

She blinked at him in adorable confusion. “Dean-“

“C’mon, we’re going back to the motel.” Dean smirked over at where the redhead was half in Sam lap. “Think we’re done here anyway.”

Dean was certainly done here. He was done anywhere that would make Her curl up into Herself, and there was nothing else for him to do—in this bar or anywhere in the world—but care for Her. 

Sammy seemed happy with his fuck-me-eyes redhead, but Dean was going to have to punch him later for bringing up how Dean used to be one of those guys. It didn’t matter that he had been. Dean had—very purposefully, for a long time—been one of those guys, and he’d been pretty fucking good at it. He wasn’t such a fucking asshole to deny that he had very much thrived on being one of those guys. It had kept him satiated in the dark, the brief touches and lies of permanence and possession. It may have been an artificial light—leaving him hungrier and lonelier than before, once the effects wore off—bur it had worked. He’d done it. And he wouldn’t take it back, because the pit might have swallowed him otherwise. 

But Dean wasn’t one of those guys now.

He really hadn’t been for a while. He hadn’t been that guy on Valentine’s day, but he also hadn’t been that guy at random bars, or the roadhouse, or on the cases. And he didn’t know when it had stopped all together-

That was a fucking lie. 

He knew exactly when it stopped.

It was sooner than he’d ever admit to anyone. It wasn’t after he got back from hell, or he found out about Her magic stuff, or when she learned about the deal and stayed. It wasn’t even when he’d started sharing Her bed.

She’d settled into the backseat of his car like She belonged there, decided to stay for the first time after those witches in Utah—when they’d been looking for Jo and found Her—and Dean had been done with bars and fuck-me eyes. Done with artificial light to keep him from falling into the pit.

And She’d told him about photosynthesis, a while ago. He didn’t know how the hell that had worked itself into a conversation, but She said it’s how plants eat, Deano. They absorb the sunlight and turn it into energy. 

Dean might be a plant. 

She might be the sun. 

And he couldn’t go back to artificial light if he tried.

He did still make fuck-me eyes, though. As he stood alone in the shower—Her long asleep in their bed—Dean could admit he made fuck-me eyes a lot. At Her.

She never seemed to see them, though. Even when they’d been obvious, and he’d been so fucking worried he’d been caught, nothing on Her features had ever shifted. 

Other people made fuck-me eyes at Her, as well. They have to be insane and blind and stupid not to. Everyone should want Her. Dean just didn’t want anyone else to have Her. Not like that. Not less than She deserved, without complete fucking devotion and a feral kind of feeling in their bodies Dean knew he had. And he wouldn’t have any logical reason to stop Her if she took up their offers—he could try no, I’m yours, take me instead, but he didn’t think it would work—and he’d gotten really good at not destroying himself about the idea, because She never did.

Dean had never seen Her fuck-me eyes, now that he thought about it. Not where he could see. 

But he knew She did give him the fluttering, blinding wouldn’t it be good to die for me eyes. 

She might not know she does that.

She can’t know the way that just picturing them is making him so hard it’s a little painful. Just like She can’t know that, before he crawled into bed at Her side, he’d beat his cock into his hands until he came with a groan of Her name.

Dean shouldn’t have kissed Her. 

The knowledge of how She tasted, felt, sounded—gasping his name like She wanted him—was making his decade long practice of best friend, don’t think about Her like that in the daylight, because you don’t deserve it and could never have it a little fucking impossible.

But he was hiding it well.

Dean was pretty fucking sure he was hiding it well.

“There’s no fucking way she’s being the patron, Sammy.” 

She glared at him in the rearview mirror, and Sam looked really fucking amused and pleased for a guy that had stumbled back twenty minture late without underpants.

Dean would’ve ever been proud of him—if he had to be stuck in the orbit of some sort of fucking Goddess he couldn’t touch, at least Sammy was getting some—if he hadn’t just suggested something fucking insane. 

“I can be the patron.” She snapped, Her eyes narrowing. “I’d be a great fucking patron. I can wear a swimsuit, and order stupid drinks, and- and I can act ditzy! And sit on the beach!”

Son of a bitch, She was adorable. Glaring at Dean, mumbling about how She could be ditzy—ditzy people didn’t use the word ditzy—and completely fucking missing the point. Dean knew She’d be a good patron. Between the three of them, She’d be the best patron. She already looked the better and fancier than everyone else part, all the time. She already carried Herself like an angel fallen to Earth—better, actually, because the angels tended to walk all stiff and angry—and She already spoke like if She told the ocean to stay at low tide forever, it would. She’d just need to lose all the softer light in Her eyes and blinding smile that told people She was crafted only from good things, to stop using Her manners, and be a whole lot less adorable and caring, and they’d have their perfect patron.

But Dean was, once again, a selfish piece of shit. 

The patron would have to sleep in the resort. Alone.

Away from the other two.

She’d have to sleep away from Dean.

“I’m not worried about your talents, Princess.” He muttered. “Sammy’ll be a good patron, I can tend bar, and you can be staff.”

Sam raised his hand. “I’m not going to be a good patron. There are like, different forks I’ll have to use, and I never learned those-“

“I did!” She leaned forward, almost propping Her chin on Dean’s should. It wasn’t helping. “I took etiquette lessons until, um- Well, until I made all the cups explode because I needed to pee and no one would let me, but I remember all the forks!”

God fucking damnit. Of course She knew all the forks. “You’re not going to a gala, Sammy. You don’t need to know about the forks.”

Dean’s grip on Baby’s wheel was white, and his last plea for this to end in his favor failed.

He lost the argument. Sam wasn’t comfortable trying to act all fancy,  She had what Sam called a sort of scary pretty face that important people have—She’d flushed and mumbled a thanks, but Dean agreed with Sam’s assessment—and Dean wasn’t allowed to just shout that he couldn’t sleep without Her. 

He fucking couldn’t. He didn’t know how anymore. At least not useful sleep, where he woke up alert and rested the next morning.

Sleep where he woke up panting and swinging at the air came just fine without Her. 

It thrived on the lack of Her, actually. It festered and spread over Dean’s skull, when he didn’t know She was across the mattress, safe and sound.

He somehow made it through the first night. The day had been filled with quick set-up—this resort didn’t seem to be run all that well, given how Sam and Dean didn’t even have to lie that hard about why they needed jobs right now—and recon, and it meant Dean collapsed on the bed barely a moment after he and Sammy returned to the motel. 

But then the morning came. And Dean turned to look and check that She was there and peaceful, because he did that every morning, only to find Her missing. 

He panicked.

Sam said he panicked.

Dean didn’t really remember it at all. There was a blur of ripping up the motel room and grabbing his gun, Alistair’s voice muttering in his ear that he’d find her, Dean’s lovely little Princess, and make Her beg for death ringing in his ears. It didn’t help that all he could really see was an image of Her from Texas, with ragged hair and hollow features and dark stain on Her stomach, red markings imprinted on Her wrists and a skeletal expression on Her face that made Dean want to dice and carve whoever the hell had done that to Her. 

He couldn’t scrape that image from behind his eyes. Sammy had brought him down—reminding him that She was fine, and at the resort, and had literally texted Dean twenty minutes before he woke up that she was going to try and sneak him some good coffee—but he couldn’t fucking relax because all he could see was Her. In pain.

When She’d needed Dean, and he hadn’t been there.

The day was long. Sam stopped by on his breaks, saying that he’d been looking for signs of demons everywhere but found nothing, and She gave by at random points through the day, giving Dean a bright smile from across the bar and making something to the right of his heart fucking howl. 

“Sam slipped me all the vics reservation records.” She said, eyes focused on Her little paper umbrella as Dean cleaned a glass. “And he says he can’t find any demons.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I heard. You seeing anything?”

“Nothing.”

Dean risked a glance over. Her lip was between Her teeth.

He had to rip his gaze back away.

“We looked at the files last night.” He muttered, trying to pretend he didn’t want to grab Her over the bar and kiss Her until she moaned his name. “None of them had the same last name. Not married couples.”

She paused. “That’s- huh. I was eavesdropping-“

Dean couldn’t stop himself from shooting Her a grin. “That’s pretty freakin’ rude, Princess-“

“Shut up. There were these two old ladies, and they were saying one of those poor girls had such a bright future, too. They mentioned finding the ring on the beach, and, you know, how big and shiny it was.” 

Dean frowned. “The ring?”

“Yep. So not married, but-“

“Engaged.” He muttered, glaring down at his well-polished glass. “Shit, I’ll pass it to Sammy later.”

She nodded, and was gone before Dean could say anything else. . 

Night fell, Dean left Her at the resort, and the nightmares were back in full fucking force. 

This time She was sitting on the edge of the bed in Boston, Dean rose up to kiss Her, and she turned into ugly mold and dirty water, seeping into the bed, then down, down, down into the floor. Vanishing like She’d never been there at all.

That one was going to be reoccurring. Dean had been getting a lot of new nightmares lately, and he’d gotten really good at telling which ones were going to haunt him for a long, long time. 

It kept going like that for a few days. Valentine’s Day itself was creeping up, and they hadn’t found any evidence that it was itself important to the seal, but they hadn’t really found any evidence at all. 

Sammy still hadn’t found any demons, but he had heard rumors from the other staff that some of the girls had been see cheating, hours before their deaths. And after She heard similar rumors, they decided to focus their energy there.

“Maybe it’s like…” Sam had trailed off at the motel table that night, frowning at his laptop. “The seal opens if enough girls cheat on their partners.”

Dean scowled, turning his beer bottle between his hands. She’d smiled at him today, and Her lips had looked glossy, and he couldn’t tell if his head was fuzzy from want or drinking. “That doesn’t make sense, Sammy.”

“No.” Sam had sighed. “It doesn’t.”

Dean’s next nightmare was another frequent flyer. One where Azazel flayed Her and Bobby alive, and but it kept flicking between Azazel and Dad, then it ended with Her broken body in Dean’s hands and Azazel-Dad telling him that it was for his own good.

They still had fucking nothing.

Dean’s job sucked. They found another set of bodies, but he was stuck behind the bar. He had chicks making the fuck-me-eyes at him, but whenever She’d stop by for their briefings, She barely met his gaze. 

It was for their cover. In case something was watching that even Her magic shit couldn’t detect. 

It still made his stupid heart whine. 

And at least Dean got to see Her. Got to chance quick, assessing scans over Her body, just to make sure She was still okay. There was no dried blood on Her lips or caking her nails, and no scratch marks visible on Her arms. Her wrists looked a little odd, but that might be sunburn, or chafing. She was wearing Her jacket, which meant she had Her knife.

It also meant he needed to be worried about Her getting heatstroke.

“You need some ice, sweetheart?” It was an acceptable thing to ask. Sometimes Shirley temples needed ice, and Dean was a bartender.

“No, thank you. If I eat ice, my fingers will get cold. And I won’t be able to hold my pencil.” She gave him a small, pretty smile under Her fluttering lashes. “Thank you, though.”

He couldn’t help himself. “You already thanked me, Princess.”

“Eat my fucking balls.”

Dean had to cough to cover his snort. 

At least he got to hear Her voice in something other than a fantasy or nightmare. 

“I got confirmation about the cheating.” She continued like nothing had happened, although it felt a little more like she was telling Her napkin rather than Dean. “I talked to a woman who was friends with one of the vics, and apparently she’d been talking about leaving her fiancée for some random new guy.”

Dean frowned. He’d been doing that a lot this week. “And this lady is still on her vacation?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging on Her lips. “Get your money’s worth, I guess.”

That was all he was getting, it seemed. Maybe all She had.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh-“

“Text me.” She gave Dean a soft, dark smile that made his knees weak, and slid Her napkin across the counter. 

Those weren’t Her fuck-me eyes. They were a cover, so She could tell him not now, call me later. The napkin didn’t even have one of Her burner phone numbers. It was just a bunch of Enochian, with one specific word-thing repeated over and over.

That night, Dean had one of the older nightmares. A green demon grabbing Her, driving it’s knife right into Her stomach, and Dean unable to move or do anything as She bled out on the motel floor. Then Bobby would burst through the door shouting things that Dean couldn’t hear, but still hurt, before pulling out his shotgun, aiming it at Dean’s head and never pulling the trigger.

The nightmare never ended with Bobby pulling the trigger. Usually they’d just stare at each other for a long time, and Dean would see all his own pain and devastation from Her loss reflected on Bobby’s face, and then—after an eternity—he’d wake up. 

And he’d been right.

Dean made the mistake of falling back asleep after hour, and the kiss-death nightmare returned.

This day was the slowest yet. Dean hadn’t seen Sam since they split up this morning, and he hadn’t seen Her all day. He’d been doing nothing but turning over the case in his head, and he didn’t even have anyone to tell his ideas.

He missed Her. He didn’t know how he was going to go another fucking night without Her, he didn’t know how he’d ever gone a night without Her, no wonder Bobby had told him he looked like shit every single day She’d been gone, he wasn’t fucking sleeping-

“Hey.” She dropped onto the stool across from him, almost conjured—maybe they should revisit that angels thing, because what Dean had been doing did feel a little too close to prayer—and Her hair falling over her eyes. “Anything?”

Her voice was a little shaky, but the bar was loud, so Dean pressed on. “Yeah, uh- I was thinking about how they’ve all been cheaters, right? But it’s only been the chicks.”

“That’s… right.” She paused. She still wouldn’t look Dean in the eyes. “Shit.”

“Yeah, and you know the girl that died second day we were here?” He picked up a new glass. He’d gotten better at pretending to be busy. “All her friends were gossiping about stuff, and one of them said that it was real sad she died a virgin.”

She sat up at that. He had Her attention. “What?”

Her voice was definitely shaky. And a little smaller.

Dean would ask Her about it after. “And you told Sam that those ladies said they couldn’t believe the other mister and missus corpse waited so long, and we thought they were taking about like, engagement-“

“But they were talking about sex.” She muttered. “Fuck.”

“Is that, uh, that’s a good fuck, right?”

“Dean.” She whispered, and he wished She would fucking look at him. “I know what we’re hunting. Fuck, it’s, one shouldn’t even be here but maybe that’s the seal, maybe she gamed it and there aren’t any demons or angels because- but I’ve been- Fuck-“

Dean grunted Her name, throwing cover out the window. “Breathe. You’re fine, you’ve got it, and we’ll gank it and go home-“

“No, Dean, it’s-“ She had started to shake Her head, the movement almost frantic, and She was rubbing her wrists like she was trying to scrub something away. “Fuck- It’s a Pink Boto- I should’ve known, they lure in young women and seduce them, then kill their- Fuck-“

This was getting away from them too fast. Dean damned it further, and grabbed Her face between his hands over the bar. She stopped shaking Her head. Her breathing didn’t slow. “Listen, you’re gonna be fine-“

“I can’t remember, Dean, I- Fuck- I don’t know what to do- I need to know what to do- Why can’t I fucking-“

“Cause you’re tired, Sweetheart, we’re all tired-“

“But I- No-“

“Hey.” Dean made his tone firm, and She froze. “Look at me, Princess. Please.”

She slowly glanced up, and Her eyes were a little glossy. Puffed. Red.

She’d been crying. 

Dean moved faster than he thought.

He tangled his fingers in Her’s, abandoned the bar—it was a shitty bar anyway, and all their whiskey that Dean wasn’t supposed to be drinking tasted like piss—and pulled Her into a small backroom he’d found on one of his breaks. 

“What happened.” He grabbed Her face between his hands, trying to gently angle it so he could find the damage. It was probably on Her body. “Where’s- Shit, I didn’t grab the rubbing alcohol- Stay here and keep it elevated-“

“No- Dean-“ She grabbed his arm before he could move out of the closet, Her eyes wide. “I’m not hurt. It’s just-“ She let out a long, slow breath, and Dean’s heart might have stilled in his chest. “It’s been a long day.”

He nodded slowly. “You gonna tell me about it?”

“I- I can’t.” She whispered. “It’s not that bad, Dean, it’s stupid- I shouldn’t have even, and Sam-“

Dean’s jaw clenched. Sam wouldn’t hurt Her. Even if they lived in a world where Sam didn’t like Her—which he did, the kid fucking adored Her—he cared about Dean too much to hurt Her. They might be fighting about Ruby and the seals, but Sammy was his brother and wouldn’t fucking hurt the only person Dean-

“Sam was trying to help.” She sniffed, and Dean’s fists relaxed. Of course he was. That was good. “But I- Dean, I’m so tired-“

“I know. ” He muttered, letting his hands move back up to frame Her face. “We’re almost done, sweetheart. Then we’ll go home.”

And it was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. They weren’t going to be done. Even if they stopped this seal, there were more. Lilith didn’t seem like the type to roll over and go quietly, and Ruby was still a fucking problem, and She was still something the angels were hunting for insane and cryptic reasons.

Dean hadn’t forgotten what Cas told them. 

Her existence heralded danger. Change. Something big, that they’d have to deal with after this.

But they’d deal with it, and She’d still be here.

And Dean would stay at Her side, all the way down. Her shadow however She wanted it, running his thumb down the bridge of Her nose until She relaxed into his arms. 

“It’ll be okay, Princess.” Dean muttered, and for Her, he’d believe it. 

Even though they had to pull apart, and separate once more. At least they had a name. A better idea of what they were dealing with, so this fight could be done.

But this nightmare was the worst one yet. It was another new one, and Dean didn’t even know what was happening for most of it. There was just a lot of noise, a big crowd, and everything was so fucking colorful. It was like a hurricane, and he was screaming Her name but he couldn’t find Her. She screamed back, but it always echoed around and Dean couldn’t figure out where She was, where did She go, She needed him but he couldn’t find Her-

He burst onto an invisible edge, and started to fall.

Everything was big. Too big. Dean could see a whole lot of the sky, and not much else, and son of a bitch it felt like something was watching him, but She still wasn’t there-

Dean woke up in another cold sweat, and She wasn’t there. 

His phone found it’s away into his hand, and he couldn’t stop staring at the little letters of Her name, a promise on his screen. She was just on the other side of a button. 

It would be dangerous to call Her. Dean couldn’t call Her. He couldn’t risk it.  

He couldn’t take another night of this, and they were always safer together, but the case-

Dean nearly chucked his phone into the wall when it started to buzz. 

It was a good thing he didn’t.

Because She’d called him first.

He’d have to have lost his mind to not answer

“Dean?” Her voice was soft over the phone, and he muttered Her name in response.

“Are you-“

“I’m okay. I, um- Can you…” She trailed off, and for a moment it was only static through the phone. 

“Sweetheart, I need you to talk for me-“

“I don’t want to- This room is really big.”

Dean froze, shooting a quick look over to Sammy. Dead asleep and comfortable. “It is, huh?”

“Yes.” She whispered. “There’s- I have a minibar. It has the chocolate you like. If you’re hungry.” 

“I’m always hungry, Princess.” Dean grinned into the dark. “Parking lot?”

She hummed, Her voice still so soft. “Thank you, De.” 

“I know.”

“Say you’re welcome.”

“Bossy-“

“Dean-“

Dean bit down his snort as he pulled on his shoes. “I’m not saying it. I’m not doing this for the thanks,” He drawled Her name, and he could almost hear Her frown.

“Then what-“

“I’m doing it for you.” Dean didn’t let Her respond. He’d said it for himself, and so She’d know. All She needed to do for him was know. “See you soon.”

They didn’t talk about it, when She grabbed his hand in the parking lot and pulled him into the resort hotel. They didn’t speak at all in the elevator, when She wrapped her arms around his body and pressed Her face to his chest. And when Dean moved Her into bed, dropped on the impossibly soft mattress at Her side, he let out a groan that made Her smile.

He could see it in the dark. 

Same as he could see Her crawl slowly over to his side, drape Herself cautiously over his body, and settle down like the fanciest, smartest, hottest cat in the world.

Dean could be Her shadow like this. Holding Her through the night without a word, drowning in the smell of fruit, and sleeping easy because She was there. With him. 

They never had to talk about it. 

As long as She was with Dean, he could make it into enough.

——————

It’s been a weird week.

You might not have been fully yours for half of it. You’ve been the anxiety of all the guns in Bobby’s house, and the exhaustion of all the roads and bridges you drove over, and the heaviness of the ocean right out your window. The Silver is growing and infecting everything, and you can’t control when it decides to want to become the whole fucking universe, or when it slams back into your body.  For almost every waking moment you’ve been suffocating in it, the fear that it will hurt something and the terror that—as you rub your wrists and try to just focus the Silver, even without pain—something will hurt you.

You really haven’t been yours at all. All the time.

Almost all the time.

You’ve been yours with Dean.

In the Impala at midnight, bumping his knee and shooting you small grins across diner tables, all but carrying you out of the bar when you get exhausted and your brain starts to get fuzzy. Whenever he’s slept next to you in bed, even if he wasn’t touching you.

And you get that.

You wouldn’t touch you either.

It doesn’t matter how much you want Dean to touch you. How you can’t stop thinking about his lips against yours, about how he tasted a little like coffee and the apple you’d made him eat that morning, but he mostly just tasted like Dean. Salt and spice, sort of earthy, and Dean.

He’d been warm above you. You remember him being so fucking warm and safe above you, and he had touched you like he wanted you—with a lot of rough hands on your skin and soft groans and all his weight pressed over you—but he hasn’t touched you since. Not like that. His hand still rests on your lower back when he guides you around, and sometimes you’ll wake up with his fingers tracing over your stomach like he’s worried your long-gone stitches are going to rip, but he hasn’t touched you.

But it really doesn’t fucking matter how much you want to tackle him and kiss him until you’re both just sunken down to the floor, you can’t.

Rule one is this isn’t about you. Kissing Dean would be about you, not him. Rule two is you can’t overindulge. He thought you were dying, and he kissed you, and you didn’t break anything because Dean kissed you, but you’re not allowed to grab that and run with it. He hasn’t kissed you since, and you’re not allowed to kiss him, so now you’re here.

Loving him. Silently.

And fucking hating this stupid fucking case that’s going to make you fucking stab someone.

You shouldn’t have let Dean talk you into this. But you’d missed him, whenever he and Sam went off on a case without you and you were stuck at home. And it’s not about you if Dean asked you to come.

Plus, you were getting what Bobby called hunter fever.

“That’s not a thing.” You’d muttered when he’d brought it up, and he’d scoffed.

“I ain’t just makin’ it up for shits and giggles, kiddo. It’s real and you’ve got it.”

“I feel fine-“

“No, you fuckin’ don’t.” Bobby had given you a flat look. “You been runnin’ around like a headless dog all week-“

“That’s not the saying.”

Bobby had ignored your mumble, pushing on with narrowed eyes. “You’ve started readin’ on the floor again. You only do that when you’re losin’ your damn mind.“

“I am not losing my mind.” You’d snapped. “I’m trying to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now that we know. What if I start the end of the fucking world? What if my thing is like, the sun explodes, or the moon decides it want to be part of earth again, or- Fuck, what if I kill God-“

“God ain’t real,” Bobby had said your name firmly, dropping down at your side. “And if he is, you’re not killin’ him.”

“But Cas said that Lilith was a Magdalene, and she started demons, and- shit, what if I start something worse than demons? What if I start super-demons?”

Bobby had sighed. “You ain’t gonna start super-demons. We don’t know what your thing is gonna be, but we’ll work it out when it gets here-“

“But what if it’s really bad.” You’d whispered. “He called me the Magdalene. That- I don’t know what that means-“

“I don’t either. And it sounds like Cas don’t have that big a clue either.” Bobby had run a hand over his face, letting out a long breath. “You’re not helpin’ anything by worrying about it. Or doin’ this.”

He’d tapped the papers scattered over the table, all covered in Enochian, and you’d swallowed.  

Some of it was just the soul exercise. Trying to map out Bobby’s soul, watching Sam and Dean when they were home and trying to figure out what the hell they were made of. A lot of it was new rituals or attempts to figure out who other Magdalene witches could’ve been—Cas had made it sound like they could be born anywhere in the world, which really didn’t narrow down anything—and an embarrassing amount of it was just trying to figure out how to write Dean’s name. 

Your excuse was that writing something on purpose would help you distinguish Enochian in your head. 

The real reason was that you loved him, and needed at way to show it where no one else could see. 

“When was the last time you went this long without a hunt.” Bobby’s voice had been soft. Cautious. 

And you’d sighed. “I’ve never gone this long. You know that.”

“Hunter fever. You’re gettin’ sick of being still and not doin’ shit, and it’s makin’ all this,” Bobby had tapped one of the notes. “Worse.”

“That’s so fucking stupid.”

“Hey,” Bobby had given you a glare, the expression massively undercut by the small smile he was failing to fight. “Don’t be rude, kiddo. Raised you better than that.”

“No you didn’t-“

“Tried to.” He’d shrugged, moving back to his feet. “Not my fault it didn’t take.”

You’d rolled your eyes, glanced down at your chewed up pencil—another new habit, because apparently if you couldn’t bite yourself you had to bite something—and you might have had hunter fever. Between the notes, and the restless itch. settling over your bones, sinking deep and deeper every second, it makes sense. You’ve always been moving until the pain made you drop. Now you can’t move, and goddamnit Bobby really was right.

Hunter fever. 

That was a stupid name. You’d told Bobby that, and he’d said that if you come up with a better one he’s all ears, but until then he invented it, so he gets naming rights. 

And the hunter fever had only gotten worse, the longer Sam and Dean were on that case. You’d gone to the library and checked out so many history books you’d had to make two trips to get them all in the Firebird. You’ve been watching so many documentaries that Bobby set a three per day rule, and started making you stop between them so you remembered to eat and use the bathroom. You’ve run out of paper to write on, so you’ve switched to pen and started drawing on yourself. It pricks your skin, but it’s better than carving with your knife or nails when the Silver gets set off by nothing and you can’t reign it back in. 

And you’ve started to keep track of all the times Dean could’ve kissed you and didn’t. 

Every night in the Impala. Whenever he’s been a little drunk and you’ve helped him to bed, letting him hang around your body before pouring the rest of his beer down the toilet. When he’s grinned up at you from the couch, and any time he’s called you Princess, and every waking second where you’re in the same room, and he could grab you and do whatever the hell he wanted to you, and you’d be fine with it because it’s Dean.

It’s most likely for the best that he doesn’t. For so many reasons. You’re dangerous. You’re a Magdalene, and knowing is better than not knowing, but you still don’t fucking know a lot. You’re not exactly stable, and neither is Dean, but letting yourself crash into him isn’t going to make him more stable. It would only make the Spiderweb glow, and fully consume you with Gold, and this isn’t about you. It can’t be about you.

And only a few days before you left for Florida—when Dean was still gone and your room was colder and lonelier—Cas appeared in the middle of your room, the only warning of a glowing sigil on the wall.

He’d said your name with a deep, serious tone, and you’d sighed.

“Hi, Cas.”

“You told me we needed to speak again. About my timing.” He glanced around your room, a small frown pulling at his features. “I am here to do that.”

“I don’t care about your timing.” You’d sighed, moving to lie flat on your back. “That was a cover.”

“A cover over what?”

“Over why I needed to talk to you. It’s a phrase.”

“Oh.” You’d craned your neck up, and Cas blinked at you. “What talk are we covering?”

You’d rubbed at your wrists, lying back down. “Can you sit, please?”

“This body can sit, yes-“ Cas had cut himself off, and you’d let him work through that one himself. “You are… asking me to sit.”

“Yep.”

“I do not need to-“

“Cas. Please.”

You’d expected more resistance. Instead he’d just dropped awkwardly at your side, shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress. “This is... better. Thank you.”

You’d hummed an acknowledgment, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me.”

“I cannot promise-“

“You have to.” You hadn’t cared if he could hear the desperation in your tone. “Please.”

Cas had paused for a long moment that was tight over your lungs, then sighed. “Alright.”

He’d folded with such little resistance, again.

That didn’t really feel like a good sign.

“Thanks.” You’d mumbled. “Ready?”

You glanced over to see him staring at you, giving a small nod, and you’d taken a long breath.

“You said I could be what you’ve been waiting for.” You’d muttered, running your thumb over your palm as you spoke. “What does that mean.”

Cas had been silent for a long second, only staring, and you’d briefly wondered if this was what it felt like for everyone else, when you’d look at them and see their souls.

It was a little unnerving. 

“When I said that.” He starts, his words slow and measured. “I was not aware of what you were. However, I am… not sure that matters.”

You’d frowned. “What, that I’m a Magdalene? I thought that was the whole thing-“

“You are the Magdalene.” Cas had corrected. “But that is not the… reason, I guess. I was not considering that, when we spoke before.”

“So am I not whatever you’ve been waiting for?”

“No.”

“No, I’m not, or-“

“You are.”

You’d sighed, pushing up on your palms to fully meet his gaze. “Cas. What have you been waiting for.”

“God.”

Maybe you should’ve had a bigger reaction to that. Cas must have noticed the complete neutrality on your face. But even in the safety of your room, where the Sky couldn’t see you, you’d still been able to feel it. The Silver had started to seep out, and you had been the fear of the vines on Bobby’s house, and they had felt the Sky watching them.

So you’d just swallowed, and taken a long, slow breath.

Why not. Between angels and Dean rising from the dead and the Sky, why not have God be a fun, new problem too. 

“There will be consequences. For you being the Magdalene. And I do not think even my superiors fully understand them.” Cas paused, holding your gaze. “From what I have found, you have long been thought to be a lie. A sort of… myth, is what you might call it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about how my kind aren’t real-“

Cas had shaken his head. “Not the Magdalenes. You.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed, and Cas had sighed.

“That is what I meant, before. It is not the Magdalene in you. It is you.” He’d said your name, still watching you so carefully. “There is something… holy.”

You’d blinked at him. “About me?”

Cas had nodded. “It is more than an angel grace. Or a soul. I have only seen it once, a long, long time ago.”

You’d had a pretty good sense of where this was going, and you really hadn’t wanted to hear it, but you were so tired of not knowing. Of only ever having more questions. “Where did you see it?”

“The only time I met my father.” Cas had muttered, frowning down at you, and maybe he’d been able to see it then. In the dark of your bedroom, at midnight, there was an impossibly high chance that Cas looked at you and saw something holy. 

That was more terrifying than anything in the world.

You aren’t holy. You’re barely more than a monster. You’re sick and in pain and exhausted, and you don’t know what looking at you and seeing holy means, but you know it can’t be good.

Nothing you ever do leads to something good. 

Dean will never get to know it, but you’re starting to think John really should’ve saved everyone a whole lot of trouble and put a bullet in your brain. You’re making everything harder. You’re not good for anything but hunting, and you can’t even really do that anymore. You’re going to hurt or break or infect something, because that’s what you do, and just because the Darkness is gone doesn’t mean you’re cured. If anything it means you’ve evolved, like a pathogen or bacteria, and now you can press further and further into the world without resistance. 

You’re not good for Dean. John was right about that, too. You just take from him—his time and sleep and attention—and you’re not going to leave because you promised, but one day Dean’s going to find someone better for him, who never makes him yell or cry or worry, and they’re going to demand you’ll leave.

It’s another reason you fucking hate this case. It’s full of sweet, pretty women with no scars and toothy smiles, humming syrupy words to Dean, right in-front of you.

And they have no way of knowing that you even know Dean. And he doesn’t even look at them. 

But one day he will. 

Then you’ll have to live with that. 

For now you can cling to how Dean brushes off the better women in favor of giving you small, cocky grins. You can feel the bright, colorful rush of the Spiderweb glowing under his attention. You’re addicted to it. 

And God, it’s going to kill you when he finds the woman that makes you leave. Who makes Dean happy, but gets uncomfortable about the weird freak who keeps following him around like they don’t know what else to do—you don’t—and then you’ll have to leave, because Dean loves her and not you. 

You already hate her, and it’s not even her fault. She’s not real. She didn’t do anything to you except not be you. You can’t blame her for not having scars littered in odd places across her body, for having the type of softness and experience and ease that Dean deserves. It not her fault she never makes him kill things for her, or forces him to carry her to safety when she loses her mind like some weak fucking problem. 

And she won’t depend on him. Not like you do. She won’t be a parasite or leech that wants to wrap around Dean and drench herself in gold. She’ll be able to sleep without him, because she’ll be kind and normal and stable. She’ll never draw her own blood or vomit from grief, because Dean will settle down in a simple, white-picket life with her and forget all about how he ever even considered wanting you. 

She won’t be a sickness that’s not strong enough to cure itself. She won’t try to get better, just to make everything so much fucking worse. 

Things won’t be complicated with her. She’ll deserve Dean, and all his Gold.

You don’t. You’re not even close to deserving Dean. He never fucking falters, even under all the crushing weight of everything. All the blood on his hands he had to shed, and every worse thing he’s done was because he had to. 

Dean was pushed into everything. It wasn’t his fault that John made him hunt. He made that deal to save Sam because he’s a good, selfless man. He broke in hell because anyone would’ve broken in hell, and he’d still held on for so fucking long before he gave in, because he was strong.

You’re not.

You’re just like this. 

The first day without him is the worst. You’re alone for most of it, save for when Sam finds you and hands you a towel, the vic records folded into them. He mutters that there’s been no sulfur or temperature drops, and you nod, mumbling an agreement.

You see Dean once. Smiling at a one of those better women from behind the bar.

And his grins goes wide and boyish, the moment he spots you, and it sets off fireworks over the Spiderweb, but you can’t get addicted to that. It’s not going to be permanent. 

But it’s not overindulging if Dean’s grinning at you.

So you smile back.

And that night, you try not to think about it too much. About Sam’s words at the bar, when he’d called Dean one of those guys.

You’d known that. You’ve never been bothered by it. He’s never done it in front of you—where it would’ve ripped you in half—and you’d never had a claim over him that could’ve made him stop. It hadn’t mattered that you’d follow him all the way down, or that you love him, or that there’s a whole part of you that just for Dean. You’d never thought there was even a chance of him wanting you like that until that amazing, stupid fucking kiss, so you’d simply forced yourself not to think about it.

It’s all you can think about now. Dean sliding a woman that’s not you his motel card, telling Sam to find somewhere else to hang out for a while, then kissing her. And she’d kiss him back without any fear or anxiety, because she’d know how. She’d have an idea of what could drive him crazy, and he’d fall on his knees for her with only joy on his pretty face, and then they’d-

This is torture. The whole night is fucking torture, because all you can wallow and sink into it the loneliness, and the reminder that Dean deserves better. Someone who will match him.

Not someone he’ll have to take care of and guide through everything. 

The morning breaks, and you’re not sure you slept at all. 

The second day is worse. You don’t see Dean at all, and there are so many fucking people, everywhere,  all the time. You hadn’t realized how fucking horrible that would be until you were in it. There had been a lot of people, on the lich case with Jo. But the only time they’d all been in one, loud place was the last night, and you’d been more focused on Dean. On keeping him safe and alive. You’d almost tethered yourself to him, because as long as he was there and Golden, there hadn’t really been much else to look at. 

But then you’d spent those weeks between cases letting the Silver grow and grow, letting Dean soothe it into something easy you didn’t want to fight, and it seems to have bloomed. 

You’ve lost control. You can’t remember the world ever being like this in your life—so loud and consuming and overwhelming—and you barely been able to handle it when you were a child, and it was just single colors lined with quickly fading imprints. 

Now it’s so much. You’re a little bit everything all the time and there’s so much. Why is there so fucking much. This is worse than the bar, when souls had simply been loud and amplified by the drinks and emotions. At least there you’d still be able to cling to Dean’s Gold, to breathe in the smell of spice and try not to think about how a whole lot of desire was blaring out from all the souls in the bar, directed to where you and Dean had been sitting.

It was a new trick. It had started after the kiss. You can see souls creeping and drifting out of their bodies, trying to latch onto other people. Trying to sink into them. You’d been able to see the redhead’s hot pink, almost bubblegummy-ness aiming over Sam, and it had been fucking sickening and pungent. Not for Sam—all the parts of him that were still purple had been vibrating from the attention—but for you, and you’d needed to get it away from you. 

And this is so much fucking worse. There are so many people, so many souls, and twining and burning and washing over each other, and you can still smell Dean’s spice when he’s not here, and you’re going fucking insane.

They found another body, that morning. You didn’t see it, but Sam did, and he said it was ugly. Looked like they got beat up by the ocean, and that some of the staff were whispering about how the girl had been seen cheating before her death.

“I’ll ask around.” You mumble, pretending to be busy with the coffee while Sam takes an impossibly long time to grab the trash. “There’s this group of ladies who have been trying to talk me into going to the beach with them, and I think they knew the vic.”

Sam nods. “I’ll pass it onto Dean.”

You swallow, and the Spiderweb whines. “Tell him I say hi.”

Sam gives you an odd look and his mouth opens, but you walk away before he can speak. You don’t want to hear it. You know Dean wants you, at least enough to kiss you once, but he hasn’t kissed you since.

Maybe it was horrible for him. It was perfect for you, but he’s not in love with you, and he probably has a higher standard for good kisses. He’s hasn’t changed since the kiss, but he hasn’t tried to do it again. 

There’s a chance he’s waiting for you to kiss him, to make the scores even. He kisses you once and puts it on the table. You kiss him again and then you get to have him.

You don’t deserve to have him. And you’re not allowed to kiss him first. 

“What about you?” One of the women—the ones you’d told Sam about, with long nails you really wish it would be practical for you to have—says your name, and you blink at her.

They’d already confirmed that the girl had cheated, and you’d mostly been tuning out the rest of the gossip after that. It was too colorful, and thinking about Dean was better than drowning in the vastness of the Silver, so you’d just focused on that.

But now you had to participate. You hadn’t been ready to participate.

“What about me?” You ask, throwing on a small, nervous smile and slipping back into your role. Ditzy. You’d told Dean you’d be ditzy. 

“A man.” A second woman—Monica? You’re pretty sure her name is Monica—grins at you, leaning back in her chair. “You have one?”

Pretty green eyes and soft hair and full lips and Gold- “No.”

“Oh, come on.” The first woman—Halle? That sounds right—rolls her eyes. “You’re so pretty, babe, you’ve gotta have someone, or there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

“I- I don’t-“

“Is it a girl?” Monica whispers, leaning forward. “It’s okay, you can tell us. We’re like, super chill about that.”

You sigh. “It’s not a girl.”

The last girl—Karen, that one’s easy to remember—grins at you. “So there is someone?”

“No, it’s not- It’s complicated-“

Halle scoffs. “If it’s complicated, he’s an idiot.”

You scowl at that. “No, he’s not-“

“Ha!” Karen grins, and this was a mistake. You should’ve just eavesdropped on their conversation like a normal person. “There is someone! What’s his name?”

“I- I’m not-“ You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to find a way out. “It’s really complicated. There’s like, a lot of moving parts, and we’ve known each other a really long time-“

“Awww.” Monica gives you a sweet smile. “Childhood friends? That’s so cute!”

“No- It’s more-“ You choke on the word complicated. “I have to go.”

Halle shakes her head as you stand up. “No, wait, we’re sorry, you’re just cool and we thought there had to be someone-“

She’s still talking. Still apologizing. 

But she grabbed your wrist to stop you from leaving. Right where Ketch had tied you up. Right where the lich grabbed you. 

You can’t breathe. The Silver is bursting and burning through the world because no, no, you’re so tired and it hurts and no-

Something shatters, an impossibly large wave sweeps over half the beach, and the wind picks up, ripping through the air like you’re at the top of a mountain.

The women are shrieking in fear, because this shouldn’t be happening, and you run. Not forever. Just until you’re back in your room, staring at your phone and forcing yourself not to call Dean. 

Half of that had been you. The shattering and wave had been you.

The wind had been the Sky. It had been watching. And the cold had bitten your skin, and it had been more of a warning to you than a defense for you. 

And you’re falling apart. You miss Dean, and it’s worse than when he’d been on a case, and you’d been at Bobby’s. At least you’d been a little useful, there. At least you’d had company, and could think about things that were better women, touching Dean in the dark while you were alone in bed. 

Here, you’re useless. You can’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be hunting—which is supposed—to be something you’re good at—because it’s all so loud and colorful and you’re not sleeping, and you miss Dean.

Maybe he’s spending this night with another better woman, again. There are plenty to choose from, this luxury resort filled with people to know how to have something and not infect it. And it’s almost Valentine’s day, so they’ll want company, and anyone—whether they can see the Gold or not—should want Dean. Will want Dean. 

You torture yourself with that for another night. The idea of Dean in bed with someone else, touching someone else, kissing them the same way he’d kissed you, but this time they go further, and then the next day you’ll see that the rivers of silver had been painted over with another color.

Embedded. Cas had said you were embedded in Dean, and that couldn’t go away easy, but what if it does. What if only a gentle, knowing touch cures Dean of you forever, and it’s that easy, and he leaves. 

You’d promised you’d stay, but he didn’t. You both said all the way down, but that was before he kissed you. 

It would be smart to want to take it back. To go back to never thinking about that, because you didn’t think it was an option. To not be getting withdrawals from something you never even fucking had, not really.

You know that.

Knowing never helped.

And at least you still have the Gold lingering on your lips. It’s never been there before, and it makes you feel a little like that holy thing Cas had called you. 

You really are fucking useless. Staring at mirrors and trying to write Dean’s name in Enochian and imaging that he’ll burst through your door and sweep you away. 

It doesn’t help that the wrist thing is looking like it’s here to stay.

The next morning, Sam pulls you into an abandoned room for a meeting.

But he grabs you by the wrist.

And you can’t stop yourself from swinging.

Blind, frantic punches thrown into the air, uncoordinated from exhaustion and landing on nothing, someone is shouting your name but there’s a lot of red in them—red like blood, red like poison—and the fists aren’t enough so you grab your knife and start slashing-

Sam shouts your name, and the blur fade enough for you to know it’s Sam, but then he grabs your wrist to stop the fall of your knife, and the Silver explodes.

There’s a crash, and a ringing in your ears, and-

“Holy- Ow.” Sam stumbles up from the floor, his hands raised in the air and the wall a little dented behind him. “What the hell was that?”

You blink at him, the blur fading, and all that’s in its wake is pain. Pain and a gnawing fucking guilt, because you hurt Sam, why the fuck did you hurt Sam, what’s wrong with you and why can’t you control this without trying to kill yourself-

Sam frowns at you, something softening in his gaze. You don’t deserve how gently he says your name. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, drawing yourself up tall and forcing your voice to stay even. “I’m sorry. You startled me. Is your back-“

“It’s fine. I mean, it hurts, but I’ve have worse.” Sam pauses. “Are you sure-“

“What do you need, Sam.”

He stares at you and—in a small mercy—doesn’t push it. Whatever Sam can see on your face, he’s able to work out that now is not the time to talk about how he just touched you, and you tried to kill him. 

Sam only sighs, and moves on. 

“I think we’re dealing with some sort of sex demon.” He says, shuffling back to your side. “All the vics have been cheating, but every single thing I’ve heard about them makes it sound like they were really in love. There has to be some kind of manipulation going on.”

You nod slowly, letting out a long breath. “How do you know they were really in love? Just online snooping?”

“They did all just get engaged. And I mean, people make mistakes with that sometimes, but it’s usually a sign of… you know.” Sam shrugs. “A future. Together.”

“Okay.” You frown at the air. “You pass it onto Dean, and I’ll keep looking for what the seal actually is, so we can stop it.”

Sam shakes his head. “I, uh- I’ve actually got the seal, too. Bobby called me.”

“Oh.”

“He would’ve called you.” Sam rubs at the back of his neck, and suddenly the air is wired. “But this is- Um, it’s sort of better to have in person.”

You narrow your eyes. He’s being weird. “Sam. What’s the seal.”

“Bobby thinks.” Sam won’t meet your eyes. “Based on some old texts that be found, some of yours, actually-“

“Samuel-“

“It’s making a true love stray.” Sam mumbles, his gaze locked on the floor. “And Bobby’s theory for the murders that none of them have been a true love, so after they strayed, they got.” Sam winces. “You know.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s- It makes sense.” You pause. “Why does that need to be said in person?”

Sam glances up, something cautious in his eyes. “Because you and Dean need to be careful.”

The world stills a little, like a heart murmur, but you must have just heard him wrong. “What.”

“You and Dean.” Sam mumbles. “Any two people with, um, strong emotions are in danger.”

“Sam.” You keep your words slow and careful. You can’t really hear them over the ringing in your ears. “They’ve been targeting engaged couples. Dean and I are-“

“You’re really obvious!” Sam almost shouts, and you flinch like he’d stabbed you.

“No.” You whisper, shaking your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach, and the Silver isn’t even growing. This isn’t a danger to it. 

It should be. You’re a danger to Dean.

“Sam, we’re just- I’ve told you-“

“Jo told me about the kiss.” Sam’s voice is gentle. You’re going to claw out your own eyes. “And I know you guys are dealing with other things, but you’re not just friends. And I- I’m sorry,” he mutters your name, and a little bile creeps up your throat. “But I knew a long time before that. You guys are obvious, and I’m not trying to tell you want to, you know, do about it. But you have to be careful.”

No. You don’t. Dean doesn’t love you, but you’ve never even looked anywhere but him and the Gold and that deep life in his eyes, so not only is Sam wrong, he’s cruel.

Dean doesn’t want you like that, and if he loves you, it’s not the truest love. It can’t be. You’re you, and you’re a danger, and you’ve never brought him anything but extra work, screams of his name, and your own tears for him to eat. 

You can’t live on tear and names. You could—you could conquer the world if Dean offered you tear and your name from his lips—but nobody sane and easy can. Dean will live off of good food from a better woman.

And you’ll die with the Sky watching you, alone in that high, cold, lonely place it had promised you when you were young.

“Sam.” You whisper, your hand wrapping around your throat on an old instinct, but the Silver still dormant in your body, because it’s lined with the Spiderweb, and the Spiderweb loves the idea of Dean’s love. “Please don’t say that.”

He says your name, and it’s gentle again. You think you’re choking on the air.

“Don’t-“

“I’m really not trying to push you guys to do anything.” Sam’s voice is almost desperate. “I just- I can’t lose you both again. This demon is taking the couples-“

You make a weak sobbing sound, and Sam catches his mistake.

“Pairs, it’s taking the pairs and if you both go, I don’t know- Shit-“ Sam pleas your name, moving to reach for you, and you take a step back.

“I- I’m going to go tell Dean.” Your voice is strained, and you don’t care about the irony of your own words. “Bye.”

You’d promised Dean you wouldn’t run. 

You haven’t promised Sam fucking shit.

And you were running to Dean. You didn’t care if that made you a hypocrite, or liar, or a whore. You needed to see him, because it made the Silver feel good, and the world manage because you could cling to Dean’s Gold, and know it was going to be okay.

Then you break twice. Once at the bar, when you were supposed to be working, but Dean needed to calm you down because it was all too fucking much and you’re useless. Then again when you caved and called him, just to hear his voice—overindulging—and ended with him wrapped around you in bed.

You’d slept. Well. Easily. And Dean looks peaceful, in the shifting light of dawn, starting to break through the windows. 

He’s perfect. The newer, stronger Gold seems like molten lava in the morning light, but it’s still not fire. And it’s moving rapidly through his body like air, but it’s not. And there a power to it like water, and strength to it like earth, but it’s never enough of one and far too much of the others for you to pin it down.

You don’t really need to pin it down. 

It’s Dean.

You love him all the same.

He tries to hold onto you, when you twist to get out of bed. He makes a cute, disgruntled sound, and tugs you right back into his body before you know what’s happening.

It takes ten minutes for you to slowly swap yourself with one of the pillows. And you don’t want to leave—it might be a dream, to just stay where Dean is holding you for the rest of your life—but you need to think. And you can’t do that when a big, warm hand is spread over your stomach again, and Dean’s breath is hot on your neck.

Your thoughts had kicked back into gear, after Dean calmed you down yesterday. And you’d made some connections.

Connections you’re going to have to tell Sam and Dean about, because they mean you’re good. You can gank the Boto Monster and fuck off. Go home. You don’t even have a seal to deal with.

And you’re going to have to find a way to convince them of that without the truth.

Because under no fucking circumstances can you actually say the truth.

Dean had said the first vic was a virgin, and it had hit you in small, fragmented pieces you’d strung together in the hours after.

Sam had been wrong about the sex demon. This has to be a Pink Boto. You’d hunted one, while you were in Brazil, and this is their exact MO. Make a young, virgin woman cheat on her partner. Then kill them both, with symptoms similar to drowning. You’d remember how to spot one, too. They’d be in a human form of their choice, designed to lure the woman in, but they’d always wear a hat. Their true forms were pink dolphins—botos—and they could shift however they wanted, but they could never get rid of their, so they’d have to cover it. With a hat.

And that was great. Simple. 

It also wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that Lilith brought the boto here, to make the true love stray.

True. Not pure. 

The seal won’t care about any virgins. But the boto will. It will target them, smell it on them, fucking see it. The same way that they can sense when humans have emotional bonds, so they can sniff out couples.

At least, that was how it had been explained to you, in Brazil. 

It was how they’d assured you.

You were single. 

You wouldn’t be a target.

And this is where Sam was right. You and Dean were in danger. You were the target. Lilith brought the boto here because she needs the seal broken, and she knows about your love for Dean, and she probably fucking knows about you. The other deaths haven’t been about the seal. It’s just been the boto feeding. You and Dean have been the endgame from the start.

The good news, you decide as you sit alone on the beach, your toe right on the edge of the water as the sun climbs into the sky, is that Lilith is fucked. You’ve really never even thought about anyone but Dean. Not like that. You missed the window of experimentation in your teens, met Dean at eighteen, and then there was just no fucking point to anyone else. It was Dean. It’s always been Dean. All the way down.

It’s not saving yourself, because that makes you sound fucking pathetic, like a midwestern church girl who won’t show Her ankles because Jesus will get mad. You just don’t think about it, if it’s not Dean. And it’s not like anyone else has ever really looked at you.

That was your first kiss. 

You are never going to fucking tell Dean that.

And you’re staring down at the sand—at the water slowly climbing over your ankles—when you hear him clear his throat behind you. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry.” You mutter, not looking up from the sand. “I should’ve texted. I just needed to- you know.”

“Yeah. I do.” You hear the sand shift at your side. He’s sitting down. “Just got worried. I mean, woke up. You weren’t there. Damn near ripped up the room looking for you.”

That gets a small smile. “You think I was going to be under the couch, Deano?”

“No. I’m just saying I was worried. Don’t run off like that.”

There’s a long, heavy silence, and something is wrong. The air is wired and tense, and it’s never like that with Dean. And the Silver isn’t exploding, but it’s not soothed. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters suddenly, and it really sounds like Dean, but you’re still staring at the sand. “I just got worried, you know? You shouldn’t be out here, the sun is barely even up.”

Dean would be worried. But he wouldn’t say it like… that. 

You suddenly really don’t want to look at him. He’s rubbing strong circles on your back but they’re only making your breathing labored. He’s right at your side, but you don’t feel any of Dean’s gravity.

But it sounds like Dean.

And you’re frozen. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” Dean’s voice hums, close to your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel fucking sick. “You know I love you, baby. Let’s go back to bed.”

Baby.

Dean only calls his car Baby. 

But that was his voice. Calling you Baby. It’s echoing around in your head, and you can’t fucking breathe, and you have to open your eyes.

It looks like Dean, too. Pretty features and a boyish grin and green eyes, it’s skin a little more tanned, but only in a way that’s noticeable to someone who’s insane and in love with him.

You don’t need to rip its stupid baseball cap to know it’s not Dean.

It’s not Golden.

And you can still hear it, as you explode.

Baby. You know I love you, baby.

You’re scrambling back, as the Silver presses into the boto. And it not killing it. Not simply sucking up its life and throwing its soul into wherever monsters go after they die.

You’re eliminating it. The same way you’ve eliminated Hell’s Assassin’s.

But you’ve never done it to something with a functioning soul again. A soul you can see. Sense.

Hear.

Those aren’t the screams of the boto, when it’s turned into pure fucking nothing. 

It’s the soul. Begging you for mercy.

Baby.

There’s a last, weak sound, and then the boto is gone.

You fall flat on your back, and stare at the Sky.

It stares back. 

You can’t fucking breathe. The tide is starting to rise, but you can’t fucking move, and you can’t tell what salt is your own tears and what’s the ocean.

And the Sky is just fucking watching.

Dean roars your name, somewhere down the beach. And that’s how your Dean roars your name, and the Spiderweb is glowing, and he’s Golden when he appears over you like some sort of knight, sent to save you from the monster in the water.

You’re the monster in the water. If Dean’s a hero—and he is—he should let you fucking drown.

But he doesn’t. He’s perfect, so he scoops you into his arms with only a grunt and carries you away from the beach. 

When you look over his shoulder, there’s not even a fucking body. It’s like the boto never even existed at all.

“You’re okay.” Dean’s muttering in your ear as he sets you down somewhere with flowers and a small marble waterfall. “Son of a bitch, Princess, you can’t just fucking disappear. I- You weren’t there and I fucking thought- Godamnit-“

Dean grabs your face between his hands, starting to wipe the linger saltwater from your cheeks. You’re blinking at him. In a firm pattern on once, over and over, trying to tell him everything is wrong. But he’s too focused on checking you for injury to see. And that’s how your Dean would be worried. 

Touching you so carefully while shouting at you with a distress you can hear.

You sob before you can stop yourself, and Dean’s eyes widen.

“Fuck, wait-“ He pulls you right back against his body, walking backwards until his back is pressed to a white-brick wall, and you’re still held in his arms.

He wants to be able to see anything coming. He’s trying to keep you safe.

Your tears start to flow.

“No- shit- Don’t cry, Princess, you’re okay, it’s okay, you’re- Fuck-“

Dean’s thumb starts to run down the bridge of your nose, over and over until you’re almost slumped against him. 

It’s peaceful here. Against Dean. Warm and safe. Home. 

And exhaustion is already starting to pull you down, but you can still hear it.

Baby.

“Talk,” Dean mutters your name, brushing away the hair that’s been stuck to your brow. “Shit, I- I need you to talk, I can’t fucking do anything if you don’t tell me what happened, why the hell were you drowning yourself-“

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Dean stares at you.

He thinks you’re sorry because of the vanishing act and state he’d found you in.

He’s wrong.

You need to know. Just in case this is a more sophisticated trick, or a dream, or the last chance you ever get. Just in case the angels swoop down and try to take you, or the earth opens up and Dean’s dragged back to Hell, you need to know. It’s selfish and unforgivable, but you need it. You need Dean. 

Baby. I love you, baby.

“You’re-“

Dean words are cut off as your hands fist in his shirt, and you yank him down into a kiss. 

He responds immediately. Dean deepens the kiss in half a second, pulling you somehow closer. Like there wasn’t ever a question of if he would.

And you know.

But you don’t hate yourself enough to pull away.

This isn’t like the first kiss. You’d both been moving through that like you were afraid it would be ripped away at any moment. 

Now you’re both moving like you know it’s going to be ripped away, and you refuse to waste one fucking second.

It’s violent. Heavy and hot and wet, open-mouthed with Dean’s tongue down your throat and his lip between your teeth. Your nails scratch at his back and shoulders as he flips you around, pinning you between his body and the wall. And he’s still touching you so carefully—like he’s afraid you’ll break—but there’s no hesitation when one hand grips your waist hard enough to bruise, before trailing down and under your shirt-

A million fucking sparks set off when Dean’s knuckles touch the bare skin of your hips. Your back arches as he groans and massages your waist, and you’ve stared to grind up into him without thought, because he’s Golden and made of gravity and you want him to devour you. To touch you wherever he wants until you’re painted in Gold, to kiss you until you’re just putty like this, forever. Tended to and touched and without any fucking pain, there’s no fucking pain because Dean’s too good to have pain. 

There can’t be pain when you’re safe against his body. Nothing can exist but Dean kneading at your skin under your shirt, and moaning your name against your lips when you press against something big and hard, poking right at your hip-

Dean pulls away with a grunt, both of you gasping for breath, and your brow drops to his shoulder.

He just smells like spice, now. And you can taste it, too. 

You love him. 

You’re not allowed to say it.

So instead you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him like there won’t be any consequences. Any prices to be paid.

There will be.

You’ll live with them.

“Dean?” You whisper in his ear, and his hum of response rolls through your whole body. “I- I took care of it. Can we please go home?”

You’re ready for him to push back. To ask what took care of it means, and tell you that you need to be sure, and consult Sam, and you can sit the rest of it out, but you can’t leave just yet.

Instead Dean just sighs, running his fingers through your hair, and nods.

“We can do whatever you want, Princess.”

You want him. You’ve only ever wanted Dean.

But it doesn’t matter what you want. 

You’ll have whatever the fuck Dean offers you. 

And if it’s love, you’ll rip the Sky in half to keep it.

End Note: Okay so I made her a virgin because let’s be so fr, she’s impressively oblivious about that stuff, AND she was not about to get laid when big emotions made things blow up. We’re lucky Dean didn’t kiss her when she was still suppressing her powers. Girlie would’ve blown up the moon about it.

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

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[righteousgems]

Full round up of my finale thoughts before I watch for a second time later today

Cape and Pistol is unparalleled comedy to me and John Goodman doing their goofy arm movements elevated it to a new heights I couldn't stop laughing

Jesse's moment of growth in understanding that he actually is a good leader when he's not trying to big dog everyone around being punctuated by him accidently shooting a dude was perfect

"you know what - fuck y'all.." "REEEXXX!!!"

Keefe and Kelvin proposal was perfect and the fact that his moment of growth in the episode is that he's actually starting to let go of his issues with external validation in the aftermath of tcfm is so satisfying to me

"Clap for Jesus - not me!!"

Judy being so supportive of BJ and gaining a better understanding of her range and grief is everything to me - Judy is the character of all characters I love her so much and I am so proud of her

not proud of her saying skibidi toilette tho

love a family group hug after you tell your dad how proud you are that he's still jizzing

LAKE HOUSE - my beloved has return to me

Judy and Miss Lori singing together is so important to me

LEAVE HIS ASS JANA

Corey's rampage was a MASTERPIECE - simultaneously hilarious and genuinely alarming I was living for it

RED RED WIIINNEE

there was a hot second I convinced myself they were all going to die and the wedding was going to happen in heaven

Corey's last rights was so perfect - the gemstone sibling doing what their ancestor couldn't and giving a man who did horrible things a profound and peaceful passage to the afterlife was so beautiful

the wedding was just perfection no notes so beautiful - so happy to see Jesse and Judy so happy for their little brother and his freak husband

Danny speaking to the family and the fans through aimee leigh's letter was a perfect ending - a beautiful piece of closure to have as the family continues on even when we cant be with them anymore

let them old folks 69

[itoshirinnn]

thinking

about how when shamura says bonds (chains) must be forged in godly matters they refer to both the bishops' blood but also narinder's. look at his robes, the red in the middle that starts at his throat and trails down, as if his throat had been cut not necessarily to kill but to make him bleed as much as possible

in the game, the god of death cannot die. the only time the player is in actual risk of "dying" (permadeleting a save file) is when they have 0 followers for two days. the solution to this is to recuit TWO followers minimum. guess who narinder has by his side in the afterlife.

TWO followers, given to him by shamura. they said they didn't want narinder to be lonely. But exactly why would narinder be lonely if he was "swelling with devotion" ? and forneus never says when her kits were taken, just that they were a gift to "the one they loved the most." by "they" it is heavily implied that she's referring to shamura. still, I don't think shamura meant to gift them to narinder out of malice. i truly think he did not wish for him to be lonely.

now, what does narinder say about baal and aym?

intended as KEEPERS??? why would narinder interpret them as keepers, if they were gifted to him before he was imprisoned? maybe he thought shamura was distrustful of him from the start. but even then, if they were already his loyal followers by that point, why wouldn't they be chained? they're completely free to move. Not to mention, look at their eyes. reminds you of something??

DISSENTING FOLLOWERS. all four bishops and their respective minibosses have black scleras and red irises. the only characters / enemies who have similar eyes to baal and aym are the witnesses, that I theorize are old enemies sealed away by the bishops that rise after the death of their capturer. (and barbatos but like. they're the only miniboss who has those eyes so I don't count them) Maybe shamura sent them to narinder under the guise of "keepers," knowing that narinder would guide them. Notice what he says. "Must I be blamed for my influence?"

Narinder says it was here that they cast the chains that bound him (ignore kallamar's joy I have no clue why he's so happy here?) meaning it's here that they probably fought. The monument says the same. "Here did death no longer wish to wait." this obviously refers to narinder. The one who waits could no longer bear to wait, and he put his and the other bishop's reigns in peril trying to expand his domain. shamura feared narinder would grow too greedy and held a council of war with the others.

Narinder struck at them, supposedly second. They knowingly attempted to kill (bound) their brother, just like cain and abel, and were punished for it. See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil, think no evil. narinder was punished too, relegated to the afterlife, destined to be forgotten, to rot. my theory is that shamura gave him baal and aym afterward. they loved him the most, to the point where their brother being forgotten, truly dying, was so unbearable that they gifted him two young followers under the guise of "keepers."

also think about kallamar and how he can't bear to see narinder. We know that kallamar is the second oldest, and that he's aware of his cowardice.

"... of course, it could not last forever. Perhaps my siblings did not understand this, but I have always known."

"It did not make me less afraid. Cowardly Kallamar, ha..."

"So many things I did not wish to hear... Narinder's foolish plans."

"When Shamura told us what we must do to ensure our survival... I did not wish to hear that, either."

"And yet I was a willing conspirator. Cowardly Kallamar."

shamura tells us this.

I think shamura set aside their fear of losing their brother and the love they held for him, to save themselves and their other siblings in case narinder betrayed them. kallamar did not. he was cowardly, he did not wish to hear narinder's heresy or shamura's plans, even knowing their happiness would not last.

side note, narinder's speeches to you after beating each bishop are the longest when he talks about kallamar and shamura. This could also be because he knows the lamb for longer at that point, but I do truly think that he couldn't bear to resent his youngest siblings enough to blatantly insult them like how did to kallamar and shamura.

not to mention heket's dialogue. she blames the red crown, never her older brother. when she does refer to him, she calls him a monster who will not be satisfied until all four of them are felled. she never names him. she grieves, laments about how they were happy once, all together.

narinder's dialogue about leshy is the shortest. maybe it's because they didn't know each other well, since leshy was so young, but leshy is directly stated to not have known about the plan, at least not completely. I don't think narinder resents him as much as the other because of that. leshy even calls the lamb an unworthy bearer of the crown. he doesn't insult narinder, he simply calls him "the chained one."

shamura deems you an unworthy bearer of the crown if you bow to them: "I am disappointed, I admit. I thought my brother had better… taste."

if you do not bow: "A lion in the guise of a Lamb. I expected no less from a vessel of the Red Crown. Very well. War is also my domain."

shamura is also the most outwardly resentful of mortals. "He wanted to open the doors between Life and Death, to... to allow their return. Those mere... mortals." they were the oldest, but also the most prideful, even more so than heket, who is the only other bishop who commands you to bow, and has similar dialogue to shamura. but if you do not bow, she does not compliment you like shamura does, instead she demands you to bow again, which shows her immaturity.

if you bow: "Ha! Cowardly vermin. You disgust me." if you do not bow: "You will bow, or I will make you!"

another side note about heket:

"There is no justice in this world."

"No matter how... how loudly you demand... urge... beg..."

she tells you this after you give her relic back. this is purely headcanoning now, but perhaps she had her throat torn out by narinder because he could not bear to hear her beg.

TL;DR: narinder was so, so loved. my doomed siblings 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[wonxlvr]

𓂃۶ৎ₊⊹ i. rin .ᐟ

SYNOPSIS: too wrapped up in sports, rin doesn't realize how much he needed you, until he does.

STARRING: exes to lovers rin itoshi x gn yn!

NOTICE: wc- 1k (1280), intentional lower case, angst-y, no other warnings!

you and rin had been dating for a little over 3 months by now and you knew he was crazy about soccer, his dream to devour his older brother, sae, on the field. you were well aware of what you were getting yourself into and you were somewhat okay of it. you knew you couldn't compete with his first love. i mean, this kid was obsessed with soccer. Always devoting his time to practice, and watching soccer clips off field.

aside from his soccer geeked, cold, stoic personality and expression, rin wasnt all that bad. sure, it sure took a hell of a time for him to get comfortable with you, but it sure was worth the trouble in times when he would hold you in his arms after matches, muttering something about his useless teammates getting in the way of his goals or when he would sneak not-so-slick glances your way during big games.

but one day you noticed he starting getting distant. you knew he practiced a lot, but he started shoving his head into soccer more (if that was even possible for him!?). he started practicing every minute of the day, you practically had to pull him inside his house at night. though it did bother you that he barely made time for you anymore, you didnt say anything, trying to avoid drama or conflict at all cost. he liked that he could work towards his goal at the expense of nothing in your relationship, what he didnt know was that it was taking a toll you.

this went on for weeks before you finally said something.

"rin? can i talk to you for a sec?" you asked, eyebrows furrowed slightly as you bit the insides of your cheeks. "not right now," he spat, not even sparring a glance at you too focused on dribbling.

"please, its kind of important." you pleaded. his eyes widened slightly, finally turning all his attention on you for the first time today, perhaps even this week. he nodded before walking towards, sensing your urgency.

"whats up?" he said, avoiding eye contact as he rubbed the back of his neck. "rin, i know that soccer is important to you, but im still your partner. dont you think i deserve some of your time-", "then lets break up," he deadpanned. "wha-?" your eyes widening in surprise, realizing he was serious. "if you're just gonna get it the way of my goal, then lets break up." rin sighed, as if he was frustrated as of why you didnt understand something so simple.

you gulped, looking down. "fine, if thats what you want." you said trying to cover your shaky voice. you wanted to put up a fight, beg him to stay, but you didnt. in all honesty, you were tired. tired of constantly being insecure, tired of his obsession, tired of being his second choice, tired of waiting.

rin nodded before turning back around, "see you around, yn." he uttered, not sparing a second glance.

that was exactly 17 days ago, the wounds still felt raw and fresh. you sighed as you tapped your finger nails on the fake wood of the desk as you stared into space. you and rin have talked since, neither of you even making a move. he seemed to be doing just fine without you and that was all the conformation you needed.

as school ended, you walked out the school with your bag slung over your shoulder. you decided you'd drop by the soccer field, y'know, just to.. observe, not for anything weird or anything...

your eyes darted across the field as you noticed it was empty. odd, usually there would be atleast one person practicing, that person obviously being rin. until your eyes caught sight of a person in front of you.

rin itoshi?

your breath was caught in your throat as you looked at him with the same, surprised expression he blinked right back at you.

"yn?" he croaked, "you still come by this way?" he asked, back to his nonchalant demeanor as he hesitantly stepped forward.

you almost nodded before shaking your head. "ah- no, i just thought i'd um- stop by." you said, pursing your lips. he raised an eyebrow suspiciously at you, "no not like that!" you corrected before he got the wrong idea. "i-.. i was taking the shortcut", "you do know this is a longer path, right?" he blanked, catching you right in your lie. by now, rin was standing right in front of you, looming right over your head. was he always this tall?

"ah yes, thats what i meant.. um im gonna get going!" you said awkwardly backing up.

"wait," he called grabbing your wrist, surprising both you and himself. your eyes locked for what seemed like forever before he cleared his throat.

"look, im sorry for, y'know." he avoided admitting your breakup out loud, as if it was an unspoken rule. "i was stupid and wasn't thinking straight." he sighed looking down, to ashamed to meet your gaze.

"i pushed you away when all i wanted was for you to get closer. i didn't plan out for it to turn out that way, really. i guess, i took you for granted. i thought we were doing well but it was hard for me to juggle the two things i loved, soccer and well.. you." he confessed, finally looking right back at you. "i wish i could've been smarter or seen how much youve been hurting because of me. i never meant to make you feel like that at all, and i regret it so much. i was too wrapped up in soccer but i didnt think it would affect you. i had my goals and pushed you away, not realizing it was you who i needed." he gulped. "i dont know what im expecting out of this, but i just wanted to explain myself." he spoke while rubbing the back of his head, a habit you knew all too well.

you stared at him with blown eyes as you processed his words. what.. what? what? you were utterly rendered speechless, looking stupid with your jaw open in shock.

he half-chuckled, sounding more like a scoff of some sort, at your reaction despite his honest, heavy confession. "i dont really know how to say this but, your truly the one i love. sure, football was my first love, but your my first love. ill try to change if that means i can hold you again." he pleaded, holding both of your hands.

finally after being dumbstruck, you opened your mouth. "rin, im not asking you to change. i love how passionate you are, i just wish it actually felt like a relationship." you buzzed, looking at him with the softest eyes and faintest smile. "but i'd be more than happy to cheer your name again."

his eyes sparkled so lightly you could barely notice it if i wasnt for the way you looked at him. you hugged him as hesitantly hugged you back.

" 'promise i will put you first. it doesnt matter who i become in the future, as long as i have you by my side." he whispered in your ear.

you let an airy laugh escape at his promise, pulling away to get a good look at him again. "since when were you so good with words?"

he shrugged, "ive been, i just never had a reason to try 'till now."

you shook your head as you smiled up at him. "soooo are we dating or what?"

rin looked at you with that stoic expression again as he scoffed. "what was your first clue?"

©️ 2025 all rights reserved to wonxlvr - do not copy, translate, or claim my work.

ALAS IT IS DONE. this was based on "high all the time" by the neighbourhood btw if u couldnt tell. first post abt anime kinda nervous... also guys i need bluelock/haikyuu moots so pls moot me 🆙 🙁 idk might abandon this acc again jk (or am i.)