#if i can figure out how to do that i can die happy

[mymoodwriting]

4.8k, yandere, model/actress!reader, CEO!Jeonghan, power play, brat behavior, brat taming, stalking, harassment, paparazzi, forced hiatus, kidnapping, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, smut, restraints, minor BDSM, handjob, groping, fingering, penetration, creampie, possessive behavior

A/N: Surprise! This is my piece for the collab I'm co-hosting with @sanaxo-o as well as something written for them at their own request. I hope you enjoy!

“No comment.”

You got into the back of your limo while keeping a calm composure. As soon as the door was shut you sighed in relief and took off your sunglasses. The latest scandal getting all the media attention was about how you were secretly dating the male lead of the drama you had made a cameo in. Of course his fans were mad and throwing all kinds of hate your way. The pictures going around showed the two of you having dinner together in a private room, sitting side by side and looking so happy and in love. It wasn’t actually a date but you were really enjoying yourself, and everyone loves to spin a good story. Although it was a secret outing that your company didn’t know about, until now that is. 

When your phone started buzzing in your purse you already knew who was calling, but you weren’t in the mood for a scolding. You’d be at your company soon enough, and then you’d get an earful in person. Your phone kept ringing for a while but you continued to ignore it, wanting to enjoy what was left of your peace. Thankfully the building had a private entrance, so once past the main gate you didn’t have to worry about reporters, but it was better to remain cautious until you were inside. It was only until you were in the elevator that you could relax a bit, heading up to the top floor. As soon as the elevator doors opened your manager was there to greet you, a look of disappointment on their face.

“What the hell were you thinking!?”

“I deserved to be invited out for a meal.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“It wasn’t a real date. He just wanted to give me pointers for future acting gigs.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

“But it’s what you’ll tell the press, right?”

“… the Ceo wants to see you.”

“Obviously. Let’s get this over with.” 

You made your way to the CEO’s office, not even bothering to knock and just letting yourself in, plopping down on the couch. You pulled out your phone and dismissed all the missed calls you had, going onto the internet to see what the latest articles were saying about you. Although you didn’t get to see anything as your phone was snatched from you.

“What have I told you about secret outings?”

“Don’t get caught.”

“I see you’re being smart today.”

“I’m very intelligent, thanks for noticing.”

“Except when it comes to sneaking around apparently.”

“It’s not my fault those reporters are stalking me! Why can’t you get a restraining order? Isn’t that your job?”

“I’m not a fixer, I’m the CEO of the company you represent and work for! It’s not my job to fix this mess of yours.”

“But you’ll do it anyway, right?”

“… why were you out with that man?”

“Jealous?”

“Answer me, y/n.”

You sighed. “He asked me out for dinner, wanting to talk about my career. I figured getting close to someone like him could help me get bigger roles in future projects.”

“And do you still think that’s gonna happen?”

“Absolutely. Those pictures show we have great chemistry, and I could be a wonderful love interest. Of course they were taken out of context but can still work to our benefit.”

“Our benefit?”

“I’m here to make you money, aren’t I?”

“Not at the moment. You’re going on hiatus.”

“What!? You can’t do that! I didn’t do anything wrong! Those reporters-”

“Just a week. A statement will be put out explaining that the dinner was a business venture and was rudely intruded upon. Then just let it all die down.”

“Fine.”

“Your manager is already re-working your schedule. So just keep a low profile and stay home.”

“Thanks, Jeonghan.” You cheered. “You’re the best. I’ll head back home now. So can I have my phone back?”

“I’m not done with you.”

“Hm? What else is there?”

Jeonghan walked back to his desk, turning off your phone and placing it in his desk drawer. You huffed, realizing your phone was confiscated for the week.

“Jeonghan…” You whined. “My phone.”

“You’ll get it back after your hiatus.”

“Jeong-”

“Were you on a date?”

“… hm… does that matter?”

“Yes.”

You chuckled. “It wasn’t a date, at least not to me. I just wanted a free meal and some advice.”

“Well, it turned out great didn’t it.”

“Enough already, you said I’m on hiatus and the company will put out a statement. So, do I get my phone?”

“No. I don’t want you on socials reading articles, or worse, leaving comments.”

“You’re also putting me on a tech ban!”

“If you can’t be trusted to honor it you can spend your hiatus at my home under close observation.”

“Uh, no thanks, I like my privacy.”

“Sure. I’ll see you in a week.”

The discussion was over and you returned back home. You took a different route and didn’t have to worry about any reporters. It was gonna be a long week, but you figured you could catch up on some sleep and really take care of yourself. Although Jeonghan was serious about the tech ban. You didn’t have your phone, and the wi-fi in your place was temporarily suspended. At least you still had access to your cards, so you could buy groceries to cook or pick up some food. It wasn’t good to go out much, so you put on a disguise yourself and made a trip to gather everything you’d need for your hiatus. Then you just relaxed and enjoyed your vacation. Towards the end you did get a bit antsy, just wanting to get back in your spotlight, so you practically slept a day away.

The next morning you were happy to see your chauffeur and eager to return to your place of work. Your first stop was going to be to the CEO’s office cause you desperately wanted your phone back. This tech ban was good for your mind and your eyes, but you missed your phone dearly. When you arrived your manager was there to greet you, wanting to talk about your schedule. You did have a photoshoot scheduled for the afternoon, but you were more focused on other things. As usual you didn’t knock and just let yourself in. There you found Jeonghan on the phone, and he quickly put a finger to his lips to tell you to be quiet. You sat down as he finished his call about who knows what, waiting patiently.

“Did you miss me?”

“I had some peace and quiet while you were gone.”

“Don’t say that!”

“But it’s true.”

“Whatever. Can I have my phone back now?”

“Are you going to behave?”

“I always behave. I’m not the problem in all these scandals and you know it.”

“You’re the common factor among them.”

“Am I gonna get my phone back or not?”

“Yes, yes, here.” Jeonghan retrieved your phone and held it out to you. “Just promise me you won’t sneak around anymore. When you do that you’re playing with fire.”

“And you’re my fire extinguisher, aren’t you?”

You happily took back your phone, eager to turn it on and see what you had missed. There was no point in dwelling on the past, but you did want to look over all the articles that had been written about you.

“Shouldn’t you be going? You have a photoshoot this afternoon.”

“I know, I know, I just have a lot to catch up on. I’ll see you later.”

“You’ll see me sooner than you think.”

🖤

The photoshoot you were participating in wasn’t one that needed to be rescheduled. It was for a new product launch, and the premier date was still a few weeks out, so your latest scandal wouldn’t affect anything. While you got your hair and makeup done you browsed your phone, reading some articles that had come out about you. The professional ones talked about the dangers of misinterpretation and jumping to conclusions. While the hateful fan made ones just made you laugh. They were trying to come after you one way or another, even mentioning past scandals but you were lucky to have your own fanbase coming to your defense in the comments. You’d love to do something to thank them, so you’d talk to your manager about it later.

“The second you get that back you’re glued to it.”

“Hm?”

You looked over to see Jeonghan at your side, rather surprised to see him. You were about to ask what he was doing when he took your phone from you.

“The shoot is starting, go on now.”

You heard the photographer calling for the models, so you got up and went over, still curious as to why Jeonghan was present. Your manager was still here, but you had to put your questions aside and focus on the shoot. The whole time Jeonghan was watching, but you couldn’t really see him behind the camera. It wasn’t until you had a break that you approached him, wanting your phone back more than anything. 

“Why are you here anyway?” You questioned. “People have already moved on from that not-date thing with a co-star.”

“Perhaps, but there are still people watching. So, I should make sure you behave.”

“Don’t you have a company to run?”

“Keeping you out of trouble helps the company overall.”

“If you say so.”

Jeonghan took your phone back when you resumed the shoot. He stuck around for the whole thing, waiting around for you to get out of hair and makeup and then escorting you to the van. Unsurprisingly there were some reporters waiting outside for you. They were snapping pictures and asking about your old scandal. Jeonghan gave you a warning look, so you knew it best to keep quiet. That is until someone dared to say something so absurd.

“Did you try to sleep with him because you know your modeling career is coming to an end!?”

“Wat-!?”

You were ready to snap back at whoever dared to say such a crude thing, but just as you opened your mouth you suddenly found a lollipop pushed past your lips. You glanced over at Jeonghan who just gave you a smile and opened the van door for you, ushering you to get in. You did so, sucking on the lollipop until you were on the road, your manager at the wheel driving as usual.

“We should sue them all for defamation.”

“That won’t change anything.”

“So we just let them continue to be disrespectful? This kind of stuff isn’t good for my mental health, you know.”

“Yet who keeps causing trouble?”

“I don’t do anything on purpose!”

“Right.”

“Whatever. Are you gonna keep following me on my schedules?”

“Until I deem you can be on your own, yes.”

“That’ll be fun.”

Jeonghan kept to his words and accompanied you on your schedules. He’d always confiscate your phone, probably checking your browsing history and stuff. It didn’t bother you much, just an extra helping hand for you.

“When did you reschedule that beauty shoot for? It’s the only schedule I haven’t made up.”

“We were unable to reschedule that one.”

“What? Why?”

“Conflict with availability. We told them we’d make it up somehow.”

“Oh, a different product then, or maybe-”

“We’ll have you participate in something else under that company.”

“… like what?”

“The company has launched a new arts and crafts kit. They wanted someone to demonstrate it with a group of kids and it seemed good for your image.”

“What!?”

“Your cameo in that last drama you did was as a teacher, so it’s a nice touch too.”

“No, no, no, Jeonghan, you know I hate dealing with kids! Haven’t you punished me enough?”

“I haven’t.”

“But-”

“You’re not getting out of this shoot. If you think you’re gonna be sick that day I’ll take you to see a doctor beforehand.”

“Jeongie, please.”

“I already have the outfit for the day picked out. Remember to smile and be kind, the kids are excited to learn. Don’t worry though, I will be accompanying you as well.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

Every now and then you had to do something you didn’t like, but this was the first time Jeonghan would be watching you like a hawk. The day of the shoot you were given an overview of the product and then went before a group of kids to show it off. Just like any shoot this took hours, and you had to engage with all the kids. Helping them glue things together and decorate. By the end your clothes were ruined and you were gonna need a deep shower to get all the glitter off. The staff thanked you for doing this, and you took lots of pictures with the kids and their creations. Not to mention some parents wanted autographs too. You knew this was all good for your image but my gosh did you hate it.

“You did good today.”

“Fuck you.”

“Easy, there are children around.”

“They’re all gone.”

“You can’t be sure. Let’s get you back to the office and clean you up.”

“Ugh, I feel so messy.”

“You’re fine.”

“I still hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome.”

You thought after a week Jeonghan would leave you alone, but no, he was still attending schedules with you. It wasn’t hard to see him as part of your team, but you had to admit it was worrying you a bit that he was still hanging around. He really wasn’t gonna let you off the hook so easily this time. That last scandal wasn’t even really your fault, but you couldn’t really argue with Jeonghan. Instead you focused on your current job, glad to be working with models you were familiar with. The shoot was a promotional one for an upcoming fashion show you’d be participating in. It’s been a while since you’ve done a show, so you were looking forward to this. Although this shoot was going to be longer than others since you had a multitude of outfits to get through. You didn’t mind since this was more enjoyable with friends.

“You should keep a distance from the other models.”

You chuckled. “Excuse me? Do you hear yourself, Jeonghan? This is a photoshoot, we need to put our hands on each other and whatnot.”

“Your last scandal came from you being too close to a man.”

“Again, this is modeling, it’s not my first time holding hands with a man for the camera. Unlike that last situation, I am fully consenting to have my picture taken.”

“Y/n.”

“Jeonghan, I’ve worked with these models before, and people know we’re all being professional here. If you’re jealous just say so.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

You never thought Jeonghan was the jealous type. He seemed so perfect and composed that his confidence would not waver. You didn’t know if he ever dated, but this behavior from him was unexpected. You were just another model in his company, yet he’s been hanging around you a lot and seems to have a problem with you being around other guys. It was ridiculous really, and it was probably about time you spoke up. Besides, having him watch you like a hawk was a bit unnerving.

“Hey, why don’t we all go out for some food?”

“Oh, that sounds-”

“No.” Jeonghan interrupted. “Y/n needs to be heading home and resting. Perhaps another time.”

“Hey!”

After a day long shoot one of your co-workers suggested you all go out for a meal and catch up. It sounded great, but Jeonghan was quick to shoot down the idea and excuse you from it. Next thing you knew he was dragging you over to the van.

“You could come eat with us too, you know.”

“It’s not about the food.”

“Let me guess, you don’t want me drinking around guys?”

“That’s part of it.”

“That scandal is long dead now, and everyone knows these guys are my co-workers! Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

“I’m not gonna take that chance.”

“You may be my boss, but you don’t control every aspect of my life!” You snapped. “Now let go!”

“Keep pushing your luck like this and see what happens.”

“Yeah? What are you gonna do?”

“You really wanna know?”

“If you’re gonna make threats you better follow through.”

“Fine then.”

Jeonghan got you into your van, going over to tell your manager they were done for the day, and then he got behind the wheel. You figured he was gonna take you back to the office, but the route he was taking was unfamiliar. He certainly wasn’t taking you back home, so you got a bit nervous as you realized you had no idea where you were going.

“We’re here.”

“And… where exactly is here?”

“Get out of the van.”

It wasn’t a request, but an order. You were still a bit too nervous to move, but that didn’t stop Jeonghan from opening the door and helping you out. You were in some parking garage, so there was nothing around you to help you identify your location. Jeonghan dragged you over to an elevator, scanning some ID card and merely hitting the button to go up. There was no number displayed, just a ding noise as you passed floors. At least that was your assumption. When the elevator stopped you looked at Jeonghan, but he seemed completely calm, then you knew why.

“Is this… is this your home?”

“Welcome.”

You stepped into the penthouse suite, rather amazed with how luxurious it looked. You always figured Jeonghan lived somewhere nice, but you never thought you’d actually get to see it. The view of the city skyline was gorgeous and you noticed a tray of alcohol and glasses nearby. You wanted to get a drink but Jeonghan stopped you.

“You’re almost always intoxicated when you cause trouble, now I see why. Don’t you think that’s cause to better yourself?”

“After all that work don’t you think I deserve a treat? A little drink won’t kill someone.”

“It might.”

“Then tell me what’s with you lately? Following me around on schedules, keeping me away from my guy friends.” You stated. “You’re acting like a jealous ex, you know that right?”

“I’m trying to prevent another scandal.”

“Seriously? You know half those scandals aren’t my fault! Just cause I’m breathing too close to a male the whole world thinks I’m some kind of whore.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re certainly treating me that way now.”

“I’m merely trying to keep you safe.”

You scoffed. “Is this your idea of a pep talk? Cause it sucks. You may be the CEO of an entertainment company, but you are pretty naive as to how things work.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. I have to play nice with everyone or else we both lose. Business has been good, so you don’t need to worry about me.”

“You’re right. Despite everything, business has been good, and your reputation only ever gets dirty for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you.”

“Why would you? If a day comes when I get into real trouble, it’s not that hard for you to cut me loose and leave me to fend for myself.”

“Who says I would do that?”

“Only an idiot would try to defend a troublemaker.”

“I’ve been doing that for a while. Are you calling me an idiot?”

“Those scandals are always baseless rumors that just create some drama, not something major. They were never a real problem to begin with.”

“Perhaps, but nothing is going to stop me from taking care of what belongs to me.”

“Yeah?”

You swiftly landed a kiss on Jeonghan’s lips, catching him off guard and making him stumble back. You laughed at his actions, pouring yourself the drink you wanted.

“You like me, don’t you? And that’s why you’ve been acting all weird lately.”

“That’s not true.” Jeonghan remarked. “I could report you for sexual harassment.”

“And you’d still be the one to punish me for it, right? Sounds like it works out for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying. I know being around guys can get me in trouble, but I don’t just sleep around.”

Jeonghan laughed. “You’re forgetting who owns you here.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not quite. More of a reminder. I’ve saved you countless times, yet I can just as easily destroy you.”

“What?”

“I’m your salvation, and your destruction. I’ve allowed you to do as you please while at my mercy, but I think it’s time you’re taught a proper lesson.”

There was truth to Jeonghan’s words, you knew that. It was never smart to blindly trust someone, regardless of what they said. Especially in this industry. Still, this was a side of Jeonghan you had never seen. His actions and words were putting you on edge, but you tried to keep it together. That is until he pinned you to the wall, causing you to spill your drink all over the floor and shatter the glass.

“Are you crazy!? Let me go!”

“You said I like you… but it’s much more than that.”

Jeonghan pinned both your arms above your head, keeping you in place with one hand while the other caressed your cheek. You flinched initially, not expecting his touch, but he wasn’t happy with your actions. He tsked at you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to keep his gaze.

“Every scandal you have gotten yourself into has been extremely annoying. People talking about you and someone else, as if any of those boys were worthy of you. Jealousy?” Jeonghan laughed. “That doesn’t begin to cover my feelings. You belong to me, and I think I’ve had enough of watching you being so close with other boys who don’t know anything about you.”

“Jeonghan…”

“Sh, behave yourself. I’ve always wanted to ruin you in the comfort and privacy of my own home, but if you’re gonna be trouble then I can ruin you publicly as well.”

“… you… you wouldn’t do that to me…”

“You’re underestimating what I’m capable of. So, are you gonna be a good girl?”

Your heart was pounding in your chest. Jeonghan was so close to you that his hot breath brushed against your lips. You were scared, yet excited at the same time. Maybe this wasn’t new, and this was just how Jeonghan was. It would certainly explain why you got special treatment. This could all be some kind of test, see if you’d submit under all this pressure. Or it could be an opportunity of a lifetime and you didn’t want to waste it. In the blink of an eye you leaned in close to kiss Jeonghan. Unlike last time he didn’t move away, instead releasing your arms and taking your head in his hands. The kiss was deep and desperate, Jeongghan only pulling away to catch his breath.

“That’s a good girl.”

Jeonghan took your hand and led you elsewhere. Soon enough you were in the bedroom, pushed onto the bed as Jeonghan began to strip you of your clothes. You tried to do the same but he quickly flipped you onto your stomach and tied your hands behind your back with your shirt. He pressed a few kisses along your back before flipping you back over. He got you out of your pants, taking your panties with you, then unhooking the clasp at the front of your bra. In a matter of moments you laid exposed before him meanwhile he was only shirtless. His hands trailed along your chest, and all you could do was squirm under his touch.

“There’s a reason I’ve never let you do any sort of nudity. Only I get to see this. Now, you’re gonna be a good girl, right?”

Jeonghan asked the redundant question just as he leaned down closer to you, his fingers running along your folds. You quickly bit your lip to quiet the moan that threatened to escape you, not wanting to sound so needy. He didn’t seem to like that, giving you a gentle tap on your cheek to get you to stop.

“No need to be shy.”

Jeonghan was cunning in his actions, punctuating his words as he pushed a finger inside you. This wasn’t enough prep time at all, but he seemed rather eager to get to the good part, and you felt the same. His free hand kneaded your breast and his fingers teasing your nipples. He wanted to provide all kinds of stimulation and get you in the mood. He seemed rather experienced, so you just needed to lay there and take it. Although you couldn’t just stay still, squirming until you managed to free your hands and reach over to feel Jeonghan’s chest, wanting to run your tongue along his abs. You thought he might have been upset that you got free, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Although after a moment he guided your hands down, letting you unzip his pants and spring out his cock. He was bigger than you had imagined, but it was a welcomed surprise. As you ran your fingers along his length, Jeonghan slid another finger inside your heat. A soft mewl escaped you, but you didn’t need to be shy. He worked you over as you stroked him to an erection, feeling him throb and twitch in your hand. You went slow, wanting to tease him just as he did you, and also not wanting him to climax until you felt him inside you. At some point he added a third finger, really stretching you out, but you weren’t sure it would be enough. You were both growing impatient and he decided to make the next move. You couldn’t help the whimper when he moved away and pulled out his fingers, but you didn’t have to be disappointed for long.

You felt something warm and slimy rubbing against your lips, glancing down to see Jeonghan coating your core with his precum. Then he pushed his way inside you, going slow and making you feel every inch. Your mouth hung open as Jeonghan moved all the way in, getting to the base and letting you adjust. He felt nice and big, rather glad things got to this. Then there was a kiss on your head and he started moving. He wanted to be gentle, but finally having you like this, he couldn’t show restraint. He was moving fast and hard, wanting to ruin you just as he said. Make you lose your mind and forget how to speak. All you did was hold on tightly, moaning and begging for more.

“Jeonghan…”

“That’s right, who owns you?”

“… you do… you, Jeonghan…”

“Good girl. My good girl.”

Jeonghan pressed his lips against yours as he continued to thrust into you, rubbing against your sweet spot and doing all the right things. You felt your body heating up, getting closer and closer to the edge. Jeonghan was there too as he had lost his rhythm, just moving desperately to achieve climax. You were both on the same wavelength, and you found yourself reaching your high first, moaning into the kiss and grabbing Jeonghan as you shook beneath him. As your body held him tightly he was pushed over the edge, the warmth between your legs making you realize he wasn’t using protection. You’d take care of that later, just breathing heavily as you came down from cloud nine. Jeonghan was in the same situation as you, resting atop of you and gently moving his hips to get and give as much pleasure as he could.

“What a good girl.”

“Jeonghan…”

“Sh, sh, sh, just relax. We don’t have to be anywhere.”

The two of you stayed together for a while longer, merely relaxing in each other’s embrace. Eventually Jeonghan got up, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he did so. You weren’t sure where he went until he came back and helped you up, taking you to the bathroom. He had prepared a bath, and the two of you would be sharing it. Jeonghan had you between his legs, letting your rest against his chest. You intertwined your fingers with his, starting at your hands holding one another.

“What does this make us?”

“No idea, but you’re still mine.”

“Am I?”

“Did you not learn your lesson just now?”

“Hm… I did learn something.”

“Then you should do better and not mess around with other guys from now on.”

“I’ll try, but I might need a reminder every now and then.”

“I have no problem teaching you who you serve.”

“Is that a promise?”

“No, it’s a vow.”

[aperrywilliams]

1000 Times (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader) - Part II

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Author Masterlist

Part I (May 7th)

Part II (May 14th)

Part III (May 21st)

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader.

Summary: Your mom is getting married, and you have to come back to your hometown for the wedding. There is a little problem, though: you told her months ago you have a boyfriend, and now she wants to meet him at the wedding. Your best friend, Spencer - who happens to be the guy you are in love with, too - offers to help you with that. If you say yes, will things work out like they are supposed to?

Word Count - Part II: 6.5k

Warnings: Fluff/Angst/Smut/Angst/Fluff (I think that order is correct). Minors DNI. The smut is not detailed and mostly implied. Reader and Spencer are Idiots in love. The Reader's dad died. The Reader has poor and unhealthy family relationships, especially with her mom. Cheating is mentioned (in a past Reader's relationship). There are discussions about child trauma. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Part II is here, when everything twists a ‘little bit.’ What do you think will happen next?

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'Cause I would die to make you mine

Bleed me dry each and every time

I don't mind, no, I don't mind it

I would come back a thousand times.'

-

The alarm blasts at 8 am sharp, and for a day off, it is like a crime to you. But your mom gave you a list of things to get done and help with before the afternoon. Rubbing off the sleep from your eyes, you look to your side and see only the empty spot where Spencer was when you fell asleep last night. Where is he?

The sound of water running from the bathroom gives you the answer.

Padding to the window, you get to open the curtains. It's a beautiful day outside. The gardens look amazing with the morning sun. Maybe it's one of the only things you miss from this house. Your apartment in DC clearly doesn't have this view, but you wouldn't trade your place for anything, not even these wonderful gardens.

"The weather report says today's temperature will remain warm with a clear sky."

Spencer’s voice makes you turn around.

"Yeah. With luck, tomorrow will be -"

Your words die in your mouth when you're faced with a semi-naked Spencer, wrapped with only a towel around his waist, with wet hair and droplets running down his torso. Your brain suddenly becomes mush. Jesus, this man wants to kill you for sure. How can he look so hot so early in the morning?

Spencer confuses your amazement with discomfort.

"Un. I'm sorry, I forgot my clothes in that chair," he apologizes, quickly grabbing the pile and rapidly strolling back to the bathroom.

"It's okay. Do n't-don't worry," you manage to say, but the bathroom door is already closed.

You could get used to a view like this every morning.

After breakfast, while helping Andrew organize some things, Spencer is held by Dylan, who, after learning about your boyfriend's three doctorates, found no better pastime than interrogating him on a wide variety of topics. With patience and his fair share of enthusiasm, Spencer is happy to explain things Dilan probably only understands half of.

During one of your breaks, you take Spencer to the family office, where your father's book collection is located. It is one of his few things that are still kept in the house. As you go through each book, you tell Spencer things you remember about your father from your childhood. He was clearly an important figure to you; you've never denied it. Unlike Spencer with his father, you were close to yours until a fatal accident ended his life. That's something you still struggle to talk about despite all the years that have passed.

Spencer watches you with fascination as you talk about your happiest memories from that time. It's a side of you no one has ever seen. Spencer feels lucky to be the one who witnesses your most intimate self outside the confines of work and life at the BAU.

However, the bubble you find yourselves in is shattered when your mom shows up, escorted by your other brother, Ralph, who has just arrived.

"Isn't that my little sister and her boyfriend?" Ralph asks with a smile on his face. Of your two brothers, Ralph is the only one you get along with a bit. However, if he had to choose between you and your mom, like Lincoln, Ralph would choose your mom.

After a greeting hug and the respective introductions, Ralph proceeds to ask you how you've been and says he's happy you decided to come. The whole time, Spencer's arm is protectively around your waist. You tenderly stroke his hand, thanking him for taking his role as boyfriend seriously in front of your family.

As expected, the conversation quickly moves toward the big event.

"Well, I know it's just the rehearsal, but I took the liberty of inviting Evan for today. I know you only had him contemplated for the wedding, but he has been a family friend for so long," Ralph tells your mother.

Hearing Evan's name, your expression hardens, and your body stiffens, something Spencer notices immediately.

"What a good idea, Ralph. I didn't think about it, but I totally agree," your mom says.

"Who's Evan?" Spencer asks you. Before you can say anything, Ralph pipes up.

"A family friend, who also happens to be (Y/N)'s ex-boyfriend."

"That poor boy, he was so in love with you, and you behaved like you didn't care," your mom chastised, recalling your relationship with Evan.

Uncomfortable with the topic, you let go of Spencer's grip and shift your weight from one foot to another.

"He was crazy for you," Ralph adds.

"Oh, please. We're talking about the time I was what? Sixteen? We weren't in love," you scoff. But the defensiveness in your voice tells Spencer there is more to the story.

"Young or not, he would have done everything for you. A real husband material."

Your mom's observation spurs a groan from you.

"Really, Mom? It was all that mattered to you? If it were up to you, I would have ended up married to one of Dad's wealthy friends, thirty years older than me."

"Don't be ridiculous. I would never have done that to you."

"No? That's why you actually married one?" you spat—your mom's face morphs to offended in one second.

“(Y/N)! Don't be disrespectful," Ralph snarls. And you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself. Spencer's confused look makes you feel guilty. It's not fair to him to witness a scene of you arguing with your family.

"Fine," you relent. "I'll shut up." Now, looking at Spencer and softening your voice, you speak again. "Baby, can you help me with the greeting cards for the tables?"

He nods and offers you his hand to take. "Sure." You squeeze it appreciatively and walk with him out of the room.

Once outside, out of the people's sight, you let out a deep breath.

"Spencer, I'm sorry-"

Before you can fall into a spiral of apologies, he cuts you off.

"Don't. You don't have to say sorry to me. I know there is more behind what happened there, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But no matter what it is, I'm on your side, okay? Always."

"Thanks. You should know anyway."

While you're organizing the cards with the guest's names, you tell Spencer about your history with Evan. Two years older than you, Evan was the younger brother of Ralph's best friend. Evan's family was always close to yours, and for a long time, you considered him your friend.

But after your dad passed away, things went a bit south with him. You were vulnerable and leaned on Evan when you thought no one else understood. One thing led to another, and you ended up in a relationship. Everything was pretty normal until you started seeing the signs. Evan grew up, and so did you. His tastes began to resemble his brothers' more than his own. The things you had in common diminished between the two of you, and that youthful love faded. The last straw was when you discovered he was cheating on you with one of your cousins.

You made your decision to break things up. The problem? Evan wasn't ready to let you go. Between the pressure from his family and his ego, he couldn't tolerate not having you. He was never physically aggressive, but he was hurtful enough to kill any affection you might have had for him—something he did a good job of masking and twisting to his advantage. In the end, everyone thought you were the one who hurt his feelings first when it was the opposite.

"I'm so sorry you have to go through that," Spencer tells you once you end the story. You shrug.

"I haven't seen Evan since I left home all those years ago. That's why it feels kind of weird now. But I need to get over it, leave that part of my life behind."

"It's a good way to see it, but if he tries to do something to hurt you again, I'll take care of it," Spencer says, eyebrows furrowing in full protective mode. It's sweet and kind of hot, too.

"It's not that I don't appreciate the thought, but Evan can be an intimidating guy, if you know what I mean. I don't think it's a good idea to go into a fight with him," you warn him. Spencer's eyes widen.

"Oh no. No. I didn't say that because I want to fight Evan, but I would if it's necessary - I said that to ask Garcia to hack him. The damage could be substantially more significant than if I tried to punch his face. I'm sure of it."

You can't help but burst into a fit of giggles.

"Absolutely no one should doubt you're a genius!" you say between giggles. Spencer grins widely. He loves making you laugh. He loves you.

For the rest of the afternoon, Spencer helps you to relax, cracking jokes from time to time and talking about whatever he thinks can work for you to stop overthinking. It actually works, and he feels proud of himself for staying grounded in an environment so out of his comfort zone. For you, he would do that ten thousand times and much more.

-

As you get ready in the bathroom, Spencer grabs a book from one of your shelves: Wuthering Heights. When he opens it, the first thing he sees is a handwritten note on the first page.

'It's not the way we see what makes us aware of the world; it's the way we feel it. My little girl, always trust in your instincts. They will always lead you to what you're looking for: the real kindness, the real love. Dad.'

Spencer thinks about how your dad's words got ingrained in you. For all the years he has known you, those words are the perfect fit for how you are. You see the world, but on top of that, you feel it. You value kindness and honesty. You trust in your guts. It's who you are, and it's one of the many reasons Spencer loves you.

Engulfed in how Heathcliff fights with his emotions as Catherine marries Linton, Spencer doesn't hear the bathroom door opening.

"Spoiler alert: everyone goes crazy and becomes ghosts at the end."

Spencer chuckles at your comment, but when his attention shifts from the book to you, his breath hitches in his throat, and his jaw almost hits the floor.

There you are. Ready for the rehearsal dinner in one of the dresses you bought for the occasion. You wouldn't say it's too fancy, but it suits you pretty well. Spencer would say 'pretty good' is an understatement, though. For him, you look stunning, marvelous, sexy, captivating, and all those words he can think of right now seem nothing compared to reality.

You confuse Spencer's lack of words with something bad. Maybe you went overboard.

"Too much?"

"What? No! It's - uh. You look amazing."

A sheepish smile creeps onto your face at the compliment.

"Well, you look very handsome, I must say," you add. And it's true. With a nice dark blue suit, Spencer looks so effortlessly attractive that it's almost a crime for you. How you will get your eyes off him tonight, you don't know. The funny thing is that Spencer is confronting the same dilemma as you.

"Are we ready then?" Spencer asks as he stands from the sofa and gentlemanly offers his arm for you to take. Unfortunately, the gesture reminds you this isn't an actual date. It's fake. Spencer is not your boyfriend.

"Yeah. Ready for the show," you reply, masking your disappointment with a chuckle. Little did you know, Spencer feels equally disappointed with the reality of the situation as well.

The patio is full of tables perfectly set for the guests' use. The decoration screams luxury and costly taste. You wouldn't expect less from an event where your mom is the main character.

At the entrance, Andrew is directing the staff as the guests start to arrive. You can spot some uncles and aunts from your mom's side. Your brother Ralph and his wife are talking to the wedding planner. Your soon-to-be stepfather is greeting the people already gathering.

“(Y/N)?” A voice calls from behind you. It only takes you seconds to recognize it: Kimberley, one of your cousins, and the worst nightmare you had when you were growing up.

"Hey, Kim. How are you?"

Before replying, the blonde gives you a tight embrace. "It has been so long!"

You don't know why she seems so glad to see you when you are not an ounce happy to see her. One of the last memories you have of her is trying to convince you she didn't sleep with Evan when she actually did.

"Are you not going to introduce me to this handsome? Are you?"

There she is. Kimberly is already seductively batting her eyelashes at Spencer. This shameless bitch.

"Baby, this is my cousin Kimberly. Kim, this is Spencer, my boyfriend."

"Nice to meet you," Spencer greets politely, with no attempt to make physical contact.

"It's a total pleasure," Kim says, extending her hand to Spencer. He feels compelled to comply, giving it an awkward squeeze. You internally roll your eyes.

It's a bad thing Kimberly doesn't seem phased or in a rush to leave, so she starts small-talking. Despite all the history between you and Kim, you don't want to be rude just at the beginning of the evening. In your mindset of leaving all behind, you are polite enough to engage in a simple conversation. Spencer is always backing you up. Even with the explicit attempts from Kimberly to get Spencer's attention through her flirty remarks, Spencer doesn't seem interested. If anything, he circles your waist to push you closer to him, kissing your head from time to time and talking to you and about you using sweet pet names.

If someone asks you, you would say it feels so fucking good.

"Kim, over here!" An award to the person who calls her name across the room and makes her decide to leave you both. But not before a flirtatious remark to Spencer.

"See you around, handsome."

Spencer looks at you curiously. "What's her problem?" he asks, referring to your cousin.

"Her problem? Her problem is that she can't see an attractive man without flirting with him. Much less if that man is standing next to me, literally or figuratively."

"Oh. Is she the one that-?"

"Yep," you reply before Spencer can end his question.

No further explanation is necessary.

After Kim leaves, some uncles and aunts you haven't seen in years come over to say hello as well. Spencer, always the kind man he's been, acts attentively as if he genuinely enjoys having to greet so many people he doesn't know. Which you know he hates.

"(Y/N)? Is that you?" You hear your name from behind.

Shit. You know that voice. You turn, and your assumption is confirmed. Evan.

"Evan? Oh, hi. I didn't recognize you."

Bullshit. Of course you did. Without any warning, Evan envelopes you in a tight hug. What's the problem with people? Why does everyone want to hug you today?

"It's so good to see you! You haven't changed at all!"

Spencer looks at the exchange and notices how tense you get. Knowing who that guy is, his brows furrowed in increase.

You barely return his embrace. When Evan finally lets you go, his eyes go to Spencer. Shaking off the discomfort, you clear your throat.

"Evan, this is Spencer Reid, my boyfriend. Baby, this is Evan," you introduce. With no other word said, Spencer stretches his hand to Evan. The man returns the gesture, and the two men trade a tight, tense handshake.

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the testosterone display.

"You won't tell him who I am?" Evan teases, and you furrow an eyebrow. "Oh, come on, (Y/N)! We spent so much good time together, didn't we?"

Your jaw tightens immediately. The audacity is incommensurable.

"Spencer already knows who you are, Evan. Actually, he knows more than enough," you say to the guy, who raises his hands in mock defense.

"Okay, okay. I should expect nothing good then." His gaze turns to Spencer now. "I'm sorry, man. I don't know what she told you about me, but I'm a good guy now. We don't have to rely on the past, right (Y/N)?"

Spencer doesn't even blink; his expression is neutral, the same one he uses when he's meticulously analyzing someone. He only returns a hum of acknowledgment before taking your hand.

"It was nice meeting you, Evan. Now, if you excuse us, we still have a few people to say hello to," Spencer apologizes, looking at you. "Right, love?" His gaze is piercing and protective, and it leaves you breathless and almost speechless.

"Yeah. Right. See you around," you tell Evan with a tight-lipped smile before disappearing from his sight with Spencer's hand in hand.

Out of people's ears and eyes, Spencer looks at you.

"Are you okay?" You nod appreciatively.

"Yeah. Good. Thank you for that," you say, jutting your thumb over your shoulder.

"You sure are okay?" Spencer's worry melts your heart.

"Spencer, it's fine. I'm okay. He's just an ass," you dismiss, and Spencer huffs a laugh.

"Understatement of the century, I must say. I mean, Evan is an ass, and pretty much everyone here." You hum in agreement.

"So, go figure how badly I missed being here all these years."

Spencer scoffs. "I can tell."

You both agree it's a good time for a drink. And not soon after, the rehearsal starts.

You've always hated protocol, especially when it comes to etiquette. It's funny how you ended up working for the FBI and haven't been fired yet for breaking a rule or two. You've undoubtedly caused Hotch a headache more than once. But at this very moment, all the FBI rules seem harmless compared to having to listen to the wedding planner barking orders back and forth. Before the dinner even started, you had to move your seat three times because the guests' seat configuration had been changed repeatedly.

Add to that the lighting adjustments, the photos, and the speech rehearsals. One thing you have to thank your mom for is that she didn't force you to give a speech. It's a good thing Lincoln and Ralph offered to provide one.

After all the commotion and the rehearsal finished, your mom decides it's not worth wasting the festive atmosphere and invites everyone to stay for an impromptu party. So you and Spencer keep wandering around among the crowd, who occasionally catch you for casual conversation. Everything's going well until Dylan asks Spencer for help with something, and you stay there, scrutinizing the surroundings that make you feel like an outsider in the same house where you grew up.

"Your boyfriend seems a good guy."

You turn around and see Evan standing next to you, holding two glasses of wine. He offers one to you.

"I assume you still prefer red over white."

You take the glass from his hand. Despite who's offering it to you, a drink can do good right now.

"You came alone?" you ask. Evan chuckles.

"Yeah, I've only been divorced for three months, so I wouldn't have the audacity to invite my ex out of courtesy."

You don't say anything. What could you possibly say? Sorry? You won't tell him that, even if you actually feel sorry for him.

"What do you want, Evan? I don't think you came over just to offer me a glass of wine."

"Maybe I did. As a form of apology?" The man shrugs.

"How so?" you ask, confused.

"Maybe you think this is cynical of me, and I understand. You don't have to believe me. But I seriously owe you an apology. Ten years late, but still."

You think maybe he’s joking, but he doesn't laugh. Weird.

"What? Do you have a conscience now?" you ask sarcastically. Evan chuckles.

"More than a conscience, karma has eaten me over the years. And, well, I know you went through a lot during those years, and I didn't behave in the way you needed. Clearly, you didn't deserve the way I treated you."

And ten years had to pass for him to realize. It's not something that surprises you, though.

"You're right. I didn't." Your voice is sharp. "And if this is a part of your checklist in favor of cleaning your karma, consider it done."

You haven’t in you to behave mercifully with someone like Evan. Not back then, not now.

"That means being friends is out of the options, isn't it?"

Even if your idea is to get over this, you're worth more than a shitty friendship with an ex.

"Listen. I haven't put a foot in this town since the day I left. My life is elsewhere now. The only thing here is my mom, brothers, and a bunch of memories. There is no reason for that to change."

Evan nods in understanding, a nostalgic smile on his face.

"That guy, Spencer, is lucky, you know? He's a far better boyfriend for you than I would have been even in my better days."

You scoff. "Damn well, he is."

He would. If only things were different, you know he would.

As on cue, you feel a shielding hand on the lower part of your back. You don't have to turn to know it's Spencer. You can recognize his touch everywhere.

"I'm sorry. It took me some time to get back. Did you miss me?" Spencer asks, planting a loving kiss on your cheek, ignoring that Evan is in there. You have to do everything in your power not to get flustered.

"It's okay, love. We were just talking."

"Yeah." Evan agrees.

"Great." Spencer's eyes go to Evan. "I hope you don't mind if I steal her now. I want to show you something," he says, now looking at you.

You nod, and Spencer grabs your hand to walk in the direction of the gardens.

The tension you have been feeling is melting slowly as you both walk to the fresh air of the night. It's like you can actually breathe now.

"Thank you. Again. You have already saved me twice tonight." Your voice is more collected, relieved, and appreciative.

"Don't mention it. It was that or waiting for an extra minute and having to pull you off as you were kicking Evan on the floor."

"Tempting," you muse. Spencer chuckles.

"My literally kicking-ass girlfriend," he teases, stealing a kiss from your cheek. You feel the flush rising in your skin again. The gesture is spontaneous, but it does nothing but make you feel giddy.

If only this were real.

The fresh air is welcoming as you and Spencer walk through the gardens hand in hand, far from the bustling.

"Did you spend a lot of time over here when growing up?" Spencer asks, gazing at the expansion of trees and bushes.

A smile creeps onto your face at the memories.

"I loved to walk around here, especially in the spring. There were more trees than there are now. I used to spend hours under that one there," you point to a big willow not far from you.

"It's really big," Spencer comments, admiring the tree.

"Yeah. Can I ask where that question comes from, though?"

Spencer's cheeks flushed a bit. He clears his throat.

"In one of the family photos I saw earlier in the house, you were a kid, playing under that same tree. And you looked so happy. Your smile was wide and bright. That made me wonder how many of those moments you had growing up and if, in the last few years, you have felt that kind of true happiness again."

Tilting your head to him, you think about the question. Have you? On a daily basis, you don't allow yourself to think much about your childhood years. Those memories tend to be locked in your mind.

"Well, at that time, things were different around here.

And as an adult? There are moments I treasure, and they make me happy. It's not the same as back then, but I assume it doesn't have to be the same. People grow and change to a certain extent."

It's the growing-up rule, right?

"Do you think people really change?" Spencer asks. You hum.

"I think so. Or if not, then we adapt."

Spencer hums in agreement.

"You don't think so?"

Spencer bites his lower lip, contemplating his response.

"I find it hard to believe that people really change. It's true that in our line of work, we've seen people go from 0 to 100, but it is always because there are processes that develop over time. I would agree more with the idea you mentioned about adapting to the environment."

You both stop walking as you lean your back against a tree trunk. You remain silent for a few seconds, enjoying the stillness and feeling the small breeze that begins to rise while you lose yourself in your thoughts. Spencer, with his hands in his pockets, looks toward the house, where movement can be seen, but you can barely hear it from where they are.

"Spencer, can I ask you something?" You break the silence, and Spencer looks at you.

"Sure."

"Do you think I am not lovable?"

Spencer's stunned expression is difficult not to notice.

"What? Where did you get that idea?"

Shrugging, you purse your lips for a second.

"I don't know. I mean, all the time, my family has been this adamant, repeating over and over that my life is a mess. They have never believed someone could love me for who I am, not because of my last name or the family I was born into. And I think I've gotten the idea so deep in my head that I've never given any relationship a chance, nor have I dared to pursue one."

Spencer's eyebrows furrow. How can you even believe that for a second?

"There is nothing further from the truth than that." There isn't a trace of hesitation in his voice.

You avert your gaze from Spencer out of embarrassment and vulnerability. You never confided in anyone a thought like this one.

"Hey, I mean it," Spencer insists, seeing how you don't want to look at him.

"You have to say that. You're my friend," you scoff, laughing. "I shouldn't have asked you this. It's stupid anyway."

Now, with one of his hands out of his pockets, he reaches your cheek.

"Look at me, please."

You timidly do as he says.

"I've known you for four years, six months, and three days. And from the moment you walked through the glass doors of the BAU, wearing your black coat and that furry scarf with your reddened nose from the cold peeking out, I knew things were going to be different, and in the best possible way."

"Yeah. They turned different; Hotch's migraines increased since I joined," you joke.

"Don't do that," Spencer chastises, chuckling.

"Do what?"

"Deflecting through making jokes. I'm trying to be serious here, okay?" His tone isn't truly mad or annoyed. The smile on his face is his tell.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry for interrupting you, Doctor Reid." The grin on your face tells Spencer you're still messing with him.

"That is precisely what I'm talking about. The way you are. Truly, honest, transparent. You don't need to pretend to be someone you're not because you're perfect the way you are. You're generous; you'll never stop sharing something you think another person needs. You're dedicated to your work; you make things happen, and you don't just sit around waiting. You've become a fundamental part of many people's lives, like mine. I can't imagine a world where I haven't met you."

It's weird to hear so many compliments in so few sentences. And coming from Spencer, it's impossible not to get flustered.

"Spencer, that's really sweet of you,” you say, voice small, trying to mask the way his words affect you.

"I'm not done."

"No?"

"Not even close. Maybe you didn't realize, but you are like a magnet, and not only because of your personality. Did you look at yourself in the mirror today? Jesus, you look stunning. People have been gravitating around you all night, and not because they already know you and want to say hi or because they have a history with you. It's because you intrigue them, captivate them."

"Oh, come on, Spencer. Don't overstate. How could you possibly know that?"

Spencer wonders how you cannot see that. For him, it's clear as day.

"Because I do know! Every man would be lucky to have you. Just- if only they could see what I see. If only you could see what I see."

It's dangerous territory, and Spencer knows, but the idea of you feeling unworthy of love? It's worse and intolerable for him.

Something in your guts tells you not to push it, but what the hell is he talking about? You need to know.

"And what's what you see that I don't?"

There it is. The question. The open door.

It would be so easy right now to come clean and confess. But Spencer is not sure. No, he is sure about his feelings; that's not the problem. It's a fact that one more word could be the nail in the coffin. Spencer knows he is no good at talking about his emotions. People usually misunderstand him, and things get twisted.

But Spencer is at a crossroads now. He can't just stay silent or try to change the subject.

After a second of deliberation, he clears his throat and shortens the distance with you a bit so he doesn't have to talk too loudly.

"Do you trust me?" Spencer asks, and you don't have to think twice about your response. What kind of question is that?

"Of course I do."

Your words fill Spencer with a sort of courage he hasn't had before. That, and some of the wine glasses he drank earlier.

"Good. Trust me on this, please," Spencer whispers, now tilting your chin up and leaning slowly—his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips. When you realize what he is doing, the air leaves your lungs, and you can't do anything but wait with bated breath and closed eyes for what's coming.

It's soft, barely there at first. A brush of lips that mingle the air between you. As you feel him just a millimeter apart, your heart is already yearning for more. Instinctively, you grasp the lapels of his jacket. Spencer understands what you want and closes the distance between you and him again. This time, with more purpose, his lips capture yours, and you kiss him back in no time.

You don't know if it was just seconds or a whole bunch of minutes you kept kissing. Your lips moving in synchrony is like a dream come true. It's sweet and all-consuming at the same time—a weird way to say what you have been hiding in favor of a lie. People say life works in mysterious ways. They might be right this time.

But good things have to end at some point. Spencer breaks the kiss first, a bit unsure about your reaction. His eyes scan yours for some clue.

You don't know what to say. It's a lot. Did he mean it?

"Wow." It's the only thing you manage to say. Spencer is not sure how good that is.

"A good kind of wow or a bad kind of wow?"

With your cheeks flushed, there is no option for a bad wow. How can he not notice it?

"Definitely a good wow. If you wanted to prove your point, it worked," you giggle, mid-nervous and mid-giddy. You can still feel the rush of adrenaline running through your body.

"I'm glad."

But what was actually the point he wanted to prove? Do you think Spencer wanted to show you how good you can feel when you let people in? When you willingly take down your guard and just feel. Well, that worked. But what did it mean for him? Was it really a confession? You are scared to ask.

Spencer smiles, and your stomach flips. Do you want to break the magic with rationality? No. Want Spencer to expose himself with a love declaration, truly? No. The best option for both of you is to ignore the whys and let things flow.

Your arms fling around Spencer's neck, and you tiptoe to shorten the distance.

"Can I?" You ask, knowing Spencer would understand. He nods, eyes glistening with anticipation. This is the best thing that has happened to him, and he won't waste the chance.

His lips catch yours in a soaring kiss. Savouring every second of it. His hands grip your hips to pull you closer. And you don't have it in you to protest—quite the opposite.

This kiss is everything you expected and more. His lips on yours are like honey, and you can't get enough.

The warm and tingling sensation in your body caused by his touch shuts down every thought. You don't want to stop, even if your brain tells you to do it.

In an attempt to regain control, you pause for a second, looking directly into his eyes.

"You know, there is nobody actually looking at us right now, right?" You point almost breathlessly, in case his motivations were only fuelled by the task of pretending to be your boyfriend.

"Yeah. I know," he replies, equally dizzy as you but not breaking eye contact. Has Spencer always looked at you that way?

"Spencer-"

"If you're uncomfortable, I'll stop," he whispers, so close that you can still feel his breath fanning your lips.

This is wrong; you know it. All the hooters blast in your head, alerting you to call it quits. You decide to play deaf, though.

"Please, don't stop," you whine, and Spencer can't deny you anything even if he wanted to.

In no time, his lips are on yours again, kissing you with urgency. This can't be fake, can it?

You're kissing him back with the same enthusiasm he has. It doesn't matter if you're alone or with a lot of people around. Your senses are consumed by the man holding you and devouring your mouth and soul.

You don't remember who took the lead first, but in one moment, you are making out under a tree in the gardens, and the next, you are stumbling into your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Spencer's arms envelope you in a way that makes you dizzy and needy. His lips travel down your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses, driving you insane. Your hands tug his jacket down his shoulders, making quick work of losing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

You are so invested in your task and feeling the warmth filling your body that you almost don't notice the zip of your dress giving in, calloused fingers dancing in your exposed skin.

"You're so gorgeous. Sexy. Marvelous," Spencer chants with his lips descending from your collarbone. A gasp escapes your mouth when your back hits the mattress; with Spencer on top of you, his hands roam your sides, gripping the supple of your hips, pushing his body to you. Through the fabric of his slacks, you can feel his hardness pressing into one of your thighs.

"Fuck-" you half curse and half moan.

"Feels good?"

"So so good. You feel so good, baby.” You breathe out.

You can't believe this is happening. It's like a dream come true. One of your best fantasies. The guy who you have been in love with for so long is about to fuck you, about to give you what you have been craving so much.

“You don't know how much time I wanted to do this,” Spencer confesses, trailing kisses in every patch of skin you reveal to him. He is drunk on you, and you surely feel drunk on him.

But in the haze of your lust-filled brain, something pops up. This isn't real. Spencer doesn't love you. He's your friend. He is only carried away by the heat of the moment. If you let this happen, it will ruin you both. You can't do this in the harbor of a lie.

"Spencer-"

Your voice comes out more like a moan. Your senses are foggy because of the way he's touching you, kissing you.

"I know. Let me take care of you, please."

And you want to. Oh god, you want to. But not like this. With the tiny will you have left, your hands cup his face, actually to stop him.

"I - Spence. No, please, stop."

Spencer halts his ministrations immediately. He can see your eyes filled with something he can't pinpoint. Something is wrong.

"What's it? Did I hurt you?"

His concern makes you feel bad. You don't want him to feel guilty for what is your fault.

"No. No, you didn't hurt me. It's just- Spencer, we can't do this."

Spencer's concerned eyes shift to confusion.

"Why? You don't want to?"

You take your chance to move from under his body to sit on the mattress. Spencer kneels, waiting for your answer.

"I do want to. Believe me, I do want to. But we shouldn't. It's going to twist everything."

"What are you talking about? Why would this twist-?"

Spencer trails off. He isn't sure why you are rejecting him now.

"This isn't real. We are confused because we're playing a role. We are friends, Spencer."

Spencer's frown morphs into a hurtful expression. Is it not real, you say? It feels real to him.

"What are you talking about? Why do you say this isn't real?" Your sudden change in behavior only fuels Spencer's perplexity.

"Because we're pretending. I don't want to fall on this because of it," you whine, looking for a way out of this moment.

"Is that what you really think? That we're pretending?" Spencer's voice is hurt, and you feel stupid for letting this happen. Stupid and exposed. Not wanting to reply to his question yet, you stand from the bed to retrieve some clothes. Spencer follows your movements, still naked on the torso and kneeling on the mattress. When you get out of his sight, behind him, he stands as well. You have already removed the dress, clad in your pajamas, and sat on the sofa in front of the bed, hugging your knees, trying to protect yourself.

"I asked you a question, (Y/N). Please, don't ignore me."

"I don't know!" you shout. "I think we are. I mean, the whole point of this was to deceive my family. And now, you say all those things about me, and we kissed, and I don't know!"

You avert his gaze, but you can feel it burning holes in your skin. When you don't say anything else, Spencer sighs in defeat.

"I can't compete with your past. If you still feel trapped there, there is nothing I can do."

His words take you by surprise. Why is he talking about your past?

"What?" You ask, puzzled by the harsh tone Spencer is using. Spencer scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"If you say this isn’t real, it's because you don’t want it to be. Maybe you feel nostalgic about this style of life, and there is something in you that wants this back."

He can't be serious, you think. Spencer can't mean that, can he? You don't want to get back to a life you escaped from years ago. It's not who you are.

"If you really think that, it means you don't know me at all." You say, hurt by the fact that Spencer thinks that way of you.

"I thought I did. But after tonight, I'm not so sure anymore."

"I can't believe it. I would have expected something like this from anyone but you, Spencer. Is it because I stopped us before having sex? Are your blue balls talking?"

You know your words sound sharp and raw, but you won't stand there without saying anything to defend yourself.

"What?! No! Do you really think this is all about? Me being sexually frustrated? That's very low, especially coming from you."

"If it's not that, then what the hell is happening? How did we get here? What are you not telling me?" Your voice is desperate at this point. Spencer groans in frustration. How could you be so clueless?

"You know- I really thought you felt it when we kissed. And now, you act like it was nothing!"

"What? What should I have felt?"

Spencer shakes his head. No, he won't expose himself to your rejection again.

"You know what? Just forget it. It's not my business, anyway. I'm just here to be your fake boyfriend. I'm sorry for crossing the line. It won't happen again." Spencer grabs his phone, charger, and his clothes from the floor, ready to leave the room.

"Spencer? Where are you going?"

"I know the room next door is empty. Andrew told me," he says, walking to the door, not sparing you a glance, as he opens it.

"What? Why? No! Don't go. Spencer, please don't do this. Can we talk about it?" You insist, trying to catch his attention. Spencer stops at the open door and turns to you.

"We already did. Goodnight (Y/N). I'll see you tomorrow. Let me know if you prefer to go to the wedding with another instead of me so that I won't do a ridiculous thing by showing up."

The door closes shut behind him. And you are left in the middle of your bedroom, hurt and confused.

You don't realize when the tears start to roll down until they blur your vision.

-

'Again, again, I let it go, let it go

Cover my mouth, don't let a single word slip

I wouldn't wanna tell you, no, tell you, no

Nothing could be worse than the risk of

Losing what I don't have now

I'm weaker by the minute, though

Is it so bad if I wanna cry out?'

[goorgeousz]

(no) underwear | emily prentiss underwear trilogy

(no) underwear | emily prentiss

underwear trilogy

18+ MDNI

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader

summary: you go on a date, but all you can think about is emily. so you have no other option than to confront her about it.

content/tw: smut, oral sex (E receiving), thigh riding, fingering, nipple play, FxF sex, if there’s anything else lmk

word count: 4k

a/n: it took me long enough, but it’s finally here!!!!! thank you for all the love on part one and part two, and thank you for the patience!!! I’ve been going through a lot these last couple weeks, but I’m BACK! And a special thank you for @mrsines for the idea and for checking up on me these past days, you’re so sweet!!! Again, I’m sorry it took me this long, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out, I hope it’s up to your guys expectations!! I’ll stop yapping, brace yourself this is smutty smut!!!

Tag list @inlovewithjemily @snoopyaah @chestnutninny @piiinco @maryann1204 @babybeeelle

part one

part two

main masterlist

dividers: @uzmacchiato

He was a 10, but didn’t compliment your shoulders.

That was your take on the date you were currently coming home from. It was a great night, honestly. As perfect as a first date could be. He was prettier than the pictures, didn’t let the conversation die, not even once. Treat you like a real gentleman. Get there earlier than you, choose your favorite wine (you tweeted about it once), pull your chair out for you. Paid the bill before it even got to the table. He listened to you, actually seemed interested in you (which isn’t a lot, but a real surprise when it came to dating these days). He complimented you many times: about your intelligence, your appearance, your taste in food.

But not your shoulders.

And that sealed the deal.

—

Emily was at your place, helping you pick an outfit for the date. After about an hour of dissecting your closet from inside out, you narrowed your search down to two options.

So, as you were panicking to choose between two (very similar, mind you) tops, as one does, Emily stepped up, watching you explain the pros and cons from each one from the mirror.

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, analysing your entire figure like a pro. It kind of helped ease your nervousness.

“So, this one or the other?” you asked her, your voice tired and hopeless. She stepped closer, stopping just behind you, her eyes burning holes on your skin. You hoped she didn’t take too long in whatever the hell she was doing, because if she stared a bit longer she might notice you shaking.

“Definitely this one.” Emily stated, finally meeting your eyes in an assertiveness that instantly convinced you “It brings out your shoulders, they’re very athletic.”

“They are?” you repeat her words weakly, suddenly paying attention to your shoulders. She was right, the collar of that specific top flattered that area, and your shoulders were indeed beautiful. It was always like this: whenever Emily mentioned something to you, that specific thing seemed to be highlighted in neon lights. Her words worked like a spell on you, every single time.

“Oh, absolutely.” she emphasized it by grazing her fingertips along your shoulder blades. “You have gorgeous shoulders, I can’t believe no one ever told you.”

—

So, no. He didn’t compliment your shoulders.

It pissed you off. And it pissed you off that you were pissed off about that guy not mentioning how athletic your shoulders look in the first place. You had only Emily to blame.

For that exact (and only) reason, you found yourself giving the taxi driver Emly’s address instead of yours. 

Your mind raced with thoughts, and by the time the car pulled up to Emily’s building, you’d made up your mind. She was going to pay for whatever spell she’d put on you.

The five flights of stairs you took didn't register on your brain, you spent those minutes rehearsing the speech you were about to give her. You had everything in order, all the words perfectly arranged to give her the talk of your life. 

You took a minute to catch your breath because there was no way you would speak your heart out and have a heart attack in between sentences. This was too important.

So, after taking a few deep breaths and repeating the speech one last time on your head, you knocked on her door. Three loud bangs, to which you instantly cringed at the sound. It was way too late for that. But you puffed out your chest, you were going to own it.

It took Emily half a minute to open the door.

It took you one single glance at her to forget every single word you worked so hard to memorize.

She wore a skin tight white tank top (no bra!!!!!!), molding the curve of her perky breasts in a way that belonged to a museum. In a poor job to cover herself, she wore teeny-tiny plaid patterned pajama shorts. If you leaned down you were sure you could see her underwear peeking out from under it. That’s it, if she was even wearing underwear. You decided to not go down that rabbit hole.

“Hey, weren’t you supposed to be on a date?” she asked, seemingly glad to see you but confused.

“Yeah, we had a problem...”

Wrong choice of words to say to an FBI agent.

Her posture changed, her face giving place to a scowl while she instantly reached for her gun and badge on the entryway table.

“What kind of problem? Are you hurt?”

“NO! No, not that kind of problem. The date was fine, I’m fine.” you quickly explained, motioning for her to go back inside.

“Oh, thank god.” she muttered, putting back her belongings. You were too nervous to laugh at her instincts “What’s wrong, then?”

You took a deep breath, stared deep into her eyes, threw away the beautiful and grammarly correct speech you mentally wrote and just said whatever came to mind.

“You mentioned my underwear that time at the bar and my brain completely collapsed ever since. I know you’re just jokingly flirting and that’s what friends do and you probably don't even flinch when you do it, but every time you guess the color of my panties I swear to god all I can think about is you taking it off of me. With your teeth, when I’m ovulating. It’s driving me insane.”

Emily stared at you in surprise at your word vomiting. She opened her mouth and then closed. Once, twice. Nothing came out. Her eyes darted to a point behind you, to where she nodded and tried a tight smile.

“Mrs. Nolan, hi. Have a good night.” you widen your eyes, whipping your head around to find the elderly woman walking past behind you, the red burning on her cheeks contrasting comically to the white of her fluffy hair. “We should probably head inside.” Emily mumbled, taking your attention off of a very scandalized Mrs. Nolan.

You mumbled an apology, tilting your head down and stumbling inside Emily’s apartment. While trying not to bang your head into a wall in embarrassment, you hear her closing and locking the front door.

In Emily’s defense, she’s really trying not to laugh.

In your defense, she’s not doing a very good job.

“Stop.”

“I’m sorry!” she interrupted, her bubbly laugher finally making its way out of her mouth. The sight of her trying to cover up her face with her hands but only managing to laugh louder eventually cracks you, and you chuckle as well.

The two of you spend a moment just looking at each other and laughing at the insanity of the situation.

“Can we start over?” she asked, when her laughter finally died down.

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Please don’t take it back.” she murmures, and it sounds so desperate and bare, you cannot find it in yourself to do it “Did you mean it?”

You took a deep breath “I did.”

Emily sighed like she’d been holding her breath for ages. She stepped closer, her hand sneaking up your cheek. You stared deeply into her eyes, trying to say everything you wanted to but couldn’t. She bit her lower lip, like she was holding herself back, while she searched for confirmation in your eyes. She was hungry, you could see it. You could feel it in the air. You only hoped she knew it wasn’t one-sided.

Whatever evidence of your desire she was looking for, she must’ve found it. Because the next thing you knew, her lips touched yours. They were soft, moist and gentle. Everything you hoped for but somehow so much more.

You held her waist into an embrace, deepening the kiss. You heard her hum into your mouth, her tongue grazing your lips like she was testing the waters before diving in. The kiss turned from chaste to deep within a second. It was hungry, but sure. Not desperate, but full of emotions. You kissed like you’ve done it your entire lives. Like you were meant to do it. And eventually, when air was made extremely necessary, you pulled back in sync. But not all the way, not letting go of each other. Emily rested her forehead on yours, both of your breathing uneven, eyes searching in each other the confirmation that it happened, that it was real. You were real.

“Hi.” she whispered, her hands squeezing your shoulders. You giggled “Hi.”

The two of you stared at each other for a while longer, until she pulled back, her hands finding comfort on the dips of your waist, holding you close enough for your bodies to keep touching, but far enough that you could see her face.

“I assume the date wasn’t great, then.”

“Wrong.” you smiled, finding it way too pleasing to correct her “It was amazing. It was also awful. It’s all your fault.” she laughed, knowing by your tone that you were just being dramatic and everyone (you, really) was safe and sound.

“Please tell me what harm could I’ve possibly done from the safety of my bedroom.”

You blushed at the thought of what she was doing in her bedroom.

“You ruined me. You flirt with me, and you spoil me. You compliment my shoulders, for Christ's sake. You treat me so well, no one could ever me enough. You ruined me.” you accused, smiling. She laughed loudly, leaning in to give you a peck on the lips.

“Guilty.” you laughed, letting go of the embrace to smack her slightly on the shoulder “Earlier you mentioned I was jokingly flirting with you. I need to clarify: I wasn’t joking around. Not once. I've been crazy about you for ages. I was fine with being friends, I really do love our friendship. But I was flirting. Heavily.”

“Yeah?” you asked breathlessly, your heart drumming loudly on your chest. She smiled.

“Yeah. And on a serious note: your shoulders do look incredible.” you rolled your eyes, chuckling. “I mean it. I just want to… Can I?” you nodded eagerly, not having a clue of what she was talking about. She seemed to pick up on your desperation, smirking at you like a predator.

Emily leaned down, using a hand to pull your hair back, giving her plain sight of your clavicle. She sighed, her eyes darkening at the sight of your skin. She dipped her head, pepping kisses every inch her mouth could touch.

The strangled sound you let out was so loud you were sure her neighbors heard it. Her mouth worked wonders on your neck, your hands grasping on her hair for dear life, pulling her in while shoving your torso onto her at the same time.

It was like Emily saw right through you, knowing where to touch, to kiss and to press to get you worked up. And the best part was that it didn’t feel like she was doing it to please you. At least not entirely. She was doing it entirely for herself, like she was out of air and your skin was her oxygen.

Before you noticed, the two of you stumbled around into the living room, the back of your knee bumping against the couch until you fell seated on it. Emily giggled, stradling your hips and grabbing your face between her hands, kissing you passionately again.

“I’ve been dreaming of doing this for so long.” she whispers, between kisses. You feel her fingers grazing the hem of your shirt, and you hesitate for a moment. She feels it instantly “Is everything okay?” 

“Y-Yeah… It’s just… You’re my first. I’ve never been… with a girl.” 

Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous glint.

“You know we don’t have to do anything, right?” you nodded.

“I want to. If you want it too.” she smiles, leaning in again and kissing you hungrier. It was all the answer you could hope for.

This time, you didn’t wait for her to take the lead, you took your shirt off in a swit motion, letting it drop somewhere behind the couch. Emily looked at you stunned, a mist of disbelief and anticipation. She climbed off of your lap, her hands diving down to the buttons of your pants.

“Please…” you whispered when she hesitated, pushing her hand more firmly on you. Her breath hitched, and she started working on taking off your pants. You lifted your hips, your eyes glued to her face, her mouth kissing every bit of newly exposed skin.

With your shoes, pants and top already discarded around the living room, she seated back and stared at your body in awe, taking in the sight of your skin shining under the lacy set you picked out for the evening.

“There’s no way you did all this for him.” she muttered, more to herself than to you.

“I was thinking about you the whole time.” you meant it. You didn’t even realize how truthful your words were until you heard them coming out of your mouth.

Those words and the truth behind them lighted up something inside Emily. The way her eyes darkened was the last thing you saw before she close to jumped on you, the force of the impact making the two of you fall laid on the couch, her body on top of yours, her kisses hungrier and wetter than before.

You took advantage of your position, your hands roaming up and down her torso, grabbing the flash of her thighs and drowning at how soft she felt. It looked like a dance, you moving in synchrony and at the same time messily, trying to keep it going for as long as possible and racing to reach the long awaited relief.

With all the tossing and turning, eventually you found yourself laid flat on your back, with Emily curled up on your side, one of her legs on top of yours and her hand travelling all over your body. She latched on your neck, and her kissing and biting left you a moaning mess, back arching out of the couch and your hips grinding on her thigh.

“You’re so beautiful.” she says, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. Her hands play with your bra, tracing the lacy patterns with a feather-like touch. The softness of her touch made your body burn in need. She keeps up the torture for a bit longer before finally pushing the fabric down, freeing your breasts and playing with each of them attentively. She flicks both your nipples, relishing at how hard they were.

You grabbed her leg, placing it firmly across your legs and grinding against it, using her knee as a personal dildo against your core. Emily groaned at your desperation “Needy, aren’t we?” she managed to say, her voice as breathless as you. You moaned in response, only grinding harder.

Not wanting to be in your way, she let you explore your body (and hers) however you wanted. She loved being used by you, and even though there was nothing more she wanted than to pin you down and explore every inch of your body, she let you have it. It was just the beginning, after all.

She murmured praises to your ear, paying attention to what made you moan louder, eager to learn your wants and needs. All the biting, kissing, sucking she worked on your neck while whispering the most delicious words combined with her caresses on your chest was sending you over the edge faster than it ever did. When he felt your movements going sloppier, Emily flexed her thigh, grinding down harder on your clothered cunt, helping you reach your peak, and just like that, your orgasm crashed down on you. Hard.

You moaned loudly, repeating her name like a mantra and digging your nails at her thigh, leaving marks that would take long to heal.

She stayed right there, stroking you and murmuring praises and soft kisses to your cheek while you climbed out your high, breathless.

When your breath finally evened out, you turned your head to the side, staring at her with wide eyes. She looked at you hesitantly, like you were about to run away from her at any moment. You let go of her leg, letting one of your hands dart up on her face, using your thumb to massage her frown off of her face. You leaned closer, giving her a long peck on her lips.

She sighed against your mouth, her body instantly relaxing in relief.

“Can we move to your bed?”

The smile she gave you could probably stop a word war.

The two of you stumbled along the hallway to her bedroom, stopping only to get rid of her remaining clothes.

Emily sat on the edge of her bed, only her white cotton underwear on. Her body glowed under the light of her bedside table, an unfinished book left upside down on her pillow. You took your time admiring the sight before you, and felt she was doing the same to you.

Without one ounce of hesitation on your mind, you stepped closer, watching in awe the way she parted her legs to fit you between them. Your eyes were immediately drawn by her thighs, the sight of the nail marks you left on the right one startled you for a second, followed by a wave of pride and possessiveness.

“I’m sorry.” you muttered, biting your lower lip to contain a smile. She snorted.

“You don’t sound sorry.” she teases. You lift your gaze back to her face, feeling relieved by her look of amusement. Losing herself in her eyes made you forget what you thought was so funny moments ago, the urge to feel her closer being too strong to ignore.

“I’m not sure about what I’m doing.” you started, hating the way your cheeks blushed in embarrassment. Her hands cupped your face, giving you a kiss.

“We’ll take it slow.”

“I don’t wanna mess this up.” you admitted, your voice weak.

“You won’t.” she guaranteed “Just do whatever you want. Anything.” and it sounded more like a plea than an instruction. So you listened.

Taking her face in your hands, you closed your distance in a steamy kiss. Your tongue immediately found its way back into her mouth, getting rewarded with a sound so strangled and beautiful it made you shiver. Your hands roamed everywhere, her arms, her hands, her torso, her breasts. You cupped each one of her tits, squeezing and massaging them like you wanted to memorize its feeling when you were gone. She arched her back towards you, her legs tensing and moving around looking for something to ground themselves on.

You kept yourself from leaving a mark on her neck, but wasn’t so kind to her chest, biting, sucking, liking and kissing the thin flesh there. She shoved her tits into your mouth, holding your face close to her while letting the most beautiful sounds. You knew she was impatient and was in desperate need of relief, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

Her skin tasted addictively, you were sure you wouldn’t forget the way it felt so soft against your tongue even after years. You found yourself pushing her further into the bed, your kisses making their way down into her stomach, getting lower by the second. The way she squirmed under you only boosted your confidence, and there was no room for second thoughts on your mind, only desire.

“It’s this o…”

“Yes!” she yelped before you could actually ask the question, staring at your hands gripping at the side of her panties, like she could make you move by the power of her glance only. Turns out she could, so you moved the fabric down her toned legs slowly but surely, not hesitating in the slightest.

Your mouth watered at the sight, Emily laid down on display fully naked, begging for you. A sight you only let yourself dream about late in the night, when there was no one watching. Where no one could judge, not even yourself. As if you weren’t deserving of it. And there she was, in all of her glory, looking up at you with so much lust and adoration you swore you could do anything.

She parted her legs, her eyes darkened watching you every breath, and you opened your mouth without realizing

“You’re so pretty, Em.” you managed, leaning closer like you were under a spell. Your fingers darted on her slit, collecting her wetness and watching her reaction. She threw her head back, her hips jerking up in such desperation you should pity her. But you really didn’t.

Watching attentively her face, you started to learn quickly which kind of movements got the best reactions out of her, and by the time you let yourself kiss her there, she was definitely getting a noise complaint the morning after.

She begged, hummed, moaned your name, praising you about how good you were making her feel. You introduced two fingers inside of her, and she actively started riding your face.

“Come here” she demanded, her voice hoarse but still firm. You looked up confused, following her lead when she sat up to reach your lower back and push your hips closer to her hands. You sat awkwardly at her right side by her hips, her hands pushing your face back down to her pussy like she wanted to feast on her body. Already used to being bossed around by her, you immediately returned to your lapping at her cunt.

That’s when you felt her hand making its way between your legs, spreading them apart and quickly pushing your underwear to the side again, diving right back into your already too wet slit.

You laid down further to grant her access, and the two of you ended up in a kind of a sixty-nine position, with her hand working on you instead of your mouth. She shoved her fingers into your slit, making you moan loudly with your mouth glued to her. She felt the sound deep into her, her free hand pushing your head harder into her cunt.

“Right there, shit.” she begged “You’re so good to me, eating me up like that.” you moaned, lapping at her clit like a starved caveman. She nearly screamed, the heel of her hand pressing your clit while her fingers curved inside of you, hitting that sweet spot every time she moved them.

You felt Emily clench on your fingers, and you knew she could feel you doing the same “I’m so close, keep doing that. Can you come with me, pretty girl?” she asked, her voice completely out of breath. You just hummed, grinding down on her hand hoping this was enough of a response, not daring to take your mouth off of her. She chuckled, “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

In any other moment, your eyes would roll at how cocky she was being. But right now, they were rolling for a completely different reason, and Emily was completely right to be cocky when she made you come that hard for a second time. She came right after you, her legs shaking so wildly you had to hold them down to help her ride it out with your tongue.

When the two of you climbed down off your heights, you pulled back from her, leaving one last kiss on her clit that made her squirm away. You laughed, and she pulled you by your arm to lay down closer to her.

She held you closer, caressing your cheek. You took in the flush of her cheeks, the thin layer of sweat covering her face and body, a few strands of her bang wet and glued to her forehead.

“Hi.” you whispered. 

She giggled back, “Hi, pretty girl.” leaning in and giving you a kiss. Not a hungry and desperate one: it was passionate and slow. 

It was a promise: this isn’t over.

[youdontknowe]

Happy Thursday everyone!!

1. Rufus!!

2. Ehehe Bobby reading parenting books and rufus doing the classic uncle thing of don’t tell your parent I did that

3. Well I guess the winchesters can’t find you if it’s gonna take a plane to get to you 🤷🏻

4. I hope that last little bit of Jo can just stay a part of her (pls I’m begging I can’t do that again that HURT)

5. Ohhh I’m thinking the way this demons talking very accented is making me think Crowley

6. Awh no it’s just this prick again

7. I swear it’s the worst demons that just won’t die. Like damn cockroaches

8. Rattling the bars of my enclosure cus what does the sky want???? It’s happy she’s a lil crazy???

9. Holy crap also lil blue flowers for jo?

10. The silver reminds me kinda of like anger with depression? I find personally if I’m in a lower mood or grieving I get angry easier (too personal?)

11. “Every soul spilled on the ground around you is a little dented and tainted, but it’s beautiful.” She’d make a good god just cus of how appreciative she is of people

12. Oh how the irony of fate works

13. After that one shot yesterday I’m glad you mentioned Sam sending emails atleast (that boy is going through ANOTHER forced divorce era 😔 ) also in a reality where Dean and princess for whatever reason make Sam pick a parent I wonder would he pick mum or dad?

14. “they will bow at your feet for all of time to come, and you will never be a toy to those vile fucking animals again-“ oooooo I hope this is foreshadowing cus I cannot wait for her to start kicking some serious ass and making everyone scared 🥰

15. Ohhh lil theory time. she’s right tho cus it’s stated from the start they just can’t seem to stay angry at each other or even avoid each other without being miserable

16. And maybe deans different because he’s eventually micheals vessel which maybe be a mix of the righteous man and there aren’t really any other people born to be vessels (I think?)

17. lol cowboy obsessed Dean is so cute like that man is hyper fixated as fuck on them

18. Girl is HORNY

19. I can’t blame her about getting all hot n bothered by him literally talking about the wholesome version of a cream pie

20. Oh fuck not this guy again (where are these guys getting the funds to trail her over goddamn europe??)

21. Ugh she’s too damn good I would have left that assholes soul decorating the cement

22. John Winchester when I catch you.

23. “He mutters into your skin. “‘M your cowboy.” Im going feral

24. I can’t wait for them to figure out the dreams are them actually seeing each other (they should have figured that out from the hell situation but they’re already whipped without banging)

25. Bad feeling people bad feeling

26. I’m gonna get scared every time I read the words bad feeling just cus there’s never a bad feeling without something bad happening

27. I lowkey forgot about lucifer for a solid minute. But his description is so cool for a evil fucker

28. Quite the way to word it Dean “Some bullshit about Michael wanting to use me as a condom-“

29. This HAS to be Gabriel only that little freak(affectionate I find him funny) talks in riddles and flirts

30. I wonder if most angels (the nicer ones in the show) just have a soft spot and they seem to feel bad about her position especially cas and now gabe (?)

31. End note : yeah I’m definitely confused in a good way cus I get to ✨theorise ✨

32. Also how far ahead to you plan/write chapters before posting? Genuinely curious. And I loved this chapter as always both heartbreaking and thought provoking! I also really liked the whole creation thing she has going this chapter, which is leaning me more into the angels are waiting for her because she’s the new god. also that whole a little more self love comment from the archangel is dragging me further into once her and Dean can properly love each other, she’s gonna light up like the new year in the supernatural world.

Chapter 21 - If You Want To Survive

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This week on Babylon - long distance relationships!

Chapter Title from Dog Days by Florence + the Machine

Word Count: 18.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You run, and Dean waits. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 20 - Chapter 22

Read on A03!

“You’re doing it wrong.”

You know you’re doing it wrong. Your feet are dangling off the edge of the bench, and your fingers are still a little swollen from when you slammed them into the door, and you’re trying but you don’t know how to do it right-

“Hey. Breathe.” Rufus grunts your name, prying your hand from the strings of the guitar. “Nothin’ bad about to kill us right now. This ain’t life and death, it’s a fuckin’ guitar-“ 

He cuts himself off, scanning over your open face with a long sigh.

“Don’t tell Bobby I swore at ya. He’s been reading a bunch of parenting books. They’re all sayin’ swearing is bad for kids.”

“I’m not a kid-“

“Yeah, you are. Or at least he’s tryin’ to let you be.”

“That’s why he won’t let me do hunts, isn’t it.”

Rufus snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not allowed to hunts cause no kid should be doin’ hunts.”

“What about the boys staying at home?” You raise your chin, narrowing your eyes. “John’s sons. The older one hunts. I heard Bobby complaining to you about it.”

“You eavesdroppin’ on us now?”

“I- No-“ You get a pointed look, and bow your head to frown at your feet.

You’d liked these socks. They were fuzzy and covered in little rainbows, and you’d always kept them at Rufus’ because they made you feel better. You show up at his doorstep covered in a bit of dirt, with everything prying apart in your body and something dark in your body trying to seep out of your skin into the world, but it’ll be okay. Rufus will help you inside and make you some food, you’ll get a long bath, as much chocolate as you want, and your fuzzy socks.

But it doesn’t stop hurting.

It’s never fucking stopped hurting.

“I- I was.” You swallow, grinding your fingers further into the strings of the guitar. “I’m sorry.”

Rufus only laughs. “I don’t give fu- crap. Good you got away with it, too. Doin’ better than a lot of other hunters already.”

Your eyes widen. “Other-“

“Your family is hunters. You’ve got hunter in your blood.” Rufus sighs, running a hand over his face. “If we get say in it, you’re not gonna need to hunt. But Bobby don’t listen when I tell him that might not be his choice. But-“ Rufus’ voice turns firm, his eyes locking onto yours. “Don’t try nothin’ when you still can’t touch the fu- freakin’ ground.”

He bumps your feet with a small grin, and you return it, even if it’s toothless and nervous. 

And you don’t have hunter in your blood. Rufus knows that you don’t have anything but insanity in your blood. But he’s never treated you like you’re anything less than Bobby’s daughter.

You wish you were. That you’d come from him rather than the darker, twisted horror you were born into, with too clean floors, never enough food—despite the sheets being silk and the floor being marble, you’d never had enough food—and no fuzzy socks.

Still, you didn’t know how to just wait. How to just sit in the fucking pain like it had to be a given—it might be—and wait for your feet to hit the ground. You don’t think they understand how much it hurts. And how if it doesn’t hurt, you’ll make everything else hurt instead. How you can’t be trusted anywhere, and you might not deserve this kindness, and you still have nightmares about big and smooth hands wrapping around your throat and telling you it’s time.

“John Winchester’s sons have hunting blood.” You mumble, glaring back to the carpet, and Rufus sighs, giving you an almost amused look.

“You ain’t droppin’ this, are you?”

“It’s not fair-“

“Nothin’ is fair. And those boys shouldn’t be huntin’ at all.”

“But they do-“

“Only when their Daddy’s got no one better.” Rufus mutters, and you frown at him. “John drops ‘em with Bobby when he’s not looking for company on a hunt. And if he is, he takes Dean like the boy ain’t thirteen.”

Dean. The big one is named Dean.

And somewhere through the swirling fog of the world, there’s an iridescent light that whining and howling and aching. It’s hurts almost as much as the Darkness does. 

Did. 

You’re a little dizzy, and you know that when this happened, Dean was nothing more than a name. You think he was nothing more than a name. You might have felt the White rolling and humming for him, even then. 

“I’m not that much younger-“

“That ain’t the point-“

“And John takes both of them hunting all the time! And I’d know more! I have all the lore memorized, and I- I could fight-“

“You can’t shoot.”

“I could try-“

“No, ya couldn’t. I remember when you just saw Bobby’s gun, kid.”

“But I’d get over it- And if the Winchester’s can do it-“

“It don’t matter what those boys can do. You’re not like ‘em.” Rufus mutters your name, the look on his face almost sad. “And John- You know Bobby don’t want you near him for a reason. And I agree. Even if we were pro baby-hunters, you know you can’t be out there.”

“But- I- I can’t- I don’t-“ You take a shaking breath, the dark thing starts to twist around in your body, all your skin itching with the pain of keeping it down. “It hurts-“

“I know it hurts.” Rufus sighs, guiding your fingers back to the guitar strings. “That’s why we’re doin’ this.”

You shake your head, trying to curl back into your body. “I don’t wanna-“

Rufus grunts your name, giving you a firm look. “We keep doin’ this, or I tell Bobby ‘bout the door.”

You’d swallow, your eyes wide on his and he lets out a long sigh.

“There are ways to deal with it that don’t hurt, kid. I’m just tryin’ to find you some.”

“Ways like drinking?” You wrinkle your nose at him, and Rufus lets out a dry chuckle.

“Nah. I’m not a preacher, I don’t gotta practice what I’m sellin’. Go back to g-cord.”

You shift your fingers, but pause, staring ahead as the light turns in your body. 

It still hurts. Everything always hurts, and you feel small, and you’re safe here but it still feel like you’re being ripped in half. And you love staying at Rufus’, but it hurts, and it doesn’t matter that if you go back home you might get more hurt. You’re already hurting, and you- You don’t know what to do with all this fucking pain-

“I wanna go home.” You whisper, your eyes starting to sting, and Rufus only sighs.

He’s used to the swings. To the way it becomes too much, and you grow small.

You wish you could control it. Be better. Be more than a sick fucking problem, but it’s all you are. All you’ve ever been. And you want to go home.

“I know,” Rufus mutters, squeezing your shoulder carefully. “But you can’t, kid. Not until it’s safe.”

The world starts to shift, the fog around you glowing and bathing everything in a softer light, and your feet can touch the ground again. 

When this had happened, Rufus meant safe for you. That you could go home when it wouldn’t end with John Winchester putting a bullet through your brain. 

Now John was long dead, and you- 

You were still so fucking sick. There wasn’t hunter in your blood, there was power. Power and a long, long line of horrible, wrong creatures that even Heaven hated. You may be holy, but it might be the way the plagues of Egypt were holy. Wrathful and awful and vengeful. Sick and destructive and wrong.

You’re so fucking wrong, so home isn’t safe from you.

Nothing is safe from you, and the horror you bring. 

And you want your feet to go back to being too small. To having little blisters on your fingers from holding the guitar, instead of whatever put them there now. You’d only read books because it passed the time, and you didn’t think twice about the notes you were writing, and home was somewhere you could return to.

You want to go home. 

To return to not knowing that John would’ve been right. Being afraid of him was always so much easier than being afraid of yourself. It would be so nice to go back to this. It was lonely but simple. You were filled with sickness, but it poisoned only yourself.

But Rufus would’ve always said Dean, and you would’ve always felt the White howl.

You miss him most of all. 

“Where are we?”

You sigh, dropping your head to the side on his shoulder. It’s always a little like you summon him, and then he’s there. Warm and Golden and almost real.

Almost.

“I’m learning how to play guitar.” You mumble, strumming a smooth key that comes out twangy and weak, because that’s how it had sounded when this actually happened. 

Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Wow. You’re kind of shit at it.”

“That’s the learning part, Deano.” You twist to prop your chin on his shoulder, and his grin is wide. Strong. Happy. “Hi.”

His grin grows, a hand rising up to hold your face. “Hi, Princess. You look good.”

“You always say I look good.”

“Well that’s cause I’m not a liar, sweetheart.”

You snort. “Shut up.”

“So bossy,” he hums, tracing his thumb over your cheekbones, and everything but Dean is fading into the background. Even your memory of Rufus is being painted in Gold. Just to remind you.

Dean isn’t here. Not really. But you still love him. And it’s still all the way down.

“How do I look?”

You scan over his face, with heavy bags until his eyes and a slightly swollen cheek. 

When you reach up to trace a hand over it, he doesn’t flinch. Dean just lets out a soft sigh, and leans into your touch.

“Tired, De.” You whisper, and he chuckles.

“Haven’t been sleeping good. Fighting with Sammy again.” He pauses, his voice growing a little hoarse. “Miss you. Wish Cas would tell me where he dropped you, so I could come carry you home.”

“I know. I- I do too.” 

And you do. 

Because if Dean tracked you down and tried to carry you home, you’d never fight it. You’d always just go, because you love him, and it’s not indulging or making it about you if Dean’s demanding it. 

“I miss you.” You mumble, and everything is starting to wash away. Leaking with a light that hurts to look at, the bench and Rufus flickering in and out like a mirage on water.

There’s a loud, blaring sound, coming from far, far away, and you have to go. 

Dean must know it too, because his grip tightens. “Come home. I- So much shit is happening and it’s all freakin’ insane, and you’d know what to do. You always know and I fuckin’ miss you, baby, please come ho-“

The alarm rips through the world, crashing through everything you can see, and Dean vanishes.

You shoot up in your bed and let out a loud groan. The frame is so fucking small, and your legs are cramping, and the sound is still fucking going-

“Fuck.”

Your mumble is mostly to yourself.

There’s no one else to hear it anyway.

The month since you left hasn’t exactly been spent making friends. It’s been research and moving and finding ways to keep yourself afloat.

Cas had dropped you in Rome, and apparently didn’t stop to consider that you don’t fucking speak Italian. It had helped that most people here spoke English, but after about a week you’d gotten sick of not being able to read anything, and gotten—technically stolen, with Dean’s voice in your head humming I thought you weren’t a criminal, Princess—an Italian for Beginners book.

It’s mostly been tourist phrases. Where is the bathroom. How do you say taxi. I do not speak Italian.

You’ve used that last one liberally. 

And you don’t talk that much, all together. There seems to be a drastic shortage of monsters to hunt and a beautiful plenty of books to read, so you’ve focus all your energy there.

On looking for answers.

About anything. Lilith. The seals. Heaven. The Magdalenes. Witches.

You.

Everything you learn about yourself is something you had to teach. You can’t feel anything holy, but you can’t really feel a lot right now. It’s all just a lot of fucking pain. And as you force yourself out of bed for the day, your gaze falls to your hands, and you can still see it. 

Pastel blue. Glistening and crystallized on your fingers. The Gold has faded slightly, but the Blue is still clinging to you. Whenever you wash your hands, you’re afraid it’s going to run away with the water. When you wake up, there’s a dread in the pit of your stomach that you’ll glance down, it will fall off like an icicle from a roof. Maybe it will have been wiped away in your sleep, stained on the sheets, never to be returned. 

And then it’s there, and the dread shifts to just more fucking pain. Your eyes sting, and you freeze on the edge of the bed as you stare at it. The last bit of Jo, bled onto you when she-

Bile rises in your throat, and you swallow it back down. 

You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to be sad when you did this to her. Made Jo nothing more than a little bit of a mark on your fingers that no one else can see. Ellen didn’t get a little bit of Jo to carry all the time. 

Ellen didn’t even get to be there when it happened.

Jo wants you to tell Ellen something. And you’d cut her off, because you’re a fucking parasite, and you’d been so sure you could fix it. You would’ve done anything to fix it, but the Sky wouldn’t let you, and now she was gone-

A weak, sniffling noise escapes your throat, and this time there’s no bile. It’s only a heavy, crushing weight around your skull, and a searing feeling as your nails dig into your skin.

You need to move.

Most mornings, it takes too long to remember how.

And it’s never anything spurring you into action. You’re numb and hollow and breathing only because you have to, and then it all settles down and you move.

It’s mechanical. Sleep shirt off and in the backpack. Top. Bottoms. Socks and shoes and jacket. Your knife, spin it once in your hands just to move, then tuck it against your body. 

Go. 

You have to move and go, because you promised you’d be okay, and turning to stone is no way to be okay.

You don’t remember how to be okay either. 

But you’ll get through it. 

You always do.

You’d had to leave the city within a few days. There were too many people, too many colors, all of it bleeding together like a kaleidoscope or supernova and making you dizzy. Too many not-smells, giving you a migraine. The countryside was better. Quieter. Sometimes there was golden light reflecting in the rivers, and you got to pretend you could grab it and keep it. 

And there are less people to hurt, if something goes wrong. 

Because something always goes wrong. 

Even when your day is just reading and scratching notes in the corner of a library, something will find a way to go wrong.

Maybe that’s part of the Magdalene curse. Maybe angels and demons can’t kill you, but the world just shifts and rots around you from your presence. You are made of the same thing as Lilith, and she made things as wrong as they could possibly be. Maybe this ends with you either destroying the world, or imploding onto yourself. 

You’re closer to the second. You’re tired, and your teeth hurt, and every shadow is longer than you thought possible. The pencil is heavier than it should be in your hand, and you can’t tell if there’s something in the air or if your lungs simply can’t figure out how to breathe anything but iron. Your skin feels wrong on your body, but you can’t remove it or that final bit of Jo in the world will vanish.

You miss Dean. You miss him all the time. There’s no one here to hold you until you sleep, no one to calm you down when the souls start to swarm around you, and it’s like you’re being drowned. Nobody is making you drink water or eat through the grief, and some days you’ve just been forgetting until you stand up and almost fall over.

Then you have to steady yourself, but no one is as good at steadying you as Dean is. 

You love him. And every time you wake up from a dream—just like this morning—you could swear you could fucking smell him. On the air around you, stronger than the cotton and dry wood of your room. You’ve stopped wearing perfume, so that it can linger on the edge of the air through the day. 

But you’ve stopped doing a lot of things.

It’s why, when something goes wrong, nothing riots in your body to warn you. The most you get is a faint tug from the right of your chest, and then it’s too late.

“Look at what we have here.” A taunting, male voice crows over your shoulder, and your blood goes cold. 

You don’t have to turn to know that it’s something evil. You can hear it in the drawl of his words. Fucking smell it, metallic and rotten on the air, like blood and-

Sulfur.

Fuck-

Two hands close over your shoulders, pinning you down to the chair, and a cold breath fans over your neck.

“Took me so long to find you. Don’t move an inch, darling. We’re just here to have a conversation, and I might not be able to kill ya’, but I don’t think you can kill me either, can you.” The demon laughs. “I think you might be havin’ some performance issues.”

You swallow, trying to force your voice to stay even. “Would you want to bet on that?”

The demon laughs. “Why don’t we find out? I’ve been dyin’ to get my hands on you, princess.”

There’s a prickling, burning, white-hot feeling on wrong over your heart. 

Only Dean calls you that. Only Dean is allowed to call you that, because he says it with a teasing voice, but there’s always something under it that makes your body relax and the Spiderweb glow. It’s made of something soft and a little intoxicating. He says it as if he believes it. As if it’s not just a joking nickname that stuck, but a title. 

The demon says it like he knows how wrong it is. Like he’s slicing you open and driving a poker right into the Spiderweb, then laughing as it whines for something you both know it can’t have. Dean’s across the ocean, and you’re not a princess. Dean might look at you and see more than a monster, but the demon isn’t fooled. 

He knows what you are.

Like him.

Worse than him.

Demons are turned from years of torture. Demons are evil, but at least they were once human. 

You’ve never been anything but sick. You were born twisted. And you’d never asked Cas if Lilith’s daughters were born before or after she became a demon.

You don’t really want to find out.

“Calm down, sweetheart. Can fuckin’ taste your fear.” The demon sneer in your ear. “And there’s no need to get hysterical. You get to be special again. For once, I ain’t here looking for that delicious panic and pain.”

You don’t want to be special. You just want to go home. 

You just want Dean.

“What- Why are you-“

“I just thought I’d come see what all the fuss is about.” The demon hums, rising back up. “I’ve heard so much about you. And darlin’, the stories aren’t doing you justice.”

The demon rounds the table, and your nails dig into the scar on your palm. 

He’s like Lilith.

A little darker of a gray, but smooth. Refined. Nothing bursting out of where he wants it to be, and he’s fucking hideous and hateful and wearing it like a badge. Every shift of him is like a raised chin and a sneer.

You recognize him. You can’t place how, but you do.

“Dean needs to get better at tellin’ stories.” The demon hums, and even his vessel is twisted in a horrible, crude smirk. “Even all his fawnin’ and whinin’ didn’t manage to capture just how perfect you are.”

It’s so fucking wrong. In a way worse than Lilith, every fiber of your existence knows this demon is fucking wrong. And the Spiderweb hates him. It’s crawling and twisting in your body like it’s trying to fucking hide, stinging and whining as if just the demon’s presence makes it feel sick.

And he’d said Dean. 

He knows Dean. 

You do know him. 

The pieces snap together in a second, and you’re moving the next. Grabbing your knife out of your jacket and flying across the table, driving the blade right into the Alistair’s chest. 

Nothing happens. Alistair just laughs, pulling the knife out of his chest and examining it with a smirk.

“This that knife Dean got you, isn’t it.” Alistair raises his brows at you, and sighs when you only glare at him. “I’m tryin’ to have a conversation with you, you know-“

“I don’t want to have a conversation with you.” Your words are spat, and Alistair just rolls his eyes.

“There’s those dramatics I’ve heard about you havin’. Always so emotional,” he hums your name, sliding the knife back across the table. “I was building up to a compliment, sweetheart. Dean had good taste. I can feel a lot of anger and fear on that thing.”

The bile is back. It’s spilling into your voice. “What the fuck are you here for. I’ve stopped interfering-“

Alistair scoffs. “I don’t care about that. I woulda preferred you stick around, but Lilith said it wouldn’t work out in our favor if ya did. Shame. I was really lookin’ forward to killing Dean in front of you, then seeing what type of pain you’re really capable of causin’.”

“I-“ There’s something tight and horrible around your throat. “I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are.” Alistair smirks, scanning you over once more. “You want to know Dean’s worst nightmare?”

You really don’t. You’re only clinging to your knife like maybe it will summon Dean to your side, trying to wait Alistair out. 

The only other option is stirring deep, deep in your body. Starting to pick up and roll around. Shining bright enough to split through that gaping, infinite void of too much and nothing at all that seems to follow you with death.

And you can’t use the other option. So you just have to fucking hold on, and last through this new, awful thing.

“That boy has always been a little more creative than is good for him.” Alistair smiles, almost fondly, and you want to punch out his teeth. “Made him a beautiful subject, and a perfect student. But sometimes he’d get cold feet. All sad and whiny ‘bout hurtin’ people. But all I’d have to do is show him that nightmare of his. Dragged it from his head after about a year, and- Well, why don’t we just look together. Brace yourself, sweetheart. It’s a good one.”

Alistair reaches up, and before you can stop him, his hand is pressed to your brow.

You’re back in Hell. The screams and heat and colors running below your feet.

Not your feet. 

Lower than your feet. 

You’re suspend, on the same rack that you’ve seen before. And Dean’s right there. Golden, but tattered and mauled and frozen. Just staring at you, as something gray and horrible runs over your body, and you want to scream but you can’t breathe, and Dean’s still not moving.

The Gold is rioting, but Dean’s not moving.

Alistair laughs in your ear, and the Gold seems to be trying to press out, to get to you, but then it hits an invisible barrier, and Dean doesn’t move. 

You don’t think he can.

When the library comes back into focus, you’re panting. Every breath is too fast and short, your grip on the table driving splinters into your hands, and you can’t fucking breathe-

“Warned you.” Alistair hums, and his voice is driving right into your fucking brain. 

All you can see is Dean. Frozen, watching you with fear.

Dean was never afraid. He was angry and worried and stressed, but you’d never seen him look only afraid.

The Spiderweb is almost whimpering, shimmering with a soft light and still trying to bury itself deeper than Alistair can hurt it.

But the Silver-

It’s starting to move. To wake up.

Fuck.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret, darlin’. That little nightmare? It always was fun to feed, but it’s never gonna be the plan. I’m thinking, when we win and I get to take you home, we’ll find wherever the reapers stored sweet little Jo, and pull her out. To join the party, you know?”

The Silver rears its head. And you’re drawing blood on your skin, but your nails are short and chipped, and you still can’t really breathe-

“And then I’ll give Dean a choice. He can either torture Jo while you watch, or I’ll make his nightmare come true.” Alistair laughs to himself, and the Silver is starting to climb up. 

Or curve in. Building up by caving in. Like a fucking black hole, crushing down so it can-

“And he’ll choose you. He’ll hate himself for it, but you’re his girl. His Princess. He ain’t gonna do anythin’ that’ll hurt you. Not on purpose.”

The Silver is so close. But there are people here. People and animals, and a- You saw a fucking teenager, and she had a walk that kind of reminded you of Sam’s-

“But here’s the kicker,” Alistair says your name like you’re old friends. “After he finished chopping up Jo, I’d freeze him just like in his nightmare. And I wouldn’t touch you. That’s boring. If I’m makin’ art like this, I’m making it the right way.”

It’s going to fall out of your mouth. You can’t fucking control it, and all the Silver can feel is the pain of the Spiderweb, so all it knows is something’s wrong and you can’t stop it-

“No, here’s what I’ve got lined up instead. Good ol’ Sammy will be walkin’ around up here, well,” Alistair laughs. “His body will be. But point is, can’t use him. And I think what I’m left with will work better anyway.” Alistair’s smoke moves back into that ugly fucking smile, and the Silver reaches a stasis. A silence.

A split second before the storm.

“I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play. Let him do whatever he wants, while Dean’s watchin’. And maybe it’ll just be what Dean did to Jo, but you never know.” Alistair smirks. “Those men of god never could resist a Magdalene.”

Everything stills. Moves to match the stasis of the Silver, and it’s almost serene. You’re everything, and it’s all waiting for you. The walls will fall to shield you. The wind will turn to a hurricane to protect you. The grass outside will grow and flourish to protect you.

And the Sky is smiling at you. You can feel it, and not just watching.

Over you. Shining with praise, because this, this is that holy wrath you’re supposed to have all the time. 

You don’t fucking want it.

You just want to go home.

Alistair smiles at you again, a second before you lose control.

“There you are.” 

You don’t know how he gets away in time. You can’t tell through how you’re everything, and you can’t see anything but the blur.

All you know is that you explode.

Detonate.

Destroy.

The Silver razes through all it can reach.The building turns to ruin, rivers of blood run under your feet—although, as far as you can see, there are no bodies—and the forests and walls start to bloom with flowers and plants you’ve never seen before. 

They’re beautiful. Strangely shaped and delicate, glowing softly and filled with an iridescent light. 

But it’s all beautiful. 

The apples hanging from the ceiling are beautiful. The small, condensed bits of life floating through the room are beautiful. The countryside, now littered with pastel blue roses, is beautiful. 

And the souls stained on the walls are beautiful, too. 

And you have to go.

The angels will be here soon.

That must be the real reason Alistair was looking for you. He’d taunted you right to the fucking edge, then pushed you over. Forced you to lose control, and send up that loud, neon signal telling Heaven I’m here! Come and get me!

And you’ve been so fucking careful not to draw attention, but it’s not really up to you anymore.

Because the Silver’s been like this since Jo. Dormant and silent until it’s forced to move, and then reactionary. Worse than a live wire, worse than a sickness, worse than a monster.

Damnation. 

That must be why the angels are still after you, even though you did what they asked. Even though you left.

Zachariah had said to muzzle you.

And you weren’t muzzled.

You were feral.

And now you have to run again.

But you don’t want to be the sickness. You don’t want to be what the Sky keeps demanding of you. Blinking down over you and asking doesn’t it feel good, to have this kind of might in your body, to not be burdened by things lower than you are?

Nothing is lower than you are. They might not be talking to the Sky, but it’s lonely. Higher than anything else, but that seems to be more of a curse than a gift. And all the things it keeps telling you are lower are made of more than the Sky is. Every soul spilled on the ground around you is a little dented and tainted, but it’s beautiful.

It’s all so beautiful. 

You need to go. It’s not safe for you to stay. 

But you do. For longer than you should allow, you grab every soul you can and shove it back into its body. And you can’t heal them. Can’t fix whatever damage the Silver has done, because you can’t call it forward to mend what it broke. They’ll be alive, but maybe different. Maybe completely morphed, maybe just a little cracked, maybe shattered beyond repair. But they’ll be alive. And even if you could fix them, the Sky might decide you were overstepping again, and rip them right back out. 

It never stops you from cleaning, though. From finishing your little ritual. It shines in warning, but you flip it off.

“You’ve got something you want from me,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes. “Come and get it your fucking self.”

It doesn’t.

It just keeps watching.

So you run.

You don’t stop until dusk. Until you’re sure you’re far enough away that whatever angels Heaven sent won’t find you. 

And this is how it is now. You move from town to town like some sort of phantom. You miss Dean every second, but you can’t go home. You dodge angels and read in the dead of night, staring at your phone and willing it to-

You jump out of your skin a little, when the screen lights up. 

Possible Spam.

You’ve never picked up the phone faster.

Dean’s shouting your name through the speaker, when the call connects. There’s something strained in his voice. Almost distressed.

You raise your voice, just enough to get through to him. “De-“

“Oh, thank fucking- Son of a bitch, sweetheart, I- Are you good? Safe?”

“I’m fine.” You draw your knees up to your chest, trying to make your voice sound light. “It’s just- Long day-“

“I know about Alistair.” 

You freeze, and Dean’s voice grows a little hoarse. 

“He admitted it. Told me he’s seen you. It’s- We’re working one of the seals and he’s here, and I- He said-“

“He didn’t hurt me.” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. “He was just taunting me. Trying to make me- You know. Do the thing.”

Dean’s silent for a long, heavy second. “Happened again, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Any progress on-“

“No.”

Dean lets out a dry laugh. “You didn’t even let me finish talking.”

“I-“ You swallow, a heavy lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m sorry-“

“Hey, wait, don’t- I’m teasing you, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is so gentle. You can almost see the slightly panicked look on his face. “Don’t cry, it’s okay, you’re good-“

You’d been trying not to cry.

You really had. 

But you miss him. And you’re so fucking tired.

It’s impossible to swallow the choked sounds or whimpers. The sniffling as you wipe your nose with your sleeve, or the heavy breathing as a weight pressed onto your chest. You don’t want Dean to hear. You know he’s still dealing with the seals, and an angry Bobby—although Dean won’t admit they’re fighting about you, you know they are—and a Sam that’s still working with Ruby. He doesn’t need to hear you cry when you’re the one who fucking left. You’re the one who wouldn’t stay. 

You’d hated Dean so long for leaving you, so many years ago.

But then you fucking left him.

And he’s staying on the phone with you. Not speaking, but humming low and deep as your head drops to your knees, and your breathing evens out.

It’s steady.

Ragged and impossible, but steady. 

“De- I-“ You swallow, wiping your cheeks with your palm. “I wanna go home. I miss Bobby and Sam and I- I don’t know what to do. I miss you, and I can’t sleep, and I-“

I love you.

You’re not allowed to say it.

So you just strangle yourself on the sound, and hold the phone as close to your ear as you can.

“I know.” Dean’s voice is a rasp through the speaker, and it makes a new wave of tears fall. “Just come home, Princess- I- Fuck, I’ll call Cas and he’ll come get you right now-“

“I can’t.” You whisper. “You know I can’t.”

“But-“

“Please. Don’t.”

Dean can’t beg you to come home. 

If he does, just as always, you’d listen.

“Did-“ Dean clears his throat, and you’re grateful. He listened. “What did Alistair say to you? To set it off?”

You can’t tell Dean what Alistair really said. He’d drive himself mad about it. Doing something reckless, get himself hurt. And all of this is always just so Dean doesn’t get hurt.

But you can’t lie to him either. 

“Jo.” You mumble, leaning back and rubbing at your wrists. “You. Sam. Just- What he’d do, if they win.”

“Fucking bastard.” Dean mutters, and you smile into the air. 

You miss his glare. The firm one that he’s always aim at you, but never hurt you. It was always a glare that wrapped around you. Told you he was angry because he cared, and didn’t know how to do anything with it.

He still cares.

Dean knows what the past month has been for you. Nightmares and explosions, souls staining the ground and painted over your hands—although they always fade fast, as nothing but Jo seems to be clinging to you longer than it has to—and never getting more control or answers.

You only find more questions. More reasons to stay away. And Dean should give up on you, but that’s not what he does. You know how pissed he is at Sam, but he’s not giving up on dragging him away from Ruby. He wouldn’t.

Just like how he’s only ever held you when everything became too much. Only ever gone to help, whenever Sammy called. Had held you and tried to make you stay, after Jo.

And he still picks up the phone. Still calls you, even when you know that—wherever he is in America—it’s an unreasonable hour. Talks to you like nothing has ever gone wrong at all. Asks you to come home like it’s not ripping out and healing your heart all at once. 

“You know I’d never let that happen, right?”

You blink, frowning at the wall. “What?”

“Alistair.” Dean mutters. “No matter what happens. He’s never gonna touch you.”

I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play.

You know. You know I love you, baby.

“I know.” You whisper, even though you both know that’s not really up to Dean. “How was your day?”

“Kinda shit. You?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Kinda shit, too.”

“You could come home, and our days could be shit together-“

“Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright. Had to try.”

He did. He always does. And he’s nothing more than a voice in a box, but the Spiderweb still lights up under his attention. Still thrives from just to sound of Dean saying your name and telling you about astral projection, and you could fucking swear you smell spice-

“It felt fuckin’ weird,” Dean mutters your name, and you can hear something moving in the background. “I was solid, but it was soupy.”

You smile into the air. “Soupy?”

“Yeah, like chowder-“

“Those are two different feelings, De.”

“No they’re both globby.”

“Globby-“

“It works- Sammy!” 

You hear Sam’s voice grumble something in the background, and wait patiently.

“Being all ghost-like felt globby, right?”

“You sound insane, Dean.”

That breaks through, and you giggle.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice is a little firmer. He’s talking to you. “I heard that. It’s not my fault Sammy isn’t a poet like me-“

Sam snorts in the background. “I heard you say soupy before. Are you talking to-“

“Yes.” Dean snaps. “She’s mine, Sammy. You can’t have her.”

He means the phone. You know he means the phone. 

It still makes the Spiderweb fucking shine.

“I just wanna ask her about a seal-“

“Call her later.”

“But-“

“No. Back off, or I’ll shit on your bed.”

“That’s so gross- Dean-“

A door slams on Dean’s end, and Sam’s voice goes muffled.

“Sorry about that, Princess. Don’t know who let Bigfoot into my hotel room like that.”

You hum, smiling like an idiot at your knees. “You know, one day he’s really gonna get sick of you doing that. It’s the third time this week.”

“Nah.” There’s a pause. “Are you getting sick of me, Princess?”

Sam’s right. He’s insane. “No.”

“You sure? Not finding some other guy with a sweet ride-“

“I’m not looking, De.” You whisper before you can stop yourself. “And nobody’s got a better ride than you, car boy.”

"Thanks.” Dean mumbles, clearing his throat. “I’m taking care of the Firebird. Drive her once a week-“

“He.”

"What?”

“My car. It’s a he.”

Dean pauses. “You, uh- You named him?”

“Not yet.” You shrug. “I’m brainstorming.”

“How about Dean Junior-“

“No.”

You only get a laugh in response, and this night doesn’t hurt as much as the others. You talk to Dean until the sun rises, and he mutters that his phone is about to die, and Sam will kill him if they’re not on the road early tomorrow. You don’t say goodbye, when you hang up. You never say goodbye. 

Instead the line goes dead, you shuffle out to find coffee, and return to your room for the rest of the day. You’re in no rush. You’re safe—for now—and all your work lives in reading and researching. Going over the emails Sam has sent you and responding with what you find. Combing through your own books for some sort of fucking clue. How many other Magdalenes there were. What they brought. How they controlled it, if it was something that could be controlled. So far all you have are a big do not attempt warnings on burnt pages,  a bunch of fake Magdalene spells—like plastic knockoffs of what you’ve found in the book, and made yourself—and the Sky watching you.

Nothing ever mentions the Sky. And it’s not like you’ve found anything explicit about Magdalenes. But you’ve learned to spot patterns. Clues. Draw timelines and pour over history books until you passed out, Dean called you, or something went wrong.

It would be lovely and simple, if you’d taught yourself that.

But it isn’t. And you didn’t.

“I heard you killed an angel.”

You’d spun around, and there she’d been. Standing in the corner of your room, smiling at you with that awful affection.

“That’s impressive, little one.” Lilith had hummed, her smiling growing. “Even I could never have done that, even at my brightest.”

“Cool.” You’d mumbled, rubbing at your wrists as you watched her. “How did you find me?”

“We are the same.” Lilith had shrugged. “You might be more, and but I can still know. You’d know too, if you just thought about it. And it took a little extra effort to find you, but I had to. You put on quite a show, almost locking all the seals. If those fucking uptight featherdicks hadn’t interfered, you might have succeeded. I mean, maybe if I’d sent the cavalry, too. But Ruby was begging me not to send Alistair himself. You did quite a number on her.”

“Ruby-“

“That’s not for you to worry about.” Lilith had waved you off like it was nothing. “I’d be concerned with yourself, little one. The angels are starting to look for their master, and mine- He will be here soon. And you should be ready. And I am reaching my purpose, but I can’t wait to learn, one day, what you do”

“I-“ You’d shaken your head, walking back to the wall. The Sky had flashed out the window.

If Lilith could see or feel it, she didn’t show it.

“I don’t- I’m not going to serve-“

“No, you won’t.” Lilith had hummed. “If you’re smart, they will bow at your feet for all of time to come, and you will never be a toy to those vile fucking animals again-“

“I-“ Your voice had been so small. You’d pushed through. “I’m not a toy-“

“Not now, little one. But you’re still attached to Dean Winchester. I can see him all over you.” She’d shivered. “You’ll get through it. We all have. Even I had a Dean, but- It doesn’t matter. Men of God. Doesn’t matter which one you chose, they are all the same in the end.”

And there it is again. Your hand freezes over your notes—a mindless scribble of Dean’s name in Enochian half-written—as the memory echoes, and you put it together.

Men of God.

Alistair had said it. So had Anna, before you crushed her like some sort of bug. 

And Anna had been an angel. She knew enough to know your name was written in places in Heaven that Castiel has never seen.

Lilith had spoken of them like they were everywhere. She’s said that all of you had one. That yours was another case of being special—more complicated—but you still needed to be stronger. That they always promise freedom, only to try and cut you up and morph you and put you in a cage.

Dean would never do that. He’d set you free. 

He was waiting for you.

You’d worry about that later. Right now, for the first time since you left, you had something.

It’s a good thing Europe is full of churches.

The months start to blur together, the longer you’re away. You didn’t expect it to be immediate, but it has to be something. Lilith, Alistair, and Anna wouldn’t all say Men of God only for it to just be some kind of weird Heaven and Hell phase. It’ll only take time. And you’ll comb through every library and visit every church and do whatever the fuck you need for just one answer.

And it does seem to be a marker. Every Magdalene you’ve found—Lilith had been right, you’d just had to try, and it would call to you like some distorted song—has had someone in their orbit. And there has to be a reason. Even if no one can place what the Magdalenes are outside of danger and change, even if there’s no idea for how you were made or why you exist, it can’t just be a coincidence.

Dean says there are no coincidences in this life. 

He’s usually right about this kind of stuff. He’s usually right about most stuff. 

And whatever Men of God are, Dean isn’t one. Not the way Lilith says, at least. He’s yours, but the Magdalenes you’ve found always ended up betrayed or abandoned by theirs. Dean would never do that. Even if he doesn’t love you, he just wouldn’t. That’s another thing he doesn’t do. 

Run away.

He’s stronger than you are. It’s why, whenever you run, he really has been always so good at catching you. At wrapping you up and keeping you safe, when he should’ve put you down. 

And Lilith had said the one you chose.

Dean’s never been a choice. He just is. You love him because he’s Dean, and that’s better than anything. He’s never been just one star you picked from the sky. 

He’s been full of gravity, like a planet. Not a flower from a garden, but a strong, unbreakable tree that could be split with lightning and still be the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. Not a rock from the ocean, but an island that you’d always returned to, because there’s nowhere better to rest.

And there are more differences—between you and the other Magdalenes—the longer you look. Some of them have been labelled as crazy or hysterical, but none of them are ever mentioned talking about all the colors. None of them ever claim to see demons and angels. 

Not one mentions the Sky. 

That seems to be another horrible, awful, exhausting thing that’s just for you. 

And time keeps passing. You keep reading and reading and finding something that’s really nothing, and nothing that looks like something, but it’s just a trick of the light. Things keep going wrong—a woman grabs your wrist in a coffee shop, you walk into a church and the stained glass begins to glow, you see an angel on the street and wipe them out with the whole block—and the Sky keeps watching. 

It doesn’t seem to mind you looking for answers. It almost seems to hum whenever you find something. A tattered page in a church catacomb, that’s a similar—but less detailed—to your own notebook. Colors and names scribbled in a French, like a personal guide. And then there’s the half-burnt, Portuguese version of the Book, and another Magdalene buried Florence, Italy.

You can go to Florence. 

You can raid a grave, to see if her bones are made of anything that tells you how she controlled it. If she left you anything. She must have. 

She did.

Maps of Heaven and Hell. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with them, or how she got them, but you know the Sky is happy you have them. 

Lately, the Sky only ever seems angry when Dean calls. 

You always pick up anyway.

“Hi, De.”

“Hey, Princess. You still in-“

“Nope. Nice try, though.”

He sighs. “Had to take the shot. How was your day?”

You smile into the air. “It was… long.”

“Did you eat?”

You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean snaps your name.

“Goddamnit, you need to-“

“I know.” You sigh. “I just- I got distracted, I promise. I got a new book, and it’s just regular witchcraft, but maybe Cas could use it-“

“Actually, uh-“ Dean clears his throat. “We kinda lost Cas.”

“You- How?”

“He’s a human again. We’re working on it, but Sammy-“ Dean lets out a long, heavy breath, and you sigh.

“Is Ruby still-“

“Yeah.”

“Did you tell him-“

“He won’t listen.” Dean mutters. “Thinks you must have misunderstood, or that Lilith was just messing with you.”

“But-“

“I know, Princess. But- I- Can you talk? Please?”

You swallow, staring up at the ceiling. You’d told Dean, what Lilith had mentioned about Ruby begging her. You’d hoped it would be some sort of evidence, to prove to Sam that Ruby can’t be trusted.

But Dean says he went a little off the deep end, after you left. That he thinks he should’ve been stronger and not gotten knocked out, or been more cautious about the ritual, or done more so you didn’t lose Jo. So you didn’t leave.

Whenever you talk to him, he never mentions it. That you left. And it’s not in the way Dean does, where he just knows you’ll come back. It’s a little hollow. His voice sounds heavier all the time, but more determined all at once.

Dean just sounds tired.

And it rips the Spiderweb in half.

“What do you wanna talk about, De?”

He lets out what might be a long breath of relief. “I, uh- I don’t know. What did you do today?”

“Read. A lot. I started looking at a map-“

“A map?” You can hear Dean’s frown in his voice. It’s adorable. “What, you hunting for treasure without me?”

“It’s a map of heaven. And,” you smile into the air, and you hope he can hear it. “I’d never hunt for treasure without you. There is no one else I’d rather treasure hunt with.”

“Damn. Not even Bobby?”

“I don’t think Bobby would be all that good at treasure hunting.” You shrug. “He’d get bored, and say that this kinda shit is pointless anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s soft laugh is a little muffled through the phone. “You’re right about that. How about Sammy?”

“He’d be fine. Do you not want to go treasure hunting with me, Deano?”

He snorts. “Princess, if I ever go treasure hunting with anyone, I’d want it to you.”

“Thanks.” You mumble. “Why?”

“Cause you’re smart, and you’ve seen a billion of those freakin’ treasure movies. You’ve studied, sweetheart. You’re a nerd.”

You scoff. “Well, if I ever need to commit crimes for the good of the community, I’ll call you, Cowboy.”

“Aw, you think I’m a Cowboy-“

“Dean-“

Dean cuts you off with a tsk, and suddenly you can see him. It’s just in your head, but it’s so close to real. Standing in front of you with a boyish, cocky smirk, his eyes alight on yours, every bit of him so fucking Golden, and all focused on you. Handsome. Always handsome. His hair a little spiky and out of place, his nose a little more crooked than the last time you saw him, but his body just as broad, and-

You can feel an ache between your legs, and it only deepens when he drawls your name.

Shit.

“I gotta tell you a secret, Princess.” Dean hums, and you swallow. “Our job is doing crimes for the good of the community. And you’re the best damn criminal I know.”

You flush, and the ache gets worse. “Shut up.”

“Bossy-“

“And I���m not a criminal-“

“Yeah, you are.” Dean laughs. “But it’s okay, we’re all criminals. You and me would’ve run the wild west, sweetheart, I’ll tell you that much.”

Your ditzy, slightly stupid smile is back. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah. Sammy would be the sheriff, and Bobby would run the bar, and I’d be the awesome, lone cowboy passing through the town. I’d stop at the bar look for a drink but instead I’d find you-“ Dean cuts himself off with a cough. “And Bobby. And instead of just passin’ through, I’d plant my roots, and team up with the sheriff to take care of the town.”

He might be the most adorable person on the planet. “You’ve thought about it. Sam might be right about that cowboy fetish, De-“

“It’s not-“ He groans, and the sound doesn’t help your situation. “They’re cool. They’re really freakin’ cool, and they’ve got awesome hats. Is it so wrong to like something?”

“No.” You hum. “But that’s a fantasy, Winchester. You have a cowboy fantasy. And you call me a nerd.”

Dean’s silent. For a little too long, Dean’s silent. And right when you’re about to ask if he’s still there, he mutters your name. “’S nice to have a fantasy, Princess. Something to want. Bet you have them too.”

You do. 

You have two. 

The first one you think of is the one that always slams into you like a blow to your gut. It’s made of Jo. Of what you’d told her, the last night she was alive. Of a world where her fantasy was reality. And that’s what you think of there, and you break down on the phone with Dean—again—and he stays on the line through it. 

The second one makes you feel like a piece of fucking shit. Because you sob to Dean about how you miss Jo, and you want to come home, and you’re still looking for answers but everything still fucking hurts—it always fucking hurts, it never stops hurting, the only way to stop hurting is to stop being and you’ve never figured out how to do that—and then he goes. With a soft reminder to call him tomorrow, or text if you can’t, Dean has to leave and deal with human Cas.

And you’re worse than a monster. 

Because when you’re done sniffling into your pillow, your head wanders back to Dean’s words.

Bet you have them too.

His voice had been so deep—and it’s always been deep, but it only seems to get deeper—and a little like a lullaby. A low, soothing promise that’s vibrated in your bones when he’s held you, and still sparks in your blood whenever you hear it.

And you can still see him, in your head. Broad and strong, soft in all the right places and grinning at you. Always grinning at you, and touching you. Dean’s touched you. He’s had hands skimming right under your shirt and resting on your hips, and he’s held you by your lower back so often, but never on bare skin. 

It lights you on fire. 

And you have fantasies.

You might have a lot of fantasies.

They’re all made of the memory of Dean’s lips on yours, and his taste on your tongue, and the warmth and Gold of him being everywhere. It would feel better than heaven, if he’d hold you right against him, his palm splayed over your lower back, his voice moving right through your body as you grind down onto his thigh. Calling you Princess and his and teasing you until you’re scratching at his back, and he’s just chuckling.

C’mon, baby girl. Just a little more, I’ve got you, you’re doing so good. That’s it, scream my name-

“Dean!”

You cum with a shaking body, and short, shallow gasp.

When your eyes fly open, you realize that scream wasn’t a part of the fantasy. That was loud, for anyone to hear as you’d orgasmed, grinding onto the sheets and pretending your hands on your breast were Dean’s.

The pricking, sickening shame hits you so fast. Jo’s still gone. Dean’s not even here, and you’re turning him into something he might not even want to be. Not for you. He’d been looking for comfort, and you’d made him your fantasy.

But he is your fantasy. 

No matter how you try to push it down, now that the idea has crossed your mind, before you sleep you think of Dean.

Something must be wrong with you. Your days are spent staring at books and rubbing at your wrists, looking over your shoulder to make sure there’s no one behind you. No one to try and hurt you, only for their soul to end up splattered all over the ground. Someone tries to get your attention on the street again, and a redwood shoots out of the ground in Germany. You see a man that looks an awful lot like Ketch in a cafe—already putting you on edge—and then a little blonde girl with the same eyes Jo has starts crying, and a Javan tiger is seen running through Austria.

You don’t know how you’re doing it. Only that the Silver detonates, and everything is destroyed and remade all at once. You can’t find any records of that happening to other Magdalenes—or, really, at all—but you’re still looking.

You’ve found that Men of God is seeming to be a loose term—maybe a title—more than a solid rule. And when the trail runs dry on Magdalenes, you shift back to witchcraft. It’s easy, even without the Silver, and it makes you feel like maybe you’re being useful.

Not just running and destroying and sitting in the dirt near a river, staring at the blue on your hands.

Jo would like it here. She would like all the sun and beer, and she would like how the hotel shampoo smells, and she would love all the stray animals and stupid, fancy wines. She would drawl that all wine is wine, but this tastes like rippin’ off rich idiots. 

You stole a bottle for her, and poured it into the river. Then you just sit there. Ignoring the Sky over you, pretending that when you stand up things will be better.

They won’t.

Jo’s still gone, and it’s still so fucking hollow. You’re trying to eat more, for her. Trying to sleep more too. You’re getting better at it, as the time passes. At not dying from self-neglect.

And she would’ve wanted you to talk to Dean. To let him convince you to come home, so he could hold you until it hurt a little less.

You don’t want it to hurt less. When it hurts it means you’re thinking about her, and if you stop thinking about her—sobbing on the riverbank, watching your fingers because one day the blue will fade and you don’t know what you’ll do—then who will. Someone has to be in pain for this. Someone has to pay, you’d already killed Anna, and Zachariah seems pretty fucking occupied with Sam and Dean. 

Pain, numb and hollow and vast and fucking crushing—pressing on your lungs and head, faint in the background until it slams into you and breathing becomes a labor—is a price you deserve to pay. 

So the days pass, and they’re lonely and repetitive, as the Sky keeps watching.

But your nights are spent collapsing on the bed, and calling Dean.

“Are the souls different? Wherever you are?”

You smile at the ceiling. “I mean, they’re different soul to soul.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, sweetheart-“

“They’re the same as home, De. All souls are the same.”

“Huh. You, uh,” he clears his throat. “You see any other golden souls?”

You can’t stop your laugh. You’ve never seen another golden soul. Not like Dean’s. And even if you did, no soul is made of the same primal, pure thing his and Sam’s are. 

“What’s funny-“

“Nothing, it’s-“ You shake your head. “No. I haven’t seen any other souls like yours.”

Dean grunts, and you can picture his pouting scowl. “Alright. Good. But- I still don’t get why you were laughing, Princess.”

“It’s a soul joke. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Can you help me get it?”

“Dean-“

“C’mon. I show you stuff all the time. Taught you to drive stick, showed you how to clean a gun even though you never use them, explained all the work I did on the Firebird-“

“I didn’t ask you to do that one.”

“Yeah, but you were listening. You liked it.”

You had liked it. But that had been more to do with how—when he’d been talking—he’d been covered in grease and wearing a really tight shirt, smiling at you like there was never anything else to do and bouncing around like there’s never been any pain at all. 

Dean doesn’t need to know that.

“I- Souls are really complicated-“

“I don’t care. Just-“ Dean pauses, sighing into the speaker. “I wanna hear you talk, Princess. It’s been a long fuckin’ week, and I- How about this. If you tell me about souls, I’ll teach you whatever you want, when you get home. Pinky promise.”

You swallow, and suddenly there’s a very clear image of Dean above you, his hand in your hair and his lips curved in a wide smirk as he guides you up and down his-

Fuck.

“I, um,” You pause, trying to regain control over your voice. “What do you wanna know?”

“I dunno. Explain the joke?”

“It’s- It’s not really that funny, I’m just tired-“

“You been sleeping?”

No. You’ve been talking to Dean and drinking coffee and you’re pretty sure you can feel every single nerve in your body, but that’s not the point. “Yes.”

“Lie. You need to fuckin’ sleep-“

You cut of Dean’s snap of your name with a sigh. “Are you sleeping?”

There’s a beat, and his response is so low you almost don’t hear it. “No.”

“Then shut up and stop telling me what to do.”

Dean chuckles. “So bossy, b- Princess-“

“Do you want to hear about the souls or not?”

“Yeah, alright. Go.”

You don’t explain it all. You tell him more about how souls tend to move and blend together, twining with other souls and staining each other in more and more colors until it’s almost kaleidoscopic. You mention the elements, but you’re vague—only that they all made of different things, not that you know what those different things are—because if you explain too much, Dean will ask what element he’s made of, and you’re not even sure what an honest answer would be.

To be fair, you never explain it all. You tell Dean you’re getting more leads on Magdalenes, but not a word about the Men of God, because he’ll freak out. You’ve explained all your outbursts, but never told him about the Sky. You never tell anyone about the Sky, because it makes you sound fucking crazy. Even in this life, saying the Sky is watching me and it hates when I talk to you, Deano would end with a strange look. Just like when you were a kid, telling your mother that the Sky is watching me, and making me promises, and I don’t want them. I don’t. I’m scared and I want to go home.

“Is it ever- Can you turn it off?” You can hear Dean’s frown through the phone. “I mean, that sounds like you’re being shoved into one of the carnival funhouses all the damn time.”

“That’s… Not far off.”

“But it’s gotta hurt your eyes or some shit-“

“I’m used to it,” you mumble, running your thumb over your palm. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to-“

“Dean. It is what it is.”

“Yeah, but- It shouldn’t be.” He lets out a long breath, and tears start to prick at your eyes. “There’s gotta be something that helps.”

You. You help, Dean. You’re so Golden it’s impossible to think about anything else.

“Maybe start looking for that?” Dean hums, and the lump starts to form in your throat. “How to control the soul-vision shit?”

“Soul vision?” You smile, even though it’s crushing over your ribs. “Creative, De.”

“Shut up. You love it.”

I love you. “I don’t hate it.”

“Good. Maybe work on-“

“But I don’t want to turn it off.” You glance down at your hands, and your voice is far too soft. Dean with be able to hear. “I- I can’t turn it off, Dean.”

He mutters your name, and you shake your head. 

“I- I can’t. She’s still on me, her soul is still on me, and if I stop seeing it, she’s gone.” You’re breathing too shallow. You can’t stop. “I can’t let her be gone like this too, I couldn’t- It’s all I’ve got left, it’s the only piece of her left and only I can see it- And if- I- She can’t be gone, Dean, I can’t let her be gone-“

“I know.” Dean mutters, his voice so low and soothing, even through the choppy speaker. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry-“

“I wanna come home.” You whisper, and Dean goes silent. “I miss you, and I don’t-“ I’m scared. I’m scared and I want to go home. “Dean, I don’t know- Please.”

You don’t know exactly what you’re asking for. But somehow, Dean does. 

“It’s gonna be okay. I promise it’s gonna be okay. I’ll send Cas out for you right now, if you want-“

You make a strangled noise, and Dean’s voice gets stronger. Firmer.

“Or we can just keep talking. You wanna keep talking, ba- Sweetheart?”

You nod, and even though he can’t see you, Dean still knows. Still understands. It rips another small, weak sound from your throat.

“I ate some pie, yesterday.” Dean hums, his voice still low and careful, and you let out a soft laugh.

“You eat pie every day, De.”

“Yeah, but this was cream pie. You’d like it, it had a bunch of chocolate on the top, and it was fucking full of that stuff they put in the donuts-“

“Cream?” You smile at the ceiling, and you don’t know how he does this. Every single time, even when he’s just a voice, Dean brings you back down. “I think it’s just cream, De.”

“Alright, whatever. Point is this thing is stuffed with cream-“

He can’t be doing this on purpose. You wouldn’t put it past Dean to do it on purpose, but this is the kind of thing he would talk about to see Sam get uncomfortable. But all you can think about is how even his voice is fucking pretty, and he keeps saying stuffed and cream and filled, and your skin is prickling with an aching, pleasant warmth, your thighs starting to press back together.

And Dean does eventually have to go. Once he’s satisfied with your lack of hyperventilation and the steadiness of your voice, he mutters that he has to go deal with Sam.

“Get some rest,” He mutters your name, and you swallow. “Or I’ll track you down and make you.”

The line cuts off before you can respond, and this is the part where something is wrong with you. You’re a fucking mess. Your cheeks are still stained with tears, and you’d been sobbing less than half an hour ago, but now you’re wet. Dripping. Your fingers trail between your legs, and over and over the sound of Dean saying you’d like the cream pie, Princess, replays in your head. The one time in his life that Dean wasn’t making an innuendo, you’re losing your mind with hunger for him.

And there are the fantasies. 

Dean over you in bed—you don’t really care which one, as long as Dean is there—and his fingers shoved into your cunt as he kisses all over your face. And you’re breathless and clinging to him, but he’s holding you just as tight, and when he buries himself fully inside of you, he lets out a low groan right in your ear-

I’ve got you. I love you, baby. You know I love you.

You don’t. Dean’s never said that. But Dean’s voice has. And it spoke with a long drawl and soft affection. Your mind is taking that and running with it. 

You cum with another gasp of Dean, your back arching off the bed, and you try not to think about it when you roll over and gather the blankets until they’re in a vague shape of Dean for you to hold all night.

And the Sky doesn’t get to see it. You always close the curtains when Dean calls, because you’re going to keep picking up the phone.

You’ll keeping missing him, too. And loving him.

And dreaming of him. 

You never stop dreaming of Dean.

“No wanderin’ off.” Bobby grunts, scanning around the room. 

It’s big. Almost as big as the rooms in your family’s house. There’s something different about it, though. Even though the air is colder, there’s a warmth to the walls and a comfort to the floor. 

You don’t tell Bobby that. Not because he wouldn’t want to know, but because he already has enough to worry about. 

“I’m not gonna wander.” You mumble, picking at the skin of your nails. “Promise.”

Bobby snorts. “I wish I believed you, kiddo.”

“Bobby-“

“I trust you.” He says your name carefully, holding your gaze. “But you like exploring and testin’ my fuckin’ blood pressure. I told you not to get distracted by the house, and what did you do?”

You pout at your shoes. “I sang on the staircase.”

“And why don’t we wanna do that.”

“Cause there’s an ubume running around.”

“Cause there’s a-“ Bobby pauses, frowning at you. “A what?”

“Ubume.”

“I ain’t sure what that is-“

“It’s the spirit of a woman who died in childbirth.” You mumble. “They’re not usually violent, but sometimes they try to steal children. And they like rocks, and there are all those rocks outside.”

Bobby blinks down at you, and shakes his has. “Fuckin’-“

“I’m sorry-“

“You’re righ-“ He cuts himself off, frowning down at you. “The hell are you sorry for?”

“I- I don’t-“ You swallow, the Darkness starting to turn out and press under your skin. “I don’t know.”

“Wel, ya shouldn’t be.” Bobby shrugs. “You’re right. The kids have been gettin’ the worst of it, so- They’re called ubumes?”

You nod, and Bobby sighs. 

“You’re not in trouble, kiddo. You can relax.”

“But I- I wasn’t supposed to get involved with the hunt-“

Bobby runs a hand over his face. “I told ya that cause I didn’t want you tryin’ to take on this shit yourself. But if you know somethin’ I might not, always say it. Deal?”

You nod nervously, and Bobby extends his hand.

“C’mon, kiddo. If we can wrap this up by the afternoon, I’ll let ya go back to the staircase.”

Your eyes widen, even as you take his hand. “But the family-“

“They ain’t home. What they don’t know ain’t gonna hurt them.”

“Who aren’t we hurting?”

You blink, and turn to see Dean next to you. 

Once again, you’re a little taller than before. And Bobby seems completely unaware of Dean’s presence, still running through the script of the memory as you walk through the house. 

“A rich family from California,” you explain, Dean trailing behind you. “Bobby heard about their haunting, and he decided to take care of it while they were out of town. I got to come because Rufus was busy, and I’d been having a lot of freak outs, so he didn’t want to leave me alone.”

“Huh.” Dean nods slowly. “Why are you holding his hand?”

“Because right now, I’m eleven.” You pause, and extend your free hand to Dean. 

He takes it without question, falling right into pace at your side and leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Where are we going?”

“To kill the ubume.”

“What the fuck is an abummy-“

“Oo-BU-me.” You hum, and when Bobby settles in the families kitchen—where you’d been keeping all the books and weapons—your hand doesn’t leave Dean’s. “Dead pregnant lady ghost.”

“Huh. And you killed it?”

“Bobby killed it.” You shrug, watching the younger version of Bobby shuffle around the room, asking you questions that in real life you’d answered, but in the dream are only met with an echo of your words as you keep talking to Dean. “I wasn’t allowed to leave the salt circle.”

“Why-“

“She was napping kids. I was a kid.” You sigh, resting your head on Dean’s shoulder. “And if he tried to take me, I would’ve lost it. And if I lost it, I probably would’ve had an even bigger freak out about losing it.”

Dean hums, keeping your hands interlocked as he slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you right into his side. “Did you? Lose it?”

“Not today, no. This hunt ends with the ubume ganked-“

Dean smirks. “You said ganked.”

“Shut up-“

“Bossy-“

“You gonna listen, Winchester?”

“Sorry, baby.” He’s still grinning, leaning down to press a kiss to your brow. “Keep goin’.”

Baby. I love you, baby.

Fuck.

“It’s not important.” You mumble. “I get to sing the Goodnight song from the Sound of Music on the stairs.”

“Oh, I remember that.”

You frown at him. “You-“

“You told me about it. When we worked that mall case. You said you wouldn’t sing for me, cause you wouldn’t kill for me.” Dean leans down, his lips brushing over your ear, his voice sending a shiver up your spine. “Would you kill for me now, Princess?”

“I-“ You swallow, turning your head to meet his gaze.

Mistake.

He’s so close. And even though you know this is a dream, he still looks so fucking real. Golden and pretty. All you’ve ever wanted. 

All you ever could want. 

“I think I would’ve killed for you then.” You whisper, and he blinks.

“And now?”

“I’d do anything.” You can tell him that. This isn’t real, so you’re not breaking any rules by telling him. “You’re- I-“

“I know.” He mutters, and he doesn’t kiss you on the lips. Dean just wraps his arms fully around your body, pulling you right into his chest and combing his fingers through your hair. “Me too. I- I miss you, Princess. I need you to come home.”

Your fingers curl in his shirt. “I want to, De. I- I’m so tired. And it hurts. It always hurts. This fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “It really fucking does. But life’s a bitch, sweetheart. Always gonna hurt. Better to have each other for it.”

“Alright.” You giggle into his body. “When did you get so wise?”

“When I started missing my girl all the time.”

You sigh. “She misses you too.”

“I know. But I hope she knows-“

There’s a bang on your door, and it rips you away from your dream. Away from Dean.

And the Silver is stirring. Nothing has happened but another loud, almost violent knock, but the Silver is already starting to hum and writhe.

That can’t be anything good.

You lay flat on your back, holding your breath until you’re a little light-headed. If it’s nothing, and the Silver is just going haywire, the knocking will stop. Whoever’s on the other side of the door will give up and move on.

But you’ve never been that lucky.

A bored, taunting voice says your name, and the sound is muffled through the door, but you still recognized the fancy, stupid accent.

Fuck.

“We know you’re in there, darling.” Ketch hums from outside. “It’ll so much easier for everyone if we cut to the chase, and you let us take you in.”

You stay silent, but your hands move to your wrists. You’ve been rubbing them until your skin was a little red and raw, and it stings to the touch, and the Silver is starting to turn and turn. It might not be the worst thing to explode on Ketch and whoever else he’s brought. But you’re in a cheap inn, and you’d passed a family when you were checking in. You won’t be in enough control to stop the damage from hitting them too. 

But if Ketch tries to grab you, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself, either. 

If you were a little better of a person, you’d let Ketch take you. You should be locked up. Contained. Kept where you’ll never hurt anyone, ever again.

But you’d never see Dean again, either. And you’d vanish, and he’s think you’d abandoned him. That you’d given up, or really run away, when it was supposed to be all the way down.

You’d promised Dean all the way down.

You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.

So you can’t go without a little some sort of fight. You’ll try and keep the Silver down, but if Ketch thinks this is going to go in his favor, he’s disgustingly wrong.

God, this is still going to suck.

Ketch repeats your name, and you take a long, steadying breath.

You can do this.

“You’re just dragging it out,” he calls. “We’ve got you surrounded, and we’re well prepared. You won’t be getting away this time. I promise, darling, it will be better if you come quietly.”

You almost laugh.

He has no fucking idea what he’s in for.

“I’m busy!” You call, slowing pushing up out of bed, your knife already in your hand. You’ve been sleeping with it. Just in case.

Plus, it reminds you of Dean.

“Can you come back later?”

Ketch laughs, and Jesus, it’s not a pretty sound. “I’m afraid we’re quite busy later. And you are not the type of girl one wants to take a rain check on. You might lose her after.”

You roll your eyes, spinning your knife in your hands. “I think you’ll find that you’re going to lose me anyway.”

“Wrong. We lost you last time because you left our jurisdiction. But now? You’re in our territory. And we’ve been watching you.”

“Of course you have,” you mutter. Your jacket is on, your bag is packed, now you just need to get out.

“You’re quite the fascinating little creature,” Ketch drawls your name, and you wonder—if you punch him hard enough—if you could make all his teeth fall out. “If we can figure out how to tame you, I think Mick would be right. You’d be quite the addition to our organization.”

Organization. You’d guessed they weren’t just a team of fancy fuck hunters, but that confirms it. “I think I’ll pass. But thanks for the offer.”

“I’m afraid it’s not an offer, darling-“

“Oh, well in that case,” you swing the door open, and give Ketch a wide, mocking smile. “I’ll just say suck my dick.”

It’s good to see that he hasn’t fully recovered from the ceiling you dropped on him. He’s holding his gun differently than before, and there’s a slight, forced slump to his shoulders.

He’ll probably get better eventually. But you hope it’s a long, grueling journey until he can fully throw his shoulders back again.

“You always have been so vulgar.” Ketch sighs. “We’ll work on that.”

“No.” You shrug, keeping your smile plastered on your face, even as the Silver grows. “I’m going to recommend you let me past, Ketch. It’ll be easier for all of us.”

He laughs. “Always so overconfident, too. I told you, we’re ready. I’ve got snipers trained on you, in case you try to use that cute little blade. This place is warded, darling. Your magic tricks are useless.”

“Oh no.” You drawl. “It’s warded. What am I going to do.”

“Well, you-“ Ketch’s eyes narrow. “You are being sarcastic.”

“I have never been sarcastic in my life-“

Ketch snaps your name. “You are not working this in your favor, by being uncooperative.”

“I think you’ll find I’m being incredibly cooperative.” You shrug. “I’m trying really hard not to kill you all.”

“Oh, are you-“

“Yep.” Your eyes narrow. “Stand down. Now.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Ketch says, his voice bored, and you sigh. 

“Alright,” you swallow, glancing up to the Sky. 

Silent. Uncaring. To it, Ketch is nothing more than a firefly. More than just a bug, but still disposable. 

“Your funeral.” You give Ketch a grimacing smile. “Let’s dance.”

There’s a moment—as you watch the men behind Ketch raise their guns to your head and your spin your knife in your hands—where you think you might be able to get out of this the normal way.

Then Ketch grabs your wrist, and you’re gone. Tearing through the world once more, growing out and out and out until the Silver is satiated, and the ground doesn’t want to move up and protect you. 

It crashes back into you, the blur clears, and it’s such a fucking mess. Another building in ruin. A fucking jackalope hopping around in the strange, black and golden flowers, and a white stag prancing on the high way. 

When you sweep the damage, it looks like you got lucky. Most people were out for the day. There’s only a rose-pink receptionist to hold and push back into her body, all of Ketch’s men—they might have had guns aimed at you, but they’re still people—and Ketch himself.

A muddied orange on the pavement. And you could leave him. Dean would tell you to leave him, that he’d tried to kill you and kidnap you, and he has tortured you, so it’s not unjustifiable to just leave him for the angels to find. And they will find him. You’ve already lingered too long, and the angels will be here soon.

But you can’t stop thinking about Jo, draining of all her blue. Growing hollow, just like how Ketch’s body is passed out on the ground.

Before you can think about it too hard, you’re grabbing Ketch’s soul, and shoving it back where it belongs.

You might regret that. You know you’ll regret that.

But it’s done. You aren’t going to take it back.

And you have to go, and not look back.

You’re getting better at not looking back.

Except with Dean.

You’ll always look back for Dean.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Dean’s attention is all focused on John. Shouting at him and raising his hands, high enough that Dean flinches, but never landing a hit.

Dean looks young. Younger than you remember knowing him. His face is softer, and his nose is still crooked but his hair is a lot lighter. While John yells, he’s bowing his head in a way you’ve rarely seen before. There’s no fight in him. He seems to be absorbing every verbal blow John throws at him, only fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves as he waits for it finish. 

“He could be hurt, you fuckin’ dumbass- He could be goddamn dead and it would be your fault. I give you one fuckin’ job, and it ain’t makin' him happy-“ John groans, running a hand over his face. “If you don’t tell me where the hell your brother ran off to, Dean, it’s gonna be your fuckin’ head-“

“Why is he mad?” You whisper in Dean’s ear, and he starts slightly.

“Son a bitch, Princess. You scared the shit out of me.”

You grin at him. “Aw, are you jumpy-“

“I don’t get jumpy.” He grumbles, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s arm is looped around your waist and his face is buried in your neck. “I’m tough, sweetheart. Just didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Right.” You let your fingers wander up to his hair, glaring as John just keeps shouting like nothing’s different at all. “Of course you’re tough, Deano. You’re a cowboy.”

“I know.” He mutters into your skin. “‘M your cowboy.”

“Yeah. You are.” You sigh, glaring at John over his head. “Why is he yelling at you?”

“I let Sammy have a sleepover, while Dad was on a hunt. He got back early. He wasn’t happy I let Sam out of my sight at all, but then I refused to say where he went. That made him pissed.”

“You lied to your dad?”

“Sometimes, yeah. When I had to.”

“This was a have to?”

Dean grunts into you. “Was a sleepover with a girl. Sammy had just turned sixteen.”

You laugh. “Right. Obviously.”

“And I lied to Dad for you, too.” He grumbles, his arms tightening around you. “Never told him about our hunts.”

“I- Why?” You ask before you can stop yourself, and Dean just shrugs.

“He woulda stopped me seeing you. Never wanted to stop seein’ you.” He takes a long breath. “You always smell so good. Drives me fucking insane.”

Jesus. “I don’t smell like anything, De-“

“Wrong. Smell like fucking heaven, I don’t even- Wish I could figure out what it was. Spent so much time trying to figure it out.”

“You lied to John to smell me?”

“Kinda.”

“Oh.“ You swallow. “Did you ever lie so you could have a sleepover?”

“A sleep- You mean to fuck someone?”

He’s so all around you. It’s just a dream, but Dean’s still Golden and surrounding you and almost folded over your body, and you’re not sure how you remember to speak. “Yeah.”

“Never needed to. Only to see you. And I didn’t get laid for that.”

“You didn’t ask to get laid.” You mumble, and Dean chuckles.

“Would you have said yes, baby?”

Baby. I love you, Baby.

“Don’t answer that.” Dean mutters before you can even open your mouth, pulling back with an almost sheepish grin. “Already know the answer.”

You don’t think he does. Even the Dean in your head doesn’t seem to know that you love him. That you’d do anything for him. But he’s holding your gaze, and he’s your Dean again. A little taller, small scars littered on his face that make him look even more like that Cowboy, skin more tanned and eyes far heavier. When his hand lifts up to trace over your features, it’s calloused and rough, and his lips have gone chapped, but he’s still so pretty. And his Gold is still strong.

“I think I woulda run away with you.” He murmurs, and his voice is like a spell. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Met you a year after this, and- Son of a bitch, Princess, I wish I’d stayed, that night. Pushed my luck with the smartest, prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Missed you then, too. Always missed you. Shouldn’t have listened to Dad. He- I knew he didn’t like me, but I never thought he’d hate me that much. Taking you away from me.”

You let out a slow breath, and shake your head. And you hate John. You hate him more than anything, for what he’s done to you, and Sam, and Dean. But you never want Dean to think anyone hates him. If Dean thinks John did all this because he hated him, Dean will make it his own fault. Make himself a failure, when it was John who failed him. And John—in his own, horrible, selfish, fucked up way—had cared about Dean. You wish he hadn’t.

But he did.

“He didn’t hate you, Dean.” You whisper. “He was just a piece of shit, and he hated me. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, well, hating you is hating me. You the awesomest part of me.”

You flush, and Dean’s grin widens. “Awesomest isn’t a word.”

“Could be.”

“No-“

“There’s no a better word for you, Princess.” Dean swoops down, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hips until you giggle. “And I don’t care if Dad hated me. You like me.”

“I do.” You whisper, your stupid, ditzy smile returning. “I really do.”

You wake up slowly. Blinking as light seeps through the windows, your blanket still wrapped in your arms as a crude mockery of Dean.

And the better days are like this. Moving slowly through your gathered books—often finding nothing, but sometimes coming across a new spell or ritual or empty clue—and picking at your food, Dean’s voice in the back of your head humming eat, Princess. You need to eat.

You really have gotten better at it, over the months. You register when you need to go to the bathroom, and don’t fight it until it’s unavoidable. You eat less than you maybe should, but enough to not grow dizzy when you stand up. You keep water next to you all the time, and when your hand starts to cramp, you let it rest a little longer than one flex. You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.

And you’re not. You’re still tired, and breaking down, and you want to go home. But at least nobody will look at you, and see a girl that’s really more of a ghost. 

Today is one of those better days. Good might be too far a stretch, but it’s better. Simple. Read and eat and drink, go for a walk because fresh air is good for the pain over your skull, take a shower because it’s nice not to feel grime on your skin.

And you could swear the Sky is growing brighter. 

All day, it seems to be somehow building brighter and brighter. 

And growing. It seems insane, but the Sky seems to be fucking growing until it’s wrapped around more than you. Like it’s bracing you for something you don’t understand.

But everything is peaceful. No demons crashing into your motel room. Nothing from Ketch or his organization since your last detonation. The grass shifts easily in the wind, but the flowers seem to be holding their bloom. You haven’t seen a bird all day. You’ve seen people, nothing else. No bugs, no rabbits, no spiders.

Only a snake in the flower bed, and a dog who whines as he passes you.

It’s strange. Eerie.

Wrong.

Something is, in a way you don’t know how to articulate—but sits and shifts deep in your bones and intestines—wrong.

The Sky is so big. It’s still only watching, but it still seems to be reaching for you.

Not to swallow you.

To veil you. 

Hide you.

When the sun sets, the Sky is still shining. Nobody can see it but you, and it’s not making the world luminated, but the Sky is pure white and glaring with danger.

You don’t know from what.

But you know that the Silver is waking up. Nothing has even happened, but the Silver is rolling around inside of you. And you know Dean’s not picking up the phone. You try him, when you can’t sleep under the white of the Sky, but he doesn’t pick up.

He always picks up.

You’ve called him when it was the dead of night for him, and he’s answered with a muffled grumble and sleepy grunts. You’ve called him in the middle of a hunt, and he’s picked up just to tell you he’ll call you back. Once you called him during a movie, and he turned it off to talk.

Dean always picks up. 

Something is really fucking wrong.

You try Sam, and you know he’s been put in the panic room for demon blood reasons—although you’re still worried about how long the infection will take to clear his soul—but maybe he has phone privileges-

Nothing. 

Bobby. He always picks up after three rings, but this goes all the way to voicemail. You’ve never heard Bobby’s voicemail before. It’s brisk and says nothing more than if you’ve got this number, you know what to do, but Bobby has never been anything if not efficient.

You didn’t leave Sam a message. 

You leave one for Bobby.

“Hey, It- It’s me.” You mumble your name, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been calling more, but I thought you’d be mad at me for leaving. I know you’re mad at Dean about it, but he was just trying to- Please don’t be mad at him. I miss you, and-“ You swallow down a sob. The point. You need to get to the point. “I think something’s really wrong, Bobby. It’s- It’s just a feeling, but somethings wrong. And Dean’s not picking up the phone, and I’m really worried, so please just call me back and tell me everything’s okay. I need to know you’re okay, and I- I’m sorry-“

“Fifteen seconds left.” A cool, automated voice hums, and you take a sharp breath. You’re going to fucking cry again.

“I’m sorry. I miss you and I’m sorry and please tell me you’re okay. Something is really wrong, Dad, and I need to know you’re okay, I’m so-“

The machine beeps. You wipe your nose with your sleeve as the message sends, and the feeling of wrong only grows, the Silver pushing up with it. It’s shrinking, like it’s trying to hide in the darker corners of your body, but still gnashing with sharp teeth for when things go wrong.

Things are going to go wrong. Something so fucking primal is rolling over your every nerve, telling you something is wrong. And the wind is howling a warning, and the earth is pressing up to try and guard you like the Sky, and when you turn on the tap water, it’s singing you a soft song. It’s almost soothing. Not like a sedation, but a comfort. 

You hole up in your motel room, closing the curtain to try and block the Sky. You pray to Cas and he doesn’t answer, and you try Dean two more times with no luck. Your knife is clutched in your hands, and you’re curled right against the wall, and the water is still singing in all the pipes through the building, and it hurts but the comfort seems to be an anesthetic, and-

You’re not sure where you are. Only that its’s dark and cold and lonely. And high. You’re so fucking high up. 

Or low.

You can’t actually tell. 

The whole word seems like it’s folded into itself. The sky is at your feet but it’s also above you and at your side. Like an illusion, keeping you contained with smoke and mirrors and light.

There are shadows, creeping forward and trying to touch you. But something always makes them recoil, as if you’re a toxic or poison or feral or-

Silver

It’s the Silver.

You’re only the Silver, and the shadows can’t stand it. They hiss and sneer at the feeling of it, but still try to touch you. Then after they retreat, they try again, Like maybe this time, they’ll be strong enough.

Or you’ll be weaker.

But you’re not growing weaker. The more the Silver is poked at, the bigger it gets. 

The bigger you get. 

You are the Silver, and you’re more than glowing. You’re bioluminescent and blinding, but still filled with every space between the starts and all the colors colliding and shimmering through you. 

Somewhere in the shadows, there’s something red. Bloody, electric red and shining like a black light. 

It has more eyes than you can count, and a billion fists, and a million wings. But it’s not made of fire.

It’s made of the same gleaming, wrathful light as Sam and Dean.

And when it smiles at you, the earth shakes.

“Wow. You’re prettier than he deserves.” It hums. “Don’t worry. I can help you fix that.”

You swallow, but before you can respond, everything splits open. All of it. A crack leaking through the mirage, filling with light.

The light of the Sky.

“This is me.” The Red smirk at you. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t worry. We’ll have a lot of fun.”

The Red bursts up, and then it’s gone.

But you don’t move. You’re not trapped. You could follow the Red thing through the crack, but you don’t know how to move. You’re all Silver, and it’s too much. There’s nothing to tether too. Nothing to shrink back into. You just everything and nothing all at once, and it’s as if you’ve been turned into mist and filled with iron all at once, then told to run. 

You don’t know how to do anything but sit here. The Sky is watching you, through the crack, and you can’t tell if it’s urging you to move or demanding that you wait for it to grab you by the scruff of your neck-

It yanks you out of the paralyzing sleep. The blaring sound of some screaming part in a Led Zeppelin song. 

Sam and Dean don’t to ringtone, but they’re also both legally dead and criminals. You’re a ghost. You don’t run scams, and as far as the government is concerned, you’re a stale missing persons case. 

So you get to do ringtone. 

And you’ve never been more grateful for that than now. 

You grab the phone and answer without checking who it is. You already get to know.

“Dean, fucking- God I was so worried-“

“You were worried about me, Princess?” Dean rasps, and you don’t miss the exhaustion leaking through his voice.

“Of course I was worried about you.” I love you. “Are you okay?”

He sighs. “I’m in one piece. So is Sammy, and Bobby- He will be.”

Will be.

Your stomach twists.

“Something happened, didn’t it.” Your voice is barely a breath, and leaving was a horrible idea. You know something’s wrong, and breathing is starting to become a labor as your skin itches off your body, but there’s no one here to hold you.

Dean’s not here to hold you. 

“I-“ You take a shaking, unsteady breath. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s wrong. I know something’s wrong, Dean, I can feel it-“

“I know.” Dean whispers, and your hand moves up to hold your throat. 

The Silver is dormant. But it’s still too much, and old habits don’t decay when you don’t know how to plant anything new.

“It’s- We- Son of a bitch.” Dean clears his throat. “We kinda fucked up.”

You can’t breathe. “What?”

“We failed.”

“Dean-“

“The cage.” Dean mumbles. “It’s open. He’s out. Shit it- It’s bad, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” You whisper. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. It’s- Son of a bitch, you were right,” he mutters your name, his voice almost hushed. “It was Ruby. She’d been working with Lilith the whole time, and she tricked Sammy, and he’s such a fuckin’ idiot but I’m worried about him-“

“Dean.” You whisper, and you wish you could touch him. Move his face into your neck, like in your dream. Maybe fold yourself around him and be that damnation for him. “Are you okay?”

“I- Yeah. We got out, everything intact. Something sent us away. We lost Cas for a minute, but turned out something wanted him to stick around. Some demons went for us in Bobby, and he got hurt-“

“Bobby-“

“He’s fine, Princess. Gonna be fine. Stable. We’re actually about to go see him right now. And Sam’s fine too. Detoxing. He’s angry, and we’re- We’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” You take a shaking breath, keeping your eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Dean?”

He grunts, and try not to let the strain in your whole body grow audible.

“Are you okay?”

“I told you-“

“You told me Cas and Bobby and Sam are fine. I’m asking about you.”

There’s a long moment of silent static, and you know by now to wait. The line’s not dead. Dean’s just thinking. 

And when he speaks, his voice is barely a rasp.

“I- I need you to come back.” He mutters your name, and it’s too soft. “Son of a bitch, I- I can’t keep worrying about you and doing this.”

“Dean.” You sigh. “You know I can’t, they’ll-“

“I don’t give a shit what they do. Heaven or Hell or any of them. Demons rip me up and the angels will just pull me right back out. They need me. Some bullshit about Michael wanting to use me as a condom-“

“What-“

“Long story.” He mutters. “But I don’t fuckin’ care what consequences there are, Princess. Come home.”

There’s another silence as a lump forms in your throat, and you need to speak but words feel far away-

“Please.” Dean’s voice is so low and exhausted. “I need you.”

There it is. What you’ve been asking him not to do for months. 

He needs you.

Dean needs you.

And you don’t think you could say no if you tried.

“Okay.” You whisper. “Is Cas- Will he hear me?”

“Think so. Are you-“

“I’m coming home.”

You can hear Dean’s sigh, and it’s filled with relief. 

You’re really don’t think there’s anything you wouldn’t do for him.

“See you soon, Princess.”

“I- Yeah. Bye, De.”

It’s quick, to pack up. Most of your possession now are old, fragile books that better fucking survive angel travel, or you’ll punch Cas in the face. You don’t pray immediately, though. While there was no destruction, whatever had happened last night—Lucifer escaping, you’d been responding to Lucifer escaping, and you don’t know what the fuck that means—the wall are covered in vines and a little waterfall has formed from the window edge, falling down on to the floor-

Ground. You’re standing on the ground. Grass and flowers and tiny trees, and it’s buzzing with life below your feet. Like a little ecosystem, confined to your room.

That’s something the angels will probably be able to track. 

You can’t call Cas here. 

It’s a short walk than usual, and you stop at a Church. If the angels are sweeping the area, they probably won’t think to find you here. It’s hiding in plain sight.

You close your eyes, and pray. 

Cas. Help. Please.

There’s a whoosh, almost immediately. 

But it’s not Cas’ low, gravelly voice that comes from behind you.

“You should be careful, sweetheart. Praying in a church.” The bright, almost cheery voice laughs. “You might attract some unwanted attention.”

When you turn, the voice belongs to a shorter man, with longer, blond hair and bright eyes. 

But that’s not what makes you stumble back a step. 

He’s blue. 

He’s so fucking blue. 

Like the blue of Cas, turned up to a million. And he has an uncountable amount of eyes shoved into two, a billion fists curled into the same, and a million wings pressed to his back-

“You’re an archangel.” You whisper, and the Blue laughs. 

“Wow. That was fast. You know, everything I’ve ever heard about you said you’d be pretty, but smart? Don’t think he planned for that. In for a big surprise.”

You swallow. He can’t smite you. Or hurt you. Zachariah said nothing was allowed to hurt you. 

So you raise your chin, and hold the Blue’s gaze.

“What do you want?”

It doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Damn. Moxie, too? They don’t know what they’re getting with you! A little spitfire.”

You frown. “Moxie?”

“Sorry, forgot you’re only what, thirty?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Shit. Even younger. Basically a fetus.” He shrugs. “Well, kid, moxie means you’re headstrong, little bit sassy-“

“I know what moxie means.” You mutter, rubbing the scar on your palm. “And that’s not correct. I just haven’t heard anyone use the word seriously.”

“Who says I’m serious?” The Blue winks. “I’m the fun one. I’d ask if you wanted to see, but I don’t think that would end in my favor. Already pushing it just by bein’ here.”

“I-“

The Blue cuts you off with a tsk. “I’ve got something to say, sweetheart. Something you’re gonna wanna here, before you do anything stupid.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m not doing anything-“

“You’re trying to go home.” The Blue shrugs. “And it is stupid. I know what tree you’ve been barking up, sister, and it’s not the right one.”

“Sister-“

“No.” The Blue cuts you off quickly, shaking his head. “Just a nickname. You’re not my sister. That would be…” He wrinkles his nose. “So fucking gross. Like, we’re a fucked-up family, but not that fucked up. There’s gotta be a line, y’know? I think it’s there.”

The Blue speaks in circles and riddles, and it’s worse than Cas. At least Cas is amusing, and simply doesn’t know better. This guy just seems to be trying to set you off-

“That won’t work.”

You blink at him. “Wha-“

“Your little magic trick. The bam.” He makes a crushing gesture, raising his brows. “Afraid you need to have a little more control and self-love than you’ve got now, to take me out. I mean, the other thing you’ve got, the boom-“ Another gesture. “That might work, actually. Not sure. Let’s not find out.”

Now you’re just too confused, and you’ll hand it to him. The Blue’s vagueness seems to keep the Silver only brimming in your body.

“Look, I’d love to talk with you forever, but we’re kinda on a timer.” The Blue sighs, his tone suddenly falling into something serious. “That tree? The one where you’re trying to work out what you are and how to control it? Stop it. Stop barking.”

“I-“

“You don’t understand what you’re doing.” The Blue says your name, and it’s a little distorted. Louder. Musical.

Enochian.

“You’re changing things. Things that shouldn’t be tampered with, let alone moved around and rearranged however you want.”

“No- I-“ You shake your head, your hands drifting up to rub at your wrists. “I left. I stopped interfering, I promise-“

“You already interfered.” The Blue sighs, giving you an almost sympathetic expression. “Just your existence, just by letting them into your orbit, you’ve done more than you can-“

“But I stopped.” You’re almost pleading. You’d left to stop. To make sure nothing you did hurt anyone you loved. That was the fucking point, you’d stopped-

“Look.” The Blue run a hand—hands?—over his face. “We’re behind schedule, because of you! Little Sammy Winchester actually held on longer against Ruby and the blood, because you planted a little extra doubt in his head! Because he and Dean were fighting, but they fought all the time! He just knew you’d always end up with Dean, and he didn’t want to lose you with his brother, so he held on!”

“I- I don’t-“

“They’re ahead, too! Sam and Dean aren’t fighting as much because of Sam trying longer, and Dean’s thinking about what you would do! And you turned sweet, hopeful Castiel over to their side too soon, and now they’ve got some extra steps on everyone, which is going make this drag. People are gone that should’ve stuck around, and some of them are early, and you’ve made a mess that’s going to take forever to get in order!”

The Silver is still silent, as the Blue throws his hands in the air. 

You wish it would turn in, and rip you to shreds.

“I didn’t mean to.” You whisper, your hand returning to your throat. “I promise I didn’t mean to-“

“I know you didn’t.” The Blue shakes his head, and there’s that fucking sympathy again. “But you’ve gotta stop, kid. You’re making this even more complicated than those chuckleheads ever could.”

“But I- I want to go home.” You sound like a child. You don’t care. “I’ll just lock myself in my room, I promise, I but I- I need to go home-“

“Sorry,” The Blue says your name, in Enochian once more. “No dice. He’s looking for you, and that’ll make this all worse-“

“He-“

“My brother.”

“Oh.”

The Sky flashes over you.

The Blue doesn’t seem to see it.

“It’s better if you get some sleep, I think.” The Blue frowns, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Yeah. Sleep will be good for you.”

You don’t want to sleep. You need to get home. Back to Dean. You’d told him you’d come home, so you need to come home-

“Probably won’t hold, but it’s better than the other option.” The Blue raises one of his bursting, electric hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it feel good. Send you someone nice.”

You want to scream, to run, to fight, but the Silver hasn’t built itself up, and you’re frozen. 

And before you can call for Dean, the Blue presses to your brow, and the world goes dark. 

“What don’t you think is real?”

You blink at Dean in the dark of the Impala, and a little bit of chocolate milk is smeared on his upper lip.

He’d grabbed a beer, insisting that he didn’t want anything else. But you’d grabbed two chocolate milks, because you know him.

Love him.

Miss him. 

You know this is a dream faster than usual. The whole world—even in the dark of midnight—is bathed in gold, just like when you dream about Dean without you. You remember what’s supposed to happen here.

You don’t really want to stray from the script, though.

You love this one.

“What do you mean?” You reach up to wipe the milk off Dean’s face, and he grins at you.

“Y’know. Some of this shit has to be fake.”

You hum, watching him carefully. “Like what?”

“Unicorns.”

“Unicorns are real-“

“I- No they’re not-“

“I’ve seen one.”

“Ah.” Dean grumble, taking another large drink of his chocolate milk. “Of course you have.”

You giggle, scooting a little close to his side to grab the jerky from his lap. His arm goes around the bench. Your shoulders. Casually keeping you pressed against him. 

It had never even crossed your mind to move.

“What don’t you think is real?” You ask, and he shrugs. 

“I believe what I can see. What I can kill. Monsters, ghosts, me, you-“

“Me? Should I be worried you’re going to kill me?”

“No.” He scowls. “You know that’s not what I meant. And I’m being serious-“

“I know you are, Deano.” You give him an amused look, reaching up to wipe the milk off again. “Do you believe in me?”

“Course I believe in you-“

“Do you believe in Sam?

“I-“ He sighs. “Just say it, sweetheart.”

Okay. You’re being dramatic.”

He’s almost pouting. “No, I’m not-“

“Yes, you are.” You sigh. “It doesn’t matter what might be real or not. I’m real. You’re real. This,” you poke him, and his gaze never leaves yours. “Is real. And I know it.”

“You know it?” Dean shakes his head. “How-“

“I just do. Do you know I’m real?”

He sighs, and nods. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

“Oh, you guess-“

“Shut up.”

You giggle, and Dean grins at you again.

“I’m glad you’re real, Princess. Would suck if you weren’t.”

You smile up at him, and you look stupid, and nothing has ever felt better. “I’m glad you’re real too, De.”

What you want to say—what you always want to say—is I love you. Dean Winchester, you perfect, Golden idiot, I could never love anyone but you.

But you can’t be allowed to. Not even in a dream.

So instead you just lean press your face into his chest, breathe him in, and hope that this moment lasts forever.

End Note: introducing new lore mechanics is always very special to me because I get to share about something I’ve been keeping secret for MONTHS and also you guys get to be confused.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx

@bakugotypecrashout @kittycain @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco

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@lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey @and-i-wish @ghosth0ney

@funkenniffler

[trashabilly]

yall i spent a good hour tryna figure out how to crochet a chain stitch (i was following a tutorial) and let me just say.. what the fuck

[xxplastic-cubexx]

btwww your first comic (the pookie bear one), when looking at your hank, i remembered a fanart i saw on twitter that it was charles and erik kissing then hank would be watching then and saying "how disgusting" and he kept looking at them

everyone likes to see the great erik magnus lehnsherr being soft towards his man charles francis xavier

omg yah ive seent aht comic :]] good stuff ...

[famewolf]

for so long all I wanted to do was die but now that I'm older, all I worry about is dying too soon. too soon to experience all the things I didn't give myself time for when I was young. I don't want to spend these years overthinking what time I have left

[undefeatablesin]

Incredibly and unfathomably emo about Maria and Adeline lately so idk what to do about that (take a wild guess as to what in fact I will do about that.)

[snekdood]

i just struggle to believe theres any ethical way to harvest meat. farm animal dying of old age? yeah. ok. sure. but farm animals aren't going to be perpetually dying of old age enough to fulfill the demand for their meats. you can make better and more convincing arguments to me for ethically harvesting eggs, wool and milk rather than meat.

[secondpersonpoetry]

Franziska Linkerhand, Brigitte Reimann

[quilliums]

U alive?

Eh kinda. I think I've been on tumblr maybe a handful of times in the last two or so months and I'll favorite a few things then leave again. To be real with you? It's all so fucking fake and empty to me anymore.

I very quickly got more done then I can put into words with pretty much everyone I follow and everyone who follows me and all of tumblr.

It's not going to sound good because I'm not going to sugar coat this or walk it back because that'll be useless. Everyone is just going to twist whatever I say at this point so here it is:

It is very telling that when I, a trans man, reblogged posts (and directly asked mutuals) to literally do nothing and not spend money on the new IPs that came out this year that actively use that money to harm trans people I was told to mind my business. That their personal blogs and spending habits have no impact on trans people and that my request to literally do nothing instead of spending money, again to DO NOTHING, to help trans people was unreasonable. But. But that's fine what ever. I'll just mind my business I guess and only reblog helpful stuff, positivity, and fandom. That's cool we'll all stay in our corners and that'll be the end of it. Nah tho. Because when I do nothing, when I don't want my blog, the one the very same people said shouldn't be concerned with suffering, taken over by literal live footage of children dieing and some of the most horrific things some how I'm actively participating in genocide.

When others actually participate in my suffering the request to do nothing is too much and how dare anyone even imply that makes them a participant in trans deaths. When I do nothing, on a god damn tumblr blog let's remember the stakes here and the difference between literally giving money to fund transphobia and me simply not reblogging something, in the face of others suffering I'm automatically an antisemitic hate mongering participant in a genocide.

[yeahxsurexokay13]

wrong guy, lando norris

summary: fans think yn is dating max, but they've got the wrong guy [bsf!reader]

been a min since i posted! honestly, these just take me way too long and i usually end up abandoning them because i start hating them halfway through from overthinking lol. hope you enjoy this one though (: xx

y/n.y/l 📍 Ibiza, Spain

Liked by riabish, carlossainz55 and 159.870 others

y/n.y/l we only argued 3 times, cried 2, and got lost 1 (personal record)

view all 579 comments

user9 right so who argued? who cried? and most importantly whO IS THE SHADOW?

user14 can we talk about how u're LITERALLY glowing in that first pic? u look so happy, girl!!

user20 the vibes on this dump… rich people's holidays just hit different.

iamrebeccad ✓ Beautiful girl 😍

y/n.y/l 🫶🏼 miss youu!!

user4 “cried 2 times” is actually impressive ♥︎ by author

user55 lando and max just casually being brothers in the fourth pic 😩❤️

user81 that shot is just *chef’s kiss*!!!! Glad we can always count on this queen for hq content

user63 Okay so I’ve been staring at this shadow pic for like 10 minutes, and I can’t figure it out…

user33 my money’s on max bc that hug pic of them earlier too… feels very coupley.

user63 idk friends to lovers agenda thriving tho

user3 Max and Lando with the face masks are killing me 😂 ♥︎ by author

user6 max or lando? place your bets now. i’m team max but i’ll die on this hill if i'm wrong

user2 which you are, because it’s definitely Lando

user8 guys they’ve literally known each other since forever and go on these friends holidays all the time lmao this is just FRIENDSHIP GOALS. stop romanticising everything!!!

user24 then explain the head kiss?

user8 friendly head kisses???

user24 friendly kisses?? in this economy? be serious. that’s couple behaviour

user12 smells like a third wheel in here…

y/n.y/l sorry, that's just me. i am the third wheel🙋🏼‍♀️

user13 she really said 'stop shipping me with my best friends' lol

user44 max and lando with the face masks in the water might be my new favourite photo of all time

user16 ngl that's not bad statistics for a week long trip ♥︎ by author

user11 If it’s Max, I’ll cry. If it’s Lando, I’ll cry harder. If it’s neither, I don’t know what I’ll do.

user18 i’ve been following these three for years and i’m still trying to figure out if that last slide is supposed to be romantic or not….? HELP I AM SO CONFUSED

user22 what book is that? i need recommendations!!

y/n.y/l just for the summer!!! LOVED it x

user10 i can’t believe she was so chill about posting thAT LAST PIC!??!! miss y/l!!! SPILL NOW

maxfewtrell ✓ Why are you saying 'we'? Pretty sure you were the one who did all of those

landonorris ✓ classic move, shifting the blame

y/n.y/l @/landonorris @/maxfewtrell the getting lost part was definitely a team effort

user1 I need to go on a trip with friends like this ♥︎ by author

user5 being that close to lando AND max and surviving the friendship without catching feelings was too good to be true let's be honest

pietra.pilao 😍😍

y/n.y/l 💞💞

user7 so when’s the next ‘friends holiday'? asking for a friend (me)

15 August 2024

maxfewtrell ✓

Liked by landonorris, y/n.y/l and 98.982 others

maxfewtrell The real girlfriend reveal, for the record 🫡

👤 pietra.pilao

view all 398 comments

user1 WAIT WHAT

user6 so it really wasn’t Y/n??

pietra.pilao ❤️❤️ ♥︎ by author

user4 omg she's the girl who commented on yn's holiday dump!!!

user3 We owe Max and his gf an apology 😭 She’s stunning, btw

user2 omg u two are so cuteeeeeeee! happy for u max :)

user5 your gf is so pretty 😭😭😭

y/n.y/l P!!!! 💕💕

y/n.y/l you two make a better couple than you and I ever would anyway 😂 ♥︎ by author

user9 WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THIS EARLIER?! we’ve been spiralling for WEEKS

user12 actually he's been saying it from the beginning. we just didn't want to listen 😂😂

user8 max: “here’s my gf. leave me out of y/n’s business”

user12 OK but pietra is STUNNING!! Max, you’ve been hiding her for how long?!

user7 the way he had to clarify this because of us is actually hilarious. sorry, Max.

user11 OMG I feel so dumb now we really had y/n in a whole relationship she wasn’t even in 😭

29 August 2024

y/n.y/l

Liked by oscarpiastri, sophiaaemelia and 289.034 others

y/n.y/l outtakes from ai·bee·thuh

view all 930 comments

user1 AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!?? MYSTERY SOLVED IG

user12 I THINK THIS MIGHT BE THE GREATEST THING TO HAPPEN TO MY FEED THIS YEAR I AM NOT EVEN JOKING

maxfewtrell ✓ So Lando gets the cute video and I get the passed out in the car pic? Playing favourites, I see. Noted.

user8 Max calling out Y/n for favoritism is peak sibling energy

user33 i can't believe we were full on shipping them not even a week ago omg

maxfewtrell ✓ Also, can everyone stop tagging me in that shadow pic now? Like, I’m good, it’s definitely not me 😅 ♥︎ by author

user11 pietra honestly deserves a medal for surviving this holiday with these three omg

user17 GUYS I WAS ALREADY PRETTY SHOCKED AT LANDO'S VIDEO BLOWING A KISS I HAD NO IDEA WHAT I HAD COMING

pietra.pilao Special week 🤍 ♥︎ by author

user81 the lift photo with the McDonald’s bag is so relatable. even on a fancy holiday, you gotta have your nuggets ♥︎ by author

user25 turns out Max wasn't lying when he said y/n wasn’t his headache... lando’s the lucky one 😂

user10 and y/n and pietra? they do ✨besties ✨ better than anyone ♥︎ by author

user19 can we get a ‘whoops, my bad’ from the ppl who saw them in Ibiza and STILL missed the fact that Pietra was there?

user2 they literally had a front row seat to the full gossip and still didn’t catch on !!!!! like hELLO? u had one job

user14 THE SOFT LAUNCH TURNED INTO A HARD LAUNCH REAL QUICK I AM SHOOK

alexandrasaintmleux ✓ Ahhh loveeee 🩷🩷 ♥︎ by author

user26 both boys punching above their weight fr. i said what i said.

francisca.cgomes ✓ ❤️❤️😍 ♥︎ by author

user16 The way Max is sleeping in that last pic has me wheezing ♥︎ by author

user3 lando is literally holding y/n like he’s never letting her go boy is WHIPPED

user29 WE'RE GOING TO SEE "LANDO NORRIS' PARTNER" UNDER YN'S NAME NOW WHEN SHE WATCHES FROM THE GARAGE what a time to be alive

user7 not the way y/n is casually posting a McDonald’s bag in a robe and THEN dropping the most beautiful couple pic with lando

user5 waIT SO THE BOY KISSING HER HEAD IN THE SHADOW PIC WAS LANDO??? WE WERE ALL WRONG. I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

maxfewtrell you know, it truly baffles me how this was barely even considered

y/n.y/l no one believed in me enough to be able to pull f1 race winner lando norris. humbling.

user20 YN I - 😭😭😭😭💀💀

user38 it was a couple’s holiday the whole time 😭😭 I need a moment to recover

user9 this fandom’s clownery knows no bounds istg.........

user21 not me crying over the hard launch of the year when I was just admiring Max’s sleeping face 5 seconds ago

user24 Ibiza really gave us everything: friendship goals, couple goals, and max in a food coma

user18 IT WAS LANDO KISSING HER HEAD. I feel so betrayed by my own theories and also pretty disappointed in myself i couldn't tell it was his shadow

landonorris ✓ I see you saved the best for last 🖤

y/n.y/l ☺️☺️

y/n.y/l omg guys i wasn’t being dry i just don’t know what else to say with all you watching 😭😭

1 September 2024

[bbokicidal]

[SKZ] Being their stylist

Could you imagine? God, I'd die.

Notes: I've heard rumor that you've gotta be married to be an idol stylist because,, obviously they don't want dating shit happening but we are DISREGARDING THAT HERE. i couldn't find the recolored vers. of seungmin & innie so... oh well ig. Genre: Fluff Pairing: OT8 x NB!Reader Warnings: Extra fluffy cuteness I guess

Chan:

Sits so patiently and tells you to take your time

You're his favorite stylist. He loves when you're the one who does his makeup so sometimes he requests specifically you

You're just so gentle with him and it feels like he's really being pampered

He loves the way you make his eyes so smokey for stage looks

Keeps his posture good in an effort to impress you

Does that little :] face with his eyes closed because you're just so pleasant to him

Minho:

Falls asleep every time you do his hair

You tell him to keep his head up only to figure out he's sleeping so soundly and you just don't have the heart to wake him when he's on such a tight schedule lately

Jeongin has a LOT of pictures of you bending at funny angles to style Minho's hair while his head is tipped back or to the side

(And one of you pretending to kiss his cheek as he's mid-waking up)

He wakes up feeling so pretty every time you style him

Sleeps with his mouth open like an idiot (me too)

Changbin:

Likes to make you laugh while you style him in outfits

He poses each time you put him in a new jacket and maybe it's just an excuse to flex in front of you oops who said that

He's giggling right alongside you until he accidentally rips a shirt open

The buttons fly right off and he screams, covering his bare chest as you burst into laughter at how silly he sounded and how he scrambled to cover himself up

You get him a new shirt but he's extra careful after that and his ears are beet red

He'll never forgive himself for embarrassing himself in front of you

But he's also an idiot and will forget about it, and probably does it again the next day because he can't help himself

Hyunjin:

Likes to ask what you're doing while you do it

Has not a CLUE what you're talking about when it comes to makeup but listens intently anyways because it's interesting

Any form of art is interesting to him and that includes makeup !

His brows furrow and he nods and he stares at you while you talk which can sometimes be intimidating

Also kind of sucks at sitting through makeup because he's so talkative with the boys

He's also very loud but he tones it down when he talks to you and uses a softer voice with you

Is very happy to listen to you explain makeup to him but also ,,, tell him what contour is again?

Jisung:

He likes to give you complete freedom when it comes to his outfits

Put whatever you want on him; mens, womens, any clothing you think would look good

You were the one who put him in that grey cropped long sleeve a while ago and people went CRAZY so since then he's trusted you with everything

He loves the outfits you make!!

And the ones you wear because he totally checks you out ALL the damn time!!

Sometimes he even asks if he can take pieces home so he can incorporate them into his daily wear and if he does, he tags you in his insta pics - to which you have to tell him 'I didn't make this, tag the brand!!!' and he just laughs

Felix:

Please tell him makeup tips, he's so curious and he wants to start doing his own makeup too

Sometimes he does, for airports and stuff. But that's just a cushion and some powder

Tell him what color eyeshadows look pretty with his eyes, tell him how blush placement changes the shape of his face and the tone of his look

He's going to be asking questions and, if he has access to one, looking at the details up close in a handheld mirror he keeps hold of

It's intimidating to be honest but he's so smiley and chatty with you that your nerves fade away pretty quickly

He also just thinks you're really really gorgeous so he might use it as an excuse to look up at you more. He's examining the makeup you're wearing, that's all !!

Seungmin:

He's got this horrible habit of staring at you through the mirror while you do his hair

He loves the haircut, don't get him wrong, but it looks like he's feeling everything BUT that because of the way he sort of glares

Well - not glares. He just has this RBF that is untouched by anyone else in the world

If you look at him, he looks away and scrolls on his phone, but shortly after he's back to staring

You're just really attractive is all. And he likes your hair, too - so maybe some day he'll take inspiration from that if you allow him

Also the type to fall asleep while you cut his hair because the spray bottle and little scissor cutting sounds are just so soothing

Jeongin:

Is very compliant when you do his makeup

He sits still, he's patient, he only turns his head away when he knows you're changing something up on the table

He keeps his head up and knows when to close his eyes, when to look up, when to part his lips for balm and tint

Very well behaved, one might say

But it's because when you're doing the other's makeup, he's paying close attention. He's always watching you and trying to find ways to impress you without actually making it obvious that that's what he's trying to do

He starts bringing you your favorite snack because he notices it sitting on your makeup table while on tour

He likes to talk to you while you do his makeup but he's a little bit shy about it - he's not openly chatty like Felix or Hyunin

And the day he calls you his favorite stylist you swear your heart almost explodes

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[sp0o0kylights]

Sometimes I think of a Steve Harrington that is absolutely exhausted by all the horror and bullshit and trying to keep the kids alive through said horror and bullshit, who watches Eddie rock up to him at the beginning of S4 with a dead eyed, flat stare.

"Steeeeve Harrington." Eddie taunts and peacocks and twirls around him, and all Steve wanted was for a couple months to process the trauma, maybe feel safe enough to start thinking about the future instead of stuck in a never ending anxiety loop of what might happen to Dumbass Near-Deatherson, should Steve go to college or move out of Hawkins (bc all the bad nicknames in the world won't erase the fact that Dustin's family, now. They're all family. And when they need help, they go to Steve.) and now he's suffering the unjust ordeal of being haunted by the high school drug dealer.

"His highness has come down from his castle!" Munson will crow, making a show out of Steve picking up the kids like this is a great battle of wits, a scoreboard between them and not like Steve is half dead on his feet, head aching, dreams full of too many teeth. "Quickly hide behind me, he'll try to cut off your heads!"

"Wouldn't he just cut yours off too?" Lucas asked, though the tone was slightly timid, Sinclair unsure if his joke would be well recieved.

(Steve doesn't care if the kid outright insults him. He still recalls the junkyard, the fight with Billy, the blood staining the kid's headband. Lucas lived, therefore, he can be a shit if wants.)

"Mine? Oh, the King wouldn't dare." Munson tosses his head, full of cartoon energy, too big for his body and grin both. "Many have tried you see, but no one had ever succeeded!"

Steve, equally, does not give a single shit that Eddie Munson has decided to play these games with him--until he realizes he's maybe been a little too exhausted and depressed and morose around the kids.

Watches them getting worried over him, whispering urgently and making dramatic gestures and talking to Robin and suddenly, playing a little tug of war over them the way Munson seems to want feels like a good idea. A way to hide all the rough edges, a way to be fine so they can be fine.

"How about you guys skip the dork brigade tonight," Steve taunts back the next time they're all together, standing like the man he used to be, wearing a dead personality. "And we go do something actually fun instead?"

Eddie laughs, lights up, is all too happy to match him tit for tat, and it's so easy to fake this kind of interaction, rolling his eyes and snapping his gum. Steve could match this energy in his sleep, and never once does Munson catch on that Steve's not doing this for him.

That he's not even looking at him half the time, eyes askew, locked on the kids. Seeing them relax as he banters, seeing Dustin glow as he returns to his favorite position, being the center of attention.

So long as they think he's okay, Steve will be okay. If that means putting up with Munson, then so be it.

Its not like he'll catch on.

Eddie doesnt.

(Or rather, he does--but Its months and several deaths later, when they're in the RV, chasing what feels like literal demons, does it dawn on Eddie what Steve is doing.

Has been doing, the whole time.

Steve, sassy, ridiculous, jock- brained Steve makes the mistake of doing it again, using the same trick he had on the kids to convince them he was fine on Eddie. To further convince Eddie that they were fine as a group.

That they'll survive, they'll figure it out, they'll make it.

Loudly bantering with dead eyes, smiling with a mouth robotically locked in. Jokes on jokes on jokes and all of them making the kids take their minds off VecnaHenryOne to screech ineffectively at their babysitter. Winks tossed to the girls, who both roll their eyed at him. A sly look given to Eddie, to include him.

Its then, that Eddie decides to cement his life with Steve's. Because this loyal bastard of a paladin is too good hearted to die, too protective to not try it anyway. The idiot is cutting himself to ribbons to tie them all together and Eddie can't undo the damage but he can grab all the pieces he can, loop them together.

He can make those dead eyes light up again.

And he does.

This time when things are over Steve finds himself unable to pull those little tricks of his. Every time he slides the mask over his face Eddie rips it right back off again.

They fight, a lot, until they start kissing instead and for a while that also, somehow, feels like fighting but Eddie's real good at this. The emotional part, not so much the kissing, but he knows how to draw Steve out. How to break down walls, and annoying his real personality out.

The kissing was just an odd little side benefit.

A thing they don't talk about.

There's a benefit to it, one he doesn't look very hard into, until strangely, one day, Eddie wakes with Steve's head pillowed on his shoulder and comes to the abrupt conclusion that he's screwed.

Or so he thinks--until bright, loving eyes blink awake, and turn on him, and Eddie realizes just how long it's been since they looked dead.

He wonders, vaguely, how long it'll take for Steve to catch on, that this just got serious.

Will laugh at himself when he learns that Steve already knew.

Guess that's what he gets for finally paying attention.)

[pythonmoth]

cw: violence. heavy torture. stress incontinence (brief). hurt/no comfort.

simon x f!reader. poly tf141. father figure price.

Last | Next

It's calm.

The sea breeze brushes against your cheeks, your skin warm under the sun, and your toes squirming in the sand. You've been begging your parents to take you to the beach for months since middle school started, and now you're here.

Family. Your cousins, your siblings, your aunties and uncles. Nothing can ruin it! It's perfect.

A bucket of sea water hits you from the back, making you gasp. In an instant, you're up. "You guys are dead!" you scream, laughing as you chase after them.

It's so, so nice.

Then, a weird smell makes you pause as you're chasing your favorite older cousin, knee deep in the ocean.

It brings you back to when you were a toddler, picking up one of your grandfather's old rags, forgotten in a corner. It'd seen too many raining days, all crumpled up. It was sour. Foul.

Almost like poison.

But why did you remember such thing right now?

Your cousin's dark eyes glint, but you can't focus. No, you can't move as she gently makes you lay down in the water, claiming it's a game, and sits on top of you, the sea water filling your lungs.

You scream and fight, your little strength leaving you, until you're finally breaking through the surface.

Another splash of salty water, much colder, wakes you up with a gasp.

"Up" Price's voice says.

You bite back a whimper of pain when Soap roughly grips your hair and drags you up along with the chair from the floor, since Price kicked you the night before. Soap doesn't look at you even once.

"Since you won't open your mouth, let's continue" the captain hums, looking mildly entertained.

"Price, I genuinely don't know anything. I'm not a traitor. You have to believe me, please—"

Smack.

"Save it. It all points to you, so you either speak now, or we start having fun".

Everything hurts, it's all fuzzy and every single inch of your body is burning, yet you still look up at Price, then at Soap. Again, he won't even look at you.

"Where's Simon?" you mumble, trembling. There's silence, but you don't let it stretch. "Please, I really have nothing to do with any of this. Be reasonable. There's nothing in it for me. Why would I sell us out?!"

The door springs open, and your head snaps up. Your world crumbles down as Simon comes in with a little box.

The tools.

At once, you reach another level of panic.

Pure, unadulterated dread.

"Stop! No. No, please. I'm innocent. Simon. Please, stop this!" you wail loudly, your hands clenching hard on the armrests of the chair, uselessly trying to keep them from getting to your fingers.

It doesn't matter how hard you cry out for them to listen. It doesn't matter how badly you fight, leaning forward to push your head against Simon's chest, pleading with him.

There's no coming back from this.

Please. I love you. Please.

When the first nail is ripped off from your fingertip, the intensity of your screams makes Price look away for the first time.

It takes three fingernails and a handful of questions you can't focus on for Soap to turn away from you.

Five.

Away.

Please.

Eight.

It all feels so far away.

Distantly, you feel warmth, right on the chair. For a happy moment you melt into it, too tired to think much of it. Simon's eye twitches at the sight, the white in his eyes bloodshot, and he has to physically stop himself from saying anything.

"I want to die" you croak out, your chin pressed to your chest.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, in your raw fingertips. Your voice doesn't feel yours anymore.

"No. Give me their names".

"I don't know, goddammit!" you scream, your face contorted with pain and anger. So much anger. "Fuck you! I don't know shit. I'm sick and tired of this. I didn't do anything!"

It doesn't matter when Simon rips off another fingernail.

Nine.

It doesn't matter when Soap presses the same disgusting rag against your face, the cold salty water filling your lungs again.

You don't fight.

What for? They want information you can't provide. And you're angry.

Ten.

"I'm breaking up with you" you say, your voice firm, despite the intense shaking in your body.

The pain must have cleared your mind because you just look straight forward, not meeting Ghost's eyes as you speak.

You don't want to look at him.

"I don't want your regret" you continue, your heart slowing down. There's an old bloody spot on the door. You focus on it. "The three of you are dead to me when this is all over".

"Enough chatting. Go on!" Price snaps. You don't hear the trembling in his voice.

The salty water just keeps on coming.

Maybe you hear it. You don't care.

You're not sure for long it goes. Half of your toes are throbbing by the time Price storms out of the room, Soap and Ghost gathering their things to leave.

There are deep cuts in the arch of your feet, several of your toenails scattered on the floor, and the foul smell of urine and blood. Your throat is sore and raw from screaming, and sobbing.

You must've passed out, because you wake up to Ghost's hands untying you quickly, words of apology leaving his lips, curses and promises. You can hear Soap rushing in, the two of them arguing and then running.

Gasps and curses are heard all around the base as Ghost takes you to the medics, demanding them to tend to you now.

It's an order.

[kalims]

⭒ㅤwith a disney princess

premise. surely there's been a mistake, cause there's no way someone out of place like you ended up at nrc, right? (spoiler alert: months later and they will fight whoever might drag you to rsa)

featuring. dorm leaders (from diasomnia to heartslabyul)

content. at best this might imply a female reader, given they're based of a 'princess' but I tried to take the gender vague and focused mainly on the qualities of them! mc has hair in the rapunzel part lol

note. no beta we die lol. I worked on this by group so i honestly don't remember if I accidentally gendered mc. I absolutely love idias part lmaoooo

malleus (aurora)

ooh intimidating x soft couple.

you look way out of place in somewhere like nrc of all places, given your mother is the infamous sleeping beauty (infamous, in the college’s standards that is.) your kindness is easily taken advantage of, even if you do realize it there is always forgiveness spared for the undeserving.

said kindness was extended to the quiet malleus.

surprise no surprise. he’s impeccably drawn to the sparkling aura you seem to exclude. malleus feels as though there are traces of familiar magic always hovering around you, like its embowed into your very being. a blessing would be a better word for it.

well, he’s just curious but if he were to ever ask he’d be met with the confirmation that you were, indeed blessed by the same three fairies your mother was blessed by (minus the curse… ironically he’s quite similar to the same lady that your mother loved and looked up to.)

he’s just fascinated. something as glittery as you, shiny like gold would’ve been whisked away to his nice tower, homey. he’d tell you. almost as if making its image seem heavenly. (lowkey highkey getting your consent for kidnapping)

animals always seem to flock around you everywhere you go, they sneak around to reach you. in your dorm, during lunch, even in class. there’s either a bird on your shoulder or a squirrel making itself comfortable atop your head. its a curious sight, critters don’t really like him much.

in short they run away, humans or animals alike are both afraid of his presence it seems.

so he’s incredibly still when you nudge an adorably round bird in his palm, peering at it with cautious eyes. tense as a statue lest it flies away.

cue staring contest.

he felt incredibly accomplished that day, and immersed him in the role of making this creature like him. leaving seeds, offering it the most sought off food from the valley, literally conjuring a small home for it. everything.

HE’S SO HAPPY.

malleus often asks of you to sing, perhaps its the blessing talking but its the most unique form of sound he’d ever heard in his life, the more he sings the more he wants to imbue his very being with the loveliness of your song.

always following you around like a lost puppy (lizard?) any evil that actually wants to take advantage of your unfortunate naive desire for peace and kindness is scared away. although malleus would never want your interactions to be reduced entirely because of him, he only starts looking like a demon one he figures out their motive is less than fitting for you.

“yeah, the ingredients were to complicated for me to remember—”

“oh! perhaps i can help you?”

spots the demon behind you (just your lovely giant staring them to their grave.)

“you know what i actually got it— sorry for wasting your time.” you watch them, confused as they dip.

you look to him, as though to ask what just happened but he merely casts you an oblivious glance and shrugs.

favorite past time → coddling you in his dragon form.

he was doubtful whether he should pull through in actually showing it to you, since you were already such an angel towards him. would it be a stretch if he let a selfish desire get in the way? perhaps you’d get scared if you see how large he is there—or if he’s—

idia (rapunzel)

okay that amazed smile on you was totally worth it.

wow your hair is fire.

he should have never made a comment about it in the first place because now you’re completely confused about his reference, were you living in like… in isolation? a cave? you’re a little less worse than the scarabia’s dorm leader when it comes to being oblivious.

just two idiots miscommunicating, he atleast is trying to make an effort to explain that he doesn’t mean it literally but his wording is so bad that you get absolutely nothing from what he is trying to infer.

okay your hair though.

“why is that person stuck in that square!?”

good thing ortho was near cause you almost charged towards a television and judging by the, pan!? in your grip you definitely would have smashed the screen trying to be righteous and rescue the character.

okay then. 1. don’t let you near electronics, specifically when its playing something.

you are a literal danger to his society. shivers

you’re always asking something like “what are those glowing balls on the ceiling?” those are lights… “why is that thing speaking?!” that’s a speaker… “why is it on fire?” oh that’s his hair, he doesn’t really know either it was just like that.

it does feel a little nice to get asked like that and he’d know the answer (its literally the most common knowledge ever but whtv)

EPIC! idia is now trying to figure out how resistant your hair is. its literally like, the most OP shield there is!

at first he had some reservations. like, used a knife once and was flabbergasted when it came back in half. your hair didn’t even move an inch. then he got motivated and tried a sharper sword, longer, and larger of course. he let ortho handle it cause he probably would have stabbed himself.

“wtf.”

flinches cause the half of the sharp end came completely off and stabbed right beside his head onto the wall.

what are the limits of it?! had some doubts before using one of the tech he came up with, it could literally cut through a diamond and he isn’t sure if its entirely safe but you’re all for it cause you were always curious whether your hair could even get cut in the first place.

anyway you’re way too happy to be near a lazer that could obliterate you and its kinda infecting him. yikes.

less than happy cause the lazer literally got reflected by your hair and hit itself so it’s just gone.

on the bright side he can use you as a scapegoat (in a good way)

alright. 2. don’t enrage you unless he wants to experience getting hit by a pan really hard.

wow. he felt that for days.

maybe its the hit or he’s just feeling a little woozy whenever you’re around.

definitely the pan.

vil (mulan)

bold x shy couple

pretty x pretty defender

he’s used to people heeding his suggestions but damn, are you a stubborn one.

not only have you not listened to his propositions for becoming a more refined person (cause the way you held yourself was too.. much for him to ignore, and it bothered him for a long time until he decided to help you.) but he can respect you, he supposes. not a lot of people can stay true to themselves.

it seems like epel, the boy himself has taking a liking to you. no wonder he’s been becoming more rebellious lately.

vil would never stoop so low to purposely direct someone advice that would change their entire self, decimate their unique traits. but all he told you was out of the goodness of his heart, if you’d be less clumsy of your ways your reputation would be better for the long run.

not being respected amongst nrc is never a good thing.

still, you’re still headstrong. never too overconfident, nor cocky. just a humble soul, that’s rare so he tends to stick by you if he ever wanted an honest opinion cause people just tell him what he wants to nowadays. vil never enjoyed the biased remarks.

more often than not he enjoys making your already pretty face, prettier than it is.

finds out you’re no bark and all bite, he never even knew you could take down someone who has an advantage over you in physical terms. come on, its savanaclaw. apparently the guy had spared him an unsavory comment and (apparently, in your defense. only told him a few words, got attacked so it was self defense.)

it came a surprise to him. seeing as you’re generally relaxed in nature, your military prowess a mystery to most since you seemed content with resorting matters with peace. though you seem to lack more restraint when it comes to your close relationships.

vil scolding you in the infirmary (you don’t have a scratch, and the guy whose pride you handed back to is in some corner lamenting cause he can hear you guys.) and you just taking it.

contrary to how you first treated to each other. you seem to be more prone to his opinions, or suggestions the more you progress with each other. he admits maybe he was too outright in his manner of speaking the first time, but it only highlights the change you’d gone through with each other.

you’re the perfect doll, in a way. not in a demeaning way or anything but its so satisfying to him to use products on your face just for the sole reason that you sit so still. his absolute favorite past time is skin care together even if you mostly just follow his lead.

you and epel must be kindred spirits, once he was on his way to retire to the indoors of pomefiore. seeing as it started raining, heavy so it meant it would stay for a while. and then paused when he spotted you both sharing words.

and planting apple seeds in the rain? both of you are stained with the rain, some dirt and mud alike. and vil had never looked so mortified. so just cause you don’t protest when he cares for you doesn’t mean you’re bothered by getting dirty he guesses.

“you both… clean yourselves up, i’ll brew medicine lest you fall under the weather.” ← disappointed sigh.

kalim (jasmine)

ended up waiting for you both to finish under the covers and ushered you both to baths.

you have a tiger!

just living char x their absolute biggest stan

wow you have a tiger.

did he mention you have a tiger?

majority of nrc knows not to mess with you haha, if it’s not obvious already with the seemingly lax tiger that behaves like some sort of overgrown cat following you around and growls at someone when you aren’t looking.

then you always raise a brow at the people who tell you otherwise. “bab doesn’t bite.”

kalim is lowkey highkey their biggest fan, i mean. jamil is having the worst year of his life dragging kalim away wherever you seem to be because the first apparent instinct of the boy is to try to pet the tiger cause it’s ‘cute’.

at some point jamil had to investigate your routine throughout the day, what you do, where you go at specific times like after classes conclude to make sure kalim doesn’t cross path with you.

well, not necessarily you but rather your… tiger. which is hard, honestly. you seem to visit scarabia a lot for a reason unknown. jamil would be suspicious you’d be planning something but all you really do is stay out on the balcony with your companion.

but alas, fate would have it otherwise.

“hi,” kalim blurts before he could remember his friend’s warning. you turn, along with your… also friend who watches him closely. you blurt out a greeting back, seeing as it’s courtesy, you seem to be amused at his fascinated eyes staring at your tiger.

“want a pet?” you offer, bab making sounds of protest.

jamil almost had a heart attack seeing the two of you attached by the hip, only calming down a few weeks later. seeing as your companion wouldn’t pose as much danger as he assumed, seeing as the tiger’s protectiveness started extending to the ray of sunshine.

rich couple ig. everyone overhears your conversations and doubles over. “i had a small statue of gold made for bab, for you.” and then a; “oh, thanks. but we already have a lot at home. hmm…”

actually it’s not really the manner of being attached, more like two following you. kalim, and then your cutie pie tiger.

your reserved nature in particular greatly contrasts kalim, yapper x listener i guess. although the object of his interest was initially because of bab, he might as well be another overgrown cat of yours cause he seems to love touch.

its concerning cause bab themselves felt challenged for your affection and when they spotted kalim’s head nestled on your lap they ‘accidentally’ kick him off.

in a way you seemed untouchable, pet included. you don’t seem to mind kalim much, people might even go as far as to say you enjoy his company. occasionally the vice of his dorm as well, the three of you have this sort of aura that screams ‘don’t approach’

said aura is in the form of a very big cat.

azul (ariel)

one time you admitted to having not much friends and three heads turned towards you. face twisted incredulously.

he doesn’t know why but you looked like you went through ten stages of grief (3 more cause the 7 definitely wasn’t enough.) when you took a glance at him, during the time you were looking around, you almost went past him, actually. but then doubled back immediately.

that’s concerning.

morally suspicious (devil in disguise) x angel

azul often asks your opinions out of habit, he himself isn’t even sure when it started but he considers you a factor in decisions. though he does prefer to keep you out certain… endeavors of his away entirely, no need to concern your innocence in his doings.

as such he often uses the twins to steer you away from trouble cause you seem to have no sense for it whatsoever, whenever there’s a fight brewing instead of walking off you stride closer. curious to whatever was happening.

and, you believe too easily apparently.

jade had held you by your shoulders and directed you away from the fight before the dispute reached you and inevitably dragged you in. “why are they fighting?”

he replied. “ah, well. they inhaled an unpleasant shroom and got affected.” your mortified face spoke you believed him. human culture! you thought.

your brain should be inspected honestly. floyd told him all about the pile of stuff you had “found” in your dorm, ranging from innocent collectibles to items that brought the question of whether or not they were really yours but you didn’t really claim otherwise, just that you found em’ so no more questioning.

azul doesn’t even wanna know why you started staring at mushrooms like they were a mortal enemy of all living forms. speaking of, the three of them didn’t even consider that you could be from the sea as well. seeing as, well. you have two feet, even if they have the same.

besides the fact you’re too clumsy for your own good you sure had no fear when you leapt overboard during a field trip cause a trinket that caught your eye fell and gave the entirety of the attendants a heart attack. floyd had patted him on the back and wishes him condolences.

also the shock of the century when you emerged, pretty tail and all. holding it the trinket up like you just found it the most fascinating thing on the globe.

since then underwater dates were a thing. which took a lot of prompting honestly, you didn’t know he was a merman either, curiously asking him what kind he was. in nature, you were persistent. like a need to sate your questions so he eventually relented.

even then, it took a while before he let you see the form. ← to his fluster you seemed engrossed in this form of his. swimming around him and asking questions.

now azul also have a small pile of items hidden in a box beneath his bed, all from you. which, upon being opened would be mistaken for unused items since its literally random stuff, and a concerning favor towards forks.

oh yeah. sometimes the tweels crash your date.

you could be in his office, going about your business. chilling on his couch and playing with one of your treasures and be completely unaware of the ominous discussion ongoing within the three about anemones? contracts?

“what are you guys talking about?”

“hairstyles for azul.”

“what—”

“ooh. i can brush his hair so you can style it!” pulls out a fork.

leona (belle)

“oh my sevens, WAIT—”

i was having a crisis trying to think of a dynamic so why not just, beauty x beast.

leona is less than pleased to admit he doesn’t like you much. or atleast, he used to. it was clear his feelings of you was reciprocated, based on the uninterested side glances you cast him. your type, well liked, pristine, proper, and informed reminds him all to well of what mold he was forced into. though it never really fit.

you on the other hand, just dislike him in general. more pointedly as to how he acted, too self righteous in your opinion. he sure spends a lot of time moping about how he could have been king when he’s acting like he’d be a terrible one. you’d say it to his face but even you aren’t too crude.

if you’re both looking at the bright side though, you’d probably prefer each other’s company above others. you’re quiet, perfect for napping around. he’s surprisingly true to himself, his morals aren’t too bad either.

as such, to your disdain he now naps in the library. which you had titled your own space, but he didn’t really just care.

relatively you’re a lot more cool headed than he is, you told him concerns about his laziness which he weaved through. after opening up with each other… well you know how it goes.

okay, fine. you no longer berate leona for napping at the public space, quickly shut up when he threatened you. “i’m gonna tell you the real reason ‘m here nowadays if you don’t calm down. and it ain’t the peace i’m here for.” he eyes you, and you shut up after that.

leona doesn’t know if he should be amused or annoyed at the fact that you stand up to whatever he says. ‘that’s rude,’ this. ‘are you out of your mind?’ that. at some point where he doesn’t wanna admit, leona had disliked seeing you upset (particularly towards him) that he started listening.

at others is a different story though. he will gladly watch you shut down someone else.

sometimes he makes weird remarks, like. “throw an egg at them, who knows might hatch into a chick and give them the company they’ve been lacking.” ← just bullies random people while you defend them. “what? don’t be stupid, eggs that are sold don’t hatch into chicks.”

you often lament in his arms, regretting ever coming near his sleeping frame cause next thing you know you’re subjected to prison, and you had accidentally dropped the book you were reading so even if you try to reach for it he’s pulling you back.

will reach for it if you ask tho lol.

just one look from you has him suddenly behaved tbh.

bothers your productive time by crashing it with his opposite word of productive idk im to lazy to check. more often than not tramples over your things, but always looks dead to life when you end up scolding him heavily.

also kicks out the animals that gravitate towards you for some reason, got jealous of a bird nestled in your hair once cause apparently you paid too much attention to it.

apparently told ruggie to fetch books for you when you’re running out, at that point you might actually milk the nrc library with how fast you burn through them.

“you’re not even from here, what do—”

“actually. originally from times before, they—”

riddle (cinderella)

got lectured about history, eugh.

easy to fluster x enthusiastic and sweet

how are you so nice.

you’ve got most of the population of nrc enamored with your natural charm alone, though some do tend to mock you. unfortunately they aren’t wrong, you really do fit in more at a different school like rsa with your personality.

i mean you fit the bill, kind, pretty, talks to animals.

good for you though. cause riddle would prefer a behaved student than a troublesome one anyway so he would definitely dig you lmao.

speaking of. he definitely goes to you whenever the hedgehogs are lost in the maze, or the flamingos just don't wanna step out the farther spot from the pond, somehow they love you in whatever you do.

as in, you spoke to the hedgehogs with a lower tone. almost like a coo, and he almost tells you to stop because that's the universal worse tone to talk to hedgehogs until... it nuzzles into you?!

flabbergasted, he can only watch.

sevens... you're just so pleasant to be around he could die.

at some point it felt like you were the epitome of being kind. riddle understand that the virtue was just embedded into you, letting others berate you for whatever... he even thought you were too kind for a place like nrc where the complete opposite traits are admired.

you are, but only to those who deserve it. riddle had the pleasure to spot you nitpicking a crude student and they looked like they were gonna burst into tears.

so... you knew what to say almost always. when troubled, he'd learn that it's best to talk to you cause you'd know what to say to ease his worries, when you're treated wrongly? sevens.. you also know what to say.

but, in a putting whoever in their place way?

(idk man I'm just rambling at this point lmao idk how to write a cinderella reader.)

riddle has grown accustomed to random critters breaking in the door. well, he was used to animals in the first place. or atleast thought he was when he opened a door in the dorm and almost yelled at the sight of a group of mice looking like they were having conspiracies.

a few weeks after that he knocked on doors before opening them.

was also very disturbed when you announced they were your friends.

I don't know. I feel like he'd lowkey be the type to write your name in a heart on the back of his notebook and straighten his face like: 'what in the world am I doing' but not erasing it anyways.

over time, your little 'friends' got used to him, and vice versa. at the very least he isn't screaming at their sudden visits, be it flying through the window or just popping out of something they climbed on.

who's screaming though are his dorm members, and he's found humors in the encounters.

"ah, thank you, myrcella." he nods gingerly, toward the very tiny white mice who seems to twirl around, touched by the thanks. the little thing was nice enough to carry the pen he'd been using to scribble down the main definitions he'd been copying from the textbook.

in the middle of reaching for a glass of water the door opens, riddle watches one of his residents striding in rambling. probably about to be exposed to the sight of a group of mice sleeping on top of each other atop a cushion he'd personally placed for them.

and maybe the birds. whom seemed comfortable by his small collection of plants.

"dorm leader, octavinelle stude—GAHHHH—"