#this is where i'm at and i'm quite comfortable

[helen-with-an-a]

could you write a jessie fleming x Putellas!sister!reader

reader is really shy and doesn't talk much so alexia thinks reader is still single but at the friendly match between canada and spain jessie gets fouled badly and reader sprints across the field do comfort her and be there for her

Hiiiii - so I'm combining this with another ask for a multi-part Jessie series and a little idea that has been floating around in my head. This is the first part of a multi-part blurb story that follows a loose timeline but is also not really. Each part is based on the 1 of the 5 senses plus a bonus. I hope you enjoy it.

Sight

Sight : Sound : Smell : Taste : Touch : Cryptaesthesia

Jessie Fleming x Putellas!Reader

Description: R sees Jessie for the first time

Word Count: 1.7k

Growing up with Alexia as your sister was hard. Not bad, not negative – just a constant ... challenge. It felt like being a part of something extraordinary but knowing you’d never be the star. Alexia was Alexia Putellas, a name that carried weight, a name that carried talent and recognition. You were just ... you. While Alexia’s accomplishments lit up the room, you often felt like you were always a beat behind, your achievements cloaked in her shadow. It was impossible not to feel the subtle comparisons, the whispered remarks about being “Alexia’s hermanita,” as if that alone defined you. You never scored as many goals or had as many trophies, everything you had ever done, Alexia had done before you. Make it into La Masia, play for Barça B, play for the first team, break into the national team, receive your first cap, your first goal for La Roja ... Alexia had done it all before, you had usually gone on to do even better things.

Maybe that’s why, when the chance came, you decided to say 'fuck it' and move to Chelsea. Ona was heading to Manchester, eager for a chance at some more playing time that just wasn't happening at Barcelona. You chose London, craving change – a place where you could define yourself, beyond your last name and your big sister. You were just twenty-two, still piecing together who you were outside of Alexia’s Hermanita, and yet here you were, packing up and moving to another country right in the middle of a global pandemic. The Blues had come knocking over the summer, Emma had seen videos of what you could do, of who you could be on the pitch. She had taken a chance in making the phone call, and you had taken a chance in saying yes.

It was daunting, nerve-wracking, exciting, all at once. You’d be alone, out of your comfort zone, away from family and everything familiar. A new language, new weather, different culture, new people. But maybe ... maybe that was exactly what you needed: a fresh start, a space to breathe without the shadows, a chance to be more than “just the hermana.” What was there to lose?

And then you saw her. Jessie.

She stood a little off to the side, almost as if she wasn’t sure she belonged there, but her presence filled the room all the same. Your eyes caught hers for just a second, and that was all it took. There was something about her that felt disarming and comforting all at once – a softness in her expression that drew you in like nothing else had since you’d arrived in London. You no longer felt the nip of the autumn air, you were no longer completely lost, surrounded by people you barely understood. You were ... you weren't quite sure what you were, but something had definitely shifted.

Her smile was shy, barely there, but it made your heart lurch as though you’d known her forever. She wore a slightly oversized Chelsea hoodie that made her look small and cosy. The sleeves were pulled over her hands, and she had a baseball cap perched on her head, tilting just enough to let wisps of hair escape. You could see her gaze flitting around, a bit uncertain, like she was trying to take everything in without being seen herself.

“Uh, hi,” Jessie said, her smile gentle as she extended her hand toward you. Her eyes met yours with quiet confidence, even though her cheeks were tinged with a soft pink.

“H-hi,” you replied, wincing a little at the way your English sounded, thick with the nervousness you couldn’t shake off. You’d spoken English so many times before, but something about this moment ... about Jessie ... made it feel clumsy, like you were learning the language all over again. You had a far better grasp of the language than Alexia had, one of the few things you could pride yourself on being better at, yet here you were, stuttering and stumbling over a simple word.

Jessie must have noticed your hesitance, because she gave you an encouraging smile and then took a deep breath, braving a few Spanish words herself. “Estoy encantad...o… encatada?”

You couldn’t help but smile at her effort, the way she scrunched her nose slightly, clearly uncertain of the words. It was charming and utterly adorable. “Encantada,” you corrected her gently, watching her try the word on her lips.

“Encantada,” she repeated, a little more confidently this time, her voice soft and almost musical as she looked up at you.

Then she took a breath, as if gathering herself, and said, “Estoy encantada de conocerte.”

It was imperfect, yet so endearing, and you felt your heart skip as her words hung in the air. It was a simple phrase, but it felt like the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“You are… Canadiense, sí?” you asked, testing the waters, wanting to know just a little bit more about her.

“Canadiense? Oh, Canadian?” Jessie’s face lit up as she caught on. “Yes, uh, sí.”

“Do ... you speak ... French?” you asked, each word slow and careful as you sifted through your English, hoping you hadn’t lost her.

Jessie laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, no. I don’t speak French, unfortunately. We had to learn it in school, but nothing really stuck. I didn’t try as much as I should have in the lessons…” She paused, a sheepish smile appearing as she realised she was rambling. “I just really didn’t care at the time, and now that I’m out of school – and out of Canada in general…” She trailed off, catching herself, cheeks going pink as she realised how fast she’d been talking. “Sorry,” she apologised, her voice a little softer, almost embarrassed.

You shook your head with a reassuring smile, though you’d only caught pieces of what she’d said. Truthfully, you hadn’t been concentrating much on the words themselves; you were too mesmerised by her expressions, by the way she talked and the way her mouth moved as she spoke.

Her hands twisted together, fingers nervously playing with the hem of her hoodie. Her chocolate-brown eyes sparkled with hints of light you couldn’t look away from. Every so often, her gaze darted back to you, checking if you understood, if she hadn’t lost you entirely, but to you, the details hardly mattered. You felt a warmth spreading through your chest, and you realised you’d never wanted to listen to anyone quite as much as you wanted to listen to her.

The first few weeks at Chelsea were a blur of excitement, nerves, and blushing uncontrollably whenever Jessie was around. It seemed like she could simply walk into a room, and your cheeks would betray you, heating up despite your best attempts to play it cool. Every time you were near her, words tangled in your mouth, your mind going blank as she flashed you that easy, shy smile. You’d catch yourself stealing glances, mesmerised by the smallest details – the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the quiet focus in her eyes, the subtle hints of laughter that danced on her lips when she was listening.

But on the pitch, Jessie was something else entirely. Watching her play was like watching art in motion. She moved with a confidence and skill that felt almost otherworldly, commanding every inch of space around her with a natural grace and intensity that left you breathless. You had seen good players before. You had watched Alexia win all of her accolades, but this ... Jessie was something entirely different.

You couldn’t help but be captivated by her. There was a beauty in her game that went beyond skill; it was something deeper, something raw and magnetic that had you spellbound.

“Hola,” Jessie greeted you with that soft smile, walking over as you both lingered in the changing rooms after training one afternoon.

“Hi, Jessie,” you replied, already feeling the blush rush to your cheeks.

She shifted her weight slightly, her fingers curling around the strings of her hoodie, a familiar gesture you’d noticed before – a nervous habit that only seemed to surface when she was around you. “I was wondering…” she began, her voice quiet, almost shy. Then, after a short breath, she asked, “Puedo invitarte a cenar alguna vez?”

The Spanish threw you, startling you out of your own thoughts. “Que?” you blurted automatically, your mind scrambling to catch up with what she’d just said.

Jessie’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she looked down, her gaze dipping as if she suddenly wished she could disappear. “Did I say that wrong?” she mumbled, her voice muffled with embarrassment. “Oh gosh, this is so embarrassing.” She shifted, her hands clutching her hoodie strings a little tighter. “I… I was trying… am trying…” She paused, taking a deep breath before looking up at you, eyes wide. “Could I maybe take you out to dinner sometime? Like… on a date… I don’t know.”

You felt a rush of warmth bloom in your chest, realising what she was asking.

“Sí,” you managed to say, a shy smile spreading across your face as warmth bloomed in your cheeks. “Uh … yes, Jessie, me encantaría eso.”

Jessie’s brow furrowed slightly as she tried to process your words. “You… encantar…?” she repeated, her expression a little puzzled, eyes full of that earnest concentration you found so endearing.

You chuckled softly, “I would like that.”

“Oh!” she said, her smile returning, wider and more certain now, her fingers finally letting go of her hoodie strings. There was a new spark in her eyes, a look of pure relief mixed with excitement, and it made your heart skip. She looked so genuinely happy, her gaze locking with yours in a way that made everything else fade into the background.

“Good,” she whispered, almost to herself, her smile turning soft and shy again. “Cool ... I … I’m really glad.”

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely

i was contemplating another one too i hope this doesn’t stress you out !! (please take your time, im quite a patient person) also it’s 3am rn i woke up in the middle of the night so yay

i dont know if it would work but one where it’s a secret relationship but randomly they (reader n spencer) just say eff it and go FULL pda (you can decide whether it’s like holding hands, making out or anything in between !!) in the bullpen / on the jet and everyone else just goes CRAZY

if it doesn’t work just ignore. i’ll get better ideas soon TRUST

yours truly

- 🐚

indifferent — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of being tired from a case, a/n: HIII 🐚 sorry if this took so long i'm not even gonna lie when i tell you i rewrote this like 6 times , i gave it my best - i still hope you like this <3333

The jet hummed softly beneath you as you sank into your seat, exhaustion clinging to you. The case had drained you—physically, mentally and emotionally. You sighed, letting your body melt into the plush leather, barely holding yourself upright.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled, eyes already half-lidded as you shifted in search of a comfortable position.

Just as your eyes fluttered shut, you heard the familiar sound of movement nearby. You cracked one eye open to see Spencer standing over you, carefully stowing your go-bag into the overhead compartment.

“It’s a long flight. You should sleep,” he said softly, settling beside you.

You hummed in response, too tired to argue. You felt the warmth of him beside you before you even opened your eyes again. His hand found your thigh without hesitation, his thumb beginning to trace slow, soothing circles through the fabric of your pants.

It was muscle memory at this point, something he did without thinking—whether you were curled up on the couch at home, sitting together in a car, or now, here, on the jet.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat, letting your body sink further into the soft leather. The jet was quiet, just the two of you. You glanced at Spencer, who mirrored your movement, his head resting against the seat, his warm brown eyes searching yours with a softness that made your heart flutter.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. The silence was comfortable.

With a sleepy smile, you mumbled, “Do you want to come over tonight?”

Spencer’s lips quirked up at the corners, a faint smile tugging at his tired features. Without hesitation, he nodded. That was all the confirmation you needed, and a warmth spread through your chest.

He reached up, his fingers barely brushing against your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The soft touch sent a shiver through you, and you leaned into it, resting your head on his shoulder.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of footsteps—the rest of the team making their way onto the jet. But Spencer didn’t move his hand from your thigh; his fingers continued to trace gentle patterns through the fabric. You turned to look at him in surprise, but he just smiled back at you, an expression so warm it made your heart skip a beat.

The others plopped into their seats in front of you, with Derek and Emily settling into the row just across from you.

“I’m so exhausted,” Emily sighed dramatically, rubbing her temples as she stared at the two of you. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary, clearly surprised by your closeness, the way you were cuddled together so easily. Derek raised an eyebrow, a knowing grin tugging at his lips.

Even Hotch and Rossi, making their way toward their seats at the back, glanced up quickly, their eyes meeting briefly before they turned away. But no one said anything.

Half an hour passed, and you still hadn’t managed to fall asleep. You sighed loudly, letting your head slump slightly against Spencer’s shoulder in frustration. It felt like your body wanted to rest, but your mind just wouldn’t quiet down.

Spencer noticed the shift in your mood. He looked down at you, brow furrowing slightly.

“Can’t fall asleep?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with concern.

You mumbled a tired “No...” and sighed again.

Spencer was already processing this, his brain working overtime, as it often did. His gaze drifted away for a moment and then, just like that, he launched into his usual ramble.

“You know, water is really effective for helping people fall asleep,” he began, tilting his head slightly. “It’s the hydration, really. It helps regulate your body’s temperature and keeps your nervous system functioning properly, which is essential for sleep. The brain needs hydration to produce melatonin. Oh, and the temperature of the water matters, too! Too cold or too hot, and it’ll have the opposite effect. Ideally, you want it lukewarm.”

You couldn’t help but smile, even in your tired state. You always loved how he would share his knowledge, no matter how random the topic.

He didn’t seem to notice how you were still half-dazed, his voice continuing as he leaned in slightly.

“And if you drink it right before bed, it helps slow down the body’s metabolism, which prepares you for sleep.”

"I didn't know that." You smiled, leaning into his shoulder again, your hand finding his.

“You want some water?” Spencer asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded sleepily. “Yeah... that sounds nice.”

Emily crossed her arms, her gaze flicking toward the direction Spencer had walked off in before settling back on you with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed, tilting her head. “We’re not that oblivious.”

You blinked innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Derek, who had been staring out the window with his headphones on just moments ago, now turned his full attention to you, an amused grin spreading across his face. He pulled his headphones down around his neck and glanced between you and Emily.

“So, let me get this straight,” Derek said, leaning forward slightly. “You expect us to believe that you and Pretty Boy over there just casually cuddle up on the jet like that?” He raised an eyebrow. “And that little thigh-touching thing? That’s just friendly behavior?”

Your face warmed, but you did your best to keep your expression neutral. “We were tired,” you reasoned.

Emily snorted. “Right. And I suppose if I go back there and ask Spencer, he’ll say the exact same thing?”

Your silence was enough of an answer.

Derek let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, I gotta say, I’m actually impressed. I didn’t think Reid of all people could pull off a secret relationship for this long.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Before you could respond, Spencer returned, holding a bottle of water in one hand and—predictably—a cup of coffee in the other. He slid back into his seat beside you, handing you the water with a small smile.

“Here, lukewarm. It’s the best temperature for—”

“Melatonin production, hydration, metabolism... I was listening, Doctor Reid. Thank you.” You shrugged with a wink, fully aware of how much he loved to share his knowledge.

Spencer’s eyes brightened as you took the bottle from him and sipped it. He always worried people weren’t paying attention, and it seemed like you’d just passed his test.

With a soft smile, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for just a moment too long before he reluctantly pulled away.

He turned back to face the rest of the team, his posture stiffening slightly as his gaze met Derek’s raised eyebrow and Emily’s wide, disbelieving eyes.

You could feel Spencer tense up beside you, and you couldn’t help but grin, leaning slightly against his shoulder as you watched the reactions unfold.

Derek chuckled, his disbelief evident. “Wow... Since when are you two...?” He trailed off, clearly caught off guard.

You tilted your head slightly, an innocent smile playing at the corners of your lips. The whole team had always been close, but no one had ever suspected that you and Spencer had been quietly keeping a secret relationship. Of course, that secret wasn’t exactly a secret anymore.

You could feel the gaze of Rossi and Hotch from across the aisle, both men just as silent but sizing up the situation. You almost swore you saw Rossi’s lips twitching in amusement.

Maybe they’d already known, maybe they’d suspected it.

"Penelope is going to have a field day with this," Emily muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing as she gave you a pointed look.

You smiled. Penelope would certainly have plenty of fun with this.

Under the table, your hand reached for Spencer’s, fingers intertwining gently as you squeezed his hand in reassurance.

Derek let out another low chuckle, clearly amused. “You two have been sneaking around long enough. I should’ve seen this coming.”

You turned to Derek, narrowing your eyes playfully. “We didn’t exactly sneak around, Derek. We just weren’t broadcasting it to the whole world.”

Derek’s grin turned mischievous again. “Well, I’ll say this much... if you two are gonna go public, I want an invite to the wedding.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging Spencer with your shoulder. “You’re impossible, Derek.”

You let out a quiet, playful sigh, shrugging your shoulder casually as you twirled Spencer's fingers between your own.

You glanced up, meeting Hotch’s usually stoic eyes. For a brief second, you swore you saw the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

And with that, the playful teasing continued, but you didn’t mind. Because, with Spencer next to you, everything felt exactly as it should.

[sematarygirls]

 📖 ─── a cluttered scrapbook: send in any thoughts on any of the characters below for a blurb .ᐟ

omg hello congratulations??? literally love your blog sm. you’re writing is peak and so perf. i was thinking, we all know rafe is a “proactive” type of person (or so he says). so how would he react to reader giving him the silent treatment after she found out something? (maybe he was doing cocaine again after she explicitly asked him not to anymore???) and what antics would he use to get reader talking to him??

once again, congratulations to you. you deserve so much!!! so proud of you <3333

thank you so much !! i'm so sorry it took so long to get to this </3

cw: dark rafe, manipulation, controlling behavior, threats of self harm

Rafe hates the silent treatment. It feels like a slap in the face. After everything he's done for you, you can't even give him the basic respect of talking things out?

He had done a great job of hiding his ongoing cocaine addiction after you'd threatened to break up with him if he didn't stop. He absolutely couldn't stand ultimatums, being backed into a corner, but he also couldn't lose you, so he promised he would quit and get clean, even pretending to go off to a rehab facility for a month—during which he was actually going on a month-long bender in a fancy hotel up in California.

And his lies had worked. For months, he hid his addiction, leading you to believe that he was finally clean and that he had done it for you.

But then, you dropped your phone one night at his house, and it had found its way under his bed. Leaning down to retrieve it, you pushed up the bottom of his comforter and found yourself greeted by the sight of a wooden box you'd seen before—the very one you had watched Rafe throw away before he went off to "rehab".

With shaky hands, you opened the box and found yourself staring at a baggie of white powder, a substance you knew all too well.

"What are you doing?" Rafe's voice came from the doorway, sharp and defensive. He knew he had been caught, but his mind was already swirling with blame for you rather than accepting the consequences of his own actions. Why were you snooping around his room? Did you not trust him?

You looked up at him, your mind running a million miles a minute as a plethora of emotions overwhelmed you at once. You didn't want to talk to him. You could barely even stomach looking at him right now, so without a word, you grabbed your phone from where it had fallen and stood up abruptly.

He caught your arm as you tried to leave. "Oh, we're doing this now? Real mature," he scoffed at your behavior. You were being dramatic, childish even, by subjecting him to the silent treatment instead of trying to talk this out like adults.

You simply pulled your arm back from him roughly, not meeting his gaze as you pushed past him and hurried down the stairs. He should've followed you, but his pride and ego stopped him. You would come crawling back, apologizing for how you acted. He was sure of it.

But, you didn't. Days went by without a word, and he started to get antsy, started to spiral as paranoia overtook him. You were his. How dare you ignore him? Were you off with another guy? Were you with your awful Pogue friends? He couldn't stand not knowing where you were and having you with him every minute.

At first, he tried to manipulate his way out of it by feigning an apology and ending it with a guilt trip, texting you things like "Okay, I messed up, but you just shutting me out? That's fucked up. Just talk to me, baby," and "It's not like I was doing it all the time. I mean, cmon, are you really gonna throw everything away over this? It's nothing."

When you refused to be won over so easily, seeing right through his tactics, he would start showing up wherever you were—home, work, the beach, anywhere you were, he was there too, desperately trying to intimidate you into talking to him with his piercing gaze and menacing stance.

He would corner you, trying to force a reaction out of you. "So what, you're just going to act like I don't exist?" He'd ask harshly before softening, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his knuckle lightly grazing your cheek as he did. "C'mon, baby, I know you miss me, miss us." He could see the resolve in your eyes crumbling and it made him feel powerful and triumphant, but before you opened your mouth to speak, Kiara swept in, grabbing your arm and tugging you away from Rafe as she shot a glare in his direction.

This infuriated Rafe. Typical Pogue, always sticking their nose where it doesn't belong and fucking up his life.

From there, he attempted sending you expensive gifts with notes like "Just talk to me, baby. Let me fix this," and when that didn't work, he turned to threats, saying he would hurt himself or you if you didn't hear him out.

Finally, he showed up to your house in the middle of the night, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, pupils dilated. You hesitated but decided to open the door, and when you did, you felt guilty for ignoring him for so long. He looked absolutely wrecked like he hadn't eaten or slept in days. He was clenching and unclenching his jaw, leaning against the doorframe and peering down at you. His presence was heavy, the air thick with tension as neither of you spoke.

"Let me in," he demanded. His fingers twitched at his sides before he rubbed them over his jaw. "I just—fuck, I don’t even know what to do anymore, baby." His large frame blocked the doorway, making you feel small as his eyes darted wildly. You felt a mix of guilt and fear stir in your stomach. "You’re just gonna keep pretending I don’t exist? Really?" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "’Cause if you don’t talk to me now, I swear to God, I’ll—" He stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he stared at you with hardened eyes, the threat clear. You knew he meant it.

"Rafe..." You said quietly, your voice trembling slightly as you looked up at him with wide eyes, feeling like you were looking at someone you didn't recognize.

His lips quirked up in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s all I needed, baby. Just needed to hear your voice," he whispered, stepping forward to invade your space and force you backward so he could come inside. "Y'know, I'd do anything for you, right?" He asked, the question rhetorical as he reached out to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "I’ve been losing my fucking mind without you. I won't lose you. I can't lose you, alright? I-I need you. You're mine, you got that? You can't just walk away. You can't just ignore me. I won't let you."

[sissylittlefeather]

Daddy Loves His Baby

A/N: I was feeling some type of way earlier and I just wrote this half as a comfort to myself and half because people keep reading Daddy Likes His Football. So this is yet another part, but this one is a little... sweeter?

Here is part 1, and here is part 2.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~1.3k

“Honey, what’re you doin’ in here?” Elvis cracks the door and peeks into the room you share. It's dark despite the sunset outside and as his eyes adjust, he sees the lump that must be you in the bed. “Are you asleep?”

“No.” You sigh deeply and roll over onto your side, trying to hide the fact that you were crying.

“You been up here all day?” You close your eyes and cringe internally. You have, in fact, been in this bed all day long and he's just now noticing. He's busy, you know that, and you're being a little overdramatic, but it still hurts. Especially in your current state of mind.

“Yeah.” It’s barely audible, so he walks further into the room, looking down at you in the bed. You have these moods sometimes, and hell, so does he, but this seems to be worse than normal. He stands and stares at you, trying to decide just how firm he wants to be with you. You're an angel when he gets like this, but quite frankly, he's a little annoyed. He buys you everything you could ever want, gives you whatever you need, and is only ever a little grumpy about it.

“What's the problem?” It comes out a little harsher than he intends and you flinch.

“I dunno, Elvis. I'm just… sad.” He wants to roll his eyes so badly, but he holds back.

“Honey, you have no reason to be–”

“I know that!” You snap at him for the first time ever and it completely catches him off guard. “But you don't either and I put up with your bullshit moods all the time!”

You have no idea where this anger is coming from. Elvis is the love of your life and taking care of him is your joy, even when he's down. But right now you just want to be left alone to wallow in self-pity.

He purses his lips and shakes his head. A sad mood is one thing, but you need to remember who you belong to.

“Enough.” In two strides, he's next to you, yanking the covers off of you unceremoniously.

“Elvis!” You holler, but he ignores you, picking up your body easily and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Ya been in bed long enough. No more feelin’ sorry for yourself.” He carries you to the bathroom as you kick and yell and pound on his back with your tiny ineffectual fists. You gasp as he plops you on the lid of the toilet and then walks to the shower to start it up.

“What are you doing?! I don't wanna shower!” He continues to ignore you, checking the temperature and coming back over to you to undress you. You protest verbally, but let him strip you naked.

“You always feel better when you're wet, one way or another.” He's not wrong. There are two things that'll cheer you up without fail: sex and water. Maybe it's the Pisces in you. And you don't seem to be too eager to fuck him, so he decides a shower is the next best thing. You scoff and harumph as he moves you under the water.

“This isn't helping.” You sound like a petulant child now and he does roll his eyes this time.

“Shut up and wait for daddy.” He starts to pull his clothes off as you stand in the shower pouting. Eventually, you feel him move in behind you and sigh despite yourself. The water does feel really good and knowing he's naked behind you is just enough of a distraction from your mood. You turn to face him and lean your head back into the stream of water, moaning softly. He suppresses a smile at how quickly you seem to be coming back to life. It comforts him to know that he knows you this well. His relationships are never easy, but with you it feels like it's worth whatever he has to put up with. You drive him crazy in the best way possible and he loves you more than he's ever loved anyone before. He puts his hands on your hips and moves closer to you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You like this?”

You're quiet for a bit, just enjoying the sensation of his hands and mouth on you, but eventually you sigh and whisper, “yeah.”

He puts your arms on his shoulders and presses his body against you. Thinking about how much you mean to him has his cock hard where it pushes against you.

“You want daddy to make it all better?” You nod, your bad mood completely forgotten as your center radiates heat on his leg. “Good girl.”

He turns and presses your back up against the shower wall, dropping to his knees in front of you. You moan loudly and your eyes roll back as he shoves his tongue into your pussy. Usually it's you on your knees, so this is a welcome change.

“Fuck, daddy…” Your hand goes to the front of his hair as he eats you like a man starved. His tongue swirls your clit and then he sucks on it lightly, determined to make you cum as quickly as possible. He slides his long middle finger up inside you, curling it against your g-spot as he licks you. You feel your orgasm approaching you and your legs tremble with anticipation. He feels your walls start to flutter and grumbles into you.

“Cum for daddy, baby.” You listen to him and moan again as your climax washes over you, pounding in your veins and lighting you up like a firecracker. He groans as he feels you pulse around his finger and then pulls back, standing up. You lean against the wall, shaking and panting as he lifts one of your legs and bends his knees to line his cock up with your entrance. “Be a good girl and let daddy fuck you until he fills up this sweet little pussy.”

“Yes, daddy…” You whimper as he pushes inside you, grunting. He holds the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your lips as he picks up a steady pace, fucking into you faster and harder as the shower water mixes with the sweat on both of your bodies.

“Whose baby are you?” He growls, his cock sliding in and out of you.

“Yours, daddy.” You moan, reveling in the power with which he slams into you.

“And does daddy love his baby?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer, pressing his lips to yours and pushing his tongue into your mouth. When he finally does pull back, he puts his forehead on yours, thrusting deeper into you. “Does he?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And daddy will always take care of her and make her happy?” You nod furiously and he moans. “Fuck. Daddy loves you, baby.”

He closes his eyes and fills you one last time, trembling as he shoots you full of cum and you lose control, another release vibrating in between your hips. You slump against him and he holds you steady, kissing your forehead gently. The steam curls around you and for a while there is nothing but the sound of your breathing as your heart rate normalizes.

“I love you too.” You murmur against his chest. He runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your temple. It's amazing how safe and at-ease you feel now, considering your mood from earlier. But that's just the effect he has on you, that you have on each other. He is your home, your peace. You love to tease him, but you'd never want to be without him. He reaches around you and converts the shower to a bath, laying down with you in his arms.

“You feel better?” He holds you, stroking your arm gently. You can be a real brat sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he wouldn't trade you for anything.

“Yeah. Thank you.” You sigh again and settle against him, snuggling into the hair on his chest.

He kisses the top of your head and smiles softly. “Any time, baby. Any time.”

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222

[pomefioredove]

Hear me out....

Yuu writing a book were the "hero" is just Vil. Like, keeps up the cold professional stunt but cares so much and slowly unravels to be more- not genuine, just more comfortable with the people around him and himself y'know?

Anyway Vil promoting the book (Or it going viral on it's own) and Yuu gets like- a movie deal. (The contract goes through multiple revisions from Yuu, Rook, Azul, Riddle etc.) They only accept on the condition that Vil gets to play the hero.

So imagine Vil just being so proud of Yuu because they wrote a whole book! And they're getting all the attention and admiration they deserve and they feel good.

He picks up a call from his agent or whatever one day, telling him about this brand new movie based on a viral book. Vil asks what book, he's busy with school (going to Ramshackle to watch Yuu get flustered when they read nice reviews on their book). His agent tells them it's for Yuu's movie and they specifically asked for him, though the budget wasn't as big as other movies so if he wanted to demand a higher pay it's totally understandable- And Vil just interrups her, asks her what role it is. Yuu didn't think the villain character would suit him. ...Did they?

His agent tells him it's for the hero, not his usual role so totally understandable if he doesn't want it- It's so diferrent from what he's always done- Vil immediately accepts. He tells her to call the studio right now and tell them to not even think of letting one else audition.

He hangs up- debates if he should calm Yuu or re-read the book to make sure he wasn't going crazy- And calls Yuu, demanding an explanation.

Yuu tells him that yeah they did base the character on him, and that part of the reason they wanted to write the book was so that Vil could have a chance at being in a movie where he could be the hero one day. They weren't expecting it to be so soon but...

And Vil just stands quite for a bit, baffled at how??? Adorable and determined and sweet and ridiculous and considerate and amazing and all this things his partner is. He tells them he'll be over at Ramshackle in half a hour and they should be ready for the consequences of their actions. (Marriage)

Idk man writing a whole book for your partner so there's a CHANCE that'll get turn into a movie and he'll star in it and fulfill his lifelong dream is some "I'll be devoted to you for the rest of my life kind of shit"

Ps. You can tell the entire book by the descriptions and writing that the author lives this "hero" so much.

Idk just a VilYuu fanfic thought I've had since book 6

Dropping my VilYuu fanfic ideas in the number one VilYuu inbox is terrifying but whatever I've done it befire an I'm too tired to funtion or fell so whatever ✨✨✨ Whatever go my scarab/ref Mentallity unlocks at sleep defficiency

this is really beautiful though... oh to write a book that people read and like... that's the dream, romance aside lol

this is very cute and I like it very much!!! I really like muse x artist with vilyuu too and this really captures that (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ when the when the the when the love is so profound you can't hold it all and it makes a home in everything you create

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Bro, I really need, please, Mustaine from Woodstock, tired, to make me give him a blowjob (roughly), please

A/n: I think I peaked with this fic

Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving), size kink, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You loved your boyfriend, not just because he was hot but because he was genuinely the sweetest man; he'd help you make food, he'd cook when you were sick, he'd help clean the house, he loved you so purely. However, he was still really fucking hot.

You sat at the sidelines of the stage, eyeing him closely in his plain white tank and light grey sweats. You loved every inch of him, and there were a lot of inches.

Dave was taller than you by quite a bit, he'd always use you as an arm rest. If he had to squeeze past you in the kitchen he'd grab your hips and move you himself, if you had trouble reaching something he'd more often than not just lift you up instead of getting it himself.

He knew how much you loved his muscles, and he went out of his way to remind you of them.

His long hair was frizzy, having not washed it in a few days, tours were always like this. It didn't matter to you much, he still looked gorgeous in your eyes, the light glinting off his plush lips. God blessed this white man a full set, and not just referring to his lips.

The tank was tight, stretching over his chest, perky nipples making small shadows. His broad shoulders and firm muscles had your gaze for a while, but nothing compared to his sweats.

They were baggy, sure, but that didn't stop you from finding the little details. He wore them because they were comfortable, never having been one for fashion, and he was definitely comfortable.

You were at the perfect angle to see his cock swinging around in the loose fabric.Dave really didn't move about the stage much, but you caught it every time, every little shift it's where your eyes went first.

You loved watching Megadeth performing, not just for Dave, but watching Dave had your panties getting slick.

You didn't stay for the encore, rushing to his dressing room. You waited on the couch, hand moving eagerly as you waited but it wasn't enough. Thinking of Dave just made you want him more, you wanted him to fuck you so good and deep, you didn't want to walk for a month, you'd get on stage with him if it meant getting his dick faster.

All those eyes on you, watching how good he made you feel, watching you come undone while his fingers worked away on the six strings.

Finally the door opened and Dave smiled at you, letting out a heavy sigh as he sulked over and plopped down beside you. "Needy, darling?" He asked, though it was more of statement. You nodded nonetheless and leaned into him.

"Need it so bad, Davie." You mused, not hesitating to reach for his clothed cock. He let out a low groan as you palmed him, kissing your temple.

"Can you do it? The work, I mean... I'm tired." His words were mumbled but he could see how desperate you were, and who was he to deny you when you looked at him like that.

You nodded, biting your lip as you slipped off the couch onto your knees in front of him. Dave spread his legs and lifted his hips so you could get his sweats off. Of course he'd gone commando.

His half hard cock sprung free, kind of, it stood up but it was just as tired as the rest of him. Dave let out a heavy sigh as you stroked him, his head falling back onto the couch, his arms resting on the back cushions as well.

It was times like this when you felt the smallest, any time you were intimate really. You always knew you were smaller than him, but when he was hovering over you, trailing kisses down your body, when his fingers were buried deep, tickling inside you. Times when he made you see heaven and back, that's when you felt the smallest, and he was oh so big and protective. Just the thought had you clenching around nothing.

You eagerly took the girthy, blushing tip into your mouth, wrapping your lips around him. He'd worn down your gag reflex but you still usually started slow. Not tonight, you buried your nose in his ginger fluff at the hilt, inhaling deeply all the sweat that had gathered there.

You almost didn't want to move, happy to just cock warm him, but you wanted to watch his slit leaking with cum. You went fast, as fast as you could go without snapping your neck, not that you'd be apposed to going out this way. Your tongue swirling around him, tracing the veins along the underside.

God, you could do this all day just to hear his pretty little sounds. "Fuck, just-just like that." He purred, his head rolling back again when he tried to look down at you. His cheeks were flushed, pink leading down his neck.

You brought your hand up, fingers dipping under the hem of his shirt. You pushed it up, revealing his toned stomach, though he was relaxed and therefore just a little pudgy. Your fingers found his chest, cupping it just like he did with your tits, and just like he did with your tits, you started toying with his nipple, finally getting what you'd been wanting since he got on stage.

The lights weren't on him anymore, this was as real as he could be; eyes lidded, lips parted slightly as soft moans filtered past them. Dave's breathing was heavy, you did nothing to slow your pace.

Dave brought his own hand up to his chest, pinching and rolling his other nipple with his calloused fingers. It was enough to make you cum, if only. It definitely had an affect on him, his moans getting higher and his hips rolled up, pushing his cock further down your throat.

He couldn't stop, so close to cumming and everything was feeling so good, your lips wrapped around his girth, tongue moving on him, fingers on his chest. He was pulsing down your throat, so close.

Dave used his free hand to tug on your hair, forcefully pulling you away. His hand took over the role of your mouth, moving faster than you could. You heard the soft, whiny little breaths he let out, tears welling in his eyes as his hips bucked helplessly into his hand, aching for release.

His breath caught in his throat and cum shot from his pre-leaking slit, landing on your face or the floor. His eyes fluttered and his jaw dropped in ecstasy.

His hand fell from his now limp dick and he fell back onto the couch, his breathing heavy and his body spent. You stood up, crawling onto the couch and straddling his lap.

"You made a mess~" You purred, kissing him tenderly.

He moaned into the kiss, hands finding your hips and resting there. "Guess it's time for a shower, huh?" He mumbled against you, barely pulling away from the kiss.

"Finally." You teased, he gave your ass a gentle pat.

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Finding Masterlist here

Summary: After a failed engagement, you move back home and reconnect with your friends. Maybe, just maybe you can find love with someone you never expected.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Swearing, Cheating (Not Yoongi), Fighting, Protected/Unprotected Sex, Toxic Past Relationship,

Genre: Enemies(?) to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers, Small Town romance. Hurt-Comfort, Slight Angst, Romance

A/N: Okay, I was able to separate my original chapter 9. I'm pretty impressed by what I pulled out at the last minute. However, I have no clue about next week. Wish me luck.

The music was loud, and you lost your red cape hours ago after you took it off after you started to feel overheated. Your red skirt swayed and swished around your thighs as you moved around Jimin's place, looking for your friends. His small place was quite packed with people that you didn't know, and honestly, you didn’t want to get to know them. You were sure they were probably nice, but after your last attempt to make new friends left a bad taste in your mouth, you just avoided new people like the plague. Squeezing yourself through the throngs of people, you smile in relief when you spot Joon and Hobi talking in the kitchen.

“Where's Yoongi?” You shout over the music to Hobi and Joon as you tug the top of your dress up. The thin, delicate red straps at your shoulders were tied in a bow. Unfortunately, they are not doing their job in holding your corseted red and black top up.  “He's not answering my texts. I thought he would be here by now.” 

“He had to meet with our lawyer,” Joon answers, shouting back as he slightly leans down toward your ear so you can hear him.

“Did something happen?” you asked, concerned. 

“No, no,” Hobi says, easing your worries while shaking his head at you. “Everythings good. He just needed some paperwork filled out.”

Before you can continue the conversation, Tae comes around to your side, pushing a red solo cup of green liquid at you. You give it a quick sniff trying to see if you could tell what is in it. No luck, but it did smell really sweet. 

“Goblin juice,” he answers your unasked question. “It's just juice and vodka. Come on, let's dance.”

You didn't even get the chance to drink it before he grabbed your hand and pulled you into Jimin's living room that is currently serving as the dance floor. Jungkook stood in front of the television, singing karaoke in front of a crowd of giggling women trying to capture his attention. His talented voice was almost drowned out by the blaring background music. He was so focused on hitting the right notes that you don't think he even noticed the women.  Tae spins you around. You laugh and follow his lead as his limbs flail about to a beat of their own. You haven't had this much fun in so long. You're pretty sure it was way before you met Changkyun. Back when you felt like you had to change who you were for him.  You smile widely and let go, letting the rhythm of the music and Kook's vocals guide your body. Your hair moves in every direction as you sway your head back and forth with your eyes closed.

A warm body presses against your back. Your head turns slightly to see it's only Jimin, and you continue your carefree dance. Tae, who was dancing in his own little world, joins you once again, sandwiching you between the two of them. To anyone outside, it probably looked like something else. Something scandalous, as you are pressed flush against your two friends. To you, it was safe. It was you having fun and being free without any worries. It felt amazing.

“I got her from here,” Yoongi says, suddenly appearing at your side as he pulls you out from between your mutual friends. 

“You're no fun,” Tae pouts and walks away with Jimin at his side. 

“You came,” you say and throw your arms around Yoongi's neck, pressing your lips against his. It was a pretty bold move on your part, considering you're around a houseful of Jimin's coworkers and friends that you haven't met before tonight, but you don't care. Let them judge you. “Come dance with me.” 

“Absolutely not. What are you wearing?” He asks as he pulls away, looking you up and down.

“I'm Little Red Riding Hood,” you answer, swishing your ruffled skirt back and forth. You do a full twirl before smirking over your shoulder at him and turn to face him once more.  “Do you like it? I lost my cape.” 

“It's uhh,” he says, trailing off as he licks his lips. “It's something.”

“Maybe you should take me back to your place,” you lean in and whisper against his ear. 

“How much have you had to drink?” he asked, eyeing your cup. 

“Nothing,” you answer truthfully.  “Didn't get a chance to drink it before Tae pulled me out to dance.” 

Yoongi takes the solo cup from you and places it down on a random shelf as he guides you to the door. You look over your shoulder and throw a half-hearted wave at Joon and Hobi, who in turn raise their cups to you. The cold air sends shivers and goosebumps throughout your body as soon as you step outside. Yoongi pulls you close to his side, his hand rubbing up and down your arm trying to warm you up with his own body heat. You cling to his side as the two of you make your way to his car before he opens the door for you and you climb in.

“Joon said you had to meet with your lawyer,” you comment, as he starts the car and pulls away from the curb. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “Everythings great, but I do need to talk to you when we get back.”

“You're not suing me, are you?” you ask jokingly. “I hate to tell you this, but you won't get much out of me.”

“I plan on doing many things to you, but suing you is not one of them,” he answers, and you slap his thigh in response. 

Feeling a certain type of way, you undo your seatbelt, making his car ding repeatedly with a warning. You shift your body leaning over the middle console, supporting yourself with your arm as you press your lips to his neck, sucking lightly on his pulse point. He chuckles deeply and tries to push you away with his shoulder, but you won't let him.  You let your non supporting hand run over the opposite side of his face and into his hair. Keeping him in place so he couldn't pull away from you.

“Darlin, I need to concentrate,” his voice sounds just a tad bit husky. 

“I'm not doing anything,” you say, giving his earlobe a quick lick.  You let your hand trail down over the front of his body before landing on his rapidly hardening erection over his pants.  “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi chides, his voice sounding tight. “Let's get back home so we can talk, then I will give you what you want.” 

Home. There it was again. Maybe you were spending too much time at his place. Even though he's the one to ask you to stay over all the time. You wonder if it came off as intrusive since you were supposed to be taking things slow still. Sighing, you finally pull away and sit back in your seat once again. You don't bother with your seatbelt since he's about to turn down your dirt road. Trying to not overthink his words, you focus on what your body wants as you rub your thighs together as subtly as you could as he pulls into your shared driveway. You need to get this talk over quickly.

The lights in Yoongi's kitchen were bright, and all the white within the space made it brighter. You sit at the table and watch as he sits next to you with a stack of papers. You weren't sure what to expect with this talk, but you didn't think paperwork would be involved. 

“So, the bread and jams that you have made are a big hit with our customers. We keep getting daily inquiries about how people can buy the products now that the farmers market is closed for the season. We also got good feedback from the grocery stores that we sell to as well,” Yoongi explains to you. “They are quite interested in adding them to their shelves.” 

“Okay,” you say, not understanding where this was going.

“Well, Tae and I talked and Tannie Farms wants to buy the recipes from you,” he says, pushing the papers in front of you along with an ink pen that you didn't see before. “We will buy each recipe from you for 300 dollars…”

“Wait,” you say, cutting him off, staring at the documents in front of you before lifting your eyes to look back at him. “I'm confused. You want me to sell my grandmother's recipes.”

“Yes, with the amount that we need to be profitable, we need these to be made at a high volume. There is no way that you can supply us with what we need. So, legally, we would like to buy them from you,” he explains. 

“I can't do that,” you say, pushing the papers away from you.

“What do you mean? Do you want more money?” He asked, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively. “I think it's a more than fair offer. Our lawyer wanted to offer you less, and I had to talk him into 300.”

“It's not about money,” you retort, knitting your eyebrows together. “They are not my recipes to sell. They are the only thing that I have left of my grandmother. I don't feel right selling them.” 

“What do you think I'm going to do with them?” He asks, his voicing rising a little. “This can be quite lucrative for the farm since there's no real fresh baked goods around here.  You will get a good chunk of money out of it.”

“Will you stop thinking about money!” You exclaim. “Those recipes are special to me. They are my childhood memories. I don't want to give those away.” 

“They are just recipes,” he sounds exasperated. “I'm not going to go off and sell them to Betty Crocker or something.”

“Then just find one on Google,” you snark. “I'm not selling them. You shouldn't have sprung this on me.”

“Well, I didn't think you would act like this,” he says, defending himself.  

“Like what?” You snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “You completely blindsided me. You're not even asking me to sell them. You just shoved some papers at me expecting me to sign.”

“I told you that day at Jins that if everything went well, we would discuss things further,” he snaps back. 

“Discuss? This is not discussing things further,” you exclaim. “This was you practically telling me what to do.” 

It gets quiet in his kitchen. The two of you are just staring at each other. Yoongi suddenly grabs the contracts and rips them in half. It makes you jump slightly in your seat. He throws them back on the table as his sharp eyes look at you with little emotion. In fact, his stare is pretty blank.

“I think we are done here. You should go,” he mutters as he taps his fingers on his table top. 

“Yoongi,” you say, but he cuts you off.

“Go, now,” he demands as he looks past you. “Get out of my house.”

“Fine,” you say, and get up from his table, heading for his kitchen door. As you open it, you turn to look back at him. “You know what? Thank you for showing me that you were using me to make a profit. I should have never trusted you.”

You slam his door behind you and run down his steps. You let your legs carry you over to your house as your heels click away on the pavement. Using your spare key, you open your door and slide down the wall next to it once it closes. Pulling your black heels off, you throw them across the room in anger, making them hit your cabinets. You silently curse yourself for letting another man hurt you. Never again. You will never let that happen again.  You close your eyes and take in the feeling of the stabbing sensation in your heart. It's the feeling of loss.

Home? You laugh bitterly. Home? He was never going to be your home. 

“Did you know?” You ask, still pissed off from the night before. 

Hobi barely had his door open before you barged in and started to stomp around his apartment. It was the same apartment where you stayed a few months prior. The same apartment where your first broken heart led you and yet again here you were. All because you trusted some man. 

“Know what?” He asked, bleary-eyed with messy hair. You had clearly woken him up with your angry pounding on the door. “What happened?” 

“Did you know what Yoongi's meeting with the lawyer was about?” You ask, face hard and arms crossed against your chest. 

“Ummm,” Hobi says, not denying your question. 

“Don't lie to me,” you tell him.

“Yes,” he admits, throwing his arms up in the air in defeat. “Let's sit down and talk.”

You follow him into his living room, sitting down on his couch. His nice large, comfortable couch. This was definitely one thing that you missed about staying with him. Of course, you missed his company, but his couch was so nice. No lumps, perfectly smooth, and welcoming.

“Why didn't you at least warn me?” You ask. “You had plenty of time to tell me what was going on.”

“You're right. I should have said something,” he agrees. “But….I honestly thought you wouldn’t have a problem with it. Did you guys have a fight?” 

“Oh, we had a fight alright,” you mutter, leaning back, resting your head back against the back cushions.  “He kicked me out of his house.”

“What happened?” He asks, looking clearly confused. 

“He didn't even ask if I was willing to sell the recipes. He just expected me to sign the papers right there and then. He made it all about money,” you explain, as you stare up at his ceiling. “Accused me of wanting more money than what he was offering. I don't care about the money.” 

“What is it that you care about?” He asks, leaning his arm on the back of the couch and resting his head against his hand as he stares at you. 

“Do you remember when we used to bake with my grandma when we were young?” You ask, and he nods his head, confirming that he did. “Those recipes…they are attached to all the memories I have left of her. He’s asking me to give them all away. Just to sell it away to people who don't care about those memories, but can mass produce the products.” 

“You'll always have those memories,” he says gently, making you glare at him. “Don't look at me like that. I'm not saying that you have to sell them to Tannie Farms. I'm just saying that you will always have those memories. I don't think your grandma would be upset if you took the deal.”

Hobi's phone chimes with a notification disrupting your conversation. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, his eyes quickly look at you before swiping open his phone to respond to a text. Nervously, he tucks his phone under his leg before smiling at you. 

“It's him, isn't it?” You ask, staring at him from the corner of your eye. “What does he want?” 

“Just saying hi,” he answers, looking anywhere except at you.  

You sit up, stretching your arms above your head before rolling your shoulders. Looking over at Hobi, you give him a small smile that he wearily returns. Smiling bigger, you launch yourself at him, digging your hand under his leg, grabbing his phone. 

“Stop,” he screeches, trying to grab you and stop you from grabbing his phone. With the device in hand, you dash away to his bathroom with Hobi hot on your heels. Making it to safety, you slam the door, locking it so he can't get to you. “My phone has a passcode. Just open the door and give it back.” 

You roll your eyes and wake his phone screen. Hopping up on the counter, you cross your ankles and study the numbers on his lock screen. Tapping the side of his phone with your finger, you think his code would be something probably obvious. He was a pretty simple man. He never really changed his daily routine. Did laundry the same time and day every week. Visited his parents like clock work. He probably uses the same code for everything. Smiling to yourself, you press the numbers, 1..3..4..3..4..0. Success: You never understood his obsession with that group of numbers, but he used it all the time in high school. Maybe this will teach him to regularly change his passwords.  Tapping his messages app, you press on Yoongi's name as soon as it pops up.  

She won't sell them. Can you try to talk to her?

I know. She's here with me. I can try, but I don't think it will end well. 

You're mad. You feel like everyone has conspired against you. Hobi was supposed to be your best friend, and he's not even standing up for you. He wasn't defending you this time. Jumping down from the counter, you open the door to find your friend leaning against the wall opposite the door. You watch him straighten up and hold out his hand. You give him the phone, watching as a look of surprise comes across his face when he notices the phone screen unlocked. 

“You think I should sell them,” you tell him. 

“I think that you should think about it,” he confesses. 

“Is this what everyone thinks?” You ask, dreading the answer. 

“We had a meeting a couple of weeks ago,” he admits, shifting nervously side to side. “Everyone is in agreement that it would be good to buy them from you. I didn't think Yoongi was going to approach you like that. I figured he would actually have a discussion with you first.”  

“So, you all just kept this from me for weeks. Something that directly impacts me?” You ask. “Did you all conspire together and plan on getting me to fall for him? If he got me to like him enough, I wouldn't tell him, no?” 

“That's not fair. His feelings for you are real,” he sighs. “It's just business….you know.  You said no, and that's perfectly fine. So, that's the end of it.”

“But….it's clearly not,” you dispute his statement. “If it was the end. You wouldn't have agreed with Yoongi to try and talk to me.” 

“I'm sorry,” he says softly.

“Yeah, me too,” you respond before turning away and walking out of his apartment. 

Opening your bedroom closet, you slide that beautifully decorated box that you pulled out of your parents' moldy attic all the way back on your top shelf. You don't even want to look at it. You don't ever want to bake again. 

Going back downstairs into your kitchen, you grab a container of leftovers from your fridge. Plopping yourself down on a wobbly seat, you decide to eat the food cold. Looking out your window, you notice Yoongi start to make his way across the driveway to your house. You put your fork down and hold your breath as you watch him. Suddenly, he stops midway over before turning and going back to his own home. You slump down in your seat. Your eyes never leave the window in hopes that he comes back. He doesn't.  Pushing your food away from you, you cross your arms against your chest. You didn't have much of an appetite right now. Picking up your phone, you open your messages, looking at Hobi's contact picture. Guilt swirls in your stomach. 

I'm sorry

You hit send. You bite your lower lip, waiting to see if he will respond. You wouldn't blame him if he didn't. You probably lost Yoongi, but you couldn't lose Hobi. Not again. 

Me too

You smile at his response. Burying your face in your hands, you cry. You don't understand how everything got so out of hand. Things were great. It was more than great. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were taking this all too personally. If Yoongi approaches you again, you'll talk to him. You can try to figure something out once you're both calm. Until then, you'll stay clear. Just like you always used to. 

Tagged Readers:

@mar-lo-pap , @bontensbabygirl , @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs , @redragdoll, @svnbangtansworld , @wobblewobble822 , @busanbby-jjk , @pitchblack0309 , @bluesiebirdie

[disgruntleddemon]

i've racked my brain trying to figure out an in character way for Shifty to be integrated into the better world timeline main cast, but i'm throwing my hat it. they can be a little ooc for this. this is pretty long, so i'll put it under a cut:

sometime after Fiddleford moves in, but before him and Ford are officially together, the trio goes to check on the bunker (ford mentions planning on doing this in j3, so yayyy, an excuse for them to be there)

they quickly realize the cryotube is broken, and shifty has escaped (how did this happen? is that when shifty escaped in cannon? i have no idea, man) anyway, Fiddleford needs to go in with them to fix it, so Ford and Stan are on shifty hunting duty. meanwhile, shifty saw them, and assumes Stan is another shapeshifter

at some point, Ford and Stan get separated, so Shifty goes to Stan like "idk what that guy told you, but it's probably a lie. lets help each other escape!" Stan uses this to lure him to Ford lol

this is where we get the big confrontation/conversation between everyone. shifty wants out cause he was taken by Ford and Fiddleford for the sole purpose of being experimented on and being used to test the cryotubes. he wanted the journal to get new forms as a defense, and to use it as a guide for escape and life on the outside.

he's been playing nice at the moment and not attacking anyone to prove he'll be fine now. he just wants to go to the surface and live his life like he was supposed to if Ford had never found him.

every one else is not sure what to do. well, mostly Ford and Stan. Fiddleford is pretty set on the "put him back in the tube" approach

Ford is really flip flopping, he has a lot of trust issues after Bill, Shifty's original betrayal affected him, and it hurt Fiddleford (which was probably the worst part to Ford). but, he does see Shifty's perspective and feels kind of guilty.

i think i've spent like a week trying to figure out how they settle things, and i'm kinda calling it quits with that too. my best idea is a microchip. basically, Ford points out the cryotube thing really was unethical, and it broke before so it might again. plus, if they just leave shifty down there, he might tunnel his way out anyway, he's already forming some. and finally, killing him would also be unethical, and also a waste of an incredible scientific discovery .

so they decide to chip him and keep him at the cabin as a trial run. not great that shifty's still a prisoner, but i couldn't see them just letting him go. the chip, made by Fiddleford obviously, alerts them when shifty changes shape, if he manages to get it out, and prevents him from going too far out of a certain radius.

as time goes on, shifty is allowed to go further and further, and they trust him more. it's a very slow transition, that's mostly a matter of shifty becoming part of the daily routine. one of those "you can pretty much get used to anything after awhile" things.

i think they realize also, that shifty's still a juvenile. he's true form is still growing and changing. i put him somewhere in the 12-14 range. i haven't decided how they go about raising him just yet, but his human disguise is pretending to be Stan's son. between the mystery trio, stan having a random son makes the most sense.

shifty likes to keep his form kinda close to looking like himself, so if ppl ask about his appearance, he just says he's albino.

the transition period from not trusting him and being a prisoner, to being a proper member of the cabin is one i'm still very undecided on. but for now, i think the summery works well enough. once he's more comfortable with himself and his place in the house, shifty becomes very mischievous and adventurous! he likes doing pranks and getting into stuff

anyways, if anyone has any suggestions about him, i'm very open to it!! he's a hard character to figure out/integrate

[woodswallow]

Hallo! I loved your Ramm-fashion related posts and was wondering if you could share your thoughts on some of these outfits🥰 personally I like them or find them interesting:)

Hallo :)

This post was sitting in my inbox for some time, sorry for that! But now I finally come to answer it, I was looking forward to it the whole time :D

First off, thank you so much - so nice to hear you enjoyed the RammFashion-related posts! Now off to the Paul-pictures:

Honestly, this is probably my least favourite outfit from this ask. I'm not a big fan of these military-patterns - in my opinion it's just not cool or fashionable to wear these types of prints in times like these with wars and (military) violence everywhere. I thought differently in my late teens and early twens...but nowadays it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. So, not a fan of this outfit, although I like the hat, jewellery and of course the fact, that he's layering his clothes again :)

This one is cool and somehow funny at the same time - when I first saw this picture, he reminded me of the Blues Brothers :D But you can never go wrong with all black. The sunglasses and the hat are stylish as hell and I also rally like that coat. Very classy, very cool!

This one's pretty small unfortunately, but I have seldomly seen him in this red-orange colour! The combo of red and black is a classic (his guitar-buddy knows best!), so I really like this longsleeve. I'm also a fan of how often Paul wears hats/beanies and scarfs, just like here. The black pants and the biker boots are very nice as well. All in all: A little surprising outfit, but nice :)

Here as well - nothing fancy, nothing flashy ...but damn, do I like this outfit :D Black hat/beanie (I think), white T-Shirt, big watch, black pants and brown boots. What's not to love about this. Same goes for the black tank top he wore during that Fly Rig interview. I just really like seeing his arms and neck a bit more :) Nice outfit, down to earth, love it!

I really like this picture, him hiking in the woods with that flowering heath. You can see that this is probably not a spontaneous hike, because he's wearing hiking shoes with that black rubber cap protecting the shoe tip from wear and tear. The blue socks are sweet, I'm also someone who likes to wear silly/flashy socks :D His clothes look less fashionable, more functional: The pants being tight around the ankles, the shoes, the socks. In fact I used this picture as an inspiration to my fanfiction "Dreadlocks und Vokuhila".

Yesss - classic rockstar, ladies and gentlemen :D The clothes, the pose, the attitude. All black, leather, heavy boots, silver jewellery. Again, can never go wrong with black, but this time it's the "rockstar"-edition :)

Now this outfit was a surprise. This is a picture from the "Zeit"-release party I think, where the whole band wore white suits. I think the suit sits quite nicely, especially around the shoulders. I think it's so nice that he combined it with this red neckerchief, it gives the outfit a colourful and also quite cheeky touch. Somehow, he looks so different here - I think it's because the white parts of his beard (right and left of his chin) are accentuated here. Quite formal outfit, but with a nice personal (Paul-) touch!

This outfit somehow gives me very cosy and private-Paul-vibes. I personally am not a big fan of this tartan pattern (which is why I didn't go for these looks while searching for my personal RammFashion-items), but he really seems to like it. I think he wore this pullover on several occasions and I think I've also seen another one. It fits him and I really like this particular picture.

One of my favourite Paul-versions! :) Comfortable, but also cool and stylish with leather jacket, beanie and (as I think) his signature-scarf :) Only the Red Bull is really not my taste :D

I'm pretty sure the next two pictures show the same pullover - I LOVE this look!! Again, layered clothes with a shirt underneath, beanie, heavy jewellery. I really was torn between this pullover and that one with the sandy-beige colour...I found a match of both of them on a secondhand clothes website and I decided for the sandy-beige coloured one...but I'm very tempted to buy the match for this one here as well because, again: It fits very nicely but loose, looks cosy and nice but not overly styled...love!

I think these pictures were taken by a fan who met him on Hiddensee - and his outfit indeed does give some holiday-relaxed-summer vibes. Nothing flashy, but white does look good on him :)

Thank you so much @bianca-mii for sending this ask in my direction, I had fun answering it!! :D

Thanks for reading!

[h3arts4harry]

- trapped -

warnings: angsty, ghosts, haunted house, mentions of abuse & sa, bit disturbing, lmk if i missed any

ghost!reader x sam and colby

- ghost!y/n 17 -now 34- sam golbach 28 colby brock 27 amanda 24 tyler 41 -was 24-

-

"what's up guys! It's Sam and Colby! And welcome back to hell week!" the brunette boy intensely yells, with the blonde jumping in "Today we are at the famous 'yln' house with one of our favourite guests…. Amanda!" Sam introduces, "Hey guys!!" Amanda smiles and waves to the camera. "do you want to explain who you are for any new watchers?" Colby asks stepping behind the camera, turning so Amanda and Sam are in view. "of course! My name is Amanda and I'm a medium, if you don't know what that is, it's that I can sort of talk to the dead, whether it's through feeling, words or seeing them" the girl softly explains. "how excited are you to be here right now?" Sam asks, glancing at Colby before facing Amanda again, "very excited, I've been wanting to come here ever since I heard about it"

-timeskip-

"so this is y/ns bedroom, she's basically always in here, she doesn't like to leave this room" the tour guide, Becky, says walking backward into a dark room, the paint on the walls was faded and washed away. "it's like her safe haven?" Sam asked looking around the worn-out room. "yea exactly, it's her place of comfort, where she would go and hide from everything and everyone" Becky says slowly approaching the long window. confused faces are shared between the three visitors before one speaks up. "why would she have to hide" Colby asks, "she had a lot against her, including her own family and boyfriend" the forty-year-old, ginger woman sadly says, hesitant to go into depth of the story in case the ghost girl was around and listening.

Amanda's eyes divert away from the group towards the closet behind the view of the camera "She here right now" she reveals, "she is?" the tour guide quickly replies, slightly relieved she didn't open up about y/ns life in front of the (old) young girl, as the last time she did it didn't go down to well. "yea she's stood right there, just listening to us" Amanda says pointing to the closet door. "well hi y/n, I'm glad you could join us" Sam pipes up pointing the camera to the closet door. "yea, please feel free to follow us around while we're here" Colby adds.

I stand in the doorway of the closet, crossing my arms over my body. I watch as the new visitors and Becky talk and look around my beloved room. the blonde girl looks at me and walks over, I instinctively step back and away from her, deeper into my closet, to which she takes a small step back. I look at her blankly and she looks at me with a kind smile, "are you okay?" she whispers, the others can't hear. but before I can answer the familiar, intensely tight feeling in my chest grows. I know what's coming.

Amanda furrows her eyebrows as y/n fades from her view and disappears. "hm" she confusedly hums. "what's up?" Colby asks turning to the girl. "I asked if she was okay and she just left" she replies turning to the brunette boy, her eyebrows still slightly furrowed. "maybe she didn't like that you could see her?" Sam suggests, pointing the camera at the pair. "no" she slowly shakes her head in thought, "I could tell she didn't mind, she seemed to quite like it… it was like she realized something cause her face just dropped, sadder than before, then she just disappeared" the girl continued. "what time is it?" Becky pipes up, "it's urm, 11:20pm" Colby answers after quickly pulling out his phone to check. "ah, she'll be in the basement. she's always there between 11:15 and 4:30am" Becky adds, telling the group where the girl had disappeared to. "should we continue the tour then head down there?" Colby asks turning to Sam, then back to the tour guide, to receive nods in agreement from the group.

-time skip-

"Okay guys it's currently 1am so-" Sam starts while lifting the recording camera up to film the trio, "it's actually 1:23" Amanda corrects him jokingly, "yea yea my bad, it's currently 1:23 and we are about to head down to the basement to try to talk to y/n, Becky, our tour guide, said that y/n stays down there between 11:15 and 4:30am so we have a few hours to try to communicate."

The two best friends stand close to the bottom of the stairs, the older boy looks around the room, the walls and floor are the same colour and dirty, there are chairs and tables piled in the middle of the wall, in the furthest corner there were chains and shackles attached to the wall. the younger explains their current setup to the camera "We have the rem pod up near the corner of the room where y/n would be shackled to the wall and viciously abused by her parents" he begins, "that's actually so sad, she was just a child" Sam sighed turning towards the boy and the camera in his hand.

"hey guys-" Amanda starts, walking down the stairs almost tripping on the last step "Oh fuck" she curses as she stabilizes herself, "you good?" Sam quickly asks, "I'm okay," the girl says, looking up at the boys. Colby and the camera watch as the colour fully drains from her face as she stares behind them as if she's in a trance. "Amanda?" Colby says softly "What is it?"

Sam looks up from the camera screen to see what Colby is talking about, his heart jumping at the sight of Amanda's face. "i-it's y/n" she swallows harshly, her eyes not moving away from the sight in front of her "She's-" Amanda struggles to describe what she sees, it being so sad and unsettling. Colby looks to Sam before turning back to Amanda "Do you want to go back upstairs?" he asks concerned for his friend. "n-no its o-okay" she stutters out, wanting to tear her eyes away but she can't seem to actually do it. "are you sure? we want you to be comfortable and feel safe at all times" Colby carries on, "I'm sure."

the entire conversation Amanda's eyes haven't moved once from the view ahead, as she starts to explain what she sees her stare slightly relaxes, no longer in shock, but doesn't move away. "it's urm, y/n, she's on her knees, her arms held back by the handcuffs on the wall. before she had a few tears in her eyes but she looked okay-ish. but.. but now she's like screaming crying, and she has all these cuts and bruises covering her, literally head to toe, which she didn't have before. it's so real, like she's really being beaten right there in front of us" She quietens dramatically towards the end. "holy shit" both boys say over each other, "I've never seen anything like it before which is why it shocked me so much" Amanda reveals, finally pealing her eyes away from the brutal view. "that's so crazy, it's like she's reliving what happened to her" Colby thinks out loud, "do you think she knows we're here?" Sam asks, his eyes flicking to check the camera is still recording, "I'm not sure, her head is hung looking at the floor" she says stepping closer to the hurt ghost. "y/n?"

my head shoots up hearing my name, the new blonde girl is standing in front of me again. embarrassment and fear fill me as I scurry back into the corner, attempting to pull my hands to hide myself forgetting about the cold metal they're stuck in. "it's okay, you don't have to be scared, we're here to help you" she says gently, sitting down on her ankles. I lift my head up slowly, looking at her through my hair "W-who are you?" I bring up the courage to ask. "my names Amanda, it's nice to meet you y/n" Her small smile is empathetic but pitiful. I hate it. "how do you know me?" I question furrowing my eyebrows slightly in confusion. "a lot of people know who you are, your house is known worldwide because of what happened to you here" Her words make my heart drop "Worldwide? n-no ppl can't kno-" I begin before letting out a loud pained cry. A long cut on my cheek formed out of nowhere. Amanda's eyes widen in shock, "what the hell just happened" she mumbles. "i-its my parents, t-they t-old me no one c-can know. i-if people know they'll k-kill me-" I struggle to choke out, tears streaming from my eyes. the pain is too much for me to handle, all I can do is cry out in torment until it no longer hurts, even though I know it always will. "the rem pod-" Colby points out to the red circular device lighting up like crazy, Amanda looks between it and me noticing the pattern of the beeps and flashing bright lights match my screams. before it goes dead silent.

"what just happened??" Sam yells with furrowed eyebrows, taken aback and confused. "y/ns gone" Amanda says turning to look up at the boys as she stands she thinks out loud "Hey what time is it?" Colby whips out his phone "It's 4:30 on the dot?" he quietly replies, his mind racing about everything that just happened. "Becky said y/n leaves at 4:30, how have we been down here for 3 hours already, it only felt like an hour- maybe 2" Sam rambles, still not fully processing anything. "I'm not sure, we didn't even get to ask y/n anything," Colby says slightly disappointed. "I doubt we could've anyway, it was like she was actually being physically tortured in front of me, but I don't understand how.." Amanda thinks out loud. it feels like another hour passes with everyone standing in complete silence, trying to make sense of the past couple of hours.

"Why don't we head upstairs and see if we can find her?" Colby suggests, Sam and Amanda nod helping collect the equipment before walking up the stairs. "guys I can't open the door" Amanda struggles with the handle pushing back and forth trying to open the door, "what? let me try" Colby says slipping past Amanda, trying to push the door "Sam it's not opening", "holy shit" Sam curses from behind the camera. Colby forcefully pushes at the door, desperate to get it open, almost hurting his own hands and shoulder barging at the door, when Amanda gets an idea. "hey y/n! if you can hear me can you open the door?!" Amanda calls out, hoping the spirit can hear.

I hear Amanda calling from downstairs, 'Why can't they just open the door?' I wonder as I quickly wipe the stray tears that were falling. I slowly creep out of my room, trying not to make a sound. looking around trying to find the group, I hear the basement door banging, I quickly drop behind the sofa at the loud noise, my heart races in fear. "y/n please open the door" Amanda calls out again from behind the door, I peak out above the couch at the rattling door before letting out a breath in relief. making my way over pulling the door open for Amanda, Sam, and Colby to rush out. Sam quickly slams the door behind them, making me flinch and hide back behind the couch where I previously was, catching Amanda's attention. "thank you y/n" she smiles faintly, looking in my direction. "she's here?" Colby asks following Amanda's gaze pointing the camera towards me. "yea she opened the door for us, she's behind the couch" the blonde girl nods towards me. "ah, well thanks y/n, I was shitting myself" Colby laughs "Me too brother me too" Sam joins in.

I peek over the couch at the chuckling boys, turning over to see Amanda, who was already looking at me, "hey" she says softly. I gulp standing up fully, wrapping my arms around my body, looking between the three. "are you okay? what happened down there?" she warily asks, still keeping her voice soft to not scare me away. i quickly shake my head not wanting to talk about it. "the boys have some equipment so you can talk to all three of us at once, they'll explain what you need to do okay?" she continues, before i can reply Sam starts to speak, "okay y/n we have two flashlights, you can say yes by turning on the red one and no by turning on the blue, this way we can communicate through yes and no questions, are you up for that?" he explains, pointing to each flashlight before waiting for a response. I'm hesitant for a moment but decide to walk over to the red flashlight turning it on, signaling that I'm going to talk to them. "holy shit" "Oh my god" the boys yell in surprise, as they normally would. the loud outburst causes me to turn the light back off and scatter off into the next room, the kitchen.

"guys I don't think she likes loud noises" Amanda states after watching the young girl leave. "what do you mean?" Colby asks, "Well when the door slammed she hid behind the couch, then just now when you guys yelled, she ran out the room" Amanda explains pointing to the door leading to the kitchen. Sam quickly walked into the kitchen, Colby following behind with the camera. "hey y/n, please could you come back? we're sorry for yelling and we won't do it again" Sam says before returning to the living room area where they were previously. Amanda looks over to me walking through the door, my head down staring at the floor. "the door-" Colby points the camera to where I just was, the door slowly swinging shut. "y/n are you frightened by loud noises?" Sam asks, I turn on the red flashlight, yes. "okay, good to know" Colby nods. "are you okay? Amanda told us about what she saw happen downstairs" Colby questions, a little uncertain of the reaction they might get. I stare blankly at them for a moment, I hate talking about it. but it seems clear that they're different from others that's visited here. I leave the red light on but also turn on the blue one. "both yes and no?" Sam points out. "maybe she doesn't know if she's okay" Colby guesses. I turn the blue light off, saying Colby is right. I really don't know if I'm okay.

"Does she even know what happened to her" Sam ponders, pivoting towards his friends? what happened to me? I turn off the red light, leaving the only light source to be the light attached to the top of their camera sitting on the fireplace pointing at us. "oh… I think we should bring out the spirit box, so she can actually talk to us" Sam proposes, excited to use their new device as their previous one stopped working during their last investigation. "yea I agree" Colby nods, beginning to walk to the kitchen table, where their bag of equipment laid. Colby comes back with a black rectangular box with a silver metal rod sticking out of the top, which I guess is the 'spirit box' they just spoke about. he turns it on and places it in the middle of the coffee table. "okay y/n, this is the spirit box, if you just speak into it, it should repeat it so we can hear what you say" Sam explains. I walk and sit on the sofa by the device, I slowly lean forward at the box, hesitantly speaking to it, "hi" I say into it, doubting it will actually work. "hi" it says out, I lean back in shock, it actually works? "hey y/n, so we asked if you knew what happened to you, you said no?" Colby begins the verbal conversation. "what do you mean?" the box repeats, "do you know what happened to you downstairs" he says. "what normally happens. it's the same thing every night, except I thought it would change when people started randomly coming over because they don't want anyone to find out. Obviously, I was wrong..." I mumble, shaking my head in thought. "people randomly coming over? What do you mean?" Sam questions, "I don't know, people just started randomly visiting one day and asking me a bunch of questions, and my parents don't like it at all. Becky comes over a lot and my mum hates her, I don't know why she lets them in, actually, now that I think about it, everyone just walks in with Becky. And when Becky comes alone she just walks right in." I stop talking, drifting into thought about the whole thing before Sam abruptly pulls me out of it "you died y/n" Sam starts before I cut him off. "yea right." i scoff . "I'm being serious-" "stop. that's not funny" I say firmly, my mind races, I can't be dead. They're fucking with me. "I'm sorry but we're not joking. you died on the 19th of October 2007" Colby reveals, his words coated in sympathy. "….what? no that's my birthday I can't die on my birthday that's crazy" I breathe out, they have to be joking, if I were dead I wouldn't be here speaking to them. but then again it would explain why no one can see me. but then how does Amanda see me- "yea y/n, you died 17 years ago," Sam says sitting on the armchair to my right. "liar." "they're not lying y/n" Amanda sits next to me on the end of the sofa, "you're lying!" I stand up and away from them, anger and confusion rising through me. "it's okay y/n-" Sam starts before I interrupt him, "No! Shut up you're all lying to me! tell me you're lying! I-I can't be dead I'm right here?!" I yell at them. They don't say anything, all looking at each other, not knowing what to do. "TELL M-E YOURE LY-ING" the box speaks, but it starts cutting out a little due to the volume of my voice, "we're so sorry y/n," Colby says looking up and around the room, as his eyes pass mine, it's like he could tell I'm here, him looking away showed he didn't. "what.. how?!" no one responds "tell me what happened.. please" I sit on the carpet leaning against the wall, bringing my knees against my chest wrapping my fingers in my hair.

"This is what we read online, if you remember anything that's different, please feel free to correct us" Colby starts before starting again, "you and your boyfriend were hanging out here like you did every Saturday as your parents went to the pub all day and would return between 4-7am. one day your parents came home early, at 6pm, and walked in on you and Tyler cuddling on the couch watching a movie."

"Tyler.." I whisper, shivers sending down my spine. I haven't heard that name in so long. "Yeah, he was your boyfriend at the time right?" Sam asks from the couch looking to Amanda to see where I am, Amanda nods in my direction "I- yea. I- keep going" I struggle to find words that can explain what's going through my head, and I give up telling Colby to carry on telling the story.

"it says they went crazy, beat you both black and blue, and kicked Tyler out. quite literally. he stumbled a little but got up and ran home. unfortunately for you, you were stuck here in this house." "Yeah" I mumble, recalling the next events

"they beat you for hours then dragged you down into the basement handcuffing you to the wall with the shackles" "stop." "Are you okay?" Amanda asks, sitting near me on the rug "n-no. just carry on. please." "Are you sur-" "keep going."

"Okay.." he starts looking down at his notes to recall the events correctly" The cuffs were tighter than usual, instantly leaving marks on her wrists. they grab the worn-down paddle and the old belt and start repeatedly hitting her while she cries. both parents screaming and shouting profanities and degrading insults at her" a tear falls down my cheek, the memory in my head once a blur now so clear; "disgusting" "disgrace" "whore of a daughter" "all we did for you for nothing" "wasting it all for some boy" "why couldn't we of had a son" replaying from that night. "she cried loudly until there was no tears left in her eyes. she was weak and dangling from her red wrists, small dribbles of blood slipping from the marks caused by the tightness of the metal, that was cutting off her circulation." i drop my head onto my knees hiding my tearful face, my arms wrapped resting on my raised legs, a sob escaping me that only Amanda heard as the spirit box didn't seem pick it up. "her dad hit her across her already bruised face with the belt yelling at her again "you're disgusting, i wish we aborted you when we had the chance." and with the next whack her vision went black." Colby stops the words that fall out of his mouth. "around 36 hours later when your parents went to let you out the basement they found you still dangling just like they left you except you were no longer breathing. they were scared, not for their dead daughter, but for what would happen to them. in the end, they were caught and arrested, prosecuted with life in prison with no chance of parole. and your boyfriend fortunately walks free." Sam ended the explanation.

"fortunately?" I repeat with a scoff, "yea, it's not reported where he is now but we know he's started a new life and is happy," Sam says, glancing at the notes to check he's correct. "dick" I curse banging the back of my head on the wall behind me. "is that not a good thing?" Colby asks confused, "fuck no" I look at him with a glare like he should've known, I mean if he knew all that how didn't he know anything about Tyler. "why not? if you don't mind us asking?" Sam questions. I stay silent for a moment, looking around the room biting my bottom lip, and accidentally making eye contact with Amanda. "what is it?" she asks tilting her head to the side. "he was a huge dick. which is ironic as fuck cause he didn't have one" I shake my head, forgetting the spirit box was on. Colby and Sam laughing reminded me. "right, spirit box, forgot that was a thing" I mumble, "yea sorry y/n," Colby said, still laughing a bit at my previous comment, "s'fine" I nodded, "anyway what's the deal with Tyler?" Amanda asks, I vaguely answer "he hurt me."

"like your parents?" Colby guesses, "yeah sort of, he would hit me with his hands and slam me into walls which I guess is like my parents but he would also-" I cut myself off, why am I telling a bunch of strangers my whole life story. well, I guess they already knew, but they somehow didn't know about Tyler. if they knew about me that must mean others know, right? So they must think that Tyler is a good person too. "fuck" I mumble, "What is it?" Sam questions, "Nothing." "do you wanna continue? you don't have to if you don't want to" Colby speaks sincerely. "it's fine. I guess." I take a breath before continuing. "Tyler would also- I'd tell him no but he- he wouldn't listen to me... i know now that he just wanted me for that kind of stuff, i mean why else would a 24 year old date a 17 year old." I say scoff again, feeling the tears brim my waterline but I quickly wipe them away. Amanda moved closer to me, she went to put a hand on my knee to comfort me but her hand fell straight to the floor, forgetting that I wasn't a living 17-year-old sitting there. I moved my hand onto hers, obviously, we weren't actually touching but in a way we were. She had a big sister energy to her, something I longed for my entire life.

"that's so fucked up I'm sorry you went through all of this y/n," Sam says with a saddened look on his face. "it's oka-" "Okay" I frown, my sentence being cut off. "the spirit box died, it was fully charged when we turned it on" Sam states looking to Colby, who pulls out his phone looking at the time. "we've been talking for hours, its 8am" Colby reveals shocked. "does that mean you're leaving soon?" I ask, my chest hurting slightly. "yea, we need to leave within the hour" Amanda says with a small frown. "please don't leave, I- I don't want you to go" I beg. "we have to y/n, we're sorry" she says, they all stand up and start packing away their stuff.

"so what the fuck was this then? you came into my home, told me that I'm fucking dead, I tell you about horrible shit that I've been through and then you fucking leave?!" I spit angrily at all of them, even tho only Amanda can hear me. I still have no idea how the fuck that's happening. I feel so angry and hurt as I watch them put the last items in the bag.

all of a sudden the lights start rapidly flickering. the shut doors swing open. the furniture flying back and crashes into the closest walls. my heart is racing, I don't know what's happening, and by the looks of it neither does Colby, Sam, and Amanda. "A-Amanda what's happening?" my voice trembles in fear looking around at the room. she doesn't say anything, it's like she can't hear me- how- why- "Amanda?!" I yell but again she doesn't respond, I walk over to her but she doesn't see me. "AMANDA PLEASE" I yell begging her to hear or see me, why can't she no longer know I'm here, what the fuck is happening. I watch as they bolt to the door. 'no.. they can't leave me here alone…' it slams shut.

they jump back and look at each other stunned in fear, "Y/n you cannot keep us here." Amanda shouts firmly. "what do you mean me? how am I keeping you here?" I'm so confused how could I possibly be doing all this? "we command you to let us go" Sam says loudly. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN??" I scream the lights start aggressively flickering even faster, but the hope for them to hear me seems pointless. Colby tries kicking the door down, and Sam joins in trying to help. "guys what's happening" I cry out, watching the three. Amanda turns to me, did she finally hear me?

"y/n you have to let us go" she pleads, "how- what do you mean? I don't know what's happening" I feel my whole body shaking. her face softens as she realizes, "-what?" "what?" "are you doing this?" she tilts her head, "no...or at least not on purpose, this has happened before, and i-i don't know how to stop it" i ramble panicked. "Guys stop" she says to the scared boys "Wha- why" Colby says confused, "she doesn't know what she's doing", "How doesn't she know?!" Sam yells in fear, anger, and confusion. "Sam she didn't even know she was dead" Amanda barely yells back to the boy. the pair look at each other confused then back at Amanda.

As I watch the three talk, I feel my heart beating out of my chest. Amanda turns around and walks over to me. I instantly stepped back and away from her, how could I trust her anymore when she was just going to leave. "y/n it's okay, you need to calm down" she spoke gently, "I can't calm d-down. You guys are leaving me, everyone always leaves me here and i-i can't leave too- I'm trapped here-" it feels like my heart is beating in my head. "trust me okay" she tries to calm me. "n-no, you're just g-going to leave m-me" she takes in a breath looking to the boys then back to me. she probably looks crazy to them. talking to thin air. "ill stay" she nods "What?!" "Amanda no- are you crazy?" the boys yell over each other. "no it's okay, she's not dangerous, she's just lonely" the girl speaks "I'm right here okay y/n" I nod looking into her eyes, the same sisterly feeling coming back. my breathing and heart rate calms down. "see you got it" "i-i'm sorry, I didn't mean to I swear-" "I know I know"

"can we leave now?" Colby asks, still terrified from the nights events, "w-what?" my eyes wide looking between the boy and Amanda, "you guys go, I'll join you in a moment" she says confidently, the boys are wary but don't doubt her, they turn and rush out. "please don't leave me, you just said you'll stay, please its scary here" I beg, a few stray tears fall down my cheeks. I don't know how I still have tears left to cry. "I have to but I'll come back okay? do you trust me to come back?" I shake my head "No one ever comes back" I mumble "but I will. We'll have more time and we can talk okay?" I don't say anything and shake my head again, "you're lying.." I accuse, "I promise I'll be back, I'm not lying to you. I'll be back soon, goodbye y/n", "Wait! please!" I yell as she exits the house. As the door shuts a shiver runs down my spine and then a loud, sharp, high-pitched noise blasts through the house, and all of the windows shatter, shards flying everywhere.

the familiar cold, lonely feeling that left earlier today, returns, filling the building. I sink down leaning against the wall, pulling my knees up into a ball. I'm once again all alone, trapped in this house.

-

NOTE: MY FIRST FIC OF THE YEARRRR😛😛 I'm gonna try get on my game this year (but DO NOT hold me on that cause i'm probably lying🌚) with writing cause I looooovee when I finish them and get to post😻 ALSOOO lmk if you want a part 2🤷‍♀️

thank you soo much for proofreading @sturniolohohoho ily🫶

as always feedback is appreciated <333

THANK YOU FOR READING

LOVE U BITCHES N HOES

taglist: @m0r94n @chrisgetsmewetterxo @raysmayhem-72 @junnniiieee07 @sturnzsblog @sturniolo-slvt @mattspolitank @cerismo @chrispotatos @ncm9696 @pvssychicken

[librarianandguardian]

The Balconies - Viktor x Fem!Reader

Music : Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Tears for Fears

Pairing : S1 Viktor x Assistant Fem!Reader

Word count : 2.1K

Warnings : Mentions of Anxiety and Self Worth doubts, Shy Fluff

A.N : Helloooo It's meee. Am I popping up to then disappear again for a whole other year ? Yeeeeezzz probably. Needed to help my brain work through a break-up and work problems so I went to Viktor for comfort. It worked really well ! This is quite reflective and full of thoughts. I hope I did not make mistakes with portraying Viktor's disability. Do tell if you see anything, I'm keen on learning :)

A French version is up on my Wattpad account right here.

This party was as expected : extravagant and noisy. You cursed yourself to have agreed to the boys’ proposition. Jayce had been more insistent than Viktor, who wasn't too enthusiastic either, your Hex Tech assistant status forced you to be here tonight. Bollocks. You only stuck to the shadows. Because in the end, you hadn't done much besides stand by them, and be on the front row for their speech. No one minded you and they were right : who cares about the assistant of the two geniuses of the decade? The men themselves were here. The loud chatter of the room, the dense sea of people, the many invasive perfumes of the upper class, the boys out in the wild somewhere… The darker the night got, the more you felt out of place. You ended next to the buffet, mouth always full, champagne glasses after glasses, then topping it off with fruit juice. Overwhelmed, you fled to the first balcony available.

Would you rather be at the lab, tidying notes and books they had thrown everywhere to prepare for the speech? Absolutely. Considering how long it would be. But also because the low humming of their machines soothed you. Their cold coffee mugs told you they had a breakthrough. The couch still smelled like Jayce's expensive cologne and Viktor's shampoo (when he finally rested). The Moonshine piercing through the window, lighting the empty place up, made you happy. This lab was your second chance. New friends came into your life ; the boys and Sky, their other assistant. She was extremely sweet compared to the brutal science world. You guys became each other's complaints desk and laugh station. Even though you were the one who needed pity, being Jayce's direct assistant, housekeeper and community manager, you always listened to her trials with Viktor. The resilience of the young man from the Undercity fascinated you. The places he got to in so little time… You remembered your time at the Academy, his name like a whisper in the hallways. He was a mystery to be solved back in the days.

You sighed. This party congratulated your partners for their hard work, their passion. But it was also protocol. None of them rejoiced in being here. All these manners and fake smiles. Not the ideal place for scientists. At least that's what you guessed from Viktor's face all night long. He thought he hid them well, but your keen eye caught it. Unlike Jayce masking his uneasiness with class, thanks to his birth rank and natural charisma. How you would've slapped this "perfect" child. Friendly slaps, that is.

With tired eyes, you took the time to look at this Wonderful city, where your lives unfolded. During this sweet starry night, the streets of Piltover were dressed in blue and golden hues. The colors of new technology, of progress. Her people strolled, celebrating this growth with tiny markets, exhibitions and small street art shows. All this light hid the sea, you could guess with the moon shining on its horizon. The veins of the city were loud with joy, but not enough for you to hear, only feel. Everyone was happy tonight. Then a small nervous laugh escaped your mouth. With all this, you realised something : the task of maintaining the public image of your two devils was yours. For good.

Shit.

You were gonna have to watch out for their potential public bad behavior. If any problem related to that occurred, you’d have to cover it. They would have to be more often shown in public with a clean look. No more dishevelled science boys.

Your head spinned with all this. Or was the champagne at fault ? No, you knew why you quivered. Your breath got quicker. What were you doing ? Close to entering a thought spiral, the door of the balcony being shut and a sigh saved you from it. Startled, you turn around. Half hunched on his cane and visibly irritated, Viktor walked painfully. He was muttering unfamiliar profanities. You giggled, capturing his attention. At the sight of your smile, he eased and joined you. A small hysteria took you both out of breath, only to stop a few dozen seconds later. The scientist had to sit on one of the benches next to the railing, shaken. His knee having slightly twitched, you came closer in case he needed anything. He sat with ease and wiped some tears off.

« ‘Tis all very ridiculous. Truly. »      he sighed with a thick accent.

Your head tilted. He was right of course, but something had to have happened to him. For Viktor to isolate away from Jayce, much was needed. The man wasn’t shy, more socially averse when it didn’t concern work. He hit the ground with his cane to calm down.

« A young daughter of some rich investor has been courting me for more than an hour now, through thick spider-like lashes- Ugh. »

With a reassuring smile, you patted his hands. The poor dear was NOT into marriage and love stories.

« It’ll soon be your new life. To the both of you, dear.

-Mmm, New Hell on Earth you mean. »

You giggled once more. The corners of your eyes wrinkled as they closed, one of your hands hiding your mouth, your nose scrunching. Viktor took in every bit of your false mockery with a grin. Saying you made life easier was down playing the truth. Mediator, Janitor, Nanny when he started to neglect himself. You had been a hurricane of salvation in their bachelor lab; making sure things were in their place, easy to find with their thought process and for the place to be clean after every project. You crossed none of the boundaries established, giving them air until a signature was needed, or an investor answered. Your soft smile, your caustic humor and laughs soothed the hardest day. Empty coffee mug? Never. No meal for 2 days straight? 'You are unbelievable! Eat if you want fuel for your damn brain to properly think.' 

Sometimes your sadness and loneliness caught up to you. Your face closed when you came in, nearly incapable of speaking. You stayed in a corner, eyes glossy with tears, looking out a window. Or you vanished to the bathroom for a while. They were unsure of what to do, but tried. Viktor went with jokes; it worked pretty often. Jayce regularly served you your favorite hot beverage. But when it was too much, Sky came to the rescue. Team dynamics were important; you guys had a good one.

The young man would be lying if he denied loving every evening spent together, alone. A comfortable silence, you watching him, being curious. Or working until you fell asleep headfirst on the table, under a small dim light. Only to abruptly wake up and push him to go home or at least get on the couch. He rarely declined.

When you calmed down, you cleared your throat.

« I'm happy that you find my situation most amusing, darling. »

You winced at his eyebrow raised in false vexation. Arms behind your back, you nonchalantly looked around. Your feet brought you back to the railing.

« I wouldn't dare.

-Oh, I think you would. I know your antics now. »

With this, he got back up and joined you. Your arms on the railing, he took it as an opportunity to lean against your shoulder, hovering his leg in the air. You relaxed against him and breathed. Your stares marveled at the chaos in the streets, ghosts of smiles haunting your mouths at the comfort of each other's presence. The party behind you almost forgotten. You used to live on the outskirts of Piltover, just in front of the bridges that led to the Undercity. You saw the dirt, the grim, the violence. Viktor lived within it, making you both hate high society, fakers and sweet talk. You would have given everything to wander down there with the crowd, watching life buzz. Viktor would have loved to sit on the docks facing his home, ranting with you and sweets.

His head turned towards you. Your eyes glistened, far away on the horizon, your breath hitched, your jaw clenched. Smoke could have come out of your ears. The train had departed the station. What could he do? One day, you had discussed fears surrounding the project, your place in the team. You loved science but stayed an artist at heart. Your studies had been followed on the opposite side of the Academy; in the grand luminous Art Classes, the Workshops of Piltover. He had heard of rumors back in his days : a young rebellious woman, bullied by insidious comrades, but who finally rose to the rank of assistant to the Dean of the Workshops. The only common room you shared was the library. There, you only acknowledged each other with quick nods. When he got up the ladder too, you’d cross paths more often. Talked too. Then you disappeared. For months. He'd often mention the incident to Sky. She'd stay evasive on the matter. All of a sudden, you appeared. Just when Heimerdinger went looking for an additional assistant for the Hextech Project. Theories blossomed in his head. At every given opportunity, he’d study you. To no avail. The satisfaction of actually getting to know you overshadowed his need for answers. Yes, mentioning this wouldn’t help. If you had not confided in him, there had to be a valid reason.

« Miss ? »

Viktor was scared you would break into a million pieces in front of him. Small tears were streaming down your cheeks. He had to call you softly for a solid minute. When his voice pierced your mental fog, your eyes widened at his. You flinched at his intensity. But he brought you back. One of his hands grabbed your left forearm, to keep you anchored.

« Long tiring days are ahead of us. Things will become more complex. Jayce and I are aware of that. And… I believe you too. It's poisoning your mind. »

You briefly looked at his hand. Since he helped you come back to reality, your five senses were calm. Your mind focused on his voice. You met his sweet honey eyes again. He seemed to carefully pounder his next words. Should he talk about it all? The fright, the exhaustion, the hesitation, everything seemed conflicted in you. Soothing was wiser.

« I- I trust you. You proved us you are a pillar of our project. Your kindness and skills might not be poured into the science itself, but science alone cannot hold this dream together. There also is the hope we pour in it. All of us. »

You silently bursted into tears, unmoving.

« I do not know what happened in the past, what they told you. But you are competent. More than a lot of us. Your worries are justified, but they will be erased. I promise you. Otherwise, I'll hunt them down with my cane, partner. »

You snorted. His hand patted your arm, proud of his motivation speech. He began to understand something. This was the way Sky comforted you, how you did it for her too. He had always thought it hard to do, but everything came from his heart. His truth, his feelings. Determination took over his gaze. With a few minutes of silence, you were able to put your mind together, the scientist next to you, joking around, leaning on the railing like a bachelor. At peace, you inspected the lit-up streets again. 

« Thank you Viktor. »

He nodded, scratching his neck.

« How you would feel if we… ran away from this horrendous noisy place? »

You stared, flabbergasted. Nervous, he shrugged.

« Jayce has the crowd’s attention. I wish to flee this aristocrat and you quite obviously don't want to be here. Let’s change, get some food and sit elsewhere. In a calmer, more familiar place. »

You considered it, still shocked. One of the co-founders of Hextech fleeing the launch party? That would be bad. Especially with an assistant. However, the crowd was dense and captivated. And the young man's knee seemed to hurt him; his knuckles were white around his cane. Well. You had a plan. 

« Let's get out of here, partner.» You said, grabbing his arm.

Maybe life would not be too hard. Your team could survive it all. Those thoughts were left to linger in the dark. The balcony you had invested at the party did have a beautiful view. But it could never compare to the laboratory’s one. Sitting next to Viktor. Bundled up in warm clothes, with hot beverages and snacks, under the moon and stars.

[earthlybeam]

Can you please write headcannons for rings of power elves where they see the reader in nothing but an oversized tunic or an outfit considered to be revealing.

(I am so sorry this is my first time ever requesting I'm not sure what I'm doing or if a request like this is allowed). Thank you for your time :)

Gil-Galad, Celebrimbor version below.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The night had settled in, the vast silence of Lindon broken only by the crackling of the hearth. The glow from the fire cast flickering shadows on the stone walls of the guest chambers, where you were momentarily alone, waiting for your host—Gil-galad. You had tried to ease the tension of the evening, slipping into something comfortable. The oversized tunic, soft and loose, was more of an afterthought. As it fell loosely over your form, you couldn’t help but feel a bit vulnerable. It draped too freely, slipping from your shoulder just enough to expose more of your skin than you intended. Still, it was late, and you were in the privacy of your chambers. You’d never admit how it made you feel, but standing there now, you realized it might not be the most fitting attire for someone of his station.

You heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching, and a quiet but unmistakable feeling washed over you: Gil-galad was near. You hesitated for a moment, before deciding to step into his view. As you emerged from the shadows, your heart pounded with uncertainty. Gil-galad, as regal and composed as always, stood at the doorway. He had not expected this moment. His eyes locked onto you immediately, the very air around him tightening. His gaze shifted, traveling over you with a deliberation that spoke volumes, yet not a word escaped his lips.

For a split second, you saw the High King falter. His features, usually so controlled, betrayed the briefest flicker of surprise, followed by the subtle tightening of his jaw, and a quiet breath he didn’t quite mean to release. He stood still, his tall figure almost towering against the warm glow of the hearth. He was a king, yes, but in this moment, you could see the man behind the ruler, wrestling with something deeper. His eyes remained fixed on you, an odd mixture of admiration, concern, and something more indefinable—a silent conflict he would never fully voice.

Gil-galad’s voice was calm when he finally spoke, though there was a quiet tension threading his words. “You are… most unexpected.” His gaze remained steady, not wandering, but neither was it warm. It was distant, perhaps too controlled. His eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, seemed to soften just slightly, and yet, he maintained his distance. “You must forgive me, but such attire is…” He paused, choosing his words with great care. “Not what I would have anticipated for an audience with a king.” His voice, deep and soft, carried the weight of someone who had lived through countless battles, and yet, there was a subtle tremor in his tone. A king could face armies, but how could he face this?

You stood before him, feeling an uncomfortable vulnerability creeping up your spine, but there was no turning back now. You tilted your head, perhaps in defiance, perhaps in curiosity. “I am not here to be a display of propriety, my lord,” you answered, your voice steady, though your heart raced. “The tunic is what I felt most at ease in, considering the hour. I meant no offense.” There was an odd mixture of playfulness and challenge in your tone, but it did not go unnoticed by Gil-galad. His jaw tightened for a moment, but his eyes never left you. He was clearly taking a moment to reassess his reaction, and though he had the authority to correct you, he seemed reluctant to do so—perhaps even uncertain.

“I did not mean to suggest offense,” he replied slowly, his voice quieter now, almost introspective. “But… you must understand, the ways of the Noldor are not so forgiving.” His words carried a heavy sense of responsibility, of tradition. “As High King, I must maintain a certain standard—one that has been carefully preserved across many ages.” But even in his words, you could sense the weight of his restraint. Beneath it, there was something else—a flicker, something more human, perhaps even appreciative. Gil-galad was not blind to your beauty, but it was clear that he struggled with how to reconcile the moment with his sense of duty.

He took a cautious step toward you, the distance between you shrinking slightly, yet he still kept a respectful distance. His gaze softened then, as if fighting to keep his emotions in check. “Though I cannot say I fully understand the choice of your attire,” he continued, his voice low, almost regretful, “I trust that you are in my house, and my care. Your comfort is of the utmost importance.” There was something deeply sincere in his words, the earnestness cutting through the tension. But then, his eyes narrowed slightly, a rare flicker of vulnerability breaking through the composed shell he kept so well-guarded.

“Still,” he said, almost in a whisper, “I would not want you to feel that you must dress in a manner that is—” He stopped, clearly wrestling with his own thoughts. “—inappropriate for the company you keep.” There was an undeniable softness now, a quiet understanding that seemed to flicker in his eyes. And then, as though unable to hold back, he added with a certain warmth, “You need not worry about offending me, not in that way.” The fire crackled in the background, but for a moment, everything felt still between you both. His words had softened, and the cold distance between you had been bridged, even if only a fraction.

A small silence stretched between you before you spoke again. “I didn’t wish to offend, my lord,” you replied, this time with a quiet smile that softened the edges of the tension. “But I also will not change simply to meet expectations. I’ve come to appreciate the freedom here in Lindon, where the weight of formality does not press so heavily.” Gil-galad’s lips twitched, as though considering your words. The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly, but there was still a deep wariness in his eyes.

“You have my respect,” he finally said, his voice steady again, but tinged with a quiet affection. “I only wish to ensure your well-being here.” He gave you a brief, almost imperceptible nod, his manner returning to the dignified King that he was. But you could see it—there, just behind his usual calm—was a shift. Perhaps in his perception of you. And for a fleeting moment, you could almost feel him reconsidering the nature of his authority, realizing that it wasn’t just his kingdom or his people that mattered. It was something… more. In that silence, the space between you two felt less like a ruler and a subject and more like two people, navigating a moment too delicate for words.

Another version

The chambers of Lindon were quiet, illuminated only by the warm flicker of the hearth casting soft golden light against the stone walls. Outside, the sound of the distant sea hummed faintly, a soothing melody to the stillness of the night. Gil-galad approached the door to check on you, his steps measured, though his mind was burdened with the weight of countless responsibilities. He knocked gently and entered without waiting for a reply—an unspoken trust lingering between you both. His regal bearing filled the room as he stepped inside, his silver and blue robes trailing behind him.

His gaze fell on you immediately, standing by the hearth. You shifted slightly, the loose tunic—his tunic—hanging off your frame in an oversized, almost haphazard fashion. The fabric, fine and delicate, slipped slightly from your shoulder, revealing more than propriety might deem appropriate. It was clear you hadn’t planned to be seen like this, but there was no retreat now.

Gil-galad paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise composed face. His sharp eyes softened almost imperceptibly as he took in the sight before him. He said nothing at first, his lips pressed together, but the faintest upward twitch of his mouth betrayed him. “Is this… intentional?” he finally asked, his voice calm but tinged with amusement. His tone carried that regal authority he couldn’t quite put down, even in moments of informality.

Your cheeks warmed under his steady gaze, though you managed to keep your composure. “It wasn’t,” you admitted, smoothing the fabric awkwardly. “Your people insisted I change into something more comfortable while my clothes dried. They thought this was appropriate, apparently.”

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, his tall figure seeming to fill the room. “And of all the garments available in Lindon, they chose mine?” He folded his arms across his chest, his tone measured, though there was a glimmer of teasing curiosity in his eyes. “It was handed to me,” you countered, meeting his gaze with defiance. “Do you think I would have picked this on purpose?”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable now as his eyes flickered to where the tunic hung loosely on your frame. The delicate slip of fabric from your shoulder caught his attention for just a moment too long, and he quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat. “What a king’s tunic handed to my guest?” he mused aloud, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. “I don’t think it’s coincidence.” His eyes met yours again, now glinting with subtle amusement, though his tone remained regal.

“Either my attendants have a very peculiar sense of humor… or they’re trying to make a statement.” “A statement?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware oversized clothes could be so political.”

“In this case,” he said smoothly, stepping closer, his towering presence filling the space between you, “it speaks volumes. A guest wearing the High King’s own tunic—one that just so happens to leave… much to the imagination—could be seen as more than just a matter of convenience.” His gaze dipped briefly, almost involuntarily, to where the fabric hung loosely at your collarbone, before he lifted his eyes once more, this time determined to hold your gaze. You scoffed lightly, refusing to let him fluster you. “So what you’re saying is… your attendants are meddling?” “Perhaps,” he admitted, his lips curving ever so slightly into a knowing smile. “But if so, they’ve chosen an interesting method. One that, I’ll admit, has achieved its desired effect.”

“Oh?” you asked, crossing your arms, though the action only caused the tunic to shift further on your frame. “And what effect would that be?” His smile didn’t falter, though his gaze softened as he studied you. “To catch my attention,” he said simply, the honesty “But It… suits you,” he said, though his voice had dropped just slightly, betraying an edge of something softer. “Though it may not be the most modest choice for an evening in my company.”

You couldn’t resist a small, sly smile. “Oh? Does the High King of the Noldor find himself distracted so easily?” His lips parted in surprise, and for once, the ever-composed Gil-galad looked caught off guard. “Hardly,” he replied after a beat, though his tone lacked conviction. “But I would be remiss if I didn’t ensure your comfort… and dignity.”

“Comfort, yes,” you quipped, brushing at the loose fabric. “Dignity? I’d argue that wearing the High King’s tunic is quite dignified, don’t you think?” A soft chuckle escaped him, the sound rare but warm. “You make a fair point. Though I might suggest a sash, at least,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the loose drape of the tunic. His eyes, despite his best efforts, returned briefly to your shoulder before he turned away slightly, as if to grant you some privacy.

“You’re flustered,” you observed, a teasing edge to your voice. “I didn’t think the great Gil-galad could be thrown off by something so trivial.” He glanced back at you, his expression composed once more, though there was a faint, mischievous glimmer in his eyes now. “Flustered? No,” he said smoothly, stepping closer again, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I am merely… amused.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “Amused. Of course.” Gil-galad tilted his head, studying you for a long moment, his gaze gentler now, more reflective. “Perhaps I am also…” He paused, searching for the right word. “…Intrigued.”

“By?” you prompted, your heart beating faster under his intense, albeit softened, gaze. “You,” he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of honesty that felt inescapable. “You have a way of turning the mundane into something extraordinary, even unintentionally.” For a moment, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the air between you seemed heavier, charged with unspoken words. Finally, you broke the silence, crossing your arms playfully. “So… should I return this tunic, then? Or are you intrigued enough to let me keep it?”

Gil-galad’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, the kind that softened his usual stoicism. “Keep it,” he said, his voice warm. “Though I would ask that you not wear it into the council chambers. I fear my advisors might not handle it as gracefully as I.” You laughed, a sound that filled the quiet room, and his smile deepened as he watched you. For all the weight he carried as High King, in that moment, he seemed lighter, as if your presence offered him a fleeting reprieve from the burdens of his crown.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The guest chambers of Eregion are quiet, the only sound being the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The room is dimly lit, with the flickering light casting long shadows across the stone walls. The warmth from the fire contrasts with the cold, distant feel of the stonework, making the atmosphere feel almost like a refuge. Celebrimbor had heard of your arrival, and being the ever-diligent lord, he had come to check on you. He is a man who’s meticulous in his work, but even more so when it comes to the well-being of those under his care. His footsteps are measured, soft, as he enters your chambers, expecting to find you resting or perhaps engaged in quiet thought. But as the door creaks open, his gaze lands on you in the most unexpected of ways.

You stand near the fire, one of the oversized tunics slipping slightly off your shoulder, the loose fabric falling softly around your body. It’s a simple outfit, but in the dim light, it seems almost… delicate. The tunic reveals more than he’s accustomed to seeing, and the effect is immediate. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You, standing there with your own uncertainty as you feel the fabric shift against your skin, and him, frozen in the doorway. Celebrimbor’s gaze sharpens as he takes in the sight of you, the soft blush of surprise creeping across his usually composed features. His heart races, and he does his best to contain it, but his breath catches in his throat. This is a sight he’s not used to—no matter how well he knows you, this feels… different.

“Forgive me,” Celebrimbor says softly, his voice breaking slightly, as he quickly averts his gaze, his hand instinctively reaching for the doorframe to steady himself. His mind is racing as he tries to regain his composure, but the softness in his tone betrays the quiet vulnerability he feels. “I did not intend to… intrude upon you in such a state.” You stand there, taking in the awkwardness of the moment. It’s not as though you’re ashamed of how you’re dressed, but you sense the unease in his voice, the way his eyes seem to dance around you without settling in one place. “I didn’t expect you so soon,” you reply, your voice quiet, the slight uncertainty in it perhaps matching his own. You adjust the tunic slightly, but it only seems to shift more, revealing just a little more skin. “I wasn’t expecting company, and—”

“No, no, of course,” Celebrimbor interrupts gently, though his words sound strained, as if he’s trying to make it clear that he’s the one out of place, not you. His expression falters for a moment, caught between concern and something else entirely. “It’s just… I had not meant to see you thus.” You can’t help but chuckle softly at his discomfort, the situation feeling almost surreal. “I didn’t think it would bother you. I’m not… embarrassed, you know.” You meet his eyes then, a slight challenge in your gaze, testing how far he might allow himself to relax. Celebrimbor stammers, blinking rapidly as though his mind is racing to find the words. “I… I am not bothered, of course not. But you must understand… it is—” He stops himself, as though considering his words carefully. His tone softens, and the words finally spill out in a quiet admission, “It is… hard for me to remain unmoved by your presence. You… have a way of unsettling me, my lord.”

You pause at this. His words linger in the air, heavy with something more than just formality. There’s an undertone of sincerity, of something deeper that he struggles to express, and you realize this situation is more than just discomfort—it’s an internal battle for him. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to step into the room more fully. His eyes meet yours now, steady but still holding a hint of vulnerability. “I have spent my life crafting, forging… creating things, and yet,” he pauses, his voice lowering slightly, “I am no more prepared for this than a novice smith before the forge.”

You notice the way he’s struggling, the way his posture shifts between wanting to look at you and wanting to look away. There’s no malice in his eyes, no anger—only a careful caution, as if afraid to break something fragile, both the moment and you. “I didn’t mean to cause you distress,” you say gently, stepping a little closer. You meet his gaze more directly now, no longer feeling quite so uncertain yourself. “It’s just… clothes. A tunic. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” But Celebrimbor’s eyes soften, even as he tries to appear calm. “I know. But I cannot help how it makes me feel.” He takes another careful step toward you, closer now, his eyes never quite leaving yours. He’s attempting to regain some of his usual control, but you can see the strain in his gaze. “Forgive me for my weakness… It is just that, you, standing there…” He shakes his head lightly. “I must admit, you are more beautiful than I ever expected.”

The silence between you two deepens as his words linger. He lowers his voice once more, almost as if confessing something. “I fear that… I could never simply view you as a guest, not anymore.” There is something almost painful in the way he says it, as if he’s come to the realization that it’s no longer so simple, not with you. You study him for a moment, taking in his discomfort and the vulnerability hidden beneath his usually confident exterior. You smile gently, stepping closer until you’re standing right in front of him, so close now that he can feel the warmth of your presence, the heat of the fire reflecting in your eyes.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Celebrimbor,” you say, your voice warm and steady. “I won’t bite. Not unless you ask nicely.” You chuckle lightly, trying to ease the tension. He glances at you, a small, rueful smile pulling at the corner of his lips, though the seriousness of his words hasn’t quite left his voice. “I would not dare to ask, my lord.” There’s a pause, and in that moment, the weight of the quiet shifts. Perhaps it’s the proximity, or perhaps the sincerity of the words shared between you, but Celebrimbor seems to breathe a little easier. “I… I don’t want to make this awkward,” you say, offering him a small smile, hoping to ease him further. “Let’s just say, I’m not shy, and neither should you be.”

He nods slowly, though there’s still a flicker of hesitation in his gaze. “I do not wish to make you feel uncomfortable either,” he says softly, stepping back, though not too far. “But you must understand, you make me want to be a better man, one who does not stumble in the presence of such grace.” You pause, taking in the warmth of his words, the sincerity of the feelings that he’s only now learning to express. And as the room falls into another moment of quiet, you realize that for all his nobility, for all his skill as a smith and a lord, Celebrimbor, too, is learning the way of vulnerability. And it’s in this exchange—a moment of uncertainty between you both—that you understand that his heart is as much a creation as any masterpiece forged in the fires of Eregion.

Another version

The quiet chamber of Eregion is bathed in a soft orange glow, the flickering hearthlight dancing across the carved stone walls. The air smells faintly of cedarwood and the faint metallic tang that seems to cling to Celebrimbor’s presence, no doubt from his endless hours spent in the forge. You stand just outside the threshold of the guest chamber, dressed in a tunic that you borrowed—or rather, quietly pilfered—from Celebrimbor’s collection.

It’s too large for you, the loose fabric falling to your mid-thigh and sliding off one shoulder despite your attempts to adjust it. The sleeves hang comically long, draping over your hands. You shift slightly, pulling at the hem to keep it in place, your cheeks warm under the weight of your own daring. You’re not sure why you didn’t grab your own clothes, but it’s too late for that now.

Just as you muster the courage to step inside, the door creaks open on its own. Celebrimbor is standing there, his hand still on the latch. His silver-grey hair, tied neatly, catches the firelight, giving him an almost ethereal glow. He’s dressed in his usual attire, though his tunic is slightly rumpled, as though he’s been distracted by something.

His eyes find you instantly, and the sharp inhalation he makes is barely audible but unmistakable. For a moment, he freezes, his gaze lingering on the tunic—on his tunic—before his eyes travel to your exposed shoulder, your flushed face, and back to the fabric that clings in places it shouldn’t. “Ah… I see…” he begins, though his voice falters slightly, a rare occurrence for the ever-composed elf lord. He clears his throat and tries again, his tone soft yet colored with something you can’t quite place. “You’re… wearing my tunic.”

“I am,” you reply, attempting nonchalance, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrays you. “I was cold, and this was… convenient.” You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your bare feet brushing against the cool stone floor. Celebrimbor’s brow furrows, not in displeasure, but in something closer to concern—or perhaps disbelief. “Convenient,” he repeats slowly, his voice tinged with a quiet amusement that only adds to your flustered state. He steps into the room fully, closing the door behind him. “It is… large on you.” His eyes flicker to your shoulder again, where the fabric has slipped, exposing more skin than you’d intended.

“I noticed,” you quip back, tugging at the neckline in a futile attempt to fix it. “You Noldor seem to favor oversized designs.” He tilts his head, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “I assure you, it is not the tunic’s design that is at fault. It was… not made for you.” His words are gentle, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—an unspoken thought he doesn’t quite voice.

You fold your arms, the sleeves bunching awkwardly as you meet his gaze. “If it bothers you, I’ll take it off,” you say, your tone half-teasing, half-challenging. You’re not sure what reaction you’re expecting, but you don’t anticipate the sudden widening of his eyes or the way he quickly averts his gaze, his composure slipping further.

“No!” he blurts out, then immediately winces at his own outburst. His voice lowers, softer now, almost reverent. “No, it does not… bother me. It’s simply…” He hesitates, searching for the right words, his hand absently brushing the back of his neck. “It is a sight I did not anticipate.”

“Is that a bad thing?” you ask, stepping closer, emboldened by his visible discomfort. “No,” he answers immediately, his voice firm despite the faint blush creeping onto his pale cheeks. “It is not a bad thing.” His gaze returns to you, softer now, and his lips part as though he wants to say more. Instead, he clears his throat again and straightens, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “Though I would suggest you sit by the fire. You’ll catch a chill otherwise.”

“Wouldn’t I be warmer if you stayed?” you counter, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. It’s worth it just to see the way his usually composed demeanor falters entirely. He stares at you for a moment, clearly grappling with how to respond. Finally, he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You are… impossible,” he murmurs, though there’s warmth in his voice, and perhaps a hint of admiration.

“And you’re endearing,” you reply, turning toward the fire but glancing back at him over your shoulder. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me, Celebrimbor.” His sharp intake of breath is audible this time, and you catch the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he follows you to the hearth, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

[shhrrroooommmmmyyyyyy]

my hc of our birbs

apologies for not posting in a while. adjusting to my new semester has left me quite busy. thought of this prompt last week. this is basically just my interpretations of the dynamics these three have among each other based on their interactions in the show. enjoy!

Stolas and Andrealphus

Easiest start at face value.

Obviously, these two don't like each other. But my biggest question has always been, exactly, why? Now Stella obviously has a big part to play in it, but let's remove her from the picture for a second.

I think Stolas and Andrealphus' relationship says more about Andrealphus than it does Stolas. The way Andrealphus treated Stolas even before Mastermind was with blunt discourtesy. So naturally Stolas, like anyone else would, gave it right back to him like the queen he is. But what about Andrealphus' side of that coin?

His hatred for Stolas, which we really saw the extent of in Sinsmas, cannot simply be just cause he doesn't like him or thinks he's cringe and it's not just Stella's influence. After looking back at their interaction in Western Energy, I think it's envy. It's the way he, when having the room during Mastermind, immediately suggests that he gets everything Stolas has (his title, his house, his servants, literally every possession he owns). He basically becomes Stolas' replacement in the family at that point.

Knowing Viv's writing, Andrealphus is more than likely going to have a sad backstory that connects to why he hates Stolas so much. Now I have nothing to back this up really, other than psychological reasoning and a writer's perspective, but my HC is that Andrealphus may have come second to Stolas in something or had been compared to Stolas in some way that particularly stuck with him early on.

And if his hate for Stolas goes back to childhood, Stella's hate for Stolas would make more sense. Growing up hating someone because it's what her cool -literally- older brother was doing. And then being stuck with said someone for the rest of your life. Cause in the Circus, I didn't get the impression that Stolas reciprocated her impudence before the first full moon. He even said he tried to make it comfortable for them, so I assume he was somewhat nice to her before the divorce.

Anyways, I think there's definitely a reason for Andrealphus' hate for Stolas that will be brought up later on. I'm so excited to see his motives.

Andrealphus and Vassago

I, as well as arguably the majority of the fans, definitely see that these two have a backstory. Their dialogue towards each other and the tone of their voices say it all.

Throughout their Mastermind argument, Vassago's speech definitely has more aggression and spite. His body language almost gives off "accusatory" towards Andrealphus. And Andrealphus responds with a more "change the subject before I look bad" kind of demeanor. And then Vassago just gives up like "i'm done with his bullshit 🙄".

My HC is that this is foreshadowing. I imagine they were friends before and Andrealphus did something that really hurt Vassago's feelings. And when Vassago confronts him about it, he just plays the victim or tries to change the subject. And Vassago said "i'm done fr" and then they weren't friends anymore. And Vassago's still sour abt it to this day -as he should be.

This is definitely the face of "what's he trying to bullshit now?"

And lastly.

Vassago and Stolas

The way Vassago said "Sing it, baby!" and Stolas having an awkward like "who was that?" kinda expression afterwards is where my HC came from.

I've seen a lot of people dismiss Vassago defending Stolas as just him wanting to do the right thing or disliking the clear injustice he was seeing. But I think there's more to it than that. If you look back at the clip, nothing he said really pointed to anything other than Stolas. He didn't say much about the actual trial at all; he just said Stolas should be there. And he was quite persistent about it until Andrealphus stopped arguing and just told him to shut up.

And Stolas's expression was kinda shocked and confused, almost like he didn't really know him that well and wasn't expecting it bc of that.

That's the dynamic I get from these two. I think maybe Vassago might admire Stolas from afar in a way because, while he has to hide it to some extent, he's definitely not consciously stuck-up and snobby like the rest of his family. Maybe he admires how naturally kind of a person he is behind the formalities of the image.

Maybe it was something like a small crush when they were teenagers that Stolas never noticed cause Vassago never told him and eventually grew out of it as an adult. That's my favorite HC. Stolas never noticing him cause he just stuck to himself and thought no one really cared about him, when someone was admiring his every move from a distance.

Bonus points if Vassago and his arranged partner were friends and didn't like-like eachother but were on good terms and whoever she was knew and would make fun of him for it (in a humorous way, not in a rude way).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anyways, I need to start my homework. Feedback and/or differing opinions are encouraged and welcome in the comments!

[deerlysacred]

ཀ while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there . . . widow's hill 🕷️

𐂂 𝄢 { s1 dean winchester x nymph fem!reader } {with sammy}

𖣂 𝄢 plot : original case storyline, some angst, eventually fluffy.

♫ 𝄢 concept song : strangers - ethel cain

‼️ 𝄢 i do not own supernatural or any of its characters; all rights belong to their respective creators. this is purely a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, with no intention of profit.

🦌 — the last draft rip 😔

The Impala hummed softly under Dean's hand as it rumbled down the empty road leading to Widow's Hill. The morning sky was heavy with clouds, casting a gray pall over the dead trees that lined the way. You sat in the backseat, your journal open on your lap, twirling your pen as your eyes flickered between the pages and the passing scenery. Sam, riding shotgun, was scrolling through notes on his laptop, his brow furrowed with concentration.

"Okay," Sam began, breaking the silence, "the legend says the villagers were slaughtered right after the sacrifices— rumor is, the girls' spirits went rogue and wiped them out."

Dean scoffed, one hand resting casually on the wheel. "Good. Sounds like they got what was coming to 'em. But if those ghosts are snatching up innocent women now, they're not exactly innocent anymore." The tension in his jaw hadn't eased all morning. It wasn't hard to guess why — his dad was still missing, and every passing day was a reminder that they weren't any closer to finding him.

He flicked his gaze at you through the rearview mirror —just for a second— but it was enough to make your insides tingle. You pretended to be very, very interested in the half-doodled sigil on your journal page. Dean didn’t make a habit of trusting supernatural creatures, and you didn’t make a habit of being trusted as a nymph. Yet somehow, here you were, you carved out an exception. Not that he'd admit it outright, but you still knew he was starting to trust you.

"Alright," Dean grumbled, pulling to a park near the broken iron gates of the churchyard. The building stood crookedly against the gray sky, its windows shattered and vines crawling like veins up the crumbling walls. "We start with the records inside. Find those girls' names —Georgia, Clara, and Mae. Burn their bones, and we're outta here."

"Easy enough," Sam muttered as he swung the door open. "Except for the part where they'll probably try to kill us."

The cold february air hit your face as you stepped out of Baby, boots crunching on the frosty gravel. You instinctively tightened your coat around you, eyeing the eerie church in front of you like a bad omen. It was straight out of one of those haunted house movies Dean loved quoting.

"This is gonna be fun." Dean said sarcastically, slamming the car door. He grabbed the salt rounds and shotgun from the trunk. "Stay close," he muttered, not looking at you. "I'm not in the mood to scrape you off the ceiling if one of these lady spooks decides to make you her new doll."

"Wow, Dean," you said dryly, falling into step beside him. "Thanks for the visual. That's comforting."

He smirked, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I aim to please."

You hesitated, glancing up at him. He looked… tired, more than usual. You could clearly see the eyebags under his slightly bloodshot emerald eyes, like he hadn't slept in a while. "Hey, uh…" You fiddled with the buttons of your coat, your voice dropping slightly. "You okay? I mean… you seem kinda…" Gruff? Angry? Sad? Words failed you again, so you gestured vaguely in his direction like that explained everything.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Kinda…?"

Oh, good, now he's making me finish the sentence. Fantastic. "I don't know… just… are you okay?" you asked, your voice barely above a mumble by the end.

His smirk softened into something closer to a smile. "I'm fine," he said, a little too quickly. Then, after a pause, he sighed and added, "Let's just get this over with."

The interior of the church was worse than you expected. Pews were overturned, their wood rotting and splintered. Shattered stained-glass windows let in weak gray light, casting patterns on the dust-covered floor. The broken stained-glass windows painted jagged, ghostly reflections across the walls— saints and angels distorted by time. It was the kind of place that made you shiver before anything abnormal even happened.

Dean clicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting through the dimness. "Alright, let's find the records and get the hell out of here before one of our new ghost girlfriends decides to play tag."

"Not it." you muttered under your breath.

Sam made his way towards the back of the church, where a set of double doors hung slightly ajar. "If there are any old records, they'll probably be in an office or storage room." He pushed open the doors with a creak, revealing a hallway lined with more doors. The air back here was even colder. You rubbed your arms, trying to shake the growing unease settling in your stomach.

Dean must've noticed, because he nudged your arm as he passed. "Relax, Bambi. It's just a creepy, abandoned church full of vengeful spirits. What's the worst that could happen?"

You shot him a glare. "You want the full list, or just the highlights?"

"Smartass." he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched up.

The three of you split up, searching through the various offices and storage spaces. You found a cabinet stuffed with crumbling papers and old books, flipping carefully. Your breath caught when you finally landed on something useful.

"Hey…" you called out, pulling out a thick, yellowed ledger. Sam and Dean were at your side in seconds, looking over your shoulder as you flipped through the names.

"Georgia Lindsay, Clara Dalton, and Mae Treece." Sam read aloud, pointing to the neatly penned names under a list of burials. "Looks like they were buried under the weeping tree in the village cemetery. Georgia and Clara at least… Mae's got a question mark next to her name."

Dean frowned. "What does that mean? They lost her body?"

You stared at the eerie little mark on the page, a sense of dread curling in your gut with the sudden possibility that crept inside your mind. "Or they never buried her at all."

"Not… necessarily," Sam murmured, his eyes scanning the page. "The question mark could mean a number of things— maybe they had trouble identifying her body, or maybe—"

Dean cut in.

"Or maybe they just chucked her in a ditch and called it a day. Either way, we gotta find out where she ended up. If we don't, burning her friends ain't gonna do squat."

You exhaled, rubbing your arms against the chill seeping into your bones. There was something about Mae that unsettled you more than the others. But you didn't know why.

"So," you said. "Graveyard first, then we play hide-and-seek with Mae?"

Dean shot you a look. "Yeah, except if Mae finds us first, the game ends with us getting turned into human confetti."

Sam ignored him, flipping through another set of records. "Georgia and Clara's graves should be towards the back of the cemetery. There's a map here— looks like the cemetery is split into sections."

Dean rolled his shoulders like he was trying to shake off a bad feeling. "Alright, let's go dig up some bones."

You three went out of the building, the broken church doors groaning behind you like something reluctant to let you go. The sky was still heavy with clouds, the air was chilly. You walked beside Dean, hands tucked into the sleeves of your coat, while Sam studied the graveyard map like it was a damn treasure hunt.

Dean glanced over at you, then down at your boots with a small smirk. "You know, for someone who's half-forest fairy, you sure aren't great at walking on actual earth."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Yesterday, you tripped over a completely flat sidewalk."

"That was one time—"

Dean huffed, his breath misting inthe air, he nudged you lightly with his elbow. "Oh yeah? What about last week? When you tripped over air and took me down with you?"

Your face warmed at the memory. "That was… a coordinated fall."

"Coordinated my ass. I had a bruise the size of Kansas on my back."

You bit your bottom lip, crossing your arms. "Oh, sure, let's all pick on the clumsy person."

"Hey, I think it's adorable," Dean teased, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that always made your heart flutter. "Real cute when you get all flustered, too."

You opened your mouth to throw out some witty retort but the universe had other plans. The ground shifted beneath your foot, your boot catching on a hidden tree root, and before you could even process what was happening, you were weightless— then not.

A strong hand shot out, catching your arm before you could fully faceplant into the frozen ground. Dean's grip was firm and way too warm compared to the chilly Widow's Hill air seeping into your skin, his laugh was immediate. "See? Case in point."

Your face was approximately the temperature of a furnace. "I hate you."

"Nah, sweetheart," he drawled, still holding onto you, his grip firm and warm. "You love me."

Sam sighed. "Can we focus?"

You pushed away from Dean, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. "Yes, please." You three kept walking, and you finally thought that you were finally from Dean's teasing. But of course, while Sam had his nose buried in the map trying to make sense of the disorganized burial plots, Dean seemed more interested in smirking at you.

Maybe if I stay really quiet, he'd just let it go.

Nope.

"So, Bambi," he drawled, nudging you lightly with his elbow again. "What's your over-under on falling again before we torch these bones?"

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your coat around you. "Oh, ha ha. Very funny."

"Hey, I'm just sayin', if you wipe out again, I might start carrying a leash."

A leash? Oh my God. Nope. Not acknowledging that. Not picturing that. Absolutely not thinking about Dean Winchester, holding a—

NOPE.

Sam snorted, and you shot him a betrayed look. "Et tu, Sam?"

"He's got a point," Sam muttered, not even glancing up from the map. "You do fall a lot."

"That's it," you huffed, stepping ahead of them. "I'm leaving you two to the ghosts."

Dean chuckled, the warmth of it curling around your ears. "Oh, sweetheart, you wouldn't last ten minutes without us."

You ignored him, focusing on the graveyard ahead. The further you walked, the quieter the world became. The usual forest sounds —chirping birds, rustling leaves— had disappeared, swallowed by an unnatural stillness. Even the wind seemed hesitant, whispering through the trees instead of howling.

You shivered. Something felt… off.

But you weren't about to give Dean the satisfaction of freaking out over nothing.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

One moment, you were walking. The next, the world tilted. Your stomach lurched as your foot caught on something unseen, and you were falling— again.

Oh, for the love of—

The impact never came. Instead, a cold, unseen force yanked you backwards, your breath vanishing from your lungs as you were dragged through the dirt.

For a split second, your brain tried to rationalize it. Maybe you had tripped, maybe you just—

No. No, something had grabbed you.

Panic flared in your chest, raw and instinctive. Your hands clawed at the ground, boots digging into the dirt as you struggled. "DEAN—!"

Dean's laughter died in an instant. "Y/N?"

You barely had time to hear the confusion in his voice before you were pulled even harder, your body sliding through the grass like you weighed nothing. Your fingers scraped at the frozen earth, desperate for something —anything— to hold onto. The grip was cold. So cold.

It felt like icy hands wrapped around your ankles.

Something unseen —someone unseen— was dragging you.

Dean's voice snapped from playful to deadly serious in half a heartbeat. "What the hell— SAM!"

You caught a glimpse of their figures rushing toward you before the force jerked you violently to the left. The world blurred around you as you were yanked between trees, your scream lost in the wind.

Your back hit something solid suddenly, breath whooshing from your lungs. A rotten, collapsed wooden structure surrounded you —the remnants of an old wood— cutting shed. Rusted tools littered the ground and hanging down the walls. A collection of knives and axes gleamed dully, their edges wickedly sharp. Your breath fogged in the cold as you turned your head, the shadows between the ruined wooden beams thickening. The air shifted. Like someone had just stepped forward.

Then, she appeared.

Clara Dalton.

Her figure flickered, a torn white dress clinging to her like wet paper. She had rain boots on, cracked and faded yellow, squelched with every slow step, leaving faint, wet prints. The edges of her face blurred in and out, shifting between the hollow-eyed corpse she'd become and the girl she had once been. Her long blonde hair hung in limp, lifeless pigtails, the strands dull and stringy, as if they'd never known the warmth of the sun. Her eyes, black as the deepest parts of the ocean, locked onto yours. A small smile stretched across her pale lips.

"You fall a lot," she whispered, tilting her head like she found that funny. "Just like I did."

You didn't want to ask. You really didn't. But your mouth moved anyway. "You fell?"

A giggle, breathy and sharp. Her body jerked, her head snapping at an unnatural angle. Like a puppet with its strings tangled.

"Down the well," she cooed. "Down, down, down— so dark. So cold. I screamed, but no one came."

A chill prickled your skin, nausea twisting in your gut. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Clara's smile faltered, her black eyes flickering, something fragile breaking beneath the surface. "Are you?" she whispered, her voice soft now. Childlike. "Would you have come for me?"

Your breath felt tight in your throat. You didn't know how to answer that.

Clara swayed forward, her fingers twitching like she was resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. Her presence brought the smell of damp earth, something old. "I used to braid my hair every morning." Her voice wobbled. "Mama said I had the prettiest hair in the village."

Your stomach twisted, knowing exactly where this was going.

"But the water—" Clara's breath hitched, her voice taking on a wet, gurgling edge. Her fingers suddenly curled into the ends of her stringy, tangled locks, frustration and grief flickering across her half-decayed face. "It ruined it. Stole all the shine. Now it's just—just…" Her voice trembled towards the end, jaw clenching. Then suddenly, her dark gaze snapped up, landing on you with something desperate. "Braid it." she commanded.

Your blood ran cold.

"W-What?" you stammered, glancing wildly towards the trees, Dean and Sam were still not in sight, probably still searching for you. "I don't think—"

"Braid my hair," she repeated, stepping closer. Her body flickered between solid and mist, her bottom lip quivered. "Please." Her voice wobbled as she turned her back to you and sat on the ground. "Please, please, please."

The way she said it made your stomach knot. It wasn't just a request. It was an echo of something she used to say in her past, something she must've begged for when she was still just a girl and not this… vengeful thing.

You cursed everything as you sat down too, your fingers shook as you reached out.

Clara let out a sharp, shuddering breath as you gently took a handful of her damp, brittle hair. The sensation sent a ripple of unease down your spine— it wasn't the worst thing you'd ever touched, but it was close. Cold, stringy, weak, almost like old river weeds. But Clara sighed like you had just given her something she hadn't had in decades.

"I liked French braids best," she murmured, swaying slightly. "Mama used to do them so tight it made my eyes pull."

Your fingers worked automatically, twisting the strands as carefully as you could. "That sounds… painful."

Clara giggled. "Maybe a little. But it meant she cared, you silly goose." Her voice softened. "That she saw me."

You swallowed. Something about this brief moment of calmfelt like holding your breath before a storm. "What happened to your mother?"

Clara's fingers clenched into the folds of her lacey dress. "She left."

You froze. "Left?"

Clara's thin body tensed up for a second, you couldn't see her eyes but you guessed that her gaze zoned out.

"She thought I ran away," she murmured, her voice distant. "The town told her I ran away." Her lip trembled. "She didn't come looking."

Your hands stilled.

Oh.

Oh, Clara.

"You remind me of her." she whispered.

Your throat closed up, feeling your breath hitch.

She turned her head just enough for you to catch the pale curve of her cheek, the dull gleam of her lifeless eyes. "Not my mother," she added. "My sister."

Your hands, still caught in the strands of her hair, trembled. "You had a sister?"

Clara gave a slow, almost dreamy nod. "She used to braid my hair, too. Just like this. She was more patient and gentle with it though. That's why I'd always asked from her first." Her fingers twitched in her lap. "She was older than me, by six years. Always said I'd grow up to be beautiful and strong."

You swallowed against the ache growing in your throat. "She sounds like she loved you."

Clara didn't respond right away. When she finally did, her voice had turned raw. "She left first. Married a man from another town. She wanted to take me with her, but—" A soft, shuddering breath left her lips. "Mama wouldn't let her."

Your fingers curled around her hair instinctively, you blinked away the tears that filled your eyes.

"She never knew what happened to me," Clara murmured. "I wonder… if she ever thinks about me. If she misses me."

Your heart clenched. "I'm sure she does." you whispered.

For a long moment, Clara said nothing. Just sat there, letting you finish the braid in silence. You were careful, treating her fragile hair gentle, even though you knew it was too late. The moment you tied off the end with a loose scrap of lace from your sleeve, she lifted a shaking hand to touch the plait. Her fingers ran over the neat pattern, hesitant, almost happy.

"It feels nice," she whispered, reaching up to touch it with delicate, ghostly fingers. "Like when… my hair was still warm."

You swallowed thickly. "Clara, I—"

Her head jerked suddenly, snapping towards the trees outside the cabin. Her black eyes widened, her hands clenching into fists. A heartbeat later, you heard it, too— Dean, calling your name with urgency.

Clara twisted back around, gaze boring into you, filled with something raw. "They're coming," she said, but there was no malice in her voice. Just… melancholy? Acceptance? She reached out, the tips of her cold fingers skimming over your wrist. "You're not like the others, you listen."

Your breath hitched.

Then before you could say another word, she disappeared like a candle in the wind.

A shudder wracked through your body. You exhaled sharply, dragging a shaky hand down your face. That was— well. That was something.

Leaves crunched behind you. "Y/N!"

You turned just as Dean and Sam burst through the trees, Dean's shotgun was raised, Sam's expression knitted with worry. The moment Dean saw you, his green eyes darkened. "Jesus, sweetheart, you okay? What the hell happened?"

He pulled you up to your feet, his calloused thumbs caressed your cheeks as he checked if you were all right. "I—I'm okay, I guess…" you stammered. "She—She asked me to braid her hair, and if I said no, I think she would've—"

"What? You braided her hair?" Dean repeated, incredulous. His hands shot through his already-messy hair, like he was trying to physically restrain himself from yelling. "Jesus, Y/N! You didn't think maybe, I dunno, running the hell away was the better option?!"

Your stomach twisted. "I was buying time!" you argued, your voice smaller than you wanted it to be. "She wasn't attacking me, and I—I thought if I kept her calm she—"

Dean let out a humorless laugh and took a step back, licking his lips. "Oh yeah? And what was the plan if she didn't stay calm? Huh?" His eyes were wild with frustration. "What if we hadn't gotten to you in time? What if she'd—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Damn it, Y/N, you can't just—"

"Alright, enough." Sam interrupted, stepping between you both with a firm look. "We're all in one piece. Let's focus on getting those bones burned before she decides to come back for round two."

Dean clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. For a second, it looked like he might keep arguing. But then he just ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Fine…" he muttered. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

He turned sharply and stalked ahead, his shoulders tense. You stayed back for a moment, watching him go, your heart tight in your chest, feeling guilty. You understood why he was upset. Hell, you would've been just as mad if the roles were reversed. But it still hurt. Sam sighed, giving you a knowing yet soft look. "You okay?"

You nodded, even though you didn't even believe it yourself. "Yeah."

Sam gave you a small, reassuring pat on the back before the two of you followed Dean towards the weeping tree in the graveyard. The branches curled above like skeletal fingers, the air thick with an unnatural stillness around the tombs. Even the bugs had gone quiet.

Dean was already digging, the shovel cutting into the damp earth with angry thrusts into Georgia's grave. His jaw was set, his face unreadable. Sam grabbed the other shovel and started digging Clara's grave.

You shifted uncomfortably, wrapping your arms around yourself as the tension between the brothers thickened with every scrape of metal against dirt.

After a few minutes, Sam let out a long breath, pausing to rest his weight on the handle of his shovel. "You know, we shouldn't even be wasting time on this." His voice was tight, restrained. "We should be looking for Dad."

Dean's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't look up. "Oh, here we go again." he muttered under his breath.

"I'm serious, Dean." Sam's voice grew more heated. "Every case we take is just another distraction. We're running in circles when we should be tracking Dad down. You know he's out there looking for that demon—"

Dean threw his shovel aside with a loud clank when it finally hit something hard, probably the coffin. "And what the hell do you think we're doing, Sam?" He turned to face his brother, his green eyes flashing. "We're following his damn trail, same as always. But we can't just ignore people who need help along the way!"

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "That's the excuse you keep using. But you and I both know that we're no closer to finding him than we were months ago! Meanwhile, the thing that killed Jess is still out there, and we're just— what? Digging up old graves? Burning bones?" His voice cracked slightly when he mentioned Jessica. "I don't care about this hunt, Dean. I care about finding Dad so we can finally take that son of a bitch down."

Dean took a step closer, his face twisting with barely restrained anger. "Yeah? And what if we do find him, Sam? What then? You think he's just gonna tell us everything, hand us the demon on a silver platter?" He let out a bitter laugh. "Dad's been doing this for a hell of a long time. If he's not answering our calls, there's a damn good reason for it."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but you quickly stepped between them, standing in the middle of two graves as your hands raised in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. "Guys, come on," you pleaded, your voice soft and urgent. "It'not the time for this, you can talk about it when we go back to—"

Dean's eyes found you you so sharp it made your breath catch. "This isn't your damn business, Y/N! Know your place." he snapped, his voice raising. The words hit you like a slap. You flinched, your heart plummeting into your stomach.

Dean's face was still set in anger, but the moment the words left his mouth, something flickered in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Not enough to take it back, though.

Your throat felt tight. "I was just trying to help." you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Dean exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face. But he didn't apologize. He just turned away, crouching down to push the last remaining dirt on the coffin away with his hands.

Sam shot you a guilty look, his expression softening. "Y/N…"

But you shook your head quickly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. "Whatever."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and focused on the task at hand. You'd deal with the ache later. Right now, you needed to burn these bones before the girls come to get you.

Dean finally wrenched open Georgia's coffin with a grunt, the old wood splintering under his force. The smell hit first— stale earth and something worse, something rotting beneath the years. What remained of her body was the brittle bones wrapped in the tattered shreds of her burial dress, strands of lifeless hair still clinging to her skull. Muggets and worms everywhere.

You wasted no time, grabbing the salt and pouring it over her remains. Sam followed, dousing her in gasoline. Dean flicked open his lighter—

A giggle, chillingly sweet, curled through the noon air.

"Oh, boys… burning a girl without even saying goodbye?"

Before you could react, something slammed into you with force. The ground met you hard, damp earth seeping through your coat as the breath tore from your lungs. You gasped, dizzy, as the lighter skidded from Dean's fingers, landing uselessly in the dirt, his eyes widened with worry. "Y/N!"

Georgia's form shimmered into existence a few feet away. Even in death, she was striking— long, raven dark curls framing porcelain skin, her deep red lips twisted into a smirk. But it was her eyes that unsettled you most— hollow but hungry.

And right now, they were locked onto Dean.

"My, my," she purred, stepping towards him, her gaze sweeping over him like a predator sizing up its next meal. "You're even more handsome up close. I've been watching you, you know…"

Dean's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing around his shotgun. "Yeah? You should've taken a picture then." He cocked the gun, smirking. "What's the term? Necrophilia? Yeah, sweetheart, I don't swing that way."

Georgia laughed, a sound that slithered under your skin like a slow-moving poison. "Oh, that sharp tongue of yours— it's delicious." She reached out, fingers barely grazing his jaw, but it was enough. A thin layer of frost crackled over his skin, the cold spreading like veins of ice down his throat. Dean's body stiffened, his breath coming in short, visible bursts.

Your stomach lurched. She was freezing him.

"Let him go!" You scrambled to your feet, your fingers finding the iron crowbar strapped to your belt.

Georgia barely spared you a glance after she threw Sam, who tried to get to her too, away, her lips curving into something almost affectionate. "Oh, but he likes it," she murmured, her touch trailing down Dean's chest, the ice following in its wake. "Don't you, Dean?"

Dean's face twisted in pain, but he couldn't move.

Enough.

You didn't think— you just moved, swinging the crowbar with everything you had. It cut through Georgia's form like mist, but the effect was immediate. She shrieked, her body flickering, stumbling backwards as her grip on Dean broke. She threw Dean away against a tombstone harshly lastly.

Dean staggered, sucking in a sharp breath, his hands shaking as feeling returned to his limbs. "Jesus Christ." he rasped, shaking out the lingering cold.

No time to check if he was okay.

Sam was already raising his shotgun, he fired— the rock salt blast slammed into Georgia, sending her sprawling back with a cry, her form shattering.

"That won't hold her for long!" Sam yelled.

You didn't hesitate. Heart pounding, you dove for the lighter, fumbling as you flipped it open. The small flame flickered, and then you tossed it.

The moment it hit the gasoline- soaked bones, fire erupted in a furious blaze. Her scream tore through the graveyard.

She materialized one last time, writhing in agony, her hands clawing at the air as if she could undo what had already begun. Her face twisted with fear. Then, just like that, she was gone.

But you weren't done yet.

You turned, glancing at Clara's grave. The coffin was opened by Sam, the skeletal remains waiting for their turn in the fire. Your stomach churned, swallowing hard as you knelt by the grave. You repeated the process— salt, lighter fluid, the flick of the flame. But this time, your hands shook more. You couldn't explain it. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was Clara's childlike presence lingering in the back of your mind. The lighter fell from your trembling fingers, landing atop Clara's remains. Fire bloomed instantly, swallowing her bones in a hungry, orange glow. And just like that, Clara was gone too.

A groan pulled you to stand on your feet. You turned, your heart lurching as you spotted Dean still slumped against the headstone where Georgia had thrown him. His face was twisted in pain, one arm wrapped tightly around his ribs.

"Dean!"

You rushed to his side, dropping to your knees. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a second, you thought he was about to make a snarky comment. But then he winced as he tried to shift upright, and the smartass remark died in his throat.

"Shit," he muttered. "ghost bitch had some strength."

"Yeah, no kidding." You bit your lip, scanning him for injuries. His breathing was shallow, his jaw clenched like he was trying to play it off. "You hit the headstone hard. You could've broken something."

Dean scoffed. "Please. Takes more than that to— ah, damn it." He hissed when he tried to move again.

Your heart squeezed. You hesitated for only a second before your instincts kicked in. "Hold still." you murmured, shifting closer.

Dean blinked, watching as you reached out, your palms hovering just over his chest. "What are you—"

A soft, golden glow radiated from your hands, illuminating the deep bruising forming under his shirt. The moment your fingers brushed over his ribs, warmth spread through him, sinking into his bones.

Dean's breath hitched. "Whoa."

The pain in his expression slowly melted away, his body relaxing beneath your touch. His green eyes widened slightly, filled with something unreadable as he stared at you. You swallowed, keeping your focus. The bruises faded, the ache dissipating until all that remained was a lingering warmth. You exhaled softly, finally letting your hands drop.

"Better?" you asked, voice quiet.

Dean flexed his fingers, shifting his weight cautiously. His brows furrowed when he didn't feel pain anymore. "Yeah," he admitted, sounding almost surprised. "Better."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you hung thick, charged with something tense. Then Dean cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I owe you one, huh?" His voice was teasing, but there was something else beneath it too— something softer.

You smiled faintly. "I'll add it to your tab."

Dean huffed a small laugh. His eyes lingered on you for a second before Sam's voice cut through the moment. "I found something." You both turned to see him kneeling near the backpack, flipping through the notes you'd gathered from the library and church records earlier. His brows were furrowed, his expression focused.

"What is it?" Dean pushed himself to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You took it, your fingers brushing against his for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Sam sighed, holding up a page. "Mae Treece. We know there's no record of her burial. But I cross-checked the village's old property records, and guess what? Her family home is still standing, just outside the village limits."

"So, what?" Dean crossed his arms. "You think the bones might still be there?"

"It's possible." Sam stood, tucking the papers back into the bag. "From what I read here, her mother refused to accept her death. If she never gave Mae a proper burial, she might've kept her remains in the house."

A chill ran down your spine at the thought.

Dean huffed. "Great. So we get to break into a creepy abandoned house on a 'casual' Monday. Awesome."

Sam ignored him, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. "It's our only lead. If the bones are there, we finish the job."

You nodded, shaking off the lingering unease. "Then let's go."

The road leading to the Treece house was cracked and overgrown, weeds poking through the sidewalk as the afternoon sun cast long shadows over you three. The old house loomed in the distance, its windows dark and boarded, its paint peeling from years of neglect. It was the kind of house kids dared each other to approach on a Halloween night.

You and Dean walked side by side, trailing slightly behind Sam as he checked the map.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of birds and the occasional rustling of wind. Then, Dean glanced at you. "So…" he started, his voice lighter than before. "Are we gonna talk about the whole magical healing hands thing?"

You sighed, rubbing your arm. "I—It's just part of my nymph abilities… It's complicated.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Complicated how?"

You hesitated, chewing your lip. "It… drains me. A little. And I can't heal major wounds. Just small injuries. I don't use it much because, well…" You exhaled. "It makes me feel too much. I don't know how to explain it. Like… I feel the pain I take away, even if just for a second."

Dean frowned. "Wait— you felt that?"

"A little," you admitted, looking down at your hands. "Not as bad as you did probably, but… yeah."

Dean's jaw tightened. "That's not fair."

You blinked, caught off guard.

He shook his head. "I mean, you already put yourself in danger, and now you're taking on pain that's not even yours?" His lips pressed into a thin line. "That's bullshit, Y/N."

Then he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Anyway. Next time, just let me suffer. I can take it."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, sure, because suffering in silence has worked so well for you in the past."

Dean opened his mouth to argue— then paused, giving you a half-smile instead. "Touché."

Up ahead, Sam stopped, looking up at the looming house.

"We're here."

The Treece house stood before you like a silent, waiting thin. And whatever or whoever in it, was waiting for you too.

The front porch creaked as the three of you stepped onto it, dust curling up from the floorboards like the house was exhaling its own breath.

Dean tested the front door, rattling the handle. Locked. He sighed, then threw his shoulder against it, but the wood barely budged. "Figures. Feels like something's blocking it from the inside.”

Sam tried one of the ground-floor windows, but as expected, most were boarded up with thick, splintered wood, nailed in. "Whoever did this really didn't want anyone getting in,” Sam said, peering through a tiny gap between the planks. "Can't see much, but this place looks trashed."

You glanced around, scanning the perimeter of the house. The old iron gate surrounding the yard was rusted, nearly swallowed by overgrown weeds. A broken stone angel statue leaned against the side of the house, half its face missing, moss growing in the cracks of its wings.

Then you spotted it.

A small, dirty bathroom window near the back of the house. It wasn't boarded up like the others, just slightly out of reach. Big enough for you, but too small for Sam or Dean.

You pointed. "I can go in through there."

Dean's head snapped towards you. "What?"

You pointed up again. "That window. I can squeeze through and unlock the door from the inside."

Dean's brows furrowed, and his jaw immediately clenched. "Hell. No."

"Dean—"

"Nope." He turned back towards the door, rolling his shoulders. "I'll break this damn thing down if I have to."

You sighed. "You just said there's furniture blocking it. Even if you bust it open, you'll probably just make more of a mess."

"Yeah, well, maybe we move the furniture when we get inside, genius."

You crossed your arms. "Or, maybe I just go in through the window, and we avoid making a bunch of noise that'll gather possible ghost guests?"

Dean opened his mouth to argue back, but Sam cut in, glancing between you both. "She's not wrong, Dean. It's the safest way in."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Dude. What if she gets stuck? Or worse— what if something in there grabs her before she gets the damn door open?"

You sighed. "Then I'll scream really loud, and you can break the door down then."

Dean still looked reluctant, but Sam was already crouching near the wall, interlacing his fingers. "Come on, I'll boost you up."

Dean clenched his jaw, looking between you and the window. His hands were on his hips, his fingers tapping anxiously against his belt.

"Fine," he muttered. "but if anything happens—"

"I know, I know," you said, holding onto Sam's broad shoulders as he lifted you higher. You grasped the windowsill, your fingers curling around the dusty wood.

Dean exhaled sharply. "Just— be careful, okay?"

You glanced down at him and smiled. "I will."

Then, with a small push, you hoisted yourself through the window.

The moment you landed inside, the air changed. The air smelled of mildew and something sickly sweet, like rotting flowers left too long in a vase. The house wasn't just abandoned; it was preserved in decay, like time had stopped inside its walls.

You stood in what must've been a bathroom, but the sink was cracked. The mirror above it was shattered. A rusted claw-foot bathtub sat in the corner, its curtain half-ripped, revealing something inside— a rotting bouquet of dead lilies. Your breath misted in the air as you gasped. It was too cold for noon, even colder than outside.

Slowly, you stepped out of the bathroom and into the main hallway.

The wallpaper was faded damask, peeling at the edges, revealing black mold creeping up the walls like veins. The wooden floorboards groaned under your weight, each step disturbing a layer of dust.

Framed portraits lined the walls, their gilded edges tarnished, their subjects watching you with blank, hollow eyes. A young girl you supposed was Mae was there in a family portrait, she had short brown hair and big blue eyes full of life. Smiling widely with her dimples. The moment you looked at the girl's figure, you heard it.

Soft whispering.

Your breath hitched. It was distant, just at the edge of your hearing, slithering through air like a lullaby sung through broken teeth.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

You swallowed hard and moved towards the door, stepping carefully around a puddle of something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. The thing that was blocking the door was a big old grandfather clock, its face cracked, its hands stuck at 3:17. You pushed it aside carefully, trying not to make much noise. The door lock was rusted, but after a few sharp turns, it finally clicked open. Without hesitation, you yanked the door open.

Dean and Sam were already waiting, both of them looking tense. Dean's eyes scanned you from head to toe, his hand immediately resting on your shoulder. "You good?"

You nodded, swallowing. "Yeah."

The three of you moved cautiously through the decaying halls of the house, it felt wrong and unsettling. Dean led the way, shotgun raised, his sharp gaze flicking to every shadowed corner. Sam followed behind, his flashlight sweeping over old furniture covered in white sheets, their shapes looming like silent ghosts. You stayed in the middle. The moment you stepped into a bedroom at the end of the hall, your stomach clenched.

The room was eerily preserved. Faded floral wallpaper of lilies, a vanity covered in dust, and an old wooden rocking chair sitting beside the canopied bed. A dollhouse rested on a small table, the tiny figurines inside still standing upright. But their faces… Their eyes had been scratched out.

Dean approached the dresser, pulling open a drawer with a loud creak. "Nothing but old clothes."

Sam crouched by the vanity, shifting through moth-eaten papers and dried-out ink bottles. "There has to be something here, some kind of clue."

Your gaze flickered to the bedside table, where a small wooden box sat, its lid slightly ajar.

Carefully, you reached out and lifted the top.

Inside, beneath layers of old lace and dried flowers, was a letter. The paper was yellowed and fragile, the ink slightly faded but still readable.

"Guys, I think I found something."

Sam stood and peered over your shoulder as you unfolded the letter with delicate fingers.

My sweet Mae, I can still hear you crying at night. I can still feel your little hands clinging to my dress, begging me to take you away. I should have. I should have run far, far away and never looked back. But I was too weak. I let them take you. I let them hurt you. I let them kill you. And for that, I will never forgive myself. I kept you here because I thought, somehow, if I held on long enough, you wouldn't be gone. But I know now that I was wrong. I see the shadows moving at night, I hear you whispering in the walls, clawing them. My baby, my poor darling, I trapped you here. I hope one day, someone finds you. I hope one day, someone sets you free. Because I can't, I won't. I am so sorry. - Mother

The room was silent as you finished reading.

Sam exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "She must've kept Mae's body after the sacrifice. That's why there were no burial records."

You looked at him. "But if she didn't bury her, then…"

Dean's expression darkened. "Then Mae's still here."

A sudden thud echoed from somewhere below. All three of you whipped toward the sound. Dean's fingers flexed around his shotgun. "Basement."

You swallowed. Of course it was the basement.

The three of you moved as one, pushing through the decayed house until you reached the basement door. It was ajar, revealing a staircase that disappeared into darkness. The air that seeped from below was cold, thick, suffocating— like walking into an open grave.

Dean flicked on his flashlight, casting long shadows across the crumbling walls. "Stay close."

Step by step, you descended, each footfall groaning against the ancient wood. The basement was worse than you imagined.

Old wooden beams sagged under years of decay. The walls were cracked and damp, the floor covered in a thin layer of dirt. Rusted tools hung from the walls, their shapes twisted and jagged in the dim light.

But it was the far corner of the room that made your breath hitch.

A makeshift bed —little more than a rotting mattress— was pushed against the wall, surrounded by candles long since melted into waxy puddles. At its center, barely visible beneath a tattered blanket, were the remains of a young girl.

Mae.

Her bones were frail, her skull still tangled in remnants of dark, brittle hair. The scent of old death and sorrow lingered in the air.

SLAM!

The basement door slammed shut, throwing the room into utter darkness except for the trembling glow of flashlights.

And then, she appeared.

Mae's ghost manifested at the far side of the room, standing in front of her remains with her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Her face was frozen in a twisted snarl, her mouth stretched too wide, her eyes hollow black pits leaking streams of dark, inky tears.

She lunged.

A blast of cold wind knocked Dean's shotgun from his hands. Sam barely had time to react before Mae clawed into him, her bony fingers like rusted hooks as she slammed him against the wall with inhuman force.

"Sam!" you cried, stumbling back.

Sam gasped, his feet kicking helplessly as he was lifted into the air, Mae's grip tightening around his throat. His face twisted in pain, his hands clawing at invisible fingers.

"Salt!" Dean barked, reaching for his rock salt rounds.

But Mae was too fast.

She turned sharply, her banshee-like scream tearing through the basement. The force of it sent Dean flying back, slamming into the wooden beams with a pained grunt.

That left only you.

Your pulse hammered as Mae whipped towards you, her mouth parting to unleash another ear-splitting shriek.

But this time, you were ready.

You threw up your hands, summoning a burst of nymph energy. The air around you rippled, dust swirling as a sharp gust of wind knocked Mae back thanks to your element control power.

She hissed, her head twitching unnaturally, before she came at you again— fast.

You barely had time to dodge, throwing yourself to the side as her clawed fingers swiped inches from your throat. Your foot caught on a rotting floorboard, sending you crashing hard to the ground. A sharp, searing pain shot up your ankle. You bit back a scream, your vision blurring.

You tried to push yourself up, but your ankle throbbed viciously, refusing to hold your weight.

Mae's shadow loomed over you, her jaw unhinging grotesquely, ready to tear into you —

BAM!

A gunshot rang out, salt and iron tearing through Mae's form. She shrieked, her body flickering violently like a illusion. Dean stood behind you, shotgun still raised. His eyes burned with fury.

"Get away from her, you bitch."

Mae whipped toward him, but it was too late. Dean had already grabbed the lighter and threw it. The moment the flame touched Mae's bones, they ignited, the fire consuming them with unnatural speed.

Mae let out a bloodcurdling scream, her form twisted and thrashed, her face contorting between rage, sorrow, and something almost human.

Then—

She was gone.

Dean exhaled, shoving the lighter back into his pocket. "Jesus. I hate ghosts."

Sam was coughing, rubbing his throat where Mae had grabbed him, but he gave a weak thumbs-up. "I'm… I'm good." he rasped.

Dean turned to you— and froze.

"Sweetheart." His voice dropped, eyes flicking to where you sat, clutching your ankle with a pained expression. He was beside you in an instant. "What happened?"

You winced. "I—uh… might've messed up my ankle when she threw me."

Dean knelt down, hands hovering near your leg like he wanted to touch but was afraid of hurting you.

"Dammit..."

Sam crouched beside you. "It looks swollen. Probably twisted it bad."

Dean shook his head. "Screw this. You're not walking."

Before you could argue, he scooped you up like a bride, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back.

"Dean—"

"Shut up. You're injured."

You huffed but didn't fight it. His body was warm and solid, you felt safe in his arms.

Not exactly complaining... You held the urge to blurt out; Wow your shoulders are huge and I think I might be in love with you.

Sam sighed. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Yes, Sam. Please. Before I self-combust.

As Dean carried you up the stairs, you let your head rest lightly against his shoulder, the exhaustion finally setting in as you rested your eyelids... Just for a sec.

A dull throbbing in your ankle was the first thing you felt as you stirred awake later. The second was the cool press of an ice pack against it.

Blinking, you slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of the motel room. You were on the motel bed, your foot propped up on a pillow, an ice pack resting gently against the swollen skin. The soft weight against your leg made you glance down—

Dean was sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You're finally awake, Sleeping Beauty." he muttered, his lips twitching.

You stretched slightly, wincing when your ankle throbbed in protest. Dean immediately reached over to adjust the ice pack, his fingers brushing your skin gently. "Careful, it’s still swollen."

You sighed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "How long was I out?"

Dean checked his watch. "About two hours. Sam took Baby out for a wash, so it's just you and me, sweetheart."

Your lips curled into a sleepy smile. "Didn't peg you as the caretaker type, Winchester."

He scoffed. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it." But despite his words, he didn't pull away, his thumb absently rubbing small circles against your shin.

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment.

Then, you realized John's Journal settled beside him on the bed that you guessed he was probably reading for the billion time before you woke up, you muttered. "You okay?"

Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You're the one who got tossed like a ragdoll, and you're askin' if I'm okay?"

You didn't laugh. Instead, you just kept looking at him.

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning his head back against the wall. His jaw tightened, something unreadable flickering across his expression.

"John. You're worried about him, aren't you?"

His silence was your answer. Dean exhaled sharply. "Sam's right. We should be looking for him. But I… I dunno. The bastard left us behind again. What if we're chasing someone who doesn't wanna be found?”

Your heart clenched. He never admitted things like this.

Carefully, you reached for his hand, your fingers tracing his knuckles gently. "You know that's not true. He loves you."

Dean's jaw ticked. "Yeah? Has a funny way of showing it." He shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping. "Whole damn life, it was always about the job. Hunt first, everything else second. Even us."

You squeezed his hand. "That's not fair to you."

Dean let out a slow breath, staring at where your fingers rested against his. "Yeah, well. Life's not fair, sweetheart."

You wanted to say more, to tell him that he deserved more than scraps of affection from a father who had made him a soldier before he even had a childhood.

But before you could, Dean's fingers suddenly tightened around yours. When you looked up, his green eyes burned into you. A beat of silence stretched between you, thick with something electric, something undeniable.

Then—

Dean moved fast.

One second, you were breathing; the next, his mouth crashed against yours, hot and desperate.

His fingers buried in your hair, pulling you closer, his body pressing into yours, as if he couldn't get enough. He tasted like whiskey and well... Dean. And it made your head spin.

You gasped against his lips, but he only deepened the kiss, his other hand gripping your thigh, careful of your injury but still possessive, wanting. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was uneven, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Damn it," he murmured, voice rough. "I've wanted to do that for way too long."

Your lips were swollen, tingling, and you found yourself smiling. "Took you long enough."

Dean let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head before leaning in again— slower this time, like he wanted to memorize the way you two fit together.

And yeah. Yeah, I was definitely not complaining.

[fairycosmos]

i had to quit today cause it was taking a severe toll on my mental health like panic attacks almost every day and barely any energy left to function like a proper human being and now i feel like the most vile disgusting pathetic and worthless piece of shit and i'm back on square one once again how is this my fucking life...

agh i hear you, and i get why you feel this way. but honestly quitting something that was hurting you so badly doesn’t make you weak or a failure, it means you listened to yourself and made a decision to protect your mental health. and that’s not easy. it’s one of the hardest things to do, especially in a world that tells us over and over that our worth is tied to our productivity. but that’s a lie. your value as a person has nothing to do with whether or not you can hold down a job, how much you’re getting done, or where you are in life compared to where you thought you’d be.

right now, your brain is probably feeding you all kinds of negative thoughts, but that doesn’t mean they’re true. when those thoughts come up, this is what i ask myself despite it all: would i ever say this to a friend? if not, why am i saying it to myself? your brain is in survival mode right now, and survival mode doesn’t always tell the trutth tbh. thats a hard lesson im still learning. it just tries to make sense of the pain in whatever way it can, even if that means blaming you for something that isn’t your fault.

coping with this feeling is hard, but small things can help. remind yourself that emotions aren’t facts. if you’re feeling worthless, that doesn’t mean you are worthless. if you can, talk to someone who cares about you, even if it’s just to vent. try to engage with things that make you feel like a person again—watch something comforting, go outside for fresh air, do something small and nice for yourself even if it feels undeserved. and if nothing feels good right now, that’s okay too. just existing is enough.

starting over is scary, but you are not back at square one. you are moving forward with the knowledge that this job wasn’t right for you, and that knowledge is something you didn’t have before. you are still learning, still growing, still figuring things out. you don’t have to have all the answers right now. just be kind to yourself. you are doing the best you can, and that is enough. i know words feel so empty rn but i seriously hope after a few days and the after you've had the mental space to proces, you can cut yourself some slack and just breathe <3 the future is wide open and that is a crazy feeling i know but it is not inherently a bad thing. sending so much love ur way x

[homuraakemis]

When I first watched Dark, I was really frustrated with how Martha talked to Katharina right after Mikkel disappeared, and also with how she rejected her mother when Katharina finally tried to talk to them when she found out about the time travel. And while I still think that she was wrong to scream at her mother in those first days after Mikkel's disappearance, now I actually do think Martha was right the second time. From what Martha said, Katharina has barely talked to them in months. This isn't just Katharina being busy looking for Mikkel and Ulrich, it's her refusing to interact or give any comfort to her other two children. I think Martha has a right to be frustrated. Not only that, but Katharina choses to leave Martha and Magnus behind to look for Mikkel in the past, without even trying to reach out to her other two children first to tell them what she was doing. Hell, Martha was murdered, Magnus got lost in time, and Katharina doesn't even know. She never even seems to give a second thought to them in the time she spends in 1987. When Katharina goes to talk to Ulrich in the asylum, she promises him that "they'll bring Mikkel back" with determination in her voice. But if she had tried to return to the passage at least once during this time she spent in 1987, she should have known that the passage was closed. If she doesn't know that the passage was closed, that means that Katharina never even tried to return once. She just left her two other children behind for months without ever trying to get back to them and make sure they're ok. Even if the apocalypse didn't happen, even if Martha never got killed, that would still mean that she left them by themselves after they just lost their father and brother, and now their mother would have disappeared as well. So yeah, I think Martha had all the right to be frustrated that her mother was neglecting her. This isn't to say that I think Katharina is evil or anything, but I do think she was blinded by her desperation to get Mikkel and Ulrich back, and because of that, she did fail Martha and Magnus.