#yes i know it’s up to me to change and I’m working on it

[urmommysfavkisserrr]

Spoiled Rich.

°•☆•° - Paige Bueckers x Ex-Wife Reader (Brazilian)

°•☆•° - Even after five years of divorce, you can’t help but remember what life had been like before everything went to shit. With the blonde curled up in your bed, something about it all just feels right.

°•☆•° - Part Two of End Of Her Rope. Ya’ll, I swear this was supposed to be all cute and domestic, but then the angst just crept in...and now here we are.

°•☆•° - for those of you who decided to throw a fit the first time.

°•☆•° - 6113 words

Part 1 | Part 3

°•°•☆°•°•°•☆•°•°•°☆•°•°

That next morning, you woke up to a slightly warmer but empty bed. You brushed it off, assuming one of the girls had crawled in after a bad dream, then left early this morning when they got bored to go play with their toys or find a way to make some kind of mess, they always did.

You sighed, looking over at the alarm clock to find that it was way past drop-off time for school. 10:42 am. Guess it was gonna be another late day for the girls, which would end up with you having to argue out some dumb excuse with the principal.

But before you could move, your eyes shifted to the blonde figure standing in the doorway of the master bathroom, leaning against the doorframe and just watching.

She had stayed? It wasn't a dream.

"Don't..you have practice or something?"

A sly smirk appeared on the blonde’s face when she noticed your eyes on her. “You don’t remember last night, do you?” She asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Paige leaned against the bathroom door frame, her arms folded as she watched you with a soft gaze. She had been up and awake for some time now.

You just huffed, rubbing your forehead and shuffling to sit up. "I gotta get the girls to school.."

“Already taken care of,” Paige replied, pushing herself off the door frame and walking over to the bed.

She sat down next to you, a knowing glance in her eyes. She knew the kids were off to school already, and she knew you were still partially oblivious to the events of last night.

You furrowed your brows, still working on rubbing the sleep off your face as you sniffled. "..what?"

Paige couldn’t help but chuckle at the confused expression on your face. “I dropped the girls off at school this morning.” She explained, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “And before you ask, yes, I did get them there on time.”

"You didn't have to do that."

“Who else was supposed to do it? You?” Paige said, her tone slightly teasing. “You were passed out when I dropped them off this morning.”

"You could have woken me up.” You huffed out, looking around for your phone without really looking. You were too tired to care. “I have alarms, I just don't know why they didn't go off."

Paige shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully. “I tried waking you up this morning. You were dead to the world.”

She remembered her attempts to shake you awake, only to be met with unintelligible mumbling. “Besides,” she continued. “You needed the sleep.”

You just palmed at your face again, sighing, rubbing your eyes, fixing the hoodie you had slept in, and the stack of necklaces on your neck.

Most of them were gifts that Paige had helped the girls pick out over the years. Then, with one last huff, you put your chin in your palm, looking at the blonde. "I appreciate it, everything, I do, but I know you've got your own shit to take care of so don't feel like you need to stay. I get it. You can go"

“Ma,” Paige said your name in a hushed tone. “Shut up. I’m not going anywhere.”

She knew you. And she knew you were always quick to dismiss any kind gestures with claims that you didn’t need them.

Her hand reached out and gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You were exhausted last night. The girls were fine, and I could handle dropping them off. Stop being stubborn and quit trying to get rid of me.”

"You're busy.."

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” Paige let out a soft laugh, recalling all the times that you had always put others before yourself. No matter the cost.

“I’m not busy,” Paige replied. “And even if I was, I’d still be right here. You need to take a damn break sometimes. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, baby.”

Paige couldn’t help but look at you with concern. She had seen this happen before. You were stubborn and didn’t know when to slow down. You had always been this way. “When was the last time you did something for yourself?” She questioned, still keeping her voice soft.

“...Huh?”

“You heard me.” Paige raised an eyebrow, waiting for You to answer. She was serious, she wanted to know the last time You made time for yourself. “When was the last time you did something just for you? And not for the girls or your job. When was the last time you were selfish?”

You softly shook your head, still trying to shake the sleep while following the conversation.  "I...don't...I bought a coffee last week?"

“You’ve gotta be joking.” Paige rolled her eyes, clearly not amused. Buying a cup of coffee hardly counted as being selfish. And even that probably came with some sort of guilt after spending the money on yourself.

You shrugged a little. "The coffee machine here broke, and I needed a pick-me-up. So after I dropped the girls off, I got one and a donut. Then, after school, I felt bad and took them to get it too."

“Of course you did…” Paige sighed, shaking her head. It was almost like clockwork; You always put everyone else first. You just couldn’t seem to shake that habit of giving everything all the time.

“You, I’m serious.” Paige shifted her body, facing you. She took hold of one of your hands. She needed you to know that she was being serious. “You can’t keep going like this, constantly looking out for everyone but yourself. You need to do something for yourself sometimes. Not because it’s your job, or because the girls need it, or because it’s what's expected of you. I’m not kidding, you’ll work yourself to death if you keep this up.

The version of you that Paige used to know, back in college, would have found something you wanted and bought it without a second thought.

You would have been dressed to impress even if it was just a night at the bar or to a restaurant for dinner.

You were the most selfish fucking person you'd ever meet, and now?

Now, everything makes you feel guilty.

“You’ve changed since college, ya know?” Paige commented, noticing the difference in you. You were still gorgeous, but now you were just exhausted. You used to be so much more self-assured. 

But now? Now you feel bad about doing anything that wasn’t necessary.

“I miss that old you.” She said with a smirk.

You tilted your head slightly, a thoughtful look in your eyes. "That me had two kids."

“Which did a number on you, alright. I’ll give you that. But it’s not just that.” Paige let out a sigh, her hand still holding yours. “The girl I knew in college would never feel guilty over buying a cup of coffee.”

"She was a different girl. A very different girl."

“You’re still the same at your core.” Paige insisted. “You just…don’t take care of yourself anymore. You run yourself ragged for the sake of everyone else. You’ve turned yourself into a housewife and mother completely, leaving nothing for you.” Paige’s thumb traced over your knuckles. She wasn’t wrong.

You sighed, leaning to the side to flop yourself into Paige's lap. Head on her thighs.

Paige smiled softly, shifting her legs to make you more comfortable. She let out a soft sigh, her hands finding their way to your hair again. “You need to take care of yourself.” She said softly, running her fingers through the long, dark locks.

"Mhm"

Paige rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me any of that.” She scolded softly. “You know I’m right. You’ve dedicated your life to your kids and work. You have nothing left for yourself, it’s like you don’t even know what self-care is anymore.”

"What do you want me to do? Huh? You wanna take the day and pamper me like some rich bitch?" You huffed with a raised brow, still in the blonde's lap.

“What if I do?” Paige asked, her hands still playing with your hair. She shrugged with nonchalance, like pampering you was no big deal.

"I'm not letting you spend money on me. Money for the kids is one thing, but for me it's another."

“So you’ll go broke spoiling the girls, but you can’t allow me to spend one little cent on you?” Paige raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t help but shake her head in disbelief. It was like she was talking to a stubborn child.

"You don't do ‘one little cent’. You go overboard every time. I don't need that kind of money spent on me."

“Oh really?” Paige raised an eyebrow again, amused at your protest. She knew damn well that if she even got the chance to get you a gift, she wouldn’t hold back.

She knew your protests were pointless. You knew it, too.

"Yes."

“Are you sure about that?” Paige let out a soft laugh. Her free hand came down gently and took hold of your chin, tilting your head up so that their eyes could meet. 

“Because I could very much shower you with gifts, and it wouldn’t make a dent in that bank account of mine. So you’re wrong.” Paige shrugged, like she was completely unbothered by telling you she could, in fact, spoil the hell out of you.

"I don't need it.”

“But you still deserve it,” Paige said firmly. She was done listening to the protest. “You do everything for those two girls and your career. You don’t have anything just for you. It’s always for everyone else. Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to just…let yourself be spoiled for a change?”

"Not really. The budget is for groceries and lunches."

“You’re impossible.” Paige sighed, exasperated. It was like talking to a brick wall. You was so damn stubborn in ways. No matter how many times she got the point across, you just wouldn’t get it.

“You won’t let anyone spend anything on you, yet you’d go to great lengths to spoil your kids. Can’t you see the issue here?” Paige reasoned again.

"I love my kids."

“That’s not the point, Ma!” Paige couldn’t help the rise in her voice. She didn’t understand why you didn’t comprehend what she meant. 

Her hand moved to hold your chin a little tighter, making sure you were hearing her. “You love, live, and breathe for those girls. But you don’t do a goddamn thing for you. You don’t have any sort of me time. You don’t even get a minute to yourself.”

You shifted your head slightly in Paige's lap, looking up at her with the same eyes the blonde fell in love with all those years ago. "..if you could spend the whole day, just pampering me, what would you do?"

That was a question Paige didn’t even have to think about. In the blink of an eye, she knew exactly what she’d do. She’d spend every waking second of the day doting on you.

Her head tilted, looking down at you and answering in a tone that was slightly above a whisper.

“Well..” She began, her fingers resuming the rhythm of playing with your hair. “Spa treatment, nails, hair, the works. And then I’d take you someplace nice to eat. Just the two of us.”

"And if I'd rather just stay in bed all day?"

“Well then, I’ll get room service,” Paige responded, her hand coming up to gently brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. “No kids, no cleaning, no work. You’d get to lie in bed all day, and the only thing you’d have to worry about is me taking care of you.”

"Room service? You mean DoorDash?"

“Room service, DoorDash, whatever floats your boat.” Paige chuckled softly, her fingers still gently running through the locks of dark brown hair. “Whatever the hell you want. I’ll get it for you.”

Your voice dropped to a small and vulnerable whisper. "...what if I just want you?"

That. That question caught Paige completely off guard. Her heart immediately fluttered in her chest, and she felt as if all the breath had been taken out of her lungs.

She tried to remain as calm and collected as she could, but damn. Hearing those words from your mouth…it made her heart want to burst. “Then you’ll have me.” She finally responded, her hand coming to rest on your cheek.

"Anything I want?"

“Anything in the world,” Paige responded without hesitation. She was a little surprised at the confidence in her voice. But it was true. If there was one thing Paige had been sure of forever, it was her love and devotion for you.

When they were back in college, Paige could and would have given you the world. And now, all these years later, it was still the same.

"...I did recently get a new dress, but I have no reason to wear it. A gift from my sister."

“Wear it for me,” Paige replied a little too quickly. Seeing you dolled up in a dress would be a treat.

"Yeah? You gonna take me out, Bueckers?"

“You bet.” She responded again, her confidence in full force. She was going to spoil the hell out of you with or without protest.

She was tired of watching you give yourself to everyone but yourself.

"hm.."

“Don’t hum at me,” Paige said, her tone still firm. She wasn’t going to let you say no to this. “No protesting. You’re going to let me take care of you for once in your life.”

"What about your agents and the fans? When they see us together, in public?"

“Who cares about them?” Paige raised an eyebrow.

“This isn’t about them,” She went on to say, her hand still cradling the side of your face. “It’s about doing something fun for yourself. It’s about you. Not them. Not me. You. For once. I’m gonna do something completely for you, and you’re gonna let me do it.”

"Paige.."

“Not a single word.” Paige hushed her again, now putting a finger to your lips to shush you. “You’re going to take a break and let someone take care of you for a little bit. And you’re not going to fight me on it.”

"..what if I just want to stay here and hide with you?"

“That’s even better,” Paige said with a smirk. As selfish as she was, getting to have you to herself for a day was something she wanted to do.

And now it seemed like there was a chance. “If you want to stay in, we’ll stay in and I’ll still pamper you.”

"Without spending thousands?"

“Oh, now hold on.” Paige had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Of course, you weren’t going to let yourself get spoiled without some form of protest.

She leaned down slightly closer, her tone still firm. “It’s gonna be a little expensive, babe.”

"Nah. We've got...food here." You didn't look too sure about that. Money had been tight lately, and you hadn't told Paige. The cabinets were uncomfortably empty, so most times she'd made food for the girls and just drank water or nutrient shakes. 

Don't tell Paige. Don’t. Tell. Paige.

"Yeah, we got stuff. And I'm sure I've got some old face masks lying around, and movies, and blankets. That's all we need."

Paige furrowed her brow, noticing the subtle hesitation in your words. She could sense something was off. “You sure you have the stuff? Cause I’ll just go out and-” She began, cutting herself off halfway as a horrible realization hit her. The realization of why you were being so difficult.

It hit her like a ton of bricks.

You were being difficult because of money.

Her heart dropped, realizing that you were trying to deny yourself getting the care you needed because you were struggling.

She sighed softly, her eyes moving to look down at you. “You’re not being difficult because you don’t want to be spoiled. You’re not allowing me to spend any money because you don’t have any money, do you?” She questioned softly, her heart twisting in her chest.

"I have money-"

“Not enough, though.” Paige cut in. She could tell by the way that you were avoiding eye contact that you were lying. It was obvious that things were way tighter than you were trying to let on.

“You..” Her tone was still soft, but now it was tinged with an almost pitying tone. ”You haven’t been telling me the truth about how bad it’s been, have you?”

"We're fine. We're handling it. Okay? The girls are happy, they have what they need."

“That’s not what I asked you. I asked if you’ve been telling me the truth.” Her tone was still firm, but still gentle. “The girls? Yes, the girls are probably happy. And they probably have what they need. That’s because you are going above and beyond for them.”

Paige took a deep breath. “But I’m asking you about yourself, baby. I’m asking if things have been bad enough for you to struggle to afford the necessities.”

"I'm fine. We're fine. Everyone is fine."

Paige shook her head, a mixture of both disappointment and sympathy for the woman in her lap. “Stop it. Stop saying that you’re fine. And stop saying that you’re doing just fine, because you’re not.”

She said firmly, her hand gently cupping your face. “That’s not true. And you lying to me about how you’re doing is making a lot of things make sense.”

Fuck.

You put your hands up, rubbing your eyes to hide them. So Paige couldn't read you anymore. "I don't need your pity."

“It’s not pity.” Paige shook her head. She could see how stubborn and defensive you were getting. “You’re not letting me take care of you because you don’t have the money to take care of the girls AND yourself, don’t you?”

Her tone was still gentle, but firm. And she was still trying to get you to uncover your face.

"The girls are fine-"

“Ma, stop. Stop this.” Paige said a bit firmer this time. She could see that you were getting more and more defensive and stubborn. “I’m not asking you about the girls. I’m asking you about you. And from what I’ve seen, you are not fine.”

“You’re not eating the way you should, you’re not sleeping-“ Paige started to list. “And you’re not doing anything for yourself. You’re putting all the focus on the girls, to the point where you won’t even give yourself the bare necessities.”

Paige took a deep breath. “Aren’t you even going to try to deny it? Or are you going to actually be honest?”

Her eyes followed the movement, watching as you sat up and hid your face.

“Don’t shut down on me.” She said softly. Her hand came to gently rest on one of your hands that currently covered her face. “Look at me.”

Your bottom lip quivered. "I dont need help."

That response made Paige’s heart drop.

“Ma..” She said softly, her heart aching in her chest. She gently pulled at your hand, wanting you to uncover your face and look at her.

“Please look at me,” Paige repeated, this time a little bit more desperately. “Let me see those pretty eyes of yours, baby.” She cooed softly.

That just earned a sob, like a full-on, real sob. You broke. Completely shattered.

The sound of your sob shattered Paige’s heart into a million pieces. She let go of your hand and quickly wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close.

“Shhhh…” She soothed, a hand rubbing soft circles on your back. 

“Hey… hey hey….” Paige’s tone was still soft and soothing. She was trying to keep her own emotions in check as she held you in her arms and rubbed your back.

“You’re okay…just take a breath..” she murmured into your ear, holding you a little tighter against her chest.

You melted into Paige, just absolutely breaking down.

“I got you..I got you..” Paige continued to murmur softly, cradling you against her chest.

Her chin rested on top of your head, her lips gently pressing into your hairline. She just held you in her lap, letting you have your moment.

"I wanted to do it…god, I wanted to be able to do it so bad..." You had managed to sob out, the sound twisting and ripping through Paige’s heart.

“I know you did, baby…” Paige murmured, her fingers gently combing through your hair. She knew it wasn’t in regard to the pampering anymore. It was so much more than that.

Her arms remained wrapped around you, holding you as tightly as she could. She hated seeing you so worked up like this, but it was clear that you needed to break. You needed to be able to let this out, and she was going to let you.

“Shhh….let it out….” Paige reassured you softly, her hand continuing to run through your hair.

Her fingers ran through your dark locks over and over again. She just kept repeating yourself, trying to soothe you.

“I got you…..you’re okay….I got you…” She held you as tightly as she could, trying to wordlessly remind you that you were safe here in her arms.

You just kept sobbing, harder and harder, till eventually you could barely breathe.

The sound of you sobbing broke Paige’s heart. She felt helpless as she just held you, listening to you sob and watching you fall apart.

“Baby..” She murmured softly, her arms wrapping a little tighter around you and trying to bring you as close as possible.

“Shhh…you’re okay….” Paige repeated again and again, just letting you cry it out. She hated how she wasn’t able to do anything more than just hold you, but if that’s what you needed in the moment, then that is what she was going to do.

You heaved, head shaking the best it could in the hold Paige had you in. Tears coating every inch of your face, pouring down like a waterfall. "I can't..I-I-I can't.."

Hearing those words made Paige’s heart ache.

She cradled you against her, her hand rubbing up and down your back as you continued to sob and break in her arms.

“You can…you are….” She replied softly, her lips gently pressing into your hair again.

“I’ve got you…I’ve got you…” Paige continued to repeat softly into your hair, desperate to keep you calm and stop your tears.

She continued running her fingers through your hair, her hand occasionally massaging the back of your neck.

The sobs eventually calmed into whimpers and sniffles, your body heavy and limp against Paige's. Exhausted.

You had calmed down considerably, your sobs and tears reduced to nothing but quiet sniffles. Paige gently took hold of your chin, tilting your head so Paige could see your face.

“There you are….there’s that gorgeous face of yours…” Paige murmured, hearing and feeling your sobbing, calm just a bit. She kept you close, your body still tightly clutched against hers. “That’s my girl…”

Your bottom lip still wobbled. Lips pulled into a small frown.

“Don’t go and ruin that pretty face. Don’t cry too much…can’t let you get all puffy on me…” Paige said with a soft smile, her thumb gently wiping away any remnants of tears from under your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, you know..” Paige said softly, her hand resting against your cheek. Her thumb gently traced one of your tear-stained cheeks.

That made your eyes well up again. Even the simple words hit somewhere deep in your chest, causing an ache she’d been so hard to ignore to grow more intense.

“Oh….no….” Paige instantly noticed your eyes welling up, tears threatening to fall again.

“Hey..hey….don’t do that again.” She said quickly, her thumb running over your cheek, trying to wipe away tears that hadn’t even fallen yet.

"I'm sorry.."

“None of that..” Paige said, gently hushing you. She kept her hand against your cheek, her touch gentle and caring. “No apologising…there’s no reason to be sorry…”

"I ruined everything."

“No way,” Paige said firmly, yet still in a soft tone. She was quick to correct you.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You had a moment, and it’s okay. Look at me…” Paige gently lifted your chin so that your eyes would meet hers.

“You didn’t ruin anything, alright? It’s okay that you broke a little…”

"A little?" You scoffed, rubbing at your cheeks with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Alright. A lot.” Paige said, a small chuckle leaving her.

“But it’s okay. You’re allowed to cry. You’re human, and you’ve been putting yourself under so much damn stress it’s a miracle you didn’t break down months ago. You have every right to cry, to break down, to be upset. But don’t you dare ever say you ruined anything.” Paige said firmly, her hand still holding your chin so that your gaze wouldn’t stray from hers.

"..I'm sorry."

“Why the hell are you sorry?” Paige said, still keeping your chin in her hand. Her tone was stern, wanting to know why you were still apologizing for breaking down.

You looked up slightly, just enough to finally meet the blonde's gaze. "I should have told you...accepted the money for the girls...I...they don't deserve to suffer"

“Mama…Come on,” Paige sighed and shook her head, finally letting go of your chin. “The girls are not suffering. They’re happy. You’re making damn sure of it. You’ve been doing everything you possibly can to make sure those girls don’t know you’re struggling, to make sure they’re taken care of.”

Paige’s hand fell away from your chin to grip your hip tightly. “You are not a failure. You didn’t ruin anything. You’re not allowing your daughters to suffer or whatever other bullshit you’re going to say next.”

"I-"

“No.” Paige cut you off. “No more of this. You’re gonna listen to me.”

She took in a deep breath and continued. “You are not doing anything wrong. You are a great mother. You have been busting your ass to make sure those girls have everything they could ever want. You’ve exhausted yourself. You’re running yourself thin.”

“You’ve run yourself so thin to the point that you’re literally letting yourself starve. You’re not feeding yourself. You’re not eating like you’re supposed to. You’re not sleeping. Your body and your mind are paying for it in the most awful way, and you just don’t see it. But I do. And now that I’m here, I’m not letting you run yourself like this anymore.”

"You have more important things than this..." Did she really? Her whole world was lying right in front of her, broken and messy.

That made Paige’s heart drop. She knew what you were doing. You were trying to push her away. Make her leave, even if it meant lying to herself.

She clenched her jaw, her hand tightening on your hip. “There is nothing more important to me than you.”

"Paige.."

“No, don’t you ‘Paige’ me. You’re going to listen to me.” Paige said, her tone slightly firmer than before. “You are literally on the brink of breaking. You are struggling. And your first instinct is to push me away? Why in the hell would I be anywhere else but here with you right now?”

"I'm not-"

“Yes, you are.” Paige gently shook her head, refusing to let you pull yourself into a self-pitiful spiral. “I don’t want you to tell me you’re not. I don’t even want to hear you think about it. You’re not going to try to pretend you’re not important because you’re the most goddamn important thing to me at this point.”

"I..I just.. I can't be what you want, what you need." And you truly believed that. Even after all these years, the things Paige’s agent had said to you echoed in your ears. That all you were and would ever be was a story. A star that burned up and was left alone in the dark. A burnt-out mom with two kids, who could barely pay the bills.

“Bullshit,” Paige said, her tone firm but soft. “You’re exactly what I need. You’ve always been exactly what I’ve wanted. You’re the one I’ve always wanted. You keep trying to push me away. You think I’m not going to fight to make sure you don’t? You’re stuck with me. For better or for worse.”

Paige didn’t want to let you look down and hide your tears away from her again. “You’re what I need. What I always needed. You’re everything to me, baby. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

"Then why did you sign the papers?"

That made her heart ache. She still regretted signing the papers and leaving her. So much.

“Because I was stupid,” Paige said softly. “And young and scared and an idiot. I should have never signed those damn papers. I should never have left.”

Paige was so close to you now. Her hand still cupping your chin delicately, eyes glued on yours. Everything in her body was screaming to kiss you and hold you and never let go.

But she held back, wanting to make sure you were truly okay first. She needed to get you to break down, get you to get it all out. And then she'd kiss you. She'd do everything she needed to give you the attention and affection you were craving.

You didn’t say anything, just shuffled to put your head on Paige's chest. Tucked under her chin.

Without hesitation, Paige took the opportunity to wrap her arms tightly around you. One hand returned to gently playing with your hair, fingers lightly tracing over your spine.

It was almost as if she knew exactly what you needed in that moment to soothe you, to calm you.

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, just the sound of your sniffles and soft sniffles. Paige let you bury your head in her chest, not caring that you were crying on her shirt. The only thing that mattered to her was having you in her arms, holding you as tightly as she could, trying her hardest to silently show you how loved you.

“Don’t you ever doubt how damn important you are to me, alright?” Her voice was just as soft as her hand gently rubbing your back.

"It's been bad," You finally whispered. "The money.."

“I figured,” Paige responded, her hand moving from your hair to run along your back, rubbing slow soothing circles.

“How bad?” She asked softly, keeping you against her chest, holding you close and wanting to know just how bad things had gotten.

"..you don't want to know."

“Try me,” Paige responded instantly, one of her eyebrows raising. She had a pretty good feeling that she had a good idea how bad it had gotten. But she wanted to hear it from your mouth.

"The money you send goes to the girls, clothes, shoes, whatever's left over goes into a fund. The money from work goes to bills and food. They've been cutting hours."

Her eyes closed as she listened to everything you said. She could tell by the sound of your voice that this was hard for you to explain. That you felt ashamed.

Paige’s heart ached. How long had you been struggling like this and trying to do it all on your own?

That wasn’t gonna happen anymore.

She pulled you as close to her chest as she could and rested her chin on top of your head.

“God, baby…” Paige whispered, her heart squeezing in her chest as she held you tightly. It was hard to hear how much you were struggling.  How you let everything pile up on yourself without trying to get help in the slightest.

She took a deep breath, holding you a little tighter before asking, “How long have you been drowning?”

"...too long"

“Longer than you should’ve been,” Paige responded immediately. She was angry. Not at you, but at the situation. “You’ve been drowning for God knows how long, and you haven’t told me one damn thing about it.”

"You work hard for your money. Just because I'm some ex doesn't mean I deserve it."

“Don’t you dare say that.” Paige’s grip on you tightened. The way you said it pissed her off. “You’re not some ex. You’re not just someone I used to be with. You’re not a burden or a freeloader. You matter to me, so you deserve every penny I have.”

"Paige, please-"

“No,” Paige said firmly, her arms not loosening on you. “Absolutely not. You’re not gonna talk down about yourself. You were never just my ex. You’re so much more than that.”

"I'm not taking your money."

“Too bad,” Paige said firmly, pulling away a little bit to look down at you. One of her hands went to gently lift your chin, wanting you to look her in the eye. “You’re not going to fight me on this. You’re struggling and you’re getting my goddamn help whether you like it or not.”

"You could do good with that money-" You tried to protest. Paige shut that down.

“You’re more important,” Paige said firmly, her hand gently tracing your jawline. “I don’t care about that money. I care about you. I will throw away every single penny I have to take care of you if I have to.”

That made you shake your head again. "Paige-"

“No.” Paige quickly cut you off, still holding your chin up to make you look her in the eyes. “Don’t even argue. It’s happening. I’m gonna spoil you, and I won’t let you talk yourself out of it.”

"...One week. You get one week. Pay the bills, buy groceries, clothes for the girls, whatever, but that's it."

“Two weeks,” Paige responded immediately, her hand still on your chin. She knew you were being stubborn and trying not to let yourself be treated. You were so hardheaded, it was infuriating at times.

You shook your head, still rubbing at your eyes. "One."

“Two,” Paige said again. “And don’t argue with me on this.”

“One.”

"Two."

"One."

“Two, Ma.”

"Seven days. One week."

“Not a chance. Two.”

"One, or nothing. Take it or leave it."

If possible, Paige’s grip on you got even tighter as her eyes narrowed. She was a stubborn person by nature. But when it came to you, she was even more stubborn.

“You don’t get to say no.” Her hand moved from your chin to the side of your face and gently took your chin in her fingers. “Two weeks is what I’m giving you. And I’m gonna spoil you the entire time.”

"No-" you really were trying here.

“Don’t even finish that.” Paige cut you off again, her jaw clenching. She was getting frustrated, watching you try to deny yourself things. “Two weeks. Two. And you’re not gonna spend a dime. I’m going to spoil you as much as I possibly can, and you’re gonna let me, no arguing. That’s the only deal I’m offering.”

You shook your head, pushing Paige away. "I don't accept."

“Too bad. It’s happening.” Paige cut you off before you could finish your sentence, shaking her head. “No more arguing. No more denying yourself. I’m taking care of you, I’m spoiling you for two weeks, and you’re going to enjoy it. No more fighting it. Alright?”

"And what about your games? And practice? And your place?" You raised a brow, cocking your head. Your voice took on the same tone Paige had heard before, the one you used just moments before she’d deck someone in the fucking face.

Paige shook her head and scoffed. “I don’t care about that stuff. That’s not what my priorities are right now. You are. And the girls are. I’m going to use every chance I get to take care of you. So suck it up. You don’t get to tell me no.”

[youdontknowe]

Book report time of the week!!!

Only book reports I’ve even willingly done fr

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

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

* Chronic overthinker core

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* The banter in that scene is also chefs kiss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* FINALLY Sam gets to say something

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

* YES MORE SMOOCHES

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

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

Chapter 19 - That's Nothing New

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

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

Chapter Title from Vertigo by Griff

Word Count: 18.4k

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

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

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

Read on A03!

They hadn’t talked about it. 

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

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

Everything. 

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

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

She was the best thing Dean had ever had. 

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

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

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

But not about this. 

“Why’re you up, Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can read-“

“Not this.”

“But-“

“It’s a girl book, De.” 

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

He’d stayed anyway.

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

“Dean-“

“I’m not going back to bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t a teenage girl.

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

Bobby would shoot him. He’d deserve it.

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

He was going to shoot himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean could have hurt Her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I- Um, yes. Please."

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

That would be a good way to start The Conversation.

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

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

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

Worse than a monster. Lower than the mud. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah, I got my pie.”

“But you gave me some of yours-“

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

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

“Yeah, that. I’m one of those.”

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

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

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

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

“Dean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Proved to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d protect her.” 

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

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

“Dean-“

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

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

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

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

If She wanted.

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

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

They all needed to be working. 

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

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

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

She frowned at him. “What?”

“Next seal case. You’re-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was the wrinkle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His soul is little.”

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

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

“You’re big and shiny too.”

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

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

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

“‘M not anything.”

“You-“

“But I can feel it. Everything.” 

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to go-“

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

“Who gives a shit what they think?”

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

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

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

“What am I going to do?”

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

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

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

She sighed. “Dean-“

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

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

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

She giggled, shaking Her head. 

It was resting back on his shoulder.

He’s not allowed to think about it.

“That’s not funny.”

“You laughed.”

“I’m tired-“

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

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

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

But She’d agree. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We also know what she’s doing-“

“What moves she’s making-“

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

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

“Eight.”

“That’s not a lot.”

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

“I dunno. Fifteen?” 

“That is not a-“

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

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

Dean scowled. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are, dude-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You- Dean knows. He’s been the guy-“

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

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

“It’s a dude thing.” Dean snapped, and She scoffed.

“I thought we were breaking gender barriers, Winchester. You did me and Jo’s girl things-“

Sam grinned. “What girl things?”

“Nothing. Both of you, shut the fuck up. Sam,” Dean pointed firmly at the red-head with the fuck-me eyes. “Flirt. And you,” Dean turned his glower down to Her, and she covered his mouth with a hand.

That shouldn’t have been as effective as it was. Dean was suddenly too consumed by Her hand—warm and soft and over his mouth—to keep protesting.

“Sam, what’s the guy.”

At least Dean got an apologetic look first. “It’s, uh- The valentine’s day bar guy. Who sleeps with lonely women, because he knows that’s all they want. And,” Sam was still talking. Why the hell was Sam still talking. “Dean hasn’t been that guy in a long time, I promise, I was just making fun of him.”

“Oh.” Dean couldn’t read the expression on Her face. “Okay. Go.”

Sam frowned. “Go-“

“Redhead, Sam.” Her hand dropped from Dean’s mouth. He wanted it to come back. He could kiss Her knuckles, then pin her arms over her head and-

Dean could not get another boner in public, just from thinking about Her. He needed to pull it together.

“But, uh-“ Sam was still protesting, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not-“

“Maybe she’ll be your soulmate or something.” She shrugged, looking back to the napkin. Dean couldn’t read that tone either. “Go.”

“I, I haven’t done that,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down the bar. “In a while. What if-“

“You’ve got this, Buddy.” She gave Sam a thumbs up, and Her voice was bubbly. Dean’s never heard Her be bubbly before. “Go.”

Sam nodded slowly, scooted out of his chair, and the moment Sam was out of earshot, she sighed and rolled Her eyes at Dean.

“Thank god. I could like, fucking feel her.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

“The redhead.” She nodded to where Sam had disappeared in the crowd, Her attention back on the napkin. “She’s been staring at him all night, and god, she’s horny, Dean. It’s like, all over the table.”

She wasn’t tired. She’d actually slept really well last night. And She still didn’t drink, so Dean didn’t need to be worried about that.

He still didn’t have a clue what She was talking about.

“What.”

She sighed, looking up to Dean. He couldn’t breathe. “Her soul. When someone want companionship, they put out like, pheromones. Kind of. It’s hard to explain when you can’t see them.”

“Oh.” Dean paused, then tensed as it hit him. She could tell when people were horny.

Dean was horny all the fucking time.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Are you-“

“Yeah, Princess I’m-“ He swallowed. “Can you just like, see it? When people are, uh. Lookin’ for action?”

“No. It’s, like- It’s not a smell, but it’s not not a smell, and they’re kinda like tentacles-“ 

“Tentacles-“

“No, but yes, and-“ She sighed, shaking Her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain it-“

“Hey,” Dean grabbed Her hand before he could second think it, and Her lips parted. Hitched breath. 

Shit.

“You’re fine.” He muttered. “I was just wondering. Don’t hurt yourself, Princess.”

She nodded slowly, still staring at him, and Dean could feel the heat on his face. This was getting too close to something that might cause The Conversation. Dean was not ready for The Conversation.

“Uh, since when can you see that shit?”

She let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know. Being around people is doing… A lot.” She frowned at the napkin. “It’s kind of messy.”

“Messy-“

“Colorful.”

Dean nodded slowly. He didn’t really fucking understand—with Her, he never did—but he knew what mattered. “It’s it too much?” He tried to keep his voice soft, and he was rewarded with a small nod. 

“Too much.”

“Alright.” Dean pushed off his stool, moving his hand to Her lower back. “Let’s go. We’ll pick up Sammy in the morning.”

She blinked at him in adorable confusion. “Dean-“

“C’mon, we’re going back to the motel.” Dean smirked over at where the redhead was half in Sam lap. “Think we’re done here anyway.”

Dean was certainly done here. He was done anywhere that would make Her curl up into Herself, and there was nothing else for him to do—in this bar or anywhere in the world—but care for Her. 

Sammy seemed happy with his fuck-me-eyes redhead, but Dean was going to have to punch him later for bringing up how Dean used to be one of those guys. It didn’t matter that he had been. Dean had—very purposefully, for a long time—been one of those guys, and he’d been pretty fucking good at it. He wasn’t such a fucking asshole to deny that he had very much thrived on being one of those guys. It had kept him satiated in the dark, the brief touches and lies of permanence and possession. It may have been an artificial light—leaving him hungrier and lonelier than before, once the effects wore off—bur it had worked. He’d done it. And he wouldn’t take it back, because the pit might have swallowed him otherwise. 

But Dean wasn’t one of those guys now.

He really hadn’t been for a while. He hadn’t been that guy on Valentine’s day, but he also hadn’t been that guy at random bars, or the roadhouse, or on the cases. And he didn’t know when it had stopped all together-

That was a fucking lie. 

He knew exactly when it stopped.

It was sooner than he’d ever admit to anyone. It wasn’t after he got back from hell, or he found out about Her magic stuff, or when she learned about the deal and stayed. It wasn’t even when he’d started sharing Her bed.

She’d settled into the backseat of his car like She belonged there, decided to stay for the first time after those witches in Utah—when they’d been looking for Jo and found Her—and Dean had been done with bars and fuck-me eyes. Done with artificial light to keep him from falling into the pit.

And She’d told him about photosynthesis, a while ago. He didn’t know how the hell that had worked itself into a conversation, but She said it’s how plants eat, Deano. They absorb the sunlight and turn it into energy. 

Dean might be a plant. 

She might be the sun. 

And he couldn’t go back to artificial light if he tried.

He did still make fuck-me eyes, though. As he stood alone in the shower—Her long asleep in their bed—Dean could admit he made fuck-me eyes a lot. At Her.

She never seemed to see them, though. Even when they’d been obvious, and he’d been so fucking worried he’d been caught, nothing on Her features had ever shifted. 

Other people made fuck-me eyes at Her, as well. They have to be insane and blind and stupid not to. Everyone should want Her. Dean just didn’t want anyone else to have Her. Not like that. Not less than She deserved, without complete fucking devotion and a feral kind of feeling in their bodies Dean knew he had. And he wouldn’t have any logical reason to stop Her if she took up their offers—he could try no, I’m yours, take me instead, but he didn’t think it would work—and he’d gotten really good at not destroying himself about the idea, because She never did.

Dean had never seen Her fuck-me eyes, now that he thought about it. Not where he could see. 

But he knew She did give him the fluttering, blinding wouldn’t it be good to die for me eyes. 

She might not know she does that.

She can’t know the way that just picturing them is making him so hard it’s a little painful. Just like She can’t know that, before he crawled into bed at Her side, he’d beat his cock into his hands until he came with a groan of Her name.

Dean shouldn’t have kissed Her. 

The knowledge of how She tasted, felt, sounded—gasping his name like She wanted him—was making his decade long practice of best friend, don’t think about Her like that in the daylight, because you don’t deserve it and could never have it a little fucking impossible.

But he was hiding it well.

Dean was pretty fucking sure he was hiding it well.

“There’s no fucking way she’s being the patron, Sammy.” 

She glared at him in the rearview mirror, and Sam looked really fucking amused and pleased for a guy that had stumbled back twenty minture late without underpants.

Dean would’ve ever been proud of him—if he had to be stuck in the orbit of some sort of fucking Goddess he couldn’t touch, at least Sammy was getting some—if he hadn’t just suggested something fucking insane. 

“I can be the patron.” She snapped, Her eyes narrowing. “I’d be a great fucking patron. I can wear a swimsuit, and order stupid drinks, and- and I can act ditzy! And sit on the beach!”

Son of a bitch, She was adorable. Glaring at Dean, mumbling about how She could be ditzy—ditzy people didn’t use the word ditzy—and completely fucking missing the point. Dean knew She’d be a good patron. Between the three of them, She’d be the best patron. She already looked the better and fancier than everyone else part, all the time. She already carried Herself like an angel fallen to Earth—better, actually, because the angels tended to walk all stiff and angry—and She already spoke like if She told the ocean to stay at low tide forever, it would. She’d just need to lose all the softer light in Her eyes and blinding smile that told people She was crafted only from good things, to stop using Her manners, and be a whole lot less adorable and caring, and they’d have their perfect patron.

But Dean was, once again, a selfish piece of shit. 

The patron would have to sleep in the resort. Alone.

Away from the other two.

She’d have to sleep away from Dean.

“I’m not worried about your talents, Princess.” He muttered. “Sammy’ll be a good patron, I can tend bar, and you can be staff.”

Sam raised his hand. “I’m not going to be a good patron. There are like, different forks I’ll have to use, and I never learned those-“

“I did!” She leaned forward, almost propping Her chin on Dean’s should. It wasn’t helping. “I took etiquette lessons until, um- Well, until I made all the cups explode because I needed to pee and no one would let me, but I remember all the forks!”

God fucking damnit. Of course She knew all the forks. “You’re not going to a gala, Sammy. You don’t need to know about the forks.”

Dean’s grip on Baby’s wheel was white, and his last plea for this to end in his favor failed.

He lost the argument. Sam wasn’t comfortable trying to act all fancy,  She had what Sam called a sort of scary pretty face that important people have—She’d flushed and mumbled a thanks, but Dean agreed with Sam’s assessment—and Dean wasn’t allowed to just shout that he couldn’t sleep without Her. 

He fucking couldn’t. He didn’t know how anymore. At least not useful sleep, where he woke up alert and rested the next morning.

Sleep where he woke up panting and swinging at the air came just fine without Her. 

It thrived on the lack of Her, actually. It festered and spread over Dean’s skull, when he didn’t know She was across the mattress, safe and sound.

He somehow made it through the first night. The day had been filled with quick set-up—this resort didn’t seem to be run all that well, given how Sam and Dean didn’t even have to lie that hard about why they needed jobs right now—and recon, and it meant Dean collapsed on the bed barely a moment after he and Sammy returned to the motel. 

But then the morning came. And Dean turned to look and check that She was there and peaceful, because he did that every morning, only to find Her missing. 

He panicked.

Sam said he panicked.

Dean didn’t really remember it at all. There was a blur of ripping up the motel room and grabbing his gun, Alistair’s voice muttering in his ear that he’d find her, Dean’s lovely little Princess, and make Her beg for death ringing in his ears. It didn’t help that all he could really see was an image of Her from Texas, with ragged hair and hollow features and dark stain on Her stomach, red markings imprinted on Her wrists and a skeletal expression on Her face that made Dean want to dice and carve whoever the hell had done that to Her. 

He couldn’t scrape that image from behind his eyes. Sammy had brought him down—reminding him that She was fine, and at the resort, and had literally texted Dean twenty minutes before he woke up that she was going to try and sneak him some good coffee—but he couldn’t fucking relax because all he could see was Her. In pain.

When She’d needed Dean, and he hadn’t been there.

The day was long. Sam stopped by on his breaks, saying that he’d been looking for signs of demons everywhere but found nothing, and She gave by at random points through the day, giving Dean a bright smile from across the bar and making something to the right of his heart fucking howl. 

“Sam slipped me all the vics reservation records.” She said, eyes focused on Her little paper umbrella as Dean cleaned a glass. “And he says he can’t find any demons.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I heard. You seeing anything?”

“Nothing.”

Dean risked a glance over. Her lip was between Her teeth.

He had to rip his gaze back away.

“We looked at the files last night.” He muttered, trying to pretend he didn’t want to grab Her over the bar and kiss Her until she moaned his name. “None of them had the same last name. Not married couples.”

She paused. “That’s- huh. I was eavesdropping-“

Dean couldn’t stop himself from shooting Her a grin. “That’s pretty freakin’ rude, Princess-“

“Shut up. There were these two old ladies, and they were saying one of those poor girls had such a bright future, too. They mentioned finding the ring on the beach, and, you know, how big and shiny it was.” 

Dean frowned. “The ring?”

“Yep. So not married, but-“

“Engaged.” He muttered, glaring down at his well-polished glass. “Shit, I’ll pass it to Sammy later.”

She nodded, and was gone before Dean could say anything else. . 

Night fell, Dean left Her at the resort, and the nightmares were back in full fucking force. 

This time She was sitting on the edge of the bed in Boston, Dean rose up to kiss Her, and she turned into ugly mold and dirty water, seeping into the bed, then down, down, down into the floor. Vanishing like She’d never been there at all.

That one was going to be reoccurring. Dean had been getting a lot of new nightmares lately, and he’d gotten really good at telling which ones were going to haunt him for a long, long time. 

It kept going like that for a few days. Valentine’s Day itself was creeping up, and they hadn’t found any evidence that it was itself important to the seal, but they hadn’t really found any evidence at all. 

Sammy still hadn’t found any demons, but he had heard rumors from the other staff that some of the girls had been see cheating, hours before their deaths. And after She heard similar rumors, they decided to focus their energy there.

“Maybe it’s like…” Sam had trailed off at the motel table that night, frowning at his laptop. “The seal opens if enough girls cheat on their partners.”

Dean scowled, turning his beer bottle between his hands. She’d smiled at him today, and Her lips had looked glossy, and he couldn’t tell if his head was fuzzy from want or drinking. “That doesn’t make sense, Sammy.”

“No.” Sam had sighed. “It doesn’t.”

Dean’s next nightmare was another frequent flyer. One where Azazel flayed Her and Bobby alive, and but it kept flicking between Azazel and Dad, then it ended with Her broken body in Dean’s hands and Azazel-Dad telling him that it was for his own good.

They still had fucking nothing.

Dean’s job sucked. They found another set of bodies, but he was stuck behind the bar. He had chicks making the fuck-me-eyes at him, but whenever She’d stop by for their briefings, She barely met his gaze. 

It was for their cover. In case something was watching that even Her magic shit couldn’t detect. 

It still made his stupid heart whine. 

And at least Dean got to see Her. Got to chance quick, assessing scans over Her body, just to make sure She was still okay. There was no dried blood on Her lips or caking her nails, and no scratch marks visible on Her arms. Her wrists looked a little odd, but that might be sunburn, or chafing. She was wearing Her jacket, which meant she had Her knife.

It also meant he needed to be worried about Her getting heatstroke.

“You need some ice, sweetheart?” It was an acceptable thing to ask. Sometimes Shirley temples needed ice, and Dean was a bartender.

“No, thank you. If I eat ice, my fingers will get cold. And I won’t be able to hold my pencil.” She gave him a small, pretty smile under Her fluttering lashes. “Thank you, though.”

He couldn’t help himself. “You already thanked me, Princess.”

“Eat my fucking balls.”

Dean had to cough to cover his snort. 

At least he got to hear Her voice in something other than a fantasy or nightmare. 

“I got confirmation about the cheating.” She continued like nothing had happened, although it felt a little more like she was telling Her napkin rather than Dean. “I talked to a woman who was friends with one of the vics, and apparently she’d been talking about leaving her fiancée for some random new guy.”

Dean frowned. He’d been doing that a lot this week. “And this lady is still on her vacation?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging on Her lips. “Get your money’s worth, I guess.”

That was all he was getting, it seemed. Maybe all She had.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh-“

“Text me.” She gave Dean a soft, dark smile that made his knees weak, and slid Her napkin across the counter. 

Those weren’t Her fuck-me eyes. They were a cover, so She could tell him not now, call me later. The napkin didn’t even have one of Her burner phone numbers. It was just a bunch of Enochian, with one specific word-thing repeated over and over.

That night, Dean had one of the older nightmares. A green demon grabbing Her, driving it’s knife right into Her stomach, and Dean unable to move or do anything as She bled out on the motel floor. Then Bobby would burst through the door shouting things that Dean couldn’t hear, but still hurt, before pulling out his shotgun, aiming it at Dean’s head and never pulling the trigger.

The nightmare never ended with Bobby pulling the trigger. Usually they’d just stare at each other for a long time, and Dean would see all his own pain and devastation from Her loss reflected on Bobby’s face, and then—after an eternity—he’d wake up. 

And he’d been right.

Dean made the mistake of falling back asleep after hour, and the kiss-death nightmare returned.

This day was the slowest yet. Dean hadn’t seen Sam since they split up this morning, and he hadn’t seen Her all day. He’d been doing nothing but turning over the case in his head, and he didn’t even have anyone to tell his ideas.

He missed Her. He didn’t know how he was going to go another fucking night without Her, he didn’t know how he’d ever gone a night without Her, no wonder Bobby had told him he looked like shit every single day She’d been gone, he wasn’t fucking sleeping-

“Hey.” She dropped onto the stool across from him, almost conjured—maybe they should revisit that angels thing, because what Dean had been doing did feel a little too close to prayer—and Her hair falling over her eyes. “Anything?”

Her voice was a little shaky, but the bar was loud, so Dean pressed on. “Yeah, uh- I was thinking about how they’ve all been cheaters, right? But it’s only been the chicks.”

“That’s… right.” She paused. She still wouldn’t look Dean in the eyes. “Shit.”

“Yeah, and you know the girl that died second day we were here?” He picked up a new glass. He’d gotten better at pretending to be busy. “All her friends were gossiping about stuff, and one of them said that it was real sad she died a virgin.”

She sat up at that. He had Her attention. “What?”

Her voice was definitely shaky. And a little smaller.

Dean would ask Her about it after. “And you told Sam that those ladies said they couldn’t believe the other mister and missus corpse waited so long, and we thought they were taking about like, engagement-“

“But they were talking about sex.” She muttered. “Fuck.”

“Is that, uh, that’s a good fuck, right?”

“Dean.” She whispered, and he wished She would fucking look at him. “I know what we’re hunting. Fuck, it’s, one shouldn’t even be here but maybe that’s the seal, maybe she gamed it and there aren’t any demons or angels because- but I’ve been- Fuck-“

Dean grunted Her name, throwing cover out the window. “Breathe. You’re fine, you’ve got it, and we’ll gank it and go home-“

“No, Dean, it’s-“ She had started to shake Her head, the movement almost frantic, and She was rubbing her wrists like she was trying to scrub something away. “Fuck- It’s a Pink Boto- I should’ve known, they lure in young women and seduce them, then kill their- Fuck-“

This was getting away from them too fast. Dean damned it further, and grabbed Her face between his hands over the bar. She stopped shaking Her head. Her breathing didn’t slow. “Listen, you’re gonna be fine-“

“I can’t remember, Dean, I- Fuck- I don’t know what to do- I need to know what to do- Why can’t I fucking-“

“Cause you’re tired, Sweetheart, we’re all tired-“

“But I- No-“

“Hey.” Dean made his tone firm, and She froze. “Look at me, Princess. Please.”

She slowly glanced up, and Her eyes were a little glossy. Puffed. Red.

She’d been crying. 

Dean moved faster than he thought.

He tangled his fingers in Her’s, abandoned the bar—it was a shitty bar anyway, and all their whiskey that Dean wasn’t supposed to be drinking tasted like piss—and pulled Her into a small backroom he’d found on one of his breaks. 

“What happened.” He grabbed Her face between his hands, trying to gently angle it so he could find the damage. It was probably on Her body. “Where’s- Shit, I didn’t grab the rubbing alcohol- Stay here and keep it elevated-“

“No- Dean-“ She grabbed his arm before he could move out of the closet, Her eyes wide. “I’m not hurt. It’s just-“ She let out a long, slow breath, and Dean’s heart might have stilled in his chest. “It’s been a long day.”

He nodded slowly. “You gonna tell me about it?”

“I- I can’t.” She whispered. “It’s not that bad, Dean, it’s stupid- I shouldn’t have even, and Sam-“

Dean’s jaw clenched. Sam wouldn’t hurt Her. Even if they lived in a world where Sam didn’t like Her—which he did, the kid fucking adored Her—he cared about Dean too much to hurt Her. They might be fighting about Ruby and the seals, but Sammy was his brother and wouldn’t fucking hurt the only person Dean-

“Sam was trying to help.” She sniffed, and Dean’s fists relaxed. Of course he was. That was good. “But I- Dean, I’m so tired-“

“I know. ” He muttered, letting his hands move back up to frame Her face. “We’re almost done, sweetheart. Then we’ll go home.”

And it was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. They weren’t going to be done. Even if they stopped this seal, there were more. Lilith didn’t seem like the type to roll over and go quietly, and Ruby was still a fucking problem, and She was still something the angels were hunting for insane and cryptic reasons.

Dean hadn’t forgotten what Cas told them. 

Her existence heralded danger. Change. Something big, that they’d have to deal with after this.

But they’d deal with it, and She’d still be here.

And Dean would stay at Her side, all the way down. Her shadow however She wanted it, running his thumb down the bridge of Her nose until She relaxed into his arms. 

“It’ll be okay, Princess.” Dean muttered, and for Her, he’d believe it. 

Even though they had to pull apart, and separate once more. At least they had a name. A better idea of what they were dealing with, so this fight could be done.

But this nightmare was the worst one yet. It was another new one, and Dean didn’t even know what was happening for most of it. There was just a lot of noise, a big crowd, and everything was so fucking colorful. It was like a hurricane, and he was screaming Her name but he couldn’t find Her. She screamed back, but it always echoed around and Dean couldn’t figure out where She was, where did She go, She needed him but he couldn’t find Her-

He burst onto an invisible edge, and started to fall.

Everything was big. Too big. Dean could see a whole lot of the sky, and not much else, and son of a bitch it felt like something was watching him, but She still wasn’t there-

Dean woke up in another cold sweat, and She wasn’t there. 

His phone found it’s away into his hand, and he couldn’t stop staring at the little letters of Her name, a promise on his screen. She was just on the other side of a button. 

It would be dangerous to call Her. Dean couldn’t call Her. He couldn’t risk it.  

He couldn’t take another night of this, and they were always safer together, but the case-

Dean nearly chucked his phone into the wall when it started to buzz. 

It was a good thing he didn’t.

Because She’d called him first.

He’d have to have lost his mind to not answer

“Dean?” Her voice was soft over the phone, and he muttered Her name in response.

“Are you-“

“I’m okay. I, um- Can you…” She trailed off, and for a moment it was only static through the phone. 

“Sweetheart, I need you to talk for me-“

“I don’t want to- This room is really big.”

Dean froze, shooting a quick look over to Sammy. Dead asleep and comfortable. “It is, huh?”

“Yes.” She whispered. “There’s- I have a minibar. It has the chocolate you like. If you’re hungry.” 

“I’m always hungry, Princess.” Dean grinned into the dark. “Parking lot?”

She hummed, Her voice still so soft. “Thank you, De.” 

“I know.”

“Say you’re welcome.”

“Bossy-“

“Dean-“

Dean bit down his snort as he pulled on his shoes. “I’m not saying it. I’m not doing this for the thanks,” He drawled Her name, and he could almost hear Her frown.

“Then what-“

“I’m doing it for you.” Dean didn’t let Her respond. He’d said it for himself, and so She’d know. All She needed to do for him was know. “See you soon.”

They didn’t talk about it, when She grabbed his hand in the parking lot and pulled him into the resort hotel. They didn’t speak at all in the elevator, when She wrapped her arms around his body and pressed Her face to his chest. And when Dean moved Her into bed, dropped on the impossibly soft mattress at Her side, he let out a groan that made Her smile.

He could see it in the dark. 

Same as he could see Her crawl slowly over to his side, drape Herself cautiously over his body, and settle down like the fanciest, smartest, hottest cat in the world.

Dean could be Her shadow like this. Holding Her through the night without a word, drowning in the smell of fruit, and sleeping easy because She was there. With him. 

They never had to talk about it. 

As long as She was with Dean, he could make it into enough.

——————

It’s been a weird week.

You might not have been fully yours for half of it. You’ve been the anxiety of all the guns in Bobby’s house, and the exhaustion of all the roads and bridges you drove over, and the heaviness of the ocean right out your window. The Silver is growing and infecting everything, and you can’t control when it decides to want to become the whole fucking universe, or when it slams back into your body.  For almost every waking moment you’ve been suffocating in it, the fear that it will hurt something and the terror that—as you rub your wrists and try to just focus the Silver, even without pain—something will hurt you.

You really haven’t been yours at all. All the time.

Almost all the time.

You’ve been yours with Dean.

In the Impala at midnight, bumping his knee and shooting you small grins across diner tables, all but carrying you out of the bar when you get exhausted and your brain starts to get fuzzy. Whenever he’s slept next to you in bed, even if he wasn’t touching you.

And you get that.

You wouldn’t touch you either.

It doesn’t matter how much you want Dean to touch you. How you can’t stop thinking about his lips against yours, about how he tasted a little like coffee and the apple you’d made him eat that morning, but he mostly just tasted like Dean. Salt and spice, sort of earthy, and Dean.

He’d been warm above you. You remember him being so fucking warm and safe above you, and he had touched you like he wanted you—with a lot of rough hands on your skin and soft groans and all his weight pressed over you—but he hasn’t touched you since. Not like that. His hand still rests on your lower back when he guides you around, and sometimes you’ll wake up with his fingers tracing over your stomach like he’s worried your long-gone stitches are going to rip, but he hasn’t touched you.

But it really doesn’t fucking matter how much you want to tackle him and kiss him until you’re both just sunken down to the floor, you can’t.

Rule one is this isn’t about you. Kissing Dean would be about you, not him. Rule two is you can’t overindulge. He thought you were dying, and he kissed you, and you didn’t break anything because Dean kissed you, but you’re not allowed to grab that and run with it. He hasn’t kissed you since, and you’re not allowed to kiss him, so now you’re here.

Loving him. Silently.

And fucking hating this stupid fucking case that’s going to make you fucking stab someone.

You shouldn’t have let Dean talk you into this. But you’d missed him, whenever he and Sam went off on a case without you and you were stuck at home. And it’s not about you if Dean asked you to come.

Plus, you were getting what Bobby called hunter fever.

“That’s not a thing.” You’d muttered when he’d brought it up, and he’d scoffed.

“I ain’t just makin’ it up for shits and giggles, kiddo. It’s real and you’ve got it.”

“I feel fine-“

“No, you fuckin’ don’t.” Bobby had given you a flat look. “You been runnin’ around like a headless dog all week-“

“That’s not the saying.”

Bobby had ignored your mumble, pushing on with narrowed eyes. “You’ve started readin’ on the floor again. You only do that when you’re losin’ your damn mind.“

“I am not losing my mind.” You’d snapped. “I’m trying to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now that we know. What if I start the end of the fucking world? What if my thing is like, the sun explodes, or the moon decides it want to be part of earth again, or- Fuck, what if I kill God-“

“God ain’t real,” Bobby had said your name firmly, dropping down at your side. “And if he is, you’re not killin’ him.”

“But Cas said that Lilith was a Magdalene, and she started demons, and- shit, what if I start something worse than demons? What if I start super-demons?”

Bobby had sighed. “You ain’t gonna start super-demons. We don’t know what your thing is gonna be, but we’ll work it out when it gets here-“

“But what if it’s really bad.” You’d whispered. “He called me the Magdalene. That- I don’t know what that means-“

“I don’t either. And it sounds like Cas don’t have that big a clue either.” Bobby had run a hand over his face, letting out a long breath. “You’re not helpin’ anything by worrying about it. Or doin’ this.”

He’d tapped the papers scattered over the table, all covered in Enochian, and you’d swallowed.  

Some of it was just the soul exercise. Trying to map out Bobby’s soul, watching Sam and Dean when they were home and trying to figure out what the hell they were made of. A lot of it was new rituals or attempts to figure out who other Magdalene witches could’ve been—Cas had made it sound like they could be born anywhere in the world, which really didn’t narrow down anything—and an embarrassing amount of it was just trying to figure out how to write Dean’s name. 

Your excuse was that writing something on purpose would help you distinguish Enochian in your head. 

The real reason was that you loved him, and needed at way to show it where no one else could see. 

“When was the last time you went this long without a hunt.” Bobby’s voice had been soft. Cautious. 

And you’d sighed. “I’ve never gone this long. You know that.”

“Hunter fever. You’re gettin’ sick of being still and not doin’ shit, and it’s makin’ all this,” Bobby had tapped one of the notes. “Worse.”

“That’s so fucking stupid.”

“Hey,” Bobby had given you a glare, the expression massively undercut by the small smile he was failing to fight. “Don’t be rude, kiddo. Raised you better than that.”

“No you didn’t-“

“Tried to.” He’d shrugged, moving back to his feet. “Not my fault it didn’t take.”

You’d rolled your eyes, glanced down at your chewed up pencil—another new habit, because apparently if you couldn’t bite yourself you had to bite something—and you might have had hunter fever. Between the notes, and the restless itch. settling over your bones, sinking deep and deeper every second, it makes sense. You’ve always been moving until the pain made you drop. Now you can’t move, and goddamnit Bobby really was right.

Hunter fever. 

That was a stupid name. You’d told Bobby that, and he’d said that if you come up with a better one he’s all ears, but until then he invented it, so he gets naming rights. 

And the hunter fever had only gotten worse, the longer Sam and Dean were on that case. You’d gone to the library and checked out so many history books you’d had to make two trips to get them all in the Firebird. You’ve been watching so many documentaries that Bobby set a three per day rule, and started making you stop between them so you remembered to eat and use the bathroom. You’ve run out of paper to write on, so you’ve switched to pen and started drawing on yourself. It pricks your skin, but it’s better than carving with your knife or nails when the Silver gets set off by nothing and you can’t reign it back in. 

And you’ve started to keep track of all the times Dean could’ve kissed you and didn’t. 

Every night in the Impala. Whenever he’s been a little drunk and you’ve helped him to bed, letting him hang around your body before pouring the rest of his beer down the toilet. When he’s grinned up at you from the couch, and any time he’s called you Princess, and every waking second where you’re in the same room, and he could grab you and do whatever the hell he wanted to you, and you’d be fine with it because it’s Dean.

It’s most likely for the best that he doesn’t. For so many reasons. You’re dangerous. You’re a Magdalene, and knowing is better than not knowing, but you still don’t fucking know a lot. You’re not exactly stable, and neither is Dean, but letting yourself crash into him isn’t going to make him more stable. It would only make the Spiderweb glow, and fully consume you with Gold, and this isn’t about you. It can’t be about you.

And only a few days before you left for Florida—when Dean was still gone and your room was colder and lonelier—Cas appeared in the middle of your room, the only warning of a glowing sigil on the wall.

He’d said your name with a deep, serious tone, and you’d sighed.

“Hi, Cas.”

“You told me we needed to speak again. About my timing.” He glanced around your room, a small frown pulling at his features. “I am here to do that.”

“I don’t care about your timing.” You’d sighed, moving to lie flat on your back. “That was a cover.”

“A cover over what?”

“Over why I needed to talk to you. It’s a phrase.”

“Oh.” You’d craned your neck up, and Cas blinked at you. “What talk are we covering?”

You’d rubbed at your wrists, lying back down. “Can you sit, please?”

“This body can sit, yes-“ Cas had cut himself off, and you’d let him work through that one himself. “You are… asking me to sit.”

“Yep.”

“I do not need to-“

“Cas. Please.”

You’d expected more resistance. Instead he’d just dropped awkwardly at your side, shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress. “This is... better. Thank you.”

You’d hummed an acknowledgment, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me.”

“I cannot promise-“

“You have to.” You hadn’t cared if he could hear the desperation in your tone. “Please.”

Cas had paused for a long moment that was tight over your lungs, then sighed. “Alright.”

He’d folded with such little resistance, again.

That didn’t really feel like a good sign.

“Thanks.” You’d mumbled. “Ready?”

You glanced over to see him staring at you, giving a small nod, and you’d taken a long breath.

“You said I could be what you’ve been waiting for.” You’d muttered, running your thumb over your palm as you spoke. “What does that mean.”

Cas had been silent for a long second, only staring, and you’d briefly wondered if this was what it felt like for everyone else, when you’d look at them and see their souls.

It was a little unnerving. 

“When I said that.” He starts, his words slow and measured. “I was not aware of what you were. However, I am… not sure that matters.”

You’d frowned. “What, that I’m a Magdalene? I thought that was the whole thing-“

“You are the Magdalene.” Cas had corrected. “But that is not the… reason, I guess. I was not considering that, when we spoke before.”

“So am I not whatever you’ve been waiting for?”

“No.”

“No, I’m not, or-“

“You are.”

You’d sighed, pushing up on your palms to fully meet his gaze. “Cas. What have you been waiting for.”

“God.”

Maybe you should’ve had a bigger reaction to that. Cas must have noticed the complete neutrality on your face. But even in the safety of your room, where the Sky couldn’t see you, you’d still been able to feel it. The Silver had started to seep out, and you had been the fear of the vines on Bobby’s house, and they had felt the Sky watching them.

So you’d just swallowed, and taken a long, slow breath.

Why not. Between angels and Dean rising from the dead and the Sky, why not have God be a fun, new problem too. 

“There will be consequences. For you being the Magdalene. And I do not think even my superiors fully understand them.” Cas paused, holding your gaze. “From what I have found, you have long been thought to be a lie. A sort of… myth, is what you might call it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about how my kind aren’t real-“

Cas had shaken his head. “Not the Magdalenes. You.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed, and Cas had sighed.

“That is what I meant, before. It is not the Magdalene in you. It is you.” He’d said your name, still watching you so carefully. “There is something… holy.”

You’d blinked at him. “About me?”

Cas had nodded. “It is more than an angel grace. Or a soul. I have only seen it once, a long, long time ago.”

You’d had a pretty good sense of where this was going, and you really hadn’t wanted to hear it, but you were so tired of not knowing. Of only ever having more questions. “Where did you see it?”

“The only time I met my father.” Cas had muttered, frowning down at you, and maybe he’d been able to see it then. In the dark of your bedroom, at midnight, there was an impossibly high chance that Cas looked at you and saw something holy. 

That was more terrifying than anything in the world.

You aren’t holy. You’re barely more than a monster. You’re sick and in pain and exhausted, and you don’t know what looking at you and seeing holy means, but you know it can’t be good.

Nothing you ever do leads to something good. 

Dean will never get to know it, but you’re starting to think John really should’ve saved everyone a whole lot of trouble and put a bullet in your brain. You’re making everything harder. You’re not good for anything but hunting, and you can’t even really do that anymore. You’re going to hurt or break or infect something, because that’s what you do, and just because the Darkness is gone doesn’t mean you’re cured. If anything it means you’ve evolved, like a pathogen or bacteria, and now you can press further and further into the world without resistance. 

You’re not good for Dean. John was right about that, too. You just take from him—his time and sleep and attention—and you’re not going to leave because you promised, but one day Dean’s going to find someone better for him, who never makes him yell or cry or worry, and they’re going to demand you’ll leave.

It’s another reason you fucking hate this case. It’s full of sweet, pretty women with no scars and toothy smiles, humming syrupy words to Dean, right in-front of you.

And they have no way of knowing that you even know Dean. And he doesn’t even look at them. 

But one day he will. 

Then you’ll have to live with that. 

For now you can cling to how Dean brushes off the better women in favor of giving you small, cocky grins. You can feel the bright, colorful rush of the Spiderweb glowing under his attention. You’re addicted to it. 

And God, it’s going to kill you when he finds the woman that makes you leave. Who makes Dean happy, but gets uncomfortable about the weird freak who keeps following him around like they don’t know what else to do—you don’t—and then you’ll have to leave, because Dean loves her and not you. 

You already hate her, and it’s not even her fault. She’s not real. She didn’t do anything to you except not be you. You can’t blame her for not having scars littered in odd places across her body, for having the type of softness and experience and ease that Dean deserves. It not her fault she never makes him kill things for her, or forces him to carry her to safety when she loses her mind like some weak fucking problem. 

And she won’t depend on him. Not like you do. She won’t be a parasite or leech that wants to wrap around Dean and drench herself in gold. She’ll be able to sleep without him, because she’ll be kind and normal and stable. She’ll never draw her own blood or vomit from grief, because Dean will settle down in a simple, white-picket life with her and forget all about how he ever even considered wanting you. 

She won’t be a sickness that’s not strong enough to cure itself. She won’t try to get better, just to make everything so much fucking worse. 

Things won’t be complicated with her. She’ll deserve Dean, and all his Gold.

You don’t. You’re not even close to deserving Dean. He never fucking falters, even under all the crushing weight of everything. All the blood on his hands he had to shed, and every worse thing he’s done was because he had to. 

Dean was pushed into everything. It wasn’t his fault that John made him hunt. He made that deal to save Sam because he’s a good, selfless man. He broke in hell because anyone would’ve broken in hell, and he’d still held on for so fucking long before he gave in, because he was strong.

You’re not.

You’re just like this. 

The first day without him is the worst. You’re alone for most of it, save for when Sam finds you and hands you a towel, the vic records folded into them. He mutters that there’s been no sulfur or temperature drops, and you nod, mumbling an agreement.

You see Dean once. Smiling at a one of those better women from behind the bar.

And his grins goes wide and boyish, the moment he spots you, and it sets off fireworks over the Spiderweb, but you can’t get addicted to that. It’s not going to be permanent. 

But it’s not overindulging if Dean’s grinning at you.

So you smile back.

And that night, you try not to think about it too much. About Sam’s words at the bar, when he’d called Dean one of those guys.

You’d known that. You’ve never been bothered by it. He’s never done it in front of you—where it would’ve ripped you in half—and you’d never had a claim over him that could’ve made him stop. It hadn’t mattered that you’d follow him all the way down, or that you love him, or that there’s a whole part of you that just for Dean. You’d never thought there was even a chance of him wanting you like that until that amazing, stupid fucking kiss, so you’d simply forced yourself not to think about it.

It’s all you can think about now. Dean sliding a woman that’s not you his motel card, telling Sam to find somewhere else to hang out for a while, then kissing her. And she’d kiss him back without any fear or anxiety, because she’d know how. She’d have an idea of what could drive him crazy, and he’d fall on his knees for her with only joy on his pretty face, and then they’d-

This is torture. The whole night is fucking torture, because all you can wallow and sink into it the loneliness, and the reminder that Dean deserves better. Someone who will match him.

Not someone he’ll have to take care of and guide through everything. 

The morning breaks, and you’re not sure you slept at all. 

The second day is worse. You don’t see Dean at all, and there are so many fucking people, everywhere,  all the time. You hadn’t realized how fucking horrible that would be until you were in it. There had been a lot of people, on the lich case with Jo. But the only time they’d all been in one, loud place was the last night, and you’d been more focused on Dean. On keeping him safe and alive. You’d almost tethered yourself to him, because as long as he was there and Golden, there hadn’t really been much else to look at. 

But then you’d spent those weeks between cases letting the Silver grow and grow, letting Dean soothe it into something easy you didn’t want to fight, and it seems to have bloomed. 

You’ve lost control. You can’t remember the world ever being like this in your life—so loud and consuming and overwhelming—and you barely been able to handle it when you were a child, and it was just single colors lined with quickly fading imprints. 

Now it’s so much. You’re a little bit everything all the time and there’s so much. Why is there so fucking much. This is worse than the bar, when souls had simply been loud and amplified by the drinks and emotions. At least there you’d still be able to cling to Dean’s Gold, to breathe in the smell of spice and try not to think about how a whole lot of desire was blaring out from all the souls in the bar, directed to where you and Dean had been sitting.

It was a new trick. It had started after the kiss. You can see souls creeping and drifting out of their bodies, trying to latch onto other people. Trying to sink into them. You’d been able to see the redhead’s hot pink, almost bubblegummy-ness aiming over Sam, and it had been fucking sickening and pungent. Not for Sam—all the parts of him that were still purple had been vibrating from the attention—but for you, and you’d needed to get it away from you. 

And this is so much fucking worse. There are so many people, so many souls, and twining and burning and washing over each other, and you can still smell Dean’s spice when he’s not here, and you’re going fucking insane.

They found another body, that morning. You didn’t see it, but Sam did, and he said it was ugly. Looked like they got beat up by the ocean, and that some of the staff were whispering about how the girl had been seen cheating before her death.

“I’ll ask around.” You mumble, pretending to be busy with the coffee while Sam takes an impossibly long time to grab the trash. “There’s this group of ladies who have been trying to talk me into going to the beach with them, and I think they knew the vic.”

Sam nods. “I’ll pass it onto Dean.”

You swallow, and the Spiderweb whines. “Tell him I say hi.”

Sam gives you an odd look and his mouth opens, but you walk away before he can speak. You don’t want to hear it. You know Dean wants you, at least enough to kiss you once, but he hasn’t kissed you since.

Maybe it was horrible for him. It was perfect for you, but he’s not in love with you, and he probably has a higher standard for good kisses. He’s hasn’t changed since the kiss, but he hasn’t tried to do it again. 

There’s a chance he’s waiting for you to kiss him, to make the scores even. He kisses you once and puts it on the table. You kiss him again and then you get to have him.

You don’t deserve to have him. And you’re not allowed to kiss him first. 

“What about you?” One of the women—the ones you’d told Sam about, with long nails you really wish it would be practical for you to have—says your name, and you blink at her.

They’d already confirmed that the girl had cheated, and you’d mostly been tuning out the rest of the gossip after that. It was too colorful, and thinking about Dean was better than drowning in the vastness of the Silver, so you’d just focused on that.

But now you had to participate. You hadn’t been ready to participate.

“What about me?” You ask, throwing on a small, nervous smile and slipping back into your role. Ditzy. You’d told Dean you’d be ditzy. 

“A man.” A second woman—Monica? You’re pretty sure her name is Monica—grins at you, leaning back in her chair. “You have one?”

Pretty green eyes and soft hair and full lips and Gold- “No.”

“Oh, come on.” The first woman—Halle? That sounds right—rolls her eyes. “You’re so pretty, babe, you’ve gotta have someone, or there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

“I- I don’t-“

“Is it a girl?” Monica whispers, leaning forward. “It’s okay, you can tell us. We’re like, super chill about that.”

You sigh. “It’s not a girl.”

The last girl—Karen, that one’s easy to remember—grins at you. “So there is someone?”

“No, it’s not- It’s complicated-“

Halle scoffs. “If it’s complicated, he’s an idiot.”

You scowl at that. “No, he’s not-“

“Ha!” Karen grins, and this was a mistake. You should’ve just eavesdropped on their conversation like a normal person. “There is someone! What’s his name?”

“I- I’m not-“ You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to find a way out. “It’s really complicated. There’s like, a lot of moving parts, and we’ve known each other a really long time-“

“Awww.” Monica gives you a sweet smile. “Childhood friends? That’s so cute!”

“No- It’s more-“ You choke on the word complicated. “I have to go.”

Halle shakes her head as you stand up. “No, wait, we’re sorry, you’re just cool and we thought there had to be someone-“

She’s still talking. Still apologizing. 

But she grabbed your wrist to stop you from leaving. Right where Ketch had tied you up. Right where the lich grabbed you. 

You can’t breathe. The Silver is bursting and burning through the world because no, no, you’re so tired and it hurts and no-

Something shatters, an impossibly large wave sweeps over half the beach, and the wind picks up, ripping through the air like you’re at the top of a mountain.

The women are shrieking in fear, because this shouldn’t be happening, and you run. Not forever. Just until you’re back in your room, staring at your phone and forcing yourself not to call Dean. 

Half of that had been you. The shattering and wave had been you.

The wind had been the Sky. It had been watching. And the cold had bitten your skin, and it had been more of a warning to you than a defense for you. 

And you’re falling apart. You miss Dean, and it’s worse than when he’d been on a case, and you’d been at Bobby’s. At least you’d been a little useful, there. At least you’d had company, and could think about things that were better women, touching Dean in the dark while you were alone in bed. 

Here, you’re useless. You can’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be hunting—which is supposed—to be something you’re good at—because it’s all so loud and colorful and you’re not sleeping, and you miss Dean.

Maybe he’s spending this night with another better woman, again. There are plenty to choose from, this luxury resort filled with people to know how to have something and not infect it. And it’s almost Valentine’s day, so they’ll want company, and anyone—whether they can see the Gold or not—should want Dean. Will want Dean. 

You torture yourself with that for another night. The idea of Dean in bed with someone else, touching someone else, kissing them the same way he’d kissed you, but this time they go further, and then the next day you’ll see that the rivers of silver had been painted over with another color.

Embedded. Cas had said you were embedded in Dean, and that couldn’t go away easy, but what if it does. What if only a gentle, knowing touch cures Dean of you forever, and it’s that easy, and he leaves. 

You’d promised you’d stay, but he didn’t. You both said all the way down, but that was before he kissed you. 

It would be smart to want to take it back. To go back to never thinking about that, because you didn’t think it was an option. To not be getting withdrawals from something you never even fucking had, not really.

You know that.

Knowing never helped.

And at least you still have the Gold lingering on your lips. It’s never been there before, and it makes you feel a little like that holy thing Cas had called you. 

You really are fucking useless. Staring at mirrors and trying to write Dean’s name in Enochian and imaging that he’ll burst through your door and sweep you away. 

It doesn’t help that the wrist thing is looking like it’s here to stay.

The next morning, Sam pulls you into an abandoned room for a meeting.

But he grabs you by the wrist.

And you can’t stop yourself from swinging.

Blind, frantic punches thrown into the air, uncoordinated from exhaustion and landing on nothing, someone is shouting your name but there’s a lot of red in them—red like blood, red like poison—and the fists aren’t enough so you grab your knife and start slashing-

Sam shouts your name, and the blur fade enough for you to know it’s Sam, but then he grabs your wrist to stop the fall of your knife, and the Silver explodes.

There’s a crash, and a ringing in your ears, and-

“Holy- Ow.” Sam stumbles up from the floor, his hands raised in the air and the wall a little dented behind him. “What the hell was that?”

You blink at him, the blur fading, and all that’s in its wake is pain. Pain and a gnawing fucking guilt, because you hurt Sam, why the fuck did you hurt Sam, what’s wrong with you and why can’t you control this without trying to kill yourself-

Sam frowns at you, something softening in his gaze. You don’t deserve how gently he says your name. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, drawing yourself up tall and forcing your voice to stay even. “I’m sorry. You startled me. Is your back-“

“It’s fine. I mean, it hurts, but I’ve have worse.” Sam pauses. “Are you sure-“

“What do you need, Sam.”

He stares at you and—in a small mercy—doesn’t push it. Whatever Sam can see on your face, he’s able to work out that now is not the time to talk about how he just touched you, and you tried to kill him. 

Sam only sighs, and moves on. 

“I think we’re dealing with some sort of sex demon.” He says, shuffling back to your side. “All the vics have been cheating, but every single thing I’ve heard about them makes it sound like they were really in love. There has to be some kind of manipulation going on.”

You nod slowly, letting out a long breath. “How do you know they were really in love? Just online snooping?”

“They did all just get engaged. And I mean, people make mistakes with that sometimes, but it’s usually a sign of… you know.” Sam shrugs. “A future. Together.”

“Okay.” You frown at the air. “You pass it onto Dean, and I’ll keep looking for what the seal actually is, so we can stop it.”

Sam shakes his head. “I, uh- I’ve actually got the seal, too. Bobby called me.”

“Oh.”

“He would’ve called you.” Sam rubs at the back of his neck, and suddenly the air is wired. “But this is- Um, it’s sort of better to have in person.”

You narrow your eyes. He’s being weird. “Sam. What’s the seal.”

“Bobby thinks.” Sam won’t meet your eyes. “Based on some old texts that be found, some of yours, actually-“

“Samuel-“

“It’s making a true love stray.” Sam mumbles, his gaze locked on the floor. “And Bobby’s theory for the murders that none of them have been a true love, so after they strayed, they got.” Sam winces. “You know.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s- It makes sense.” You pause. “Why does that need to be said in person?”

Sam glances up, something cautious in his eyes. “Because you and Dean need to be careful.”

The world stills a little, like a heart murmur, but you must have just heard him wrong. “What.”

“You and Dean.” Sam mumbles. “Any two people with, um, strong emotions are in danger.”

“Sam.” You keep your words slow and careful. You can’t really hear them over the ringing in your ears. “They’ve been targeting engaged couples. Dean and I are-“

“You’re really obvious!” Sam almost shouts, and you flinch like he’d stabbed you.

“No.” You whisper, shaking your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach, and the Silver isn’t even growing. This isn’t a danger to it. 

It should be. You’re a danger to Dean.

“Sam, we’re just- I’ve told you-“

“Jo told me about the kiss.” Sam’s voice is gentle. You’re going to claw out your own eyes. “And I know you guys are dealing with other things, but you’re not just friends. And I- I’m sorry,” he mutters your name, and a little bile creeps up your throat. “But I knew a long time before that. You guys are obvious, and I’m not trying to tell you want to, you know, do about it. But you have to be careful.”

No. You don’t. Dean doesn’t love you, but you’ve never even looked anywhere but him and the Gold and that deep life in his eyes, so not only is Sam wrong, he’s cruel.

Dean doesn’t want you like that, and if he loves you, it’s not the truest love. It can’t be. You’re you, and you’re a danger, and you’ve never brought him anything but extra work, screams of his name, and your own tears for him to eat. 

You can’t live on tear and names. You could—you could conquer the world if Dean offered you tear and your name from his lips—but nobody sane and easy can. Dean will live off of good food from a better woman.

And you’ll die with the Sky watching you, alone in that high, cold, lonely place it had promised you when you were young.

“Sam.” You whisper, your hand wrapping around your throat on an old instinct, but the Silver still dormant in your body, because it’s lined with the Spiderweb, and the Spiderweb loves the idea of Dean’s love. “Please don’t say that.”

He says your name, and it’s gentle again. You think you’re choking on the air.

“Don’t-“

“I’m really not trying to push you guys to do anything.” Sam’s voice is almost desperate. “I just- I can’t lose you both again. This demon is taking the couples-“

You make a weak sobbing sound, and Sam catches his mistake.

“Pairs, it’s taking the pairs and if you both go, I don’t know- Shit-“ Sam pleas your name, moving to reach for you, and you take a step back.

“I- I’m going to go tell Dean.” Your voice is strained, and you don’t care about the irony of your own words. “Bye.”

You’d promised Dean you wouldn’t run. 

You haven’t promised Sam fucking shit.

And you were running to Dean. You didn’t care if that made you a hypocrite, or liar, or a whore. You needed to see him, because it made the Silver feel good, and the world manage because you could cling to Dean’s Gold, and know it was going to be okay.

Then you break twice. Once at the bar, when you were supposed to be working, but Dean needed to calm you down because it was all too fucking much and you’re useless. Then again when you caved and called him, just to hear his voice—overindulging—and ended with him wrapped around you in bed.

You’d slept. Well. Easily. And Dean looks peaceful, in the shifting light of dawn, starting to break through the windows. 

He’s perfect. The newer, stronger Gold seems like molten lava in the morning light, but it’s still not fire. And it’s moving rapidly through his body like air, but it’s not. And there a power to it like water, and strength to it like earth, but it’s never enough of one and far too much of the others for you to pin it down.

You don’t really need to pin it down. 

It’s Dean.

You love him all the same.

He tries to hold onto you, when you twist to get out of bed. He makes a cute, disgruntled sound, and tugs you right back into his body before you know what’s happening.

It takes ten minutes for you to slowly swap yourself with one of the pillows. And you don’t want to leave—it might be a dream, to just stay where Dean is holding you for the rest of your life—but you need to think. And you can’t do that when a big, warm hand is spread over your stomach again, and Dean’s breath is hot on your neck.

Your thoughts had kicked back into gear, after Dean calmed you down yesterday. And you’d made some connections.

Connections you’re going to have to tell Sam and Dean about, because they mean you’re good. You can gank the Boto Monster and fuck off. Go home. You don’t even have a seal to deal with.

And you’re going to have to find a way to convince them of that without the truth.

Because under no fucking circumstances can you actually say the truth.

Dean had said the first vic was a virgin, and it had hit you in small, fragmented pieces you’d strung together in the hours after.

Sam had been wrong about the sex demon. This has to be a Pink Boto. You’d hunted one, while you were in Brazil, and this is their exact MO. Make a young, virgin woman cheat on her partner. Then kill them both, with symptoms similar to drowning. You’d remember how to spot one, too. They’d be in a human form of their choice, designed to lure the woman in, but they’d always wear a hat. Their true forms were pink dolphins—botos—and they could shift however they wanted, but they could never get rid of their, so they’d have to cover it. With a hat.

And that was great. Simple. 

It also wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that Lilith brought the boto here, to make the true love stray.

True. Not pure. 

The seal won’t care about any virgins. But the boto will. It will target them, smell it on them, fucking see it. The same way that they can sense when humans have emotional bonds, so they can sniff out couples.

At least, that was how it had been explained to you, in Brazil. 

It was how they’d assured you.

You were single. 

You wouldn’t be a target.

And this is where Sam was right. You and Dean were in danger. You were the target. Lilith brought the boto here because she needs the seal broken, and she knows about your love for Dean, and she probably fucking knows about you. The other deaths haven’t been about the seal. It’s just been the boto feeding. You and Dean have been the endgame from the start.

The good news, you decide as you sit alone on the beach, your toe right on the edge of the water as the sun climbs into the sky, is that Lilith is fucked. You’ve really never even thought about anyone but Dean. Not like that. You missed the window of experimentation in your teens, met Dean at eighteen, and then there was just no fucking point to anyone else. It was Dean. It’s always been Dean. All the way down.

It’s not saving yourself, because that makes you sound fucking pathetic, like a midwestern church girl who won’t show Her ankles because Jesus will get mad. You just don’t think about it, if it’s not Dean. And it’s not like anyone else has ever really looked at you.

That was your first kiss. 

You are never going to fucking tell Dean that.

And you’re staring down at the sand—at the water slowly climbing over your ankles—when you hear him clear his throat behind you. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry.” You mutter, not looking up from the sand. “I should’ve texted. I just needed to- you know.”

“Yeah. I do.” You hear the sand shift at your side. He’s sitting down. “Just got worried. I mean, woke up. You weren’t there. Damn near ripped up the room looking for you.”

That gets a small smile. “You think I was going to be under the couch, Deano?”

“No. I’m just saying I was worried. Don’t run off like that.”

There’s a long, heavy silence, and something is wrong. The air is wired and tense, and it’s never like that with Dean. And the Silver isn’t exploding, but it’s not soothed. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters suddenly, and it really sounds like Dean, but you’re still staring at the sand. “I just got worried, you know? You shouldn’t be out here, the sun is barely even up.”

Dean would be worried. But he wouldn’t say it like… that. 

You suddenly really don’t want to look at him. He’s rubbing strong circles on your back but they’re only making your breathing labored. He’s right at your side, but you don’t feel any of Dean’s gravity.

But it sounds like Dean.

And you’re frozen. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” Dean’s voice hums, close to your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel fucking sick. “You know I love you, baby. Let’s go back to bed.”

Baby.

Dean only calls his car Baby. 

But that was his voice. Calling you Baby. It’s echoing around in your head, and you can’t fucking breathe, and you have to open your eyes.

It looks like Dean, too. Pretty features and a boyish grin and green eyes, it’s skin a little more tanned, but only in a way that’s noticeable to someone who’s insane and in love with him.

You don’t need to rip its stupid baseball cap to know it’s not Dean.

It’s not Golden.

And you can still hear it, as you explode.

Baby. You know I love you, baby.

You’re scrambling back, as the Silver presses into the boto. And it not killing it. Not simply sucking up its life and throwing its soul into wherever monsters go after they die.

You’re eliminating it. The same way you’ve eliminated Hell’s Assassin’s.

But you’ve never done it to something with a functioning soul again. A soul you can see. Sense.

Hear.

Those aren’t the screams of the boto, when it’s turned into pure fucking nothing. 

It’s the soul. Begging you for mercy.

Baby.

There’s a last, weak sound, and then the boto is gone.

You fall flat on your back, and stare at the Sky.

It stares back. 

You can’t fucking breathe. The tide is starting to rise, but you can’t fucking move, and you can’t tell what salt is your own tears and what’s the ocean.

And the Sky is just fucking watching.

Dean roars your name, somewhere down the beach. And that’s how your Dean roars your name, and the Spiderweb is glowing, and he’s Golden when he appears over you like some sort of knight, sent to save you from the monster in the water.

You’re the monster in the water. If Dean’s a hero—and he is—he should let you fucking drown.

But he doesn’t. He’s perfect, so he scoops you into his arms with only a grunt and carries you away from the beach. 

When you look over his shoulder, there’s not even a fucking body. It’s like the boto never even existed at all.

“You’re okay.” Dean’s muttering in your ear as he sets you down somewhere with flowers and a small marble waterfall. “Son of a bitch, Princess, you can’t just fucking disappear. I- You weren’t there and I fucking thought- Godamnit-“

Dean grabs your face between his hands, starting to wipe the linger saltwater from your cheeks. You’re blinking at him. In a firm pattern on once, over and over, trying to tell him everything is wrong. But he’s too focused on checking you for injury to see. And that’s how your Dean would be worried. 

Touching you so carefully while shouting at you with a distress you can hear.

You sob before you can stop yourself, and Dean’s eyes widen.

“Fuck, wait-“ He pulls you right back against his body, walking backwards until his back is pressed to a white-brick wall, and you’re still held in his arms.

He wants to be able to see anything coming. He’s trying to keep you safe.

Your tears start to flow.

“No- shit- Don’t cry, Princess, you’re okay, it’s okay, you’re- Fuck-“

Dean’s thumb starts to run down the bridge of your nose, over and over until you’re almost slumped against him. 

It’s peaceful here. Against Dean. Warm and safe. Home. 

And exhaustion is already starting to pull you down, but you can still hear it.

Baby.

“Talk,” Dean mutters your name, brushing away the hair that’s been stuck to your brow. “Shit, I- I need you to talk, I can’t fucking do anything if you don’t tell me what happened, why the hell were you drowning yourself-“

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Dean stares at you.

He thinks you’re sorry because of the vanishing act and state he’d found you in.

He’s wrong.

You need to know. Just in case this is a more sophisticated trick, or a dream, or the last chance you ever get. Just in case the angels swoop down and try to take you, or the earth opens up and Dean’s dragged back to Hell, you need to know. It’s selfish and unforgivable, but you need it. You need Dean. 

Baby. I love you, baby.

“You’re-“

Dean words are cut off as your hands fist in his shirt, and you yank him down into a kiss. 

He responds immediately. Dean deepens the kiss in half a second, pulling you somehow closer. Like there wasn’t ever a question of if he would.

And you know.

But you don’t hate yourself enough to pull away.

This isn’t like the first kiss. You’d both been moving through that like you were afraid it would be ripped away at any moment. 

Now you’re both moving like you know it’s going to be ripped away, and you refuse to waste one fucking second.

It’s violent. Heavy and hot and wet, open-mouthed with Dean’s tongue down your throat and his lip between your teeth. Your nails scratch at his back and shoulders as he flips you around, pinning you between his body and the wall. And he’s still touching you so carefully—like he’s afraid you’ll break—but there’s no hesitation when one hand grips your waist hard enough to bruise, before trailing down and under your shirt-

A million fucking sparks set off when Dean’s knuckles touch the bare skin of your hips. Your back arches as he groans and massages your waist, and you’ve stared to grind up into him without thought, because he’s Golden and made of gravity and you want him to devour you. To touch you wherever he wants until you’re painted in Gold, to kiss you until you’re just putty like this, forever. Tended to and touched and without any fucking pain, there’s no fucking pain because Dean’s too good to have pain. 

There can’t be pain when you’re safe against his body. Nothing can exist but Dean kneading at your skin under your shirt, and moaning your name against your lips when you press against something big and hard, poking right at your hip-

Dean pulls away with a grunt, both of you gasping for breath, and your brow drops to his shoulder.

He just smells like spice, now. And you can taste it, too. 

You love him. 

You’re not allowed to say it.

So instead you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him like there won’t be any consequences. Any prices to be paid.

There will be.

You’ll live with them.

“Dean?” You whisper in his ear, and his hum of response rolls through your whole body. “I- I took care of it. Can we please go home?”

You’re ready for him to push back. To ask what took care of it means, and tell you that you need to be sure, and consult Sam, and you can sit the rest of it out, but you can’t leave just yet.

Instead Dean just sighs, running his fingers through your hair, and nods.

“We can do whatever you want, Princess.”

You want him. You’ve only ever wanted Dean.

But it doesn’t matter what you want. 

You’ll have whatever the fuck Dean offers you. 

And if it’s love, you’ll rip the Sky in half to keep it.

End Note: Okay so I made her a virgin because let’s be so fr, she’s impressively oblivious about that stuff, AND she was not about to get laid when big emotions made things blow up. We’re lucky Dean didn’t kiss her when she was still suppressing her powers. Girlie would’ve blown up the moon about it.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[pucksandpebbles]

BET U WANNA, QH43 - PART ONE

READ THE BLUE STRIPS AU

bet u wanna - summary

>> next part

Chase me, chase me That's right, baby, yeah Feel the way it feels When you don't have control of who I'm holdin' Is it feeding all your fears?

a/n : welcome back everyoneeeee! should I be revising? yes. are A levels really that deep? probably also yes. Anyways I procrastinated by writing this as there was popular demand... only warning is: this is 'bout to get real messy. Never proofread (oops) and mentions of sex.

you know you love me :)

wc : 1,4k

You didn’t expect it to be a thing. Hell you didn’t even want it to be a thing. Hooking up with Quinn was supposed to be a one and done type of deal, that’s what you’d said as he was crawling out of your bed.

The white sheets were cold against your skin, freshly washed and tangled between your legs, a corner of a sheet balanced gently over your hip in that delicate way that covered most of what you didn’t want showing. Not that modesty really mattered anymore. Because Quinn had seen it all now, seen, felt, explored every inch of your bare skin, evidenced by smatterings of pinkish and red marks across the sweeping expanse of your skin. He had some too, little nicks around his neck and one sitting dangerously close to his jaw that he had panted at while you sucked it on. It was still summer and it would fade but should it have been hockey season and he would be going to practice that morning, the boys would surely have seen it, teased him, pushed him around and asked him about who was the lucky girl. 

There was still someone who would see it. Jack. 

The wild, untamed thought sent a rush of blood through your body. Inspecting from afar the marking upon his brother’s neck, knowing it came from you, real, physical evidence that you two had fallen into bed together. That he had fucked you so good, you lost all semblance of self control and that Quinn had just let it happen.

You shifted further into him. Your head rested on his bare chest, rising up and down slowly, his naked and tanned skin stretching beneath your sheets. Another thing which sent a rush of blood through you.

“Don’t tell me you want to go for another round?” He asked, voice low and gravelly. You tried to ignore the fluttering that the sound generated in you.

You laughed lowly, pressing your face into the skin at the base of his neck, “Do you?”

“Hmmm,” he hummed softly, hands sneaking lower down your back, causing you to release a faint hiss, “I’m always up for it, if you are.”

“Sneaky,” you laughed, “but I’m pretty sure I have to get up for work soon.”

His hands had trailed your way down to your ass, giving a small squeeze as he leaned forwards to whisper in your ear, “I’m sure we have time.”

“One-time thing Quinn,” You sighed, swotting at his wandering hands - and eyes, as you sat up, resting back on your heels, your chest bare, “eyes up here.”

He sighed, the reminder of your deal rattling through him as he was forced to pull himself from the warm comfort of your double bed. You watched as he slowly dressed himself in last night’s clothing, his body turned away from you. Stifling a huff, you turned away and got up on the other side of the bed, trudging into and locking the door to the bathroom.

Therefore. Done deal - one incredible, mind-blowing and very very sexy night of revenge sex and then no more. You’d not even gone in for a round two the next morning even though the thought of it made you pulse with excitement, it shouldn’t be done. 

Quinn, after leaving that morning, hadn’t said anything more about it. Your usual texts had stayed the same, no change there, almost nothing that indicated that Quinn had changed his mind, was backing out of whatever this was. If anything he’d really leant into it, since returning to Michigan for the last few days before training camp you’d received a photo from Luke of Quinn’s obviously mauled neck and multiple from Jack which you’d left unread but which varied from blind rage to begging for you back. Pathetic.

Luke Hughes: [Photo attached] this you?

Jack: How fucking dare, you I cannot believe you would… [read more]

Jack: MY GODDAMN BROTHER? And you’re calling me… [read more]

Jack: Genuinely what is it about him?? What could I have done to [read more]

Jack: how many other guys have you let… [read more]

Jack: call me please baby

Jack: i’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of what I said, i never wanted to… [read more]

You sent a screenshot of the text previews to your best friend, who had now taken it as her personal hobby to rag on Jack. You didn’t mean for the whole thing to become some messy revenge plot, just a little payback for all the hurt that Jack had caused you while you were together. He wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe it was just a case of the right guy, wrong time? 

You snorted as the latest text came through from your best friend, clicking on it as you walked out of your office block, ready to get home and watch a terrible rom-com and stuff yourself with popcorn.

“Hey.”

Your head snapped up immediately, stopping you in your tracks and causing the clicking sound of your heels against the linoleum to halt. Quinn. Quinn Hughes. In front of you again, out of the blue, for the second time in the last two weeks.

“Quinn.”

“Hi.”

Your voices echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine. You stepped towards his still figure. Hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, jeans and dirty white trainers, still damp hair tucked under a beanie and the beginnings of some facial hair on his top lip. And also, the way in which he was breathing, deep and laboured - nervous perhaps. A dried tear track beneath his eye.

Another step closer, worry lilting your tone, “Quinn, are you okay?”

He let out an almost sigh of relief, his words breathy but strained, “I know you said just once but-”

“Quinn,” you cut him off, “You are upset, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just- it’s been a long week. A hard week. And all that I can think about is what happened between us the other night-”

Your mouth fell open, taking another tentative step forward, cutting Quinn off in the middle of his sentence, “Quinn-”

“No wait. I know that we said that… you said it would never happen again. But I am here, asking you for one more time, and then that’s it and I’ll fuck off or whatever.” He rambled, words tumbling out of his mouth, a stream of word vomit. 

But you were not dismayed by his words, you were not angry at his suggestion. Not when, when you went to sleep, and lay in the bed that the two of you had inhabited, you could hear his encouraging murmurs and your breathy moans. Fuck. It was a catastrophically bad idea, truly dangerous to fall back in bed with this man, even if he was practically on your knees begging for it. Everything in your bones screamed at you that it would be a terrible idea. You should back out. You should end it now. You should-

“Okay.”

He puffed out, shock evident across his brows, “Okay. You’ll- we’ll?”

“Yeah okay,” you replied, voice low and breathy with the realisation of what you’d just said.

Stupid. Idiot. Terrible, terrible idea.

Then he stepped forward and kissed you. Took your face between his hands, and lapped his tongue into your mouth. You relaxed into his touch, letting him pull you into his body, feet tangled around each other and hands fumbling, shaking as they roamed and he deepened the kiss. You pulled away, a faint noise echoing in the empty reception area.

“Eager aren’t we?”

That’d be the story that you’d tell of how you ended up - for a second time - writhing in your white sheets under the bruising touch of Quinn Hughes, panting for more. But you didn’t tell anyone, kept your secret second meeting just that, a secret between you and Quinn. No revenge sex, no obvious marks creeping around Quinn’s collar area. Then, as if it were deja vu, you caught him as he climbed out of your bed, and said,

“Call me to warn me next time.”

Quinn turned to face you, studying your face, half buried beneath the sheets, golden hair catching on the light that filtered through the curtains. You looked ethereal laying there.

His voice croaked out, “Next time?”

You smiled in return, throwing all caution to the wind, “If you wanted that, I mean? Friends with benefits?”

His kiss in return was bruising as he pushed you down into the bed, quick to respond.

“I do, I do want that.”

Fuck, why the hell not?

[babydoll372]

Lesson Plan

Pairings: Melissa Schemmenti x preg!reader

Word count: 2189

Warnings: pregnancy, mentions of feet but not at all sexually, labor, children

Wrote this BEFORE I watched Abbott Elementary but tbh I’m too lazy to change all of it so ignore the scenery differences and attitude difference

Melissa had a fond and proud smile as she walked into her classroom today, resting her items down and then ensuring she had everything she needed before the overbearingly loud bell rang. Barbara even stopped in and asked a few questions, the two speaking for about ten minutes before the woman hurried out after checking her watch. Melissa watched as her students filed into the classroom, each giving her high fives or fist bumps as pleased as she stood by the door. After taking attendance, she sat everyone in the front of the class on the rug.

“Okay everyone, I want you all to listen up because what I’m going to tell you in the next few minutes is very important…” She waited for all of her young student's eyes to wander up to her, their lips shutting and heads turning. “Thank you, thank you.” She grabbed a handheld whiteboard and sat down on a seat tall enough to oversee them all.

“Now, who here remembers when Mrs. Schemmenti told you all about her wife?” Most of them raised their hands and she praised them quietly. “And does anyone remember when Mrs. Schemmenti said her wife was pregnant?” Again, a few more raised their hands and she silently acknowledged them. They seemed very interested in whatever she planned to say, and she couldn’t help but internally coo at the thought of having this in a few year's time with you.

“Who here doesn't know what pregnant means?” About four kids shyly raised their hands, and a few kids giggled in response.

“Hey, hey, that’s okay, we don’t judge! Well, when someone is pregnant that means they’re carrying a baby in their tummy. They carry this baby around for 9 months until the baby comes out, which is called birth. That baby then grows into a toddler, child, teenager, and so forth. Which means each and every mommy in this world was pregnant before having their baby unless they adopted or were like me, and had their partner or even a friend give birth instead them. Does that make any sense?” She illustrated her wording on the whiteboard for the students, and they nodded in response to her question after watching and listening closely. One raised their hand.

“Yes, Damion?”

“Is your baby gonna be a boy or a girl?” He excitedly asked, and Melissa chuckled and waited for all of their eagerness to die down before telling.

“Well, we will be having a son - meaning a boy.” More than half of the boys cheered, more than half of the girls looked disappointed, and the rest clapped their hands or held their hands up in celebration. Melissa only laughed and asked them calmly to settle down, to which they almost instantly obeyed.

“So the reason I am explaining pregnancy and birth is because I have some sad news for you guys too…” She sighed, breaking their filled joy as she could see their smiles in turn fade. “Because our baby will be born soon, I will be taking paternity leave. Can anyone tell me what that is?” Zero hands raised, and she didn’t find any disappointment in explaining. “Paternity leave is when the person not carrying the baby has to leave all work-related duties due to the baby being born. So…I will not be here for a little while, you guys…” All of them instantly either whined, babbled about why they needed her, or begged her not to leave. She frowned, cooing under her breath before raising her voice once again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay! I will still be coming back, this is only so I can take care of my wife and our baby, it’s a good thing!” She couldn’t hold her true smile at the thought alone, even if she’d be leaving the children who she felt as though she had been a part of raising, she was thrilled to have the opportunity to have a child of her own. The rest of them still weren’t on the exact same page as her, they were clearly still upset because they did not understand what was going on.

“But you’re gonna be leaving us, Mrs. S!” One of them proclaimed with a deep frown, and the others mumbled their own agreements to his claim.

“Yeah! Why does the baby get to be with you and we don’t?”

“Well, this is going to be a very, very tiny baby! Delilah, honey, do you mind grabbing that doll for me, sweetie?” She asked the girl closest to the toy box. It wasn’t a common thing that the children got to use it, only on Fridays for the last fifteen minutes of class as a reward and send-off. She quickly came back over with the toy and Melissa thanked her, holding the doll in her arm in a cradling form for everyone to see.

“Now, I want you to picture this doll..but even smaller! That’s how tiny my baby is going to be. He is going to need a lot of love and a lot of attention. While you guys know how to eat and drink and use the potty on your own, this baby won’t! This baby will need his mommies to teach him everything, and that means I need to be with him for a little while until he is ready to learn from his peers and teachers just like you guys have.” She explained thoroughly, concealing a chuckle at their shocked faces when she mentioned how small he’d be.

“I have a baby sister, she’s the same size!” One boy yelled out with his hand held up high.

“Do you know how old she is?”

“Uhm, I think she’s 1 and a half, that’s what Mommy says.”

“Oh, so she’s a little bit bigger than this doll and she’s still learning how to eat and drink and go potty on her own, right?” The child nodded at Melissa’s question as another instantly raised their hand, fear written on their face.

“Does that mean you’ll be gone for a year and a half, Mrs. S?!” Before everyone else could freak out at the thought, she quickly escalated and shut down that worry.

“No, no, don’t worry about that! I will be gone for a little over a month, so not very long at all. However, my wife will be home for almost three months with the baby. Can you believe that? Now, I don’t think that’s very fair, right?”

“No, we want you here!”

“Yay! You have to come back early!”

“Will you be here in time for my birthday?”

“Can you name him after me?”

“No, me!”

“No, me! Please!”

——

Later that day around her lunch break she went into the break room and spotted her friends sitting in their regular seats, hers being open for her. All of them greeted her, some asking questions about you, how the students took the news, or just about her day. Likewise, Melissa could only hide her smile as she was pouring her coffee and facing the counters instead, none of them got to see the smile you brought out of her, that was something she liked to say only you earned.

“Y/N’s doing great, the baby is thriving- oh, and the kids all now hate my wife and child,” Melissa spoke as she turned around, shrugging while taking a sip from her mug and gladly taking her spot at the table.

“What? Why? Shouldn’t they be excited that you get to celebrate having a child - creating a family?” Janine said with her own enthusiasm at just the idea alone, and everyone turned to look at her as if she was an idiotic outcast.

“Janine, they’re six and seven, they don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves.”

——

Once she got home she instantly started the cleaning process. She was tired from work, yes, but she couldn’t let you come home from an even longer day to a disappointing house. By the time you arrived a little bit past 6:00 PM, she had dinner halfway done and most of the house cleaned up. You sighed in relief, whining with every step until your wife came rushing out of the kitchen to come see you, instantly frowning at your state.

“Oh, love…I told you to be careful on your feet! Here, come sit,” She led you to the couch and you slowly sat down while clutching your stomach, placing your feet up on the table after removing your shoes in a very aggressive manner that Melissa didn’t want to get in the way of. She then placed her bottom on the table, easily lifting your feet onto her lap and steadily rubbing her thumbs into your sore points.

“No, don’t! They’re probably all sweaty and gross…” You acted as though you didn’t want her soft fingers giving you gentle touches, but yet you deep down craved it. You were a nurse working at the nearby hospital, and while specializing in the OB-GYN department, you still often neglected your own care due to the priority of your patients and upper employees.

“And you think I care? Y/N, I promise you they don’t smell one bit, okay? And they’re not sweaty either.” You nodded, grateful for her reassurance as she simply hummed along to a tune she had been listening to before you got home, but after an eleven-hour shift and carrying your baby who was needing to burst soon, the tiniest sound irritated you. And so did the smell coming from the kitchen.

“What are you making?” She glanced up with a slight hint of fear in her eyes. She knew that tone, it never meant you were happy, and clearly, you weren’t excited to try whatever she was making.

“Uh, it’s spicy chili…Barbara mentioned that spicy foods can usually help a woman get closer to contractions. I don’t really believe it, but I thought we could try it.” You huffed, adjusting to sit up now as she supported your back in doing so, and you looked up at her with a small pout.

“You know I hate spice…”

“We have tons of milk, don’t worry! And I can add some stuff to make it more sweet than spicy, do you want that instead?” You nodded with a quiet whimper and she left a peck on your forehead before speed-walking to the kitchen to fix her mistake.

“And wash your hands, please! I don’t want my gross feet on my food!” You called out, and she laughed to herself while standing over the sink.

“One: I am washing my hands already. And two: your feet weren’t gross, you’re being dramatic!”

“I am not being dramatic, I am being clean and safe! Don’t call me dramatic again, Melissa!” She gulped, wiping her hands and glancing out from the open door of the kitchen to where you were lying, giving an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, dear…I love you!” You returned the phrase with a small growing smile, and soon after you two were eating in the dining room, the high chair was already in place next to you both as you and your wife could only imagine what would come in just a few days. Just as she was clearing your plates, you were suddenly struck with a sharp pain, your hand reaching out to grip her arm for support.

“What? What is it? Talk to me, sweetheart, what are you feeling?” Melissa worriedly asked, hearing your groans of pain and seeing a tear already stream down your face. The bowls were forgotten on the table now, nothing else mattered to her but you in this moment.

“I-…ugh! It hurts so bad…” She nodded, rubbing your back up and down and crouching to reach your level.

“Are we going to the hospital, Y/N? Is this a labor thing or a ‘my wife is a horrible cook and I’ll hate her forever’ thing?” She managed to get a small laugh out of you, making her feel succeeded enough to ensure she was making the right moves with this. That was until she glanced down.

“Y/N…I- I think, uhm…I think we need to get you to the hospital right away.” She nodded to her answer, and that’s when you realized your water had broken when the pain started. Your eyes widened and you looked up at her in shock, only to see she was trying to conceal the same emotion. She had to help you the entire way, stopping briefly whenever contractions hit as she carefully counted the time between them. When she reached the hospital they instantly recognized you, and the woman moving you in a wheelchair softly rubbed your shoulder to soothe you. You two reached your given room quickly and as you were placed in the bed and informed you’d be checked on in just a short moment, Melissa could only stand there as she held your hand, holding back a tear as she quietly spoke.

“We’re gonna have a baby…” You smiled back at her through the pain and earlier exhaustion, nodding solemnly.

“We’re gonna have a baby.”

[sheerfreesia007]

Masked & Blooming

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

Word count: 876

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: When you spot your boyfriend, Hyunjin, standing outside your work building, you mistakenly think he's acting suspicious, leading to a moment of panic before he reassures you that he simply wanted to walk you home before leaving for tour. To make up for the surprise, he gives you a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and the two of you share a sweet and loving moment as you head home together.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway, @m-325

Walking out of the building where you work you’re a little distracted as you dig through your bag looking for your cell phone. As you continue walking you nearly plow right into two women who had been walking in front of you but had stopped after spotting something up ahead.

“Oh my god, do you see that creep just standing there waiting outside the company building?” asked one of the women causing you to frown softly as the words caught your attention.

“He’s been for at least an hour, I heard. Just standing out here waiting. No one seems to know who he is either.” the other responded.

“Do you think we need to call security? Like is it safe to walk past him?” asked the first one and you frowned harder just as you looked up and saw how close you were to both of them as you continued walking.

“Sorry.” you say softly as you quickly veer off your path and nearly miss colliding into the two of them. You look at them suspiciously as they don’t respond to you and continue whispering to each other as their eyes stay trained on something ahead of you. Turning your head you spot what they’re looking at and your eyes widen, there standing a few feet away is a tall slender figure dressed in baggy blue jeans, white and black sneakers and an oversized dark gray hoodie with the hood pulled up and a face mask covering half of his face. Narrowing your eyes you take in the person as a sense of recognition hits you and your eyes widen as you realize who it is that’s standing there.

Panic hits along with confusion as you rush over to him and you watch his eyes squint with happiness as his cheeks move up from under the mask no doubt probably smiling widely as he sees you. You reach him and gently grab onto his arm pulling him away from the front of the company building.

“Hyunjin? Are you okay? Is everything okay?” you ask hurriedly as your eyes dart up and down his frame while the two of you move to a more secluded spot further away from the building and the prying eyes of the two women.

“I’m okay. Sorry I didn’t mean to worry you.” he says quickly as his eyes widen as your worry and concern for him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I wanted to stop by and walk you home tonight before our date. Wanted to spend as much time as I possibly could with you before I have to leave for tour tomorrow.” he explains in a rush and relief washes over you and your whole body sags.

“Hyunjin.” you coo at him and he bashfully gazes at you causing you to smile softly at him while leaning in towards him. “A text next time would be nice. I panicked when I recognized you and thought something had happened.” you tease him gently and he ducks his head before peeking up at you.

“You love me so much you panicked when our routine changed?” he asked softly in awe of your reaction and you scoffed at him softly.

“Of course I love you. And yes I love you so much that I panic when something changes.” you reassure him and he envelopes you in a tight hug while swaying you from side to side. You look up at him and he’s pulling his mask down under his chin causing your eyes to widen slightly before he’s pressing a few quick kisses to your temple.

“I love you too. So much.” he whispers to you and you chuckle softly while beaming up at him. You hear something crinkling behind you and you begin to pull away to look behind you but Hyunjin is quicker as he moves his arms from behind you to your front and you see a large beautiful bouquet of flowers in a red theme. Your eyes widen as you stare at the flowers before looking up at a now masked Hyunjin who squints his eyes once more at you as he grins behind his mask. “I got you flowers to remember me by while I’m tour.” he explains softly as his eyes dart around your face. You reach up and cup his face while staring up at him not even looking at the flowers anymore.

“You wonderful loving adorable man.” you gush out to him softly and his eyes widen slightly at your words. “I can’t express appropriately how much I adore you.” you tell him and grin wickedly up at him as his eyes widen slightly before narrowing on you with devilish intent.

“Then let’s get home so that you can express it to me there.” he says in a sultry tone that makes you shiver slightly before nodding your head quickly. You take the flowers from him and he takes your work bag off your shoulder before slinging an arm around your shoulders and guides you towards the subway that will bring you home quickly. As you both pass the two women from earlier Hyunjin waves at them while smiling under his mask and you bury your nose in the sweet smelling flowers as you grin.

[artspats]

First of all I just wanted to say how much I love love love your coach art series. Genuinely one of the best things I’ve read idk why but I just love it sm and second of all I don’t know if you take requests but It would be so cool if you wrote about how coach art and reader met, like their very first interaction or something like that 🙏

Hello, my beautiful anon! First of all, thank you so much and I’m so glad you like this little series. It makes me very happy 🫀

I'd never thought about this actually, but I found your idea refreshing and I really projected everything as I imagined it/ I can’t work without a moodboard and yes, I do take requests, whether it's moodboards, blurbs, or anything you can think of ^^

They changed the tennis coach at school. Apparently Coach Russel got a better job — probably paid the same crap they give therapists for fourth-room athletes. Still, it beat working with teenage girls. Others might disagree.

But to each their own.

—

She was tying her laces while talking to Mia.

Mia was pouting, “I don’t know, maybe I have to tell him more about myself. I just— don’t know if I like him enough. Am I a bitch? I don’t think so, my mom told me that she felt that way about my dad before they were a couple—“

She laughed, “Mia— that’s normal, okay? Not because he gives you things you need to force yourself to like him. There’s just no way you can fake something without feeling uncomfortable.”

“God I don’t know, he’s a nice guy but I don’t know if I want to see him every time I wake up.“

“Well then—tell him?”

Mia shrugged, tilting the bottle of water in her hand, “It’s not that easy. Also, he’s a good kisser.”

“Just a good kisser?” She grinned up at her.

“Hey!” Mia laughed, shoving her shoulder.

She stood up, dusting off her hands on her shorts, “What?! I’m just asking!”

“Shut up already—“

“You looked very happy the other day that he—“ She turned around, grabbed her ass and bit her lip, clearly mocking Mia.

“Stop!!—“

She threw her head back, laughing — and when she straightened up, she saw him.

He had the saddest look that could exist — blue eyes, with a small glimpse of gray and a flicker of green here and there.

Like those artisan sourdough breads — weird colors, somehow still beautiful.

A very cute nose, buttoned at the tip — an up turned ball of cartilage.

Wrinkles, especially between his eyebrows, as if he was always worried or confused.

There was something so special and delicious about a confused man...

A small face, but everything fit perfectly. His eyes were a little apart, but that only added something unique to him.

And those lips — so very kissable and plump.

He definitely puckered up when he kissed.

He was standing by the stands, with the clipboard under his arm, chewing gum as if he was thinking too much. Was he looking at her?

Oh — he looked away.

New Coach. Art Donaldson. That's what Coach Russel had said.

Art bent down to pick his bottle of water, and that's when she heard his voice, low and clear.

"Hey"

She looked up.

"You didn't tie the other one," He pointed with a finger.

She blinked and then looked down. One lace had been rolled up, the other moved.

"Oh, right— " She bent down again, trying to tie it, but with someone’s gaze things always felt more difficult than they were. Her fingers were strangely clumsy. Mia, I blame you completely, she thought.

When she got up, he was still watching her, with the sun drawing a line on his forehead. He seemed calm and composed, not bothered by the warmth of the sun. Whilst she frowned at the single hit of light.

He opened his mouth and stopped, as if he was considering it.

“How old are you?” She squinted her eyes slightly, confused but not offended.

“Eighteen.”

He nodded slowly.

Jaw tightened, as if he was filing that information carefully.

His gaze quickly turned to the court.

“Very good. We’re going to do some exercises, okay?”

“Yes,” she said, brushing her hair back.

“Of course.”

He didn’t say anything else, he just turned around and walked towards the others.

Yet he moved like someone used to being watched, but did he like it?

She followed him, suddenly very aware of the weight of her own legs, the air in her throat forming a little lump, the sound of her own breathing.

Behind her back, Mia whispered:

“What was that?”

She didn’t answer.

She just smiled — more to herself.

Nobody knew it but, she blasted “Criminal” by Fiona Apple on her way home that day.

Sitting up straighter as ever, as if someone was watching, as if he was watching.

Fingers tapping on the small scar on her knee, tracing a slow circle as the song went on to—

“I got a lot to lose, and I’m bettin’ high,

so I’m begging you...”

[radioactivatedspider]

She Is His Home.

Main Masterlist Big Sky Masterlist

Pairings; Beau Arlen x reader

Genre; fluff, romance

Warnings; none

Summary: Beau's nervous to ask yn to marry him after only 3 weeks of dating, his daughter becomes his Wingman.

1381 words

Beau had never been good at sitting still. But there he was—slouched on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, staring at the floor like it held all the answers.

It didn’t.

It just reminded him he needed to vacuum.

The trailer creaked with the late afternoon wind, the distant sound of two giggling voices carrying from Emily’s room. He could picture it—Y/N sitting cross-legged on the floor beside his daughter, both of them painting each other’s nails some ridiculous bubblegum pink while music played too loudly.

They were inseparable already. Shopping trips. Coffee runs. Hair masks. Y/N had even taken over pickup duty from school without him asking—and sometimes, even from Carla’s. That part alone had once been unimaginable. But now? Emily actually preferred when Y/N picked her up.

It scared the hell out of him.

He loved her.

He loved them.

But they’d only been together a few weeks. A month, maybe. And here he was—seriously, fully, terrifyingly thinking about marriage.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Beau lifted his head and blinked at Emily, who leaned against the kitchen doorway with a knowing smirk. She sipped from her iced coffee like a seasoned adult, despite the sparkly "Hot Mess" sticker on her tumbler.

“You okay?” she asked.

Beau sighed. “Yeah.”

She stared. “Lie again and I’m telling Y/N you ate the last of her pistachio ice cream.”

“…Okay, maybe not totally okay.”

Emily walked over and plopped beside him. “Is it the case you’re working? Or… is it Y/N?”

He hesitated, then murmured, “It’s her. I—I think I want to propose.”

Emily’s eyes lit up. “Shut. Up.”

Beau half-laughed, half-groaned. “It’s too soon, right?”

“I mean, for normal people? Maybe. But you guys? You’re like a Nicholas Sparks novel. She basically lives here already.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “What if I mess it up?”

“You won’t. And lucky for you, I am very good at Pinterest boards and fake scenarios. You have a certified Wingman.”

Two Days Later, and he was ring shopping.

The jewelry shop was quiet, the kind of place where everything gleamed a little too brightly and made Beau feel like a bull in a china shop. But Emily stood beside him, arms crossed and completely in her element.

“Nothing too flashy,” he told the jeweler. “She’s simple. Honest. She doesn’t wear a lot of rings.”

He ended up designing one. Thin gold band. Small oval-cut diamond. Delicate engraving inside: Feels like forever.

He had a plan.

He’d cook her dinner. Light candles. Maybe take her outside to the porch afterward. Tell her how much she’d changed his life. How much Emily adored her. How much he adored her.

But that’s not how it happened.

They were tangled up in bed, a tangle of limbs and sheets and soft laughter. Her head rested on his chest, her fingers tracing slow circles across his stomach. The air smelled like her—like lilac lotion and warmth.

He could feel his heart in his throat.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this loved,” she whispered.

And he didn’t think. He just reached for the drawer, pulled out the box, and handed it to her.

Y/N blinked, still breathless, still glowing. “What’s this?”

He sat up, cupping her face, eyes locked with hers. “I was gonna do it the ‘right’ way. Big speech, lights, maybe a guitar if I could remember a damn chord.”

She laughed, teary-eyed already.

“But none of that felt right,” he went on. “Because you’re not about the show. You’re about the real. And this is real. You, me, Em. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

He opened the box.

Y/N gasped.

“Marry me?” he asked, voice quiet but steady.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “Yes. Yes, Beau.”

She said yes.

Right there—half buried in sheets, skin still warm from his touch, her heart racing for a completely different reason now.

“Yes?” he repeated, still breathless.

Y/N nodded, smiling through the tears. “I love you, Beau Arlen. Of course I’ll marry you.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years. They didn’t rush. They didn’t jump out of bed and call everyone or pop champagne. They just laid there—wrapped in each other, in promises and silent gratitude. She held the ring box to her chest for a minute before slipping the ring on, whispering how perfect it was. How he was perfect.

They fell asleep like that—bare, tangled, and engaged.

The trailer, once his fortress of solitude, suddenly felt too small. Too temporary. Every time Y/N bumped her hip on the same kitchen drawer or Emily ran out of space in her makeshift closet, he felt the itch to make a change.

So they did.

Beau found a one-story house just on the edge of town. Nothing fancy—just the right size. Two bedrooms. A cozy kitchen. A front porch he could sit on with a coffee in the mornings and a backyard where Emily could lay out and complain about homework.

Moving day was chaos in the most beautiful way.

Y/N folded throw blankets with a fierceness that made Beau smile. Emily ran between rooms, deciding where to hang pictures and where their collective pile of shoes should go. Beau—new key in hand—stood in the doorway watching them. His girls.

That night, after the last box had been unpacked and they’d christened their new bed with laughter and whispered I-love-yous, Beau found himself standing in the middle of the hallway. The lights were off. The air was still.

This was it.

No more running. No more waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had a wife. A daughter. A life.

Y/N came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her chin between his shoulder blades.

“Happy?” she whispered.

“I didn’t think I could be this happy,” he admitted.

“Good,” she said, kissing his back. “You deserve it.”

So did she.

A few days later, Beau found Emily in her new room, stringing fairy lights around her bookshelf. She looked over her shoulder when he knocked on the door.

“You think it’s too soon?” he asked softly.

Emily dropped the lights and sat on the edge of her bed. “No. I think it’s right.”

He exhaled, grateful.

“I mean,” she added with a grin, “you better not mess it up. She’s way cooler than you.”

“Noted,” he chuckled.

“Also, if I’m not your best man, I’m telling Mom.”

They didn’t do the big wedding. It wasn’t their style.

Instead, it was a warm afternoon in early spring. Just a small clearing by a lake outside town. Emily stood between them holding both their rings, hair curled and a grin so wide it barely fit her face.

Y/N wore a simple white sundress and no shoes. Beau wore jeans, boots, and a gray shirt rolled at the sleeves—his sheriff’s badge tucked in his pocket, not on his chest.

They wrote their vows.

“I didn’t know what peace felt like until you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know a woman could walk into my world and make my daughter laugh like that. Or make me believe in forever again.”

She wiped a tear, then took his hands.

“You and Emily saved me from a life I didn’t even realize I was stuck in. You gave me home. And I’ll never stop showing you how much that means.”

Emily handed them the rings, eyes misty, and whispered to Y/N, “Thanks for loving him right.”

Y/N smiled and kissed her forehead. “Thanks for letting me.”

They said “I do” under a cloudless sky. No frills. No audience. Just a family.

Afterward, the three of them danced barefoot in the grass to an old speaker barely holding a signal. It didn’t matter. They were exactly where they needed to be.

[iloveyanderes]

Part 3 of my sagau-ish thingy on ao3, now that I think about it it's more of a genshin cult au.

Green.

(name’s) blood was green for some reason, she discovered this after she accidentally nipped herself while trying to lift some furniture so she could peek outside. The window was quite high up and for some reason no one was letting her out so it was really her only option, all she’d wanted was a peek but it resulted in a papercut.

Which is how she discovered the green droplet of blood that fell out of her finger.

As if sensing the itty bitty injury lyney appeared in the room, in the split second of shock (name) noticed that the green blood turned to gold in an instant…what? What was that about?

“Your worship? What are you doing?” lyney asked, clearly referring to all the furniture in the room being rearranged.

“Oh nothing, did you have something you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes- we found a way that you can go outside without needing to permanently change your appearance” lyney suddenly held up a pendant, “this will make you look like someone else as long as your wearing it. It won’t affect your actual appearance at all when you take it off”

(name’s) eyes lit up, finally she could go outside. She did like this place but being in one room for a couple days was tiring and it also did have dark secrets that (name) wasn’t really sure she wanted these children to be a part of.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(two days ago)

“You're a part of a gang or mafia aren’t you?” (name) asked quietly while sitting on the bed in nighttime wear.

That caught lyney seriously off guard-what the? How did they figure that out!? Before he could respond the most holy person in all of teyvat continued.

“I’m not mad at you, back in my home- uh earth, I worked mainly with children. Children that suffered at the hands of their parents, children that were forced to work with bad people because they didn’t think that they had any other choice-and sometimes they don’t have a choice”

Lyney didn’t say anything, only silence came out.

“I'm guessing you don’t have a choice”

“....I don’t”

“So did so many kids back at home” hugging her legs (name) rested her face on them, “promise me you won’t kill someone, that’s something you can never go back from, i’ve seen it break far too many souls” looking at him with sincere eyes (name) couldn’t find any emotion in his.

Placing his hands behind his back, lyney felt blood despite it not being there, how was he to explain that he’d already done it? The praise her worship had given him, those pitying looks. Would that all go away if he came clean?

Crossing his fingers out of (name’s) view the magician smiled, “of course your worship!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The salty air reminded (name) of Vancouver with all its ocean’s and endless seaweeds. But the culture was so much like france, the people did speak a bunch of french, and france was near water…. So maybe Fontaine is the france of teyvat

Looking at herself in the water (name) couldn’t help but marvel over how different she looked, that weird amulet thing was really powerful.

Her hair was now brown and her eyes were blue, (name’s) facial features hadn’t changed that much but she did look a lot more pale.

(name) had been allowed to go outside alone, but not to go near any towns or cities. Though she wasn’t really alone because she could feel the third one of the trio stalking her in the distance.

What’s that guy's name again? Freminet she thinks?

“Hey I see you!” she calls out softly to the dismay of freminet, “could you come out please?”

Knowing he was caught, freminet came out of the bushes. He expected a scolding or something worse but weirdly enough that didn’t happen.

The most holy person in all of teyvat held up some makeshift fishing rods, “do you want to go fishing with me?”

“...”

“Oh no, I lost the fish” it was said so softly, freminet almost didn’t believe she was frustrated, how can she be so calm?

“Your name is freminet right?” her worship asked him, when he nodded she continued. “So, why did you follow me?”

There it was, she asked the question, how was he going to avoid telling her that lyney told him to- their father has met massive delays these past couple days so everyone was on edge.

“..I wanted to thank you, for saving my life” yeah, that was a good lie.

Her holiness instantly seemed to like that, “oh don’t worry about that! It’s my job! I also like helping people so don’t mention it” she said all smiles.

“I still wanted to thank you though…”

“That’s good of you-” suddenly her holiness turned away from freminet looking somewhere else, somewhat distressed.

“Is something wrong?” Now he was panicking.

“I think some kids are bullying someone over there, I can’t quite see the kid being bullied though” before freminet could stop her (name) had already gotten up and was walking towards them.

“Wait! Your worship come back!” he yelled. Freminet didn’t want her to go over there, mainly because he’d have to call her by her name when in front of other people and he didn’t think he was capable of that.

Not to mention kids have grabby hands who could pull that necklace off of her which would be bad, very bad.

Meanwhile (name) felt drawn over to that place, “hey! What are you kids doing!?” she demanded to know, three boys seemed to not hear her so (name) instead grabbed one of them by the arm.

“What do you want?” one of the kids asked her meanly.

About to answer (name) felt her eyes drift towards the person being bullied, a kid- no not a kid, they had greenish-bluish skin, weren’t probably taller than three feet, and had different looking ears. They were also wearing a painter's outfit.

And just like that a searing pain stumbled through (name’s) head, she clutched her head in pain, and quickly lost her balance. The ground was surprisingly comfortable, wouldn’t it be so much better to sleep forever?

“(NAME!)” Freminet's voice snapped her back into reality, she woke up with him clutching her shoulder with his hand, clearly scared.

Those three boys had clearly been traumatized too but by what? Looking down she found that there was golden blood all over her hands and shirt. Nosebleed, she must’ve fallen on her face and gotten a nosebleed, a golden nosebleed.

(it should be green) whispered something in her head.

That voice was weird, and annoying. So (name) quickly shaked it out of her mind.

“Hey, is the girl okay?” getting up slightly, (name) found that it scared the ever living crap out of the three boys because they took a step backwards while shaking in fear. Muttering apologizes about something-maybe they think they upset a god(which they did) and were now afraid for their lives before running off.

“I just- wait are you okay?” just then (name) noticed that the girl who clearly wasn’t human got up and somehow just somehow (name) knew her name.

Mamere.

“M-mom?” Mamere said shakily, her tone of voice mirrored her body language because her body was shaking too.

“Mamere?” what the actual heck, how does (name) know this little girl's name?

“MOM!” the Melusine hopped up from the ground and ran to (name) diving in for a hug that (name) gave despite being confused.

(name) looked at freminet who stared at her back, it was clear he had no idea what was going on either, it wasn’t exactly a negative though….

Her holiness would be safe with a melusine right?

She wouldn’t tattle if asked not to right?

Besides he needed to go follow those boys anyway to make sure they don’t say anything

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Mom, where have you been all this time? Me and the other melusine’s have been worried sick!” Mamere exclaimed worryingly while they took a stroll near the city of fontaine.

“I….I don’t know, everythings so strange. I’m human but everyone’s telling me that I’m a god. I don’t remember anything but yet I knew your name. I’m sorry”

“It’s okay mom, gods often forget things. Lady Furina often forgets her wallet or the fact that she’s the hydro archon” (name)...(name) had no idea who lady Furina was.

They stood somewhere near Fontaine's main city, it seemed Mamere was slowly trying to get (name) into the city, mainly cause she really wanted to show the other melusine’s that they’re mom was back.

“By the way mom, why do you look so different?” Mamere then asked (name), tilting her cute head.

“Oh” (name) crouched down, and proceeded to get close to Mamere’s ear so she could whisper something into it. “Well you see, some friends of mine gave me a magical necklace that changes my appearance, you can’t tell anyone about it unless it puts you, me, or someone else in danger okay?”

“Okay mom! The bright side of you losing your memories is that I get to show you around Fontaine all over again! You managed to wipe of the blood from your nose bleed very efficiently but I think I’ll take you to sigewinne so she can make sure it’s okay-”

“Excuse me?” somehow (name) hadn’t heard the lady nor the dozens of guards that came out of nowhere. This was probably a noble or something because of the ridiculously fancy clothes they wore. The interruption from the noble lady stopped (name) and Mamere from their conversation.

“Yes?” (name) politely answered.

“Did you know this was private property and that your trespassing?”

“This random area with no houses or anything is private property? Uh, I mean i’m sorry I wasn’t aware of that”

“Well you should’ve been-holy heathen!” as the noble eyed (name) up and down until she spotted someone on (name)’s hand. “You heathen! You know Fontaine's laws don’t allow people to have a birthmark in the same place as our creator! I’m going to have to charge you for that!”

(name) looked at her hand, it was the only place the necklace didn’t physically change so lyney had given her gloves that she had to take off because there was blood on them. “Your charging me…with the crime of existing?”

“I’m charging you with impersonation! Guard’s get this heathen!”

Before (name) could really do anything the guards that were with the noble had quickly surrounded (name) and grabbed her, in the process Mamere had tried to stop it but got pushed down to the ground-which made (name) pretty angry for some reason-well maybe not some reason.

“Heathen’s like you have to repent in jail for the rest of their lives….” the noble then looked at the necklace on name “but, perhaps I’d be willing to let you go if you give me that…it looks expensive”

(name)....well (name) couldn’t really do that because then her appearance would turn back to normal and lyney has really drilled it into her head that these people will attempt to kill her if she reveals her true appearance.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…”

“Oh come on, your not really in the position to say no!” suddenly the noble lady grabbed the necklace anyway and yanked it off of (name)

The noble lady screamed on the top of her lungs, “IMPOSTER!!!! QUICK QUICK SHOOT HER!”

And that’s how (name) got shot in the chest twice by an arrow in under 2 weeks.

No one was as horrified as Mamere who cried so loud Neuvillette could feel it all the way from Fontaine city

[cap-trio]

Promised to Another - Part 2

Chapter summary: After not being able to get him out of your head, you decide to surprise Bucky at work. While you're busy getting a tour of the store and making plans to see him again, you miss a call from Steve.

Word count: 1.7K

[Part 1] [Read on AO3]

Part Two: Your Touch Brought Forth an Incandescent Glow

You can’t stop thinking about Bucky.

It all feels so ridiculous; this isn’t high school where you daydream about the cute guy from math class you’re crushing on. But one thing about Bucky is that he was always able to make you feel like that.

A week of this goes by before you decide to go see him. You’re convinced once you get used to seeing him more, all of these complicated feelings will disappear. As you walk into the bookstore where he works, the mix of books and coffee fill your senses, and you realize it’s how he smelled at the cafe last week. Anxiety sets in now that you’re here; what if he isn’t working today? What if he was just being friendly last week, and he doesn’t actually want to see you again? Bucky isn’t the type to do that, but maybe he’s changed over the years.

“I’ll be right with you!” His voice calls from a few shelves over. 

You try looking through the titles but your mind is running a mile a minute and you can’t focus on anything. You nervously fiddle with the ends of your sleeves when you spot Bucky walking over. Once he registers it’s you, his eyes light up and he breaks into a grin.

“Hey! I wasn’t expecting you.” Like last time, he pulls you in for a hug. The contact is enough to give you goosebumps. How pathetic, you think to yourself. It’s just because I’m touch starved, you try to tell yourself. 

“Hi! I’m glad you’re here; I wanted to surprise you but didn’t account for the fact you might not be working.”

“I’m usually here even when I’m off the clock,” he laughs. “So, a surprise, huh? Couldn’t stop thinking about me?”

You flush like you’ve been caught. Back in college you used to think Bucky was a flirt with everyone. You would laugh off his attempts at first, not thinking much of them, but then you noticed he wouldn’t do that around friends or the other girls on campus. He’s always been like that with you, and despite how messed up it is that you’re hoping that’s his intention now, you know he’s just teasing. 

It takes you a second to be able to calm down and reply. You watch his face fall, the light dim from his eyes, and you know he’s about to apologize but you cut him off with a laugh. “Yeah, you wish. I’m actually one of those secret shoppers here to make sure you’re doing your job.”

“Hm, I didn’t think secret shoppers revealed their identity,” he jokes. “If you’re here for book recommendations, I’m your guy.” 

“Still not a reader, unfortunately. I wanted to see you in your element.”

“Let me show you around.”

He starts at the front with the new books section. Next is romance, then mystery, and when he takes you by the fantasy section you see a handwritten note in front of one of the books. You recognize his handwriting and stop to read it. 

“We have those throughout the store. Whenever an employee likes a book, I have them write why they’d recommend them. It was actually my idea to start it.”

“I’m impressed, Buck. You’ve really found your calling.”

You aren’t sure why it makes you a little emotional. Maybe it’s because he seems so settled, so content with the life he’s built. Of course you’re happy for him. But you can’t help thinking it’s good things didn’t work out between you two, even though that stings, because maybe he might not have ended up here.

“Ah, thanks. I’ve been really happy here.” His eyes quickly glance down to your ring finger. He doesn’t think you notice, but you do. “What about you? Are you happy?”

It’s a loaded question. Right here, with Bucky? Yes. When you go home to an empty apartment? No. At work, doing what you’ve always dreamt of? Yes. Desperately checking your phone for any word from Steve, but hearing nothing? No.

You can’t possibly dump all of that on him. Not while he’s working, and not when you’re just reconnecting. So you put on a hopefully convincing smile. “Yeah. Work’s been great. Not a lot of people love what they do, so I feel lucky. The one thing I wish I did more is explore the city, though. Haven’t been getting the full experience of being a New Yorker.”

Steve is more of a homebody. Besides going to the art museums, nothing in the city interests him much. As a born and bred Brooklyn kid, the excitement of the Big Apple wore off pretty quickly. He’d rather catch a movie, grab dinner at the same spots, or hang out in the park when the weather allows for it. You stopped mentioning going out more when he shot it down every time. 

Bucky desperately wants to know why you haven’t mentioned the elephant in the room. Despite his curiosity, he’ll never force you to talk about something that makes you uncomfortable. He isn’t jealous, but he’s hurt that you feel like you can’t talk about it with him. At first he worried something serious was going on and you were scared to get help, or that you’re widowed and it was too painful to talk about. Bucky would never admit this to anyone, but he did some social media stalking (on a friend’s account, he never understood the point of all the apps), and saw what’s practically a gallery of your love for Steve.

As of the last month, though, the exhibit seems to be closed. No more pictures of a happy couple, but rather photos of you with friends, shots around Brooklyn, or whatever inspired you in the moment. But the photos with Steve still remained. Bucky was relieved it wasn’t what he originally thought, but it pains him that you’re unhappy. 

“Could it also have something to do with running into me?” He smirks. 

You roll your eyes. “There’s that ego again. But yes, that’s a factor too.”

Here you go again, turning a friendly, bantering moment into something more weighted. 

“I’m really happy, too.”

Bucky can be to blame now too. It’s the way he’s looking at you - eyes softening, then glancing down to your lips, before returning to intense eye contact that would make you feel uncomfortable with anyone else. With him, it makes you feel like the most important person in the world. He’s always able to make you feel like this.

“So!” Bucky says, too loud and abrupt, “I’ve gotta get back to work, but what are you up to this weekend?”

“Depends what you have in mind,” you tease. As if you wouldn’t cancel any plans for him.

“Well, I was thinking how you said before that you’ve barely been into the city, so how about we be tourists for the day? We could hit up all the obvious sights, and I could show you some hidden gems too.”

Just like in college, he knows exactly how to make me feel better, you think. “I’m in, but only if we get matching I heart New York shirts.”

“That’s first on the agenda, obviously”

“Perfect. I’ll see you Saturday, then.”

He almost says “it’ll be a date”, but he settles with, “Looking forward to it.”

On your way out, an employee near the front smiles at you. “I can finally put a name to the face.”

You freeze. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, that came out weird. I’m Sam, Bucky’s friend. He always talks about this girl from college, and I’m assuming that’s you?”

“Oh, yeah that’s me. It’s nice to meet you.” Trying to sound casual, you ask him what Bucky’s said about you.

“I don’t want to get involved in whatever’s going on, but I promise it’s all positive.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I’ll see you around, Sam.”

Whatever’s going on? What does he mean by that? Did he pick up on the weird tension? Surely that meant Bucky did too. And what exactly has he been telling people about you? After all this time, you’re still on his mind. All of this information after that moment with Bucky makes you feel dizzy with excitement. And a mix of nerves, too. 

As you walk back outside, mind still reeling from your interaction with Sam, you pull your phone out to see two missed calls from Steve. Shit, shit, shit. You call him back immediately and he picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, is everything okay? It’s not like you to not answer.”

“Yeah, sorry. I was at the movies with Nat. Is everything okay with you?”

Guilt washes over you. Steve trusts you, he even knows about Bucky, but you selfishly want to keep these moments with Bucky all to yourself. 

“Yeah, I just feel like we haven’t talked in a while and…I miss you.”

He adds those last three words like they’re an afterthought, something he felt like he had to say, not something he wanted to. “I miss you too. What’ve you been up to?”

“Remember that opening at work I was telling you about? I just found out I got it. I can finally be back to a regular schedule.” 

“Steve, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you, we should celebrate!” He definitely never mentioned it before. Still, you feel lighter at the news. No more stress about money, no more lonely nights while he’s at work. He can come home and everything will be okay. 

“That’s not necessary; it’s not a huge deal. I just feel so relieved.”

“Me too, you can come back home and we’ll have so much more time together.”

A beat passes. Your stomach sinks. 

“Oh, I uh…I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m sure it won’t be much longer, okay? I just need some more time.”

“I understand,” you sigh. “We’ll talk soon, yeah? I love you.”

“Yeah, love you too.” Steve always says ‘I love you.’ Maybe he didn’t realize, but that combined with declining your offer to celebrate feels intentional. If the thing that was getting in the way of your relationship is gone, and he’s still not ready to come home and work on things, what is it going to take?

[landwriter]

I know you've sort of migrated over to Arcane for the time being, but would happily take any Sandman thoughts or WIP updates floating around in your brain!

(Also please feel better soon. ❤️)

Thank you! :)

Funnily enough, I just started working on the seventies SF AU (Lighthouses tag) again after months away. I'd been feeling really uninspired on it but something this week called me back! It's in that awkward stage--maybe you know it, depending on your writing process?--where you've got all the really good solid bits down but it's missing some vital connective tissue. It's 32K and I think I can come in under 40, but those last bits really are the most treacherous and annoying.

As far as Arcane goes, I don't think I've migrated as much as been scooped up temporarily and dropped into my own private obsession. It truly is one singular fic and a highly specific haunting that I need to exorcise. I just cannot and will not get over the idea of these two characters being foils for one another, who are alike in so many ways but living on opposite sides of a coin (a coin that says, I have made myself into a weapon, a coin that says I measure myself by my service to others, that has manacles engraved on it with the word loyalty underneath); who collide once, by chance, and then come together again and again, like magnets, a visceral inexplicable yanking; recognizing themselves in the other, and believing, despite knowing better, that love can transform another person enough to change who they are, and change them enough to save them. It's the Fox and the Hound. It's two knights in warring kingdoms. It's lovers trapped in a story that always ends with facing each other down on a bridge. It's holding hands in the dark, and trying to rewrite the ending. I digress! Very normal about it. As you can see. Super normal.

Have a big long (1.5K) Lighthouses excerpt under the cut. Any of you who've been following along and waiting for this fic are saints in your own right. Dream phones Hob while sick, and Hob talks to him until he falls asleep:

When the sound of the phone ringing cuts through his sleep, Hob stares at the ceiling for another ring or two before he fully understands it’s a phone, and his, and he has to get out from under the covers to answer it. Groaning, he stands and turns on the light, blinking hard. The kitchen clock says it’s just after five, and he jolts the rest of the way awake, hurrying to pick it up. Something’s wrong at home. Nobody here would call him at this hour, but it’s already eight o’clock back east. “Ma?” he answers.

“Oh. No.”

“Dream,” he breathes out. Relief unknits his shoulders. “Hey. Why are you up so early? Did something happen?”

“I did not sleep. In the first place.”

Hob waits, but he doesn’t say anything else. The sound of Dream’s voice, scraped raw, answers the rest of Hob’s question anyway.

“I’ll bring you notes from class. Is that why you called? You sound rotten.”

“Yes,” says Dream, haltingly. “Thank you.” He starts to say something else but stops and coughs sharply. Then he speaks again, in tight measured bursts, and Hob can nearly feel the titanic effort of Dream stubbornly holding off from coughing. “Did I wake you. You said. You were. An early riser.”

Then he muffles the receiver and resumes hacking. Hob grimaces in sympathy. He glances sidelong at the clock, and bites his lip. 5:05. He’d bet a crisp Benjamin he doesn’t have that Dream was staring at the clock too, waiting for the first acceptable moment to call. The sudden wash of protective fondness threatens to drown him.

“I am. I’m up for the day,” he says, as soon as Dream catches his breath again. It is, technically speaking, the truth. He’s not going to go and let Dream feel even worse for what the man presumably deems the mortal sin of needing a small favour when he can barely string together a sentence.

The quiet susurration of static hisses between them. When he realizes Dream isn’t hanging up, he eyes the front door. “Listen, if you can’t sleep, do you want company? I could come over.” He shifts and stretches, putting clothes on in his mind.

“No,” says Dream, and his imagined self, half the way out the door already, turns back and glares bitterly at the phone.

Hob chews his lip instead of asking, Can I come over anyways? He can’t bring himself to let Dream off the phone just yet. “Well, let me distract you from your misery. If you’re lucky, I’ll be boring enough that you finally catch some sleep.”

There’s a long pause. “Alright,” Dream replies. “Since you insist.”

Hob grins. “Can your phone reach your bed?”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re definitely not going to fall asleep if you’re standing by the phone, are you?”

“Oh. No.”

Hob smiles at his own bed across the room as he listens to the sounds of shuffling. His stomach does something funny, with Dream in this state, still him but not, slow and pliable from exhaustion. Letting himself be bossed around by Hob. Just a little.

He hears a distant cough and then Dream brings the receiver back to his mouth. “Alright.”

“Good?”

“Miserable.”

Hob snorts. He can picture Dream sitting propped up in his bed with his phone beside him, receiver cradled in his hand. Chest aching like hell, probably. Delirious with exhaustion. He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. Doesn’t even know what he’s going to say until he opens his mouth, still thinking of other nights he’s been up, sleepless. Thinking of withstanding suffering. “Alright. When I played football in high school,” he starts, smiling when he hears a little huff on the other end, “Coach would lead us in this prayer before games. Same one every time, sent up to the patron saint of athletes. Saint Sebastian, give these boys the strength and fortitude to prevail. We must’ve heard it a hundred times. I end up looking him up in the library one day on my free period. I’m killing time and I see this big book of illustrated saints off the shelf. Alright. I wanna know. Who’s this guy that’s supposed to stop us from getting our asses kicked, right? What’d he ever do?”

“I know who he is,” rasps Dream, who even while sick as a dog can’t resist showing off his omniscient knowledge. “He-”

Hob hushes him. “‘Course you do. But I didn’t. Picture me, sixteen or so, finding his entry. In the school library. Saint Sebastian, martyr. Commanded to be shot to death by archers. But the art. He’s in this little loincloth, bound by rope to a tree, muscles straining, pierced with arrows. I stared at it until the bell rang. Then I did something terrible.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I tore the page out of the book and shoved it right into the pocket of my letterman jacket.”

“No.” A scandalized croak.

“Oh, yes. I took him home with me,” he says, laughing. “Hid him under my mattress between the pages of a Playboy. He became my patron saint.”

“Undignified.”

“No way. Undignified was me imagining how I’d come upon him in the woods, and rescue him. I was one of his loyal converted soldiers, wasn’t I. I’d untie the ropes, suck the venom out of his wounds-”

“Venom?” interrupts Dream.

“Listen, I’d just seen Strange Cargo.”

“That’s a myth. It doesn’t work.”

“Come on, you’ve gotta give me a little creative leeway for my sexual fantasies, man.” Then he realizes what he’s said and feels his ears get hot. “But it doesn’t work in the movie either. The guy doing it knows it won’t do anything. He just wanted the guy who was poisoned to know somebody cared about him, before he bit the dust.”

Dream is quiet. The hush of static over the line feels charged in a way it didn’t before. Hob winces. He’d just wanted Dream to laugh at his expense. He grasps for a change the subject, but Dream speaks up before he can find something, anything, better than sexual fantasies.

“That’s very kind of him.” A beat. “Is that what you’re doing now?” His voice is low. He doesn’t sound like he’s teasing at all.

“God, you’re dramatic. You just have a cold,” Hob says, while trying very hard to not imagine pressing his mouth tenderly to a mortal wound on Dream’s thigh. Failing.

“But you do,” says Dream, very quietly.

“Do what?”

“Care. About me.”

Hob swallows down the first three traitorous words that spring to his lips. Dream must be feeling pretty damn sorry for himself, talking like that. Doesn’t mean Hob has any right to say what he wants to say. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. Of course I do. You’re my best friend. I’d suck the venom out, any day. Even if it did no good.”

Dawn is starting to lighten the room. Hob hums. “You know what, I’m pretty sure that’s why I imagined it. Embarrassing as hell, but that’s what it was for me. I mean, it was hot. But mostly it was the thought of putting my mouth to another guy’s skin and, God, and showing him I care, you know? Acting all swaggering like Steve McQueen or Clark Gable but secretly saying, I cared about you. I really cared. Being somebody’s arms to lie in, as they died. As long as there was mortal peril. Saint Sebastian, barely surviving the arrows, or that poor bastard in the desert, bit by a snake. Because there was no other good reason I could think of to hold another man that close.”

He twines and untwines the cord around his fingers, itching for a cigarette. This is the sort of thing he could never say to somebody’s face. Not even Dream’s.

“Sure, it would be nice to be somebody’s arms without all the tragedy. But that didn’t occur to me back then. To be honest, I’ve only just started to realize it is. Never felt possible before. So I never got around to wishing for it. Until here.” Until you.

He trails off into silence. Dream says nothing.

“Dream?” he asks, softly. His heart is pounding again like he just got woken up.

Nothing but the faint hush of static answers him. Hob squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. “Hey. You still awake?”

There’s no response. Well, for the better. To be spared of hearing Hob empty his guts like that.

He gently hangs up the phone, and groans as he stands up, stiff, and walks back to his bed. He imagines Dream in his own bed, dozing curled beside the phone, receiver lying next to his face, and wishes he could be there. Wishes he could see him, getting some rest at last.

Wishes, so stupid that it hurts his chest like holding in a bad cough, that he could be his arms to lie in.

[ryebread0605]

Such a Good Boy~

this one is based off a request on my wattpad account instead of on here (but I am working on the ones on here, dw!) I hope you all enjoy!

Sitting in your dorm room, you were working diligently on some homework from professor Trein as a series of rapid knocking broke your concentration. With a small smile, you rose from your chair already knowing who was behind the door. As you opened the door, Kalim’s bright smile was the first thing you saw as the ball of energy quickly ran into your room.

“Well well, what’s got you so excited hm lovebug?” Your teasing voice made the happy boy smile even more as he proudly held up a test,

“Look! I did the memorizing stuff by putting it to a song technique you said to try and it worked!!!” Sure enough, on the top of the test paper in crewel’s signature dark red ink was an 85%. 

Scooping the very happy boy into your arms, you kissed all over his face as he laughed and squirmed, “(name)!!! You’re gonna cover me in your lipstickkkk!!” He joked but he genuinely loved when he’d get to have your lipstick prints on his face anytime he would leave your room as it was his way of being able to show how smitten he was with you.

“I’m so proud of you lovebug! As a reward for doing so well, we can do anything you’d like for the rest of the day!” In an instant, Kalim’s face changed from joy to shyness, his cheeks turning scarlet as he fidgeted with the paper nervously, 

“Could we.. yknow.. I know Jamil is busy cooking s-so um..” with a soft laugh and a kiss to his forehead you nodded your head.

“Oh lovebug, of course we can have sex. Here, I’ll even lock the door just in case so he doesn’t accidentally barge in ok?”

A few short minutes later, you watched in awe as the white haired boy’s back arched and the most beautiful moans fell from his lips with each thrust of the strap on into his ass. 

“Oh my sweet, good boy~ look how well you take me~” your soft praise led to a cock drunk smile on Kalim’s face as he pushed his hips back to try and get you to go faster, which you complied to.

Sensing how close he was, you reached a hand down to stroke his twitching cock which made the boy fall into an even deeper state of sexed out bliss, his brain scrambled beyond the ability to say anything except “yes” over and over again. It wasn’t long until hot white ropes of cum shot from his cock and onto his chest and bedsheets, the drunken smile never leaving his face as you pulled out.

Gently, you took a towel on the bedside table and cleaned the cum off him while laying him on his side to rest. Holding him close in your arms, you gently kissed his forehead.

“I’m so proud of you, my good boy”

[kindalikerackham]

Here’s the thing about being trapped in quarantine, which somehow Hen had forgotten in the intervening 4 years: It’s boring as hell, even with an imminent threat of death.

They were all trapped in this box with no cell phones, no kitchen to cook, no chores to check off, no hobbies to etch away at. Just each other. And the impending doom of Chimney’s illness.

Unsurprisingly, when the jokey one’s too sick to crack jokes, the mood suffers, too.

So that’s how Chimney was going to die, she supposed: Bored, Sick, and without hope. Great.

Normally, she’d be at least trying to lighten his burdens, be someone to lean on, but it’s not like she had the energy to sit up, let alone support someone else. Also, he was trapped behind another layer of plexiglass.

Fuck. Her best friend.

She just had to put her faith in Buck and Athena. She had to.

If anyone could pull off a screwball ace in the hole, it’s them. Honestly, the LAPD should consider themselves lucky to have Athena. She’s a bona fide force of nature, and once she has someone to help, she sinks her teeth in and won’t let go, even when she doesn’t follow the letter of the law (or suffer the ego of fools, even if they’re technically allies).

Buck’s the same, in a way, although he uses more brute force in his methods. Always trying to save that baby stuck in the wall. Or his family stuck in the glass prison.

God. It will be okay.

It has to be.

Fuck. Her best friend.

It’s choking up her re-plumbed lungs to even think about, and she lets out a wheeze of frustration.

Bobby turns from a pensive stance across the room, softens at her face.

“Hey, Hen.”

“Hey.. Bobby.” Her voice is hoarse, a little wet. She knows that means she should conserve her words, but fuck! It’s her best friend in there. “I–”

“I know, Hen. I–” there’s a matching rasp in his voice, and she can’t stand to hear it there. “Come on, it’ll be okay. We’ll figure something out, Hen. You’ll all be okay. I promise.”

She knows he’s saying placating things now, and skepticism flickers across her face.

“Hey,” his gloved hand touches hers, hanging limply at her side. “It won’t be easy. But you’ll work through it, Hen. You are so strong. You all are.”

She grips him. “You– You are, too. We’ll see them again, Buck and Athena. I trust them.”

At his wife’s name, Bobby tensed. His smile pinched, even as he kept her hand in his. “Yeah. They’ll be okay, too.”

“As if the Army” – a wheeze – “could stop Athena.” Bobby chuckled a little and looked away, and she couldn’t see his face anymore.

“I’m so glad you two found each other. Really, Bobby. You’ve brought so much light into our lives. I know she’d do anything for you.”

He stilled, nodded once. The words seemed to hit him heavier than she’d intended, but she wasn’t sure what she could say to change that.

After a moment, he turned to Ravi, who had been on the floor, arms wrapped around himself, not really present in the conversation. “Hey Ravi?”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Can you take a moment and assess what they’ve stocked this room with? I want to know what supplies we have if we face another medical emergency. Find something to take notes with if you can. And consult with Chimney if needed.”

Ravi seemed to shake off the unnatural quiet settled onto him. Sometimes, it’s good to have a task when you’re trapped with nothing. To feel useful. And it could end up being useful. Firefighters, after all, could do much more with the right tools.

Seeing Ravi busied in the far corner, Bobby turned back to Hen. The calm he’d put on seemed a little more cracked, but no less serious. In fact, maybe even more serious.

“Hen.”

“Yes, Cap?”

“I’m going to ask you a question, and I need to know your professional, medical opinion, okay? I’m going to need you to be careful and cautious with how you respond, and with what you say after this. I’m going to need you– I’m going to need you to think about the team, alright?”

“Bobby, you’re scaring me. What– what happened?”

“Please. Promise me, Hen. I know it’s a lot to ask when you’re laid up in here, and your best friend is– in danger. But I need you to trust me.”

“I– I do, Cap. Of course I do.”

“Okay.” He inhales. Exhales. “In your medical opinion, is there any way to ration a cure for a deadly virus?”

“Is there–! Bobby!”

“Come on, Hen. Professional. Calm. I need–” He coughs into his mask and Hen’s blood turns to ice, spiking up and down her arms.

Bobby looks defeated when he finishes the fit. “I need Captain Hen here.”

Hen stops. Puts on her most professional hat. “I– it really– it depends. I’d need to– I’d need to see the research notes.”

“And if you didn’t have any access to the notes or the researcher. Would you recommend it, in a triage situation?”

“I…” She felt her heart break. “I wouldn’t. The risk of the virus mutating, especially an unstable one like this, is too high.”

Bobby lets her words fall between them. They both knew what this meant.

“I– I appreciate it, Captain Hen. It’s important to assess a situation with all the facts, you know? And prioritize next. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

She knows this is going to destroy the 118. Buck. And Athena, my god. This is going to hurt.

“Yes, I hear you. Bobby, I hear you. And I’m– I’m so happy that you came here, to Los Angeles. I’m so happy you built this family with us and with Athena. I’m so happy you kept going. I’m proud of you.”

“And I’m proud of you, Hen. I’m proud of all of you. I know it’s going to be hard, but you’ll make it through, okay?” Another cough. “You’ll have each other.”

“We will, even if we won’t. Have all of us.”

“You will.”

“Oh,” there was a little twinkle in his eye now, “and when the time’s right, you have to tell Buck: the secret ingredient is numbing spice, just a whisper of a hint of it. He’ll know what you mean.”

She chuckled a little airily. “I’ll let him know, Bobby.”

“Thank you."

“Done with the inventory, Cap. you want a quick round-up?” Ravi had appeared back at the table again, pilfered clipboard in hand.

“Yes. Yeah, I do. We need to know what we’ve got to work with so we can prepare, right?”

“Right.”

[krono2011]

Demon and the Moth Chapter 1 Part two Leaping back with clenched fists and narrowed eyes, she remained skeptical while listening. Her desperate look, eyes blazing with fury, affected him. To avoid another fight, he gradually lowered his arms.

“Okay, hear me out for a second. I’m Robin. I’m not from around here. I woke up in this awful place hours ago.

Recognition flickered in the girl’s eyes. Tilting her head, she studied him.

“Are you talking about Robin, Batman’s sidekick?” she asked delicately—was that shyness? Acknowledgment?

Sounds good. Someone recognized him.

“Yet... you look like a devil,” she added.

“Yes. There are unknown circumstances that led to my change in appearance. I assure you—I’m still human.” There was a delicate, non-threatening flutter of her wings; a slight movement. A sigh escaped her lips, still alert. He didn’t view her as an enemy. He could persuade her. He direly needed answers. He had to determine this girl’s nature—likely, a magic user. Her outfit looked modern; was it a superhero costume? A villain suit? He didn’t know. “Prove it,” the moth girl demanded. ”If you don’t mean any harm, let go of your weapon.” Sheathing his katana, Damian tossed it before the pedestal, pleased the girl would talk. The atmosphere was tense as they locked eyes. He was confident he could disable the enemy using family-taught methods. He watched her. He pictured a small child, yet her wings dominated his vision, reminding him of a peacock’s defensive posture. This caused him to smirk. “My name’s Tempest, though that’s not my birth name; it’s what I was called back home.” Damian was curious about the young woman’s experiences, speculating she might be a meta because of her non-despondent attitude as she talked about the harsh truth in those words. A magic user who slipped through the crack. It is of no importance. ”I am new here, similar to you, but I have been around for two days.” She’s pacing in circles, interested in him; He needs further information. He is following her actions, too graceful, stoic, there allure in there. She is attractive. I presume you hadn’t come here willingly?” he deduce. She nodded, with sharp distaste. he can use it to his adavntage, ”Knowing that I am a vigilante, I extend an offer for a temporary alliance to work together on finding a way out. “ She nods, thankful to have found someone to support her in this horrible situation. Tempest: He considers the unusual name, wondering if she’s a villain, but decides to postpone the question, preferring to observe her actions instead.

[explode-this]

Yeah, sorry I haven’t been in touch, I had to turn the ringer on my phone off because the notification sounds were overstimulating. Then the sound of it vibrating was also overstimulating so I had to filter out notifications for basically everything so I wouldn’t want to throw it into a volcano. And then I started another crochet project and I got stuck on “just one more round to make sure I’ve got this pattern right” until the thing was done and then started another one because the repetition was soothing. And then by the time I realized it had been like a month since I talked to you I was overcome with so much shame for being a shitty friend that the idea of launching into another explanation of my cycles of hermitude and timeblindness made me want to die so I just kept not talking to you, thinking that honestly it would be for the best because who wants to talk to me anyway? If it helps I put “text (you)” on my daily to-do list in the hope that one of these days I would actually work up the courage to get over myself and just fucking do it, and here we are. Anyway hi how are ya

[milquetoastii]

touchstarved game fans i love you dearly and ik you are all very excited for an updated demo/the game to come out in general but please know that your posting about expectations for an anniversary thing is probably just adding pressure to the devs; these are people who have full time jobs and lives outside of the game and while i do agree that we need to get a little more communication on their end on how far along in the timeline of the game they are, i don’t think that posting to put pressure on them for something they may not be ready to release is productive/helpful to them or us. expectations are very high for this game and i wish they were more open about the state of the game outside of the kickstarter updates but it’s starting to feel like there is some resentment and entitlement to content from the devs when projects like this do take a lot of time and deadlines can change

[bibleofficial]

saw a starfish on the beach today & was absolutely ENAMOURED - literally 3 of us were just squatting over this tide pool watching him move