#//and it scaRED THE SHIT OUT OF ME BC I THOUGHT IT WAS HIM WITH HIS DAD LFJDSLSKDJKFJ

[daddymaster21]

Somehow I managed to reblog this without actually putting a single note. Good job, me. Okay!! Second chapter!!! Pls Thea I’m so excited and scared and SCARED IM SO SCARED

1. I understand that golf takes a stupid amount of skill, but goddamn is it the most boring sport in existence

2. She got that Bucky Barnes walk

3. Babe you know I love you and I’m on your side, but standing in a blizzard is ABSOLUTELY stupid.

4. Calling it now that Adam is a Man of God. He’s gonna be the one that ends up betraying her, bc you said that the men of god always betray the magdalenes.

5. LMFAOOOO WEEDING HER BEDROOM. GARDENERS HATE TO SEE HER COMING

6. We should eat an apple. That definitely falls under the something stupid category, but I’m SO curious about the apples.

7. I mostly hate sports, but volleyball is fun to watch.

8. Even though golf sucks, she would absolutely kill at it. Actually, I think she’d kick ass in pretty much every sport.

9. Me too, girlie. If this man was in front of me making dumb jokes, I could not be trusted

10. Okay. Look. I’m sorry for this, but you’ve activated the Ramble. There aren’t any signs of death because on the whole, death isn’t like the other horseman. He’s not power-hungry or reckless or flashy. He’s cold and inevitable, and people aren’t dying en masse in any particular place, because he doesn’t have to kill them. He just has to wait.

11. Real. Milk sucks, cookies are delicious.

12. Dean grocery shopping and cooking and generally being a husband and girl dad 🫠

13. I can’t lie, I’m still ruminating about you saying I was the only one who caught that princess still talks about Jo in the present tense. Cause you wouldn’t have pointed out me pointing it out unless it meant something WHAT DOES IT MEANNNNN

14. Oop not that being addressed immediately after lmao

15. Oh god. The middle for the first name is fucking ROUGH.

16. I would ALSO like you to kill Zachariah, girlboss

17. John Winchester they could never make me like you

18. GET THAT BITCH. DONT EVEN LET HIM TALK, JUST DESTROY HIM IMMEDIATELY

19. Girl idk how to tell you this, but she kinda does always know best

20. Douche-maggot is my personal favorite. I feel like Ben in particular would enjoy that turn of phrase.

21. Look dude, no matter what happens, there’s literally no way this will go well for you. Cut your losses and run.

22. LMAO THE BRIDGE TROLLS COMMENT HAS ME CACKLING. SOMEONE JSUT GIVE A STRAIGHT ANSWER, WE BEG OF YOU

23. No one in the history of supernatural has been tortured with the torture like the torture Chuck will be tortured with. He’s truly my most hated character.

24. STOP NO STOP HIS FANTASY LITERALLY BEING HER FUCKING HIM AND HER NOT EVEN REALIZING IT OH MY GODDDDD

25. Girl if Chuck is The Sky, I’m DEFINITELY gonna dismantle him. I hate him so muchhhhhh

26. Gabe!!!!! My beloved!!!!!!!!!

27. You know what? We love a man who can admit he’s wrong.

28. That’s the perfect way to describe the boys, actually. Ten points to Gabriel

29. Girl I know this is a Dean story, but if it doesn’t work out with him, I would absolutely jump Gabe’s bones

30. I just have to say, heaven wants to please you is an incredibly raw line. If I ever start a band, that’s what our first album will be called

31. Our poor groceries!!!

32. Ah. My one weakness — being forgiven and shown compassion.

33. I love them so much, they’re such dumbasses

34. Girl I KNOW Dean was panicking bc he thought she was her when he said he loved her

35. I stg hunters are incapable of listening to anything without asking a thousand questions (me too though)

36. Cas is so autism-coded, and I love that for him

37. Lmao the archangels being the primary colors is great

38. Girl the angels all on some shit if they can’t see the absolute devotion she has for Dean

39. Absolutely the fuck not. I would rather be shredded into chicken than marry Chuck. Nope. Not happening. Absolutely not.

40. Thea. Please Thea, don’t do this to me. You can’t kill Ellen and Jo in the same way, PLEASE.

41. OKAY Ellen’s not dead. Or, well, not permanently dead. Counting that as a win.

42. LMFAOOOOO WE HAVE HIM IN A JAR. LITERALLY THATS THE FUNNIEST THING THATS EVER HAPPENED

43. Crowley bout to be the biggest demon ever, my man just made a deal with the bride of god

Final thoughts: Chuck is going down, and when it’s over I’d like to be double teamed by Dean and Gabe, please and thank you.

Chapter 25 - And It Was Written

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I consider there to be five “big” secrets in Babylon. Here’s the first one.

Chapter Title from The Prophecy by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 19.4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You get a call. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 24 - Chapter 26

Read on A03!

“You ever play golf, Princess?”

“Do I look like someone who’s played golf?”

Dean chuckles, the sound a little static through the speaker of the phone. “You want me to answer that?”

“Dean Winchester-“

“You got that fancy walk,” he says your name, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Rich person walk.”

“I do not have a rich person walk-“

“Yeah, you do.”

“Well, then-“ You sputter slightly, scowling at the ceiling. “You have a walk, too.”

Dean snorts. “Good one, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

“Bossy-“

“Dean.”

He laughs, the sound filling up the whole room, and you smile into the dark. 

“And I do not have a-“

“It’s not a bad thing,” Dean cuts you off, his words suddenly almost gentle. “You walk like you’re gonna punch anyone who gets in front of you. Like, you got- Y’know. Purpose.”

“Oh. Okay.” You pause. You can have purpose. You can’t think of any ideas for purpose—and when you try to, it mostly just circles around from Dean, to Bobby, to Sam, back to Dean—but you couldhave more purpose. 

Damnation.

Not that kind of purpose. That’s the kind of purpose that got you here in the first place. Lying flat on your back in the dead of night, your phone propped on a pillow near your head, trying to pretend that Dean was next to you instead of across the country. 

Another nightmare. Death watching you and telling you no, Lucifer laughing in the background, Ketch appearing in every shadow, trying to corner you and put you in a muzzle.

Sometimes they end with Death grabbing your hands and wiping Jo’s blue from your fingertips, telling you that she belongs with him, and him alone. Other times it’s Lucifer, slowly shifting into Sam and snapping your neck, but you’re Dean and you can see yourself standing off in the shadows, doing nothing at all. Then Lucifer-Sam will lean down in hiss in You-Dean’s ear that you could have saved him, but just didn’t love him enough, and Dean dies thinking you don’t love him like it’s all you’ve ever really known.

Sometimes, after that, the dream will change. You’ll be back in a motel with Dean—just himself, just Gold, very much alive and not at all real—and you’ll rest your head on his shoulder while he tells you about how this town actually had the best diner in America, and you’ll muffle your giggle against his body because he says that all the time.

But you hadn’t gotten that, tonight. When you do, it’s enough for you to not need Dean. No need to wake him up when he needs the rest more than you do, and you’ll see him in a few days anyway.

He says to call him, whenever you wake up and you’re everything and it’s all too much. You’re the pain of the single tear in your blanket, the strain of the trees outside your window as the wind rips through their branches, the fear of the rain as it falls, unsure where it’s going. 

But Dean’s in Connecticut, hunting a demon hoard that’s been terrorizing a country club. He can’t be caught off guard just because the Silver decided to rear it’s head and you aren’t strong enough to handle it without—as he would call it—doing something stupid.

You haven’t been doing anything stupid. You might have caught a small cold last week, standing out in the sleet-storm while Sam and Dean were in Alabama—Hurricane season, trying to find a reaper that might snitch on Death’s location, a failed experiment—but you’d gotten over it quick. Mostly, whenever the everything hits you, you’ve been curling up into the sheets, dragging them over your head, and pretending that it was Dean holding you. His Gold is marked all over them, when you roll to his side of the bed you can smell cinnamon and grass, and it usually, mostly, works.

It takes longer to come down, you never fall back asleep, and when you shuffle downstairs in the morning Bobby always looks at you like he somehow knows that you should’ve called Dean or woken him up, but it doesn’t matter. If you’re a little extra tired, no one gets hurt but you. 

You’re not hunting.

You’re just looking for Death and Pestilence, trying to work out Lucifer’s next moves, and—in your spare time, when Bobby’s asleep and Sam and Dean are away—talking with Cas about things. 

Things you haven’t told Dean about. 

You don’t know how. How to look at him, in all his Golden, handsome, strong glory and say Cas and I are trying to figure out what Men of God are. All signs are pointing to you being one, Mr. Michael Vessel. And Men of God and Magdalene’s don’t have good track records, but you also don’t seem like a normal Man of God. John was a Man of God, though. Ketch might be too. And they both tried to hurt me. So do what you want with that.

And that doesn’t even cover half of it. How Cas still hasn’t worked out what The Magdalene does, only that it’s different. And he can’t spend too much time on it anyway, because he has to find God. 

You look like God. 

Your name is—according to Cas—written in Marina Trench and the caves of Mount Everest and in the Stone Forests of Japan. The Silver still isn’t cooperating, and Death still doesn’t want you, and after you’d killed Famine, he’s been added to your nightmare roster, but none of this is about you.

You’re not even supposed to be helping. It’s why you’re staying hidden. No matter what the whole Magdalene-Men of God mess is, it’s far from important as the apocalypse closes in. 

So you keep researching. And you get nightmares when you sleep, but you really try not to bother Dean with them. He doesn’t need another reason to worry about you, and he needs the rest.

You can get through it. 

You always do.

But not alone. Not tonight. The nightmare had been Ketch, but instead of the usual ending—the ceiling falls, but you’re trapped with him in the rubble and he starts to touch you, and John and Lucifer and Alistair and Azazel join him, but when you scream for Dean no sound comes out, right up until you’re ripped away and appear in a dive bar with Dean grinning at you from the pool table—Ketch had gotten you. He’d snapped the muzzle on your face, and the Silver had exploded.

You’d sat up with bed, your hand already wrapped around your throat, but it had been too late. 

The Silver hadn’t been contained to your dream. 

Before calling Dean, you’d spent an hour weeding your bedroom. Strange, glowing flowers had sprouted through the floorboards, branches had grown over the windows—as if they were trying to block you from the view of the Sky, flaring out your window without a word—and they’d been growing those iridescent apples that you’d tried to preserve for study, but the moment you’d put them on the dresser they’d shattered like glass, the shards melting into nothing. 

And you’re so fucking tired. And lonely.

You’d needed Dean. 

He’d picked up after the second ring. He’s been on the phone with you for almost an hour, talking about nothing.  

You miss him. If he was here, you’d be able to see his smile, drown in his Gold, and he’d run his thumb down your nose until you were only your own. Then you’d fall back asleep, his hand in yours, and everything would be fine.

Not about you.

Calling him is already pushing it. Him talking to you is more than you deserve. But knowing that never has—never will—stop the want. The pull. The need for Dean to maybe just lay on top of you forever, until everything is always technicolor and the Spiderweb is the only thing you can feel in the world.

But you’ll take this. Dean on the phone in the dead of night, the stains of his Gold still all around you.

Whatever bits of Dean he offers, you’ll always take. 

“I think you’d like golf.” Dean hums, and you twist your head to look your phone, as if he’d actually be there to glare at. 

“Golf isn’t a real sport, De. It’s for rich people and businessmen, trying to jack each other off and assert their dominance while wearing polo shirts. And it’s stupid.”

 “Sweetheart, you think all sports are stupid.”

“Wrong. I like Soccer and Football.”

Dean pauses. “You do?”

“Yep. I used to watch them with Rufus all the time.”

“Huh.” You can hear the small frown in his voice. “You told me you don’t care about where the balls go-“

“I don’t. I like soccer because I’d always got ice cream when Rufus put it on, then more ice cream if his team won.”

“We could just get ice cream-“

“Tastes better with victory.”

“Right. Course it does.” Dean chuckles. “What about football?”

“I like the music shows. And I think I’d be good at it.”

You can hear the amusement in his voice. “Cause of the violence.”

“Yep. I’d beat all those big men’s asses.”

“See, that’s why I think you’d like golf, sweetheart. The clubs make great weapons.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m flipping you off right now, you know.”

Dean laughs, and you can’t stop your own smile from tugging at your lips. The Spiderweb is bursting. Even with Dean miles away and only a voice in a phone, it still knows to light up for Dean.

His voice. His joy. The fact that it’s almost three in the morning—five for him—but he’s not making any effort to end the call. 

Once he does, you’ll have to let him. Not about you.

Until then, you’ll stay on the line for as long as he allows you to. 

“So there’s a joint here that does malt milkshakes.” He says, and you hum, rubbing the scar on your palm as you listen. “And they’ve got the best freakin’ burgers I’ve ever had in my life.”

You giggle. “De, every burger you have is the best burger-“

“Nah, this is it. You’d like it, they cover the whole thing in a fancy sauce, and those milkshakes? They’re free, if you get the combo meal.”

“So they’re not free-“

“They’re free-ish.”

“Something can’t be free-ish, it’s either free or not free-“

“It’s free in my heart,” he drawls your name, and it’s low and deep and teasing, and your thighs press slightly together. “And nothing is better than free food.”

He pauses, and you’re about to take over with a comment about how everything is free for us, Dean, all our money is stolen, but he continues before you can. 

“When this Lucifer-Michael end of the world shit is over, you should come check this place out.”

You swallow. You know Dean likes hanging out with you—he’s your best friend, and maybe more, but your rules mean you’re not allowed to push on it—but it still makes the Spiderweb ignite with light and color when he says it. “The burger place? Or the country club?”

Dean chuckles. “Both. You can smoke all these rich douchebags at golf, then we can go get burgers. I’m serious, Princess. You’d love the milkshakes.”

You probably will.

You mostly love that Dean’s thinking of you. Like you’re worth that much to him, to look at a milkshake and think of you.

You’d like to be worth everything to him. He’s worth everything to you.

Not allowed to say it.

“I’ve never played golf.” You mumble, and you can hear Dean’s scoff.

“Trust me, sweetheart. You’d love it.”

“But-“

Dean drawls your name. “It’s about hitting things and looking fancy. Freakin’ sport was made for you.”

You flush, wrapping an arm around your stomach. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Dean pauses, his voice dropping to something softer. “Would you wanna do that? If you don’t-“

“I would.” You say, too quick. If Dean notices, he doesn’t mention it. “At this point you owe me a tour of diners in America, Deano. The moment we’re done with this, you better put your money where your mouth is.”

“My mouth is on the burger, sweetheart.” You can hear the grin in his voice, and you roll your eyes. “Score?”

“Six out of ten. You can do better.”

“Aw, you got faith in me.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do. And you laughed, sweetheart.”

“Maybe.” You hum, grinning at the light, slowly starting to dance over the ceiling. “You can’t prove that, Winchester.”

“Don’t have to. Know it in my heart. You think I’m hilarious.”

You’re flushing again. Maybe it’s good he’s only a voice in a phone. You might start crawling over his chest if he wasn’t. “Shut up.”

“No, say it. C’mon you can do it, admit you think I’m funny.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re killing me, Princess-“

“I’ll say it,” you hum, grinning at the ceiling. “If you take back that I look like someone who plays golf.”

“Nah, I’ve got integrity. Said it, meant it, and I was fuckin’ right.”

“Okay, integrity, tell me again about that pool hustle you pulled last night.”

He groans, you giggle, and it really is better. 

Even when the conversation turns heavier, it’s Dean, so it’s better.

“Have you-“ You clear your throat, and you don’t want to ask it, but you have to. For your own sanity, so you don’t spend the whole day with your fingers itching and a lump in your throat. “Angels? Or Lucifer?”

“Not yet.” Dean says, and your nails dig into your wrist. “If it is, we’ve got the banishment sigils lined up all over the wall, and all we gotta do is keep saying no.”

You nod, but Lucifer—with all his Red and teeth—flashes over your vision, and you can’t stop your shaking breath.

Dean must have heard it, because he mutters your name softly, but you shake your head and keep pushing on.

“Dean, I- I’m worried about it.”

“I- I know, but shit, Princess, you gotta -“

“The archangels.” You whisper, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I know you and Sam don’t want to say yes to them-“

“We’re not saying yes to them-“

“But they’re not just going to take that.” You raise your voice, and Dean goes quiet. “Zachariah- He hurt Jo just to send a message to me. And Gabriel fucked with you and Sam for a week, then visited me in Europe just because he didn’t want me here-“

Dean mutters your name, an odd strain in his voice. “I don’t give a shit about what Heaven wants, I want you here. And you-“

“I’m not running.” The Spiderweb feels like it’s made of starlight. Not the time. “I’m just- My point is that they did all that just to keep me away. Between San Francisco and LA, they certainly know I’m back by now.”

“So?”

“So Gabriel said I was changing things. And maybe- I don’t know. I just don’t trust that, if we’re playing dirty, they won’t do the same.”

“Princess, they’ve been playing dirty.” Dean’s voice is gentle, but firm. “All those feathered assholes do is play dirty. But Sammy’s not giving Lucifer the green light-“

“What about Michael?”

Dean pauses. “What about Michael.”

“I- I trust Sam-“

“But not me?”

You frown. “Of course I trust you, Dean.”

There’s something sour to his voice that you don’t understand. “Yeah, sure sounds like it-“

“Dean.” You make your voice firm, and he sighs, repeating your name back. “I don’t think you’re going to say yes to Michael, I- I’m just- They’re going to try and make you. And I don’t think they have a lot of lines, and this is already so fucked, and I don’t- I’m not making any progress on Death and things are just getting worse and-“ You take a heavy, shuddering breath, and Dean mutters your name.

It would be really nice if he was here. If he was the one wrapping around you, instead of you just hiking the Golden blanket a little higher over your body. 

“Do you think I should say yes?” He mutters, his voice low, and you shake your head.

“No.”

“Alright. Then I won’t.”

“But it’s not that simple-“

“It is. I’m not saying yes. Michael’s gonna have to fist my asshole if he wants inside.”

You wrinkle your nose, swallowing a soft laugh. “That’s gross, De.”

“Score?”

“Zero.”

“Bullshit, I can hear you laughing-“

“No, you can’t.”

“C’mon-“

“Nope.”

“This is elder abuse-“

“You’re thirty.”

“Almost thirty-one. Basically genetic.”

You smile into the dark. “Geriatric?”

“Yeah, that. I’m just a skeleton, sweetheart, you gotta be delicate with me-“

“So dramatic.”

He scoffs. “You love it.”

It’s good he can’t see how deep your flush is. Heating over your cheeks and spreading between your thighs as he starts to talk about how—if you are celebrating his birthday this year—he’d really like a proper, chocolate cake. And you think you can make that happen.

For Dean, you might be able to do anything.

You’re on the phone with him until Sam starts to stir on his end, and he has to go back to the case.

“We’ll be home in a few days,” he says, and you nod, moving the phone to press right back to your ear. Trying to have him a little closer. “Just some run of the mill demon asshats, so this is going pretty quick.”

“Good,” you let out a slow breath, your grip tightening on the phone. “Let me know if you need anything. And if they show up-“

“We got wards and Cas on speed dial, it’ll be fine.” Dean pauses, his voice lowering slightly. “I- I’m glad you called. Are you-“

“I feel better.” You whisper. “Thank you. For picking up.”

You could swear you hear him let out a long, slow breath. “Don’t need to thank me. You’re- I’ll call you later tonight. And I’m keeping my phone on me, so if-“

“I will.” You don’t want him to go. Can’t interfere with work. “Bye, De. Don’t die.”

He chuckles. “I’ll try. Stay safe, Princess. Call me if you need anything.”

You need him. 

But you let him hang up the phone, and roll over to bury your face in his pillow the moment the line goes dead. You’ll stay there, until the sun is bleeding into your room. Until the Sky becomes unignorable, and you can hear Bobby rolling around downstairs. The world doesn’t care that you’d like to—just for a day—lie here and do nothing. Clinging to the sheets and pretending they’re Dean, taking slow, deep breaths until you’re certain you’ll be able to keep going. All the way to the end, right up to the finish line—wherever it may come—before crashing into Dean and staying in his arms for as long as he lets you.

You’d really just like this to be over. You’re not just going through the motions, but it’s something similar to it. Get through the night and all its terrors, then let the day creep in as you cling to your Dean-Stained blanket like a child. Go downstairs and give a mumbled good morning to Bobby, who gives you a mornin’ kiddo, in return. Make the coffee, wolf down breakfast as fast as you can—Bobby watching you carefully to make sure you finish it all—and get to work. Earthquakes and thunderstorm, new outbreaks of measles in Ecuador, Beijing, and Cairo. Bobby’s got no luck on Death, but neither do you. 

You’ve kept your word to Crowley. You’ve been thinking about it. And the more days pass, the closer you’re getting to making that deal.

You’re not quite there yet.

But you’re close. 

“He’s stayin’ off the radar.” Bobby mutters, frowning at his computer. “Both of ‘em are. Pestilence either changed his vessel or went blackout off the grid, after you and the boys tracked him last time. And Death- Fuckin’ ball, I ain’t seein’ anything.”

“Lucifer’s probably saving him for when he’s needed.” You mutter, flipping a page in your book. “He- I don’t remember him being all that happy, with what was happening.”

Bobby grunts. “You think you be able to do your soul-vision thing on him? If he pops up on freakin’- CNN or somethin’?”

You nod, pushing down the memory of Death looking at you, and saying no. “I’ve been checking local feeds whenever an omen pops up. Nothing.”

“Alright. Keep lookin’. And Pestilence-“

“Did it last night. I’ll put it on the fridge after I go shopping.”

Bobby grunts in approval, and you glance up. You’re almost done with this anyway.

“Did you look at the list?”

“Yep. Added a few things, but you handled most of it. Go armed.”

You pull out your Blade, flash Bobby a grin, and all you get is a flat look in return.

“Don’t forget the milk.”

You sigh, pushing to your feet. “I’m getting you oat milk. It’s better for old men.”

“Yeah, yeah, like Dean’ll be happy with the plant milk.”

You flush. “He doesn’t like any milk.”

Bobby pauses. “That’s true, ain’t it. Never seen him drink it without cookies.”

“Not even with cookies. Those were mine.”

“You don’t like milk either-“

“I like cookies.”

“Just eat the fuckin’ cookies.” Bobby mutters under his breath, and you give him a mock salute, crossing the room to the fridge.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Shut up and get drivin’ kiddo. You come back with oat milk, and I’m shootin’ Dean.”

You scowl—it’s not good that he knows how effective that is—and grab the list off the fridge.

It’s pinned right between the expired Costco coupon Bobby’s had there since you were thirteen, and your drawings. Crude sketches you’d done a few days after you got back from LA, outlining the Horsemen’s true appearances. You hadn’t bene able to draw Death—something about it had felt wrong—but you’d gotten all the vile oozing of Pestilence, and the gaping darkness you’d seen in Famine. 

He’d been like a black hole. A pit. Bottomless and made of shadows, taking and taking and never satisfied. You’d had a feeling, standing across from him in LA and spinning the Blade in your hands, that you could’ve tossed the world into him and he just would’ve eaten that too. 

And he hadn’t had a single effect on you. Hadn’t been confused by it, either. Just whined about how it wasn’t fair, and if he could eat your soul, he’d never be hungry again.

You’re trying not to think about it. Just like you’re trying not to think about how, the day after, you’d looked into Dean’s eyes and the floodlight had returned. Staring at him in the golden-blue light of the dawn, you’d been able to see all that life, buried deep inside of him, colorful and luminescent and beautiful. 

You missed him. You wanted to wake up like that—next to him, his hand in yours, trying to keep your love off your face while figuring out how you can live in the world of Dean forever—every single morning. 

But the apocalypse. And groceries.  

It goes slowly. With Sam your divide and conquer plan had done wonders, and you’d been able to compensate for each other’s gross lack of domestic knowledge. And grocery shopping with Dean was never really grocery shopping, but rather letting him guide you aisle to aisle and listening to him ramble about all the different meats and sauces and spices, and what was useful and what was the good stuff, Princess. Trust me. And you’d always trust him, nodding a little stupidly and giving him a soft smile, pushing the cart wherever he told you it should go.

Alone, you’re trying desperately to remember what the good stuff was, and you’re not sure you’re succeeding. Mostly, you’re just grabbing whatever’s expensive. All your money is counterfeit or stolen from banks anyway. 

Jo taught you wiretapping a few years ago. She makes fun of you for using it on fancy hotel rooms and makeup, but then she turns around and spends it on a hair mask and the fanciest box of chocolates you’ve ever seen. 

You still haven’t visited her, at the waterfall.

You will soon. Dean promised. It just can’t be done alone. But that doesn’t stop you—every single time you climb into the Firebird—from dropping your brow to the wheel and taking a shaking breath. You could go now. You have a car, and legs, and a weapon. If angels or demons come for you, there’s no better place to lose control than a forest.

Then you think of a small marker in the dirt, and look down at the pastel blue on your fingers, and you can’t. It’s going to make it too real. She’s gone. All that’s left of her is that waterfall, and what’s on your fingertips. 

You still keep thinking of her as alive. You know you do. You know Dean’s caught it, when you’ve said Jo likes or Jo hates or Jo is. 

She isn’t. 

You don’t know how to internalize that. And the moment you see the grave, you’re going to have to. 

You should’ve visited the moment you got back. But you’ve been busy, and in pain, and you miss her and you can’t do it alone, you don’t want to do it alone, she can’t really be gone and you promised her you’d be okay but you can’t-

There’s a faint buzzing, and you freeze. The world had gone blurry, as you’d stared at your hands—you have perishables, you should really get moving—but when you dig your phone out from your pocket, it’s not the one that’s ringing. Your head shoots up, turning immediately towards the console, but save for the Gatorade you gotten yourself and your wallet, it’s empty. 

The buzzing is still going. And the generic ring tone is screaming burner phone, but you don’t keep a burner phone. You have one phone, with five numbers—Bobby, Dean, Sam, Cas, Rufus—and you never just hand out your number. People don’t want to be able to reach you. You’re not someone anyone should just welcome, willingly, into their home, or seek for help. For every good deed you do, you’re ten times as sick and wrong. 

Death. Staring at you. Telling you no, and the Sky glaring down at you, and a million teeth calling you a friend-

The buzzing stops for a second, then starts again. It’s in the car. You know it’s in the car. But it’s not your phone, so you don’t know where the fuck it’s coming from. And it takes pushing your hand between the seat cushions and getting on your knees to check under the backseat for you to think of the glove compartment. And there it is. A little black burner—just enough faded Gold to tell you it was Dean’s—buzzing over and over with a number, and no saved contact. 

Dean gives his burner numbers to a lot of people. Surviving vics, in case they ever need help again. Other, more trusted hunters, for mutual aid on cases. 

Girls. In bars. With pretty skirts and shirts that show of their cleavage, batting their lashes at him and giving him sweet smiles.

And you’ve played it over a million times in your head, almost on a mechanical loop. He doesn’t look for that anymore. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t look for him. Doesn’t mean he says no, when he’s asked. He ends up back in your bed, just sleeping, but he can’t be satisfied with that. Couldn’t ever be satisfied with you, making him worry and waking him up in the middle of the night to talk about fucking golf and milkshakes. Crying in his arms every other hunt, needing him more than he needs you, asking him to stay at your side and let you infect him, failing him all the time and running and sick-

The phone starts buzzing again. 

So you brace yourself—you’ll get through it, no matter who it is, you’ll be fine, and Dean’s his own person, but you’ll be fucking fine—and pick up the phone.

“Hello?” A man’s voice—young, nervous, probably not a sex call—crackles through the speaker. “Is- Is this Dean Winchester?”

You pause. He knows who Dean is. But that’s not exactly a clean endorsement of who he is. “Who’s asking?”

“Oh- Uh-“ The man clears his throat. “Sorry, I, um- I’m just looking for someone, I think I got the wrong number-“

“You didn’t.” Your voice has to stay flat. Neutral. Not too much given away, but if he knows Dean by name, you have to know why. 

“You- Don’t exactly sound like Dean.”

“This is his phone.”

“Oh. Um, is he okay-“

He better be. “Again, who’s asking.”

“Adam? Mulligan? I’m Sam and Dean’s brother.”

You still. Sam and Dean don’t have a third brother. Not that they’ve told you. They would’ve told you, that’s definitely something worth fucking telling you if it’s true- 

Then a vague bell rings in the back of your head. Dean had told you. While you were in Europe. He’d called you at four in the morning—for him, not you—and said that it seemed like John got around, when he was on solo hunts. That he’d even had a son, barely a kid, and he’d claimed that John hadn’t known about him, but he’d still had Dean’s middle name as a first name. And John had taken him to baseball games, and taught him how to drive, and Dean had been angry but mostly with John—you’d bitten down your pride at that, not the right time to encourage Dean that John was a bag of shit—and most of all, at the end of it, Adam had been-

“You’re dead.” You snap, sitting up in your seat. Dean had said the real Adam was dead, had been dead the whole time. “Adam Mulligan got killed by a ghoul, who the fuck are you-“

“I’m Adam!” The man yelps, and you can hear the genuine fear in his voice. “I promise! And I know I died- I mean, I think I know. I can sort remember things that didn’t happen to me, and it’s- it’s really confusing. I woke up in a lot of dirt, and I found my phone with this number, and I remember Dean even though I never met him, so, um- Where is he?”

You frown, weighing your options in your head. He doesn’t sound like he’s lying, but most monsters are good actors. If you were in danger or confused, you’d also call Dean first, but you’ve known him for almost ten years, and you love him. Adam—if he’s real—has never even really met Dean. But he says he remembers both Sam and Dean, which reeks of angel interference, but if it is, they’re looking for the boys. Not you. 

And angels can’t hurt you.

Adam clears his throat. “Hello?”

“Dean’s busy.” You keep your words careful. If this is angel interference, they’re not getting anything extra out of you. 

You kind of hope it’s angel interference. You’d really like to kill Zachariah.

“Oh. Is he going to be, um, not busy soon?”

“Nope.” You lean back, resting your knees on the wheel. “But I can pass on a message.”

“Uh-“ Adam pauses. “Who are you?”

You give your first name, but not your last. If it is the angels, that won’t really matter either way.

“Oh- Okay. Are you like, Dean’s girlfriend?”

You’re going to jump off a cliff. “It’s complicated.”

“Alright.” Adam, thankfully, doesn’t push it. “Can you tell him I’m in Minnesota? And I’d like some help, please?”

You frown. “Where in Minnesota?”

“Windom? It’s my hometown, that’s where they met… not me.”

Windom isn’t that far. Barely an hour and a half for you, over a day for Dean. If it is a trap, it’s safer for you to take the bait first. If it isn’t—if Adam passes all the tests and there’s no angel brigade waiting—then it’s safer to keep Adam at Bobby’s. 

You do have perishables. But they’ll last three hours. 

“Text me the address.” You say, moving the call to speaker so you can watch for the message on the burner, and text Bobby know you’re taking care of something, you’ve got your knife, and you’ll be home for dinner. 

“Oh, you can just tell Dean-“

“He’s on another coast. I’m in within two hours.”

“But-“ Adam lets out a long sigh, right as your phone buzzes with Bobby’s response.

Dont die.

You smile, type back never do, and open Dean’s contact. 

“Adam, if you want help-“

“I know. I’m sending it now.” There’s another buzz on the burner, and Adam coughs. “Two hours?”

“More or less. Line the doors with salt and don’t answer for anyone but me.”

“How will I know it’s you?”

Fair enough. You give Adam a quick description of yourself, he mumbles and understanding, and you hang up the phone. 

Bobby’s going to call this Hunter Fever. That you’re itching to do this because you’ve been cooped up, and now you’re actin’ like an idjit. But you’re not. If Adam is possessed, you’ll see it. If he’s just evil, he won’t be able to get the jump on you. One wrong movement and you’ll blast his soul right back out of his body. The highway will even get a lovely new garden as a result. And, you’re calling Dean. You’d sugar coated so Bobby wouldn’t worry, but you’re going to tell Dean, because you’re not being an idiot.

“Hey, Princess.” He picks up the phone after two rings, and you try not to sob in relief. He’s fine, you’d known that, but it’s still like a wave of thank fucking Christ whenever you hear his voice. “I meant to call you earlier, but this turned into a whole fuckin’ thing. Nothing we can’t deal with, but this whole town is full of crazies and this blonde chick who thinks she’s Jesus. Had to call in Cas, but we’ll still be home on time. What’s- Are you okay? You’re okay. Goddamnit, you better be okay-“

“I’m okay.” You smile into the air. It would be nice to be able to grab his face between your hands and kiss his nose, but even if he was here, that would be against the rules. “Your brother called.”

There’s a long, static pause. “Sweetheart, I’ve been with Sammy all day-“

“Wrong brother, De.” You sigh, and push out the words as fast as you can. “Adam. He’s alive. In Minnesota. He called the burner phone you left in my car, and I’m close, so I’m going to pick him up and bring him to Bobby’s. You should get home soon though. After the case.”

There’s another pause, and then- “The fuck you’re going to Minnesota alone, it could be a goddamn trap-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I’ve got both knives, and I’m already on I-90.”

“Then get the hell off it-“

“Dean. I’m going. You can’t stop me.”

“I can send Cas-

“You think Cas can stop me?”

“Goddamnit-“ Dean snaps your name, a tension in his voice that you haven’t heard in a long time. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t get yourself goddamn killed without me there to help-“

“I can hunt perfectly fucking fine on my own, Winchester.”

“I know that, but-“

“I’m going because you’re not here.” Your voice is raising slightly, and you glare ahead at the road. “They can hurt you, they can’t hurt me. I’ll be fine.”

“What if you’re not.” Dean hisses, and whatever background noise was on when he picked up is gone. He must have moved to fight in private. “You- You can’t get fucking hurt, Princess-“

“I know I can’t.” You say coolly. “That’s the point.”

He huffs out a dry laugh. “That’s not what I meant and you fuckin’ know it-“

“Dean.” Your voice is harsher than you mean it, and he falls silent. “We’ve done this before. I am perfectly fine on my own-“

“But you shouldn’t have to be.” 

You swallow, a hot and heavy lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to fight. Not really. Not now, when you miss him and love him and everything hurts just as much as always. 

Not ever. 

“Sorry.” Dean mutters. “Didn’t mean to shout, you’re just- Son of a bitch, you need to be here Princess. With me. And I can’t- If you-“

“I know.” You mumble, moving one hand off the wheel to rub at your wrists. Sick. Only making things harder. “I’ll be careful, De. I promise.”

Dean sighs. “I know you will, sweetheart. Just- If you need me, pray to Cas and he’ll zap me over-“

“I know.”

He grunts, and it doesn’t sound like he’s convinced. “Call me when you’ve got him, or I’m leaving these dumbasses to govern themselves.”

“Ooo, a revolution. You’re a kind king, Mr. Winchester. The people love your taxing system and patronage of the arts.”

“Nerd.” Dean mutters, but there’s a softness to his voice that makes you feel molten. “Pinky promise you’ll call.”

“Pinky promise. See you soon.”

Love you.

You don’t say it. You’re not allowed to say it. 

But you can think it, and hope he feels it. Hope that, all the way across the country, Dean knows that you’re going to be fine, because you have to be. You always get through it. You always go back to him. The address Adam gave you might look suspiciously like a church—god fucking damnit, it’s almost certainly a trap—but you’ll get back to Dean.

You always do. 

Adam’s a scrawny kid, sitting awkwardly on the dais. He’s a sort of tangerine orange color, starting in his stomach and burning up like fire in a chimney. He might be a little taller than Dean, but he’s built more like Sam. Hair a little darker than Dean’s, eyes bluer than Sam’s, and it’s not fair to already be comparing him to them, but otherwise you’ll just be seeing John. John’s nose, and mouth, and eyes. The features of the man that tried to kill you. That should have killed you. That kept you away from Dean. And they’re the same nose and mouth and eyes Dean has, but you love Dean. On him, they’re the best features in the world.

So it’s for Adam’s sake that you look at him and think Dean’s mouth. Sam’s jaw. Otherwise the Silver might start to flare. 

You’re going to have it enough trouble keeping it down as it is. 

Because standing at the dais is an angel. Broader than Cas, a little less electric, his rainbows running with an ugly, muted brown. 

Zachariah. 

You sigh, stopping at the front of the pews and crossing your arms over your chest. “I fucking knew it.”

Zachariah grins at you, ugly and shark like, and it’s only for Adam’s sake that you don’t let the Silver burst up and rip everything apart. 

He says your name, clapping his hands together with a mockingly cheerful tone. “You are infuriating, you know that? Think that you always know best, even when you’re walking into my trap-“

“Pretty shit trap.” You mutter. “I don’t think you were aiming for me, douche-bucket.”

Zachariah scowls. “Douche-bucket. I’m assuming that’s from our lovely Dean, right? His little… turn of phrase.”

You don’t answer—Zachariah can wait—and your attention flicks to Adam. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Adam whispers, his eyes wide on yours. “I just wanted to see my mom, I didn’t mean to- I don’t know. I’m not sure what’s happening.”

Zachariah scoffs. “Well, don’t try to figure it out. This is beyond your understanding, kid-“

“Oh, shut up.” You snap, and Zachariah’s eyes narrow.

“You have a nice voice.” Adam cuts in before Zachariah can speak, and you blink at him. “And- You’re- I like your hair.”

“Uh, thanks.” You frown. “You working with employee of the month?” You jerk your head to Zachariah, and the angel’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t answer that,” he orders, and Adam just keeps gaping at you. “And you,” he hisses your name, and you fix time with a bored stare. “You are- Such a fucking brat-“

“Sorry. Should’ve been nicer to Dean, he might have given you his real number, and you wouldn’t be going back empty-handed.”

Zachariah’s jaw twitches, and he takes a deep, heaving breath. “For your information, I will not being going anywhere empty handed. Had I hoped for Sam and Dean? Yes. But honestly,” the smirk creeps back onto his face, and a chill runs deeper than your bones. “You’re better. Bigger game, harder to catch. Boss will be pleased. I might even get a promotion. And, here’s the best part.” He raises his fingers, ready to snap. “This will be way more effective.”

He snaps, and you almost stumble forward. 

Ellen. 

Battered and dazed, a wear in her dark green, but Ellen-

You must call out to her and not hear it, because Zachariah tsks, and holds a finger to his lips.

“I wouldn’t talk to her right now. She’s a little… confused.”

Your jaw clenches, the Silver starting to rise, and while Zachariah’s smile doesn’t falter, his brown does do an odd stutter. Like a short-circuit or fritz in a power line. 

“Now,” Zachariah hums, taking a slightly step back and moving Ellen in front of him. Fucking pussy. “Here’s the deal I was going to offer Dean. Adam walks, Ellen walks, even little Sammy walks, and all he has to do is say yes. But I think-“ He pauses, frowning slightly. “He’ll want to talk to you. Sam and Dean… They’d be a problem-“

“They’re not coming.” You snap, grabbing the Blade out of your jacket. The Silver has to remain down, for Adam and Ellen. You can still cause a lot of fucking damage. “It’s just you and me-“

“We both know that’s not true.” Zachariah scoffs. “Dean at least is going to be trying to get to you, and Sam will help him. I can’t track them, but I can tip off some very angry hunters where they’re going- Yeah, it’ll be easier like this.”

Your eyes widen as Zachariah raises his hand again, the Silver turning and blistering right under your skin. “Like-“

The word is barely out of your mouth when Zachariah snaps his fingers, and the Silver rips out.

It crashed up with less warning than usual.

It’s still a second too later.

You’re everything. More than everything. Parts of you are things you don’t have names for, and a lot of you is light, but just as much is darkness. And you’re made of lava somewhere very dark and hot and lonely, and the Earth is spinning around you but you’re also every smallest bit of grass that feels so big in comparison to the bugs, and you’re the vastness of the water in the ocean, but also the vastness of every space between the stars, and neither of them feel bigger than the other. 

Mostly, you’re a song being played in an old car—old to other cars, young to the pavement it’s driving on and the trees it’s passing, barely an infant to the sky over its head—and the hands gripping a wheel so tight they’re going to strangle it. 

You love those hands. It would be nice to hold them. They’re Golden.

But you’re not you anymore. And you’re following them all the way down the roads, time somehow too slow and too fast all at once. You can see the dusty old church, and there are two hunters loading shotguns, and the shells are building themselves up to burst through a skull. The Gold is driving right to the church, and you need to stop it, but you’re too much and you don’t know how to control it all.

Then, as the Gold walks through the doors of the church, the Purple at his side, it all falls back down. You’re you again, and you can feeling the Spiderweb burning, but it’s not offline. More… confused. Straining a little more powerfully through your chest as you crash into yourself.

And you’re in the most beautiful garden you’ve ever seen.

Water that looks a little more like crystal, sunshine weaving through heavy leaves over your head, angled perfectly to spark at rainbow in every bit of mist. The flowers are blooming with heart and star-like patterns, made of colors you’ve never even seen. A familiar iridescent apple is hanging over your head, growing from a single, weeping tree that seems to be bleeding silver sap. You turn slowly—you’re not sure where you are, but it’s not Minnesota—and stop when your eyes land on an angel. 

There’s no wrath in him. Not like the other angels you’ve seen. His grace runs with green—a little lighter than Ellen, a lot softer than Bobby—and he’s big. Less electric, and more rooted. Wings twisted like branches, and eyes like knots on a tree trunk.

He says your name slowly. Your Enochian name. And when you stand a little taller, he gives you a kind smile.

“You can relax. I can’t do you any harm.”

You swallow. “Can’t?” 

“None of us can. Even the Angels that believe we’ve truly been left to ourselves…” He chuckles, shaking his head. “They are not foolish enough to try and touch you.”

“Because I’m the Magdalene.” You say carefully, and the angel shrugs. 

“Yes, but not quite.”

They must train angels to only speak like bridge trolls. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You are the Bride.” He says simply, and the Silver flares, running right to the tips of your fingers. “Being the Magdalene is, according to him, more of a cruel trick that was played, long ago. He’s told me he thinks you didn’t need the boost.”

“The- What?”

“I’m not sure,” he shrugs. “I don’t get to know everything. Only what I’ve been told.”

You open and close your mouth a few times, and the angel lets out another soft laugh.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just heard so much about you. I forgot you wouldn’t know me. Joshua.” He extends his hands—he’s not in a vessel, it’s all hands—and gives you another smile. “I’m the gardener.”

“Oh.” You say a little stupidly, giving his hand a tight shake and looking around once more. Strange flowers. Everything too perfect, with no actual environmental logic to the botany. You should’ve gotten it sooner. “And I’m in the… Gardens. Of Heaven?”

Joshua hums, and gives you an approving nod. “He did say you were smart.”

You don’t really want to know the answer. You’re still going to ask. “He?”

“God. He likes to…” Joshua pauses, watching you carefully. “Talk to me.”

“And he’s- Told you about me?”

Joshua frowns at you, tilting his head. “Of course he has. He’s been lonely for a long while, and- Well. From what I understand, he’s very happy you’re finally here.”

“Did he…” Deep breath. Too much to deal with, and you don’t feel dead, but you’ve also never been dead before. “Send me here?”

“No,” Joshua sighs. “I believe that was Zachariah. He can’t kill you, so you were sent to me.” He pauses. “I would be on your way, before he comes looking. He’s always been a bitter fuck.”

Your lips twitch in surprise, and you’d very much like more of Joshua’s opinions on the angels, but- 

“Dean.” Your voice is barely a breath, and your arms wrap tight around your stomach. Like you’re trying to keep the Spiderweb trapped in your body. “I- He’s-“

“Dean Winchester is dead.” Joshua says softly, his words moving a little faster as the Silver starts to riot and tear back up. “But he is fine. From what I understand, two angry hunters went after Sam with a little angelic help, and he was… collateral. But God does not wish for him to remain here.”

“Here?” You whisper, squeezing yourself until you’re not sure you’re breathing. “In- Heaven?”

Joshua nods, and you let out a slow, shaking breath. The map. The stupid fucking map Gabriel took away from you, that you’d had about half memorized. You’re in the garden. That means-

Joshua clears his throat. “You want to find him.”

Of course you want to find him. All there ever is to do is find Dean. “Yeah. Where’s, um-“ You pause. Heaven’s made like a sphere. The Gardens were at the center, on the map. All roads in, with the only way out—according to a note that had been in the margins—growing in the roots of God, because the place was designed like the world’s worst, most magical escape room that you could never actually escape. Problems for later. “Where’s the tree?”

“The tree?” Joshua gives you another amused look, and points behind you. “Be careful. It’s old.”

“All of this is old,” you mutter, turning to frown at the bleeding-silver apple tree. “Do I just climb it?”

“Usually one must make an offering, if you’re not accompanied by myself. But I think it will make an exception for you. Just touch it.”

“Cool.” You mumble, and Joshua clears his throat. 

“I would be careful. Once you get to the rest of Heaven, it will be different for you.” You turn back to him with a frown, and he pushes on, his voice still gentle. “For most humans, it is their greatest memories from life. But you are not dead, or human.”

“I’ve heard.” You sigh, raising your hand up carefully. Dean. You need to go to Dean. “Do you, um- Want to come with me?”

It’s an awkward question, and Joshua just shakes his head with a soft smile. “I wish I could. But I like my plants, and they like me. I am… Hopeful for you, though. He seems to think you tend to be different, than he wants you. But you are bright. Good.”

You’re not good. You know, better than anyone, that you are far from good. You still give Joshua a small smile and last thanks before you let the Spiderweb start to light up, and you press your palm to the bark of the tree. 

Dean. You want Dean. 

And it’s all a blur, and you’re everything once more, but you can see Gold. Leaning on the doorway of a motel room, rubbing his neck and saying low words you can’t quite make out. Moving a little forward to be closer to whoever he’s looking at, then grinning like he’s won the lottery when they step to the side, and he can shuffle into their room. He’s looking at the floor and She—it’s a She, you can see shiny hair and hear a musical voice, and you want to hate Her but he looks so happy, and you can’t hate anyone that makes him happy—places a hand on his chest to shoves him onto the bed, and you- This feels like something you should know, and you’re so close-

Something that’s white and wrathful and bright grabs you before everything can come into focus. Yanking you back with so much force as a hollow scream for Dean breaks from your throat, and the Gold flares, but then it’s gone.

Your eyes shoot open, and you’re not in a motel room. 

You’re in a saloon. A big, wide saloon with fancy trim and a creaking floors, low music playing from a scratched-up record player. There’s sunlight that makes the dust seem like it’s swirling in the air. You’re wearing a flowing dress with your knife strapped to your upper thigh, but there’s no monsters here. Nothing but old, dusty bottles on shelves, the music that you somehow know buy heart and you’re humming to yourself in perfect time, and-

“Hey, Princess.” A hand slide to hold your waist, and the moment you turn, he’s there. 

Dean’s grinning down at you, light sparkling in his eyes. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, dressed completely like a character in one of his old movies that he loves to make you watch. And he’s so close, and he smells like grass and spice, but not cinnamon.

And he’s not Golden.

Heaven will be different for you. 

This isn’t your Dean.

It’s an imitation of him, from a fantasy. From the back of your head and rawest little bit of your heart that truly believes—in another world, where everything was less complicated—you could have Dean.

And you do. In this world. Because before you can say a single word he’s leaning down and kissing you. Slow and soft, like he’s done it a million times before, and he plans to do it a million more. His free hand grabs your chin and tips it back slightly, his low chuckle vibrates in your chest as you moan and twist to fully wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

“Was gonna asked if you missed me.” He mutters, grinning against your lips. “Think I can figure it out myself, though.”

You giggle, shaking your head and dropping your brow to his chest, keeping your eyes squeezed shut. Just for a second, if this is heaven, if this is all you ever get, you want to have it. “I did. Always do, De.”

“Always, huh.” His arms wrap fully around you, his lips brushing a kiss on your brow. “That’s a big promise, baby.”

Baby. I love you, baby. 

“It is,” you whisper, your fingers curling on his shirt. “Don’t want to make it to anyone else.”

The world rumbles. Whatever stopped you from finding Dean—the real Dean—isn’t happy with you. And you think you know who. He might have been watch you your whole life.

You’re not quite ready to think about it yet. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper to Cowboy-Dean, even though he won’t understand what you’re talking about. “I- I’m really fucking sorry, for all of it. For making you worry and drive and die for me, and making you wait and getting mad and being stupid and reckless and-“ You take a shuttering breath, holding him a little tighter. He might not be Golden, but he’s built like Real-Dean is. All the same muscle and softness. It’s close enough. “I- I’m sorry-“

Cowboy-Dean mutters your name, tipping your head back with an open, adoring look on his face, his thumb running slowly down the bridge of your nose. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasp out, grabbing his hands to keep them on your face. “Dean, I- I’m- I’m so sorry-“

“I know you are.” He mutters, swiping the tears away from your cheeks. “But I don’t mind doing that, you know. Taking care of you. You do the same for me, and I love you, Princess. All the way down.”

I love you. You know I love you, baby.

You let out a long, slow breath, and lean fully back into his arms. You’re not quite sure how to do this, but the Silver isn’t suffocating here. In Heaven, it’s almost back to how it had been before you lost Jo. Humming and bright, right under the surface, ready to be called forward at your will, as you need it. 

And you need to find Dean.

So you focus, and let the Silver bleed out, and already different from the tree. You’re more in control. You’re everything, and that includes something whatever glowing, misting fabric is weaving this whole world together. You can do this. 

You squeeze Cowboy-Dean three times, before he’s gone. If this is every bit of your heaven, you’re not going to be able to take it. 

And it isn’t. 

Not quite.

You miss your first shot. Your eyes open, and the Silver has just given you another fantasy. You sitting in the back room of that church in Chicago, a younger looking Dean laughing with you as he steals the Body of Christ bread, covers it in Nutella and something fluffy and white, and hands it to you with a wide, proud grin. 

“Sammy found this stuff while we were in Virginia.” He explains. “Supposed to taste like marshmallows. Thought you’d like it.”

“Aw, Deano.” You smile, taking a large bite, and it’s not real but it tastes so good. “You think of me?”

“All the time, Princess. You, uh- You think of me?”

You nod, resting your head on his shoulder. “All the time.”

This one has to go, too. But you miss again. And again. And again. A lot of the times are just you and Dean, but more of them have a cast of side characters. Sam groans as you and Dean appear in his doorway—the fantasy seeming to be Dean didn’t leave, that first time, and everything was easy—and grumbles about how a week’s notice would’ve been nice. Bobby glares at a pale Dean across a table, and you roll your eyes because you know he’s not going to shoot Dean. He likes Dean. He just doesn’t like, in this fantasy, that you’ve been running around with John’s boy behind everyone’s back. And you don’t have any powers, and you can’t see the Sky, and you’re just Bobby’s daughter. Both of them are there in your treasure hunting fantasy, and when you pull that one apart and push it back together you’re in-

The Roadhouse. 

Sitting at the bar. 

Across from Jo. 

“You know, I never should have encouraged y’all.” She wrinkles her nose. “If I walk in on y’all suckin’ face one more time, I’m gonna shoot myself.”

You swallow, barely able to speak over the lump in your throat. “Jo?”

“Yeah?”

“I- I’m sorry.”

“For what, being gross? I ain’t mad about it for you, but now that Dean’s not holdin’ back I can see his boner all the fuckin’ time-“

“For not saving you.” You cut her off with a whisper. “I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jo just gives you a strange look and shakes her head. “Did you sleep last night? I’m fine.”

You can’t speak. You need to say something, to try and grab her even though she isn’t real, and bring her back. To hug her and sob a million more apologies. To do anything but stare at her and let a million words die in your throat about how you don’t know what to do. This is all so hard, and you just need a friend, someone to tell about the Men of God and Lucifer and Death and Crowley, and you have Cas for some of it but you want Jo-

The Silver is moving too fast. The pain pressing on your chest—made of Jo, she’s gone but she’s here, and you failed her and she doesn’t even know—is racking through your whole body, and you don’t want to go, you can’t go but you don’t know how to control it. It hurts and you’re sick and you miss her, it’s beating out of your chest and you have to say something, but the words keep turning to sobs in your throat. You should’ve done more. Been better. You fucking failed and what goddamn use are you if you’re so powerful but you can’t save Jo-

She’s gone before you can stop it. You’re everything again, but it feels wild. Furious. It all hurts—it always hurts, but now you can feel it like you’re the wound and the infection and the scar and the venom—and everything reforms differently. Faster.

Brighter.

This isn’t one of your fantasies or dreams. You’re back in what you’d been wearing in the church, and when you press your hand to your jacket, your knife and the Blade are still there. The room itself is a lot. There’s fire dancing in the air and grass under your feet, waterfalls making up the walls and a throne. A large, pure white throne made of light, high up on a dais of flowers and diamonds and marble. And when you climb up to stand before it, it glows brighter. 

And there is it. On one arm of the chair, shifting in the light without pain. Like it was designed to be there. Has always been there. 

Your name is written places in Heaven. 

On God’s throne.

“Wow.” A voice says from off to the side. “I gotta hand it to you, this is smart one. Nobody’s been here in a long time.”

You turn, and standing a few steps down on the dais is the Blue. Still blond and a little short, still grinning at you with open amusement, rocking back and forth on his feet as he waits for you to respond.

“Gabriel,” you whisper, and his grin widens. 

“Give the lady a cigar! She put it together! I doubt it was all by yourself, Dean and Sammy probably snitched, but I’m proud of you for telling them about our little rendezvous” He takes another step up, but still doesn’t move to the dais. “But, I do have to say, you didn’t listen to me at all.”

You scowl, your hands moving to your jacket on instinct, and Gabriel’s eyes widen, his hands raising up in surrender. 

“Hey, I’m just here to talk, no need to get stabby-“

“You stole my phone, and my notes.” You snap, grabbing the Blade. It looks sort for bioluminescent. Too many problems. “You stole my books.”

“I- I did to that. But, I was trying to help you, this isn’t your fight unless you make it your fight!”

“It is my fight-“

“Right, cause of your family.” Gabriel sighs. “You know, you are a stubborn little one. Sort of a spitfire. I get what they’re seeing in you-“

“Uh huh.” You’re a little sick of being called little, or hearing how people want you. You’re bigger than the fucking universe. And you’ve never cared how people want you, because you just want Dean. “Give me one good reason not to stab you.”

“My charming personality?” 

Your eyes narrow, and Gabriel winces.

“Fine, you’re mad at me. I get that. But I looked at your notes! It’s some pretty impressive stuff, and-“ Gabriel’s hands go higher as you take a step forward. “I was wrong! I was super fucking wrong! You’ve been tearing through the apocalypse like it’s a hacked video game, sweetheart, this is great. We’ll be home in time for dessert, if you keep this up.”

He sounds genuine, but you don’t trust it. So you stop moving, but keep the Blade in your hand. “What do you want, Gabriel. Aren’t you supposed to be hiding from Heaven.”

“That’s true, I am, but this,” he gestures around the room. “Doesn’t count. This is heaven back when Daddy was hands on. I didn’t even know the door was still open anymore, but I shoulda figured you’d shove your way in. Warning signs don’t really seem to be effective on you.”

You frown. “There’s no warning sign-“

“This whole place is a warning sign. Barbed wire, moat of crocodiles, whole shebang. But you just walked right in, so I followed. All I want is to talk, and this is the best place to do it.”

“To talk.” You echo back slowly. “Are you going to knock me out again?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “You know, you really should let that go-“ You take another step forward, and his words stutter. “Understandable if you don’t, though. Fair. If it helps, what I pulled was a one-time, Earth specific trick. Won’t work on you up here.” He eyes you wearily. “And I really am here to help. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick an angel blade in my eye.”

You pause. Help. You don’t need help, but you also aren’t getting anywhere close to finding Dean. And, somehow, you seem to have the upper hand here. Over an archangel, in fucking heaven. If he lies, or tries to knock you out again, you’ve got the Blade. You’ll just stab him. “Help how.”

“You’re not gonna,” Gabriel makes a jerking movement with his hand, nodding to the Blade, and you shrug. 

“Not if you’re really here to help.”

“Alrighty, I can work with that. Down to business.” Gabriel claps his hands together, taking a cautious step up, but still not all the way to the dais. “Like I said, looked at your notes. Men of God, soul studies, Magdalenes, translations. You really are a smart cookie. I think you could put this together by yourself, if you got the little push-“

“Gabriel.” You hiss, and he sighs. 

“It’s right under your nose, sweetheart. Chasing Death and Pestilence, chopping off good ol’ Famine’s finger. My brothers aren’t going to be killed by your two bumbling Americana poster boys, and they ain’t dumb enough to not keep precautions against you. But they can be trapped. Put in time out. Shit, Luci got sent to the corner for thousands of years.”

“The-“ You frown, your grip tightening on the Blade. “What.”

“Think about it,” Gabriel says your name in Enochian, grinning up at you. “He got out, Mikey’s gotta kill him, that’s the whole thing. Dad’s not going to step in, he likes watching us beat each other up. Even tapes it to sell. But, he also like his loopholes. Fail safes. Little puzzles to keep us all busy while he fucked around. You think he’d just destroy the cage after it was open?” You open your mouth, and he shakes his head, raising a hand. “You’re smarter than that.”

You pull your lip between your teeth, biting until it stings. “There’s a back door.” You mutter, watching Gabriel carefully. “Another way to open it, and send someone in.” 

“Good girl,” Gabriel laughs, giving you a mock applause. “Of course, you’re gonna have to get Lucifer into the cage. I’d wish you good luck with that, but I don’t think you’ll need it. You’ve always liked finding other ways.”

Deep breath. He’s not taunting you—no more than seems usual—and that is helpful. But- “Why are you helping now. You wanted to stay out of it, Sam and Dean-“

“Sam and Dean,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Are dramatic, self-righteous, annoyingly convincing little asshats. I probably would’ve flipped for them eventually, they’ve got this kinda street dog charm that coulda won me over. But this? It was mostly from watching our lovely Castiel.” He gives you a wide grin. “You know, he doesn’t understand what you are, not really, but he’s following you all the same, rather than some ancient orders from a deadbeat Dad. And I think he’s onto something. I think you deserve a choice, and that’s not gonna happen if this train keeps rolling. Actually, I’m not sure if it’ll happen at all, but Mikey and Luci ain’t gonna help. Plus, I love love. And you,” He lets out a low wolf whistle. “Are way too sexy for my dad.”

The chill rolls through your bones again, and the Silver is burning. Rolling and turning like a storm, not trying to burst out, but strained. Distressed. You don’t even know how to say anything, how to be anything but everything, and you heard Gabriel’s words, but you didn’t really hear them, and you can’t-

“Easy girl.” Gabriel says, raising his hands again. “I’d like to go back underground without being erased.”

You frown. “Back-“

“There’s no way I’m sticking around for the finale. Not my scene. You give me a call, I’ll answer, but only you. Don’t go writing my number on bathroom stalls. And hot tip, don’t be afraid to ask for some help. Not my help, obviously, but some help.”

“I don’t-“

“Also, you’re doing this all wrong.” Gabriel nods around the room. “You think about who you want, Heaven’s gonna want to please you. Try thinking about where they’d be. Their happy memories. Once you get that, you can go wherever you want, babygirl. World’s your oyster.” Gabriel shoots you a wink. “Good luck. Remember, call me.”

You open your mouth—to scream, to protest, to demand more, he can’t just say all that and fuck off—but nothing comes out, and Gabriel vanishes, leaving you alone once more. 

The steps are shocking soft, like sitting on a blanket, grass in the summer. You draw your knees up to your chest, dropping your brow with a low, deep breath. The Silver is still illuminated in your body, buzzing right under your skin and—for maybe the first time in your life—the pain is numbed. Not gone, but numbed. Like it’s being drowned in the Silver, or burned away by the light all around you. This feels like a good time to cry. To let out the guttural howl that’s been building in your throat. You don’t know what to do. You lost Jo, again. And God.

You don’t want to think about that one. Not right now. And it might be why the scream doesn’t come, why the pain remains something a little too far for you to really feel. It’s all too much, just on the right side of overwhelming to sear you together by force. 

You’ll get through this. You’ll get back to Dean. You always do, and then you’ll fall apart. After you save Ellen and Adam, after you find Sam and Dean—and maybe shove them both for dying like idiots—you’ll fall apart about it all.

Don’t be afraid to ask for some help. 

You tip your head up, and squeeze your eyes shut. “Dear Castiel, who art it,” you pause. This is so fucking stupid. “Wallingford, Connecticut. Get over here, please.”

There’s a rustle, and when you open your eyes Cas is standing over you, frowning around the room. “Where did you bring me?”

“Working theory?” You say, pushing to your feet. “God’s old throne room.”

“How did you-“

“Don’t know. Sam and Dean-“

“Are dead.” Cas sighs, and it’s good to know he has the same feelings about it. Dumbasses. “I’ve been guiding them, but they get sidetracked rather easily. And much of my guidance had to come from Earth, as my powers are-“ Cas glances down at his hands, frowning slightly. “Were, diminished. But I am not feeling any weakness now.”

“That might be me,” you mutter. “I need your help, and this place seems to like me.”

“Ah.” Cas’ frown deepens, but he doesn’t push it. “I’ll be able help you to Sam and Dean, if we remain together-“

“It’s not just Sam and Dean.” You tuck the Blade back in your jacket, looking around the room one last time. Your gaze falls back on your name, written on the throne, and you take a deep breath. Heaven wants to please you. “Zachariah said it would be better like this. That the boss wants to talk to me.”

Cas frowns. “Michael?”

“Probably, yeah. He had Ellen and Adam, I think he just killed them to stash them here. We’re going to have to get to them one at a time-“

“Sam and Dean’s heavens have merged. We will be able to retrieve them together.”

“Oh. Good.” You frown at the air, rubbing at the scar on your palm. “I think if we can work out just one of everyone’s happiest memories, I’ll be able to move to their heavens, and you can just hop around, so it’ll be best if we split up. We can meet up at Sam and Dean, you grab Adam, I’ll get Ellen and Jo-“

“Jo?” Cas cuts you off with a frown, and you nod. 

“If we’re bringing people back, I can get Jo, and-“

Cas says your name too gently, and your nails dig into your skin. Whatever he’s about to say, you really don’t want to hear it. “I do not believe Jo Harvelle is here.” His words come a little quicker, and it might be because all the fire in the room had burned a little brighter, right as the Silver started to wail in your body. “She is not in hell, either. But she’s… blocked.”

You shake your head, clenching your teeth. “I’ll get through the block, Cas-“

“We do not have the time.” His voice is firm, and he’s holding your glare. “Michael may be hunting you, and Zachariah is after Sam and Dean. You are powerful here, but you’re unfamiliar with the systems and roads of Heaven-“

“I’ll be fine-“

“It is not you I am worried about.” 

Sam and Dean and Ellen and Adam. “But whatever’s blocking Jo-“

“Is strong. You will likely be able to break through it, but it will cost us time. Time we do not have.” Cas sighs. “You called for my help. I am offering that, and advice. I will not be able to stop you, if you choose to aim for Jo instead of the others. But a soul is needed to bring someone back. And we know where everyone else is stored.”

You fucking hate this. This whole day has been shit. Everyone’s giving you pieces of a puzzle you don’t really want to solve anymore—not as the picture comes together, and it’s more and worst then you’d dared to think about—and your groceries are probably fucked, and you miss Dean, and Bobby’s going to kill you when you get home, and you’re failing Jo again, and Adam and Ellen-

Ellen. You can’t fail Jo and Ellen, again. You’ve already razed Jo just by being near her. You can’t allow the same to happen, again, without ever really apologizing to either of them. 

“Fine.” You mutter, rolling your neck and glaring at the ceiling. “You can get Adam?”

Cas nods, and there’s unmistakable relief washing all over his face. “Yes. I will meet you with Sam and Dean.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “Cas?”

He frowns at you, and you give him a small, sad smile. 

“Don’t die.”

“I will do my best.” Cas gives you an awkward nod in return. “Good luck. I will see you in, hopefully, about fifteen minutes.”

There’s a whoosh, and then he’s gone. And you can do this. Heaven wants to please you—not the time to think about why, or what the fuck that means—and you know what you need to do now. Ellen’s happy memories.

All you can think of is Jo. And it’s splitting open a strong ache in your chest, making your fingers curl to try and protect her blue from the sights of Heaven. But Jo is the same to you that she is to Ellen. Family. And Ellen had told you a few stories, on nights you’d stayed at the roadhouse to hang out with Jo. She’d made you a rootbeer float and talked about how Jo got to ride a horse once, and it was the happiest Ellen had seen her since her dad died. 

The Silver starts to build outwards, and you can see it. Covered in an odd, shimmering veil, but there. Ellen with a beer in her hand, watching a blonde girl ride a horse that’s ten times her size. Both of them are smiling, and there’s a soft breeze that’s offsetting the flat heat of the summer. 

You turn back once, as the Silver started to leak out around you, and the image become clearer. Just to check that it was real. That your name is really right there, written on what can old be the throne of God.

And it is. 

Then it’s gone, and you’re caught in what feels like a soft tide for only a second, before you fall onto soft grass.

The sun is blinding for a second, and you have to squint to look around you. Baby Jo has wandered deeper into the field, and for a second you want to chase her down and bring her with you too. And you know it wouldn’t work—just like in the Roadhouse, that’s not your Jo, just an echo of her—but that doesn’t stop the ache from cleaving your ribs apart. You can hear her laughter on the wind, and it’s a sound you don’t think you’re ever going to hear again. 

That almost shatters you. You can’t afford to stop or slow down right now, but you’re never going to laugh with Jo again-

A hand brushes hair away from your face, and you turn to see Ellen frowning at you, your name soft on her tongue. “What are you doing here, honey?”

You swallow, your voice barely a rasp. “I- I’m here for you.”

“For me?” Ellen frowns. “I’m busy, I’m takin’ Jo to get ice cream after this. You can come with us, but you look…” She pauses, tracing her hand back over your face with a frown, and you swallow down a weak sob. “Tired. What happened?”

It would be so nice if you could just not tell her. If you could leave her here, happy, forever. But you don’t trust Zachariah to let her stay in peace. And you can’t shake the sight of her in the church. Pale and bruised, swaying slightly and unsure of what was around her. Broken.

You won’t fail twice. You won’t.

“You’re dead.” You whisper. “Zachariah found you, and hurt you. I- I don’t know why- But I didn’t stop him and I’m sorry-“

A weak, strangled sound breaks through your throat, the world going a little blurry, and Ellen pulls you into her arms. You don’t deserve to hug her back, you’re the one who got her hurt and killed. But you’re tired, and the physical pain is numb, but the ache is bigger than you know how to handle. So you bury your face in her shoulder and let the tears fall. 

“It’s okay,” Ellen hums your name, rubbing your back, and you shake your head. Nothing’s okay, it’s all too much, and too complicated, and you don’t know what to do- “I guess I shoulda known I was dead. Jo ain’t been this young in a while.”

Another broken sob shakes your body, and you don’t know if Ellen knows that Jo’s- That you- That-

“And I remember the church.” Ellen sighs. “Remember all of it, now that you’re sayin’ it.”

You swallow and lean back, blinking away the tears from your eyes. “I- I’m sorry.”

Ellen frowns. “Bout what?”

“Jo.” Your voice is barely a breath. You’re not even sure how you’re speaking at all, with the feeling of iron in your lungs and ash in your throat. “I- I tried to save her. I promise, but I couldn’t, and I shouldn’t have done the plan at all but I- I’m sorry-“

Another hollow noise breaks out and Ellen shakes her head, brushing the hair from your face. “I don’t blame you. Don’t think she’d ever blame you either. I was always happy you two found each other, even though I wasn’t a fan of her huntin’… I just wanted her to be happy. And you were the only real friend she had. I know you loved her like a sister, honey, and I don’t doubt you tried to save her.”

“But- You vanished-“

“Cause I was furious at everything that hurt her. Not you.”

“But I-“

“Dean told me you stayed with her to the end.” Ellen whispers, giving you a sad smile. “That you didn’t want to leave her at all. She wasn’t alone. And you killed the angel that killed her. Better than I could’ve done.”

You shake your head, your voice bitter. “Just one of them. Other one got away.”

Ellen sighs. “It was that bald asshole that grabbed me, wasn’t it. Zachariah?” You nod, and she scowls. “He’s seemed like a shitbag. You gonna kill him too?”

“I’d like to.” You mutter, sniffing up the last of the tears. She doesn’t blame you. Even if she should, she doesn’t, and you can do this. Focus. Get her out. You won’t fail again. “But he’s going to be looking for me, he-“

“Wants you to talk to the boss.” Ellen frowns. “God?”

“Michael. I’ll explain more later, but we have to go. Cas is meeting us at Sam and Dean-“

“Sam and Dean?” Ellen’s brows raise in surprise. “How’d they end up here?”

“Angry hunters and another trap. Cas will be able to resurrect you all, I think I jumpstarted him or something. I might be-“ You pause. If you’re this powerful, if Heaven wants to please you, you might be able to pull off the angel’s back from the dead trick too. You’re trying to feel out the Silver. It still doesn’t hurt the same, and it’s not dormant, but- 

You don’t want to risk it. You might be able to pull off a resurrection, but you don’t know how. And if you fuck it up, you might infect one of them. Might make everything worse. It will have to be Cas.

Ellen says your name gently. “You okay-“

“I’m fine.” You reach out your hand, holding Ellen’s gaze. “Ready?”

She nods, but glances over your shoulder. “What about Jo? I know that ain’t her, but- If Castiel is bringin’ people back-“

“He needs the souls.” You mumble. And Jo’s is fucking blocked. “I’m sorry.”

Ellen’s throat bobs, and she lets out a long, slow breath. “Alright.” Her hand slides into yours, and you really don’t fucking deserve this. The trust that you’re going to do this right, and not get someone hurt. “This gonna feel weird?”

“Um, no?”

“C’mon.” Ellen says your name with a small smile. “Bobby raised you to lie better than that.”

“No.” You keep your tone dry, and Ellen chuckles.

“That’s better. You bringin’ us to Sam and Dean?”

“Yeah, I just, um- One second.” You squeeze your eyes shut, and let the Silver out slowly. It’s going to have to touch Ellen, but that’s just another thing you’re trying not to think about. You’re saving her, not infecting her. You’re just carrying her with you to Cas. You’ve never tried to do that before, though. You could fuck it up. You could just vanish without her, or land her in the wrong place, or fuck up and raze her soul in the process-

Don’t think about it. 

Just think about Sam and Dean. Their happy memories. You just need one, from either of them. And it can’t be your happiest memory of them—you have to remind yourself that, over and over, because all you can think of is playing Trivial pursuit with Sam in Bobby’s library, and sitting with Dean in the Impala, wiping a smear of chocolate milk from his lip as he grinned at you, and they might not care for those memories at all—so your best bet is something they’d told you about. Sam’s fourth grade visit to a planetarium. Dean getting to drive Baby for the first time by himself. Maybe one of those Vegas weeks Dean’s tried to get you to join last year, or an easier night at the roadhouse. A weekend with Bobby, or the only school dance Sam ever got to attend. 

Or one of Dean’s many fun nights, at bars or on road trips. That one girl Sam mentioned years ago, who he spent a whole week with when he said he was going on a road trip. Or the sex spree after he made the demon deal, while you were still running around the country avoiding Hell’s Assassin’s. A good memory with Sam from their childhood, like a Christmas or Halloween. Or maybe just something simple. Dean loves simple things, and he loves them with all his heart. Pie and music and sleep. Pretty things. Good, easy things. 

Things that you aren’t. That you’ve never been. And you really want to be in his Heaven. You’re best friends, and you know he’s at least a little attracted to you, but Heaven is a high bar, and you’re complicated.

You’ve always been complicated, and sick, and a lot more trouble to tame than you’re worth. 

You’re caught in the tide again, and you’re not quite sure where you’re going. You’re only the Silver—and a spot of dark green, tangled up and flowing with you—but, through the haze of colors and light, you can see it. Dean’s Gold, that you’ll love until someone finally muzzles you properly, and you’re only a feral, gnashing beast trying to rip off your collar and go home. To Dean. 

You love him. It’s really all you can think. And whatever white thing grabbed you before isn’t going to catch you this time. You won’t let it, because you need to get to Dean. 

And you’re yours again, just like that, as you crash down into his gravity.

You’re sitting on something soft, in a dark room. There are blankets over your head and, peaking through a gap, you can see a bunch of little, plastic stars stuck to the walls and ceiling and-

Those are your walls. These are your blankets. This is your fucking room, from right before Dean died. His I’m dying party that you’d hated, but gone to anyway. Because it was for Dean. And you’d loved him, just like always. 

“Was this a trap, Princess?

You turn your head, and there he is. Golden. Your Dean, the real Dean, looking a little older than he did when this had happened, but giving you the same boyish smirk he always has. The one you might rip Heaven apart just to see, every single time. You’re in his Heaven.

“This,” you swallow a lump in your throat, your fingers curling on your calf. “This is your heaven?”

Dean blinks at you. “Course it is. But I don’t think you’re supposed to know that, sweetheart, you’re just a memory.”

Your lips twitch, even as the Spiderweb glows so bright you think it might turn into all that you are. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or shove him or just hug him for a million years and never let go. 

“But you died like, right after this.” You whisper. “How is that Heaven?”

“You made me a blanket fort and said you didn’t want me to die,” he sounds confused. Like he can’t possibly fathom why this wouldn’t be heaven. “You trusted me about your family, and we hugged, it was awesome-“

“Uh, Dean?” The entrance to the blanket fort opens, revealing a ducked down Sam. Purple. The real Sam. He barely even spares you a glance, as if he’d expected to see you here. In Dean’s Heaven. “I think something’s happening. Cas is out here.”

Dean frowns. “Thought he couldn’t get into past the pearly gates to help us-“

“Says that he got a boost.” Sam tilts his head in your direction, saying your name. “She gave it to him. And she’s supposed to be here too. Cas is worried cause it looks like Ellen’s showed up, but they were supposed to come together or something-“

“Sam.” You keep your voice dry, and Sam freezes. “I’m right here.”

They’re both gaping at you. And you adore them, but for all the shit Dean has always given you about hunting alone, you’re not sure how they survived this long without you there all the time. 

“You can see me.” Sam says a little stupidly. “But this is, uh- This is Dean’s heaven-“

“And I’m me.” You have to fight down the flush on your cheeks. You’re not sure it works. “I must have taken Memory-Me’s place.” 

Dean clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with an almost nervous expression. “But you’re, uh- Have you been you the whole time?”

“Uh, only for like five minutes. C’mon,” you reach out a hand before you can think better. “We’ve gotta go, Dean-“

Your words fall into a yelp as Dean grabs your hand and yanks you forward, all the way into his lap. Your arms wrap around him on instinct, your face resting in the crook of his neck, and this really is your Dean. He smells like cinnamon, his Gold is everywhere, and his voice is hoarse in your ear. 

“Thought we lost you,” he mutters, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as the other squeezes your hips, as if he’s checking you’re real. “Son of a bitch, Princess, you were supposed to call me, and when we got to the church the Firebird was parked out from, and- I thought-“

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, bunching his jacket in your hands. “I- I’m okay. I’m not even dead, I just got sent to the Garden, and-“ You sigh, shaking your head against him. “I’ll tell you later. We have to go, Dean.”

He grunts, slowly detangling himself from you, but his hand slides back into yours in a second. One squeeze. Checking in. 

You give him a soft smile as he helps you to your feet, and squeeze back three times. I’m good.

I love you.

He gives a tight nod, and you step out of the blanket for to find everyone else awkwardly waiting for you. Sam gives you a nervous smile, Ellen’s looking around your room with a frown, and Adam is staring at you. 

Cas says your name, and you turn to find him sitting on the edge of your mattress. “Any issues?”

“Not yet. You think you can get all four of them?”

He pauses, then nods. “I will have to go two at a time. Just one resurrection requires effort, but all four them have intact bodies, and I feel… strong. I can handle it.”

You nod, and Sam clears his throat, raising his hand. 

“Can you guys explain what’s going on-“

“Once you’re alive, yes.” Cas pushes to his feet, and Dean scowls.

“Do you two rehearse this or something? I mean, Adam was dead this freakin’ morning, we can’t just move past that-“

“Dean.” You give him a firm look, and his mouth snaps shut. “We have to go. It’s not safe to linger-“

“Why?” Adam cuts in, earning a glare from Dean—which you want to laugh at, because he’d been pushing the same thing only seconds ago—and you sigh. 

“Because-“

“Of me.” Zachariah’s sneer cuts through the air, and your blood almost curls in your body. You don’t want to turn around and see him. You’re so fucking close to getting everyone out. 

But he’s there. And you’re fucked.

“This is very convenient,” he hums, walking around the room with a snake-like grin. “I mean, all of you in one place? And Castiel, too?” Zachariah laughs, and your grip on Dean’s hand tightens. “I mean, it’s like my birthday’s come early.”

“We do not have birthdays, Zachariah.” Cas mutters, taking a side-step to block Sam, Adam, and Ellen. 

His eyes meet yours for a second, and you give him a tight nod in return. You’ve got Dean. He’s got the other’s. 

“You always were so literal.” Zachariah scoffs, rolling his eyes at Cas. “And you shouldn’t be able to be here, either. I thought we made that very clear. Unless-“ Zachariah cuts himself off, turning his glare to you. “Of course it was you. Looks like the whore is learning some new tricks-“

“Hey.” Dean snaps, taking a step forward to block you from Zachariah’s view, and you love him but God, he can be such a fucking idiot. “Don’t talk to her like that, dickbag-“

“I get it, Dean. You’re a big, scary guard dog, and I should be running. But I’m not, am I? Because you’re just a meat sack that’s the perfect temperature, and she,” Zachariah lets out a long, pained sigh. “Is annoyingly the most important soul ever made. She’s my meal ticket. And I need her back, now.”

You swallow, and Dean tenses in front of you. It’s not brave to strong, to press against his back, and try to hide your face in his side. But it’s all you want to do. He’d be warm. Strong. Like a tree that shields you from the view of the Sky, all while keeping you shaded under its shadow. And you manage not to hide, but the pain is building back up as the Silver rushes just a layer under your skin. You don’t know what made the numbness stop. Maybe it’s the same thing that’s making you grab and rub your wrist, trying to keep the Silver down. You can’t explode now. Not here.

But Zachariah leans around Dean, his gaze locked onto yours and his lips twisted so horribly, and you choke on the bile in your throat. 

“Boss wants to talk to you,” he says the words like he hates them. You’re not exactly a big fan either. “And the rest of you,” he stands back up. “As much as I’d like to squish you under my shoe, it’s your lucky day.”

“Zachariah.” Cas says, eyes narrowed. “I am not going to let you touch them-“

“You can’t do anything about this.” Zachariah snaps. “You might be, if she,” his head jerks to you. “Knew what the fuck she was doing, but she doesn’t. And you might be able to break in a window, but I still have the keys, and a shotgun. So get. Out.”

You don’t get a warning this time. Zachariah’s snap is quick, and the Silver doesn’t get to react. The memory of your room vanishes. Sam, Dean, and Cas go with it, it feels like wind is ripping and biting at your skin for a horrible, split second before you land again. 

It’s not clear where you are, over the blur of the world. The Silver is more than burning. It’s molten, almost acidic, and it hurts. It all fucking hurts again, and you can’t really fucking breathe, and Dean. You lost him. His hand was in yours, but you were sick, and you’re a worse sort of pestilence that’s taking everything down with it, and what fucking use is being the Bride or the Magdalene or the Angel Killer or Death Raiser if you can’t ever fucking control it, can’t use it to protect instead of faltering and rotting-

Someone’s calling your name, but you can’t really hear anything over the ringing in your ears. One hand is pressed to the right of your heart, the other on your throat, and you’re not sure if you’re trying to strange yourself or feel for it. The Spiderweb. It’s not dark, not offline. When you press your fingers into the base of your throat, and the rioting of the Silver falters for a second—and the pain builds, but you’ve survived worse—you can feel it. Clear. Bright, and casting rainbow light around your rib cage. Even sharper than a moment before, because Dean isn’t in Heaven, but it’s because he’s alive.

He’s alive.

And if Dean’s alive, alive and on Earth, Sam and Cas are likely fine too. Zachariah said it was their lucky day. They’re okay. And you might need to be a little more worried about yourself.

Your name is repeated, with a little more urgency, and your vision clears as the Silver eases. Ellen is kneeling next to you—you seem to have fallen to the ground—and holding your face between her hands, her eyes scanning over your features frantically. Adam is standing off to the side, looking equally worried, but still mostly just gaping at you. All the furniture is embroidered. Gilded. Expensive. Maybe still Heaven. The Silver is still active, but the pain is too. Every color is a little brighter, but your eyes might just be adjusting. 

It doesn’t really matter. 

Just to test, you try to let a little of the Silver out. To see if you can expand, and turn Heaven to your will like before. 

The room shifts. All the fancy furniture turns to a well-worn couch and knotted wood table. The carpet turns into the rug in Bobby’s living room, and the tapestries on the walls turn to the old sunset painting Bobby keeps in his study. But when you try to push further, it’s like you slam into a wall. It doesn’t hurt, but it rushed through you like a small electric shock, and your eyes shoot open. 

Iron. It’s fucking iron, and it doesn’t do to you what it used to, but it still seems to have an effect. 

You’re trapped. 

Ellen snaps your name, and you blink at her. “You gotta tell me you’re with us-“

“I’m with you.” You mumble, dragging your nails over the skin of your throat. “We’re- Fuck.”

“The boys-“

“They’re alive.” You move slowly to your feet, rubbing the scar on your palm. “Most of them are.” You give Adam a small smile. “Hi.”

His eyes widen. “Hi. You, um- I still don’t understand what’s going on-“

“You’re collateral.” You mutter, scanning around the room. Not a lot to work with. You don’t know if you’re still in Heaven, even if you do escape, you can see the Enochian, etched into the wallpaper and wood. Ownership wardings. No praying to Cas. No getting back to Earth. “They want to talk to me, and I’ve been known to, uh-“ You sigh. “Cause damage.”

“Damage?” Adam takes a step forward, sort of looking at you like you’re some sort of fallen star. “To angels?”

“And others.” You tap your finger against one of the wardings, and it zaps. “Fuck.”

Ellen frowns. “What? You don’t think you can get us out?”

You shake your head. “I- I don’t know. I’ve sort of- teleported before, but only twice.“ Because something had been calling to you, the Spiderweb bursting in your chest, and you’d wanted to follow it all the way down. “And I can’t do it on command. Plus I’ve never- I needed Cas. For the resurrections.”

Ellen pauses. “Think you could try yourself?”

“Maybe.” You give her a tight look. “But I don’t know about two at once.”

Ellen lets out a long, heavy sigh, and Adam clears his throat. 

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on. I don’t know you,” he gestures to Ellen, before turning to you. “And Sam and Dean seemed close with you, and I know I’ve never actually met them, but I would’ve remember you if they’d brought you with them-“

“They didn’t.” You mutter, starting to move through the books on the shelves. When you open on, it’s real. With words, but they’re swimming a little on the page. Enochian. Better than nothing. “I was in Europe.”

“That where you went?” Ellen asks, and you freeze.

“I’m sorry-“

“Honey, I’m just glad you didn’t die, or blow somethin’ up-“

“I blew a few things up.”

Ellen laughs. “Anything important?”

And image flashes over your vision. A child’s soul, stained on the pavement and being delicately placed back into her body. 

Wait. 

Fuck.

Ellen says your name, and you can hear the frown in her voice. “You-“

“I’m okay.” You stand suddenly, the book tight in your hand. “I- I might have it. A way out. We just need to wait.”

They listen, but this is the kind of plan Dean would glare at you about. It’s a little insane. But you can do it. You can. You’ve done it before, even if it wasn’t exactly on purpose. Resurrection will be dicey, but there’s no reason to think you can’t do it. Until you’re violently and horrible proven otherwise, you can. You’re made to touch souls. Heaven wants to please you. And there’s no fucking use to any of it if you can’t do this, and get back to Dean. 

“Hi.”

You look up from your book, and find Adam sitting next to you with a nervous smile. “Hi.”

“You, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, eyes flicking between you and the carpet. “Nobody ever told me what’s going on.”

“Oh, right.” You sigh, closing your book and tipping your head back. “Um- It’s the apocalypse. Michael and Lucifer are going to have a death match, but they need Sam and Dean’s bodies-“

“I know that, actually. The angel guy explained it.” He frowns. “He was, uh- Kind of a dick about it, though.”

You snort. “You have no idea.”

Adam nods, and gives you a strange look. “I was kind of wondering, uh- About you?”

“Me?” You frown at him. “Why?”

“You seem interesting.” He shrugs. “I mean, you showed up threatening angels with knives, and you were flying around heaven. I’m curious. I mean, how’d you even meet Sam and Dean?”

“They were on a case.” You shrug. “Ran into them, told them they were wrong about what they were chasing, fought with John about it-“

“John? You met my dad?”

Shit. “Uh, yeah.”

“Were you-“

“He didn’t like me.” You keep your words short, and a little apologetic, but Adam only frowns.

“Why? You seem cool, and you’re, uh-“ He blushes, and you’re not sure what the fuck is going on. “I mean, you seem very capable, and Sam and Dean trust you-“

“I’ve been hunting with Dean for years. And Sam’s like my brother.”

Adam pauses. “But Dean isn’t?”

Fuck. “It’s complicated.” 

“Oh.” Adam nods slowly, looking back down to his feet. “Sorry, I’m not trying to push-“

“You’re not.” You sigh, tipping your head back to frown at the ceiling. “It’s all a lot.”

“Right?! I mean, I’ve got memories that aren’t mine, and angels are after us, and I- You’re really pretty but everyone seems to hate you- And you smell like vanilla-“

Adam’s words die before you can even fully register them, and when you look up. He’s knocked out. Head lolling to the side, eyes closed, mouth still parted and breathing steady. Ellen is the same, sitting at the table. 

Then a deep voice that you don’t recognize says your name in Enochian, and your head whips to see Yellow. Pure fucking Yellow, with eyes and fists and wings, made of gleaming, wrathful light. A little brighter than the Blue and the Red.

Michael.

“I had to knock them out.” He says, although there’s nothing apologetic in his tone. “They can’t look at me like you. It would’ve killed them, and I don’t think that’s any way for us to be introduced.” 

You swallow, and there are too many eyes looking at you. It’s like the Sky, concentrated down in a crude attempt of imitation. Because Michael isn’t the Sky. You remember the Sky, from when you were younger.

He was a lot angrier, and a lot lonelier. 

“I am Michael.” He adds, extending a hand. “And I know you’ve met.” He frowns. “Zachariah. I apologize for him, he’s a hard worker, but a bit of what human’s would call an asshole.”

Behind him, you can see Zachariah frown, but he doesn’t say a word. It’s a little amazing. 

“I think you’re supposed to introduce yourself.” Michael flexes his hands, frowning down at you. “I’m Michael. The archangel.”

You blink at his hand, then back to his eyes, seeming to crawl all over your skin. “You made me lose my groceries.” Your eyes narrow. “And my car-“

“I returned your car.” He corrects. “It is on the outskirts of your wards, Dean will find it soon. I had Zachariah return him and Sam safely, as well as Castiel. I would have put your groceries as well, but those wards are…” He chuckles. “Strong. You are quite the bright little thing. I like you.”

Your nails are digging into your wrists. “Why?”

“You are quite likable.”

“No, I’m not.” You snap. “And I meant why would you do that. For me?”

Michael frowns. “You are likable. Maybe not to humans, but you were not made for them. You are beautiful and kind and firm. Resilient. Perfect."

“That’s not answering my question.”

“You are stubborn as well.” Michael laughs to himself again. “But what is family if not fighting-“

“We are not family-“

“We will be.” Michael shrugs. “That’s why I saved your favorite humans. Which I understand. You haven’t seen. You don’t know that they’re all really the same yet. But you’ll learn. I can help you, until he gets home. And I understand why my little siblings have been so eager to keep you out, but they haven’t seen either. All they know is that you’re the great descendent of the mistake. The error. They don’t know that it’s part of the plan.”

Your eyes flick to Zachariah. “The- What?” 

“The plan. My father’s plan. He doesn’t make mistakes-” 

“What mistakes.”

“Lilith.” Michael frowns. “The first wife. A Magdalene, made wrong. But she wasn’t wrong, she was exactly what she was meant to be. Lucifer did ruin her,” he’s spitting his words now. “When he knew what the safety of her line meant to our father, but it didn’t matter. You are exactly as you’re supposed to be.”

The Silver is swirling and shifting like a storm in your body. You have an idea of where this is going, and once again, you don’t want to know. You’ve spent your whole fucking like desperate to know, and now it’s here and you want to go back, go home-

“And I would have preferred to keep you out of this,” Michael continues. “But you are moving things along. And the sooner we kill Lucifer, the sooner he comes home. All you need to do is convince Dean, and everything will be as it should.”

“I-“ Shaking breath. You have to keep it together, even if it’s by a thread. Even if it’s just so Zachariah doesn’t see you cry. “I’m not going to tell Dean to say yes to you. Ever.”

Michael sighs. “But you will. It is the only way you’ll be allowed to keep him. If Lucifer wins, he will be tortured for eternity. Alone. In pain. When we win, you will be allowed to keep him until the feelings fade. I will even let you speak to him, if you please.”

Until the feelings fade. They’ll never fucking fade. They hit you like a comet in the middle of June, almost ten years ago, and they’ve hurt, and they’re complicated but you weren’t able to make them fade, even when you tried to make them by force. “Lucifer said the same thing.” You mutter, holding Michael’s gaze. “About letting me have Dean.”

“Lucifer is lying. And he knows that you will grow bored of Dean, one I am gone. He is not who you were made for. Your attraction to him is the human part of you, but that will die when you take your place. When you sit on his throne, and know what true love really feels like.”

He’s wrong.

You know what true love feels like. 

It’s going back. Every single fucking time. Even when it hurts, even when it’s complicated, even when you want to run. Even when something is chasing you, so you do run, and you go and go and go and never stop, until you get a little tired and you want to go home. Back to where it’s safe. Back to where you can sleep through a night and lean on them in the morning. Then they lean on you, and you’ve never felt more important. And when they’re gone, you wish they were there. And you see them everywhere when you’re apart, but you still go back. You can never think of doing anything else. 

And every time you’ve looked up at the Sky, you’ve only wanted to run to where he couldn’t see you. And he’s never held you. Never leaned on you. Never done anything but shove you and yank you away. 

Every single time you’ve looked at God, you’ve only wanted to fucking hide.

“I’m not made for anyone.” You say, your voice far too soft. “I don’t have a place, I’m from fucking Chicago-“

“Your place is here.” Michael cuts you off with a frown. “It is where you were destined to be. And you were made perfectly. To mirror him. You are the Bride of God.”

You can’t speak. And you think, that if time didn’t keep moving, you’d turn to stone here. Maybe melt into only the Silver, and try to stretch to a corner of the universe where you could build something safe. Or just hover over Dean like a halo, too intangible for God to see you, still strong enough to keep him safe. Alive. Happy. 

But time doesn’t slow. And Michael sighs, scanning over you slowly, and says words you can somehow still hear. 

“I know this is likely overwhelming, but it is what you are meant to do. And it will all feel like nothing, in another millennia. I will give you time to think, if that helps. Zachariah?”

“Um- Yes, sir?”

“Do with the humans what you want. No harm to the Bride, but if we need to kid, we can bring him back, and the other one,” he frowns at Ellen, and ice feels like it’s being shot into your veins. Painful and cold. 

Startling you out of your stasis. Ellen.

“I believe her time was up already. Send her back to her Heaven.” Michael dips his head to you. “I will see you soon.”

There’s a flash, and Ellen and Adam groan behind you right as Zachariah’s eyes flash on your, and you step to the side. You said you wouldn’t fail. 

So you won’t. 

“Move.” Zachariah says your name in Enochian. “I don’t care what God wants you for, I’m not playing game with a little girl right now. They’re going back, you’re staying here.”

“I think I’m good.” You shrug, reaching past your jacket for your knife. You don’t really want to touch the Blade right now. “I recommend you move. Now.”

Zachariah sneers. “I don’t take orders from you-“

“I don’t care.”

The blur kicks in, and you’re moving. You slice at your own hand, then let the Silver fall out of you, into the knife. Then you’re rushing across the room and driving it right into Zachariah’s gut. He roars and reaches for you, but you’re faster. Studying Enochian paid off. You smear your blood Zachariah’s brow, paint it into a crude sigil as you twist the knife, and press it. 

He’s gone.

For now.

“We need to go.” You spin on your feet, your attention turning to Ellen and Adam, gaping on the floor. “He won’t gone for long, and if he gets back I’ll have to try something else, and I don’t-“ The image of Anna, ripped up by far too much power, flashes through your head. “I don’t know what it will do to you guys. Just- Adam-“

You grab his shoulders and he stares down at you. “Wha-“

“Stay still,” You mutter, squeezing your eyes shut. Life. Think of life. The summer in Bobby’s yard, and the warmth of home, and Dean, grinning at you and talking and laughing and life. 

The Silver moves forward into orange, and you can do this. You have to. 

“Sorry.”

“Why are you-“

You grab Adam’s orange, and let out a soft breath. The Silver flows with it, soft and delicate, and Life. 

You open your eyes, and Adam’s gone. 

You fucking did it. 

But when you turn to Ellen, any light dies in your throat. 

Zachariah’s holding her to his chest, and angel blade pressed to her throat. Just like Jo had been. 

You can’t fucking breathe.

“I wish,” Zachariah spits. “That I could kill you, you bitch. But I’ll settle for this instead. Maybe then Michael will let me at least chain you up properly.”

His blade presses a little further, your wrists sting with a phantom pain, you’re starting to build out. Too big. To do what you need to do, you’re going to have to be too sick. Deadly. And you’re bubbling lava under the earth and the lightning storms on a planet far away, and you can’t come back down. You said you wouldn’t fail. You said you wouldn’t fucking fail. 

Ellen says your name, and you shake your head. It’s too much. It hurts too fucking much- 

“It’s okay.” She whispers. “I don’t have much to go back to. Never had much except Jo. Always thought I’d end up dyin’ for her, and I didn’t get to, but she still went loved. She’d want you to be happy.”

“No-“

“I don’t think you know what’s happening, lady.” Zachariah scoffs. “I’m killing you, and she’s going to watch, and that’s it.”

Ellen’s gaze doesn’t break from your, and the weight of every single star—hot and pained and burning with fury and life and death all at once—is pressing onto your chest. 

“I’m goin’ no matter what,” she says your name softly. “And I didn’t get to die for my girl. Let me die for you.”

A broken sound leaves your throat. “I- I’m sorry-“

“I know. I’m good though, honey. You’re gonna be okay.”

You won’t be. 

Because when the Silver bursts out, sinking into Zachariah and pulling him out—prying him from his vessel, pressing him down until he’s contorted and his ugly brown is just a writhing little thing, in pain on the floor—Ellen goes too. You don’t think she’s gone. The Silver seems to grab her green and toss it somewhere, like ash and dust in the wind, but she’s not here. Not where you can bring her back. 

You failed.

You fall back into yourself with a shaking breath, and there’s a hole in the walls. Something is roaring for you on the other side of it, and it’s making the Spiderweb sing, tugging on something a little to the right of your heart. And the Silver goes dormant—though not quite as immovable in your body—and it all fucking hurts again. 

You’ll get through it. You have to get through it. You’re not going to be okay, but you have to get through it. There’s no other option, because you’re too far in it now, and God-

Later. A problem for later. 

You grab Zachariah off the floor and put him a small jar, before you step through the door. It spits you out on the side of a dirt road, Adam knocked out in the dirt a few feet away, and you know you’re back on Earth. 

God is watching you. Only watching, as you sit at Adam’s side and send Bobby a text that you’re alive. Dean will probably come to pick you up, and you’ll have to apologize to him. A million times. For all of it. For freaking him out, for failing, for how you have to tell him about being the Bride, and Michael, and everything Gabriel told you. That alone feels like a lifetime ago. 

You stare at Zachariah in his jar, and your head starts to turn a little too fast. You sort of have the Silver. And you’re made to mirror God. You keep saying you won’t fail, and then you do, but this- It could work. And if it doesn’t, maybe you’ll just implode on yourself and take Michael and Lucifer with you.

But you don’t have a lot of time. And you need to move. 

“Crowley.” You look up into the night sky, and there’s a soft rustle behind you. 

“Hello, love.” He’s grinning, when you tip your head back. “You ready to make a deal?”

“I don’t want Death.” You mumble, your voice hoarse. “I want Pestilence. And  I’m not kissing you.”

“One Pestilence, coming right up. And don’t worry,” He drawls your name with a grin. "I won’t take your revulsion to me personally. I’ve heard about you and Dean Winchester’s little bond.”

You ignore the Dean comment. “We got a deal?”

“Seems that we do.”

You nod, and your gaze flicks up to the Sky. 

To God. 

Watching you. Waiting for something you’re never going to give him, as long as just one fucking part of you—even if it’s just a river of Silver, embedded in Dean’s Gold—remains your own. He can call you his bride all he fucking wants. You’re not going down with anyone but Dean. 

Ever.

End Note: Times like these She really wishes she was a drinker.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[sweetcalebb]

Virgin! Caleb and Virgin! MC first time PLEASE!! but they don't know what they're doing (and some things go wrong hehehe) but they're all giggly and soft <333

Virgin!Caleb + Virgin!MC (reader) !

wc: 1.8k

a/n: i hope it was fluffy enough. i was trying to keep this as realistic as possible, SO maybe it wasn't fluffy bc of that!! as always, feel free to send another ask, comment, or DM me if this isn't what you wanted since this was kinda short-lived

You didn't mean for tonight to be the night. All he did was kiss you the way he always does—warm and sweet—then one thing led to another and now you were half naked. Nothing but a loose shirt to cover your upper half and socks to hide your toes.

First times were always made out to be some sort of magical moment in movies—beautiful music, five-second clips before it pans to the next scene, cute aftercare.

But this was nothing like that.

You were shaking so much, Caleb had to stop multiple times just to ask if you were okay. And now you were lying flat on your back, face flushed.

"We really don’t have to, if you don’t want to," he murmured, his breath uneven and shaky.

You shook your head. "I want to do this." You carefully pulled an arm around his neck and tugged him close, kissing him, still shaking. "I've wanted this for so long."

Caleb let out a soft whine. "I've wanted this too." He kissed you harder, his hands wandering restlessly. "More than you know."

"I'm just nervous," you breathed, bringing your other hand around his back.

"I promise I'll take care of you."

You sighed, subtly pushing up against him. "I know you will."

"Yeah?" Caleb pulled back, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. And when you nodded, he bit his lip to keep the pathetic little sound that tried to crawl up.

"Okay." He gently shifted over you, pulling a condom out of his drawer before sitting back on his heels in front of you.

Then he paused.

He swallowed hard, the tips of his ears burning red. "Uh.. can you.. look away for a sec?"

You felt a furious blush creep across your cheeks before you nodded and slapped your hand over your face. "Yes!" you breathed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

Except you did.

You couldn't help yourself.

This was your first time seeing Caleb like this, seeing anyone like this. And Caleb—God, Caleb was so handsome. So beautiful. You wanted to absorb every line of his body—burn it into your mind because it was all for you.

But you couldn't blame him for asking you to look away.

You were the one still in a loose shirt because you were too scared to take it off. And Caleb didn't even question you. Just pressed a small kiss to your forehead and nodded when you asked if you could keep it on.

Caleb shifted over you, settling between your thighs again when he finally slipped his condom on.

"Okay, you can look now."

You slowly drew your hand back, a sheepish smile spreading across your face. "Okay.. I'm ready. I think."

Caleb nodded, a stuttered little laugh slipping past his lips. "Okay.." With a shaky hand, he wrapped his hand around himself and nudged himself at your entrance.

It was small. Barely a little poke.

But you still yelped, the sound making Caleb jerk back. "W-what? Did I hurt you?"

You quickly shook your head, grabbing the corner of the blanket and pulled it over your mouth. "No! Sorry, it's just so new. It feels weird.."

Caleb's lips twisted into an embarrassed frown. "Bad weird?"

"No!" you repeated. "Good weird. I wanna feel it. Feel you."

Oh, God. You couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth.

"I'm sorry I'm so nervous." You shifted under him, subtly rolling your hips against him as if to prove that you still wanted it.

Caleb grunted, his hand tightening around the sheets beside your head as he leaned back in, trying guide himself in again. "It's okay."

Slowly, he pushed in. It was slow and careful. But the minute he stopped moving, he slipped out.

Caleb bit his lip. "Shit. Sorry."

You shook your head. "It's fine."

You thought you heard Caleb grumbling something about how it wasn't fine before he was pushing in again. Slow again, the pressure making your back arch off the bed.

Then he slipped out. Again.

Caleb made a small, frustrated noise, his cheeks burning red. "Sorry. I—I don't know why it won't stay in."

Your face flushed. Not because he couldn't do it, but because you just laid there and watched him. Didn't offer help. Nope. Just laid there all pretty and nervous.

Apparently people helped their partners during... this, but how were you supposed to when you weren't even sure where he was supposed to go?

"It's okay. I promise," you assured, voice a little shaky.

Caleb tried again. And again, it didn't work. He groaned, leaning forward to bury his face in your neck. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I don't—I don't know why—"

You gently wrapped your arms around him and rubbed your hands over his back. "We don't have to do anything."

Caleb breathed heavily, like he almost couldn't handle the embarrassment burning in his veins. "I want to. I really want to—I just can't—"

You gently nudged him back and cupped his face, a smile instantly breaking across your face when you saw his cute little pout and the frustrated, angry furrow of his brows.

"What?" Caleb whined. "Don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing. You're just so cute."

Caleb huffed, burying his face back in your neck. "I'm cute when I'm completely miserable and embarrassed?"

You giggled softly. "Really cute."

He tried to feign annoyance, but you could feel the smile tugging at his lips against your skin. "Can we try again...? With.. you on top?"

You bit your lip, your eyes big and soft as Caleb pulled back to look at you. "Yeah," you murmured.

You two shifted awkwardly before you were finally on top of him, shirt barely covering your hips as you hovered over him.

You nervously reached down, keeping him still as you took him. It was barely anything, just the tip, but you instantly felt the unfamiliar pressure again.

"I don't know if I'm doing this right," you breathed as you slowly sank the rest of the way. At least you thought you were. Or maybe you were doing it wrong...?

"Am I hurting you?"

Caleb shook his head, his hands tightening on your waist as you took him inch by inch. "No—fuck—no, you're not hurting me. You're doing it just right."

When he finally hilted in you, you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut.

Caleb swallowed hard, giving a weak nod in response. "Are you okay?"

You could only nod.

"I don't—I'm not gonna last long."

Caleb let out a stuttered breath as you rocked your hips. He'd imagined this moment hundreds of times. Had come apart with nothing but the thought of you. But nothing could've prepared him for this. For how amazing you felt.

"Pips..!" He gripped your waist tight, his voice cracking with the effort of holding back a moan.

"I'm sorry," you blurted, even when everything in you begged to move again. Just a little. To feel that new sensation.

Caleb grit his teeth. "'S'fine. You just.. feel nice."

Your chest swelled at his praise. "So I can move?"

"Yes—" he choked out. "Yeah, you can move."

At his permission, you slowly pulled off—just a little, barely even halfway—then sank back down. You winced, unsure if it was pressure or nerves or both.

You weren't used to the stretch. Weren't used to the slow burn in your belly every time he moved inside you. But you didn't want to stop. You couldn't. Not when he looked like that. Not when he sounded like that.

He was just so... good.

Head tilted back, eyes fluttered shut. Moans spilling past his lips like he just couldn't help it.

You went slow at first. Just giving experimentally little bounces, your lips parted with small gasps. It was uncomfortable—hurt, just a little. Then, when it started to feel good, you moved faster.

Caleb sighed beneath you, his hands fisting in your shirt as you slowly rode him.

"Feels—hah—s'nice.." His legs tensed up as he met your slow thrusts, gripping you tighter to gently guide you on top of him.

Caleb wasn't even fully aware that he was doing it; he was sloppy. Uncoordinated. Both of you were. You couldn't properly time your downward thrusts with his, but that didn't stop you. Didn't stop him either.

You were both a mess of whiny pants and incoherent words. The soft sound of skin against skin filled the room. It felt obscene. You'd heard that noise before, you just never thought you'd be the one making it.

"Fuck—wait—wait, I—" Caleb bit his lip, but it didn't stop the raspy little whimper that slipped out. "Pips, I'm—"

Then he was coming.

His whole body tensed beneath you, his arms locking around your waist and pulling you down to bury his face in your neck.

"Wait... Caleb, did you..?"

He clung to you like a second skin, broken little moans spilling past his lips. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to—I didn't think—God, I'm sorry."

You blinked, slowly bringing your hand around the nape of his neck and stroking the small hair there. "It's okay," you murmured. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Caleb whined, snuggling into you. "I was supposed to make you feel good."

"You did."

Caleb didn't say anything. Just let out a quiet huff and pressed closer.

"Let's just stay here and cuddle.. Yeah?"

Caleb nodded, letting you pull back to crawl off of him. He flushed, a stuttered gasp tumbling past his lips as he watched himself slip out of you. It wasn't fair. He should've lasted longer.

He reached for the condom, then paused. He swallowed hard, glancing back up at you. "Can you.. look away again?"

You nodded, sinking down into the mattress and looking the other way. Caleb shifted beside you. You heard a quiet groan, then the plastic bag of his trashcan crinkled. A little more shuffling, then he was curling his hand around your waist and tugging you close.

"I'm sorry."

You smiled, happily turning to face him and melting into his chest. "Stop apologizing. I promise it's okay."

Caleb hummed, resting his chin on your head. "I can try again in a few minutes."

"Caleb, you really don't—"

"Please? Let me make you feel good."

You smiled. "Okay."

—

taglist <- if u want to be added

tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @heartyluv @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @beaconsxd @haleaf @politefawn @colonelpantysniffer @villainessobsessed @lioria @inlovewithsylus @tired7o7 @justwinginglife @honeymoonfleur @stargirlygirl @peachlycheetea @calebsbabyapple @goochfiddler99 @lewdcifer778 @minivia @bidisasterforevermore

[only-lonely-star]

so your post abt your concerning amount of injured reader requests inspired me. you should totally do a gang x reader who just got out of surgery. like still under anesthesia that makes you act all high and stuff. i don’t remember if you do hcs involving the entire gang (separate ofc) or not, but if you don’t, then you could do this with dally or ponyboy— tysm ily and your writing 🤞🫶

Curtis gang x anesthetized!reader HCs

Curtis gang x gn!reader

Warnings: Reader is under anesthesia. Brief mentions of bruising and blood. Reader experiences mild pain.

Author’s Note: I decided to specify this request for wisdom teeth! I got mine taken out a few years ago so I have experience lol. enjoy!! <3

+ my little story time of when I got my wisdom teeth taken out at the end bc why not :)

✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 🦷 ✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Ponyboy

As soon as he saw you being pushed outside from a wheelchair, he just felt bad. Not because he had done anything wrong, but because it feels so scary to see someone he cares about so out of it.

I feel like his idea of someone being anesthetized is like ‘they zone out for a bit and slur their words’, but your experience was totally different.

If you were crying, he definitely thought you were in pain from the surgery. (For reference, some people cry when waking back up from confusion, stress, etc.)

Just by hearing your rambling, he was genuinely thinking ‘What the fuck…? Did they put you on anesthesia or something else?”

He’d try to be as helpful as possible, especially at first when you were numb inside your mouth. I think he would make a great nurse for the day and help talk you through your discomfort.

Maybe Pony would read you a book once you calmed down enough to understand what he was saying. At first you can’t do much else besides lay there and mellow yourself out, so he could easily kill time reading to you.

Ponyboy would remind you of what you’re allowed and not allowed to eat/drink/do within the first few days. The thought of dry socket scares the SHIT out of him. He wants absolutely noooo part in that.

Johnny

Johnny would laugh his ass off when you’re first rolled out of the operation room. Deep down, he’s a little scared of the possibility that he might have to have his wisdom teeth removed, so he disguises it with laughter.

He would try to fuck with you a little bit because he’s aware you can’t form coherent thoughts just yet. He thinks it’s sooo funny to watch you panic like that 😭 “Where’s your tongue?? They removed that too?!”

Okay, after he’s had a good laugh, I think he would try to comfort you a little. Especially if you were more emotional when waking up, he’d probably feel slightly guilty for teasing. I can totally see him letting you rest your head on his shoulder or blab about whatever as his way of showing you he’s there for you.

If you WERE a crier right off the bat, Johnny wouldn’t joke like that. He imagines that would feel like pure torture.

Since you can’t smoke, he’d do you a favor and exhale towards you so that you can get your dose of second-hand smoke in until you’re better.

He isn’t fazed by your all-liquid diet. Hard times have led him to consume soup, broth, and whatnot even though he can chew. I think he might try and keep solid foods out of your sight as a sign of respect.

Dallas

Similar to Johnny, I think Dallas would take one good look at you before bursting into laughter. He’s familiar with various drugs and such, but anesthesia isn’t anything like the party drugs he’s used to.

He personally thinks your swollen, gauze filled cheeks are hilarious.

No matter if you’re crying or not, I think he would try to straight up interview you on the spot. “How’s your mouth? Does it hurt? You remember who I am?”

He would take advantage of your state and try to get you to confess the most embarrassing things. Stories he can recall from ages ago that he knows you would never retell would just slip out because of your lowered inhibition.

The never ending teasing Dallas would commit to is just ruthless. You’ll be “chipmunk cheeks” to him forever.

He wouldn’t know better when it comes to post-surgery rules. He would try and be nice for once by bringing you a milkshake just to find out you need to be spoon fed instead of using straws like normal. As much as it would grate at his nerves, he would go back and out of his way to find you a spoon to slurp from.

Sodapop

He would be concerned at first glance, noticing the bruising on your cheeks and the swelling around your jaw. Soda would try and comfort you physically whether it be holding your hand or letting you lean on him for support. (This can be interpreted romantically or platonically)

When you’re rambling, he would simply nod along and go “mhm” every few mumbles so you felt heard.

During the car ride home, he tried to keep you as calm as possible. Crying or not, there’s usually a bit of a panicked reaction when first waking up from the anesthesia. I actually think Soda may have gotten his taken out before, so he knows it’s not super pretty.

Constant reassurance if you were one to cry a lot. “No, no it’s okay. It’s over now. You’re doing great.”

Once you’re a little more conscious of your surroundings, he would sit and listen to you talk about how you feel, what you need at the moment, etc. Overall, I think he would be super caring (partly because he has experience).

Steve

He would make a 😧 face when he first sees you because of how fucked up you look. He would be on the more stunned/amused type rather than comforting.

He would poke at your cheeks in fascination. The slight bruising on your jaw is “tuff” according to his judgment. “Looks like you took a few blows. I mean, it looks pretty tuff if you ask me😼.”

I think he would save the teasing until after you’ve gained full consciousness again.

He would be the type of person to try and make you laugh/cheer you up if you were crying from the anesthesia. I assume he would think you’re crying in pain or because of the blood on your gauze because he doesn’t have personal experience in this area.

If this was a modern au, he would definitely try to sneak a phone in and record you to embarrass you with videos later. Not in a mean way, but in a playful & teasing type of way yk?

He leans your head against the seatbelt in the car, trying to NOT touch your puffy cheek. His worst fear in the moment is for your gauze to fall out of your mouth and land anywhere on him.

Two-Bit

He covered his mouth like 🫢 when he first saw you, trying his hardest to not laugh IN your face.

He would talk to you like a child, and it surprisingly worked well. The slower, more simple sentences could actually be comprehended even though you were still under anesthesia.

Tries to get you to open your mouth to show him where they operated on you because he thinks the concept of surgery is so fascinating.

Similar to Soda, I think he would play along with your loopy rambling. If you’re speaking straight up mumbles that only make sense to you he’d try to mumble back like you’re speaking a language only the two of you know.

He’s oddly gentle with you. I think he would offer you something to eat (liquid foods) right away. He would try to take care of your needs because being on anesthesia does NOT look like him to fun. Funny? Sure. But fun? He would pass.

He hypes you up HELLA. I’m thinking in an encouraging but also impressive way like, “Look at you, you’re all done. It’s over! I couldn’t ever get my teeth taken out.”

Two-Bit makes you feel ‘guilty’ when he assists you. Obviously he’s just teasing, but under anesthesia you can’t take the hint. He would wipe your drool or adjust your bloody gauze and proceed to say something like, “Who else would do this for you? Mhm, exactly. Exactly! You owe me.”

Darrel

He’s so gentle and attentive with everything. He’s used to the role of a protective, caring, selfless big brother, but it’s like something snaps within him when he sees you so drugged and out of it.

He tries talking to you immediately, surveying how you feel, if you’re in pain, etc. Bonus points if you’re crying- he’ll try to ask if there’s anything he can do to help.

He tries to read the little pamphlet with care instructions from the nurses but he can’t even focus on it because he’s so concerned about you.

I feel like Darry would try and shadow you 24/7 post-surgery. If you’re asleep or simply resting on the couch he would pop his head in just to make sure you weren’t laying on one cheek or eating solid foods.

Again, this is more of a modern au type of deal- I think Darry would try and scold anyone who tried to record you. BUTTT he would take a picture for himself to keep as a silly memory, not to tease you endlessly.

He would probably be the one to drive you home post-surgery. He volunteered himself since he trusts himself enough to bring you back safely.

He shushes you when you try to ramble, he doesn’t egg you on like the others.

Story time:

My story isn’t all that interesting, but it was pretty funny to me when I retell it from my own perspective. I wanted my parents to record me so bad, but my mom insisted on not doing so. Okay so— I was brought into the operating room and sat down like normal. After about 30 minutes, who I think ended up being my surgeon came in with a thick ass needle. I knew right then and there that was the anesthesia. He starts asking me about school, what grade I’m going into, and what my favorite subject is as he’s injecting the anesthesia into my arm. I was talking like normal and I swear I blinked ONCE and I was suddenly in the backseat of my dad’s car. I remember closing my eyes for .2938384882 seconds and opening them to find myself sobbing and asking something along the lines of, “but how did I get from there to here?” and “Is it over?” repeatedly. I was sort of hunched over my lap/the back of the passenger seat with my hand stuck out towards my dad. I remember him holding it and trying to comfort me because he thought I was in pain or something. I’m 99% sure I was just confused and a little overwhelmed with the surgery feeling like a LITERAL blink of an eye. I wasn’t sad or hurting or anything like that. What’s cute is that my best friend got her wisdom teeth taken out just months before I did and claimed she was crying for me. I ended up doing the same thing, asking both my mom and my dad if she was okay and if I could text her to tell her I was awake. I also remembered seeing my brother get escorted from the exit doors into the backseat next to me. He had his eyes closed and mouth open saying shit like “I am fully awake and fully conscious” knowing DAMN well he was nowhere near planet earth. He swears he never said that but I remember him trying to act all hard so vividly. OKAY THIS IS GETTING LONG—. To conclude my little story time, I have to specify that this happened the summer after 8th grade and my Outsiders obsession was still so new to me because I read it 4th quarter of 8th grade. I was a lot more awake by the time I got home, so I could somewhat slurp down some of the milkshake my dad bought me. My mom and I laid down in her bed and we binged the Karate Kid movies together since she grew up as a Ralph Macchio/Michael J. Fox kind of girl lol. She also knew that I was really into The Outsiders and said I would like Karate Kid because I thought Ralph was sooo cute. My cheeks were bruised and puffy for WEEKS and I literally hated every single second of recovery. It felt like I could taste my own flesh because there were literal holes in my mouth from where the teeth used to be. To end this (for real this time) on a better note, I think it’s safe to say the surgery wasn’t all that scary. I was really nervous beforehand, but it turned out just fine. I recovered quickly and safely, and that’s all that really matters. So if you’re scared, don’t be! It wasn’t bad at all.

IF YOU READ MY LITTLE STORY YOU HAVE MY WHOLE HEART LOL (ts was NAWTTT little, it was longer than all of the headcanons combined)

TYSM FOR READING!!!

-Sophia 🫶🏼

[killerplink]

Thoughts on the boys with a s/o who has a chaotic sassy pet?

Be it our overprotective dog, like a husky, who barks at every display of affection and Dick is so flabbergasted bcs this is the first time he's had beef with any four legged friend?

Or Jason with a black lop bunny who angrily thumps it's fluffy feet whenever it sees him and growls(yes bunnies can do that) when he gets close to us?

Or Roy arguing with our two year old African Grey who is very articulate and is fully ready to start shit with him purely out of spite because it has a thing against gingers and Roy has no proof of that fact yet but he *k n o w s*?

And we're just laughing because it's glorious watching our two favourite boys having a go at each other.

Constant chaos in the house because Dick goes through the four stages of denial trying to befriend the husky and eventually one random evening he is finally able to kiss us without said pup attempting to push him out the window at the sight.

Or the lop bunny curled up on Jason's lap as he's reading and it's snuggled under his hand and quietly doing it's bunny purring.

And Roy is having proper conversations with our African Grey and teaching it how to differentiate between different bands and listening to music and getting another opinion on whatever nonsense he's concoting.

NO BECAUSE THIS IS ACTUALLY CINEMA??? 😭 the narrative arcs?? the enemies to lovers trope playing out between your chaotic little gremlins and your hot boyfriends?? it's so unhinged and I love it 😭

Dick Grayson being PERSONALLY OFFENDED that the husky doesn't fall in love with him on sight?? like sir, this has never happened to him before ✋🏻he's out there googling "how to win over territorial dogs" at 3AM while the husky sleeps on HIS side of the bed. he tries treats, affection, belly rubs but every time he leans in to kiss you, there comes that furry little menace like "UNHAND MY MOTHER YOU DICKHEAD" 😭 the drama when he finally gets a tail wag and a kiss without a bark, he's emotional. he's telling Bruce about it like it's a milestone. "he let me hug her, Bruce" lmao

meanwhile Jason acts like he's NOT scared of the bunny. "it's literally a puffball" he says as it growls at him like Satan reincarnated in velvet. BUT you catch him standing like a statue while the bunny thumps once and stares at him 😭 then one day, out of nowhere, bunny decides he's worthy. Jason's reading, it hops up in his lap like "I guess you can stay" 🫠 Jay sits there frozen like he just got knighted. he won't say a word, though. he just gently strokes its ears with the tiniest smile on his face like "nobody breathe or she'll change her mind" 😭

ROY?? POOR ROY IS IN BIRD HELL. the african grey has his number and is not letting up. it mocks his voice. it repeats "ugh Roy 🙄" every time he enters the room, all dramatic and shit 😭 he's trying to be the bigger man but it called him "raggedy red" the other day and he hasn't emotionally recovered 😭 now he's trying to reason with it like it's a roommate. "okay, but what do you have against redheads? that's GINGERPHOBIC, man" 😩 and the parrot just goes "BOO!" and flaps away. you, on the other hand? you're on the couch SOBBING with laughter. Roy insists it's targeted harassment and starts teaching it AC/DC lyrics out of spite. the bird now sings "Back in Black" and Roy swears it's proof they've bonded 😭

it's just you, the love of your life, and a small zoo of emotionally volatile pets who hate your boyfriends until they don't, and it's perfect 😩 thank you so much for this, bestie 😭 it made my day 🥹 hugging you through the screen right now 🫂🫂🫂

[ulteri0rm0tives]

Now.. I'm not doubting Johnny somewhat (?) loved Alt in his own convoluted and severely misguided ways but uh.. to call them soulmates? Did we uh.. did we not play the same game? Watch the same scenes? Because it's crazy y'all r saying that when we literally play as his actual soulmate

[seiwas]

Of course I forgot to send in the cute birthday celebration challenge forgive meee 😭 (but omg no pressure to answer if the birthday girl isn’t feeling up for it!!)

But let’s try…

Sun + Moon for our blasty boy Bakugo 👀

you catch katsuki in the in-betweens.

he’s grown suspicious of it—you know he out of all people would notice; but you neither confirm nor deny that it’s intentional.

there’s something about katsuki in that sliver of space and time right before sunrise and sunset—right before the shift into something new.

“someone’s excited,” you sneak up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you kiss his cheek.

he grumbles before giving you a side-eye, cheeks turning a shade darker under the twilight. his lips part slightly as if he’s about to say something, but he tuts instead, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth—no sharpness, no bite.

you look at him curiously, hanging on to the stillness of the hour.

today is supposed to be a busy day—the start of a long trip for you and katsuki; the start of his first ever long trip, actually.

“somethin’ on my face or some shit?”

you snap out of staring, gaze falling straight into his—vermillion red softened into a deep mauve amidst the blue light.

this is why you do it—

the perpetual frown on his face is gone, the tightness of his jaw loosened. there’s a look in his eyes that tells you there’s been something on his mind for a long, long while.

—this is why you catch katsuki in the in-betweens.

you give him a small smile, a little mischievous as you lean in and peck him on the nose.

“now you do,” you giggle as you inch closer on the wooden step.

he rubs his nose immediately, checking for smudges of lipstick, “fuckin—“

“just all my lovin’,” you tease.

you’re half expecting him to get back at you for it—to tickle you or smother you in kisses of his own; katsuki can be aggressive in love, a fact you’ve come to know well over the years.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he stares. a few paused seconds that feel slowed down to eternity. there’s the look again, like something’s been on his mind, combined with the look people say he only has for you.

suddenly, you feel nervous—for what, you don’t know, but your hand searches for his out of instinct. it’s damp when your palm sticks against his, his fingers intertwining with yours like a habit of his own.

he turns your clasped hands over, catching view of the back of yours.

it stays quiet for a few moments—a side of him you only see in times like this. you know there’s a war waging on in his head, a decision he’s been mulling over just waiting to be spilled out.

you know because katsuki only ever sits out before sunrise when he has a lot on his mind.

“you okay?” you whisper.

he hums, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, “just thinkin’.”

“you can tell me…” you nudge, “…if you want,” the butterflies in your stomach flapping harder.

you hold your breath.

he chuckles, that damn attractive half-sigh, “don’t know how yet.”

and you think you know what it is—a conversation you have every now and then, always with open-ended conclusions. katsuki has his issues, and so do you—

“just say it how it is,”

you never pressed him for answers, fully content to live at the pace he wanted because you loved him and that was enough.

—but when katsuki looks at you like this, like you’re everything gone right in his life, it’s hard not to think about the possibilities of more.

tears begin to collect along your waterline as he leads your hand into his pocket, your fingertips grazing a small velvet box.

you choke up, tears falling as you pout.

“woke up in the middle of the night with a fuckin’ god awful migraine,” he starts, wiping your tears with his thumb, “so i thought i’d go for a run, y’know, sweat it out and shit.”

you nod, listening.

“but when i got out of bed, you started mumblin’ my name,” he takes a deep breath, “thought you were awake, honestly, but you didn’t say anythin’ when i asked what you needed.”

“looked like you had a nightmare, so i went back to bed, and—” he pauses, collecting his words as he breathes out, “—you hugged me n’—”

his eyes gloss over as he tucks you into his side.

“—you told me you loved me.”

it’s not anything new—you both know that; you tell him you love him all the time. but—

“fuck, i’m ramblin’,” he half chuckles again.

“i love that about you too,” you sniffle, half-giggling as you nudge his chin with your nose.

you intentionally catch katsuki in the in-between’s because you love the side of him that comes out when he’s a little loose-lipped; a little less tense from all the day’s worries. you love the way he rambles, how he goes off on a tangent when he’s especially passionate about something.

he gives you a look so soft, your heart swells.

a small smile makes its way to katsuki’s face as he grips your hand tighter.

“couldn’t go back to sleep ‘cause all i was thinkin’ about was how to keep it this way forever.”

you’ve pictured this moment a few times before, all in different scenarios, situations, locations—always with the note that even if it didn’t happen, you’d be okay.

but now you have this: you and katsuki, on the wooden steps right by your garden bathed in twilight.

“decided on it for a while, just didn’t know when would be right,” he fishes the box out of his pocket, fiddling with it as he takes your hand in his other one.

“i know you said that lovin’ me was enough, but forever’s a fuckin’ long time,” he half-chuckles again, a little choked up, “you didn’t think i’d let you waste that on some loser who won’t even ask you to marry him, did you?”

you don’t think you’re coherent when you respond, a mess of tears and all the love you can pour out. katsuki doesn’t even get to show you the ring before you tackle him, nodding into his chest.

it doesn’t matter, anyway—

it was more than enough that he even asked.

n/a: thank u for sending this prompt erika!!! i am so rusty but i am writing this with all the katsuki feelings in me, my heart could burst!!!! sun & moon = twilight just because of the presence of both during that hour; i also just think it’s such a delicate balance to have—which i think also describes their relationship! katsuki has commitment issues 🥲 sorry, i love writing him in the process of healing ajkdndkd also !!! i also think katsuki can be romantic in his own way like wdym he reads all those shoujo mangas … there is stored romance in that boy . maybe not the smooooothest but yk. it works. and also, he wasn't rlly planning on proposing at this moment (more during the trip) but !! just felt right yk?

[wackywatchdotcom]

something i genuinely adore about tadc is how painfully flawed everyone in the circus is. and not in a small way

everyone does SOMETHING that negatively impacts the others. but it makes the fact that you are supposed to sympathize with and really connect with them all the more potent. because its easy to want to put a bunch of characters in a bad situation together and to just have them all be nice to each other and everyone and never make mistakes because theres no reason to hurt each other, and most of them dont TRY to, but the way they cope is so, so realistic for each of their personalities, and it doesnt always mesh with the others, and sometimes it exceeds self destructive and Just Hurts Others, Too

they still generally care about each other and the mistakes they make and the ways they end up hurting each other dont lose their weight but like. it doesnt take away from their humanity and the fact that they are all trying so hard to manage in an awful situation

and the characters seem to have sooome sort of understanding of this too. not fully, because the characters dont tend to be 100% communicative, but when they hurt each other, it often makes EVERYONE uncomfortable. because these are the only people they have. these are their friends. and theyre all coping. but it doesnt change how much it affects them (best illustrated by ragathas lines at the start of ep 2 or gangles 'i love her, but after a while it gets kinda hard to tell how genuine shes actually being'). its not all like this, theres a good amnt of variety, but characters knowing this but not really knowing what to do about it is very painful in an effective way

(i think a subtle example of this is how zooble handles gangles situation in ep 4- they were so genuinely trying to help her because they care. but could tell as the day went on that oh, this is not working at all and its making things worse, and they leave gangle alone- something that very genuinely couldve been the moment she abstracted, because of the mask zooble gave her- and we dont get to have a super blatant explanation of zoobles thoughts on it, but they reach a fairly healthy conclusion about it that helps both of them, and i like that a lot, because on paper zooble could be placed at fault but the narrative doesnt dwell on it excessively, because thats not the point. i dont know if that tangent makes sense but i think about it sometimes. i think zooble wasnt 'to blame' but it was still a mistake, which is a hard balance to strike, and having them help at the end feels extremely effective at rounding it off!!!)

but like. in general its complicated balancing making characters in a bad situation act flawed because it can run the risk of seeming like the story is scolding them or blaming them for the situation theyre in, or like youre expected to not sympathize with them despite it (though the inverse also has complications- if characters in a bad situation never mess up, it feels unrealistic and hard to relate to, and can imply that their innocence is why whats happening to them is bad at all), but the show handles it so well

even the characters who are genuinely trying all try in different ways- some of them have similar outlooks or attitudes towards these thing but theres vital differences for ALL of them- sometimes it works and sometimes it doesnt. in fact some of the more painful mistakes characters have made in the show have come from them so genuinely trying (like the thing i mentioned w zooble, or basically Everything Ragatha Does, or pomnis first attempt at helping gangle, etc), which hits harder than if every mistake characters made had wholly selfish and cruel goals.

i mean, there is a selfishness to many of the characters' actions but imo not in a way thats not warranted. because all of them are in a horrible setting. its uncomfortable to watch characters be selfish. but it is a natural instinct to survive. its not the foundation of most of their actions, but when it is, its uncomfortable but hard to completely disparage them for in a way that makes you feel kinda conflicted

and like. it hurts to be doing your best and for that to make things worse, but its what happens often in the show. because no one in a bad situation is gonna handle it well. by the very nature of trying to survive something is gonna give, but it makes the themes of the show so much more powerful. that making sure the people around you dont feel unloved, cherishing them and finding meaning with others is no less important just because everyone is fucking up. it complicates things, for sure, but it doesnt make those characters exempt fromt this. theres a reason pomni tells gummigoo that she doesnt want "anyone" to feel like theyre nothing, and that kinger doesnt add ANY quallifiers to making sure people feel wanted and loved (not that i think either of them were thinking SUPER super hard, but it conveys smth from the perspective of the narrative

it gets complicated when you add in jax for sure, since i think on the surface he IS the exception to this concept- none of the characters like him, including pomni or kinger. but i think this is something thats gonna be examined further down the line, bc hes the main complicating factor in this reading of the show, but i feel like thats on purpose. hes universally disliked (and so is caine, in a different way) and his actions arent mistakes. they are him coping. the show has made it clear that he can be a complex person AND also a piece of shit. his actions dont detract from the fact that hes a person and the show reminds us of this. so it makes things so messy, but im genuinely super excited to see how the show examines that. where his character goes is, imo, going to be a massive piece of how this show fleshes out this concept

[spock-adoodledoo]

permanent starter call for apothecary side character enjoyers specifically tianyu likers

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

It's missing my father hours rn so imma just dump a bunch of pictures here and cry

( sorry i don't know the source of anything I just had them on my phone)

(also dont read the tags i just need to let it out lol)

[astrxealis]

me rn having the biggest hots for leon kennedy and astarion sorry LMFAOOO <3

[heartbeetz]

Going to look at a couple apartments tomorrow and the next day... the anxiety is setting in

[ramblingsfromthemoss]

My cousin just walked into the kitchen, dead silent and holding his katana, and returned moments after a loud thunk and just said “the rat is no more”????

Normal visit to the grandparents’ I guess

[akascow]

so weird watching a youtube ad and lukas gage just appears and smashes his face with a barbell plate

[depresseddepot]

my big monster beast wild man of a cat (toby) got into a fight with the baby (odie) and this is the first time the baby has gotten his whole ass kicked and he is so confused

pictured: the bitter brothers (toby is green, joey is orange and white, odie is brown and white)

[kisses4reid]

criminally hot | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you get wrongfully accused by a sheriff, and it isn’t you who’s angriest. it’s your boyfriend who has to expose your relationship in order to clear you.

genre - spencer x bau!fem!reader, fluff, slight angst if u squint, angry reid x calm reader

wc - 1.2k

warnings - reader uses she/her pronouns, handcuffs, violence, a weird white man i know id be fucking scared as well, oh swearing as well.

a/n - i love u you’re so awkward i am doing so well bc of ur request, keep requesting things your brain is crazy. ummm anyways this is my first time writing this kinda thing omg how exciting okay start reading it wtf you still doing here?

request - ( from @babyoureahauntedhouse ) omg hii!!! :3 this is my first time requesting, so please excuse the awkwardness 😭😭😭😭 first of all, how are you????? i hope you’re doing amazing!!! absolutely no pressure, but can you do one where reader gets falsely arrested (not a huge thing, maybe in a police station at a small town or something) and spencer absolutely **loses** his shit at how she’s being treated????? like, she’s freezing and the sheriff or somethjng keeps pushing her and then he just bursts into the interrogation room and uncuffs her and it’s just very fluffy???? thank you!

Emily handed you your coffee with a smile, receiving a small thank you in return. It was warm in your hands and created a comforting contrast to the cool chill of the police precinct you were set up in.

Things were going well given that you’d only been in the small town for half a day. The team debriefed on the plane, but Aaron had been on the phone with the leading detective for at least an hour now asking him where he was.

Emily headed off to the restrooms when a slender hand made its way to your waist. You turned and felt your cheeks heat, knowing exactly who is was.

“Hi Spencer.”

“Hi Y/n.” His eyes held sweetness in the chocolate swirls, and you felt like a kid who had been given candy. Spencer and you had been dating for a few months, but somehow in a team of profilers you both kept things under wraps, even with Spencer’s clumsy touches and your lingering stares. “I wish we were home,” he whispered.

You glanced around for anyone who could witness your interaction and get suspicious, but you were mostly alone other than Hotch and some officers who were weirdly taking a lot of attention to you.

“Yeah me too. I’m feeling oddly popular and not in the good way.”

Before you could talk more or offer him a sip of your coffee (even if you know he doesn’t like it), Aaron calls his name and the slim tall boy scurries away with a straight face.

You turn to find something to do. To reread a case, to help someone fill out papers, to talk to Morgan or Garcia. You would’ve opted to huddling in your cardigan if a tall man didn’t interrupt.

“Y/n L/n?” He asked in monotone. His arms were at his sides, one hovering above a pair of cuffs that hung from his police belt. Furrowing your eyebrows you answered,

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“You’re under arrest for the robberies of…”

His voice pounded into the background of your head, thoughts attacking your eyes through a sudden headache as the words registered before you could help it. The room was silent except for the man’s voice, yet all you could hear was the furrow of eyebrows and quick approach of your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

“What’s going on here?”

“Your agent has been seen…”

You stood still as another officer came behind you and forced handcuffs onto your arms, gripping your wrists with unnecessary force that would surely leave bruises. You winced and looked between your boss and the officer, and then at Spencer, who was being pulled back by Morgan. He yelled your name in worry, witnessing the hardened grips on your body and rough pushing you were being subject to. Your coffee splattered on the ground, staining your white shoes.

There was only mumbles and white noise, as your eyes met with Spencer’s. The large officer behind you kicked your leg to get you moving, the shock glueing your shoes to the rubbery floor. And you almost didn’t even notice the hand on the back of your neck pushing you towards a dark room with a desk and two chairs.

You were so familiar with these rooms and yet it felt so different.

Of course, you didn’t actually do anything. And of course you attempt to clear that up to the officers who are slamming their hands on the table and screaming as much as they could, in a poor attempt to intimidate you.

Aaron was in the corner with a scolding face and hard hand to his chin, observing the situation with an intensity you barely ever see.

“Last month, you were seen at one of the houses that got robbed over night. You left a few days later, after also being seen at two of the other houses-“

“So she was seen at three of the ten houses robbed and you arrest her?” Aaron spoke up, bringing the men’s attention to your boss instead of you. You took the opportunity to look outside of the window.

Though it wasn’t clear, you could make out the outline of a tall boy you wished would just break into the room and save you.

And he did.

“Your evidence is illogical and childish. She’s an FBI agent for gods sake-“

“Anybody can be a suspect Agent Hotchner, even federal agents.” The tall one replied with a stubborn mumbled.

Suddenly, the door was slammed open and you were met with a disheveled Spencer panting with a red and severe face. He didn’t even bother looking at you before he starting schooling the men in blue, who at that point were glaring at him and attempting to look more intimidating than they actually were.

“I’ve read your files on this case and nothing links to Y/n L/n, not one-“

“There’s no way you read our-“

“I can read more in a minute than you can in a day, dickhead. Y/n was meeting old school friends when she was in town, we went to the Diner Inn afterwards and we met with her parents who have receipts for the meals because they’re-“ he turned his glance at you,” “sorry Y/n- they’re hoarders. You have nothing against her other than some positively reported visits and some photos of her hugging the house owners.” Spencer had slowly pinned the officers to the opposite wall unconsciously. It was hot. “I was there, I’m her receipt. And like her parents, she loves keeping those. So if you want to insist she’s your culprit, go for it. But your going against a man with eidetic memory and a lot of evidence.”

And while he was logical and correct, he was also a little too truthful.

The officers blinked in fear. Spencer definitely didn’t seem the type to yell or swear, so this clear, concise and undermining approach to the situation was somehow even scarier.

“Spencer,” you began, “thank you.”

He looked at you, his expression softening into empathy and care, “Of course.” His hands found a key in his back pocket as he approached you, starting to promptly uncuff you.

As Aaron continued to speak with the officers of their major mistake, Spencer took you outside of the room and into a private office. Your heart was racing, but it seemed Spencer was more stressed than you. He paced as you leaned onto the front of a wooden desk, hands over your chest as your eyes trailed Spencer.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I should’ve reacted faster, then you wouldn’t have been..” He stopped closely in front of you, his breath hot on yours as his gaze scoured over your body for injuries or bruises. “Are you okay?”

You smile calmly, “I’m fine. My leg hurts, and I think my wrists will be bruised, but I’m fine.”

He took your hands and rubbed his thumbs on your wrists carefully, causing butterflies to explode in your stomach.

“Thank you Spencer.” Your eyes dance with each others. “You were really hot. Maybe I need to get arrested more often.” You joke with a lift to your voice and a smirk, causing him to look down with a smile and shake his head.

“If being angry makes me hot maybe you should reevaluate what you-“

Your lips found his, you hand going to his bicep and his going to the back of your neck, before a clearing of the throat took you both out of your trances. It was Hotch.

“I’ve got some paperwork you both need to sign. About the arrest and,” his hand waved between you two, “this.”

Morgan stood behind Aaron with a smirk, leaving quickly to go tell Garcia that she had lost their bet.

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[polaris-daydreams]

(my) baby likes it messy

pairing : andrew “pope” cody x reader 

warnings : HEAVY SMUT ❗❗masochism, tiddy fucking, blowjob, rough facefucking, tip kissing, dacryphilia, choking, spit in mouth, swallowing spit, shared cum eating, pussy spanking, condescending degradation, begging, pussy eating, mutual masturbation, multiple orgasms, pressing on wounds, fighting, slapping, punching, manhandling, blood, injuries, sadism, breeding kink, cumming inside, switch!dynamics, angst, hurt/comfort, implication of that 1 line from baz to pope :(. pet names used : kiddo, kid, baby, sweet baby, pretty baby, sweet thing, daddy, mommy. DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18 ❗❗

summary : part 2 to this. Where you and pope use play fighting (and fucking) to talk about your feelings instead. read part 3 & part 4

w/c : 4.2k (WHEW this was a beast to write !!)

a/n : 2nd time writing smut but i was still rly struggling bcs i had so many diff scenarios typed out separately that it was difficult to piece them all tgr and make them work. i'm super nervous about this :") a lot of ppl were looking forward to pt 2 so im realllly hoping i did pope justice and that its satisfactory for yall <3. gif credits: @ozarkthedog. divider credits: @cafekitsune. writing prompt credits: @loveisanimaginarydagger3000 @urfriendlywriter. pretty please leave comments or rambles in reblogs <33 so i know how well i did :))

“You really wanna do this now kiddo?” Pope breathes out in disbelief.

“Why not? We always agreed the play fighting was okay. Let out stress n’ whatnot.” You play with the ring on your hand, as if what you were asking of Pope was completely normal.

Pope shakes the towel in his hair, the water droplets flying in every which way. His ribs a splotchy canvas with bruised purple.

“You want me, right now,” he makes his way over, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. “To fight and fuck you while I’m completely naked and you’re only wearing panties and my shirt?”

“Hey, you said it yourself. Told me you’d fuck me face down in your bed. Wouldn't stop giving it to me even if I begged … what was it again? Oh, right. Even if I begged sweetly.”

Pope stares at you with a tired expression. The kind where you’ve had to put up with your spouse’s antics for the 15th year in a row. Except that wasn’t a luxury you guys had together, with the two of you coming to terms with your feelings only when he got back from prison. So his eyes soften at the edges even when you talk back to him.

“Come onnn Pope, you know the whole family’s gone tonight. No ones gonna care that you're chasing and fighting me while butt ass naked.” You stand up and walk towards him.

“Kid, I really think you don't know what you're getting yourself into.” Pope meets you halfway, hands naturally finding your waist.

He thinks he should steal a kiss from you. What else can he think about when you look up at him like that and pout your lips?

His thoughts drift away when you do, his hands falling as you turn, walking away with your back towards him.

He frowns.

“Well, I guess I better find J then. M’sure he’s not too busy for me.”

The frown turns into a scowl.

“Dont fuckin’ say shit like that, kid.”

You spin around easily, your (his) big shirt flowing with the movement. Clasping your hands behind you and rocking on your heels,

“Why? Since you only talk a big game, I’ll just find someone else who can really fuck me good. Cum in me reallll deep a-”

You turn quickly, anticipating Pope surging towards you, you dash across the room and just barely manage to grip the edge of the glass door when Pope’s body slams into the back of you. The impact of his body and his hand landing on the glass, rocks you towards it. You're unable to stop your temple from thudding against it. Pope’s hand is keeping a tight grip on the edge, his warm body caging you in. You can feel his cock just barely touching your ass, his chest contracting and expanding from jealousy. 

But none of those are what scares you.

What scares you is when he gently tips your chin upwards, angling your face to him. Keeps his thumb caressing your cheekbone, as he plants the softest kiss on your temple. The same place you got hit.

He takes away his touch, just enough to put his forehead to yours.

“That’s the only time I’m being soft with you tonight, baby.” He mutters against your lips.

Then, all traces of that softness is gone as Pope bends down and hauls you over his shoulder, holding you by the waist. You slap and scratch at his back, scraping your sharp manicured nails along his injuries. You feel a shudder shake his body, but you’re certain it was more from pleasure than pain.

He puts you down on the floor in front of the bedpost, making sure to land you ass first to cushion your fall as he crawls his way over your body.

You kick at his frame, landing hits on his bruised ribs. You’d almost feel bad but his hard cock tells you he’s enjoying all of this. 

Pope catches your ankle when you're kicking at him, dragging your whole body down easily with one strong arm. He sits on your legs to keep them down, you pull yourself up just for him to quickly crawl up the length of your body, bunching up your (his) black shirt to expose your tits. Pope lets you slap him around, even lets you land one on his face. Groaning deep in his chest, he finally makes his way up, straddling just below your chest. His knees are on either side of your boobs as he squeezes them together with his hands.

Leaning his face closer, giving you easier access to slap and punch as he draws back his hips, then shoves his hard cock back in between the valley of your tits squished together.

“This is fucking humiliating Pope, I hate you.” You whine out, embarrassed.

“Oh sweet baby, you don't even know what's waiting’ for you if ya think this is even close to humiliation.”

Pope looks down at you with an evil smirk, fresh blood appearing on his face from your fighting.

He distances his face from you, so that your blows hit his stomach and chest instead.

You see his abs ripple as you rake your claws down, red lines following your trail.

“Shit, kid c'mon, play a little nicer yeah? Why don’t you stick out that pretty tongue of yours. Give my tip some attention, yeah?”

Pope tilts his head when you remain defiant. Biting down on your lips to drive the point home.

“It’s like that huh kid? Alright, I only wanted you to nurse the tip. But since you wanna be that way, I’ll just make you take me whole.”

Pope barely finishes the last word before parting your lips forcefully with his hand, the force of it making your teeth catch on your lips, tearing apart the delicate skin. 

His gaze falls to the blood escaping your lips. He holds his cock in one hand, tapping it against your soft lips before swiping his tip over the leaking blood. There's a dark twinkle in his eyes, then he lets go of his cock, opting to place both his hands in your hair before sheathing himself into you.

You choke on it as his cock buries deep in your throat. Pope hisses as the warmth of your throat envelopes him. He draws back his hips until just the head is still inside, then bucks his hips forward again.

He maintains this pattern, speeding up when he sees tears escape and fall down your gorgeous face.

“Awh pretty baby. Is my baby crying, yeah? Crying cause I’m so fuckin’ deep in her?. Can my baby not take it, me using, oh fuck, using her like a cocksleeve?”

“You look so pretty like that kiddo. Look soo fuckin' good swallowing my cock and crying. Fuck, you crying all over my cock makes me so much more harder.”

With your eyes glossed over, you squeeze down aimlessly on his chest.

“Oh, sh-shit, yeah do that again c’mon kid press down on my ribs.”

You oblige, Pope making himself fit in the warmth of your throat one last time as his body bends forward from the high. His abs constrict, forehead banging against the bedpost as he milks himself into your mouth.

“Fuckkking hell kid, you're so good to me.”

He pants over you, pushing against the bedpost with his hand to reel back on his heels.

Fuck, you look so gorgeous like this.

The tip of his cock resting on your lips.

Your mouth filled to the brim with his cum.

Tears staining the path down your face.

Glossy eyes looking up at him.

Pope grabs his still hard cock, swiping it across your bottom lip, smearing cum all over you like it's lipstick.

“Give it one last suck kiddo. Wouldn't want to waste a drop would we?”

You listen this time.

Putting your soft lips over his head, you suck on it like a lollipop, swirling your tongue around it once before it leaves your mouth with “pop!”. You place a gentle kiss on the tip, making Pope’s eyes soften.

He guesses he’ll indulge you this one time (it's a lie, he’ll keep being soft with you no matter how jealous you make him, how hard you hit him.)

Pope smooshes your cheeks by grabbing your jaw, and you already know what he’s doing to you, giving to you.

So you stick out your cum-filled tongue, letting him spit in your mouth.

He shuffles down your body, his hips meeting yours as he brings his face down to yours. Cradling the side of your face, he kisses you slow. Presses his tongue inside, tasting his own cum as he makes out with you. Its sloppy and messy. 

“Swallow.” Pope whispers against your lips, still kissing and licking.

The both of you swallow at the same time, sharing the cum.

His forehead is pressed against yours when he asks softly,

“Still up for playing?”

Dark eyes shining at your cock-drunk nod and smile.

Pope waits for you to start the round, lessens his body weight on you.

You take the chance to shove him with all your might, getting him to topple to the side. You rise quickly, trying to steady your wobbly legs. Your footsteps stomp on the floor until you feel him gripping the back of your hair, but your arm is already reeling backwards. The sound of your fist connecting to Pope’s nose makes a sickening crunch. Blood splatters onto the bedsheets as his body bends that way. 

Not stopping, you drag him by the collar, hooking your leg behind his knee and throwing him to the bed using your whole body. Clambering on top of him once he hits the soft mattress.

You reel your right hand back to land another punch.

But Pope smiles.

Blood dripping out of his nose down to his lips.

Caused by a punch from you.

Yet he still looks at you like you hung the moon.

You falter, your hand still mid air.

That's enough for Pope.

He’s bigger, faster so he reverses your positions easily.

His left hand pushing down on the back of your head, smooshing your cheeks to the mattress. He kneels on the back of your legs, the whole of his body weight pinning you down. Your hands reach out behind you, clawing and slapping his arms. He groans as you draw blood. His knees slipping off of you for just a second, still caging you in between his legs, but his body weight isn't on you anymore. You take the chance to raise your hips, his hand still holding your head down.

But you’ve walked right into his plan.

Pope sneaks his right hand between your legs, stopping it right in front of your panties, as he grinds his cock down into your ass.

“Oh, f-fuck”

You stutter as the force pushes you deeper against his fingers. Legs clamping closed to stop his fingers from circling your pussy through the panties.

Pope lets out a dark chuckle.

“C’mon kiddo, don’t you wanna play with me?”

He brings his face closer, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your spine. Leaves a trail of blood up to your neck. His voice is husky when he speaks in your neck.

“I know you wanna, c’mon spread those legs f’me. Let me make you feel good, let me play with your pretty pussy yeah?”

You try to shake your head, muttering out weak “no”s.

Pope just tuts disapprovingly, using his knees to spread your legs apart himself. Your chest falls forward, so you’re ass up face down. 

“Mm no baby? Baby doesn’t want her pretty pussy played with, s’that right?”

He tears your panties in one swift motion, shoves two fingers deep easily from how wet you are.

A soundless scream escapes you from how sudden the intrusion is.

“Then why's the greedy little thing justtt sucking my fingers in huh? Y’hear that kiddo, fuck you’re absolutely  gushing ‘round me.”

He starts grinding his hard cock against your propped up ass again, the force making his finger go deeper and deeper.

Your soft “uh, uh, uh”s fill the room along with the obscene slick sounds.

“Damn kid, could probably just slip inside that pretty pussy with how wet you are. Maybe I should add another yeah?”

He does just that, and uses his thumb to draw circles around your clit at the same time.

You cry out, trashing against his hold. It's all too much. Him grinding against your ass. Three fingers reaching that spot he knows makes you crazy. The deep, slow circles putting pressure on your clit, just the way he knows you like it.

“S’too m-much, too much ple-pleasee I can’t.”

“Oh? S’too much?” Condescension drips like honey from his lips as he mocks your high pitched pleas.

“Or maybe I heard wrong. Maybe y’said you wanted more please? Well when you beg for more so nicely, 'course you can have more, kiddo.” 

He takes out his fingers, and you think he finally takes pity on you.

Until Pope slams the entirety of his thick cock into you, with one motion he’s buried to the hilt. You wail, tears blurring your vision and making a mess of your face.

“Fuckkkkk, Goddamn kid your pussy’s made for me. Greedy little thing just sucked me in, fuck me.”

You choke on your crying, drool escaping the side of your mouth. 

You feel Pope repeating a brutal rhythm, pulling out till the last inch of his cock, then diving back in.

“Sweet thing, what happened to all that back talking hm?

Garbled moans and high pitched whines are the only thing escaping your lips. 

Pope sighs with mock disappointment, before reaching the hand that's not pinning your head, down between your thighs.

Spank! 

Your body jolts, electricity shocks travelling everywhere.

“Asked you a question, kiddo.”

Pope’s voice doesn’t falter a bit, even when you're a drooly, dazed mess.

“M’sorry,” you sniffle between your words, “M’sorry Andrew, won’t … won’t do it again. Can’t take it, please.”

“Yeah? S’that true? You’re sorry Andrew? N’ what’re you sorry for sweet thing? C’mon use your big girl words, kiddo. Know you can spit it out.”

“Won’t, fuck, won’t talk about others fucking m-me better. Jus’ missed you m’sorry, I can’t, plea .. please Andrew, can’t take anymore.”

“Can’t take it?”

Pope leans over you, his chest to your back.

Places bloody kisses to your jawline.

“You can.”

Bites the shell of your ear.

“You will.”

 

He’s quiet. You notice his energy is different tonight. A different quiet. His jaw tense, shoulders hunched over. His hands gripping the nightstand edge. It's one of those nights, you realise. Ones where you’re breaking him and piecing back the pieces together again.

You stand up from the bed, carefully making your way to him. Gently cupping his jaw with your hands, tilting his head back up to look at you.

“Wanna play with me?” You whisper to the dead of night. Tracing the cuts on his cheekbones with your thumbs.

His gaze bores into you. Hurt swimming around in his irises. Leaning into your touch, letting his walls fall down just for you. Eyes flutter close. It's serene for a moment. He takes in a deep inhale, slowly reveals his pretty eyes to you again as the air leaves his lungs.

“Yeah, I wanna play.”

You let a small smile quirk up at the corner of your lips. Not to tease, no. For letting you do this to him. For him.

Dropping your forehead to his, bumping the tip of your nose with his bloody one.

The two of you inhale at the same time, sharing the air in that intimate moment.

Then, you take your time reeling back from him.

Hands falling from his jaw.

Just so you can land a slap to Pope’s left cheek.

The sound of contact reverberates throughout the room, his head whipping to the right.

His chest is heaving when he brings his face back to you.

Puppy dog eyes staring into your soul.

“Harder, please.”

You smack his left cheek again, more force behind it as Pope’s body moves with the turn of his head.

He doesn't get a word in when he turns back, your hand already reeling back to land the hardest slap up until that point. 

Pope groans, a dribble of blood escaping past his lips.

You grip his jaw, ignoring the whine when your fingers dig into the sore spot of his cheek. Then, you surge your lips forward, shoving your tongue in his mouth, tasting his blood.

The close proximity makes Pope grind his hips into you, hands wandering to your hips.

You pull away when you feel his bulge.

“Are you getting off from the pain? You fucking whore.”

Pope frantically shakes his head, hands gripping your hips harder.

“No, no ‘m not. Just wanted t’feel you please.”

You pull him by the neck, walking backwards till you feel the bed behind you. Then, you put your leg between his, kicking the back his knee to make him kneel, the other knee following suit.

Allowing his hands to wander, trailing up and down the back of your exposed thighs.

You undress yourself, throwing the fabrics to the side until it's just your panties and thigh highs.

You tilt your head, 

“Help me take them off?” You sweetly ask Pope, as if you were asking him to pass the salt.

Pope listens quickly, tugs down your underwear. You’re left in his favourite thigh highs to see on you. They're frilly, white with a pink trim and a pink bow. There's a metal heart charm that dangles in the middle of the bow. Spelt out “Pope” if anyone got close enough to see. (nobody has, and nobody ever will.)

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, leaning back a tiny bit, your hands spread behind you for support.

Spreading your legs just enough to show Pope how wet you are for him. You see his throat bob as he swallows, hands fidgeting on his lap, like he’s barely restraining himself from just taking what he wants from you.

“Want you …” you trail off as you slowly rub your clothed foot uppp and downnn Pope’s thigh.

“Wan’ you to jerk off using my panties. Want you to make me feel good while you're doing it.” You emphasise your point by digging into the sore skin of his cheeks, skin splitting open with blood.

“Go on.”

Pope pulls you towards him, places your thighs atop his broad shoulders, and dives in.

Fuck, he’s eager.

His tongue licks broad stripes, from the bottom to the top. Shoving his tongue deep into you, sucking at your clit like he’s sucking a honeycomb. Shit, Pope thinks he might be from how fucking saccharine you taste. 

He keeps his eyes locked on you the whole time. Grips the meat of your thighs as you writhe in pleasure. He hungrily flicks his tongue, angling his head to get deeper, lick harder. He’s hyper fixated on you. Your reactions. The pattern in which your chest heaves, the way you bite your lip, the furrow in your brow. 

But Pope thinks the best part is how you sound. Like a fuckin’ angel leading him to salvation. All the while pushing and slapping him around. That’s alright, Pope thinks to himself. He’d let you shoot him if it meant bringing you pleasure.

Pope lets go of your left thigh, a red mark starting to blossom from how hard he was gripping. He brings the hand down, taking your cute panties and wrapping them around his cock.

You slowly part your legs, exposing the dripping, obscene sight to Pope.

Sighing as you start fingering yourself, slow and deep with two fingers. 

“You're … you're so mean Pope. Making me treat you like a dog when all I wanted was you to split me open on your big fat cock.” You pout your lips mockingly, fingers picking up the pace.

“S’not enough you know. You know it's never enough. My fingers can’t fill me up the way your big cock does. Can't reach those spots that make me see stars.” You grind your hips, taking your fingers deeper.

“Just want you in me. Want you to cum deep inside. Wan’ you to put a baby in me.”

Pope stills his movement.

He’s so still that it makes you pause too, thinking he wants to stop the round.

Wincing slightly as you take out your fingers.

“Pope you oka-”

“You mean that?”

You blink. 

Pope’s voice is so incredibly small. His eyes, so pained when he looks up at you. Like you're giving him false hope.

“Hey.”

You quickly scoot down to him, planting yourself on his lap. Slowly, you move away the fabric in his hand, careful not to add any friction. Interlocking your messy fingers with his. You bring a clean hand to his cheek, Pope nuzzling into it.

Wrapping his other arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him. He makes himself smaller so he can rest his face in your neck. Using you like a shield.

“Baz said no one would want that.”

You run the hand that he was nuzzling into, through his messy curls while he explains.

“Wouldn’t want that with me.”

Oh, how your heart breaks.

“I want that, with you.”

You lead your interlocked hands to your stomach.

“Want you to give me a baby, right here.”

Pope emerges from his hiding spot in your neck.

Fuck, he looks like he’s about to break apart at the seams.

Puts his forehead to yours, breaths mingling.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I know that I wanna start a family with you. One where we’ll learn not to be like the others before us. A happy family, with pure unconditional love. And I know you're the only person I want to share that with.”

Pope exhales shakily, before meeting your lips.

Not rushed.

Not intense.

Just a firm reminder that you’re here, you’re real.

He slowly takes his cock again, lines it up with your entrance as you delicately lower yourself on it. The two of you still sharing sweet kisses. He wraps your legs around him and carries you up onto the bed. Placing you down carefully, then sitting on his knees in between your thighs.

Just stares at you for a few seconds, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he takes his eyes off of you.

His eyes travel down to your thigh highs, they’ve shifted down to just slightly above your knees now from all the movement.

Pope’s fingers wrap around the small metal charm with his name on it, traces the tiny letters. 

Smoothing his hands over to the top of your things, to the underside of your knees. He lifts them, pecking the charms before pushing down, down, making the top of your thighs meet the soft bed as Pope bends down to chase your lips again. Your legs are spread wide in the full nelson position.

“Gonna move now okay? Gonna put a baby in you.”

It's romantic.

It's a promise.

Pope grinds slow and deep, curving his hips to hit that angle. He’s so thick and big, that it knocks the air out your lungs every time he pushes back in to just barely graze a kiss on your cervix. You don’t need air, you think. Not when Pope is giving you oxygen as he whispers in between kissing you.

“You feel that? Yeah that's me in there, kid.”

He lets go of your thigh briefly to guide your hand, down to the bulge in your stomach where his cock is.

“Gonna give you our kid. Gonna give my kid a little kiddo, yeah?”

“You'd like that right? Giving my pretty baby a baby of her own. Of our own. Our happy little family.”

“Wanna make you a mommy. You want that? You want that with me? Wanna make me a daddy, yeah?”

Your thighs shake, your back arching and pushing you closer to Pope’s chest. Your insides clamp down on his cock like a vice when you cum. It all makes Pope dizzy with desire. 

“C’mon then, c’mon let me do it. Let me take care of you. Let daddy make you a mommy. Fuck, please. Please make me a daddy. I’ll be so good, I promise. Oh, I need it, need you. Please, please please ‘m so close oh fuck.”

Pope’s entire body tenses up, a wave washes over him as his eyes roll to the back of his skull. His forehead lands on yours.

He cries, chanting “I love you”s against your lips. The devotion slips past your mouth, making its way down to your pounding heart.

Pope gently lets you thighs drop back down, but the two of you stay intertwined for a while longer. 

He tiredly shifts the two of you on your side, your back to his chest. His nose resting in your hair. His arms protectively wrap around your stomach. 

You place your hands over his, fidgeting with his fingers.

“I hope it’s a girl.”

Pope breaks through the veil of silence after what seems like forever.

You quirk your lips into a smile, eyes fluttering open.

“Yeah, then she’ll grow up right before your eyes. Asking why your name’s so weird, then in no time she’ll be telling you her boy problems at school.”

Pope laughs. He laughs.

Not the empty one. Not the crazed, I’m-about-to-snap laugh.

Pope lets the genuine melody fall from his lips, blessing your ears with the warmth emitting from it.

All from the thought of starting his own family. With you.

a/n : this is my longest fic to date but i had to take out a good chunk, lemme know if yall wanna see it expanded upon (its pope having reader in a headlock based on this gifset, same one i used as inspo for the positions). prettyyy please leave comments or rambles in your reblogs, even if its just in tags. i'm so nervous abt this fic so i srsly hope to see ppl enjoying it :").

no pressure tags for beloved mooties/fellow pope enjoyers from pt1 : @erwinsvow @callsign-fangirl @mangonom @nyheartbreak @xngxlstuff @paintlavillered @awkwardpersonsthings