#and i turn and i go “dude. what the FUCK”

[coolwyous]

┈─★ #1 𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺

  ⊹ ࣪ ˖ megan skiendiel loves three things in this world: her amazing brilliant wife, her incredible adorable kids, and the beautiful sport that is ice hockey.

   ˎˊ˗  ❄️  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: hockey daddy!megan skiendiel x f!reader

   ➴ genre + wc: 3.3k, domestic parenting au, all fluff no pain baby!

┈─★ a/n: wrote this in 2 hrs bc i missed our big puppy hockey!megan so bad and this put such a cute fucking vision in my head. can def be read as a standalone but if you're new here, i highly encourage reading the college hockey!au verse this is based in! <3

“babe! baby! jesus christ babe, get in here!”

your mind goes to the worst possible places. your son could be choking, he could be having an allergic reaction, he could be stuck in between a piece of furniture, and your perfect angel of a wife could be having a crisis as she tries to figure out what exactly to do in an emergency.

marriage with megan has been an absolute dream, and you always knew she’d make an incredible parent. protective, calm, kind— basics, sure, but megan does them so easily, you never questioned that a family together would be an absolute dream. however, megan is still megan, and you love her for each part of her, including the parts that panic when things do not go according to plan. that’s where you balance each other out: you keep megan in line when she starts to spiral, and she reminds you of the beauty in the day to day.

in this scenario, you’re in panic-mode, racing into the living room expecting the worst.

you let out a gasp to find not only is there no crisis, no furniture on fire, no natural disaster sweeping up your son and wife, but quite the opposite.

megan is reaching her arms out, crouched down, and your infant son is taking his first steps towards her, his chubby face squished up in the cutest smile you could have ever imagined.

“look at this guy! so sturdy,” megan beams, reaching out ready to catch him should he start to wobble.

you laugh and take a mental picture of the moment. you see a mischievous glint to megan’s eyes as she watches his wobbly little body take another step forward.

“megan, i swear if you even think about—”

“i wasn’t gonna say it!” she throws her hands up innocently.

“he just took his first steps,” you chastise her, knowing her well enough after all your years together. “don’t do this. i didn’t start rambling about universities or classic literature when he first said mama.”

“fine,” megan shakes her head in defeat, focusing back on waving to your son to get him to take a few more steps forward. “fine.”

you smile and turn to go hunt down your phone to document the moment. before you’re fully out of the room, you hear a quiet voice whispering to the baby.

“you’re a tank, dude. you’re gonna make a killer defender. get that core strong and we’ll be on the ice in no time.”

“megan skiendiel,” you warn firmly.

“shit. mommy heard us talking about the no-no word.” megan swoops up your son and uses him like a human shield, knowing you can’t stay mad at your two favorite people in the whole world. “okay, okay. i can wait. i get it.”

“i just want one milestone where you’re not trying to prep him for the nhl, i’m begging,” you laugh, reaching out to kiss her. she grins and kisses you back, scooping up your son to hold him between you two.

you can’t even pretend to be mad. you have the most perfect family in the world, what more could someone want?

-

“push left, then push right.”

megan makes skating look so easy, impossibly easy as she always has. when the first snowflake of the season fell, you already knew to get the kids’ winter coats ready, knowing megan would force you all into the car and haul you all to the lake ASAP.

“this is hard,” maxie breathes, his lower lip jutting out in frustration. 

“guess what?” megan tells him, her voice softening as she realizes the emotions taking over your toddler. “it may be hard, but you can do hard things. and you’ll have me holding your hand all the way through.”

your daughter starts to squirm out of your grasp and eagerly reaches for her other mom. you press a kiss into the beautiful baby’s head and hold onto her, knowing your wife needs all her focus in one place right now.

“push left, push right. don’t be afraid to fall,” she nods confidently as you watch from the snow. “you’ve got this, dude. if i didn’t think you could do it, i wouldn’t be pushing you.”

your heart swells as you see your son’s eyes burn with determination at megan’s encouragement. max does exactly that, and he’s shaky, but making slow paces forward. 

megan skates over to you, giving your son some space to figure it out without her over his shoulder. you grin and reach out to kiss her reddened nose, cold to the touch from the chilly falltime air.

“forgot how good of a captain you were,” you compliment, your chest warm and fuzzy seeing how gently but firmly megan builds your son’s confidence. “might want another one just to keep seeing you be that good.”

“another team for me to captain?” megan grins.

you laugh. “no— another kid, loser.”

“oh.” her eyes widen, but that stupid dopey grin only multiplies on her face. “right right right.”

your daughter wiggles once more in your grip and reaches out again. you smile, handing her to megan, who nestles her onto her hip while skating backwards to keep her eyes fixed on your son. 

“look, look!” max calls out loudly, beaming with his precious toothless grin as he glides slowly along the ice.

you look up, ready to cheer him on, but your wife has already got you beat, her face lighting up instantly in pure, sincere, beaming pride.

“that’s my boy! that’s my boy!” she cheers.

megan throws your daughter up into the air and swings her legs around her neck to have the toddler sitting on her shoulders, causing the girl to giggle uncontrollably. max, still wobbly, manages to skid along the ice, his confidence increasing with each pace forward he makes without tipping. you smile at your little family. 

-

“baby,” you call out, peeking at the three on the ice from over the pages of your book. “your daughter is about to do a backflip off of the snowbank.”

“josie, sweetie, sit down please,” megan calls out to her, standing with max as the two practice passing a puck back and forth.

“no thank you,” the girl responds simply.

“okay, no, wait,” megan pauses, wrinkling her nose. “no, princess, it doesn’t work like that. daddy’s words are not an option.”

max pauses, watching the whole thing unfold in front of him. he shrugs and drops his stick, putting his hands on his hips as he innocently observes his sister. “auntie dani says sometimes you just gotta send it.”

“okay, no more time at auntie dani’s,” megan grits. you burst out laughing. 

“i told you she’d be a terrible influence.”

“i didn’t think she’d try to influence a five year old,” megan groans, grabbing josie to snatch her off the snowbank. the girl pouts and wiggles out of your wife’s grip, taking easily to the ice in her skates.

“babe, you know how daniela is,” you laugh. “you’re the only one to blame if you trusted her to be a good influence. i told you lara is more than happy to watch them.”

“lara has enough on her hands with the twins,” megan shakes her head, giving max a push to help him slide across the ice, sending the boy screaming laughing. “josie is a tornado.”

“so you stick her with the most insane person you know and expect it to go well?” you laugh.

“okay, okay, this is not bag on daddy time,” megan scrunches her nose at you, grabbing josie by her hood as the rambunctious child tries once more to climb the snow and jump. “i thought maybe dani could help me understand how to lay the law down more. you never have any problems with them.”

“the kids listen to me ‘cause i mean what i say,” you laugh, watching as megan increasingly fails to wrangle the two children as they go in opposite directions. “unfortunately, big bad strong hockey daddy folds every time your five-year-old gives you the puppy eyes.”

josie’s little voice cuts in, somehow at the top of the snowbank.

again.

“can you send a picture of me up here to auntie dani? i want her to see me send it!”

megan’s eyes nearly bug out of her head at the sight.

“my perfect sweet wife, will you grab your daughter, please?” she pleads, nervously holding her arms out in case the girl is too quick and jumps anyways.

you shake your head, pointing behind her as max is aimlessly hitting pucks off in random directions on the ice, pucks you know will never be found again.

“actually, my perfect sweet wife who doesn’t listen or learn, i wanted to do a library date. you’re the one who insisted on taking them to the lake. when you know i still can’t skate,” you remind her.

“oh my god,” megan groans, reaching up to snatch josie by the ankle, causing the little girl to giggle uncontrollably as she gets swung through the air and placed gently back down onto the ice. megan picks up her stick and quickly blocks max from hitting his last few pucks, instead redirecting them all easily back into the small bucket they came in. you watch, impressed. megan has been retired for a year now, shortly after josie turned 4, but she’s still good as ever.

“my thoughts exactly,” you laugh.

“remind me of this exact moment next time i suggest doing this again,” megan blinks.

“babe, this happens every time.” you remind her, flipping through another page in your book. “literally every weekend.”

megan, still impossibly strong, grabs both your kids by the back of their jackets, flipping them both around to face the same direction on the ice. the sound of their rumbling giggles makes your heart flip.

“laps, both of you.” she demands, her voice stern (or about as stern as your goofy, ridiculous megan can get.) “now, minions.”

“no,” josie pushes back challengingly. 

“oh yeah?” megan bends down, pointing a finger menacingly at your daughter. “why? scared you’ll get left in my dust?”

you laugh, watching as your wife takes off on the ice, your two bumbling children skating along after her in an attempt to catch her. your heart melts at the sight. 

-

even at lara and dani’s encouragement, megan had never seen herself as exactly coaching material. several colleges had tried soliciting her to coach for them after her time in the wnhl, and she had turned down each of them in favor of staying home with the kids while you continued to work. you didn’t mind— between what she had made playing professionally, your current job, and the current time she can dedicate to her family now that she’s done traveling, the trade off is well worth it.

but the perfect way to fill her time was coaching your son’s 7 & under junior hockey league. 

“way to take that shot, champ!” your wife cheers as max misses yet another practice shot. “love the confidence, buddy!”

you laugh and hand her the coffee you just picked up for her in the lobby. “you’re being surprisingly patient.”

“no, he’s honestly so, so bad at this, poor guy,” megan lets out a quiet breath, and the both of you laugh. one of the assistant coaches takes over the drills as you two watch the kids from the side. “he’s trying like hell, though.”

“alright, relax coach,” you wrinkle your nose at her playfully. 

you both hear a thud against the plexiglass and realize josie, who is supposed to be taking figure skating lessons on the other side of the rink while max’s team practices, is shoulder checking her poor coach into the wall again, much to the woman’s displeasure. you give her a sharp look to cut it out and she instantly straightens up, nodding at you in understanding.

megan gives you a quick look before bursting out into laughter. you know your daughter’s menace-like behavior is nothing to laugh at, but it’s such a sharp contrast to gentle and compliant max, you’re grateful to have such characters for children that keep you and megan on your toes.

“josie’s sick of figure skating, meg” you tell your wife gently, knowing you’re approaching a sensitive topic for her. “she’s been stealing his sticks and messing with his goal in the backyard. i know you’ve seen her.”

megan lets out a nervous sigh. “i was afraid that’d happen.”

when max happened, you saw it be so easy for megan, like being a boy dad was the most thing in the world. she had all the answers, no fears, no concerns. but as much as she loves both your children equally, you know for a fact that josie was different. megan was so, so much more nervous with raising a girl, and while you didn’t feel the same pressure, you knew it kept megan up at night wanting to make sure she did everything just right for your guys’ little princess.

“she wants to be just like you, meg,” you tell her gently as you both watch the girl roll her eyes at the coach and do another twirl. “she pays attention, talks about your teams, wants to watch your old games. she’s so eager to be part of that world, and you keep brushing her off.”

megan shakes her head, clearly wanting to pivot away from the topic. “mrs. baker called again today. she’s worried about her reading.”

you sigh. mrs. baker, josie’s kindergarten teacher. 

“i remember how the first meeting went, megan. i was there, remember?” you laugh, rubbing her arm soothingly. “josie’s still got time to figure it out before they go on diagnosing anything. she’s barely 5. give her time. you sound more worried than her teacher did.”

megan’s knits her brows, avoiding your gaze as she watches both kids on the ice. 

“i don’t want her to distract herself with hockey if she’s already at risk of falling behind in school.”

“meg,” you soften your voice, leaning you weight against hers. “it’ll be okay. let her try, we can support her. she won’t fall behind.”

“i don’t want her to beat herself up.” her voice drops into a rasp as you see her swallow down nervously. “i don’t want her to feel stupid.”

your heart aches thinking about baby megan, all those years beating herself up over struggles that were never her fault. you see how anxiously she projects forward, wanting so desperately to spare your guys’ daughter from the same fate, the same self-consciousness, the same lack of confidence.

“she won’t. give her a chance. she might thrive,” you reassure her. “having something she’s that passionate about might make her motivated to work harder.”

megan nods, pressing a kiss into your head. you feel her body relax against yours as you two lean together, watching the practices go on. “you’re right. i’m overthinking it.”

“she might be the next you,” you smile.

before you can say anything else, megan is motioning for the figure skating coach to pause, waving for your daughter to come over to where you guys are standing. 

“max, come here,” she calls out, leaning down on the wall to be eye-to-eye with your kids as they both skate over, their eyes wide in confusion. “josie, go borrow your brother’s gear.”

“are you benching me?” maxie asks anxiously. 

“would you rather go get a new book and hot cocoa with your mom?” megan asks, her voice soft, her eyes scanning over your son’s face as she chooses her words carefully. “would you rather not come back to practice?”

“i like hockey,” max says quickly, almost too quickly. your heart aches. you see megan in him too— nervous, kind-hearted, eager to be good, not wanting to hurt anyone.

“but do you love it?” megan pries gently, taking one of his hands in hers to comfort him.

“i would rather be reading, yeah,” max admits, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

megan is quick to take his chin gently in her fingers and lift his gaze back up to hers. “hey, hey, that’s okay. were you afraid to hurt my feelings by telling me that?”

“yes,” he admits sheepishly. 

“thank you for being kind, but thank you even more for being brave and telling me the truth,” she pulls his helmet off of his head and presses a kiss into the top of his sweaty hair. “go with your mom. i love you so, so much. you’re the coolest kid.”

the boy complies, coming off the ice and taking off his gear, handing each piece to his younger sister. “i was scared you’d be mad at me.”

you see megan’s face wrinkle in concern. she shakes her head, reaching down to give the little boy a tight, comforting hug.

“never ever. i love you with my whole heart. i can’t wait to buy you all the books in the world, dude,” she reassures him, nodding. “go give your sister your gear. your mom is waiting.”

you smile and reach out to your son, handing him his hoodie. he swipes it up eagerly and takes your hand, beaming excitedly.

“i heard you’ve been practicing on your own,” megan says as she kneels down, focusing now on helping josie put on all the gear. it’s a size too big, but it’ll do. “you ready to show me what you can do?”

“really?” josie’s eyes light up.

“these boys are bigger than you are,” megan warns, but she doesn’t sound worried. she sounds eager, proud. “think you can keep up?”

“yes,” the girl nods eagerly. 

“go show off,” she encourages, giving josie a push on the ice to send her towards the practice. “but no backflips! you’ll give me a heart attack.”

“boring,” she gripes, skating off. 

you can’t help but laugh. 

“she’s going to kill me,” megan groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.

you poke her in the cheek, letting max rest on the bench for a moment. 

“she’s karma for every single time you lashed out at one of your teammates. remember senior year?”

“yeah. alright, alright,” megan waves you off, rolling her eyes, but she pulls you in to give you a quick peck. you both watch as she boldly joins the drill as if she’s been doing it for years, quickly handling the stick and the puck with a confidence unmatched by most of the boys on the team.

“she’s a natural,” you beam proudly.

megan lets out a low whistle. “better than i was my first time on the ice.”

“i’ve always said she’s just a less anxious version of you,” you smile. “right down to the puppy dog eyes.”

megan grins back, wrapping an arm around your waist. “you love these puppy dog eyes.”

you look into those puppy dog eyes, the things that drew you in when you first met her, and the things you’re pretty sure were the first part of megan that you fell in love with, before the rest of her fell right into place inside your heart.

“being just like you won’t be the worst thing in the world, meg,” you tell her gently, you both watching as josie blasts past the other boys on the ice, handling the puck with unimaginable expertise. 

“at least college is paid for,” megan wrinkles her nose, letting out a sigh. “who knows. maybe some sucker will get roped into giving her their english class notes.”

“and then they fall in love with each other and become college sweethearts. and survive long distance, and get married. and have a super cute family with two kids and a crusty white dog,” you add on, wrapping your arms around her waist to pull her into a hug. 

“i got super lucky,” megan breathes, finally turning to look down at you.

“yes you did,” you grin back up at her. 

“i love you,” she tells you, kissing your forehead tenderly.

you admire her perfect face, looking back at your perfect daughter and your perfect son. your perfect little family, something you could have never pictured when you first met megan in your british literature class all those years ago.

you smile, reaching up for one more kiss.

“ditto.”

[chonny-jash]

the algorithm says my numbers have been going down a fair bit recently and i think that's really really funny cos it literally feels like i've just been spoken at by a stranger who i've never met in public talking about their problems just like

"…o- oh? oh sorry! were you talking to me?

oh! mhm… …yeah …yeah right, gotcha… hm?… …ooooooo yeah damn dude that sucks!

…

…

uhhh… anyway! i better get going, sorry! best of luck with… all that!"

and then i turn around and get back to doing what i've been doing for the last checks watch fucking decade and making whatever i feel like.

…oh, in very, VERY related news:

NEW SONG NEW SONG NEW SONG NEW SONG oh it's majora's mask STILL NEW SONG NEW SONG NEW SONG NEW SONG

Art by kai! (@calamarispiderart)

[rcmclachlan]

tease tidbit tuesday

Tagged by @firehose118, @devirnis, and @ambernotember. Thanks, y'all 😘

Here's some more from the s3 alternate meeting au I'm working on.

+

Buck squints, because, "Wait, don't I know you?"

The guy, who looks like he competes in Steinstossen on the weekends, gives Buck a familiar smile—the same one he gave Buck a few years ago.

A four-alarm grease fire had consumed half an apartment building after someone supposedly tried to put it out by throwing a pot of water on it, and at least four stations showed up to beat it into submission. This guy had been climbing down one of the ladders with what must have been twenty kids on his back, and as he passed the window of the room Buck was in the middle of clearing, he smiled and waved at Buck through the glass like it was just another day at the beach.

"Hey, Buckley! How's the leg treating you, man? We were gonna send you flowers, but your buddy Chimney said you were a real weirdo so we sent that big box of whack-ass candy instead."

Amongst the explosion of flowers and wreathes and cards he'd gotten from people whose names he didn't know, there'd been a big box full of the strangest candy he'd ever seen: lollipops with ants frozen in the center, mints that tasted like roadkill, Carolina Reaper cotton candy, mac and cheese gummies, and chocolates shaped like dicks. He, Chim, Eddie, and Hen had laughed themselves to tears trying all of them one afternoon. Even Bobby couldn't deny the cactus candy was interesting.

Tied to one of the chocolate dicks—"cocklates," Chim cackled—had been a short note.

The bacon and cheddar cricket crunchies will get you back on your feet in no time. Get well soon! — Station 217

Buck bursts out laughing. "'Whack-ass' is right. Hey, Meyers, it's been ages. I-I didn't realize all of you were LAFD."

"Oh shit," one of them—a woman with broad shoulders and the most incredible mop of spiral curls he's ever seen—gasps. "You're the bomb guy! The one the engine fell on! I heard you were caught down the pier when the tsunami hit, too. I can't believe you're even walking around after all that. Don't even tell me you're back to work already."

"Y-Yeah," Buck says, eyes glued to a patch of the table top where the sealant is chipping away. "It's been an, uh, interesting year."

Tommy nudges one of his teammates further down the booth and then steps back so Buck can slide in. It takes every ounce of energy to actually do it, because even though he knows this woman means well, it feels like she's standing before a jury of his peers and listing all the reasons why he shouldn't don his turnouts again.

In all honesty, he should just call Chase and tell him to withdraw the suit wholesale. If a complete stranger thinks Buck shouldn't be back, then Bobby's definitely never going to budge on it. Eddie's never going to return his calls. Hen's never going to look him in the eye again. The days of daring Chimney to try a bacon and cheddar cricket are over. The 118's bay doors will never open to let him in again.

Thankfully, the din of the bar is so loud that no one can hear him sniffle as he glances toward the bar. Maybe they're hiring.

"Dude," one of the others chimes in. "I heard you were suing the department. I didn't know you could even do that. Maybe I can sue Cap for banning Mittens from the station, because that's just cruel and unusual. She gets lonely when I'm on shift."

"You bring your fucking snake to the hangar one more time, Nico, and I'll garrote you with it," the curly-haired woman snaps, then turns interested eyes on Buck. "But, are you? Taking the department to court, I mean."

Before Buck can excuse himself to the bathroom where he can have a good cry and then drown himself in a toilet, Tommy slides into the booth next to him.

"Actually, Jacinda, I can answer that one: none of your damn business," Tommy says sunnily. Without missing a beat, he reaches across the table to smack the guy with the snake upside the head when he opens his mouth. "Besides, I've got a better question: what's the deal with your kid, Benowitz? Did he finally ask what's-her-name to prom or what?"

Benowitz sighs, takes a long-suffering sip of his beer, and begins what sounds like a new chapter in an ongoing saga of his son Steven, who's been working on the world's greatest-slash-worst promposal for the last two months with no end in sight. Apparently trained doves are involved, and so is spcaLA.

Swallowing hard around the burr in his throat, Buck nudges Tommy's foot in gratitude.

Tommy nods at whatever Benowitz is saying, then nudges back.

+

No pressure tags: everyone who tagged me, plus @screamlet, @setmeatopthepyre, @beanarie, @geddyqueer, @freneticfloetry, @apollabarnes, @station18908, and @leashybebes

[yan-randomfandom]

OKAYS GREAT i was thinking of like plat yan saja boys x overworked teen reader, reader is a highschool student thats overwhelmed by schoolwork so when they're amongst the crowd of the saja boys performing soda pop they really couldnt care less and just walked away(⁠◔⁠‿⁠◔⁠)

Platonic!Saja Boys x GN!Teen!Reader

a/n; stranger danger is ignored here, PLS!!!! do not copy what the reader does here

— 🫧

"Huh, what?" you mumble, eyes blinking separately in weariness. "What are you talking about?"

Are you that exhausted to start hallucinating about the men you saw performing earlier in the day? The leader, Juni or whatever his name was, stands in front of you with a cryptic smile. Why the fuck were they talking to you? You can't do this right now.

"Uh," he shifts the pen and paper in his hands. "Constructive criticism, please? You're part of our age range, but you don't seem to be interested. Why is that?"

You stare. "I can't do this right now."

Turning around, you plan to walk nonstop, but the other boys block your path. You look at them, bamboozled.

"Did you guys," you sigh, rubbing your eyes, half-expecting them to disappear once you open them again, "follow me all the way here for feedback? Don't you have a manager for that? Come on, dudes."

Much to your dismay, they still existed after you open your eyes.

"I mean, I worked so hard for this, I—" Juni rambles behind you, but you really could care less.

"Type shit. Not everyone is going to like you," you turn your head slightly to meet his eyes. "And unless you can do my homework for me, then I won't do any survey."

You face the rest of the band, using your arms to gently push them away. They let themselves be pushed; thank goodness you don't have to call the cops.

"We—We'll do it!"

You pause. "What?"

"Your homework! And then you'll give us your thoughts, right?"

You turn around with an evil smile.

— 📒

You haven't felt this relaxed in years.

Mystery gives you the last of the last, and you give him a happy grin. A smile of his grows at the sight.

"Thanks, Mist!" you chuckle, taking a peek at his work. It's not the prettiest handwriting, but the answers seem legit. "Good job!"

You grab a lollipop, a hairbrush, and a dumbbell, giving them respectively to Baby, Romance, and Abby.

Juni comes from around the corner. "So when you say this, then it means that. Blah blah blah, bloo bloo."

"Yeah sure whatever Juni," you shrug, not really listening. "Hey, aren't you guys gonna leave yet? You're lucky my parents are on a vacation."

They all stare at you.

"...Guys?"

They don't answer.

"Are you not... going to leave yet? Guys?"

They glance at each other.

"...Do I have to call the cops?"

— do u?

— also stranger danger!!!!! do NAWT let strangers into your house even if they're pretty, ESPECIALLY when they followed u home. DONT!!!!

[sarahroutldge]

caveman.

a/n: I wrote this for the brilliant 'make rafe great again' campaign by @zyafics!! It's a bit of a mess and unedited but I hope someone enjoys it!

summary: you may love rafe cameron, but that doesn't mean you have to love his borderline toxic possessiveness and jealousy.

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, fluff, creepy guy behaving creepily (nothing graphic), violent rage on rafe's part (what else is new), alcohol, weed, smoking, mentions of past messy relationships, I'm lazy so I didn't proofread this... uh I think that's it. lmk if I forgot anything!

Parties at the Boneyard are practically rites of passage for the kids who grow up there; whether you’re a kid from the cut or the heir to a multi-million-dollar fortune on Figure Eight, you’re probably spending those summer Friday nights getting drunk or high—most likely both—at the Boneyard. In high school and college, those nights are treasured, rare moments where the parents and grandparents aren’t eyeing their kids, waiting to see them fail. 

And sure, maybe, on occasion, things get messy. The Pogues and the Kooks are never quite at peace for long, but usually it blows over before anything truly terrible can happen, as the Kooks involved know that once Deputy Shoupe gets notified, so will their parents. And for the Pogues, one run-in with the police is a future discarded—a scholarship taken away, a college acceptance thrown out, a job opportunity lost. 

But it’s hard to care so much about that when you’re a bit tipsy, a bit high, and dancing with your friends under the moonlight. Your boyfriend is just across the beach, drinking with his friends, and you can almost swear that the winks he sends you every once in a while feel like a jolt of electricity. Truly, they’re almost as intoxicating as the weed and the alcohol.

Kiara spins you around, and the two of you twirl across the makeshift dancefloor (which is really just sand), as you enjoy a drama-free night. The wind is just strong enough to provide an extra breeze to what would usually be a much hotter, much more humid Outer Banks night. And the music has mellowed from Top 40 hits to some softer, bedroom pop. You don’t know the words, but you’re having too much fun to care.

Unfortunately, though, nothing in the Outer Banks is ever truly uneventful. The bliss you’ve taken for granted is shattered without warning, when you feel a sweaty, unfamiliar hand grasping at your midsection. Immediately turning around, your hand drops from Kiara’s, and you make eye contact with the tall, unfamiliar man before you (a Touron, if you had to guess). Not wanting to make that much of a fuss, you simply shake your head, hoping he’ll get the message. But he’s either too wasted or simply doesn’t care, and he reaches for your waist again, and this time his grip is strong enough to pull you back into his chest. 

“What the hell, dude?” Kiara bites, before pushing him off of you. “Get off our beach if all you’re planning on doing is acting like a perv,” she adds. You grab her hand, squeezing it in thanks. 

The man raises his hands up as if he’s totally innocent, and you just scoff. Thankfully, though, he seems to finally take a hint, as he turns around. Kiara looks up at you, and opens her mouth as if to speak. But unfortunately, before she can, you hear the familiar but worrying shout of your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, from behind you.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rafe starts, before shoving the man’s back. 

You can immediately sense where this is going, and frankly, you’re not up for it. “Rafe, it’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Rafe turns around. “It’s not fucking fine. He’s scum.” 

And just as you’re about to grab your boyfriend’s hand and pull him away, the stranger turns around. “Hey man, it was an honest mistake.”

“Yeah? Well, next time, ask a girl before you put your fucking hands on her, especially when that girl is my girlfriend.” 

“Rafe, please, let’s not do this. I just wanna go home,” you chime in, hoping that you’re loud enough for him to hear over his rage. 

“You didn’t want to go home until this prick put his hands on you,” Rafe argues.

And while you were annoyed before, now you’re irritated. “Rafe, let’s go,” you say, colder. 

He stares at you for a minute, and then looks around, noticing that the man who touched you has walked away. He huffs, his fists balled in anger, and then he walks away from you. You watch as Rafe walks across the sand, away from the crowd.

“Do you want to go after him?” Kiara asks, feeling awkward about the obvious tension between you and your boyfriend.

“No. He just needs to blow off some steam.”

Kiara nods. “Are… are you okay?” she asks, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… That was gross. And I’m mad at that guy, but unfortunately, shit like this happens. And I’m tired of having to deal with Rafe’s temper tantrums every time we go out.” 

“Any other time, I’d get it. Believe me. But this wasn’t just a guy getting too close—he wouldn’t back off. That piece of shit deserved whatever punch Rafe was gonna give him.”

“It’s not about what the guy did. Trust me, I’d be happy to see him get punched. It’s the possessiveness that bothers me. It’s like Rafe thinks I’m helpless without him,” you explain.

“I promise that’s not true,” Kiara assures you, but even she seems a little unsure of the words she’s saying. “Look, I’m not Cameron’s biggest fan—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes.

Kiara chuckles. “But this time, I think that guy deserved what was coming to him. And it’s so obvious that Rafe loves you. Maybe your anger is a bit misplaced.”

You shake your head, trying to get her to understand your point of view. “Shit like this has happened before, Kie. And with guys that were way less upfront than that one. It’s not that I’m mad he defended me; I’m mad that he sees me as some damsel in distress, someone who can’t function without him as a bodyguard. I just wish he’d have a bit more faith in me.”

Your friend considers your words for a minute, ultimately giving you a tight smile. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. You can hang with us at the Chateau while your man figures his shit out.”

She tosses her arm around your shoulder, and your mouth curves into a reluctant smile. As the two of you make your way off the beach, your head turns behind you, looking out for your troublesome but usually well-meaning boyfriend. He’s far away now, but you can still sense the frustration radiating from him in waves. 

A few days pass before you see Rafe again. You’ve texted a bit back and forth, putting some space between the two of you. You know you’ll forgive him eventually, but you need time to consider how to move forward. Rafe’s issues with anger and jealousy span far back into his childhood. And it might not be your job to “fix” them, but you can’t help but want to. 

Rafe is complicated, always has been. From his issues with his father to his struggles with hard drugs and history of getting into fights, there’s a lot of darkness swirling around in that brain of his. For the longest time, he struggled with asking for help, lacking the attention and care of a parent who could teach their child how to deal with the toughest emotions. But you won’t deny that he’s gotten better at it. He’s matured in a way that his younger teenage self would never have imagined, and the responsibilities of adulthood combined with the weekly therapy appointments (that only you and his sisters know about) have helped to mellow him, giving him the tools with which to face his demons. 

And that’s why you won’t give up on him. 

Midsummer’s is just around the corner. Though balls and galas in the name of “charity” are certainly not rare on Figure Eight, Midsummer’s is always one of the grandest and most important (at least in the minds of the Eight’s parents and authority figures). For the teenagers, it’s a time to converse with adults about the future, hopefully landing connections that will help with the process of college applications and even internships later on. For the parents and grandparents, it’s the perfect time to show off the family unit; those who live on the island year-round and the families that stay just for the summer all come together to brag about the past year’s “achievements.” For those in their early twenties like you and Rafe, it’s a time to take advantage of the open bar and see the friends from high school that you haven’t seen in a while.

This year, however, is the first year that Rafe and you are attending as a couple. Your table is a mix of the Cameron family (plus Sarah’s boyfriend John B. who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else), your own family, and a few singles. Normally, this would be an occasion for pressure, but your families have known each other throughout the years, as the Figure Eight scene has always been a tight circle.

After the main courses have been served and the parents have swapped conversations about business for the latest gossip, the band’s music starts to slow. The sun has set and the moon looks stunning over the country club, reminding you of just how lucky you’ve been to grow up in a place so beautiful. And even though you and Rafe are a bit rocky, you almost forget it. The tipsiness from a few too many unclassy shots behind the bar with your friends has set in, and Rafe’s hand on your thigh feels almost too hot for a night like this. He squeezes the bare thigh uncovered by the slit in your dress every once in a while, as the two of you shift in and out of conversations with your family. It’s almost going too well. 

That is, until your father mentions your cousin’s upcoming marriage when he speaks to Ward.

“She’s the first of my nieces to get married. We’re all thrilled, and the wedding is only two months away.” He shifts a bit, seeking your attention. “Y/N, honey,” he says, and you turn your head to face your father, away from the pleasant and lighthearted conversation you’ve been having with Sarah and her boyfriend.

“Yes, Dad?”

“I still need to book the tickets for your trip with your cousin, so please send me the dates tomorrow at the latest. Or else you’re going to have to find your own way to pay for them,” he adds, laughing at himself like it’s the most ludicrous thing in the world. 

“Will do, Dad,” you add, and as soon as the words have left your mouth you go back to the conversation with your friends. 

But before you can speak, you feel the hand that’s been on your thigh move to your hand, squeezing to get your attention.

“What trip was your dad talking about?” Rafe asks, unsure of why this hasn’t been mentioned before.

“Oh, Rafe, I’ve told you about this. I’m going away with my cousin and a few other girls in a few weeks for her bachelorette party.” 

Rafe considers this. He knew you’d mentioned a vacation, but he could’ve sworn it was a family trip up to visit your grandparents. His jaw clenches, though his tone remains the same. “Where is it?”

“Miami. We’re all staying in one large suite at a beach resort that I can’t remember the name of.”

He nods. “Why can’t I come?”

You hesitate. He did hear the word bachelorette, right? “Rafe, it’s a bachelorette party. You’d be the only guy there.”

And yet he doesn’t seem to get it. “Exactly. Babe, you’ll be going to bars in Miami without me or any other guys. And as much as I love you, you’re the clumsiest drunk I know,” he adds, with a smirk. Clearly, he thinks you’ll find his comment funny. Though you normally would, he says it with a condescending tone that makes you drop the hand you’ve been holding.

“I can take care of myself, Rafe.”

“Can you?” he asks, not yet sensing the change in mood.

“Yes!” you respond, more sternly but without raising your voice. “I’ve taken care of myself drunk way longer than you and I have been together. I think I can manage a few days in Miami with my cousin and her friends.” His eyebrows furrow in confusion, not understanding where your anger is coming from.

“I know you can take care of yourself, babe, but you shouldn’t have to. I’m a guy—I know how guys behave. And you’re nice—sometimes too nice—and it makes me worry about you.”

“I am a grown woman, Rafe. I’m not helpless.” 

“I never said you were helpless, and you know it. Why are you fighting with me over this? It’s like you think I’m the bad guy, and not whatever perv is gonna start groping you in a sticky Miami bar.” 

Frankly, you’re stunned, and a thought comes to your head. Is he really worried for me—or does he not trust me? But you don’t feel like voicing your opinion out loud, and you need to cool off. You stand up out of your seat, and shove your chair in. The action draws the eyes of your family, but you ignore your mother asking where you disappeared to. You need fresh air.

Taking the path you and every other Figure Eight kid knows from the time they’re fifteen years old, you follow through the winding hallway of the club that leads out back, to where the waiters and other club employees take their breaks. The immediate gust of wind feels refreshing on your face, and you walk to the edge of the parking lot. 

Your feet take you to the abandoned dock that, for whatever reason, was never taken down when the country club was renovated a few decades ago. It’s hidden behind overgrown trees and weeds, and you breathe in relief at the absence of anyone else there. Though from here you can still faintly hear the sounds of the event behind you, it’s quiet enough to where you can also hear the swamp waters crash against the dock, and the night bugs buzzing around you. 

The edge of the dock is too dirty for you to sit down on—your eagle-eyed mother would immediately notice any stain on your dress and berate you for it—so you simply stand there, thinking about the boyfriend you left at the table. The look on Rafe’s face just makes you let out a harsh chuckle. It occurs to you at that moment that your boyfriend is either an idiot or really entitled. Maybe he’s both. 

You’ve dealt with this shit before, and Rafe knows that. He knows that your most recent boyfriend before him was controlling and overprotective in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. It’s why you broke up in the first place.

Does he not even listen to me?

The small but effective cardigan that covers your shoulders begins to itch, and you reach to take it off, only to stumble upon something in the left pocket. When your hands grasp the item, you immediately sigh in relief, pulling it out. 

The pack of cigarettes is old, of course; you haven’t worn this sweater since high school, but it was the only one that even somewhat went with your dress tonight. And Outer Banks summer nights have always had a bit of a chill to them. Your fingers carefully open the pack, pulling out one of three cigarettes left, before setting the pack down next to your feet. You drag it to your lips, holding it there as your fingers naturally reach for the lighter in the opposite pocket. 

It takes a few flicks before a flame is successfully lit. You draw it to the end of the cigarette, an inhale.

About halfway into your second cigarette, you hear the sounds of footsteps on the creaking dock. 

“You hate when I smoke,” he says, and though the immediately recognizable voice of Rafe Cameron should be comforting, in the aftermath of the argument it’s only agitating.

“I don’t want to do this now,” you say without turning around to face him. He nods, though you don’t see, before walking a few more steps.

He’s about a foot away from you, and you still haven’t turned. “Look, Y/N, I only—”

And his insistence on talking only adds to your irritation. Turning around your heel, you look him right in the eyes, meeting his blank face. “No, Rafe, you don’t get to speak.”

“But I—”

“No,” you say, and he finally seems to understand. 

A beat passes, and he nods, encouraging you. 

“Rafe, I love you. I really love you. But I don’t love you enough to deal with distrust that clearly comes from a place of insecurity rather than genuine concern. I’m not saying that you don’t have any concern for me; I’m saying that whatever your little interrogation was back at the table felt more like an insult than anything else. And you know the shit I went through with Noah. So don’t act as if my rage is misplaced or coming out of nowhere. I’ve done this shit before and I know I deserve better, Rafe.” 

You take an inhale of the cigarette, before exhaling right in his face. He rolls his eyes at the action, but you remain unbothered. “Can I say something now?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

He looks hesitant, but he proceeds anyway. “I’m not great with words—you know this. I’m not good at expressing myself eloquently, and one of the things I like so much about you is that I don’t ever feel like I need to. You know what I’m feeling even when I can’t find the words to describe it, and you don’t push me to.”

He waits a bit, eyes searching your face to ensure that you’re paying attention. When he finds at least a bit of interest in your eyes, he continues. 

“I’ll be honest. I didn’t get why you ran off before.”

“I can tell.”

He ignores the snark in your comment. “But it doesn’t matter whether I get it or not. What matters is that I love you and I trust you. And I did sound a bit like a dick.”

“Just a bit?” you ask, and he tries not to smile at your question. Clearly, he’s headed in the right direction with his speech if you’re willing to even joke with him.

“Fine, I deserve that,” he accepts. “I mess up a lot. Like a lot. I don’t always say the right things and I don’t always express my feelings in the most polite way, but I’m working on it. I promise.”

“Rafe, that’s just the problem. I’m tired of hearing you say that you’re working on it—I want to actually see the change. I can’t do the possessive caveman shit again, I can’t. And I don’t like feeling like your teacher. I’m your girlfriend; as much as I care about you and want to help you with shit like this, it can’t be all our relationship is.”

He nods. “I know, babe. You deserve better than that.” And something in his tone makes you want to lean into his sincerity, trusting that he actually gets how you feel. You drop the butt of the cigarette, and he stomps it out with his foot. “Your mom would go insane if you ruined those heels.”

You smile… just a bit. Testing the waters, he brings a hand up to your face, and your body reacts by leaning in, craving his touch. Even when you’re mad at him, he’s the one you yearn for. But before you can get swept away in the magic, you need to make sure that he gets your point. Your hand reaches up to his and pulls it down. He immediately frowns at the action, and it takes all the willpower you possess to not abandon your speech when his lips pout in that adorable way that they do. 

Instead, you squeeze his hand in assurance, and his pout morphs into something less worrying, more hopeful. 

“Rafe, I don’t mind that you get worried sometimes. I don’t even mind that you get a little jealous. They’re your feelings and you’re entitled to them. But you’re not entitled to talk to me the way that you just did. I love you and I would never, ever do anything to risk that.” You punctuate your declaration by bringing your hands to his face, pulling him down to meet you. He settles into the familiar action, and leans in.

“I’ll work on it, I promise,” he says, only an inch away from your lips. 

You nod, sensing the truth in his words. “Thank you.”

His blue eyes look into yours with a gleam of hope. With the natural habit that comes with almost a year of dating, his lips come to press against yours, as his hands fall to your hips. The moment is picture perfect, and your hands run down his tux-covered chest. It’s gentle at first, almost hesitant—just like when you first started dating. But then it moves into something deeper, as you feel his hands squeeze at your hips and his lips move against yours, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. What started out as something soft and romantic quickly becomes something much more crazed and heated, with whines and sloppy kisses drowning out the noise of the waters behind you and the country club in the distance.

You make out like teenagers, hidden away from everyone else as if you’re not both grown adults in a serious committed relationship. It’s thrilling and messy, filled with passion and earnestness, as if he’s trying to convince you of his promise with the kiss. And you love it.

But unfortunately, the fog of youth can only last for so long. Your immature but intoxicating makeout session is too-soon interrupted by the sounds of your boyfriend’s closest friends, Kelce and Topper. 

“I told you they’d be making out,” Topper says, and you and Rafe immediately jump apart as if your parents have caught you. But he refuses to drop you entirely, instead pulling you with him as he turns to face his friends. 

His mood quickly shifts from slightly annoyed to severely unimpressed when he sees Topper take a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet, passing it to Kelce. “Really?” he asks. You roll your eyes at the juvenile bet. He pulls you in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hey, you have no reason to be mad, Cameron. You’re not the one with twenty dollars less in their pocket,” Kelce bites back, and Topper just snickers.

“Not really my problem and also not my fault,” Rafe retorts. You can’t help but giggle at the petty argument, and Rafe’s heart swells knowing that your argument has been resolved. Maybe not completely, but he knows the two of you will move forward. You always do.

As the two boys in front of you begin to bicker more about God-knows-what, Rafe leans down to your ear. “You reek of cigarettes by the way.”

“And since when does that bother you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t care less. But your mother—”

You huff, not letting him finish. “Don’t even go there. Let’s sneak out through the back parking lot.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth. Come on.” He grabs your hand, tugging you forwards. The two of you shove through Topper and Kelce, but Rafe couldn’t care less. You quickly make your way across the parking lot, hand-in-hand. 

“And maybe since I won’t be joining you on the Miami trip, you could give me a little show of all the bikinis I won’t get to see,” he adds with a smirk. 

You gasp in mock agitation, but the mischievous glint in your eyes tells him that you’re back in tune with him. “Only if you’re on your best behavior,” you tease back. 

I'm soooo bad at endings so apologies for that - but otherwise hope y'all enjoyed!! and here's a reminder that requests are very much open :)

also again - shoutout to zyafics for this clever campaign!! I loved participating and I encourage y'all to read the other great fics written for it <3

[batsandbirdbrains]

All your posts about Dick being younger than everyone thought at first is making me think of a scenario farther in the future, with all the batkids playing never have I ever or something, and Dick's real age comes out. And none of them really bat an eye at it first, because at this point Dick is a legitimate adult. But later it dawns on them just how young he was when he first started and DID BUCE EVEN KNOW???

Okay but the batkids getting together when they’re like all in their 20s. Dick is supposedly 28, Jason is 26, Tim is 23, and Damian is like 18ish.

And what’s the question god I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of a good one.

Okay it’s lame but I’m gonna go with Tim saying “Never have I ever smoked a cigarette before I was a teenager” because they all knew Jason had an unfortunate experience with a cigarette when he was 12 and they always make fun of him for it.

But then Dick takes a drink and they all hound him to find out how he had a cigarette before he was 13 when he lived with Bruce, the world’s biggest helicopter parent.

“Roy got a pack when he was like 18 and all the Titans tried one. They were pretty good, actually, but I coughed like hell for like five straight minutes,” Dick tells them. Then he snorts and laughs and adds, “Wally threw up.”

“Wait, how old were you?”

Dick starts counting on his fingers, then shrugs.

“Like, ten? Maybe eleven?”

“Isn’t Roy only five years older than you?”

And Dick realizes he fucked up, and he tries to start back pedaling and laugh it off and say he misremembered, but they all hound him for it.

“Wait, Roy is 33 right now,” Jason argues. “How fucking old are you, Dickhead? Because your math isn’t making any sense!”

“Just leave it alone, Jason!”

“No, no,” Tim pipes in. “If you were ten when an eighteen year old Roy gave you a cigarette, that means you’re 25 right now.”

“Shut up, Tim! No one asked you to do math!”

“Oh my fucking God, Dick-for-brains, are you younger than me?” Jason gapes at him, then gags. “I am NOT the oldest here! No! I refuse!”

“Then fucking leave it alone then!”

“Does Father know?”

They all whip their heads towards Damian, who’s swirling around the bottle of beer they let him have. He raises an eyebrow at all of them.

“No,” Dick eventually says, his voice strangled. “And no one is going to tell him.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Dick narrows his eyes at Damian, who’s smirking at him.

“You’ve been hanging out with Jason too much.”

“That’s no way to speak about your elders, Dickie!” Jason says with glee. When Dick glares at him in return, Jason holds his hands up in surrender and backs away. “Just kidding, just kidding.”

“This information does not leave this room,” Dick warns all of them. “I know where you all sleep. Don’t test me.”

“Damn, dude,” Tim whispers. “Fine, fine. What do you want, a blood pact?”

“Are you offering?” Dick asks, pulling a wing ding out of his pocket.

“Do you just carry those around?” Jason asks, laughing.

“Obviously. Now everyone hold out your palms.”

“Spit pact, spit pact!” Tim begs. “Don’t make me mix blood with the demon brat!”

“You’re just jealous my blood is superior to yours!”

Jason is the first to spit into his palm, then he holds his hand out.

“Just put your fucking hands in, gremlins,” he orders. Then he shudders and turns to Dick. “No, I do not want to be the oldest. You can keep the role. This secret dies with us.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dick says haughtily, spitting into his own palm and holding his hand out too.

Tim and Damian both groan and whine, but they join the spit pact with the other two. No one ever tells Dick’s secret.

[yunalinwrites]

one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

[mooningningg]

notes, a very fun request.

★ Roommate!Sukuna when the bottle lands on you.

You had one rule when you moved in with Ryomen Sukuna: don’t catch feelings.

Which was easy, actually. Super easy. Totally fine.

You only shared a bathroom, sometimes a bed, his hoodies, your fries, a few backhanded compliments, and like… a soul-level tension that felt like a lit cigarette between your teeth.

But feelings? Never.

That’s why you both ended up at Nobara’s party, obviously.

It started normal. Music blaring, drinks poured too strong, your feet already sore from standing too long in boots you had no business wearing. Sukuna was lounging on the arm of a couch, beer bottle in hand, all tattoos and tight jaw, pretending not to watch you dance like you weren’t the only thing he’d been looking at all night.

Then someone suggested spin the bottle.

Of course someone did.

You didn’t think much of it. Just dropped into the circle, laughing, feeling warm and light and stupid.

Sukuna didn’t join.

He leaned back against the wall with a red cup in hand, one brow cocked, looking every bit like a man above it all. Watching. Glowering. Bored.

Until some random guy spun.

The bottle clicked, clacked… and landed on you.

The crowd howled.

The guy smirked, already leaning forward.

That’s when Sukuna moved.

Fast.

Beer slammed onto the counter. Crowd split like the Red Sea. He strode through the circle, sneakers thudding, expression unreadable—but pissed.

“Back the fuck up,” Sukuna said coolly, staring the guy down.

Laughter died. Even the music seemed to quiet.

The guy blinked, confused. “Bro, it’s a party game—”

“She’s not kissing you.” Sukuna smiled without warmth. “Spin again. Or I spin your fuckin’ jaw.”

The guy looked at you, then at Sukuna, clearly re-evaluating all his life choices.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

“You breathing near her,” Sukuna snapped. “That’s my fuckin’ problem.”

Someone from the back of the crowd muttered, “Damn…”

You stared up at him from the floor, eyes wide. “Sukuna—”

“What?” he barked, not looking at you. “You gonna kiss him? Go ahead. I’ll wait. Right here.”

The guy scrambled to his feet, muttering “not worth it” as he walked off.

Sukuna turned to you finally, jaw tight. “You good?”

You glared. “I was until you pulled a WWE entrance in the middle of a dumb party game.”

He didn’t budge. “If you wanted to kiss some mouth-breathing finance major named Brad or whatever, you could’ve stayed home and swiped right.”

You stood up, brushing yourself off. “It was just a game.”

He leaned in, just enough to make your heart thump. “Then spin the fuckin’ bottle and land on me next time.”

You blinked. “What?”

Sukuna stepped back. “Nothing. Game’s stupid anyway.”

Then he turned and walked off like he hadn’t just blown up the party and dropped a confession-bomb in the same breath.

From behind you, Nobara whispered, “...Your roommate is unhinged.”

You stared at his back.

Yeah. Unhinged. And probably yours.

Eventually.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie. @after-laughter-come-tears

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

THE FLOWER PRANK . . .

you’re sprawled on the couch in your apartment, the late afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, casting lazy stripes across the room. rafe’s next to you, one arm slung over your shoulder, his thumb idly tracing circles on your skin as he scrolls through his phone, half-watching some golf highlights on the tv.

it’s one of those chill days, just the two of you, takeout containers scattered on the coffee table, the vibe easy and comfortable.

but you’ve got a little plan brewing, something you saw on tiktok last week that’s been stuck in your head—a girl pranking her boyfriend by sending herself flowers and signing them from some random dude, just to see how he’d react. you figured it’d be fun to try with rafe, knowing how he gets when he’s even a little jealous.

you’d ordered the flowers a couple days ago, a bouquet of roses, nothing too over-the-top, and signed the card with “-Jake,” some generic name that could belong to anyone. the delivery’s supposed to come any minute, and you’re trying to keep your face neutral, but your heart’s racing, half-excited, half-nervous about how rafe’s gonna take it.

“you good, baby?” rafe asks, glancing over, catching the way you’re fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. his voice is low, that outer banks drawl thick as always, and his blue eyes narrow slightly, like he’s trying to read you.

“yeah, just comfy,” you say, flashing a quick smile, leaning into him to sell it. he hums, satisfied for now, and goes back to his phone, but you can feel the anticipation bubbling under your skin.

there’s a knock at the door, and you jump up, maybe a little too fast, brushing your hands on your shorts. “i’ll get it,” you say, trying to sound casual, and rafe barely looks up, just nods, still focused on his screen.

you open the door, and there’s the delivery guy, holding a bouquet of red roses, wrapped in cellophane with a little card tucked in. “delivery for you,” he says, handing them over, and you put on your best shocked face, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as you take them.

“oh, wow, uh… thanks,” you say, loud enough for rafe to hear, and you close the door, cradling the flowers like they’re a total surprise. you turn back to the living room, and rafe’s looking up now, brow furrowed, his phone forgotten in his lap.

“who’s that from?” he asks, voice flat, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s already suspicious. he sits up straighter, arm sliding off the back of the couch as he leans forward.

“i… i don’t know,” you say, playing it up, setting the bouquet on the counter and plucking the card from the flowers with a dramatic little frown. you open it, reading aloud, “had a great time last week, can’t stop thinking about you… Jake?” you let your voice go up at the end, like you’re confused, and you glance at rafe, who’s staring at you now, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.

“jake?” he repeats, slow, like he’s testing the name, and he’s already getting that look—lips pressed into a line, one hand gripping his knee a little too hard. “who the fuck is jake?”

you shrug, biting your lip to keep from smiling, keeping your eyes wide and innocent. “i have no idea,” you say, holding the card up like it’s evidence. “this is so weird. i don’t even know any jakes.”

rafe’s not buying it, not completely. he stands, crossing the room in a couple strides, his hands shoving into his pockets like he’s trying to keep them under control. “you don’t know any jakes, but some dude’s sendin’ you flowers?” he says, voice low, that possessive edge creeping in.

he’s close now, towering over you, and you can see the way his jaw ticks, the way his eyes flick between you and the roses like they’re personally offending him.

“rafe, i swear, i don’t know what this is,” you say, doubling down, holding the card out for him to see. “maybe it’s a mistake or… or someone’s just messing with me.” you’re trying so hard to sound convincing, but there’s a tiny quiver in your voice, and you’re not sure if it’s from nerves or the effort of not laughing.

he snatches the card from your hand, scanning it like it’s gonna give him answers, and his frown deepens. “had a great time last week?” he reads, voice dripping with irritation. “what the fuck’s that supposed to mean? you were with me all last week, baby.” he steps closer, eyes locked on yours, searching, and you can feel the jealousy rolling off him, sharp and hot.

“i was!” you say, nodding quickly, laying it on thick. “that’s why this makes no sense. i’ve been with you, rafe. you know that.” you reach out, touching his arm, trying to soothe him, but he’s still tense, like a coiled spring.

“then why’s some fuckin’ guy sendin’ you roses?” he snaps, tossing the card on the counter, his hand raking through his hair, a sure sign he’s pissed. “you got some dude on the side i don’t know about?” it’s half a joke, but the way he’s looking at you says he’s half-serious, too, like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

“rafe, no,” you say, shaking your head, stepping closer, your hands on his chest now, trying to pull him back. “you know i’d never. this is probably just… i don’t know, a weird prank or something.” you’re so close to breaking, the urge to confess bubbling up, but you hold it together, batting your lashes, playing the innocent card.

he exhales, sharp, his hands landing on your hips, pulling you against him, but it’s not gentle—it’s possessive, like he’s reminding himself you’re his. “better be a fuckin’ prank,” he mutters, eyes boring into yours, and you can see the annoyance simmering, the way he’s fighting not to let it take over. “ain’t nobody else gettin’ flowers to my girl, aight? just me.”

you nod, biting your lip, and you can’t help it—you crack a tiny smile, just enough to tip him off. his eyes narrow, and he tilts his head, studying you. “what’s that look?” he asks, voice suspicious, fingers tightening on your hips.

“nothing,” you say, too quick, and he raises a brow, not buying it.

“bullshit,” he says, but there’s a hint of a smirk now, like he’s starting to catch on. “you know somethin’. you pullin’ one over on me, baby?”

you laugh, can’t help it, and it’s enough to give you away. “okay, okay!” you say, throwing your hands up, giggling as you step back. “it’s a prank! i sent them to myself. saw it on tiktok, thought it’d be funny.”

rafe’s face shifts, annoyance melting into something else—half-relief, half-exasperation. “you fuckin’ serious?” he says, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head, stepping closer to crowd you against the counter. “you little shit, gettin’ me all worked up over some fake-ass jake?”

“it was funny!” you defend, still giggling, but he’s got you pinned now, his hands on either side of you, trapping you between him and the counter. his eyes are softer, but there’s still that possessive glint, like he’s not totally over it.

“funny, huh?” he says, leaning in, his lips brushing your ear, voice low. “you know what ain’t funny? makin’ me think some other guy’s got his eyes on my girl.” he kisses your neck, slow, deliberate, and you shiver, your hands gripping his arms.

“sorry,” you say, not sorry at all, and he pulls back, smirking, shaking his head like he doesn’t know what to do with you.

“you’re gonna make it up to me,” he says, half-teasing, half-serious, and you grin, knowing he’s already over it, but he’s not gonna let you off that easy. “no more fake jakes, aight? only flowers you’re gettin’ are from me.”

“deal,” you say, leaning up to kiss him, soft and sweet, and he pulls you closer, like he’s making sure you know exactly who you belong to.

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns @pointocean @dsfault @rafestoothbrush @huhidontknowstuff @drewssgirl

[nighten-obsidian]

The amont of SHITHEADS ive seen driving super fast is fucking crazy. Its ALWAYS trucks and sports cars that always speeding really damn fast. Also when im trying to cross at the stoplight these assholes start turning when im halfway across but there are times where they were really close to me. You can wait a few GOD DAMN SECOUNDS for someone to cross the street fully.

Dont get me started on the fuckere that remove their muffer and its so damn loud. No joke there was one dude that had his car SO DAMN LOUD it could of probley blown out my eardrums. Someone could sue that asshole for that.

The craziest thing didnt happen to me, but to my Grandma. When me and my little brother were still in school she was going to pick us up. She passed down the street where the stop signs were and there was car with this old lady talking to her friend and smashed into her car.

Whats fucking gross is that this lady said to my Grandma was "oh we were both responsable" and she lied about what happend so my Grandma would of need to pay money, thankfully the company found out she was lying.

FUCK HER! If someone else was in the car where it was smashed it would of killed someone. I hope shes having a fucking horrible rest of her life. My Grandma told me what upset her the most was no one came out to see if she was ok, but then someone was honking at her and it was one of the vans to pick up the students, you DO NOT honk at someone when they just been in a car crash. I know you have to pick up the students but im sorry, you look like a complete asshat if you ever do that

And this is the reason why I'll NEVER buy a car. It costs way too much and i dont want to deal with these dickheads on the road. I just bike everywhere now. WHEEZE! In my head i would love to say this to a jackass driver "No one gonna blow you shithead!", lets see how their fucking ego drops.

comic about driving i guess

[householdcryptid]

Cockwarming anon again! Dude… that fic was so fucking good, i’m still reeling from it. Like, read it multiple times, squealing and kicking my feet 🙈❤️❤️❤️

So, I offer you this idea as a little thank you (also apologies in advance if this sucks, i’m not a writer, i’m just extremely thirsty and bobpilled rn);

So they’re not fucking, right? But they’re also technically not not fucking.

It’s taken Bob a little while to actually process what’s going on, and what exactly he’s feeling. It takes him a little while to figure out that, sure, he’s getting comfort, but there’s something else in there, something deeper, more primal.

He develops little fixations, and right now he’s fixated on her thighs. He doesn’t know how he’s never noticed them before, how soft and supple they look. Pure comfort. He finds himself wanting to touch them at all times, and she lets him without question, of course, but it only makes him worse.

He’ll sit closer to her so his legs can press against hers as much as possible, he’ll grab them under the table at meals. He’ll even ask to lay his head on them when they’re watching movies together. Slowly escalating, pawing, rubbing his face against them like a cat, sweating, whining, drooling, until his head is enclosed between them, face pressed against against her core. Panting, shaking, eyes closed in complete bliss like he’s finally found heaven.

Just wait until he figures out that he’s a munch.

babe i know you said you arent a writer but you SHOULD be holy shit 😵‍💫 also thank you! i'm so so so glad you liked the last one 🩷🩷🩷

i'm thinking about doing a part two to this just so i can write about him getting pussy drunk tbh he deserves that. # bob reynolds is a munch

cw: rob bein a nasty lil freak, uhhhh scent kink(? kind of?), nsfw but no real sex, reader knows robby is a weirdo and is Totally into it, talks of addiction (not a lot but mentioned), short because i got sick 💔👎, hope you enjoy 😌🩷

It starts off small. It always does with Bob. One tiny thing that snowballs into an addiction, and leaves him reeling. Once upon a time it was morphine, and then worse, but now? Now it’s you.

Small things— things no one but him would notice. The way you smile when he tells you about his day, no matter how boring it is. The way your eyes sparkle in the sunlight, the way you glow.

More recently though, he can’t stop thinking about your legs. He’ll sit in the gym and watch you spar with Walker or Yelena, not understanding why the sight of their hands on you makes his skin crawl.

Instead of focusing on that feeling though, he zeroes in on your legs. The way they tense up, strike out to catch your opponent in the gut, the way they look when you have them wrapped around someones neck, pinning them to the ground.

They’re beautiful, even when you aren’t fighting. He finds himself drawn in, big warm palm sliding over the fabric of your sweats to knead at your thigh mid movie night. He isn’t trying to be a creep, isn’t making any attempt to get handsy, just wants to feel the plushness of it in his grip.

It devolves quickly. Gentle squeezes turn to fingerprint bruises that he feels genuinely awful for. You don’t ever mind, though. Your best friend is just tactile, he doesn’t know his own strength sometimes, and it’s not like you’re complaining, so why is he upset?

He stops squeezing as much, but it leaves something of a hole behind in his day to day. An ache he can’t explain, a longing that feels bone deep. Until you pull him to lay his head on your lap one day, and he’s found a new thing to be hooked on. Revels in the way the plush skin bows under his cheek, how you always end up petting through his hair. It ends up being a surefire way to put him to sleep, eventually.

It’s just too comforting. To have your attention on him so completely, your fingers in his soft curls and his cheek smushed against your soft thigh.

One day, the tower is empty, save you and Rob. He’s twitchy, strung tight like a rubber band ready to snap, skin buzzing with a power he still doesn’t understand and doesn’t think he deserves.

But you’re there, too, and that helps. Pulling him in with gentle hands, and he expects the usual. His head on your lap, your hand in his hair, but you shift. Your knees part, and you pat your tummy invitingly.

“I wanna lay down too, goofy.” You explain, laughing softly at his puzzled expression. He can’t stop staring long enough to come up with a verbal response. You’re wearing shorts, cotton boxers that pull taut at your thighs, dimpling the skin a bit, and his mouth waters.

His sigh is heavy and tremulous when he nuzzles his face against your stomach, lays flat on his front between your legs, arms wrapped up beneath your thighs, his hands splayed under your lower back.

“S’better.” He mumbles, lashes fluttering as he breathes in the scent of you. That’s where it starts, really. Your scent.

Warmth, clean sweat and a heady musk that makes him a little dizzy, he seeks it out. Noses down your tummy, wriggles southward until his face is buried between your thighs.

You giggle— honest to God giggle— and heat licks up his spine.

“Sorry-” He mutters, not making any attempt to actually pull away. “M’sorry. You smell so good,” He whispers, hands sliding to press your thighs closer around his head, nosing at your cunt through the soft material of your shorts. “S’so fuckin’ warm here.” He croaks out, just on the edge of a whine, nails biting into your supple skin.

“It’s okay, Robby,” You murmur, ever so indulgent, especially when he’s whining against your clothed core, already drooling into the fabric. “You can stay. You’re good, bubs.”

He almost sobs at the reassurance, brain going blissfully empty when you squeeze your thighs around his head gently.

He’s trembling just a little bit, huffing these shakey breaths against your core like he can’t quite catch his breath, pretty blue eyes unfocused and heavy lidded. Blissed out on just the smell and the feel of you, the way your thighs block out the sound of the room and the constant buzzing in his brain when they press to his ears.

He falls asleep like that, mouthing at your cunt through the shorts, letting out short little whimpers and huffy groans, your fingers in his hair and your thighs pressed to his ears.

You can only sigh, slip into a nice catnap as well, knowing full well the whole process will begin again when he wakes up.

[sunbleachedfl13s]

stinky ahh remmick headcanons pt 4

targets vulnerable people (like fucking cult leaders do) to persuade into the noble path of vampirism (ex: people w/ recently deceased love ones, those in poverty, people generally trapped in bad situations, etc etc the list goes on he’s just a manipulative scumbag)

incredibly impulsive

so so freaking selfish i cannot reiterate this enough i feel like its the core of his whole character. ALL OF HIS “generosity” IS HOLLOW!!!! he didn’t actually give two shits about anyone in the juke joint, he only cares about how THEY can benefit HIM

its what their musical talents could have provided to him that caught his attention, so his motivations are inherently selfish and he’s not even self aware enough to realize that

and i think if sammie hadn’t nuked him he probably would’ve let the whole hive mind die in the morning anyway, because hey you can always find more people to turn, gotta break a couple eggs to make an omelet iykwim

so for instance in the movie mary and stack were just turned, so stack saving mary at the end makes sense because remnants of his humanity would totally still be present, so his very human care and love towards her fueled that action

but as for remmick i think hes too goddamn old to still have a good handle on human emotions, his search for musical talent to reconnect him w/ his ancestors seems more like the repeated final wish of a ghost haunting the earth, like he forgot why he’s even doing it but at this point its all he can remember idk if this shit even makes sense

he has craazy time blindness because hes so fuckin old, like whole years must feel like weeks to him, decades feel like months, he blinks and its 20 years later

would fuck up a karaoke night

i fear he would be a mansplainer

we all know he was patient zero of the sassy man apocalypse so he would be so fucking petty. like dude you’ve lived on this earth for literal centuries and you still get heated over the smallest shit (btw go check out @jupiterpiss they have a great remmick fic in this vein)

this kinda falls under the him being petty thing but not only would he eat your cows/livestock he’d also eat your pets (like dogs and cats)

tits > ass guy (but lets be real here he’s not getting any game either way) (he’d probably see a girl wearing a top that showed cleavage and go “huh, they’re allowed to do that now? woman’s rights are progressing so fast ☺️”)

would probably listen to the Hamilton soundtrack

has slept on floors/the ground for so long that sleeping in a bed feels weird to him

starts bar fights, and then proceeds to lose every single one (the whole bar gangs up on his annoying ass)

would have “acab” in his twitter bio

this got so rambley but hes such an interesting character with a whole lotta nuance so i get really bummed out seeing him simplified in the fandom space

but thats been happening to characters since the dawn of time so whatever

[your-unfriendlyghost]

vent post sorry Jesus Christ my 80-something year old, dementia-ridden grandmother got her hands on a fucking taser.

So I came home from a renaissance fair yesterday and she was fucking tasing the air with a teal-rhinestone-encrusted taser.

  I didn’t register what it was at first, I just heard this awful crackling noise that made me shudder, and then she was coming at me with a flashlight pointed into my eyes. (Yk, first she renders me deaf and then she blinds me. BAM, BAM!) I covered my eyes and asked her not to do that, because she’s had this habit historically of blinding me with flashlights on purpose and I hate it. Then I hung up my keys, and when I turned around to look at her, that horrible sound crackled again. And, feeling dazed and confused as if in a dream, it hit me that the sound was coming from her flashlight. Was it a toy? It looked like a toy, but- what- I frowned. She zapped it again. 

  “You…have a taser,” I said, blinking slowly, barely able to process this.

  “Yes.”

  “…why?”

  She shrugged flippantly. “In case anyone needs it!” This wasn’t a helpful answer. I closed my eyes.

  She doesn’t have a car anymore, she can’t drive and go shopping…and no sane person would give the madwoman a goddamn stun gun…right?! I swallowed, mouth dry. 

  “How?”

  “Cathalogue.”

  “Catalogue?” I echoed.

  “Cath-a-logue. Here, look,” she said, tasing the air far too close to me to be comfortable.

  “Why?” I said again, voice high and reedy as it often gets when my life becomes too close to an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

  In lieu of answering she tased the air again, and I flinched again, thinking about how damn close that thing had been to my face just seconds ago. 

  “Oh, what happened to your hair? You’ve gone blond! I love it!” She exclaimed, changing the subject as she finally realized I was dressed like Bill S. Preston esquire. 

  Not having the energy to deal with the fucking taser I said “Uh…yeah, dude.” And I showed her a tiara I bought for my sister at the nerd fair. Then I slipped upstairs for safety reasons. Knowing my life, it won’t be long before I inevitably end up stunned on the floor by that thing- on accident or otherwise.

[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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[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

LOVE INSURANCE

He picks you up at exactly the time you told him. As his car pulls up and the rear window rolls down, your colleagues whisper about the handsome hunk inside, but someone mutters something about how tacky the car looks. You ignore them completely and rush straight toward him.

He steps out of the car and immediately picks you up in his arms. You protest, wriggling to break free, telling him not to do this in public.

But he puts you down gently and spins you around.

He’s been gone for a couple of weeks, off doing God knows what. You hate to admit it, but it’s been a rough few weeks, and given the state your city is in, it's no surprise. Still, you're not too worried.

As you break free from his hold and continue the ride home, you ask him how things went, how business was. His usual vague “as usual” means a lot, but his tone is lighter than when he left.

“I’m hungry. Let’s grab something,” you say.

“I already brought your meal,” he replies, eyes fixed on the road, muttering something about where he kept it.

But before you can reach for the wrapped food...

“Not now. Wait until we get home,” he says firmly.

“I’ll die of hunger by then. You’re such an asshole. A gentleman but still an asshole,” you drawl. “A gentle asshole, should I add?”

He swerves slightly as a car cuts in front. The turn isn’t sharp, but it’s clearly his way of expressing displeasure, followed by a click of his tongue.

“Don’t ‘dude’ me. And what the fuck is a gentle asshole?” he retorts.

“Dudeeeee,” you whine, dragging the word out—only for your stomach to growl in agreement.

He sighs heavily. You try to explain that even your stomach is calling him “dude” now, which earns another tongue click and an abrupt halt of the car.

“Let’s get out. You’ll eat now,” he mutters, unlocking the doors.

You smile, unfasten your seatbelt, and before you can even reach for the handle, he’s already opening the door for you.

You find a quiet spot in the park. The late evening air is still warm, slowly slipping into night. Settling on a bench, you waste no time digging into your meal.

The speed with which you eat makes him feel slightly guilty. He hadn’t realized how hungry you were, and maybe he was torturing you just a bit. But he pushes the thought aside; at least he found this nice park for you to enjoy your meal.

“So, how did things go? Anything I should worry about?” you ask as you slide your hand around his arm, resting your head on his shoulder.

His body relaxes the moment you touch him. He didn’t realize how heavy the stress had been, until you melted it away.

“So far, so good,” he says softly, brushing your hair from your forehead. “And you?” he adds, flicking your forehead.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, okay.”, he adds.

“Of course I’m not worried about your stupid gang stuff,” you mumble.

His brow furrows at that, but the next words bring quiet relief.

“But I do worry about you. These internal frictions have taken a toll on you. Don’t think you can hide that from me.” You pout, gently.

The soft breeze and the warm summer air swirl around you. With his heart suddenly full, he shifts to fully face you, drawing his arm away from your grasp.

“What are you doing?” you ask, but he shushes you as he pulls you into his arms again.

“It’s fine, stupid. I’m used to it,” he mumbles, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you, so tight it almost feels like he’s trying to squeeze the pain out of his own body through you.

But as your ear rests against his chest, you notice his heartbeat, it’s faster than usual.

You know it’s not fine at all.

Even if Jaegyeon Na is used to the chaos and uncertainty, you know he desperately wants peace. That’s why he’s willing to go to such lengths for the city, even making pacts that demand everything from him: heart and soul.

“Even if it’s not fine... you know I’m here,” you whisper.

“Did you hit your head or something? Getting sentimental out of nowhere?” he teases, pulling back slightly and giving your shoulder a nudge.

“Buddy, your emotionally constipated ass can’t handle basic human decency,” you shoot back, clapping back hard.

He laughs at that, really laughs, and flicks your forehead again. “Keep calling me ‘dude’ or 'buddy', and you’re banned from getting in the car.”

You challenge him if that’s even possible, and soon, you’re both lost in playful bickering, your banter bouncing back and forth, lightening the mood.

Then, without a word, you pull him into a hug again.

“Someone’s clingy today,” he teases, but he wraps his arms around you again, easily.

“Be glad someone missed you,” you say.

That shuts him up. Completely.

And he’s glad. For everything. For you.

Glad you stuck around when there were so many chances to leave.

Grateful you never let go even when things got rough.

And he knows,deeply, fiercely, that one day, when peace finally comes, he’ll take all your worries away and give you the quiet, stable life you deserve.

Jaegyeon Na was anything but peaceful inside.

But right now, he was glad.

And grateful.

And that, for now, was enough.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Slight mature theme (mention of sex) so I'm putting 18+ just to be safe ❤️

❤️

Part one Winter + Spring ❄️🌼

Summer ✨☀️

Summer arrives and with it comes the guilt and missing Eddie. Thoughts niggle at you when you're trying to relax or keep busy, you miss your friendship with Eddie and don't understand where everything went wrong.

Why was Eddie so against Matt?

Speaking of Matt, the two of you had gone on a few dates, but all you can think about is Eddie. It's not fair to Matt; he seems like a nice guy, and you push yourself to try with him.

On one of your dates to Family Video to pick up some movies Eddie is there with Dustin and Nancy for the usual Friday movie night. Of course, Eddie is stubborn and you're stubborn, so neither of you makes a move to say anything. All Eddie does is glare at Matt like he's some sort of upside-down hell creature.

Robin rolls her eyes at him and sings songs under her breath. It sounds a lot like she's saying Eddie is jealous, but that's completely ridiculous because he's with Chrissy, and why can he have a girlfriend but you can't date anyone? He was infuriating.

It doesn't stop the hollow feeling in your chest when you leave, you miss him, and if you just turned back for one second, then you'd see his sad face watching you go.

Not long after that you find out that Eddie was right from the start that Matt was a player. You see him on a date while you're out with Robin and Nancy for the day, and you can't believe you were so stupid.

You get out of the relationship super quickly and don't even look back when you walk away from Matt.

You so don't have time for shit like this.

Soon after you find out from Dustin that Chrissy and Eddie have broken up. Despite being mad at him you'd never have him face heartache alone.

So you arm yourself with Eddie's favourite candy and head to his new place. When you knock on the door he tells "Dustin, dude. I'm okay. Will you stop bugging me every minute kid. I'm fine"

"It's me, Ed," you answer back, and suddenly the door is wrenched open, and you're lifted off your feet into a bear hug.

"I missed you, so much princess" he mumbles into your hair and you melt into him, tears roll down your cheeks and you peer at him sadly.

"I'm so sorry Eddie, I heard about you and Chrissy too, I came straight here when I heard" he shakes his head and holds you close.

"Don't. Don't apologise, I was a dickhead, this was on me, I've been trying to find the right way to apologise for ages and honestly Chrissy and I broke up like two months ago. I just didn't want to say anything to Dustin or the gang straight away, that little shit hasn't left me alone since" he says this with a fond smile and your heart does a little flip, fuck. He was so sweet with Dustin and the kids.

"So is that why you were so grumpy about Matt?" you ask, curious, but don't understand why Eddie's cheeks go pink.

"Uh no. The break-up with Chrissy was pretty mutual, she kinda helped me realise something big..." He trails off but he's still blushing a little bit which is cute but you don't have a clue what he's talking about.

What did Chrissy help him realise? You mull over it but decide to figure it out another day.

"How is Matt?" It seems like he forces the words out and you sigh and cuddle close to him.

"Oh he's an asshole, you were right Eddie. He was a player, I'm sorry I didn't realise that when you said"

Eddie's scowling but you know he's not mad at you and he makes his feelings loud and clear.

"You're too good for him. He's a douchebag to two time you, doesn't know what an amazing lady he has princess" flushed at his praise you kiss his cheek.

You were here now with Eddie and you weren't letting anything come between your friendship again.

Autumn. 🍁🍂

Turns out you figure it out fairly quickly, even if it seems unbelievable to you. At first, you deny it because there's no way Eddie was falling for you. Absolutely no way.

But the signs are hard to ignore. He blushes when you're near, you've made him speechless twice, and Eddie has never been speechless or one to blush in his life. He's nervous, and while he's always a gentleman, you notice it a lot more in the little things he does for you.

When you're together, he wears aftershave, and one time he brings flowers he picked for you, he looked so sweet and bashful handing them over. It was so cute.

It gets to the point where the tension between you two is at breaking point and you can't deny it any longer. It's just who will make the first move.

Eddie is the one who steps up It's late and raining when he drives you to his after Hellfire to watch a movie. He's more fidgety than usual and you can tell something is bothering him.

"Hey princess?" You turn back to him, and he strides up to you, takes your face between his hands and cradles it so gently. Then he kisses you, and it's cliche, but it feels like fireworks and fate. Both of you are dazed and smiling at each other like goofballs when you part.

The two of you only part from your giddy bubble when the door opens and Wayne comes out, he smirks and nods to Eddie.

"Well about damn time boy, thought you were never gonna work up the courage, lovesick fool" Eddie hides his face in your hair and you fight the giggles at his pouty face.

"So that's what Chrissy helped you realise?" You know it's true but it's nice to hear it all the same.

"Kinda hard to be with someone when you're in love with your best friend and she was still in love with Jason" oh shit. Well there it was.

The two of you make love on a cold autumn night after binge watching your favourite Halloween movies, It's full of giddiness and joy and just...

"You know I love you, too, right? I always have" his answering smile is beautiful and he kisses you again, says I love you repeatedly.

After that, the two of you enjoy pumpkin picking dates, trying to make your own cookies which Eddie burns on the first try but perfects them the second time, movie nights, nights stargazing in his van.

finally.

In fact, that's the first thing Dustin says when he walks in on you and Eddie cuddling on the sofa just before a Hellfire session.

"We weren't that obvious were we?" Eddie asks you but before you can answer Dustin butts into the conversation.

"Dude, even Mike noticed and he's the most oblivious guy I know" You stifle a smile and hide your face in Eddie's chest, just listening to Mike and Dustin argue and Eddie and Lucas trying to calm them down enough to start the new Hellfire session.

Life was good.

❤️

"But I think I love fall most of all" 🍂🍁