#muffinbeliever

Dean was pissed. He was beyond pissed. 

He was absolutely furious. 

You could feel his piercing eyes glaring at the back of your head. Twirling your hair in your fingers, you nodded along to whatever the guy in front of you was saying, throwing in a flirtatious giggle every now and then just to add to your performance. Internally, you huffed at your boyfriend’s obvious annoyance. 

It wasn’t like you wanted to talk to this guy— he was over-confident and loud— you just had to distract him long enough for Sam and Dean to grill his friend about the recent deaths in town. But seeing how Dean was standing in the corner, gritting his teeth, you assumed the brothers determined only one of them would be needed for the job.

The man across from you (you couldn’t recall his name… was it Jackson? Jasper? Whatever.) placed his hand on your arm, and you realized you had zoned out. 

“Did you hear what I said?” He asked. His breath reeked of alcohol, and you wanted to cringe away from his touch, but you had a job to do. You swallowed your disgust and flashed him a sultry smile.

“Sorry, I was focused on your arms. Do you work out?” You feigned interest as you placed your hand on his bicep, and he smirked while flexing. 

“Yeah, I lift,” he said, smugly. He glanced at your empty glass sitting on the bar and frowned. “Another round?”

You shook your head. 

“No thanks, I have work in the morning,” you said, politely hinting that you wouldn’t be spending the night with him like he had hoped. 

“Oh come on! Just one more drink wouldn’t hurt,” he encouraged, and with a sigh you caved, figuring that if you’re going to be stuck with him for God-knows-how-much longer, at least you’d get a free drink out of it. 

“Alright, sure,” you agreed, resigned to your duty of the night. 

As he hailed down the bartender, your eyes swept through the room, finding your boyfriend still brooding in the same corner. His eyebrows were tightly knit and his lips were slightly pursed. His arms were crossed over his chest; his arm muscles bulging in his black t-shirt without even trying. His dark green eyes met yours from across the bar, and you flashed him a smile. He raised a single eyebrow in return. 

You knew that look. 

You were fucked.

The bartender slid you a glass filled with amber liquid, presumably whiskey, but you weren’t sure. You thanked him and threw it back, knowing you’ll need it later when your jealous boyfriend decided to confront you. 

The man across from you laughed and saluted you with a cheers before throwing his glass back as well. Suddenly, he was a lot closer than before, and you stood in shock as he reached out his hand, placing it on your cheek, and wiped at your bottom lip. You jerked from his touch, not at all pleased with his straightforward style. 

“You had some whiskey on your lip,” he explained before he leaned in closer. “Would you have preferred I kiss it away, instead?” 

Before you could say anything, you felt a firm hand clasp your shoulder and you were pulled away from the man in front of you and straight in to the familiar broad chest of your boyfriend. 

“H-hey!” The man sputtered, confused as to what had just happened. 

Dean ignored him and held your hand tightly in his. 

“Y/N, we’re leaving,” he said quietly but firmly in your ear. His low voice was laced with anger and jealousy, and you hated to admit that it turned you on. Whether it was the liquor you practically inhaled or the dark promise of what was to come, you fluttered your eyelashes at him.

“But I was having fun,” you said with a pout. “And Sam isn’t even done!” 

His eyes hardened even more at your disobedience, and he spun you towards the door. 

“Let’s go. Now.” 

With a dramatic sigh, you waved at What’s-His-Face, and he waved back, perplexed. You led the way out of the bar, Dean’s steady hand against your lower back. 

The cool breeze hit you like a breath of fresh air, but you had no time to appreciate it, as Dean was already opening the passenger door to Baby, and you got in without argument. Without a word, he started the car and backed out of the driveway. His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, not quite speeding back to the motel, but definitely making a hasty exit. 

“What about Sam?” You asked, sighing when your boyfriend clenched his jaw and kept his eyes on the road, ignoring your question. “Dean, look I—”

“Be quiet.” 

His words were soft but demanding, and you couldn’t help the rush of excitement that swept through your body. You did as you were told and crossed your legs to provide some friction to your heated core. The last time Dean was this upset, he had spanked you so hard that you had bruises on your ass for a week. You watched as the night scenery flashed by, hyperaware of the rumbling vibrations of Baby’s engine that seemed to send sparks through you with every bump in the road.

He sharply pulled the car into the parking lot and you were quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Dean, on the other hand, took his time, making you impatient for what was to come, but you knew better than to complain, so you kept your mouth shut and waited for him to guide you. 

He got out of the car first, before making his way to your side where he stiffly opened the door. Ever the gentleman, he offered you his hand, and you took it, climbing out of the car. 

It was silent as you entered your room, and you were thankful for Dean’s foresight of getting a separate room from Sam this time. You placed your bag on the bed, and Dean took a seat on the armchair facing you. His legs were spread and he looked leisurely, like a king, but you were not fooled. There was anger brewing in his eyes. 

“Strip.” 

This time, you knew better than to argue. You started with your top, crossing your arms over your body before slowly pulling it off. Your breasts bouncing as they were released. You unbuttoned your jeans before shimmying them down your legs. You hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your thong, and slowly pulled it down, turning around and bending over as you did.

Before long, you were fully naked, and Dean drank your body in with hungry eyes. He shifted in the chair, and you noticed his pants were tented where he had grown hard watching you strip. Without another word, he spread his legs even more and patted his leg. Understanding his request, you sat on him, your legs on either side as you straddled his thigh. 

His leg was thick and hard under you, and you couldn’t help but press down further, creating friction between your clit and his jeans. His arm shot out and his hands wrapped around your throat, restricting you from grinding against him anymore. 

“Did I say you could move?” His voice was low. Menacing. 

“No,” you whimpered quietly, shaking your head. He tilted his head and tightened his grip around your throat.

“No, what?” 

“No, sir,” you choked out. His tight hold relaxed slightly, and you inhaled deeply. 

“I’m not happy with you, Y/N,” he stated simply. 

“I know.” Your voice was shaky, partly from his grip and partly from your bubbling excitement. 

“You know, do you? And what exactly do you know?” 

“I shouldn’t have been teasing you like that, sir. I’m sorry.” 

He chuckled darkly, and his other hand came to rest on your waist, shuffling you around, knowing it only made you more desperate. 

“Teasing me? You think this is about you teasing me?” 

You nodded quickly, causing him to chuckle more. 

“This is about you parading yourself around the bar. Acting like a slut,” he hissed, pulling you closer towards him to whisper in your ear.

“Like you aren’t mine.”

You could feel yourself getting wetter with every word, whimpering from his intoxicating smell and touch that surrounded you. 

“Tell me, Y/N, did you like when he touched your arm? And when he touched your lips that are only meant to be wrapped around my cock?” His thumb traced your bottom lip with a soft reverence that contrasted with his anger and rage. His hand tightened around your throat once again.

“Answer me.” 

Immediately, you shook your head. You hadn’t enjoyed it. Not one bit. 

“No, sir.” 

He slowly began to rock your hips against his thigh, pulling you flush against the denim so you could feel the rough fabric. 

“No? And why should I believe a whore like you?” He muttered into your hair as you ground your hips against him faster, whining and closing your eyes as you felt sparks in your toes moving up towards your core. Suddenly, you were stilled, and your eyes shot open. 

“I asked you a question. You seem to be having trouble answering those tonight.” 

Still dazed, you shook your head. “Yours. I’m only yours, sir. No one else’s.”

“Only mine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Prove it.” 

And with that, he sat you back down on his thigh. His large hand that was still wrapped around your throat tightened again, and you moaned as you rode him. Your hands gripped the arm of the chair and his thigh, steading yourself. You ground your hips against him and the room filled with your moans and whimpers. 

“That’s a good girl. Wanting to prove to me that you’re my whore, and my whore only.” 

You gasped when a sharp smack was delivered to your ass, speeding up your pace as waves of pleasure rolled through you, faster and faster, until you reached your peak, your body shuddering against his as you came with a wail. 

Spent, you slumped against his clothed form, a slight sheen of sweat covering your body. He placed a kiss on your forehead, and you mumbled nonsense tiredly into the cotton of his shirt. He chuckled at your tiredness.

“You’re not getting out of this so easily, sweetheart. We’re not finished yet.”

The cool ocean breeze swept your hair across your face, leaving you sputtering like a fool. You wrapped the ends of your blanket tighter around your body, as the sounds of the waves crashing accompanied your friends giggles beside you. 

It was cloudy, but that didn’t stop your friends from dragging you out of the house and to La Push. None of you surfed, and it was definitely too cold to swim, but you were enjoying the time out with your friends, cracking jokes and complaining about classes. At least you had been, until two figures walking together along the shore caught your eye. 

It was like your heart had been crushed, and all of the air left your lungs. 

He was with her. 

Jacob Black— your first friend, first love, and first heartbreak. 

You got up from where you were sitting— no longer feeling like hanging out with your friends— and began walking alongside the shore, in the opposite direction of them. Eventually, you found a large rock, one that you could sit on and observe the depths of the water.

Of course, you were ecstatic to hear of her return to the rainy town, having fond memories of braiding hair and sleepovers, but along with the happiness came bits of grief. You knew of the feelings that lingered between her and Jacob, your ex-boyfriend never fully getting over the dark-haired girl.

You had read that first loves shine the brightest and hurt the worst, which you unfortunately found out the hard way. The two of you grew up together, tugging on each other’s hair in simple, childish bouts of teasing. It was unclear when romantic feelings for your friend developed, but one day you were suddenly hit by waves of emotion, and you found yourself on a rapidly-moving train with no stop in sight. 

It wasn’t until you were 14 that you began to act on these feelings, after sensing that Jacob had felt the same. Dating Jacob was like breathing— it never took much effort nor thought, it simply existed. Your routines didn’t change much; you still hung out for the majority of the week, enjoying the time spent together. 

Some days you would watch movies for hours, cuddling on the couch in your living room, throwing out corny quips and references that only the two of you understood. Other days, you would simply coexist, working side-by-side but separately. And that was okay too. 

For three years, you followed this routine. It was simple, and it worked. It was filled with love and adoration but also immense respect and joy. Until one night, Jacob revealed something to you, completely catching you off guard and changing the course of your relationship for the worse. 

“Jake,” you started as the laugh track of the sit-com you were watching accompanied in the background. 

“Hmm?” He asked, and you felt the reverberation from his chest through your body.

It was Saturday, and the two of you were intent on spending the day inside, away from the bitter cold of Forks winters. You had finished your homework last night, in anticipation of cuddling up with your boyfriend for hours on the couch. You were both laying on the couch, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you close against his body.

“Did you ever think we would end up together?” You asked. 

It was not an investigative inquiry, but rather just a random question that popped into your mind. You twisted your head back, looking at him with a smile that fell when you saw his eyes clouded with a haunted look. 

“Babe?” You asked, tentatively. And he blinked quickly, snapping out of his trance. By this point, worry filled your heart, and it beat fervently against your chest. You felt your hands grow clammy with sweat, and you began to pull away from his warm embrace. 

“I, uh… If I’m going to be completely honest,” he started, and your breath hitched, a deep pit in your stomach forming. You mentally cursed yourself, cursing your curiosity and inability to simply leave things be. 

“I had the biggest crush on Isabella Swan when we were younger. I don’t know what it was, but something about her just drew me in,” he continued. 

You and Bella Swan used to be close friends, being the same age and all. But after she stopped visiting Forks for summer and winter break, the two of you began to drift apart, no longer writing each other letters filled with life updates. In your later teens, as life began to pick up, you had almost forgotten about her completely— the thought of her, merely a childhood memory.

Your heart clenched, and you stirred up the courage to ask the first question on your mind— the most important question. 

“If she didn’t move away, would you still be with me?” You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer, but you needed to. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. 

Your stomach dropped, and you pulled away further, no longer wanting to be near him. 

“Oh,” you said. And that was all you could say.

“No, baby, it’s not like that though. I love you, you know I love you. Who cares about the ‘what ifs’? Who cares about the hypotheticals? We’re together now, and that is all that matters to me. You matter.” 

You could tell he was trying his hardest to reassure you, to backtrack and make up for his mistake, and you knew that it was partially your fault for backing him into a corner, but the damage was done. 

What was said could not be unsaid, and that is the nature of living. 

That night was a low point in your relationship— in your life. It was the turning point of the pure, uncomplicated love that you had for Jacob. It created friction between you two, even though you desperately tried for it not to. You both did. At one point, it was too much to bear, and you let go. You walked away from him. 

You were unsure as to how long you were sitting there, but you heard soft footfalls in the sand, alerting your senses to a presence behind you. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. 

“I should’ve known better than to come here,” you said, tears filling your eyes, still focused on the shore. 

You didn’t want to look at him. 

It was hard to speak, the huge lump in your throat creating a crack in your voice along with the stinging of tears. At that moment, you embraced the cliche. Childhood loves never fully died, and now, you could attest to that based on first-hand experience. 

“Y/N,” Jacob started, with a sad smile. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Even though we may not be together anymore, the Rez is your home too.” 

You shook your head in defiance, and finally you found yourself staring into his dark eyes, ones that were once filled with love and happiness for you. 

“No, I can’t keep coming here. I think we should stay away from each other, Jacob.” 

His eyes softened with sadness, and you swore you saw heartbreak in his eyes. But maybe you were just projecting. 

“You don’t want to see me anymore?”

“I…” you sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you. It’s that I can’t. I can’t move on from you if I don’t step away now.” 

His eyes crinkled in confusion and his head tilted, reminding you of a kicked dog that simply did not understand the complexities of life. 

“What changed? We still would see each other after we broke up. It was hard at times, sure, but I think that’s natural.” 

Your heart was heavy, and the tears spilled over as you came to terms with bearing your heart to him one last time. One more time and then never again. 

“I can’t stand looking at the two of you together, knowing that used to be us. I miss us. I miss the way we were together. And I know that you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay. I want you to know that I’m okay with that. I understand. I just don’t think this is healthy for me… for either of us,” you stated with finality, truth ringing in your voice. 

“You don’t think I miss you? Miss us?” He whispered, and you shook your head. 

“I know you don’t, Jacob. I see the way you look at her, and you never looked at me that way,” your breath shook as you attempted to take a calm inhale. “And like I said, that’s okay. I’m okay. I just can’t keep hurting myself by staying.” 

Jacob was quiet, and you waited with baited breath to hear his response. He looked away, his eyes towards the shore where the waves crashed upon the black sand. Sand that you would often roll around in together on the rare sunny days, laughing and splashing your time away. 

“You’re wrong,” he stated, still staring at the murky water. 

“I did… look at you like that. I still look at you like that. You just didn’t see it. You never do. You never look at me anymore, and it kills me to know that it’s my fault. I lost you. I should’ve held onto you when I had the chance— I should’ve fought harder for you. I lay in bed, thinking about you. About all the time we spent together, and how I would trade anything in the world to get those moments back. To get you back. And I am so sorry, Y/N, for not telling you. For not reassuring you that it’s you I want. Not her. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

It was your turn to remain quiet, unsure of what to say, of what could be said. 

You found yourself in tears, silently sobbing on the rock that numbed your body, or so you had tried to convince yourself. That it was the rock that did it. And not the boy next to you. 

He pulled you in a comforting embrace, not unlike the ones he would pull you into when you were together. He rested his chin on top of your head, cradling you close to his chest. 

“I love you,” he whispered, barely heard over the crashing of the waves.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, muffled by the fabric of his cotton black t-shirt.

You were unsure as to what this meant for the future, for the next steps of your relationship. But you knew that the pieces of your heart were beginning to be stitched back together, slowly, but surely. 

And that was all the reassurance you needed in that moment. 

Stiles knew it was unfair of him to feel this way. Malia was a wonderful girlfriend— she grounded Stiles when he was being erratic and she was a master at cuddling. Despite her indifference for Star Wars, she always watched it with Stiles because she knew how much it meant to him. 

He knew he shouldn’t feel like this, but he simply could not help it.

“Stiles!” Came his girlfriend’s voice. “Come look at this!” He walked over to where she stood and looked at the magazine she held out to him.

“Happy 45 years of Star Wars, babe,” Malia said with a smile. It was a Star Wars-themed magazine with exclusive behind-the-scenes photos from the original trilogy. Stiles had already browsed the magazine online, but he didn’t say anything to his girlfriend. It was the thought that counted, right?

His lips quivered in their forced upturn as he took the magazine from her outreached hand and thanked her, but as he casually flipped through the book, his heart couldn’t help but clench in pain. Star Wars had always been his and your thing— the two of you spending your movie nights watching anything Star Wars related, which often turned into heated debates and nerdy inside jokes.

His eyes caught on a screen cap of the iconic Episode V scene where Han and Leia finally confess their love for each other, and his jaw clenched as the familiar burning of tears tingled behind his eyes. He will never forget you lying in his arms, the visible pain in your eyes as you bled out. He will never get over the fact that you had died by his hand, regardless of the fact that it was actually the Nogitsune that stabbed you, not him. It was still his hand, still his body. 

The Nogistune was especially cruel, hearing Stiles’ internal pleading as he begged the Nogitsune to spare you. He heard Stiles’ scream as the blade entered your body and left it with a swift tug. He allowed Stiles to take over for a brief moment, just to see the life fade from your eyes. 

I love you, he had said, tears flowing steadily from his eyes. 

I know, you whispered, your soft smile quickly turning into a grimace from the pain. 

He had wanted to say something, say anything to keep you alive, but for the first time in his life, his mind was empty, all of the thoughts scattered away. And he was helpless, as he clutched you in his grasp as you took your last breath.

He rapidly blinked away the building tears and took a deep breath before closing the magazine.

Star Wars was always your thing, but he couldn’t tell his girlfriend that. Instead, he flashed Malia a thankful smile, and wrapped his arms around her, inhaling her scent that was just a little too sweet and a little too fruity. 

Cause sometimes I look in her eyes and that’s where I find a glimpse of us And I try to fall for her touch, but I’m thinking of the way it was Said I’m fine and said I moved on  I’m only here passing time in her arms 

Ninety-one days, thirteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes after their first meeting, she gave him a bracelet. 

Normally, Spencer didn’t love jewelry— necklaces moved around too much throughout the day, most bracelet materials made him uncomfortable, and rings collect five hundred and four colonies of bacteria on average. He even avoids the feeling of bare wrist against his watch (over two thousand bacterial colonies) by placing the offending item over his long-sleeve whenever he can. But as he stared at the band presented before him with little symbols etched on beads and Luna’s doe eyes, he knew that he would wear this bracelet every day of his life, sensory issues be damned. 

He gently took the accessory from her hands, his eyebrows furrowing as he felt the fabric threading each bead and its soft texture. Upon a closer look, he realized it was braided cotton intricately woven in a tight pattern— nothing like he had ever seen before. 

“I, uh…I figured the cotton would be easier on your skin and wouldn’t bother you as much,” Luna finally said, breaking the thickening silence that was gradually building in his office. “The pattern is supposed to be a ‘spell of protection’…if you believe that kind of stuff…same with the symbols…” she trailed off with uncertainty when he didn’t acknowledge her comment. 

He stared at the complicated pattern, knowing it must’ve taken her hours to braid with such precision. Each knot was exactly the same as the one before it and the one after. There were neither frayed ends nor rough seams. Even the beads were perfectly spaced apart— 1.2 inches, if he were to guess. Each bead had a different symbol that was carefully etched on by hand. One looked vaguely like a pentagram inside of a sun— a symbol that Luna had on one of her necklaces he had seen before— and another pentagram with strange runes in between each point. Another one seemed to have characters similar to those of the ancient Germanic alphabet. He wasn’t sure what these symbols meant and why she was giving this to him, but he was in awe of the time and effort that went into the unique gift.

“Spencer, if you don’t like it, y—” 

“Like it?” He cut in, his voice soft and delicate. “Like it? Luna, I love it.”

He cleared his throat and when he spoke this time, his voice was stronger and more confident as he rattled off the knowledge that he did know.

“Actually, did you know that from 3500 BCE to 3100 BCE, the ancient Egyptians were known for their intricate braids? Upper-class men and women would wear elaborate braided styles bedazzled with beads, jewels, and gold thread. It was already tightly ingrained in their culture even before Cleopatra’s revolutionary braided styles. It was believed that braiding hair would bring good luck and—”

“Ward off evil spirits,” Luna finished for him.

“Yeah.” Spencer smiled softly. “This is incredible. I’ve never gotten a gift like this before. Thank you.”

Infinite starlight could never come close to Luna’s beaming smile, and his heart skipped a beat at her poorly stifled giggles as he attempted to put on the bracelet by himself. One look at his puppy eyes and Luna caved, mirth shining in her eyes as she offered her assistance.

“What do the symbols mean?” His innate curiosity and desire to acquire new knowledge never ceased to arise when the situation presented itself. 

“I’ll tell you some day,” she replied simply. “Promise me you’ll always wear it? It’ll keep away the demons.”

Her tone was light and seemingly airy, but Spencer’s perceptive nature picked up on the worry and desperation that flashed in her eyes. As she finished fastening on the accessory, she fiddled with it as she waited for his response. 

one

She didn’t mean for it to happen. 

Luna was well aware that Spencer would never hurt her. Spencer wasn’t him. But it was an instinct that had developed over the years of growing up under her father’s militant ways. So when Spencer raised hand to run his fingers through his hair during a heated argument, she flinched. 

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she saw Spencer’s immediate reaction: all traces of anger disappearing from his dark eyes and replaced by intense concern. So intense that she averted her gaze, backing up and curling into herself. 

“Luna,” he whispered, scared that anything louder would frighten her further. 

Spencer was not him.

Luna repeated this over and over in her head, building up the courage to finally look him in the eyes. Tears pooled at the unconditional worry for her that clouded his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, knowing that anything more would break her. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he reasoned, but she shook her head. He slowly raised his arms, reaching out to her, and she allowed him to pull her in. The soft yarn of his cardigan brushed at her face and wiped away her tears as she sobbed into him. He murmured comforting words, but there was still dread in her heart.

She was too broken for him. 

two

She awoke with a gasp, sitting straight up in bed. She could still feel the icy breath against her cheek and someone else’s warm blood that dripped from the vampire’s mouth as he trapped her against the wall. She thought she had gotten over the nightmares of her second hunt. Only fifteen years old, witnessing an older hunter— her dad’s friend— bleed dry in front of her. The fear in her heart that took over when she realized that she was next. Drowning in the acceptance of her grim fate until Dean came bursting into the warehouse and beheading the monster in one fell swoop. 

“Angel?” 

Spencer’s sleep-filled, raspy voice was a beacon of light in her dark memories, guiding her back to the soft sheets that she tightly gripped and his soothing caress on her back. She willed her heart to ease its pounding. The bed shifted as he sat up alongside her.

She curled into herself, shielding her body away. Shielding the world away.

This was the fourth time this week that she had woken him up in the middle of the night without explanation. She felt suffocated under his concern and her inability to tell him about the life she lived before she met him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he begged. 

Her heart broke from the sadness lacing his tone. She shook her head.

“I can’t.”

three

They were reading when he got the call. 

The shrill ringtone pierced through the comforting ambiance that they had created on his couch. His eyebrows furrowed as he picked up his phone. 

“Hello…Yes, this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Luna continued reading, the incomprehensible voice on the phone garbled away. 

“She what?”

Luna’s eyes snapped up to her boyfriend, hearing his shaky tone. His face had paled and his tight grip on the phone made his knuckles white. 

“Oh my god,” he whispered, rapidly blinking away tears. 

She quickly put her book down when she saw his free hand curling into a fist, his fingernails undoubtedly digging into his palm. She grabbed it and gently massaged it open, clasping it between hers. The tears overcame him, running down his cheeks as he listened to the person on the other line. 

“Okay, thank you.” 

The phone fell from his hands as he stared at the wall in shock. Fear gripped Luna’s heart. 

“Spence?” 

His eyes flicked to her and the intense pain that they held broke something inside of her. 

“M-my mom…” he trailed off, and Luna knew he was reliving every single nanosecond of the phone call— the curse of his eidetic memory. He shook his head and cleared his throat before starting again. 

“My mom… she’s really sick right now,” he trailed off.

Luna’s heart broke in two as she saw the broken man in front of her. 

“Spence,” she said, but he shook his head, his brunette curls shaking with his head. 

“I knew that she was getting worse, sometimes she even rejects her medications. I’ve been in contact with her doctor, but she has been acting up.” He said, his voice cracking with every word he spoke. 

“I think that you should go see her,” Luna reasoned.

“Will you come with me?” He asked, and she hesitated.

“Are you sure?” She asked, not wanting to intrude in his personal life. 

“I’m sure,” he agreed. 

Luna nodded her head, assuring her boyfriend that she will be with him through thick and thin. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Of course,” she said, pulling him close to her, breathing in the scent of his lemon laundry detergent.

four

“Angel,” came the soft whispers that Luna had become familiar with waking up to. 

There was a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck, and she snuggled closer into the warm body against hers. The strong arm around her waist tightened slightly at her shift. 

“Fivemoreminutes,” she muttered sleepily, burrowing her head further into her pillow. 

There was a gentle chuckle in response that she felt rumble through Spencer’s chest and her back. 

“I guarantee you we have less than two before the rugrats wake up,” he said, drowsy sleep lacing his tone. 

For a millisecond, Luna’s subconscious nudged her, a vague question of who exactly “the rugrats” referred to, but she blamed it on the haze of sleep. 

“Spence,” she groaned, scrunching her eyes, refusing to awake. “Five more minutes, please.” 

“Alright,” he relented in response, his voice threaded with amusement, knowing there were only a handful of times he was wrong.

True to Dr. Spencer Reid form, he was correct. One minute and forty-eight seconds later, there was a squeal from down the hall, and the young doctor chuckled once more, placing a kiss upon Luna’s shoulder as she groaned at the noise.

“I hate saying ‘I told you so’…”

“Liar,” Luna yawned, finally blinking her eyes open, taking in the way the sun streamed through the cream curtains that adorned their shared bedroom. 

There was another nudge in her mind, asking when exactly they officially began to share a bedroom and why she was so familiar with the cries of two children down the hall, but again, Luna shoved the thoughts away, blaming it on her sleep-induced haze.

“You love saying ‘I told you so.’ It’s one of the only ways that you can prove your 187 IQ,” she teased, knowing that there were more than several ways for her boyfriend to prove his above-average intelligence. 

“Maybe just a little,” he winked with a cheeky smile. “I love you more, though.”

Luna barely had time to reciprocate his declaration before there was a louder cry from behind the closed door. The nudging returned to her brain right in time for her to see Spencer open the door and leave, quickly returning with a small child so eerily familiar it made her heart ache. 

The little girl had soft brown curls and the most adorable puppy eyes, identical to the man who carried her. Her plump cheeks were wet, signaling that she had recently cried, and she sniffled occasionally, reaching out to Luna when Spencer got close enough. 

“You wanna go to Mom?” He asked in a soothing tone. The little girl blinked at him and wiggled her fingers more intensely, and Spencer chuckled before turning to Luna, handing her the girl. 

Luna took the child from him, but the nudging in her mind continued, back with a vengeance. 

Whose child was this? Was she “mom”? 

“I thought you were Daddy’s girl,” he joked, ruffling the child’s hair. She turned away from him, burying her face into Luna’s neck, and Luna rubbed comforting circles on her back, her mind still reeling from the turn of events. 

“Spence,” she murmured quietly. He hummed in response. 

“Is this our daughter?” 

He laughed, but his eyebrows quickly furrowed when he realized she was serious.

“…yes?” Spencer had an incredulous look in his eyes as he regarded her curiously, concern shading his gaze. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”

“I…I don’t remember her at all. I don’t remember our lives together like this?” Luna’s voice was shaky as she wracked her memory trying to figure out what was going on. 

“I don’t remember any of this.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, but Luna’s head began to spin before she could hear what he said. Her mind was dizzy with confusion and it felt like she was losing blood, but she knew that didn’t make any sense. She felt the little girl leave her arms right before collapsing back onto the bed, darkness filling her vision. 

She groaned when she finally came to, the familiar silhouettes of her older brothers leaning over her. 

“Dean?” Her raspy voice sounded unfamiliar to her ears, like it hadn’t been used for days. “What’s going on?” 

She went to sit up, but her head felt like it was splitting in two at every movement. 

“Just hold on Lune, don’t get up yet,” her eldest brother said, coaxing her back onto the floor. “You were caught by a djinn. Don’t you remember?” 

At Dean’s words, Luna suddenly remembered the supply run she was on, leaving the store with her car keys in hand before someone placed a hand on her shoulder, his eyes turning blue as she blacked out. 

Her heart sank as she thought of the little girl her mind made up, and the man of her dreams, who was now only that: a dream.

“None of that was real?” Her voice cracked and a tear slipped down her cheek, thinking about the ghost of Spencer’s touch that she would never feel again.

five

“This is Reid,” the young FBI agent snapped into the phone, his patience running thin. 

The BAU had been chasing a ritualistic killer going on three days now, and if the unsub kept to the timetable, they would strike again tonight, but the team didn’t know where.

“I—uh, I’m so sorry, Spencer,” Garcia’s soft voice came through, causing the young doctor to stop shuffling through his papers. 

“What?” 

“Those siblings, the Winchesters, that you asked me to keep an eye out for,” Garcia said quietly, and Spencer felt his heart sputter and then speed up. 

“What about them?” He asked, his mind running through every single reason that Garcia would be apologizing. He knew in his mind what it probably was, but he refused to acknowledge it— it couldn’t be her. 

“The local sheriff’s office in Monument, Colorado reported to Special Agent Victor Henriksen that they had the siblings in custody this morning,” she said, and Spencer hated that he let out a sigh of relief. At least she was alright.

“But…” Garcia continued, Spencer’s heart dropping at the single word. 

“But what, Garcia?” He could hear the trembling in his voice, and he knew that Garcia could too.

“I just got a report that the building blew up…I’m sorry Spencer, but there were no survivors.”

The phone fell from his hand and he watched it hit the floor, as if in slow motion. 

It couldn’t be her.

+1

Dr. Spencer Reid had faced many dangerous situations in his lifetime— kidnapped by serial killers, held at gunpoint more times than he could count, continuously putting his life on the line for civilians— but he had never been more scared than he was at this moment. 

Spencer was tall, but these men were taller. Bigger. Buffer. Clad in their flannel, they stood tall, sizing up the young doctor. 

“Spence,” Luna said, smiling gently at him. “You’ve already met my brother Dean, and this is Sam.” 

Both brothers stuck out their hand, and Spencer knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Oh! Spencer doesn’t shake hands. It’s unbelievable how many pathogens are passed during a handshake. It’s actually safer–” “No, no, it’s okay, Angel,” Spencer gently cut her off, having experienced the awkwardness that usually follows after that particular statistic.

“Besides, shaking your brothers’ hands is the least I can do. After all, they were the ones who encouraged you to go to Caltech.”

The radiance of his girlfriend’s smile eased the pounding in Spencer’s chest, and he firmly shook the hands of the two men before him. 

“Luna talks about you both all the time,” he said, shooting a loving smile at his beaming girlfriend.