Blonde Phase
Renjun x gn reader
summary: spontaneous hair decisions always end in regret. that's what you expect to hear when you tell renjun you're bleaching your hair, but instead you find support, and even his help. you should appreciate his wholehearted support but instead it has you wondering: why doesn't he care?
genre: fluff, minimal angst, technically they're in grad school but that's not particularly relevant, non idol au,
warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, spontaneous hair decisions (i do not endorse), lmk if I missed any
wc: 4.4k
a/n: in the immortal words of charles boyle, the most intimate thing you can do with a lover is wash their hair. yknow i made fun of him for that until i wrote this. i see it. also its been so long since ive finishing anything, pls forgive me if this is bad. renjun i love u. as always I'd love to hear what you think <3
“I’m bleaching my hair.” If you say it fast enough, Renjun won’t be able to talk you out of it. The plastic bag swings around your wrist as you walk across the parking lot. “I’ve already bought the bleach and gloves and stuff, and I’m going to do it, today.”
He’s quiet for so long you check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Okay.”
You almost drop your phone. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Was I supposed to say something else?”
“Um, yeah?” You say. “You have opinions about literally everything. You talked me out of buying those pants two days ago.” You finally get to your car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat and half-falling behind the wheel.
“That’s because they were made of polyester, and the thrift store was still charging $15,” he says immediately. “That was a scam.”
“Money is temporary, drip is forever.”
“Those pants would have lasted a year max, before they fell apart, and you still haven’t learned how to sew so you wouldn’t even be able to mend them or upcycle them.”
“You know what, I didn’t buy the pants, so this fight is moot,” you say. You set the phone on speaker, turning the engine on to blast the AC.
“Well, not moot. Technically I won,” Renjun says.
“I’d respect you more if you weren’t insufferable.”
“Here I was thinking you appreciated my insight,” he says. “You even asked for it.”
“I did not!”
“You literally asked about bleaching your hair.”
“I said I was surprised you didn’t have an opinion, not that I wanted to hear it,” you say.
“Semantics,” Renjun says. “So what time do you want to come over?”
You frown. “Tonight?”
“The roommates are out of town for the whole weekend, and I have way better ventilation,” he says. “I’d much rather bleach it without passing out.” He pauses. “You do want help, right?”
“Honestly, I was not expecting support. I was fully ready to fight you on this,” you say.
He snorts. “Come over whenever, I'm not doing anything today.”
“See you in twenty minutes.” You hang up, feeling a strange ball of tension roll around in your gut. That was… too easy? Renjun always has something to say about your admittedly impulsive tendencies. But if he’s going to help you’re not going to reject it—knowing Renjun he’s probably already watching Youtube videos and learning more than you will ever know about bleaching hair.
And it’s Renjun. When have you done anything without his help?
.
.
Renjun opens the door wearing a wearied expression. He doesn’t bother to greet you or even smile, just unlocks the door and steps to the side.
“Hi to you, too,” you say, trading your shoes for the spare slippers resting by the doormat. You follow Renjun into the space that serves as kitchen, dining room, living room, and Jaemin’s miniature gym, with weights and mats stacked next to the television.
“Who the hell clogs a toilet and then leaves for the weekend,” Renjun says.
You set down your plastic bag full of hair products and frown. “That’s disgusting.”
Renjun leans against the counter. “And you didn’t have to spend the last forty minutes trying to unclog it.”
“So which of the guys are you going to murder?” You try to guess, running through his roommates: you find it hard to believe Jaemin would do such a thing. Jeno maybe, and Donghyuck would certainly think it’s funny. But, in all honesty, it could have been any of them.
“Don’t know,” Renjun says, “but knowing them, they’ll make a pact to protect each other.”
“Seriously?”
Renjun pauses, gaze sheepish. “It’s what I did when I accidentally killed Jaemin’s little succulent that survived his college dorm.”
You fake a gasp, placing a hand over your chest. “Every day I learn something new about you. That’s devious.”
“I was drunk!” Renjun says, holding up a finger. “And Jeno and Donghyuck pushed me into it, so it was equally their fault.”
“If you say so.” You glance around the apartment. “Where are they all?”
“Jaemin’s visiting family, Jeno has a soccer tournament, and Donghyuck said he’s going camping with Yangyang.” Renjun says, counting off with his fingers.
“Donghyuck and Yangyang are friends?”
“Yeah, according to them they bonded over dealing with me.”
“Those were their exact words?”
“Dealing with my ‘stupid ass,’” Renjun says.
“That’s more on brand.”
Renjun nods.
You think about Yangyang, Renjun’s friend from when he was a kid. You’ve met him a few times now, especially since he’s moved half an hour away from Renjun. He’s fun, always bringing out a chaotic side of Renjun whether it’s dancing on a bar or bringing out angry-Renjun. But Yangyang and Donghyuck?
“That’s a terrible friendship. They’re going to ruin you.”
Renjun nods again, but you see the smile hiding in his eyes. He can rant all he wants, you know he’s excited his friends are getting closer with each other.
You point at the bag. “So where are we doing this?”
You half expect him to lecture you about rash hair decisions but he just gestures to the kitchen. “I figure right here should be fine. The tiles should be pretty easy to clean and probably could use some bleach anyway.”
He drags the chair with a rickety leg from the dining table. You dig through the bag and set everything on the counter. While Renjun cracks a window open, you begin to mix the developer and the bleach, curling your lip at the sharp scent. Renjun joins you, pulling on a pair of gloves.
“Wow that’s strong,” he says, wincing.
“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely a good idea to do it here.”
When the powder is finally combined, you sit on the chair, Renjun following behind you. You section off your hair together, then he grabs the bowl and the brush.
He holds the thick paintbrush brush up against your hair, glancing at you, giving you one last chance to back down. You give him the nod of approval and he shifts back to focusing on your hair, brushing the bleach into it as carefully as he spreads paint on a canvas. He works section by section, carefully drenching your hair with the creamy solution.
“So, are you going to tell me why you decided to do this?”
You can’t resist turning and glancing at him. “I thought you approved.”
“I didn’t try to talk you out of it,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how you came to this decision.”
You nod until Renjun uses his gloved hand to hold your head straight. “I suppose that’s fair.”
You pause, trying to find the right words. But you find yourself drifting back to Renjun. Why didn’t he ask this before the bleach was in your hair? It’s not like him to keep his opinions to himself. When you first met him, he was yelling at Donghyuck for going to a philosophy seminar just to fight with the notorious bigot of a professor (which Donghyuck did and then got kicked out, and proceeded to get the professor suspended). You only knew Mark back then, a friend from another class who invited you to meet some of his other friends in the dining hall. When Renjun turned to ask what you thought, you said Donghyuck should do what he thinks is right. Renjun didn’t hesitate to call you an idiot then. So why isn’t he calling you an idiot now?
To his credit Renjun doesn’t rush you. He continues to paint the bleach into your hair, content to wait for you to figure out an answer. Except you’re thinking about all the wrong questions. Like, seriously, why do you want him to call you an idiot?
“I want a change,” you finally say. “I’m stuck in a degree that will make me absolutely no money when I graduate, I can’t afford to break my lease, and don’t have any major relationships that need upheaving, so, hair.”
“‘A change?’” Renjun repeats. “Like, you woke up this morning and thought, today I’m going blonde?”
“Like, I have this feeling in my chest, this aching feeling that there’s something I need to do, someone I’m supposed to be, something more than the person I see in the mirror but I’ve made my decisions and I’m happy with my decisions and I genuinely like who I am. So, hair.”
You see Renjun’s hand falter out of the corner of your eye, halfway between the bleach mixture and your hair. He freezes for a heartbeat then continues to move, lifting some hair off your ear, careful not to brush the bleach onto your skin.
“‘So, hair,’” he says.
“Are you really going to repeat everything I say?”
This gets a short laugh from him. “I think the fumes are getting to me already.” He pauses, setting down the brush and stepping in front of you. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are, too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”
You smile at him. “Me too,” you say. “I definitely would have fucked up trying to bleach this on my own.”
.
.
“There’s still some bleach left,” Renjun says after he finishes with your roots. “You’re sure you don’t want your eyebrows to match?”
“Why don’t we do your eyebrows,” you say. “Better yet, why don’t we shave them off?”
Renjun sets down the brush. “Okay, no eyebrows.”
You grin at him. “That’s what I thought.”
He helps you get a plastic bag wrapped securely over your head, then sets the timer.
“What do you want to do for the next half hour?” You ask. “Preferably something that requires little to no movement.” You gesture to your head. “We’re not winning any frisbee tournaments tonight.”
“It was one time,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head and stepping around you plop down onto the couch. “We can watch something.”
You follow him, sitting on the other side, a cushion between you. The space feels strangely empty. Though you’ve spent plenty of time alone with Renjun, even alone with him at his apartment, the silence is usually interrupted by one of the guys getting bored of playing League, or coming back because they can’t go out to a bar without someone forgetting their ID, or in desperate need of Renjun’s expert advice (read: Jeno never remembers to ask Renjun to look over his submissions until 12 minutes before they’re due). The cushion between you never stays empty for long but the moments stretch on, only making the distance feel greater.
You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’s been since you’ve thought of Renjun as just a friend. If he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much about what he thinks. And if he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much that he suddenly doesn’t think.
You sneak a glance at him, fiddling with the remote for a couple seconds before realizing he grabbed the wrong one. He’s certainly always been handsome—that was undeniable from the moment you met him. But more than just being good looking, it’s Renjun himself. Not just those dark eyes, but the way they burn with passion (even when he’s arguing about the proper number of appetizers to order). It’s his perfectly shaped lips, the way they betray how he feels with a slight curve up or down—and his smile. Always, always his smile, beautiful and breathtaking even though you’ve seen it a thousand times.
He turns, a little furrow in his brow. “What?”
“Hm?”
“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “Did I get bleach in my hair or something?”
You turn to face the TV, trying to pay attention to the show Renjun chose. “I wasn’t looking at you funny,” you say. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”
“If you say so,” Renjun says, “but if there’s a blonde spot anywhere in my hair, I’m so making you pay for it.”
You shake your head. Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Renjun, more than a friend? Sure, you’re close with him and sure, he’s objectively attractive, but you’ve never had those thoughts before. Well, at least not sober.
“Um, why are we watching Singles Inferno?”
“Because I asked and you were too busy not staring at me to answer, so I put it on,” Renjun says. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t like it. I saw you rant on your Instagram story the other day.”
“Okay, but you don’t get it,” you say. “This bitch really has the audacity to to—”
“I saw your post,” Renjun says. “Believe me, I get it.”
“If you didn’t want to hear about it you should not have turned it on, because now I can’t stop,” you say. Renjun rolls his eyes but even as you delve into a full on essay about the horrible men particularly common in dating shows, you see the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile.
.
.
The timer goes off halfway through an episode.
“Saved by the buzzer,” Renjun says. “I’m putting a ban on anything reality TV related for the next three hours.”
“You’re the one that brought it up,” you mutter without any real annoyance. Despite his banter, Renjun dutifully listened to your rants, and even got mad along with you.
You drag a chair to the sink while Renjun drapes a towel over your shoulders. He puts on gloves and unwraps the bag, letting your hair fall into the empty sink.
“Close your eyes,” Renjun says gently. He tilts your head back, cupping the back of your head for a moment before pulling the head of the sink faucet out. He runs the water, long enough for you to peek your eyes open.
You’ve gotten used to seeing Renjun focused. He gets a little furrow in his brow, always glaring at his work. Before you were friends, you used to think he was actually angry, that his frowns and short tone were real. You’ve learned since then, it’s not his emotions, it’s his passion. The frown only comes out when he’s focused, trying to be perfect. When he cares.
“Unless you want bleach in them, close your eyes,” Renjun mutters, with absolutely no malice behind the words. His eyes shift to meet yours and that’s how you know you’re right. He can glare and bluster all he wants, he can’t hide his eyes, warm and shining. Like when he’s looking at his art, his gaze is a combination of soft and intense, creating something stronger than affection. Except he’s not looking at his art, he’s looking at you.
You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Despite every attempt to shut down the thoughts, they race through your head, a stampede grown out of control. Renjun, who you’ve only known a year and a half but who has become one of your closest friends. Renjun, who never fails to share the only opinion you really care about. Renjun, who you can’t imagine life without. Renjun, who you’ve never dared to imagine life with.
He places a hand on your forehead, bringing the faucet closer to rinse your roots while keeping the water from pouring onto your face. You prepare for a cold shock but the water that soaks into your hair is the perfect temperature—not scalding hot, not freezing cold. Some water sprays over his hand, falling onto your eyelids and cheeks.
“Sorry,” Renjun murmurs. He holds the head farther away, running his fingers gently through the roots of your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, warm against your temple. You can feel his body, hovering over yours, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but warmth seems to emanate from it.
His friends would laugh at you if you described Renjun as soft to their face, but it’s the only adjective that captures the way he works the water through your hair. Soft and gentle and careful and nothing like the Renjun that has to corral everyone into his car at 3 in the morning. And yet this Renjun doesn’t feel like a stranger to you.
Washing your hair takes a lifetime, but as soon as he steps away and turns off the water, you miss it. You miss him, even though he’s only a couple feet away.
“You can open your eyes now,” he says. As soon as you do, he tosses a towel at you. It hits you in the face before you can get your hands up.
“Hey!”
“Sorry,” Renjun says, not sounding sorry at all. He manages to hold back the laugh but still grins at you, unashamed. He steps forward and pats your face dry, with the same gentleness as before, though there’s still a mischievous glint in his eyes. You yank the towel away before he gets any ideas, drying off your face on your down and wrapping it around your hair. You wring it out a couple times before letting go, doing your best to get it to fall evenly around your head.
You raise your eyebrows at Renjun. “Okay, how bad is it?”
“Okay, first of all, I’m insulted that you think there’s any way I’d fuck up you hair,” Renjun says. “And it looks really good. Blonde suits you.”
You take a deep breath and pull out your phone, studying yourself in the mirror and… he’s right. The color is even, somewhere between blonde and orange that is unavoidable when using bleach. Radical hair changes generally end in tears but looking at yourself in the mirror, you don’t feel the usual dissonance. The hair is different but somehow more familiar than the “normal” you that doesn’t feel right anymore.
“I’m right,” Renjun says.
You smile. “Yeah, you are.” You put down your phone, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Renjun.”
“For what?”
“Doing all of this for me,” you say.
“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”
You shake your head. “Thank you anyways.”
Renjun just shrugs and grabs the bowl, rinsing out the bleach in the sink. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s avoiding your eyes.
You do your best to clean up the bleach from the floor, busying yourself until Renjun finishes. You wonder if you’re imagining the tiles getting a little bit whiter. Finally, he turns off the water and glances at you.
“You’re really happy with it?” He asks, sounding more like he doubts you rather than changing his opinion.
“Yeah,” you say, standing up. “I think it’s the ‘me’ of right now, you know?”
“Not really.”
“Like, I feel disjointed, and blonde hair is definitely not me, but it's the me that feels kind of all over the place, so even though it doesn’t look like me, it looks like me.” You wring your hands together, fingers tinged red.
“That makes no sense,” Renjun says, “but I think I get what you mean.” He smiles. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”
So he did think this was a potential mistake? Why didn’t he say anything?
Renjun turns back to the sink, but before he can turn the water on, your voice calls his name. “Renjun?”
“Hm?” He doesn’t turn around.
“Why didn’t you fight me on this?”
He doesn’t move for a long moment. You wish you could see his face. “I have been told by certain people,” he begins, which is code for Donghyuck and Yangyang certified their position as Renjun’s worst nightmare. He turns to face you, wiping his hands on a towel.
“That I have a tendency to be overly opinionated in a generally negative direction. And I thought about it, and I realized I'm never really fully supportive, whether it’s a big decision, or, like, coffee, and I’ve always been this way, but, apparently, it’s especially… apparent with you.” He frowns. “This is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to say that it’s different when I’m around you. I’m different.”
Your eyes jump between his, trying to decipher what he’s saying. “Different?”
“I care a lot about you,” Renjun says, “more than anyone, actually.”
“Oh.” You blink once, twice. “Wait, you like me?”
Renjun’s eyes shift to the floor. “Yeah.”
You can’t help but let out a short laugh, reeling at the absurdity of it all. Renjun likes you? But he’s Renjun. Even though he’s the most common main character in your daydreams, you never once realistically thought he might be fantasizing about you too. But he likes you.
“I really didn’t want to say anything, I mean, before anything else you’re my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Renjun says rapidly. “We’re good friends, and I really didn’t want to be the guy that pretends to be your friend but just wants to date you the whole time, that’s really not what I was trying to do, it’s just—”
“Renjun.” You put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes mid sentence, mouth still hanging open a little. Before he can move, you lean closer, the type of line you’d only dare to cross in your dreams.
“I’d like to kiss you,” you say softly. He blinks, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.
“I’d like that,” he finally breathes. So you kiss him.
It starts light, his lips exactly as you imagined—soft and warm. His arm works its way around your waist, pulling you closer. The other works its way into your hair, still wet and sticking to your head. Renjun kisses like he’s been planning this for a long time, and maybe he has. Every movement is slow and careful, until he’s stolen all your air and even then you don’t want to pull away.
Your bravery fades the minute you meet his eyes. You bury your face into his chest, your cheek resting against your own hand. Renjun wraps both of his arms around you, holding you snugly in place.
“I like you, too,” you say into his chest. It’s the cowards route but if you look him in the eyes the words will never come out. “If it wasn’t obvious.”
“It wasn’t actually,” he says softly. “I think I drove all of my friends insane trying to figure out whether I should confess or not.”
“They all know?” You groan. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”
“Yeah.” When Renjun laughs, it shakes your whole body. You can feel the rumbling, overtaking his heartbeat. “It’s okay though. It’s worth it.”
You turn your head, emerging from the sanctuary of his chest and tucking your head so that you can see his face. He smiles at you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to expect.
“Yeah,” you say, “it really is.”
Renjun grins.
“Your hair on the other hand…” He says.
“I thought you liked it!”
“I like it,” Renjun says, “but when has Donghyuck ever liked a single change to anyone’s hair?”
“Since when do you care what Donghyuck thinks?”
“I’m just saying now that we’re officially dating, my friends are going to be extra annoying,” Renjun says.
“Extra annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Don’t underestimate them.”
You groan, pressing your face back into his chest. “It’s not too late to get some hair dye.”
“You are not changing your hair because of my dumbass friends,” Renjun says.
“You like it?”
“You like it,” he says. “That’s the only opinion that really matters.” He pauses then adds, “But yeah. I like it.”
You grin, lifting your head to kiss his cheek. “Maybe we should dye your hair too.”
Renjun snorts. “Oh yeah?”
“We could have matching couples hair.”
He laughs out loud this time. “Maybe we should just get some shirts.”
“Three minutes of dating and you already want matching shirts? Huang Renjun, be honest.” You push off of him until you can place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “Are you obsessed with me?”
“Yes,” he says, layering his voice in sarcasm that still isn’t enough to hide the truth of the admission. “All day every day, all I think about is you.”
“Well, see, that can’t be true because if you were that obsessed and I’m this close, you would already be kissing me because—” You forget whatever you were going to say, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when Renjun is kissing you like this. Your hands at his shoulders slink around his neck, while his wrap around your waist, leaning so close to you, you feel your back begin to dip.
Huang Renjun is poison, the kind that turns into a heart-shaped puff of pink when the bottle is opened. You melt into his kiss and it’s still not enough. You could die, right this instant, and you don’t think you’d notice. Death itself wouldn’t be able to tear you away from this moment.
“Renjun!” Donghyuck’s voice thunders through the kitchen. “How dare you? You bastard, you’re cheating?”
You jump apart, turning to see him looming in the doorway. His glare settles on you, and you see the exact moment he realizes he recognizes you.
“Jesus Christ, you could have knocked or something,” Renjun says.
“I live here too,” Donghyuck says automatically. He squints, then looks at Renjun, then back at you. “YN? Your hair is blonde.”
For some reason, you raise your hand and wave at him. “Hey!”
“Oh my god!” Donghyuck cries. “Yangyang owes me thirty dollars!” He races back out the door, screaming something that’s lost as the door swings shut.
You glance at Renjun. “Cheating?”
He frowns at the door, still a crack open. “Did he… seriously think you were someone else? That I was cheating on my unrequited crush?”
His eyes shift to yours. A heartbeat passes and you burst into laughter. His friends might be annoying, but they’re still endearing. You press a messy, smile-infested kiss to his lips and wonder if you’ll ever get used to the giddy feeling.
There’s plenty messy in your life, plenty to doubt. But watching Yangyang and Donghyuck drag their backpacks in (apparently Donghyuck forgot his power bank and they decided to give up on camping) as they attempt to interrogate Renjun on every detail, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t really matter. You don’t doubt Renjun. You don’t doubt blonde suits you. And you don’t doubt the power of a last minute hair decision, not anymore.
thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated
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The Demon With A Heart
[Crowley x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: When Crowley saves your life, you can't help but think it was a little more than self-interest.
WC: 1858
Category: 99.9% Sexual Tension (lmfao), 0.01% Fluff + Angst? {TW: Mentions of Demons (obvi), Murder}
Crowley is too iconic not to have fics. I said what I said.
『••✎••』
You didn’t know how to react. It was as if your tongue was taken away, and you couldn’t talk, no matter how much you wanted to thank the man.
No, the demon.
You stood there with wide eyes, staring at the King of Hell, Crowley. He looked the same as before: a clean suit, a snarky comment, and a look of disgust on his face. But, instead of being on the opposite side, he was wiping the blood off of the angel blade he used to kill the angel that jumped you.
He just saved you—The King of Hell.
The very man who told Sam and Dean countless times that he doesn't do anything for free and doesn’t help people without getting something out of it. Yet, here he was, standing in front of you, not asking for a single thing.
The thought was a bit unsettling.
"Purely out of self-interest, darling," He says, breaking the silence and putting the stolen blade into his jacket. "Call it a favor that I plan to collect in the future."
He was about to leave, but you couldn’t let him go. Not without a thank you, at least. You didn't want him to think you didn’t appreciate what he did.
"Crowley."
The man turns back around, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
"Thank you"
The corner of his mouth turned upward, forming a small smirk. He didn’t say anything but rather kept his eyes on you for a second longer. He then disappeared, leaving you in the dark.
And it did leave you in the dark. For days, weeks, months. He never came for that favor, and he never brought up what happened. In fact, he barely talked to you at all. It was always towards the Winchesters.
You began to believe it was nothing but a dream. That Crowley somehow didn't save you. The angel was a fake, and this was all some sick joke. It felt like gaslighting.
But you knew what happened was real. You remembered the blood splatter and the dead corpse. The way his face contorted when he pierced the angel's heart.
It was all too real.
So, why was he ignoring you? Why did he pretend that it never happened? Was he going to hold it over your head? Or was it just the fact that the King of Hell did something nice for a human?
Was it because he… cared?
One night, you got your answer. It was a quiet night filled with books, tea, and soft music. At least, it was before those idiotic brothers decided to tear down the bunker in search of some book.
You couldn’t remember the exact reason they needed it, but you were too tired to argue. So, you stayed in your room and tried to fall asleep.
That is until the lights went out and the emergency lights kicked on. Okay, now you were annoyed. You got up, slipped on your shoes and a coat, and walked out of your room.
"Alright, what did you two-"
You paused mid-sentence, eyes falling onto the figure in the library. The man was facing the opposite way, but you knew exactly who it was. The familiar black suit and hair gave it away.
"Crowley…"
"Hello, Darling,” he replied, turning around and smiling at you. It was almost unnerving. He didn’t have a malicious aura or even an evil one. Just... a smile.
You looked behind him and noticed… well, nothing. You were expecting the Winchesters to be with him, and yet, it was just him.
"Where are the boys?"
"Moose and Squirrel? Ah, they're off somewhere, doing... well, you know. Something heroic, I suppose. Figured I’d stick around… enjoy the scenery."
That’s when you looked up and understood what he meant. He was stuck, quite literally. Those devil traps they put everywhere finally did something good.
You half-expected him to bring up that 'favor' he was talking about or maybe even just demand to get out of there, but he did neither. Instead, he looked at the ground and sighed.
At the moment, the King of Hell looked just like a caged puppy, sad and alone. If he wasn’t such a… demon, you might have even felt bad for him.
But, you left him in there, strolling along to the kitchen to find some kind of light. You were not giving up your two hours of reading due to power loss.
As you shuffled through the cabinets, looking for any form of match or lighter, the lights flickered back on.
So that’s where the Winchesters were.
You shrugged and turned back to your room but stopped at the entrance to the library. Crowley was still there, but this time, his face was twisted. He was clearly pissed.
"Why did you do it?" The burning question you wanted answered for months finally came out. Crowley stopped his little fit and turned towards you, a confused expression on his face.
He looked like he had no idea what you were talking about.
"I do a lot of things, Chipmunk. You'll have to be more specific."
You walked towards him, resting down the candles and book on a nearby table. You didn’t know why, but the need to confront him was growing.
"Save me all those months ago."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
You were getting closer, now only a few feet from him. Crowley, however, didn’t back away. Instead, he watched as you moved, his expression unchanging.
"That angel could’ve killed me, yet you came out of nowhere and stabbed him. I know you don't do anything out of kindness, so why did you do it? What do I offer that no one else does?"
Crowley stayed silent for a while, not giving any indication of answering your questions.
You thought it was just a lost cause until his expression changed. It was subtle, but you caught it. The corner of his mouth turned down, and his eyes widened, then narrowed.
He almost looked ashamed.
"It's just like I said. Self-interest." He spat out, his voice sounding like venom. You almost took a step back. It still sounded like the same old Crowley, but his tone was different.
You decided to call his bluff.
"I don't believe you."
Crowley raised an eyebrow, a smirk coming across his face. He was amused by the sudden attitude, but it didn’t last long.
"And what makes you say that?"
"I saw the way you looked at me after you saved me. Hesitancy, almost. Like you were unsure. As if..."
The King of Hell stared at you, waiting for the last part of your statement. He was eager but not for the answer. No, he knew what you were going to say.
He was just waiting to hear it come out of your mouth.
"You care."
Those words hung in the air, both of you processing it. Crowley continued to stare at you, the smirk disappearing, leaving his face neutral. He had a blank expression.
A silence grew, the atmosphere turning awkward. It wasn't until the demon let out a loud sigh and looked to the side that it was broken.
"You’re really pulling on the heartstrings, Chipmunk,” he muttered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "If I had one, I'd say it was aching."
"Do you?"
You knew what you were implying. Crowley was the King of Hell, the ruler of the damned. He was the furthest thing from human, yet he could walk among them and, sometimes, be mistaken for one.
Was it possible for him to be human or even have emotions?
Crowley looked at you and frowned, clearly not liking the topic. But he didn't deny it. It was a strange sight—the King of Hell, frowning and silent.
It was almost adorable.
"I'm not asking for anything. I just… want an honest answer."
"Well, I am a demon, love,” He stated, his tone changing to a more playful one. “Honesty isn’t quite in the job description."
"Crowley"
You were starting to get impatient, and it showed. Your voice was firm, and your posture was tense. You wanted an answer, and you were determined to get it.
The demon in question let out another sigh and looked at the ceiling as if praying for a quick escape.
"You're a pain, you know that? It's exhausting." He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But, I suppose, since you asked nicely..."
The man looked at you, his lips pursed. He was still hesitating, which only made you more curious.
"Yes, I care. About you. Happy?"
You blinked a few times, processing the information. Did the King of Hell, the person known for not giving a shit, just admit he cares?
"I-" You started, not knowing what to say. It was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Crowley wasn't exactly a bad guy, well, a demon.
"Do you actually mean that?"
"Now that…" Crowley started, his voice low and deep. He leaned towards you, making you back up, but the wall soon prevented you from going any further.
He was inches away, his breath hitting your face. You could see his eyes staring into yours—a pretty brown, like a mocha latte.
"…Is the kind of question that will get you in trouble, love."
You weren’t sure what he was planning, but you didn't care. The way his eyes were looking at you, the smirk on his face, the closeness...
He was probably expecting you to back away, but he was wrong. You were an avid reader, obsessive even. This scene wasn't new, nor was it shocking.
The only shocking part was the fact that you were the one in it. And, well, the fact that you didn’t mind it.
"Unlike you,” you whispered, a small smirk on your face. "I don’t care."
Your response made him pause for a moment, squinting his eyes and giving you a confused look. It only lasted a few seconds, though. Soon, he understood, and a chuckle escaped his lips.
"Touché"
You truly believed you were about to lose your chance with the man upstairs, but loud footsteps interrupted you.
"Crowley, you slimy son of a bitch! If you’re not here, we are going to-"
Dean stopped talking as he rounded the corner, seeing you and Crowley close. His expression was shocked, almost comical.
"The hell is going on here?"
You and Crowley both turned to look at Dean, a look of annoyance on the King of Hell's face. Sam came around the corner as well, sharing the same look of confusion.
Crowley gave you one last glance, a bit of disappointment in his eyes, before taking a step back. His attention moved on to the two hunters, his usual smile returning.
And despite the annoyance in the air and the confusion, the only thing that came across your mind was another question that you were sure would take control of your sleep schedule once again.
"Hello, boys," He purred, his arms moving to his side. He was back to his old self, not showing a single sign of what happened moments ago.
Had the beauty thawed the beast?
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Fuck it. Invincible Tumblr
💥 explosionsbaby Follow
Wake up to see the aliens attacking again. God fucking damn it.
❤️ justamonstergirl Follow
Imagine how the aliens feel after seeing you
💥 explosionsbaby Follow
Get better insults. You won't be insulting anyone that way
❤️ justamonstergirl Follow
Nahhh. Don't need to. You already humiliate yourself every time you open your mouth
💥 explosionsbaby Follow
Your entire existence is an insult
☪️ superherofan Follow
i forget that superheroes have social media and regularly use it.... invincible has Tumblr holy shit
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
Boo.
☪️ superherofan Follow
OMG??
#HI MR INVINCIBLE SIR #I SWEAR ALL MY A/B/O FICS WERE WRITTEN OUT OF LOVE
🌙 artemislover Follow
Can't believe I have to say this, but can you guys please stop making Omni-Man x Immortal theories?!?!
Ik you think the idea of them having been romantically involved is funny, but c'mon, people
It is true that there should be more openly queer superheroes, but the fact that there are people who genuinely believe they fucked is wild...
Besides, we have to stop following the lives of superheroes that closely. They deserve to get some privacy too! They're still people
Also, didn't Omni-Man once mention his wife?? And son?? Shipping him w a man when he's clearly straight and in an established relationship is stupid
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
These are all great points but they've definitely fucked
🌙 artemislover Follow
INVINCIBLE?????
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
Godddddd. My parents just do not know what privacy is, PLEASE STOP HAVING SEX WHEN I MIGHT BE HOME... please you're killing me
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
Wait, shit, wrong blog...
🌭 hotdog Follow
shocking revelation: invincible has parents
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
??? Of course I have parents. Where'd you think I came from?
🌭 hotdog Follow
Honestly i thought you were from mars
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
from MARS????
#i'm not martian??? i don't even look martian #do i look martian?
💃 thedancingquinn Follow
ATOM EVE LIKES MY FAVORITE BAND????
🚫 ohgodpleaseno Follow
really? How do you know?
💃 thedancingquinn Follow
Okay quick storytime
My friends and I wanted to go to see this band live for a LONG time, so we saved up money for years until we could finally afford it, right?
Well, the day we finally get to see them live, I look up and I see Atom Eve, just. Flying there. Above the crowd
She was singing, apparently very loudly and she looked like she was having sm fun. She saw me and waved!!! Atom Eve!!!! Waved at me!!!!!!!
🧬 atomevesss☑️☑️ Follow
:)
💃 thedancingquinn Follow
WAIT R YOU THE ACTUAL ATOM EVE
🧬 atomevesss Follow
Yeah. Check my Insta, there's a link to this blog!
💃 thedancingquinn Follow
AFKFHFHFHFJDJDJDJDDJDHFHSUEUEJEJ
#ATOM EVE TALKED TO ME!!!!!!
🤖 officialrobot Follow
Today, Monster Girl told me to download this app and create a blog — I did not think it was necessary, but she insisted.
I decided to listen to her. She was very persuasive.
I will be sharing things about my day, as she has told me to do. Expect to hear from me after this.
👀 eyaseyaseays Follow
you really think we're gonna believe you're the real Robot?? C'mon.
‼️ notafurryyet Follow
Dude, RP exists. Let people live their lives in peace
❤️ justamonstergirl Follow
This is so funny
‼️ notafurryyet Follow
That's... The real monster girl. Replying to a fake Robot post...
Dude I think he's real
🎉 partyshitter Follow
The new Guardians are a fucking shit show. Are we seriously meant to believe they're going to protect us? Really??
💥 explosionsbaby Follow
Oh Id like to see YOU almost get killed every single fucking day without one fucking break only for asholes like you to shit on us like that. We almost die every single day!!! Were the ones geting our hands dirty not you
🤖 officialrobot Follow
I'd* assholes* We're*
💥 explosionsbaby Follow
Your supposed to be with me in this one
🤖 officialrobot Follow
You're*
☪️ somanykates Follow
The Immortal kinda... 👀
💥 explosionsbaby Follow
WHAT
💥 explosionsbaby Follow
I cant believe she cheated on me... what a bitch
🧬 atomevesss Follow
😐
☪️ somanykates Follow
We're going to have a fucking talk, Rex.
💥 explosionsbaby Follow
Shit
🍐 shrinkshrek Follow
You had this one coming buddy
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
The fact that Miles Morales canonically reads JJK, though...
🔫 shootmeplease Follow
INVINCIBLE LIKES MARVEL?? AND JJK???
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
Why is everyone always surprised when I like something? I don't get it
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
:(
🧬 atomevesss Follow
I cannot have just found out you're still alive through Tumblr...
🧬 atomevesss Follow
Seriously though. Are you okay now? I know you're not mentally, after the whole Chicago thing w your dad, but at least physically?
🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow
I'll survive, I guess
💔 thisishowtobeah Follow
INVINCIBLE?? It is such a relief to see you're still here after the whole Chicago ordeal Mr Invincible
📸 definitelyinsanebaby Follow
Yeah maybe don't remind him of that rn??
💔 thisishowtobeah Follow
OH SHIT I'M SO SORRY
#I AM SO SO SO SORRY #omg i hope you're doing good mr invincible :(((
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Near-future, black mirror esque AU in which Nancy, stressed college student with loads of childhood trauma, gets recommended by her psychologist to get an emotional support robot. That's what they're called, yes. They're sold to very lonely people to pretty much look after them emotionally. Nancy has always hated the idea, and doesn't really like androids or robots of any kind. Plus, she thinks it's quite sad that she's so lonely she needs an android to keep her company. She also couldn't possibly afford it.
Her friend Steve, though, who hasn't seen her in a year despite living 15 minutes away (she has a tendency to isolate herself and use her studies as an excuse), got her one. It's a second-hand unit, a slightly older model that's seen several repair shops in the past, but it works, and it was half the price of a new one. He shows up to her apartment with the box, looking smug and proud of himself. If anything, Nancy feels insulted.
She doesn't touch the box for a few weeks, and doesn't get rid of it either, because her studies take her so much time, she can't bring herself to keep her apartment clean. When her mother visits and sees the mess she's living in, with a perfectly functional android willing to help her, she finally caves, and as soon as she's alone, she decides to see if this thing can at least help her clean up.
It surprises her that it looks so... human. Its skin is soft and warm, with all the natural imperfections of a human's skin. Same as her hair. She's dressed in old worn-out clothes, and she curls into herself, in fetal position, inside the box. Only the button under her skin on the back of her neck reveals her as an android. Nancy reads the instructions, presses there for 10 seconds, and waits.
Or she planned to wait - eight seconds in with Nancy's fingers pressed on that spot, and the android's eyes flew open. She cried out, screambled out of the box and looked around, breathing heavily and hugging herself. Her eyes fix on Nancy, look her up and down with a frown, and asks:
"Who are you?"
Nancy opens her mouth to reply, then looks down at the instructions, hoping they'd say something about this kind of scenario, and that her new robot didn't go rogue and try to kill her.
"Wait, are those my instructions?" The robot asked. She looked down. "I really don't mean to complain about my living situation going from extremely fucked to simply fucked, but that is not my original box. Mine was smaller, and it had a bunch of little dots on the side. Did they sell me again?"
The instructions said nothing about this possibility, so Nancy decided it was time to improvise.
"I... my friend got you at a garage sale, I think."
"Oh. Well, that is low, even for me," the robot said. She rubbed the back of her neck. "Should my neck hurt this much?"
Nancy blinked.
"Shouldn't you know that?"
"Honestly, I don't even know what levels of pain are normal for me. It always hurts just a little bit somewhere, like, right now, my whole spine really hurts." She laughs. "At least I think it's supposed to feel like pain? I don't think we're wired to feel pain, exactly, I mean, that would be just sadistic. Talk anti-natalism to me. But I swear this spot right here just feels really really bad. Or maybe it's anthropocentric to... perceive it as pain, don't you think? It's very existentialist, actually, the whole... perceiving thing - I bet Berkeley wrote something about it, at some point, but I haven't read him in ages."
"You read books?"
"What? Oh. Oh, uh... I - I think I'm offline? Like, I don't have access to the database, so I kinda have to do it the old-fashioned way if I want to learn somethin," she said. "It's cool, though! I like reading a lot."
"...Okay. So, um... here it says your model is..."
"Robin," the android said. Nancy looked up.
"I'm sorry?"
"That's my name," she said. "I came up with it, I - I thought it sounded nice. Do you like it?"
Nancy stared at this... thing, a million thoughs coursing through her head. The first one was a newfound understanding of her low price.
She made a movement with her head that could be understood as both a shake and a nod at the same time.
"Yeah, yeah, sure" she said, brows knit together. What the hell did Steve get her into? "It's... nice."
"Oh, thank God, because Mom and Dad hated it."
"Mom and...?"
"My first owners - Richard and Melissa, I always called them Mom and Dad. They... they, uh, they hated that, too."
Jesus Christ.
"So... Robin," Nancy said. "I was wondering if you could help me put away some of my things while I study."
"Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure." She stood there, eyes wandering, around, until they fell on Nancy's bookshelf "Holy shit, you have Dostoyevski! Is it in Russian?"
Nancy blinked, opened her mouth, took a step back and shook her head. Robin was already striding towards her bookself, tracing the spines of books with her fingers.
"Actually, why don't you read after you clean this up?"
Robin turned to see her, eyes wide and a growing smile, like a kid in a candy shop.
"I - I can read all of this?"
Nancy was going to kill Steve.
She shrugged and shook her head.
"Sure," she said. "After you clean this mess."
"Aye aye, cap!" Robin chirped, making a quick salute with her hand and getting to work.
Nancy was, for certain, going to murder Steve for making her responsible for this... thing. There was something wrong in her system, and that was very much obvious. She looked down at the instructions manual - surely there would be a way to turn her off for the night. She wouldn't want Robin to murder her in her sleep, or worse - wake her up at 4 am to talk about books.
Or she could just tell her to shut up. She was a robot, anyway. It's not like she could feel anything.
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