#anyways!!! i will write these on the weekend | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvismenu · 16 hours ago

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sad girl — jeon jungkook ! repost

pt.1 creepin’ around while he gets high

summary: you were never supposed to fall for him. not the man who signs your paychecks. not the man with a wife and two kids. but he says he’s unhappy. he says it feels right with you. you know it’s wrong. and still… you stay. because nothing has ever made you feel more alive than being someone's secret.

pairing: rich married man!jungkook x babysitter!oc

wc: 8k

warnings: mature themes, adultery/infidelity, smoking.

important note: deleted this bfore cuz i got shit on for not writing “more smut”. after thinking about it a lot , here it is again !!! without the smut. i mainly wanted to write this as an angst fic, because hello?? cheating isn’t fun. but i think some ppl took it the wrong way. the smut wasn’t important at all. i kept it vague on purpose , those parts just had details that gave more meaning to the story. it wasn’t meant for jerking off at all lmao. anyway, this was supposed to be a 6 part mini series , not sure if im going to continue this fic,, i most probably won't , but yeah… leaving part 1 here.

you love your job.

it’s not your dream job. not even close. you’ve never once imagined yourself as a babysitter. not when you were younger, not even as a backup plan. it was never part of the picture.

you didn’t grow up thinking, “i’m going to take care of kids someday.”

truthfully, kids have always been a little confusing to you. unpredictable. too loud or too quiet, too much or too little. like tiny humans with moods that change faster than the weather.

but somehow, here you are. and to your own surprise… you're starting to enjoy it.

why?

“kids, stop running around. you're going to hurt yourselves.”

that voice. deep, calm, firm. it cuts through the chaos like a thread pulling everything together.

your heart skips before you even look up.

but you already know who it is.

he steps into the room, and everything seems to still around him. not because he tries to take up space, but because he just does. tall, confident, effortless. he doesn’t need to raise his voice. he doesn’t need to try.

but the kids don’t stop. they’re too lost in their game, laughter bubbling up like music, tiny feet thudding against the floor as they spin in circles.

he lets out a soft sigh, a mix of exasperation and amusement and reaches for his watch, sliding it off his wrist. you don’t know why that makes your stomach turn, but it does.

“but appa, it’s fun!” one of them whines, dragging out the word like it might change his mind.

he laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he sets the watch on the table.

“fun, huh?”

jeon jungkook.

the reason you tolerate this job.

technically, he’s your boss. the one who hands you a generous envelope every weekend to watch over his kids. but “boss” feels like such a dull, inaccurate word for him.

because jungkook is something else entirely.

the way he walks, so sure of himself. the way he speaks, low and even, like he never needs to prove anything. the way his smile changes the whole room. or the way his brow furrows when he’s thinking, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s holding back more than just thoughts.

the way he shrugs out of his jacket, the slow roll of sleeves up his forearms, veins and ink peeking out with every movement—

you pretend not to look. but you do.

everything about him feels like gravity. like something you shouldn’t be drawn to, but are anyway.

“are they giving you trouble, miss ___?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

he lowers himself onto the couch like he belongs there— because he does. his tie loosened, legs spread comfortably, one arm resting behind the cushions.

you take a breath, trying not to sound breathless.

“no, mr. jeon,” you say softly, eyes flicking back to the kids. “they’re just playing.”

his gaze stays on you a beat too long. unreadable. and then,

“take a seat,” he says, voice smooth. “you don’t have to chase after them.”

you nod and settle into a seat across from him. the cushions dip under your weight, and the room feels quieter somehow.

“yohan, yewon. come sit,” he calls. his tone is calm but firm, a slight shift in authority that even you feel in your spine.

they pause. glance at each other. then make their way over to you, slipping onto the couch on either side like you’re the center of some small universe they orbit.

“yohan wants to play more,” yewon grumbles, arms crossed.

“no, i didn’t! yewon noona said she did!” yohan snaps back, already offended.

you lean in, steady and gentle.

“hey. what did i say about pointing fingers?”

they go quiet. the room settles again.

“that it’s bad,” they mumble, voices small.

“and?”

“and we shouldn’t lie or blame each other.”

“that’s right.” you smile at them, soft but proud. “so, what do we say?”

they glance at each other again before offering quiet little apologies.

“good,” you say, your voice lighter now. “you’re both being so good. i’m proud of you.”

across from you, jungkook watches. he hasn’t said a word.

but you feel the shift. the way his body sinks deeper into the couch, the slight raise of his brows, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

admiration, maybe. or something quieter.

he knows his kids. they’re sweet, sure. but they’re stubborn. they rarely listen the first time. almost never apologize on their own.

and now they’re sitting quietly beside you like you’ve cast some gentle spell.

he doesn’t say anything.

but he sees it.

and you feel it.

“kids,” he speaks up.

his voice is calm, steady. the kind that draws attention without effort.

the kids immediately look over.

“yes, appa?” yewon answers, tilting her head.

yohan just watches him quietly, eyes wide and waiting.

you look at him too, trying not to make it too obvious how your heart stutters when he shifts in his seat, forearms resting on his knees.

“could you go to your room for a bit?” he says, glancing briefly at them before his eyes flick back to you. “i need a moment with miss ___.”

“okay,” they both say in unison.

they each lean in to kiss his cheek— yewon on his left, yohan on his right —and your chest warms at the sight. it's so quick, so natural. something they do all the time.

he taps two fingers against the back of yohan’s head as a reminder, murmuring, “no running.”

“we won't!” yewon insists, grabbing her brother’s arm and pulling him into a slow walk up the stairs.

and just like that, the room falls quiet.

jungkook sits up straighter. it’s subtle, but you feel it immediately; the shift in atmosphere. suddenly, you're very aware of your posture. you mirror him, hands neatly folded on your knees, back straight, nerves prickling up your spine.

his gaze lingers.

“is everything okay, mr. jeon?” you ask, voice low.

he nods slowly, then reaches for the coloring books the kids had left behind— sprawled open across the glass coffee table. his hands move with quiet precision, gathering them one by one, tapping them into a neat stack, arranging them by size..

why does it feel like he’s preparing for a difficult conversation?

“you won’t need to babysit them,” he says finally, looking up at you. “for…” he pauses, dragging the word just long enough to make your chest tighten.

your heart skips.

your throat closes up.

was your crush on him that obvious?

were you too careless?

shit— what if this is it?

he sees the way you tense, shoulders rising, fingers curling slightly against your knees. he pauses, then adds, “for two weeks.” he nods, “ the kids will be staying with their grandparents for two weeks.”

your mouth opens slightly, relief just barely catching up to your confusion. “you mean... i don't have to come in just for two weeks? not like... fired?”

he chuckles under his breath, a soft huff that somehow makes you feel ridiculous and reassured all at once.

“yes,” he says. “just two weeks. you’ll continue on the weekends once they’re back.”

you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for an hour straight.

he watches you with a small, unreadable smile.

“you looked terrified,” he murmurs.

“i thought i was getting fired,” you admit, cheeks warming.

“why would i fire you?” he leans back slightly, eyes still on you. “they listen to you more than they do to me.”

you can’t think of anything to say to that. at least, nothing that wouldn’t give you away completely.

so you just nod, eyes flicking down to your lap, trying not to notice the way your pulse hammers in your ears.

you swallow hard, thoughts spiraling before you can stop them.

of course you’ve been a little… taken with him. who wouldn’t be?

he’s attractive. older. confident in that effortless, dangerous kind of way.

but he’s also married. off-limits.

completely.

you would never cross a line. never do anything reckless. this is just a passing crush. something you'll get over in a few weeks. a harmless little fantasy.

so you blink out of it and look up to see... he’s already watching you.

leaned back, one arm slung over the couch, completely at ease. there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth ; is it amusement? a smirk? you don't know but, whatever it is, it shoots straight to your core.

you shift in your seat. try not to squirm.

god.

if he weren’t someone else’s—

a soft chime echoes through the house. not loud. not intrusive. just a delicate sound, like wind brushing across crystal.

you blink, the thought still unfinished in your head. the tension still caught in your throat.

then the door opens.

not slammed. not swung. it glides. quiet and smooth, like everything else in this house.

heels click against the marble floor. sharp. unhurried. certain. and you don’t have to look, because you already know.

ms. xinyi has returned.

and she doesn’t enter like someone coming home.

she enters like she’s stepping onto a stage. commanding, composed, every line of her body deliberate.

her dress is deep red silk; elegant, fluid, expensive in a way that whispers it rather than shouts. the kind of red that means power, a color that speaks of control. her hair is slicked back, earrings glinting beneath the warm lighting. a purse hangs from her wrist, small and sharp, probably worth more than your entire semester’s tuition.

you stand immediately.

not because anyone tells you to. not even because you’re afraid.

but because that’s what you do when she’s in the room. because it’s her name on your schedule. her rules you follow.

jungkook may be the one who stays, who smiles at pickup, who folds the envelopes with your pay.

but ms. xinyi is the one who made the call to hire you.

and the way her eyes sweep the room now, like she's calculating. makes it very clear:

she hasn’t forgotten that.

“ms. xinyi,” you say softly, a little breathless.

she doesn’t smile. she just nods once.

you’d called her “mrs. jeon” the first time you met her, hands politely folded in front of you, voice careful with respect. but she had only smiled, graceful but distant, and said, “please. address me as ms. xinyi. ‘mrs. jeon’ makes me sound old.”

and you’d nodded, of course. because when a woman like her tells you to call her by name, you don’t argue.

jungkook gets up, but he doesn’t move to greet her like you do. no warm hug. no soft smile. nothing like the way he usually welcomes her home.

instead, he heads toward the bar tucked into the corner of the large living room. a sleek, dark wood counter with crystal glasses lined up on top, all under soft recessed lights. he reaches for one, his movements smooth, and pours himself a drink. it’s not alcohol.

drinking alcohol isn’t allowed while the kids are still awake— ms. xinyi’s rule. one of many.

you watch the way his jaw flexes as he lifts the glass to his lips, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

xinyi's eyes skim over you with practiced grace. she sighs, so quietly you almost miss it, but she recovers quickly, expression smoothing as if nothing slipped.

“the kids,” she says. “are they asleep?”

you nod politely, your voice soft but sure. “they’re upstairs. had dinner already. yewon finished all her veggies this time.”

a hint of something that might be a smile curves on her lips. she nods. “good.”

then, without missing a beat, “what about their mandarin practice?”

you nod again, hands clasped in front of you. “yes ma’am. they learned quite a bit today. they were good, really focused.”

you aren’t just their babysitter. you were hired with purpose. ms. xinyi wanted her children to have more consistent exposure to chinese. they know the basics already— of course they do, their mom is chinese. but she’s barely home, and jungkook… well, he knows as much as they do. maybe less. so she brought you in ; to help them speak fluently, confidently.

you’ve spent time building a gentle routine around their packed schedules. school, homework, and everything else expected of kids their age, and you weave language learning into their downtime, softly, kindly.

sometimes through games, sometimes through stories. not always strict. not always serious. they’re just kids. and they trust you more when you let them breathe.

“thank you for your hard work,” ms. xinyi says, lips painted in a matching shade of deep garnet.

you nod, swallowing your breath. “of course.”

she walks past you, toward her husband. jungkook is now leaning against the edge of the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his glass.

he doesn’t speak when she approaches. just looks at her, calm and unreadable like usual.

she pauses in front of him and her gaze lingers.

then, with a glance back at you, she says, “can you tell the kids to go to sleep? tell them i’ll come kiss them good night later. they might fuss— but you can handle that, right? ms. ___.”

you nod quickly, eyes low. “yes, ma’am.”

you turn and head up the stairs, careful not to make a sound.

when you’re finally out of earshot, the calm cracks.

xinyi doesn’t raise her voice, but the cold edge in her tone cuts clean. “could you at least try to act like we’re in love?”

jungkook’s brow tics. he lifts the glass again, finishes the last sip, and sets it down with a soft clink.

“we’ve been acting for years,” he says quietly.

“so act a little better.”

there’s a pause.

she exhales through her nose, stepping back just slightly but never breaking eye contact. “you’re getting more distant every week, jeon. i can’t be the only one trying.”

“you’re not trying,” he replies, tone low. “you’re working. just like always. and now you’re mad that i’m not playing along like i used to.”

“i’m not just working for fun,” she snaps, though her voice stays poised. “we both agreed to this life. we’re business people. you of all people should understand.”

“i do,” he says. and he does. but that doesn’t make it easier. “i’m cooperating. for the kids.”

“then co-operate better,” she says, her words clipped. “when they come back from my parents’ house, they can’t see this—” she gestures between them, not cruel, just… resigned. “this cold.”

he doesn’t answer.

“my father thinks you’re slipping,” she adds.

jungkook’s jaw clenches. he doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, it’s only one word:

“okay.”

because what else can he say?

he can’t say he’s tired of this.

he can’t say he’s lonely.

he can’t say he’s barely holding the pieces together when everyone around him keeps demanding more.

so he says okay.

because that’s the only answer that won’t burn it all down.

“is mama busy again, ms. ___?” yohan asks, voice quiet as he snuggles deeper into his blanket, only his round cheeks and curious eyes visible now.

you’re helping yewon into her bed, gently fixing the corner of her plush bunny pillow when the question catches you off guard.

“hm? no, of course not,” you say, smiling gently as you glance at him. “she just got back home.”

“then why isn't she here with us?” yewon asks, a little pout forming on her lips as you pull her blanket over her, tucking her in neatly.

“because…” you draw out the word on purpose, standing up and placing your hands on your hips dramatically, eyes flicking between the two of them. “she needs to rest, doesn’t she?”

they both pout now, matching each other without even realizing it. you chuckle softly.

“don’t give me those cute faces,” you tease, leaning down to gently boop yohan’s nose. he wrinkles it with a quiet giggle.

but then his expression turns serious. “does mama and appa not like us anymore?” he says suddenly, so quietly it almost gets lost in the hum of the nightlight.

you blink, startled.

“han-nie!” yewon gasps, sitting up a little in her bed, “you can’t say that!”

“but it’s true!” he whines, glancing at her before turning back to you. “they’re always busy! especially mama! you miss them too, noona!”

you sigh, moving to sit at the edge of yohan’s bed. your hand reaches out to smooth his hair gently.

“you both know your mama works very hard, right?” you say softly. “and your appa too. they work so much because they love you. and when they come home, they’re tired. they just need a little bit of time to rest before they can give you all their attention.”

they both nod, but their eyes are still a little sad.

“plus…” you smile again, trying to cheer them up, “ms. xinyi told me she’d come up soon to give you both your goodnight kisses.”

that gets them to brighten a little.

“really?” yewon asks.

you nod. “really.”

“i won’t sleep till she gets here then!” yohan says quickly, determined now.

“me neither,” yewon chimes in.

you look between them and feel a tug in your heart. “oh and.. i heard you two are visiting your grandparents for the next two weeks,” you say, keeping your voice excited. “won’t that be fun?”

“yeah,” yewon says, “grandma lets us have lots of desserts!”

“and grandpa has a really big tv!” yohan adds.

“i bet they’ll be so happy to see you again,” you say, standing back up, smoothing out your skirt. “they’ll spoil you silly.”

“can you come too?” yohan asks suddenly, hopeful.

you pause, smiling gently. “i wish i could, yohan. but i’ll be right here when you come back, okay?”

“promise?” yewon says sleepily.

“promise,” you nod. “cross my heart.”

they both settle back down into their pillows, more at ease now.

you wait a moment, watching their eyes flutter slower and slower before you quietly reach for the door and close it with the softest click.

time to go home.

“i’ll take my leave now,” you say quietly, standing in front of ms. xinyi with your bag hanging neatly on your shoulder, hands clasped in front of you. your voice is calm, respectful. “please call me if you need any assistance before the kids leave for their grandparents.”

ms. xinyi nods once, eyes sharp but polite. “i’ll keep it in mind.”

you return the nod and turn to go, already picturing your long walk to the bus stop, the change of clothes waiting in your small apartment, the silence of a home that doesn’t echo. a far cry from this polished, glass-and-marble world you spend your weekends in.

but before you can take a step, she speaks again.

“do you go by bus, ms. ___?”

you pause, slowly turning back around. “yes, ma’am.”

her lips press together briefly, thoughtful. “jungkook will drop you off tonight.”

and just like that, he appears— quiet steps behind her, tugging on a sleek jacket, fingers adjusting the collar like he was already getting ready to step out. timing too perfect to be coincidental.

your eyes widen, a little panic creeping into your chest. “oh no, you don’t have to— i mean, i’m fine. really. this is… normal for me,” you say quickly, words tumbling out too fast, hands gesturing as if that’ll help your case.

jungkook glances at you once as he pulls the zipper up. his face is unreadable.

“sure,” he says, voice smooth and low. “wait outside for me. i’ll be there with my car.”

then, without waiting for your reply, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to ms. xinyi’s cheek. your eyes flick to her face, watching her expression shift for a moment— almost content.

maybe… they’re fine again? you can’t tell, but the tension that hovered earlier feels thinner now. less sharp.

he walks past, straight out the door.

ms. xinyi turns back to you, her hands now loosely folded in front of her. there’s a gentle smile on her face— elegant, polished, practiced. “i insist. it’s late. and it was my fault, staying too long at the office party. you had to stay extra hours because of me.”

“but miss—”

“i won’t take no for an answer, ms. ___.” the smile stays, but there’s weight behind her voice. soft power. “you know that, don’t you?”

your shoulders drop slightly, and you nod, looking down. “yes, ma’am. thank you for your kindness.”

you bow your head once, polite, and finally step out into the quiet night, where jungkook’s car is already starting up in the driveway.

the car is quiet. smooth engine, soft instrumental playing low on the radio. jungkook’s hands on the steering wheel. yours, clutched around your bag.

you sit straight, posture polite, and you’re hyper aware of him beside you — he’s relaxed, driving one-handed, leaning slightly back into the leather seat like this is nothing. like you’re nothing. just another person he’s offering a ride home to.

but still, your heart’s going a little crazy.

he suddenly speaks, voice low. “i was going out to get a smoke, ms. ___.”

you blink, startled a little. he doesn’t look your way. just keeps driving.

“that’s why my wife said i could drop you. you’re not troubling me or anything.”

you shake your head quickly, fumbling over your reply. “oh— okay. thank you. really. i was fine taking the bus, though.”

he hums, noncommittal. “still. late night bus isn’t the safest.”

you nod, lips pressed together. you want to say thank you again, but you don’t want to sound like a broken record. the silence returns, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. just… a little charged.

you don’t realize you’re staring at his hands until you are — long fingers wrapped around the wheel, thumb tapping softly to the beat of the radio. his wrist, the veins on his hand, the simple silver ring he wears.

wow.

you swallow.

and then, without warning, he pulls over. not suddenly, but gently, easing the car toward the curb and shifting into park.

“you don’t mind if i get cigarettes, right?” he asks, glancing at you.

you shake your head. “not at all mr. jeon. take your time.”

he nods and steps out.

as soon as the door shuts, you let out a long, shaky breath.

what the fuck.

you’re in jungkook’s car. you’re in his fucking car.

it literally smells like his cologne. and the air freshener clipped to the vents and maybe a little like coffee. your fingers twitch, and you’re not even sure where to look — the leather, the sleek touchscreen, the dash, the mirror with that tiny photo of his kids tucked into it. you feel like an outsider just breathing in here.

he returns a few minutes later, slipping back in with a small paper bag in hand.

“sorry,” he mutters, adjusting his seatbelt and pulling away from the curb.

you don’t respond immediately. just watch the road ahead.

“no problem at all.”

the rest of the drive is short.

when the car slows in front of your apartment block, you quickly gather your things.

“thank you for the ride, mr. jeon” you say, already opening the door.

but then he gets out, too.

you freeze.

this— this is a small neighborhood. your apartment is in one of those plain buildings, paint chipped at the edges, a rusty bicycle chained to the stairwell. nothing glamorous.

you step out, feeling a little embarrassed as he looks around, taking in the area. and then he looks at your building.

“cute place,” he says.

you smile awkwardly, hugging your bag tighter. “o-oh. yeah. it’s, um, it’s fine i guess.”

he nods once, then meets your eyes again. “i’ll see you soon, ___.”

you bow instinctively, eyes flicking down. “goodnight mr. jeon”

he turns, walks back to the car. the headlights blink once as he unlocks it.

you stand there for a second longer, heart thudding, as his words echo in your head.

“i’ll see you soon, ___.”

he said your name without the “ms.” in it.

just ___.

you step inside your apartment with legs that feel too light. your fingers still smell like his car. and you close the door behind you, quietly, slowly, like you’re afraid of breaking whatever spell that was.

yeah. that was… intense.

the sun’s dipping low by the time you step out of the campus gate, bag slung over your shoulder, your phone buzzing with a low battery warning. beside you, minjun sips the last of his vending machine coffee, yawning dramatically.

“so you’re finally free this week, huh?” he asks, grinning. “no more mansion babysitting?”

you nod, pulling your hair back with one hand. “yeah. the kids are leaving for their grandparents. i think they’ll be gone for two weeks.”

“must be nice,” he laughs. “wish we got two weeks vacay too from this... hell-hole.”

“please,” you scoff. “never gonna happen.”

“rich people really live in another universe, huh.” he mutters, “by the way ___, if you ever disappear suddenly , i’ll assume they adopted you into their fancy bloodline.”

you’re about to reply when your phone buzzes in your hand —

mr. jeon.

you blink.

minjun peeks at the screen. “is that him? your boss?”

“shhh,” you hiss, already answering.

“yes mr.jeon?”

jungkook’s voice is calm. “ms. ___, are you free tonight?”

you glance at minjun, then ahead at the road. “uh— yes, i am.”

“good,” he says, and you swear you can hear the small smile in his voice.

your stomach does something weird.

“you're sure, right?” he asks

“yes,” you say, too quickly. “i’m free. do you need me to come over?”

“yeah. come when you can.”

“i will,” you nod, even though he can’t see.

and you hang up.

minjun’s staring at you. “sooo… you are not supposed to be babysitting but he still wants you over?”

“don’t start.”

“i’m just saying,” he raises his brows, “sounds suspicious.”

“bye minjun!!”

“text me if you end up in a scandal!”

you roll your eyes and wave him off, heart thudding harder than it should.

the kids are leaving. you don't have to babysit. he didn't call you for work.. did he?

you don’t know yet.

but you’re already walking faster.

the house was quiet when you stepped in.

jungkook opened the door, one hand on the knob, the other lazily tucked in his pocket. his expression was unreadable, as always, but his tone was polite. “hey. come in.”

you stepped in carefully, slipping your shoes off by the door. “thank you,” you said, eyes naturally glancing down the hallway, expecting to hear the kids, or at least see ms. xinyi pacing around on a phone call. but the space was… still.

“they’re not here,” jungkook said casually, as if reading your mind.

you blinked. “oh. they left already?”

he nodded, leading the way inside, you following behind slowly. “xinyi left this morning with the kids.”

you frowned slightly. “i thought they were leaving tomorrow…”

“yeah, it was sudden. her mom insisted.” he didn’t sound annoyed, just tired. “xinyi can’t stay long though. she has work, meetings. she’ll be back soon. but she asked if you could help out before she returns.”

you nodded automatically, because of course. “with what, exactly?”

“the kids’ stuff,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you. “their mandarin folders, worksheets, the reading material. you know, that shelf you helped set up in their study room? xinyi wants it reorganized. she says it’s a mess.”

you smiled lightly. “it is a mess.”

“thought so,” he said, smirking a little. “you’ve got a few hours. i won’t be in your way.”

you hummed in agreement, already walking in the direction of the kids’ room.

“i’ll get started.”

it takes longer than you expect. papers are everywhere. yohan’s doodled over half the sheets, yewon’s managed to mix english flashcards into the mandarin set, and the books aren’t even standing upright anymore.

you roll up your sleeves and get to work. at some point, you stop checking the time. there’s something comforting about organizing their things— folding tiny papers, writing neat labels. it feels… peaceful. like you’re still around them.

and by the time you finish, the sky outside has turned navy blue and the hallway lights are dim.

you look around for jungkook. he hasn’t said anything since earlier. maybe he went out. maybe he’s in the study. but the house is too quiet. almost empty. he couldn’t have just… left.

you grab your bag and make your way downstairs, calling out softly, “mr. jeon?”

no reply.

you glance toward the kitchen. empty.

you pass by the sitting room. lights off.

you pause by the sliding doors that lead to the garden. there’s a breeze… and something else. something soft. a sound you can’t quite name.

you step outside.

and there he is.

standing under the open sky, alone, his back to you. the garden lights glow faintly along the grass. his dark hair moves with the wind. one hand is in his pocket, the other holds a slim cigar, glowing orange at the tip.

you don’t mean to stare.

but he looks… cinematic. loose black shirt. sleeves rolled. the way he stands so still, like the air doesn’t touch him. like he’s thinking about a thousand things you’ll never understand.

you clear your throat.

he turns slightly, glancing at you with no real surprise. “done already?”

you nod. “yeah. i didn’t want to leave without letting you know.”

he takes a slow drag, the smoke curling around his fingers before rising into the dark. “good timing.”

you hesitate, then walk a little closer. “why didn’t you go, mr. jeon? with them.”

his eyes stay on the sky for a second, then drop to the ground. “xinyi’s parents don’t like me much.”

that surprises you.

you blink. “why?”

he gives a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t sound amused. “they think i’m not enough. that i’m… not what they pictured for her.”

you look down. “but you’re—”

“rich?” he cuts in softly. “doesn’t mean i’m enough.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

he continues, flicking ash to the side. “i run too many things. i’m constantly flying in and out. the company’s in a complicated place right now. mergers. new investors. pressure.”

you stay quiet. listening.

just listening.

he looks over at you finally, the garden light catching his features. “it’s exhausting.”

your chest aches a little. he looks like someone who hasn’t slept right in days. you wonder if anyone ever asks him how he feels. if anyone even cares.

“sorry,” you say, softly.

he shrugs. “you didn’t do anything.”

you nod, then look away, eyes tracing the garden floor.

“how about you? college okay?”

you blink. “me?”

“yeah. you.”

you laugh nervously. “uhm… yeah. college is fine. tiring. the usual. rent’s going up though, it’s… whatever.” you roll your eyes a little and then you realise, maybe you shouldn't be telling him this stuff, so you quickly apologise, “sorry i didn't mean to say that.”

he watches you for a moment. “don’t be.” then nods. “you’re working hard. college. babysitting kids. you’re doing good.”

you grin a little. “yeah, i guess.”

he lets out a quiet hum, then turns back to the sky.

you both fall silent. the kind of silence that doesn’t feel awkward at all. you tilt your head back too, following his gaze.

it is a beautiful night.

he takes a longer drag this time, eyes falling shut as the smoke leaves his lips in slow swirls. his jaw tenses slightly, neck lines sharp against the collar of his shirt.

you look away quickly.

your heart’s doing something stupid.

you should go.

but… you don’t.

you stay.

you don’t say anything. don’t even shift your weight. you just keep standing there under the soft garden lights, with your bag still in your hand and your heart beating loud in your ears. and as the seconds stretch on, when he realizes you’re still there; still watching him, he doesn’t look surprised.

you don’t see it. not really.

but he smiles. just a little.

and then he speaks.

“you smoke?”

his voice is low. smooth, like usual.

your eyes widen a little. “me? no. not really. i mean… no. it’s not good for you.”

he raises a brow, amused. “mm. it’s not.”

you shift on your feet. “it’s addictive. and bad for your lungs. like. obviously.”

he hums, eyes still on you. “wanna try?”

you blink. “pardon?”

he flicks ash off the end, lets it fall with a soft hiss onto the wet grass. “just once. it's not like you will get addicted off one puff.”

you hesitate. heart tripping over itself.

because you know this is stupid. obviously. you’ve said the words yourself— bad for you, dangerous, addictive.

but your thoughts are running too fast and none of them make sense. your limbs feel slow and heavy like you’re melting under the weight of his attention.

you shouldn’t.

you really shouldn’t.

but he’s looking at you with that.. amused little glint in his eye, and his shirt’s a little wrinkled, and his fingers look really good around the cigarette. and you’re tired of always being the one who makes the right choice.

what’s so bad about one?

he watches you, smoke curling past his lips again, quiet for a moment. “it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“sure,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “i’ll try it.”

his eyebrows lift, surprised. “you sure?”

you nod, too fast. “mhm.”

he smirks, a slow little curve of his lips. “thought it wasn’t healthy?”

you roll your eyes. “just one puff.”

he laughs quietly, drops the stub of his cigarette to the ground and presses the toe of his shoe against it. then he slips a hand into his pocket, pulls out a slim case, taps out a new one and holds it between two fingers like it’s nothing. like it’s casual.

“here,” he murmurs, handing it to you.

you take it.

your fingers brush his when you do.

you almost gasp but you don't , thankfully.

your fingers close around the cigarette he holds out, but just before you bring it to your lips, you drop your bag to the side with a soft thud on the grass.

you place the cigarette between your lips awkwardly at first, but you pretend to be cool about this. you keep your eyes on him the whole time. never looking away, and he doesn’t either. his gaze holds you in place.

he brings the lighter to the tip, flicks it open. the soft click sounds loud in the quiet.

then, his voice.

low. rough. lazy. “breathe in slow. not too deep. let it sit for a second. then let it go.”

you nod, and your fingers tremble just slightly as you try.

he lights it.

the flame glows bright, just for a second. burns orange, then settles into a steady red glow at the tip. and his eyes never leave yours.

you inhale like he said. it stings— more than you expected. burns your throat, makes your chest tighten, but you try to hold it.

you let it sit. then exhale.

it leaves your mouth in a shaky stream.

you cough a little, just once, and his eyes darken.

“that’s it,” he says, voice smooth like velvet. “you can do it. that's it. good girl.”

your stomach flips.

and then you try again. slower this time. his gaze never leaving your mouth.

“just like that,” he murmurs. “see? not so bad.”

you exhale again, and this time it doesn’t burn as much. it still makes your head spin. but not in a bad way.

you glance up at him, your voice softer now. “i kinda like it.”

he hums. “yeah?”

“yeah. i mean. i don’t know if that’s… right.”

he chuckles, steps a little closer, his voice brushing your skin. “doesn’t have to be right to feel good.”

your breath catches.

his eyes trail from your lips to your throat, very slowly. you take another drag, just to have something to do, but he’s watching you like he’s thinking about a dozen other things he’d rather have in your mouth.

your fingers shake a little again, but you don’t drop it.

he’s too close now. too warm.

you feel it in your stomach. between your thighs. every-fucking-where.

and when he takes the cigarette from you and presses it between his own lips for a second, eyes locked with yours the whole time— you swear you forget how to breathe.

you’re so fucking gone at this point.

you can’t stop looking at him.

the way his lips wrap around the same cigarette you’d just held between yours. the way his jaw flexes. the way his throat moves when he exhales; smoke curling out of his mouth like it was made to escape him that way.

you don’t even realize you’re staring.

not until his eyes drag back to yours— sharp and dark, the kind that doesn’t ask questions. the kind that already knows the answer.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough to hear.

and then his hand is behind your neck.

you don’t even have time to blink. to breathe.

to think.

his lips crash against yours, rough and sudden and so fucking real. your whole body locks up in shock before melting into the heat of it. it’s messy. desperate. everything at once. he kisses like he’s starved, like he’s wanted to do this for longer than he’ll ever admit.

you’re not supposed to do this.

he’s not supposed to do this.

but your lips part for him anyway.

and he kisses you deeper.

his other hand joins the first, palms warm behind your neck, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. the still-burning cigarette drops from between his fingers and he steps on it, crushing it into the grass without ever pulling away.

your fingers twitch at your sides. you don’t know where to put them.

you just… stand there. letting him kiss you like that. letting yourself kiss him back.

it feels like a dream.

it feels too good.

your lips don’t stop moving against his. they can’t.

you’re already too far gone— breathing him in like he’s the first drop of water after a dry, godless drought. your hands are clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down, keeping him close, greedy like you’ve been starving.

then suddenly, your breath catches.

you pull back.

“mr. jeon—” your voice is shaky, lips swollen. “shit.. i— we.. we shouldn’t... this is wrong.”

his hand cups your jaw, warm and grounding. but there’s something wild in his eyes. his voice comes out low, wrecked. “then tell me to stop.”

you stare at him. the garden lights behind his silhouette, the echo of your kiss still on your mouth.

you should tell him to stop.

you don’t.

instead, your fingers find his collar and tug again, hard this time.

fuck.

“just take me inside.”

“you’re so quiet,” he murmurs.

his voice cuts through the silence like a warm knife. his palm is on your head, fingers slow as they run through your hair, caressing in soft circles against your scalp. your cheek rests on his bare chest, his skin warm beneath you, rising and falling gently with every breath he takes. your hand is near his neck, thumb brushing the skin there, slow and absent-minded.

the room is still. faint moonlight slips through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the floor. the sheets are pulled over the both of you, tangled between legs, your bodies tucked close under them — in his bed.

the one he shares with his wife.

you don't reply at first. you're thinking. you’re here, lying on a mattress you shouldn’t be on, next to a man you shouldn't be touching. and yet, your heart feels full. your body’s warm. you feel… good. and that’s what scares you.

he doesn’t say anything again, just keeps stroking your hair, so softly it makes your eyes flutter.

you were quiet, yeah. but only because there’s so much going on in your head. so much you tried to ignore earlier — the guilt, the reality of what you were doing, the wrongness of it all. you’d been quiet because you were trying to forget it. to focus only on him.

you stare off across the room, eyes fixed on a dark corner. not looking at anything in particular. just grounding yourself. and then your voice breaks the quiet.

“i can be loud.”

he pauses. then laughs a little, and you feel his chest rise under your cheek. “really?”

you hum again. “mhm.”

the next second comes as a surprise — his hand gripping your hair suddenly, fingers threading through the strands and tugging just enough to make you gasp. your head’s pulled up, gently but firm, so you’re looking right at him.

his eyes are darker now. and oh you fucking love it.

you love how easily he shifts from soft to rough. how he looks at you like he owns you. how your stomach flips at just the change in his tone. the power in it.

your lips part slightly, a soft moan escaping before you can hold it back. you don’t even blink. you just look at him. your eyes hazy.

he bites his bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth, eyes flickering over your expression. “what? you like this?”

you hum again. it’s all you can manage.

his grip tightens, just enough to make you whimper. not painful. but enough to remind you who's in control. his voice is lower this time. firmer. “use your words, doll.”

your heart races. you want to kiss him so badly your lips practically itch.

but you speak first.

“i love it, mr. jeon”

he exhales sharply through his nose, almost a scoff, but amused. definitely turned on.

“yeah?” he murmurs, already leaning in.

you nod. and his grip loosens. his hand trails down, cupping your jaw instead as he leans forward, lips brushing against yours.

and then he kisses you.

soft. slow.

his mouth moves over yours with the kind of ease that makes you feel dizzy, like you’ve kissed him a hundred times before. you sigh into it, pressing closer, lips parting slightly as his hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place. you moan just a little, not even meaning to; it just slips out, the warmth of his mouth too good to resist.

his tongue doesn’t push in right away. he just kisses you. sweet and languid, like he has all the time in the world. like this moment is meant to stretch on forever.

and when you pull away, your palm flattens against his chest. you feel his heart is beating hard beneath it. just like yours.

you don’t look at him right away. your eyes are on the curve of his shoulder. your voice is soft when you ask,

“does this mean we can never see each other again?”

he looks at you.

then he says, “no.” almost too casually, like you didn’t just ask something loaded. “why do you think that?”

you blink, eyebrows raising slightly. your palm’s still on his chest, but your fingers curl a little, pressing into his skin. “i mean… we just fucked,” you say, half-laughing under your breath, even though your voice is tight. “isn’t that, like, a major babysitter deal-breaker?”

he snorts. actually snorts. and you almost want to smack his arm.

“just act like we didn’t fuck,” he says, like it’s simple. like you didn’t just sleep with a man who is married and has kids you take care of.

is he being for real right now?

“we don’t see each other much anyway. i’m always at work, remember? barely have time to breathe.”

you raise an eyebrow. “but you had time today.”

he shrugs, shifting a little beneath you, head sinking further into the pillow. “i finished a bunch of stuff early. got lucky.”

you try not to think about how it’s you he got lucky with.

your fingers stop moving against his skin, and for a second, you just stare at him. he looks so relaxed. one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly on your side now.

and then you ask, softly, “what about ms. xinyi?”

he blinks, like he forgot she existed for a moment, and then he sighs.

“what about her?”

“what if she suspects something?” your voice is quiet. a little strained. because the weight of reality is creeping back in, and you don’t know how to carry it.

he sighs again. not annoyed — more like, he expected this.

his hand lifts to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. “don’t give her a reason to.”

you look at him, wide-eyed.

“just be you,” he says simply, like that’s all it takes. like you can just forget the way he kissed you like you belonged to him. like you weren’t crossing a thousand lines just by lying in this bed, with him.

your chest tightens.

you nod, but inside, panic floods you like a wave.

what if you mess up?

what if she sees it in your eyes?

he notices the shift in your expression and before you can spiral further, he pulls you back in.

his lips find yours again, slow and deep, and you melt into him just like that. your hand slides up to his shoulder, and your body leans in because he’s the only thing that makes sense right now.

when he pulls back, his breath brushes your lips.

“i need you to know this , doll,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours,

“you’re mine.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x y/n #bts fanfic #jungkook x you #cheating au #bts fic #jeon jungkook

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thelightreflects · 2 days ago

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baby, babe, i'm jumping right in

@kingdonmicrofic — day one: pool, 497 words

a/n: didn't think i was going to do anything for this because i have trouble keeping my writing short but i was inspired by reading everyone's posts and wrote this in like 30 minutes when i should've been working. i probably won't put any of these on ao3 but if you want to read my full langdonmel fics, you can find them here

—

He tells Mel she can use his pool over the long weekend because it’s going to be hot and the AC in her apartment is always breaking down. He’s going out of town, so nobody will be using it anyway.

But he doesn’t think she’ll actually take him up on the offer. She’s a giver, not a taker.

So, when he sees her through the sliding glass door, he does a double take to make sure it’s not a mirage.

He opens the door slowly, not wanting her to know he’s here yet, and tiptoes barefoot on the patio down to the pool deck.

She’s mesmerizing, her movement through the water refracting the sunlight, and he gets caught in a stare.

He sits down at the edge of the pool, his back facing the house, and puts his legs in the water, watching her the entire time.

It feels like she swims forever, but the sun hasn’t even moved behind the trees, still beating down on them.

Finally, finally, she surfaces at the other end of the pool, and he feels his breath catch as he notices her barely-there bikini top clinging to her skin.

“I think you just set a record,” he says and smiles when she shrieks, grabbing onto the edge of the pool.

When she turns to face him, he knows the flush on her cheeks isn’t a sunburn.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house, Mel,” he says with a smirk.

Her mouth falls open and she says, “I mean —”

“I know, I’m teasing. I got called in for tomorrow, so I came back early.”

“Just you?”

“Just me.”

He knows what she’s really asking, but he won’t give it to her, wants her to take it. And she does just that, like she can read his mind.

She swims up between his legs and puts her hands on his bare thighs where his shorts have ridden up, water droplets cascading down his legs as she stands now that she's in the shallow end.

“Are you coming in?”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“You don’t need one.”

She reaches up and starts undoing the buttons of his shirt, the drips of water not enough to cool him down as her hands graze his chest.

Her gaze dips down to his mouth when his tongue wets his lips in anticipation.

It feels like a swarm of bees are buzzing under his skin.

When she gets his shirt open, her hands hover over the waistline of his shorts. She looks back up at him and says, “Take them off.”

He pushes himself up to stand and shucks off his shirt, then takes off his shorts, standing there in his briefs and never taking his eyes off her.

She gasps as he bends down and gets into the pool, his chest brushing against hers.

He smirks and says, “I would’ve come home earlier if —”

“Shut up,” she says and pulls him in for a kiss.

#kingdon #langdonmel

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bleedingcoffee42 · 3 days ago

Note

Where are Deeta’s letters to Dick? And how do we have his letters to her anyway?

They are featured in the book Hang Tough by Jared Frederick and Erik Dorr. I say featured because there are 117 letters and not all of them are reproduced, some are quoted.

The story goes: Dick was at Camp Croft, SC and he and his buddy Trent went to Asheville, NC for a weekend and checked into the YMCA for a cheap bed. The guy at the front desk is Mr. Hazard who Dick chatted with and may or may not have watched him wrestle with Trent. Come Sunday morning Mr. Hazard comes in his room, wakes Dick up and tells him he is going to church with him. Trent doesn't have to go because he's Catholic. So off Dick goes with this guy he just met to a Christian Scientist Church with his, 'uh friends', a 'domination that was a first for him.' (Could mean nothing, young Dick has a lot of first these days) After church one of the families invited Mr. Hazard and Dick over for Sunday dinner.

Next week two girls come to Mr. Hazard and say they made brownies and fudge and want to give it to some soldiers. Well, Dick and Trent are Mr. Hazard's pick and they get some nice snacks and write the girls. Trent is married, by the way, but whatever--he's Catholic. So Dick starts writing one of the girls more regularly and our lucky girl is DeEtta Almon. For four years she exchanges letters with him. They have five dates. Five. And his letters are mainly about men, him, dieting tips/talking about her weight, there is some teasing about the Navy that often goes way too far past teasing, and talk about his job. She sends him a TON of gifts. Visits his parents in Lancaster, Pa without him. Exchanges letters with his Dad and sister. And then there is the four years of letters with Dick Winters, where he insists she was always a penpal and always platonic, that accumulated in a scrapbook. 117 letters in this scrapbook.

So Dec 1995 rolls around. Band of Brothers, the book, has been out for three years and Dick gets a phone call. DeEtta's daughter calls him. "Do you remember DeEtta?" The result is the scrapbook being sent to Dick and you would think that would be it. Right?

WRONG. Because this is Dick Winters and everything must be archived, including the letters from your ex girl friend from WW2. So now it's a project- he reads them with his wife, they put them in folders, and start making copies. By copies, five copies of everything. AND Ethel gets to type up the letters doing some editing of spelling or punctuation so they are a "pleasure to read not a hardship." Dick's handwriting being called a 'hardship' is the kindest description of it. It is migraine inducing and awful. Anyhow, here is Ethel typing up her husband's 50+ year old letters to his ex girlfriend. Then when it's done they have five copies of everything - Dick, Ethel, Jill and Tim and one copy for DeEtta. That's right, she finally gives this thing back and he turns around and returns! They go see her on her birthday and give her a copy of the letters he wrote to her -just legible. Just what she wanted, I'm sure.

So where are her letters to him? Great question. Dick kept everything, so where ARE all the letters DeEtta wrote? And she wrote a lot of them. A lot more than he returned. Because when he goes to OCS and meets Lewis Nixon they drop off. She keeps writing especially when she thinks he's dead in Bastogne because he doesn't tell her otherwise and everyone knows where the 101st Airborne is.

Now we have them because they are at the Gettysburg Museum of History. I do believe they have both the original letters as well as the typed copy because the typed one you can read and has Dick's little comments. The book tells a narrative of Dick's life using the letters an personal punctuation of what was going on.

#dick winters #hang tough #bob book club

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thebitchandjerkwinchesters · 2 days ago

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Okay this feels different but imma leave my thoughts and spiralling feelings here till ao3 loves me again

"If you’re confused, just come find the me that’s with you now, and he’ll show you."

He is so adorable i missed them. They'll be so back

"Son of a bitch, I hope there’s a me with you. Lucky asshole. He loves you too, so you know. He’s me, and he’s not gonna say it out loud very well, but he loves you. I love you. Always love you. All the way down."

DO IT SAY IT, i say as if they can hear me

"I guess it doesn’t hurt for future me. If he gave these to you, that means he got you back. Douchebag. Probably gets to kiss you too. I’ve kissed you. Six times. I’ll do it more, if you let me. I’d do whatever you let me do. Nothing means more than you, baby, you gotta know that. If future me is being an asshole and hasn’t told you that, I’m telling you now. Everything he does is for you. That’s how much he fucking loves you."

Not him trying to talk to himself while writing a letter to Princess, also don't worry dean future you would also be just whipped as current/past you is. Kiss count mentioned!!!

"Fuck, there probably isn’t a thing you could do that he wouldn’t let you get away with."

Hmm mixed feelings.. I agree but also.. we know what princess and cas are gonna do, dean(future or not) doesn't. Am I too fixated on it?

"He’s been a goner for years. Punch him in the balls for me, if he hasn’t told you. Then you can show me this, so I know I told you to do that. But don’t do it too hard. He still wants a future with you, and probably values his balls more than I do."

Whiplash, he thinks a lot. He's baby. And before she comes anywhere near his balls she'd become a flustered mess

"I’ve been having these new dreams, about you. Have I mentioned that I dream about you? I do. They stopped for a while, but they’re back now. Different from before, but back. In one of them, we were just one of those normal couples. We worked and had a house, visited your dad on weekends, had a dog and a cat."

THEA I SEE YOU. I SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING. is it one of the secret? One 🤍 if no two 🤍🤍 if yes. It's fine no one will know you're barely skirting the nda

Not him being like we'll get a cat but it's not sleeping in OUR bed. I'm putting my foot down and then she does the flutter thing and he's gone dumb

"Dean had let the demons rip into him. There wasn’t any reason not to. The plan had failed anyway."

Honey that shadows the sh thing. I don't like this.

"Maybe She was out. Maybe whatever got Sam grabbed Her too, but Cas couldn’t find her because of the Bride thing"

go on dean keep thinking you are a genius you just need a clear head free of pain and it won't get better until she's back but oh my god you'll get her only with a clear head.

“Awesome.” He dropped his head back down. “See you next time you decide I’m injured enough to check in on.” Cas sighed. “You know I am busy, Dean, I do not enjoy not talking to you-“ “But you only do it when I’m bleeding out.” “You bleed out quite often, lately.” Cas muttered, and Dean rolled his eyes, pushing his words through his teeth.”

why is 2/3 couple in the throuple angsty WHY😭

"might bring a light back to Bobby’s eyes,"

how's Bobby I miss my father

“You actually siding with freakin’ Crowley here?” Dean glared at Cas under his eyelids. “He sent a bunch of demon goons to kick the shit out of me-“

can I be honest? Is it a safe zone? I don't like it, i don't like cas right now. I don't want this can I return this aspect of the update? WHY IS CAS LETTING CROWLEY SIC DEMONS ON DEAN. WHY DONT THEY COMMUNICATE. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“I miss her as well,” Cas muttered, scanning over Dean’s face carefully. “Things are… Far worse. When she is not here. There is a sense, wherever I go, that something is missing. It is…” Cas trailed off, frowning at the air. “As if my wings have been cut off, though they are very much still there.” “Human’s call that grief,” Dean said under his breath, dropping his gaze to his own knees. “That’s what’s you’re feelin’, Cas. But she’s not dead-“ “She is not with us.” Cas murmured. “And if my wings feel as if they are missing, I can only imagine what you are experiencing.”

okay i take back what I said. I am never doubting you again. Yeah this, we like. Bonding even though sad as shit, but they're talking.

“Crowley.” Not Her. “He will not touch you like that again, and I will work to try and make him…” Cas sighed. “Calm down. But I cannot handle Crowley, Raphael, and you making stupid, unmeasured choices.”

i apologise to cas too. I feel like a feral cat realising the human was just trying to feed it and it didn't need to attack them

“If you die,” Cas muttered Her name. “She will break out of the cage, just to kill me. And,” he shot Dean a glare. “That is not a suggestion. You will have to be careful, Dean-“

he's not wrong.. but she won't kill cas, she'll kill the whole world with her grief? Cuz she's more powerful by the second.

"Or She’d be pissed at him, for not helping Cas. She’d help Cas. Shit, if She was here, Cas might have already won the war in Heaven."

You don't say... The reveal is going to gut us all

“Something about hunting?” Jody cut him off, Her voice shockingly firm. “Or something about feelings and good choices. Cause if it’s the latter, I don’t think it’s a good for you and Bobby to be bouncing any ideas off of each other.”

MOM HIIIIIII AND TRUE THEY'RE IDJITS RIGHT NOW EVEN BOBBY

“And expecting a different result, Dean. That’s important. All you do is drink and torture yourself while trying to get her out, you’ll go insane. And you think you’re of better use to her insane, or with a brain that’s actually working?”

I love the women of supernatural. Eric kripe you suck you threw the wayward sisters idea.

"This was just soft. It made Dean feel sort of small, but not like he could be stepped on, or was weak. Like the sky was falling, but there was still going to be something to cover him, and keep him safe."

HE EXPERIENCED HAVING A GENTLE PARENT FOT THE FIRST TIME 😭

"She wrapped Her arms around his neck, as he set Her down, and Dean crashed his lips into Her’s. She tasted like Her apples, and a little bit of cherry and soda. When he reached down for Her thigh, She let him grab it and hook it around his waist. Moaned into Dean’s mouth like a song, when he angled his mouth over Her’s to deepen the kiss."

DREAM SEX LETS GO. You know what I'll take it, it's phantom kissing but they kissed

"He pulled back to frown at Her. “You don’t like Dr. Sexy?” "She shrugged. “I like you.”

DR SEXY MENTIONED ITS CANON THEY WATCH IT TOGETHER. more like dean gets bi panic and she watches him have that

"That wasn’t helping his dream boner."

Yeah see? It's sorta real. Like a more elaborate hologram but like you can almost touch it? Do I make sense? I'm not talking about Dean's.. i mean their dreams that they share

"It was always so goddamn bright into morning, it was like the sky was angling the freakin’ sun right into his eyes."

Chuck your jealousy is showing seriously? Pathetic

THE BANTER BETWEEN SAM AND DEAN> honestly soulblocked sam is finally paying back for all the times he had to go through princedean's pining. Speak your truth King

I'll try to guess your favourite dialogues for dean and princess but my favourite? All of Sam's lines BANGERS. I LOVE IT.

“Can I get a demon, please?” is it this for dean? It's one of the guesses?

"Dean used the drive to practice his ignoring skills. When he took a sharp turn and Sam let out a bitch sigh, Dean ignored it. When he turned up the volume and Sam made a sour face, Dean made it a point to keep his gaze fixed out the window shield. It didn’t how many times Sam grumbled about wrong turns and Dean being dramatic, he wasn’t going to react."

Not the bitch sigh. I love the entirety of how it's written. Thankyou🤍

"And maybe Dean was losing his goddamn mind, but he could swear he was smelling it."

ITS THEM FINIDING HER AND JO PHENOMENON 2.0

"When he walked out of the bathroom, there was an apple on the sink."

TREASURE HUNT LETS GO

"Sammy’s potion tasted like ass. He asked me to drink it, and I couldn’t say no. He would’ve cried, Princess, and you’ve never seen Sammy about to cry. It’s like a whining puppy. So I drank his potion, and then I started throwing up for like a week."

Okay fair there's nothing i wouldn't do for baby sam either

"Dad was pretty pissed, thought I ordered them food, and it could have gotten Sammy poisoned too. Turned out the kid just put a bug in the potion. He liked bugs. Bobby says you liked bugs, too."

John Winchester you deserve herpes you probably had it. I hate him so much. He doesn't care about raising sam and doesn't even see dean as a human ITS FUCKING UNBELIEVABLE.

"What I’m trying to tell you is that I think I love you every time. I think if you were an actual Princess, I’d keep loving you from afar, like if you were Sammy’s bug friend and I was just his stupid older brother. And if you looked at me one day and asked me to do something for you, I’d make the moon move backwards. If you loved me back (because I love you. Just in case you frogot forgot) I’d figure out a way for us to be together. If you wanted me."

AYEEEEEEEEE WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. I LOVE YOU. SAMMY AND PRINCESS'S BUGS/STONES BUSINESS AND Bestfriend's brother au

And I love the PrincessXKnight au. It's holy to me

“It looked like a garden vomited on my pillow, Sam.” this is another guess for your favourite Dean line. At this point I'm suspecting? Let me know what's actually your favourite?

“Someone gave you a free apple.” Sam gave him a flat look. “And you got blackout drunk, picked flowers for your girlfriend, then started crying when you realized she was stuck in hell. That’s not weird shit, Dean, that’s you needing a therapist.”

sam isn't missing on this chapter. BANGER.

“Purple cow?” Dean stared at her. Maybe it was a code. Christ, he was too tired for code. “Blue chicken.”

That was so random I wanna join the game. PINK GOAT. I love him so much

“Ah- Nothin’ for you to worry about, sweetheart.” She rose up, moving back into her tiny kitchen. “Y’all want some mac and cheese?”

wait what the fuck? Is she invisible? It's all HER favourite stuff

"He passed a stoop, and there was a knife taped to the door. And a knife on the sink, when he went to the bathroom."

YEP SHE'S NEAR, if Dean's not the sole thing to summon her knives will, so relatable

"I guess everything was designed for you. That’s the Bride of God thing. You’re the universe, and I’m just some asshole you watch TV with." Also nominated for your favourite Dean line

"Right where Sam’s massive fucking head had been blocking, was a huge Indiana Jones poster."

Who is doing that, is this a trap for her or is she just spiralling out of control using her silver?

“If you’re planning on do somethin’ to me.” He muttered, and the Alpha frowned at him. “Can it happen now, before I bleed all over your fancy freakin’ carpets?” I'm asking blinding at this point. If this is your favourite Dean line

"Jonas’ word died in a gurgle of blood, his throat slit clean open with a bubbling wound that spread, before his head fell clean from his shoulders."

WAY TO MAKR AN ENTRACE LETS GO BAD BITCH

"Lie. That was a lie. Dean didn’t know why, but that was a freaking lie, and he was too fucking tired to understand it."

no🥰 we're not doing this, please

"And it was boiling in the cavity of his chest. She ran again, when She swore she wouldn’t."

Yep. And I feel like the only way it would resolve for me if they fight if dean actually pushes her for once to answer and she would ofcourse it's already uncomfortable lying to him and then it'll be fine.

"Pressed Her lips against Dean’s, as his hand glided up Her back, and made a soft, blissful sound as he kissed Her with a little more than he’d ever had before. Then She kissed him back—wrapping Her legs carefully around his torso and crashing so deep into him he couldn’t really think past Her apple on his tongue and warmth in his arms—and it was like breathing."

Kiss counter add +1.. ITS SEVEN!!

"Her light had never been pure white enough for it to just stop shining. It was made with a little bit of darkness. Made of silver. "

Oh waitt ohhh this makes sense. The white got bigger but the darkness was still a part of her. The god of bride powers and Magdalene powers mixed is silver. YOU'RE A GENIUS

I SWEAR IF SHE RUNS AGAIN. I'LL BE RAGING AND CRYING ON DEAN'S BEHALF.

Also I think your favourite princess line is probably “You know.” She drawled, nudging his body with her foot. “I’ve wanted to be the girl.”

Or “Hi. Do you like my trick? I-“

I thinkkk.. anyways I loved this and I love you 🤍

And sorry for being late to the party

So yeah...

Chapter 31 - It All Comes Around

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Okay you guys know I hate saying something is my favorite in case you hate it, but this chapter has two of my favorite lines of dialogue so far. One for Dean, one for our girl. If you guess one, you can... idk do the bonus chapter thing again. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from The Unknown by Imagine Dragons

Word Count: 19.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has a weird week. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 30 - Chapter 32

Read on A03!

Dec. 17th - 2010

Princess,

You’d be pissed at me right now. That was the kind of thing you’d be pissed at me about. Knew that going it. Kinda always know it, if i’m telling you the truth. I hate it when you cry or get mad, but sometimes there’s a middle where you’re just glaring at me, and it’s adorable. You don’t get that wrinkle in your brow, but your nose scrunches and you say Dean like

Guess I can’t do an impression of it on the paper. Imagine you can hear me saying Dean, but it’s in my voice, pretending to be you. If you’re confused, just come find the me that’s with you now, and he’ll show you.

Son of a bitch, I hope there’s a me with you. Lucky asshole. He loves you too, so you know. He’s me, and he’s not gonna say it out loud very well, but he loves you. I love you. Always love you. All the way down.

That’s why I did the stupid thing. I’m not gonna write it down, cause if I do, you’ll stop reading and go beat up future me. But he did it for the same reason I did. So don’t be too pissed at him. Me.

Forgive me. That’s why I’m trying to get out here. Please fucking forgive me, for everything. The stupid thing. Everything I did while you were gone. Letting you fall in the cage. I’m so fucking sorry, Princess, but you gotta forgive me. But you were gone, and it hurt. Still hurts, right now.

I guess it doesn’t hurt for future me. If he gave these to you, that means he got you back. Douchebag. Probably gets to kiss you too. I’ve kissed you. Six times. I’ll do it more, if you let me. I’d do whatever you let me do. Nothing means more than you, baby, you gotta know that. If future me is being an asshole and hasn’t told you that, I’m telling you now. Everything he does is for you. That’s how much he fucking loves you.

Fuck, there probably isn’t a thing you could do that he wouldn’t let you get away with. He’s been a goner for years. Punch him in the balls for me, if he hasn’t told you. Then you can show me this, so I know I told you to do that. But don’t do it too hard. He still wants a future with you, and probably values his balls more than I do.

He probably values a hell of a lot more than me, if he’s got you back.

And it’s not your fault, baby. I know you, I know you’re gonna read this and start thinking that you messed something up. Maybe go sit next to future me, so he can calm you down if you start freaking out. You don’t have to do anything to make me feel better, ever. If I’ve got you, I know everything is good. Just let him take care of you. It’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

It’s been you from the start, sweetheart. And I did something stupid, but you need to forgive me because it’s getting dark out here. I miss you, and I need you to tell me what the hell to do. How I’m supposed to get you back without doing something stupid. Whatever got Sammy out isn’t doing an encore, Cas still won’t pick up the damn phone, and Bobby’s a little better, but he ain’t good. None of us are good without you.

I’ve been having these new dreams, about you. Have I mentioned that I dream about you? I do. They stopped for a while, but they’re back now. Different from before, but back. In one of them, we were just one of those normal couples. We worked and had a house, visited your dad on weekends, had a dog and a cat.

I’ll let you get that cat, if you come home soon. The one Cas never got to give you. Shit, I’ll help him pick it out. We’ll get you a cute one, I’ll get those allergy meds you mentioned, and it can stay at Bobby’s. But it can’t sleep on the bed. I’m not fighting for your attention with a fucking cat, sweetheart.

Sam says I’m bargaining. But he’s also an asshole still, cause of the soul blocker thing. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, just because he took one psych class at Stanford. And even if I am bargaining, nothing wrong with that. Whatever the hell gets you back, right?

You need to come back, baby. I can get a whole lot stupider.

Yours,

DAW

——————

Dean dropped his head against the table—squeezing his eyes shut as he gritted his teeth—and took a long, deep breath.

He finished the letter. That’s what was important.

There wasn’t even a single bloodstain on it, because he’d washed his freaking hands.

There was blood leaking through his shirt, though.

He should probably deal with that, before he lost all of it and had to deal with another lecture from Sam about this behavior not being useful, Dean.

Easy for Sam to say. He hadn’t lost anything. And anything that he should’ve lost, he didn’t give a shit about anymore. His soul. All their goddamn peace.

Her.

Sam still didn’t seem to give a shit that they’d lost Her.

And Dean was trying real damn hard not to be pissed about that. Sam didn’t know how things like emotions worked anymore. Just couldn’t grasp that the most important person in both of their lives—the woman who had believed in him through the whole demon blood thing, and kept them from fighting countless times—was stuck in hell. That they needed to get her out, because otherwise Dean was going to start doing some pretty fucking dumb things.

Dumber things.

He’d already done something pretty fuck dumb.

And it hadn’t even had the nerve to goddamn work.

Dean folded the letter into a neat square, and left it on the table as he pushed to his feet with a groan. This was going to suck. This was going to suck so goddamn much, but he couldn’t call Sam back from his hookup just to give him stitches. Sam would have questions like are you an idiot, Dean—yes—and how they hell did you get your stomach ripped open. It looks like you didn’t even fight back.

He hadn’t.

Dean had let the demons rip into him. There wasn’t any reason not to. The plan had failed anyway.

And this was why he needed Her. This was Her type of plan—the insane ones, that nearly gave Dean a heart attack whenever She looked at him with bright eyes and said I’ve got something—and Her ability to calculate the risks and danger to herself might be horrible, but she got results.

Dean had just got the shit beaten out of him, and nothing else. She wasn’t home. He wasn’t closer to getting Her home. He just had a goddamn pit in the cavity of his chest, splitting him open, and a gash in his side.

He made it to the bed. Sam’s bed. Bitch wasn’t using it anyway, he’d deal with the blood stains.

And there was a whole lot of blood. Maybe the shallow breathing was from the way he was bleeding out, or just how he was thinking about Hell. The rivers of blood, and all of it on his hands.

Her, drowning in that blood. Stuck in the place that had turned Dean into more of a monster than he’d already been. Or just somewhere worse, if the damage to Sam’s soul said anything.

Maybe She was out. Maybe whatever got Sam grabbed Her too, but Cas couldn’t find her because of the Bride thing, and now She was curled up and shivering and alone. Waiting for Dean to come save Her, while he ran around like a fucking asshole. Trying plans that didn’t work, touching women he didn’t love just to feel something, drinking and drinking until he was numb enough to breathe.

He wasn’t numb now.

Son of a bitch, between the way the pit was swallowing him whole and the sting of the rubbing alcohol on his wound, there wasn’t enough booze in the world to make him feel nothing.

He needed to lie down. Half for the stitches, half because if he didn’t, he was pretty damn sure he’d fall over and start sobbing like a pussy.

Dean clenched his jaw, lay flat on his back, and got to work. His hands weren’t steady, but he could patch himself up. Enough for it to look like a normal hunting accident, at least.

Enough that nobody would try and ask questions, and lecture him about self-destructive behaviors.

He tried to hum to himself, to calm down. Ramble On, then Hey Jude, the just fucking anything to fill the silence when he couldn’t carry either of the tunes. If he closed his eyes tight enough, he could pretend She was there with him. That these were Her hands, and the static sound of the heater was Her siren-like voice. Telling Dean it would be okay. That She was here, and everything was going to be okay.

He could almost believe it. When he really goddamn focused, the smell of blood and dirt faded, and he could smell Her apples. Her voice on the wind was less of a phantom, and more of an echo. A little far away, and not really Her, but closer. Had been Her before. Would be Her again. And he could pretend that when he wiped the sweat from his brow, it was a gentle hand brushing through his hair. That the warm feeling in his chest wasn’t more than a reflection of what had been there before. That he wasn’t using smoke and mirrors to pretend the pit was flooding with silvery light, and when he turned his head into the mattress and took a deep breath, he wasn’t just lying to his own mind that he was breathing against Her skin.

He might be groaning Her name. He didn’t really care anymore.

He just wanted Her to be here.

And She wasn’t.

When Dean pulled the last stitch through, he opened his eyes, and there was nobody at all.

He tipped his head back with a groan. He just needed to lie down, for one second. Then he’d get back to work. Start looking for new ways—maybe ones that didn’t get him beat up, but he didn’t really care—and maybe that cat. Maybe it was what he needed, just an incentive for Her to come back to him. He’d get Her five cats. Ten, and rent a house on a beach. Maybe Cape Cod. Pretty damn far from California, still the beach. They could get all the sugary drinks and snacks She wanted, then lie in bed for a week.

He’d watch whatever movie She wanted. Read a book for Her. Do fucking anything, just as long as She came home-

There was a rustling sound, and Dean let out a heavy breath, opening his eyes to glare at the cracked ceiling. He should’ve known better than thinking he’d get away with that.

“Cas. You gotta knock.”

“You wouldn’t be able to open the door, Dean.” Cas’ voice was low, and filled a tension Dean didn’t appreciate. Cas wasn’t the one who had been dying. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll live.” He muttered, craning his neck to see Cas staring at him from the edge of the bed. “That it?”

“You know it is not-“

“Awesome.” He dropped his head back down. “See you next time you decide I’m injured enough to check in on.”

Cas sighed. “You know I am busy, Dean, I do not enjoy not talking to you-“

“But you only do it when I’m bleeding out.”

“You bleed out quite often, lately.” Cas muttered, and Dean rolled his eyes, pushing his words through his teeth.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Cas, I don’t got a whole lot going on for me other than bleeding out. So if we could skip the telling me I’m a freakin’ idiot part and cut to what you want-“

“I do not want anything, Dean. And I would not call you an idiot.” Cas said Her name, his voice suddenly soft, and Dean’s hand curled into fists. “She would be angry. That you are doing this for her. I do not think she’d like any plan that gets you hurt like this.”

Dean was going to break his jaw. “Don’t tell me what she’d want-“

“You know I’m right.” Cas’ voice was gentle, and it just made the ache in Dean’s chest worse. “She would not be happy to know that you have been on this path-“

“What path.” Dean rolled his eyes, leaning back down on the mattress. “The one where I get her the hell out of the cage? I’m not apologizing for trying to save her, Cas-“

“Dean,” Cas muttered, but Dean shook his head, and pushed on.

“I won’t give up- No, I can’t give up. She didn’t give up on me, and we didn’t even know about angels or all her magic shit. If Death himself can’t goddamn touch her, that means there’s gotta be something up here that needs her, which means there’s going to be some sort of fucking loophole. Some- Fuck, there has to be some goddamn way-“ His head hurt, and it was spread to his throat. He wouldn’t stop. “Son of a bitch, Cas, there has to be a way-“

He had more to say. About how the world had to need Her, because he’d seen the way it bended for Her. How all colors were vibrant around Her, and the grass seemed to grow under Her feet. He’d seen the gardens She’d make, he knew God himself watched Her and wanted her the same way Dean, so if God needed Her like Dean needed Her, there had to be a way.

And if there wasn’t a way, he’d make one. She said there was always another way, so he’d take whatever gamble he had to, if it might get Her home. If it might fix Sammy, might bring a light back to Bobby’s eyes, might make the house stop being so damn quiet and haunted all the time. The floorboards creaked louder without Her. The night was darker. And nothing was how it should be, without Her there.

But the words died in Dean’s throat. If he said them, the pit would turn into a cavern, and it would be all he was. He’d break apart, and none of Cas’ angel mojo would fix him.

“There may be another way, Dean.” Cas murmured, and Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “But this is not it. That was reckless, and I believe you know that.”

“Doesn’t matter what I know.” Dean grunted. “I’d call that the right amount of recks for this situation.”

“You tried to open a seal, Dean.”

“Didn’t try. Opened it.”

Cas let out another dramatic sigh. “You do understand how that isn’t comforting. I do not approve of Crowley’s methods to deter you, but-“

“You actually siding with freakin’ Crowley here?” Dean glared at Cas under his eyelids. “He sent a bunch of demon goons to kick the shit out of me-“

“And you are lucky they didn’t kill you, Dean. I know what you are planning, and if you proceed with it, I will have to stop you-“

Dean muttered Her name, and Cas fell silent. “She’s down there, Cas. Down there with Michael and Lucifer, in God’s fuckin’ time out corner.”

“I am aware,” Cas muttered, and Dean snorted.

“I’d think you are, but you’re willing to leave her down there-“

“Dean, you know I’m not-“

“I don’t know!” He roared, ignoring the rush of pain through his head as he shot up. “You can say that, Cas, but you don’t gotta live with it like I do! I’m doing what I have to do, I’m doing the only goddamn way I can think of, because she is down there alone with two archangels, and she needs us to get her out, but I’m the only one who’s goddamn willing to fucking do something.”

Cas stared at him for a second. “She would not want you to open the cage, just for her-“

“Stop saying what she’d want.” Dean hissed. “If she hates it, she can tell me herself. When she’s free.”

“Dean.” Cas gave him a sad look, and Dean’s throat ached. “Crowley will continue to attack you. His position as King only lasts as long as Lucifer remains in the cage-“

“I don’t give a shit about Crowley-“

“I am not worried about Crowley.” Cas snapped, voice raising and narrowing his eyes. “I am worried about him killing you, Dean. And Raphael holding your soul hostage. You cannot help her when you are dead.”

Dean scowled, and a lot of the anger was starts to drain from his body. His muscles felt sore, every inch of his body tired, and he might have fucked up his stitches. It didn’t really damn matter. He’d failed. Again. Gotten the shit kicked out of him, gotten yelled at by Cas, and he wasn’t a single step closer to getting Her back.

He’d dream of Her, tonight. He always dreamt of Her, smiling at him like he’d never done anything wrong at all. Like all the sins he’d committed were nothing more than stumbled steps, like he’d never lied to Her or let Her get hurt. Never hurt Her himself, because everything he touched turned to fucking sand in his hands. And She’d been the most precious thing of them all, made of life and light and dancing in the dead of night, and he’d just let Her slip away.

It didn’t matter how hard he swam against the current, trying to get Her back. She’d never been Dean’s to begin with. And when God pulled Her out and took Her to Heaven, She shouldn’t looked back. Heaven was what She deserved.

But there would be no place for a Shadow.

It would be better that way. He was being fucking selfish, wanting Her all to himself. To touch and love and kiss until She giggled and squirmed in his arms. He’d always known he’d never be worthy of Her. And Christ, he was doing all he could be wrong. But no scale was tipped in his favor. And there’s no world where She looked at Dean—acting without thinking, reeking of booze and lonely sex—and decides that she’d have him over paradise.

But he didn’t know how to do any of this without Her.

He was a selfish son of a bitch.

It didn’t matter if he never got Her back.

Dean’s head bowed, breathing heavy as he tried to keep the pit from opening further, from taking whatever last vital organ was still cruelly keeping him alive, and it didn’t matter.

A choked, low sound left him, and nothing mattered.

Two fingers pressed to his brow, and the splitting headache faded with the stabbing pain in his stomach. The pain in his chest didn’t heal, though.

When he looked up at Cas, standing over him with a soft, almost wounded expression, it only stretched a little further, and made the world a little darker.

“Human’s call that grief,” Dean said under his breath, dropping his gaze to his own knees. “That’s what’s you’re feelin’, Cas. But she’s not dead-“

“She is not with us.” Cas murmured. “And if my wings feel as if they are missing, I can only imagine what you are experiencing.”

Dean didn’t answer. He didn’t have the words for it, not one that would sound right. It wasn’t like a part of him was missing, or as he’d just been cut in half. That would’ve been far too simple, too easy to get past.

It was like he was missing. Like he’d been plunged underwater, dragged away from the entire world, and it was just above the surface but no matter how he clawed to get back to it, he was never able to breach the waves.

And Cas sighed, taking a slight step back. “I do not expect you to give up on her, Dean. But you cannot do that again.”

“I won’t.” He grunted, and if he was stronger, he’d just damn the consequences, damn his own soul, and open the cage to get Her back. Cas said Raphael wanted to start the apocalypse again, Dean could get a sponsorship or something.

But She’d never forgive him, when She got out. She’d curse his name, and Dean would lose Her all the same.

Selfish.

It didn’t matter.

“Thank you. I am handling it, Dean. I promise.”

Dean frowned at him. “It?”

“I said I wouldn’t do it,” Dean grumbled, taking at deep breath as he scanned over Cas’ face.

He looked tired. Worn, will parts of his trench coat stained with things Dean didn’t really want to know about.

“Cas.” He muttered, words still low. “You know we can help, man. If there’s anything with the Heaven shit you need-“

“No, Dean.” Cas shook his head. “I told you, I am handling it. I have support.”

“Support?”

“Other angels. Who have chosen my side.”

Dean frowned. Something about that sounded off. Cas wasn’t blinking at all, but that was normal. His voice was firm and deep, but that was also normal. Cas was pretty hard to read, no matter what. And Dean’s own exhaustion wasn’t helping.

“You got anything for us?” He tried one more time, and the soreness was giving way to tension. “Just- a hunt? Any way we can help you gank Raphael faster?”

Cas shook his head, and Dean took an unsteady breath. He couldn’t keep doing nothing. Looking for another way to get her out and coming up empty handed. Maybe this would help. Maybe just one hunt that amounted to more than broken bones and the smell of gasoline would get him back on track. He’d get all his energy back, find whatever angel thing Cas sent them to take care of, and it would be the way to get Her out.

Or maybe he’d just get the shit beat out of him again.

Either way, he wouldn’t just be waiting for Her to appear in the bathroom doorway, or moaning Her name while he fucked some nameless chick. He’d be doing something.

“Dean-“

“C’mon, man.” Dean gave Cas his best winning grin, ignoring how his face felt sort of swollen from crying. “Give us something. I get you’re a big shot angel now, but there’s gotta be like, an errand me and Sam can run for you. Help in this war with Raphael thing.”

“I do not have any errands. And in your current state, I don’t think involving yourself in my war would prove useful.”

“Cas.” He muttered, letting his voice crack slightly. He couldn’t just sit here, in the pit. He’d fall into it, and not have Her light to guide him back out. “Fuck, I’ve got my foot on the pedal, man. I know that. At least give me somewhere to steer.”

Cas paused, watching Dean so intently he could feel in searing over his skin, and he needed this to work. For Cas to see that he wasn’t just begging like a bitch. He needed this. Otherwise, the place he drove might be off a goddamn cliff.

And whatever Cas saw—as Dean let a little bit of the pit show all over his face—seemed to be enough.

“Fine.” He sighed. “But you have to be careful, Dean. No one in Heaven or Hell is your biggest fan right now-“

“I don’t care about them, Cas, I got you.” Dean grinned, and Cas didn’t return it.

“If you die,” Cas muttered Her name. “She will break out of the cage, just to kill me. And,” he shot Dean a glare. “That is not a suggestion. You will have to be careful, Dean-“

“I will be. What’re we lookin’ at?”

Cas sighed again, frowning at the air as he spoke “I have sources that tell me Crowley is looking for something. Something powerful. I am not sure what, but if you must do something, figuring out what would be helpful.”

“What Crowley’s looking for?”

Cas nodded, and Dean sat up a little taller.

Finding something. He could find something. He’d always smoked Sammy at hide and seek, and he was a pretty awesome snooper. Cas left—with another warning to Dean not to do something stupid, which wasn’t really necessary—and Dean had something to do.

In the morning. When Sam got back, and he could use the next day to actually be useful, instead of a drunken, selfish burden.

But maybe this was selfish as well. Maybe he should be spending time trying to think of the next plan to get Her out, instead of running around doing shit Cas could probably do himself. That might get done faster, with a handful of angels on the case rather than Dean.

Or She’d be pissed at him, for not helping Cas. She’d help Cas. Shit, if She was here, Cas might have already won the war in Heaven.

But She wasn’t. Here.

Wasn’t with Dean.

And he would get Her back. As he took the letter off the table, carefully tucking it into the box—kept at the bottom of his bag, right next to Velma the stuffed cat—Dean had to remember that he kept writing because She would come back. And he’d give Her the letters, and everything would be fine.

Right now it wasn’t. Right now it was like sitting in some sort of stasis, downing the last of the whiskey bottle he’d gotten at the bar, staring at the ceiling and trying to work out how he’d get through the day.

Thinking of Her, probably. Not the pain She might be in, but how the better moments. Her on his chest as they slept, or under Dean’s body as he kissed Her softly.

He didn’t know if he’d ever get to kiss Her again.

The bottle was empty. The motel room was empty, and there wouldn’t be any more company for him tonight. He didn’t see that hallucination of Her anymore, not since late September. It didn’t matter if he was wasted enough he didn’t know his own name—only the pain in his chest and the lack of Her at his side—Dean just couldn’t get Her back.

He couldn’t get Her back.

It would be good to help Cas. Cas had helped him, and Dean had pleaded for it. But the longer Cas was gone—the longer it was just Dean and the rattling sound of the heater—the more he wanted to just fucking damn it. If he couldn’t get the seals and open the cage, he’d find another way. Death wouldn’t help, but maybe another archangel could. Maybe there was some sort of Cage guard, that could slip her out. Maybe another spell he could try, a back entrance he could use.

But Bobby had looked for all of that, and there wasn’t a single damn thing.

He’d find something. And Crowley was looking for something powerful. Maybe he’d been right the first time, and this would help him get on track to free Her.

Or maybe She’d just get out some other way tomorrow, and think that Dean had given up on Her.

He felt sort of sick. He was way too damn tired to be trying to figure this out. His head was spinning, and it felt like his heart was withering in his body. He couldn’t sleep. It didn’t matter how he paced around the room, sat and stared at the laptop screen, or lay on the bathroom floor. The bed was too stiff, too cold, and when he stretched his arms out a new, straining pain—just to the right of his heart—ripped through him at the empty mattress at his side.

He couldn’t sleep with a replacement, though. He hadn’t be able to stomach it, since the dreams of Her had started up. There was something fucking wrong about waking up with a passing body—some woman who had looked like Her in the shadows of the bar, enough for Dean to pretend, but then looked like a faded mockery in the morning light—when he’d just been holding Her in his sleep. When he’d spent the whole night dreaming of kissing Her and dancing in some old west saloon.

It made him feel something, at least. Something like poison, in his veins and eating at his hands.

They shouldn’t be allowed to touch Her, when She returned.

If She even wanted to touch him.

She might, if he went through with helping Cas. He didn’t have a damn clue where to start, though. She would. So maybe he could get Her out first, then help Cas. Or he could keep wading through the mud, letting it drag him further under, and never actually save Her because he just kept wandering in damn circles. Or She’d think Dean wasn’t burning himself to ash to get Her out.

Dean pushed up with a groan, fumbling for his phone. He shouldn’t be trusted to make any choices, or even do any right now. Most of his thoughts just always looped back to Her.

The call rang about six or seven times, before it was picked up.

If She was here, it would’ve been answered in three.

“Hey, Dean, everything alright?”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut again. “Hey Jody. Yeah, uh- Is Bobby there?”

Jody sighed. “Not here, no.”

He paused. “But… his phone is?”

“He left it at the house. I was over to make some food, heard it ringing in the library.”

“Where’d he go, town?”

“No.” Jody’s voice went heavier, and Dean braced himself. “He’s headed up to the waterfall, tending to that girl’s grave, said he’d be back in a few hours.”

A lump was forming in Dean’s throat. “He take the truck?”

“Um,” there was a pause, and Dean heard something shuffle on the other end of the line. “Don’t look like it. Firebird is gone, through.” Dean could hear the frown in her voice. “You boys need something from him? Anything I can help with?”

He shook his head, fighting down the strain in his voice. “Nah, I was just hoping to get his advice on something-“

Dean frowned. “It was hunting, sorta- What do you mean, not a good idea?”

“I mean you both lost the same person, Dean. And any calls either of you make, you’re not going to be making them with a clear head.”

“I got a clear head-“

“How much have you had to drink.”

He scowled. “That doesn’t matter.”

Jody barked a laugh. “Alright, kid. Tell what you think Bobby can help you with, and I’ll make the call if he needs to hear it.”

“Just a book.” Dean muttered. “For the library. It’s- I think she’d like it. Wanted to know if we already had it.”

Jody didn’t ask what she Dean was talking about. She’d seemed to pick up pretty quickly that when Dean or Bobby said she like that—a lower tone, with a slight edge to their voice but something smooth and gentle in the word itself—it was only referring to Her. And Dean had found Her a book, so that wasn’t technically a lie. It wasn’t what he’d called about, but it could be.

Jody didn’t seem to believe that, though.

“Dean,” she said, tone sort of stern, and Dean frowned. “I know you don’t like talking about your feelings, and I’m not trying to make you or whatever, but I know you didn’t call Bobby at 1am to talk about a book.”

“I-“ Dean frowned. “Why are you there at 1am?”

“Nice try. What’s wrong.”

Dean sighed, setting the phone to speaker and placing it on his knee. “It’s nothin’ important, Jody. I can talk to Sam about it, or call back in the morning-“

“If you’re calling now, it’s important. And don’t hang up on me, I’ll call you back until you pick up and tell me I’m not about to witness one of those hunter funerals y’all have talked about.”

“I’m not going to kill myself-“

“Dean.”

There was no winning this. And he had called for advice.

Goddamnit.

“Talked to Cas, today.” He muttered, fidgeting with his watch, and Jody just waited for him to continue. “Asked him about the war, going on in Heaven. How we could help. He said Crowley’s after something, and if we have to help, we could look into what.”

He could hear the frown in Jody’s voice. “If you have to help. He not want it or something?”

“I sorta- I asked him. A lot. I’m out of leads, for the cage. Last thing I tried went to shit, and I- Fucking-“ He rubbed his brow, trying to force his words out in a way that didn’t sound pathetic. “It still hurts, Jody. And I feel like I’m just sittin’ in it. And I damn near forced Cas to let me help, but then he’s gone and it’s all-“

He cut himself off, and son of a bitch it was a lot easier to talk about it when it was with Her, in letters. Dean wasn’t even sure there were words to describe it. The way the world was just worse, and the only way out of it was Her coming home. He kept trying, and it never felt like enough.

“You know about my family, Dean?”

He frowned, and grunted an acknowledgment.

Jody let out a slow breath through the speaker. “You know how they died?”

“Jody, if this a lecture about grief or whatever, I’ve gotten enough of them-“

“Well shut up and hear one more.” Jody snapped Her name, and Dean mouth closed. “I don’t know a lot about her, expect that you and Bobby love her. That you’re willing to do anything to get her home. But you know what the definition of madness is?”

Dean paused. He did. She’d told him once, in some diner a few years ago.

He’d poked Her nose with a French fry after, and then she’d almost bit his fingers off.

He loved Her so fucking much.

“Repeating something.” He grunted, and Jody sighed.

“Working.”

“Good.” Jody sighed, and Dean slumped. “You get what I’m telling you?”

“Yeah.” He muttered. “Jody?”

She hummed, and he took a heavy breath.

“I can’t stop trying to get her out. If I do- I- I can’t-“

“I know, Dean. I got that a while ago.” Jody said Her name, and the world was sort of blurring. “Doing one thing for your friend isn’t going to keep her in the cage longer. The break might be good of you. Focus on something with a reward at the end.”

Dean nodded, and Jody cleared her throat.

“This helping?”

“Yeah.” He muttered. “Thanks. You think you can mention to Bobby that I called? Tell him we’re looking for something Crowley might want. Maybe to try and find some demons?”

“Course.” Jody’s voice went soft, but not the way Cas’ had been. That had been more in a reflection of Dean’s own pain. Almost pity, mixed with Cas’ own loss.

This was just soft. It made Dean feel sort of small, but not like he could be stepped on, or was weak. Like the sky was falling, but there was still going to be something to cover him, and keep him safe.

“Let me know if you need anything else, Dean. I’m here.”

“Thanks.” He muttered. “Night, Jody.”

The line dropped, and he let out a slow breath.

Something with a reward at the end. They’d find what Crowley was looking for, and—on down time—Dean could keep working on how to get Her home. He wasn’t abandoning Her. He’d never abandon Her.

He wasn’t sure how to do that if he tried.

This place had really high ceilings.

High like a church, but all stone and less light. Almost dead feeling, with how empty and quiet it was. Dean’s steps echoed, as he walked down the hall, hand on his sword.

He had a sword. That was fucking awesome. He had a sword, and a suit of leather and metal armor, and whenever he passed the someone—all them women in long dresses or men in weird, fancy outfits—they bowed their heads in his direction. Like they respected him, enough to see he was there.

This was a pretty great dream. If not just because he got a sword, because he’d had something like it before. And he knew exactly where he was going.

His pace picked up, until he was almost sprinting through the halls. Nobody spared him a glance as he ran, but they were all fading into color anyway.

The only important thing was ahead of him, not behind.

When he skid around the corner and up the steps, he could almost feel it. The way something just to the right of his heart felt like it was glowing, and how time began to slow.

The air smelled liked Eden apples, more and more every second.

And there She was. Standing on a balcony and turning around Dean called Her name, her face splitting into a wide, bright smile.

She looked like She was going to run to him, but Dean was faster. He slammed into Her, lifting Her up into the air and spinning her around with a grin so wide it hurt. When She laughed, he wanted to bottle the sound. Maybe put it on a mixtape, so back out there he could hear it over and over again.

It would ring in his ears when he woke up. Follow him like a hungry stray, begging for Dean give it more attention when he tried to look away. But he’d let it.

He’d do damn near anything, just to keep hearing the sound of Her joy.

She wrapped Her arms around his neck, as he set Her down, and Dean crashed his lips into Her’s. She tasted like Her apples, and a little bit of cherry and soda. When he reached down for Her thigh, She let him grab it and hook it around his waist. Moaned into Dean’s mouth like a song, when he angled his mouth over Her’s to deepen the kiss.

And She was entirely relaxed in Dean’s arms. Letting him move Her however he needed to feel Her a little more, tugging on his hair as She whined a sound like his name, and he felt his pants grow tight.

He had to pull back, with heavy breaths and a high feeling over his head. Still holding Her tight to his chest, because She’d stay there until he was forced to let go.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh, ghosting Her lips back over Dean’s, and he grinned.

“Hey, Princess.” He said, bumping their noses together, and Her eyes shined on his.

A little glossy, but still so fucking bright.

“Dean.” She whispered, and he’d never not lose it over how She said it. Long and sweet and sort of like it was a note in a song. “You shouldn’t be kissing me like that in daylight. Someone could see.”

He snorted, dropped his mouth to Her neck. “Let ‘em. Everyone should know how I worship my girl.”

“But-“ She made a tiny noise as Dean lips latched on Her throat. “Oh- Dean-“

He hummed, and She took a deep breath.

“I- It won’t be good if someone catches us-“ She moaned as he kneaded Her waist, and Dean grinned against Her skin.

“I know, baby.” He kissed along Her collarbone, and Her head tipped further back. “But I think you like it, right. Like people knowing you’re mine-“

She melted into him with another soft sound, and son of a bitch, Dean couldn’t tell if his brain was doing him a favor or not. She looked like something higher than an angel, when he leaned back pressed a sloppy kiss to Her cheek. And he got to hold Her like this in here. Have Her slumped against him with complete trust and control, as if She didn’t understand that Dean would probably rip his heart of out his chest as an offering, if she told him Her’s was hurting.

He got to watch Her blink at him slowly, a dazed and happy smile on Her lips.

But it was only in here.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured Her name, and Her breath hitched, that pretty flush spreading over Her cheeks.

“Thank you, De.”

“Course, baby.” He dropped his brow to Her shoulder, almost clinging to Her body. This dream wouldn’t be ripped away, if he just held on tight enough. “Can I ask you something?”

She hummed, petting Dean’s hair, and a deep breath escaped his chest with ease.

“If- Y’know in all those drama, soapy shows you watch-“

“I watch?”

He sighed. “Fine, I watch. But you watch them with me-“

“Because you’re cute. I don’t actually like them.”

He pulled back to frown at Her. “You don’t like Dr. Sexy?”

She shrugged. “I like you.”

“But-“

“Is that your question? If I like Dr. Sexy?” She gave him a pointed look, resting Her chin on his chest, and he rolled his eyes.

“No.”

“Then ask the real question, Deano-“

He nipped at Her nose, and She wiggled against him with a squeak. That wasn’t helping his dream boner. Neither was the way Her nails dug into his arm, or how She threw Her head back with a tiny moan—eyes fluttering and body going slack—when Dean picked Her up and pinned Her against the wall, his lips returning to Her throat.

“So bossy,” he muttered, and Her mouth fell open with a gasp. “Look at you, so fuckin�� pretty.”

He reached up with one hand, trying to brush the hair out of Her face, and She caught his wrist with a desperate expression.

“Dean,” She whispered, squeezing Her hand three times. “Please. Please, just-“

She rolled Her hips with another tiny sound, and he had to take a slow, long breath.

Not in a dream. Not when it wasn’t even real, and She was still his best friend, trapped in Hell.

“Out there, Princess.” He pressed as soft kiss to Her lips, letting Her chase him to a deeper one when he tried to pull away. “But I know, sweetheart. I know.”

She sighed, shaking Her head as She leaned back to scan over Dean with an unreadable expression.

“What did you want to ask me?”

He swallowed, reaching up to cup Her cheek. She was pressed right against his body, with Her legs hooked around his torso and Her arms resting back over Dean’s shoulders. She was so close, close enough that Dean could feel the rise and fall of Her chest, feel Her heartbeat under his fingers when his hand moved to Her neck. And She didn’t flinch or pull away. She just looked at him with bright eyes, and the air felt too thin.

“In the shows,” he mumbled, playing with the hair near Her neck. “They always got an episode where someone’s gotta choose. The world or-“

“Just one person.” She whispered, and he nodded.

“You know what you’d choose?”

She stared at him, and suddenly, Dean was terrified of Her answer. She was going to tell him that She’d always chose anyone but him. Maybe suddenly morph into Dad, who’d start shouting at him that he was being an idiot, that he shouldn’t even feel any guilt about Her in the cage. That he was free of some woman weighing him down, when Dean was pretty sure the was some sort of iron chair wrapped around his throat, and it only got tighter the longer She was gone.

But She didn’t turn into Dad. Or tell Dean She hated him.

She just gave Dean a sad, small smile, and held his hand against Her face.

“I do. But I wouldn’t let it get to that, De.” Her voice broke slightly, and when Dean’s thumb moved to the bridge of Her nose, she let out a soft sigh. “I wouldn’t.” She mumble, nothing but putty in his arms. “I promise, it’s not gonna get to that-“

“I know, baby.” He muttered. “I know. You know I’d choose you, right. You don’t gotta tell me yours-“

“I’d choose you.” She cut him off with a soft breath, eyes fluttering slightly, and the world did a sort of stutter stop. “All the way down.”

He nodded, and opened his mouth to tell Her again. That it was still all the way down, always all the way down, and he’d love Her until he didn’t have anything left in his body.

But the world was starting to flicker. Wave in and out.

And Dean barely got to crash into one last, desperate kiss before She was gone.

The door slammed, and Dean had a headache again. It was always so goddamn bright into morning, it was like the sky was angling the freakin’ sun right into his eyes. There was birdsong, drifting through the air outside and the smell of coffee somewhere close. His throat was dry, his stomach feeling like it was filled with acid, and Goddamnit he had to get up.

He didn’t want to.

But he was even more useless, just fucking lying here with the covers over his face and the pit gaping in his chest.

“You’re up.” Sam said, not glancing up from his laptop, and Dean grunted.

“How long you been back.”

“Few hours. It’s almost noon.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “And you didn’t freakin’ wake me up?”

“I’m not your clock, Dean.”

“Yeah, and now we’re running behind-“

“Behind on what?” Sam rolled his eyes. “Your drinking schedule?”

“Sam.” He grunted, rubbing his brow. “I’m not in the goddamn mood-“

“Because you lost your girlfriend. Yeah, I know.”

Dean stared ahead blankly, forcing himself to take long, deep breaths through his nose. He couldn’t beat Sam up. For one, he hadn’t tipped far enough over the edge to not pull punches, and Sam was a fucking fridge without a soul. He’d get his ass kicked. But this wasn’t Sam’s fault. Wasn’t even Sam. And Dean had been on board with the soul blocker plan. It was sort of his fault.

But Sam could sneer at Dean all he goddamn wanted.

She was the line. And Sam was freaking toeing it.

“Dude.” Dean said, forcing his voice to remain even. “What did we talk about.”

“Waking you up-“

Dean snapped Her name, and Sam finally looked up. “What did we talk about, with Her?”

Sam gave him a dry look. “Nothing, Dean. We haven’t talked to her in like, a year.” He frowned. “Are you seeing hallucinations of her?”

“No- I- Not for-“ Dean sputtered, pushing himself to his feet. “Goddamnit, Sam-“

“I don’t care if you are, Dean. Sort of guessed you were. You call her name when you sleep.” Sam shrugged, looking back to the laptop. “But you probably shouldn’t drive, if you are.”

Deep breaths. Dean needed to take deep breaths. “Sam.”

Sam hummed, and Dean’s fist curled.

“Look at me.”

Sam sighed, and gave Dean a dramatic, pointed stare. “What, Dean. I’m trying to get us ready for our next case-“

“Well, don’t. I’ve got what we’re doing, and we still need to talk about her-“

“Oh, for-“ Sam groaned, giving Dean an almost pitying look. “Look. I know you’re like, in love with her. And you miss her, or whatever. But I’ve got an actual case, Dean, and literally everyone has told you that the cage can’t be fucked with-“

“Someone fucked with it for you.” Dean snapped. “Got you out just fine.”

“And I’ve told you, I don’t know who. I’m not wasting time on this-“

“It’s not-“ Deep fucking breaths. Don’t punch the wall. “Sam, I’m not talking about that-“

“You’re always talking about that, Dean. All you do is drink and bitch about how you love her-“

That was enough.

Dean stomped over to the table, grabbed out his pistol from his pillow, and slammed Sam’s laptop down with a scowl. Sam blinked at him, shoulders squaring, and he could beat Dean up all he fucking wanted. He’d get to feel something, and then he’d just get up after and keep going until it either killed him, or he actually got to fucking speak.

“What did we talk about.” He hissed Her name through his teeth. “What did I tell you about her.”

Sam sighed, voice was too neutral for Dean’s liking. “That I should think about what I’m going to say before I say it, three times, and if you wouldn’t say it about her, I should shut the hell up.”

“Right. Good.” Dean pushed back up, tucking the gun away and crossing his arms over his chest. “Pack your shit up, Sammy, we’re heading out.”

Sam frowned at him, not moving. “Out where.”

“To find a demon.”

“A demon?” Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, if you want a demon, we can you one later-“

“I don’t want- Christ, Sam, we’re interrogating it.”

“Why would we do that.”

Dean sighed. “Because Cas has got something for us to do. Crowley’s looking for something, we need to work out, what,” he made a wide gesture. “Demon.”

Sam just stared at him. “No.”

“Sam, I ain’t asking-“

“Cas can handle that himself, he’s an angel. I have a case for us, the hunters-“

“I don’t care.” Dean grunted, turning towards his bag. They packed a little heavier than before—crashing at Bobby’s less—but it was still quick to gather. He just needed his shoes. “We’re doing the demon thing, not some salt and burn.”

“It’s not some salt and burn, Dean, it’s a pretty massive vamp nest in Cadillac, South Carolina, which isn’t even that far.”

“Cadillac? Like the car?”

“Yeah. If we hit the road in an hour, we’ll be there before sunset-“

“No.” Dean grunted, double checking that he had Velma and the box, and Sam let out a bitch sigh.

“Dude, I think they’ve got, like, an infestation.”

“Other hunters will deal with it.”

“Haven’t we been talking about empathy, Dean?” Sam said, tone smug, and Dean drew back up.

He looked fucking smug, as well. Like he’d just done a freakin’ genius chess move or something.

Dean had never known how to play chess. She’d known how the pieces worked, but Sammy said She was impossible to play against because she just moved the pieces in a way She thought looked cool, and won every time.

He fucking missed Her.

He was also going to kill Sam.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean.”

“Empathy is helping people, right dean?” Sam raised his brows. “This would be helping people. A lot more than all the shit you’ve been doing to get her out.”

Dean took a long, heavy breath. “And?”

“And I told you, Cas can handle Crowley without us. We should be helping people.”

“Hunting the fuckin’ King of Hell will be helping people-“

“It’ll be helping you.” Sam said Her name in a bored tone, and that wasn’t how it should be fucking said. “She’d choose to help people.”

“She’d help you. If this is about gettin’ her out, does it even matter? If you were in the cage alone, Sam, she’d be doing everything to help you. To shut the hell up, and let’s go.” Dean could hear his own voice, dropping to almost a growl, and Sam glanced up with a small frown.

“So?”

Dean stared at him. Not Sammy. That wasn’t Sammy, not his Sammy, because his Sammy would never question helping Her. Normal Sammy would be pissed at the idea of leaving Her in the cage.

He had to try a different approach, before his head exploded.

“Don’t you wanna know what the hell Crowley’s so interested in?”

“Not really, no.”

Dean took a long, slow breath. Maybe he’d just freaking leave Sam here, and they’d split up. They’d done it before, and that had always turned out sorta fine.

“I’m going for a walk.” Dean grunted, and Sam sighed, looking back down.

“Okay. Take your phone, you have a missed call from Bobby.”

“A-“ Dean cut himself off with one, last, slow breath. Not his fault. “Whatever.”

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand, and stomped outside as he dialed Bobby.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Bobby, it’s me-“

“You alright, boy?” Bobby cut Dean off, words tight. “Heard you were callin’ past midnight, yesterday.”

“Yeah, I-“ Dean sighed, tipping his head back to frown at the tree branches. “Rough night. Better now. What’d you call me for?”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t dead, ya idjit.”

“Well, I’m not, so-“

“Did you seriously try breaking a fuckin’ seal?”

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. “Uh- Who told you about that-“

“Cas.” Bobby grunted. “Think he wants me to keep an eye on you. Said you don’t seem to be doin’ too well.”

Dean scowled. “Bobby, I’m fine-“

“That was a dumb fuckin’ move, Dean. You coulda gotten yourself damn killed-“

“I’ve heard-“

“You have any idea what the hell that would do to her?” Bobby snapped, and Dean’s spine went rigid. “If she got out, came back, then I had to tell ‘er you went and got yourself killed while she was gone? You know what she’d fuckin’ do?”

“Bobby.” Dean muttered. “I don’t-“

“She’d make the apocalypse look like a goddamn tea party, dumbass. I know I don’t got legs to stand on, but if you keep fucking actin’ like she ain’t gonna give a shit whether you live or die, she’s gonna kill you before Crowley gets your sorry ass.”

Dean swallowed, and that sore lump was back in his throat. He was getting pretty fucking sick of it. “I know, Bobby. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t be sorry, Dean. Stop trying to kill yourself.”

“I’m not-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “Bobby, did Jody pass on my message?”

Bobby grunted. “Yeah, lookin’ for demons. Dean, if you go and die, I’ll drag you up from hell and lock you in your room ‘till she’s home.”

He shouldn’t like that idea. Just waiting in their room, surrounded by reminders that She really did existed, and had really cared about Dean and—at least in a few ways—wanted him, until She got home. And one day She’d just walk through the door, straddle Dean’s lap, and he’d get to hold Her until she understood how goddamn sorry he was. Maybe he’d show Her, with his hands and mouth and-

“Dean.”

“Yeah, I got it.” He grumbled. “Can I get a demon, please?”

There was a moment of silence, then Bobby’s rough voice. “I got wind for you that there’s a lotta them, down in Cadillac.”

Dean froze. “Cadillac? South Carolina?”

“Yep. Why, you heard of it?”

“Yeah, like an hour ago.” Dean glanced back to the motel. This conversation was gonna freakin’ suck. “Thanks, Bobby.”

The call ended, and someone out there had to be goddamn fucking with him. Making everything some kind of big fucking joke, on Dean himself. He didn’t know what the hell he’d done to who, but now he had to go apologize to Sam about a fight he should’ve won, and drive to town called Cadillac.

Cadillacs fucking sucked.

“Sam.” He grunted, pushing back into the room. “Get it the car.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, I’ve told you I’m not doing this goose chase-“

“I’m not either.” He muttered, grabbing his bag. “You win. we’re going to Cadillac.”

It wasn’t until they were on the road, that Sam started to question why Dean was suddenly all in on South Carolina. And he didn’t seem to have enough emotion to care anyway, when Den told him about the demons. Just shrugged, and muttered guess you got lucky, huh.

Dean used the drive to practice his ignoring skills. When he took a sharp turn and Sam let out a bitch sigh, Dean ignored it. When he turned up the volume and Sam made a sour face, Dean made it a point to keep his gaze fixed out the window shield. It didn’t how many times Sam grumbled about wrong turns and Dean being dramatic, he wasn’t going to react. He’d keep getting Her snacks at the gas stations, because not doing that would be another form of giving up on Her, and Dean simply damn refused to. He’d drum all the wheel all he wanted, because it was his fucking car.

He’d even ignore Sam’s look of disbelief, when a pop-punk song popped up on the mixtape.

“Really, Dean? I have never once heard you listen to this song-“

“I don’t listen to it.” He muttered Her name, and his grip tightened on the wheel at Sam’s dramatic sigh. “She likes it.”

“I know that, Dean, but she’s not here-“

“Sam.” Dean gave him a firm, unwavering glare. “You can either be in the car and shut the hell up, or sit of the freakin’ roof.”

“C’mon, man, it’s not a good-“

“What did I say.”

Sam scowled, but muttered, “Don’t talk about her if it’s not something you’d say.”

Dean gave a sharp nod, and looked back to the road. He knew it was pathetic, to play the music just to torture himself with thinking about Her. But he loved Her, and he was past pathetic. Pathetic started with dreaming of someone, and Dean had been doing that for freaking years.

He just missed Her. And as long as shit kept not mattering, he’d keep listening to Her music until it did.

Until She was home, and he could look at his motel bed and know She’d be sleeping on the other side.

Pontiac wasn’t a huge town. Easy to find a cheap motel, and stay within walking distance of a bar. And the place was really freaking green. Sam said it was a wetland, but that just seemed to mean nice looking swamp. Plants and trees and a whole lotta birds, singing in overlapping notes as the sun started to set.

The bugs came out. Dean had barely stepped out of the car, when he got a back. Sam looked at him like he was insane, when he whacked his arm, but Sam wasn’t getting freakin’ eaten alive. Sam didn’t have a bunch of fireflies try and land on his face, when they walked out of the lobby.

And maybe Dean was losing his goddamn mind, but he could swear he was smelling it.

Her.

“We’ll keep an eye out for demons,” Sam said as they unpacked, and Dean felt through his bag for Velma and the box. “But this is a vamp case, Dean. We need to treat it like one.”

Dean nodded. “Whatever. You gonna use the shower, or can I take it.”

Sam stared at him. “It’s Six pm.”

“And?” Dean scowled. “A man isn’t allowed to keep himself clean in freakin’ bug country?”

“A shower will actually attract more bugs.” Sam shrugged. “I’m going to the bar. You can…” Sam gave him an odd look. “Shower.”

Dean waited until the door was closed, and grabbed one of the paper sheets from the motel desk, along with his own pen, and shoved them under his pillow before heading to the bathroom.

He still didn’t look in the mirror. But when he stepped into the shower, he glanced down at his dick between his legs, and let out a heavy sigh.

There were two choices here. Neither of them made him a good man.

He could chase distraction in some girl at the bar, and stray one step further from the holiest thing he’d ever know. Betray Her even more, when it would barely make him feel anything at all.

Or he could take care of himself—with thoughts of Her, as if she wasn’t getting tortured in hell as they spoke—and drink the rest of the pain away.

And just the thought of Her was already doing it. He could smell Her apple through the steam of the shower, and his was making his cock twitch all by itself. All he had to do was close his eyes, and he could almost see him. Smiling at him, with bright eyes and shiny hair, framing every feature so well Dean wasn’t sure how She was human. Touchable, by shadows of men like him.

He was a shadow of a man. Barely even something from the mud, anymore.

Because he wrapped his cock in his hand, and started to pump, letting his brain carry him wherever it wanted to go.

Her. On all fours in front of him, eyes fluttering as She gave him that sweet smile, right before taking Dean in Her mouth. She’d look so fucking perfect like that, lips swollen and drool falling out of Her mouth. She’d blink lazily up at him as he played with Her hair, sliding Her up and down until She was moaning, and he was right on the verge of snapping in half. Ass in the air, tits bouncing. Something sent down from a little above heaven.

Then Her hand would slide between her legs as She sucked Dean’s cock, and he’d pull Her off with a popping sound. Lay Her back down on the bed—he’d have to use a bed, it was what She deserved—and run his fingers between her soaked pussy lips. Wrap his lips around Her clit, or just slide himself inside of Her, and watch Her mouth fall open as he bottomed out, and she squeezed around him.

He came with a grunt, hand slipping slightly against the shower wall.

The air still smelled like apple.

When he walked out of the bathroom, there was an apple on the sink.

“It just appeared?” Sam frowned at him across the table a few hours and several drinks later, turning the apple in his hand. “Are you sure it wasn’t there when you walked into the bathroom.”

“Had to have. I would’ve noticed a random apple on the freakin’ sink.”

“Huh.”

Dean glowered. “Really? Huh?”

“Yeah, Dean, I don’t know what you want me to do about it-“

“I don’t know, something-“

“It’s just an apple, dude.” Sam rolled his eyes, gaze wandering somewhere over Dean’s head. “I’m gonna go to the bar.”

He didn’t wait before he was standing, leaving Dean alone the apple. When Dean glanced over his shoulder, Sam had cozied up with a brunette in about five seconds, and didn’t seem to be all that interested in anything else.

Dean sighed, glancing back to the apple. It was just an apple. Not an Eden apple, a freakin’ Pink Lady or something. But he could still smell Her-

“Hey,” a hand landed on his shoulder, and Dean tensed. “Drinking all alone?”

“No.” Dean grunted, grabbing his bottle and the apple, giving the chick a tight grin. She was pretty, a huge rack that was almost falling out of her top, but not Her. Dean only fucking wanted Her. “I’m heading out. Uh- Good luck.”

He wandered back to the motel in the dark. The streets were long, and the night was longer, and by the time he got back to the room, he wasn’t sure if he was losing his damn mind, or seeing a million fireflies dancing around his body. He had downed three shots and half a bottle of whiskey. Sleep would fix it.

But he had something more important to do, first.

——————

Dec. 18th - 2010

Princess,

Been a long day. Most days are long days, without you. Everyone’s pissed at me, all for different shit, and it’s exhausting. Sam’s still being a dick. I swear to god, baby, you’d stab him for half the stuff coming out of his mouth.

You wouldn’t stab him. It’s Sammy, far as you know. Hell, you might just walk back through the door, and he’ll turn into Sammy. Start talking about some nerd shit and showing you books, like he hasn’t been whoring around in every town we go to.

I’ve been thinking about if we’d known you, before the moroi. Maybe we would’ve met on some other case, or just all had normal lives. Probably just Bobby, introducing us to you as kids. You and Sammy would’ve been best friends, and you wouldn’t have even looked at me. Bobby’s been telling me and Jody (the sheriff lady) about what you were like as a kid. We have to get him drunk, first, but that’s pretty freaking easy lately.

He says you loved books and animals and other girl stuff. But Sammy liked girl stuff, too. Bobby mentioned that you used to mix plants in the yard to make potions, and I remember Sammy doing that.

Only Bobby said one your potions turned a bunch of his cars into pure gold, and the other one attracted all the stray dogs in the neighborhood. Then he said you had a tea party with them, but I’m not sure if he’s making that part up. He was pretty freaking drunk.

Sammy’s potion tasted like ass. He asked me to drink it, and I couldn’t say no. He would’ve cried, Princess, and you’ve never seen Sammy about to cry. It’s like a whining puppy. So I drank his potion, and then I started throwing up for like a week. Dad was pretty pissed, thought I ordered them food, and it could have gotten Sammy poisoned too. Turned out the kid just put a bug in the potion. He liked bugs. Bobby says you liked bugs, too.

Bugs are gross, sweetheart. But if being honest with you, I can see you asking me to hold a bug, and I do it. For you. I’d just be happy you were giving me the time of day, when you’d be spending all your attention on Sammy.

What I’m trying to tell you is that I think I love you every time. I think if you were an actual Princess, I’d keep loving you from afar, like if you were Sammy’s bug friend and I was just his stupid older brother. And if you looked at me one day and asked me to do something for you, I’d make the moon move backwards. If you loved me back (because I love you. Just in case you frogot forgot) I’d figure out a way for us to be together. If you wanted me.

Yours,

DAW

——————

“What the hell is up with this place?” Dean muttered, frowning at his pancake. “First I wake up with a bunch of flowers on my pillow, then they give me one fucking pancake? Do they hate me?”

Sam sighed, poking at his own eggs. “I don’t think they are that much, Dean. And you’re the one who said you fell in the bushes last night.”

“It looked like a garden vomited on my pillow, Sam.”

“It was two milkweeds.”

“I don’t know flowers.” Dean glared at his plate, grumbling Her name. “She’d know flowers.”

She’d look at the flowers, and go Dean, this is clearly the work of the flower-moth, a moth that vomits flowers on handsome men who love their girlfriends. And then he’d kiss Her.

Instead he was stuck with Sam hogging all the syrup for his sausages, and a waitress who kept staring at him.

“I’m tell you, Sammy, this place is strange-“

“It has a case, Dean. Of course it’s strange.”

“No, man, like- Weird-“

“That means the same as strange.”

Sam was going to get punched. “You know what I mean. Weird shit keeps happening-“

Dean scowled. “Shut up. Couldn’t get a therapist anyway, they’d think I was freakin’-“ He whistled, twirling his finger, and Sam shrugged.

“Sure. You go over the case, or do I have to-“

“Big hidden vamp nest.” Dean stabbed his fork into the pancake, and the syrup pooled like it was bleeding. “Talk to locals, see who knows what, gank all the sons of bitches the moment we catch wind of where they’re holed up. Look for a demon, too. Grab it if you see it. Laser tag rules.”

Sam frowned. “Laser tag?”

“First person to hit it gets the point.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Dean shrugged, and it sounded pretty simple. Vamps were easy enough, and someone was bound to snitch with the right pressure. And Bobby said the town had a demon problem. They’d run into one eventually.

Only they didn’t.

And this wasn’t easy at all.

These people were fucking crazy. Everyone kept blaming flooding season for the deaths, as if it wasn’t almost freakin’ Christmas. Dean went to the bathroom in the sheriff’s office, and opened to door only to trip over a pile of books. There wasn’t a single demon in sight, but whenever they interrogated someone about it, people reported smelling sulfur and seeing black eyes.

And all of the interrogations were going to make Dean pull out his eyes. But this one was a special kind of fucking insane. This one was going to make Dean have a goddamn seizure.

“You two look like lovely boys.” The old woman said, pulling out the third tray of chicken nuggets from the oven. “I mean, at first I thought, oh, how spooky, big FBI agents wavin’ around their guns and askin’ questions, but y’know.” She beamed at them. “First impressions are often wrong.”

Sam gave the woman a grimacing smile and Dean stared at his drink. It was a Shirley temple. Three cherries, with half the damn drink just pure grenadine.

If She was here, Dean would slide his over for Her to drink, in trade for one of Her chicken nuggets. Actually, She loved chicken nuggets, too. And these chicken nuggets were half ketchup, which She’d love even more.

Son of a bitch, he missed Her.

“Ma’am,” Sam said cautiously. “We heard that you found one of the bodies, a few weeks ago-“

“Oh, yes, but it’s just flooding season.”

Dean glanced up. “Y’know, we’ve heard that a few times. Flooding season happened every year?”

“Oh, yes.” The woman nodded with a vague wave of her hand. “Or months.”

Sam frowned. “That’s- Not how seasons work-“

“Oh, sure it is. Lollipop?”

Sam shook his head, but Dean leaned forward. She had root beer. And cream soda. And blue raspberry.

He took one of each, then a cherry one for himself.

Sam raised his brows, and Dean shrugged, shoving them in his pocket.

“How many people usually die?” He asked, unwrapping his lollipop. “During flooding season?”

“Oh, about a dozen.”

“A- Dozen?” He sat up, shooting Sam a what the fuck look, and Sam sighed.

“Ma’am, exactly how often does flooding season happen?”

“Whenever it pleases.” The woman sat across from them, pushing forward a huge bowl of purple ice cream. “Purple cow?”

Dean stared at her. Maybe it was a code. Christ, he was too tired for code.

“Blue chicken.”

“It’s the ice cream flavor, Dean.”

“Oh- Uh,” he gave the woman a tight grin, holding up his lollipop. “I’m good. Flooding season-“

“Sweetie, it ain’t nothin’ for you to worry about.” The woman sighed. “Every once and a while you FBI boys get interested in it, then you give up when you see the bodies washing up the river. Nothing for y’all to worry about. Not that you could understand.”

Sam sat up, and Dean had heard it too. “That we could understand?”

The woman nodded, humming as she set the ice cream off by a third, empty seat.

A seat with chicken nuggets, and a Shirley temple, and a bunch of blue raspberry lollipops on the placemat.

Dean frowned, raising his hand to cut off any of Sam’s further words. “Can I ask you something, ma’am?”

“Course. Ain’t that what you’re here for?”

“Yeah, uh- Who’s that plate for?”

Dean pointed to the empty chair, and the woman sighed.

“Ah- Nothin’ for you to worry about, sweetheart.” She rose up, moving back into her tiny kitchen. “Y’all want some mac and cheese?”

“Yes-“

“No.” Sam cut Dean off with a glare. “Ma’am, we would really like to know about the plate-“

“I told ya’, it ain’t anything you’re gonna understand-“

“We’re open minded.” Dean jumped in, giving her a winning smile. “Promise. The occult? My partner here is into that magic stuff it in like, that way,” he winked, and Sam could glare at him all he fucking wanted, Dean was past giving a shit. “And my girlfriend loves weird things, we got paintings of Death on the fridge at home.”

The woman raised her brows. “Really. So-“ She looked back and forth like someone might be watching, then shook her head. “No. I shouldn’t say.”

“Ma’am, we need you to tell us-“

“Aliens.” She whispered, and they both blinked. “They been comin’ around, for a few days. I always thought this town was somethin’ special, and I knew it. Aliens been tellin’ me that their goddess was here, and they’ve been helping me get ready.”

Sam just stared at her, and Dean cleared his throat.

“So… Aliens told you their goddess would want purple ice cream and chicken nuggets.”

The woman nodded eagerly, and Dean gave her an awkward smile.

“They say what kind of music she likes?”

“No!” Her eyes widened. “But shoulda been askin’. Good idea, boy, I’ll tell them about you, agent-“

“Perry.” Dean turned to Sam, giving him a firm look. “Can I talk to you?”

Sam nodded, and they were barely a step out of the house before Dean whirled around, glowering at Sam.

“I fuckin’ told you, there’s something weird going on here-“

“One crazy woman doesn’t mean weird, Dean.” Sam sighed, pulling out his phone. “We’ve got a few more interviews, try and see if we can figure out this flooding season thing-“

“Aliens, Sammy.” Dean shouted. “We just gonna ignore aliens-“

“Yep. We don’t hunt aliens. They’re not real.”

“But-“

“I know you think something is up, dude. But until we get proof, it’s still a vampire case. C’mon.”

Dean scowled as Samy stared back to the car, and couldn’t stop himself from muttering Her name under his breath. “She thinks aliens are real.”

If Sam heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it. But Dean was right. Strange fucking shit was up, in this town. Everyone kept doubling down on the flooding season thing, and when they looked at old records, that was the cause of death for nearly a hundred people in the past eight years. They didn’t get another old lady talking about aliens, but Dean noticed shit. The drawings of oceans and night skies on the pavement with chalk. The people looking up at the sky, and doing fancy, colorful makeup that makes them look like birds of paradise. He passed a stoop, and there was a knife taped to the door.

And a knife on the sink, when he went to the bathroom.

He needed to stop trying to shit. It kept making weird things happens.

Sam hadn’t been wrong about the vampire case. All the old auto spy files about the flooding season victims were dead ringers for vamps, but there had to be more. People didn’t just start worshiping alien goddess out of nowhere, in a town where people died all the goddamn time.

“We haven’t seen a single demon,” Dean muttered over the library table, and Sam sighed.

“What am I supposed to do about that, Dean.”

“I don’t know, I’m just saying it’s-“

“Don’t say strange.”

“It is strange! First we got this flooding season shit, then no demons-“

“No demons is good-“

“Not when a town is supposed to be drowning in them.” Dean hissed, leaning forward. “That means they’re hiding, Sam, that something bigger is happening-“

“Like aliens?” Sam’s tone was bored and mocking, and Dean scowled.

“Yeah, Sam. Maybe.”

“Aliens that eat purple cow ice cream and Shirley temples.”

“I’m not a freakin’ alien expert-“

“You need to sleep, Dean.” Sam sighed, flipping a page. “You sound insane.”

Of course he sounded insane. Their job was insanity, that wasn’t Dean’s fucking fault. They’d spent the whole day making no damn progress on anything, and Dean might be tired, but he mostly wanted to get this over with, and find a demon. He’d only taken this case for a demon, and now there weren’t any to be found.

Maybe demons were the ones fucking with him. Dean wasn’t sure why the hell they’d target him over Sam—or why they seemed to know the exact things that would making something thing to the right of heart strain—but they were. He was walking down the sidewalk, and almost tripped over a bunch of crayons. He went for a bottle of whiskey, only for it to turn into a pina colada. The fucking fireflies kept dancing all around him—he wasn’t even that drunk this time—and when he started the walk back to the motel, he was pretty sure that whatever part of his brain hadn’t gone banana’s when She and Sammy fell in was finally slipping.

The whole town had smelling like Her apples, all day. He hadn’t even been able to look at the lady hitting on him, because it made him feel sick. It was as if Her ghost—presence, if he thought ghost he thought dead, gone, never in his arms again, and then he had to run to the bathroom to vomit, then find a sugary peppermint resting on the doorknob—was wrapped over this entire town.

And on the wind, coming from somewhere in the swamps, he could hear it.

It wasn’t the birdsong, from yesterday.

It was a voice he knew. That vibrated in his chest and made his head feel light. That something deeper than his bones and blood seemed to recognize, even though Dean had never actually heard it before.

But he knew it.

More than anything, Dean knew it.

——————

Dec. 20th - 2010

Princess,

I got you some lollipops. Cream soda, root beer, and blue raspberry. When you get back, you can have them.

You gotta come back. Just for this case, sweetheart. You’d love this case, you’d be bouncing off the damn walls. It’s got aliens, chicken nuggets, mac and cheese and free street knives. Like it was designed for you.

I guess everything was designed for you. That’s the Bride of God thing. You’re the universe, and I’m just some asshole you watch TV with.

Guess I always knew that. I know that you don’t want to be the Bride, but I can’t see how this life is any better. I’m not saying I want you to go, I’m saying you deserve better. Better than what any of us have ever been able to give you. Better than your family, or me, or Dad.

I don’t know if I ever apologized to you, about Dad. What he did to you. If I didn’t, I’m sorry, baby. I told you, that’s never been what you deserved. And I’m never gonna be able to make up for the shit he did, for what I did when he told me, but I need you to know that I’d choose you. If I could go back and do it all again, I’d never leave you. I’d stay until the morning, ask you on a proper date, then give you whatever life you wanted.

I don’t care if that ends with God coming for you anyway. Least I got you for a while.

Any amount of time with you is more than I could ask for.

I love you. I think it’s driving me insane, how much I love you. Sam thinks so. And Bobby seems to think you feel some of it back, but I don’t think he understands what this is like. It doesn’t feel like normal love, Princess. It sorta feels like I knew it forever, even when I’ve been pissed at you. Like is so fucking deep in my body I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried.

I don’t know if you feel it like that. But Bobby told me a couple days ago that you’d be broken up about it, if I died. I hope that’s not true. You’re worth a whole lot more than my sorry life, baby girl.

Yours,

DAW

——————

He couldn’t sleep.

The singing wouldn’t stop. All fucking night it carried through the windows, dragging Dean up from any rest, soothing him and driving him out of his mind all at once. Sam got about around 4am, and it was still going.

“You been hearing that?” He grumbled into his pillow, and Sam let out a loud, dramatic sigh.

“Hear what, Dean.”

“The freakin’ singing.”

“The- Do you have headphones on?”

“Do I look like I have headphones on, bitch?”

“Well, there’s no singing-“

“No, there’s-“ Dean let out a long, heavy breath. “Never mind.”

It was gone by the time the sun was up. And then they had to get back on the case. The vampire and demon free vampire and demon case, with an extra side of aliens, in a city that wouldn’t just let Dean goddamn rest.

“They found another body last night,” Sam said over breakfast, and Dean grunted. “We should go to the coroner’s office, check it out.”

“Thought we knew it was vamps.” Dean muttered. One pancake again. He was going to drive off a cliff. “What’s the fuckin’ point.”

“Conformation.” Sam shrugged. “I’d bet on vampires, but maybe it’s something new like vampires. We have to cover all our bases before we go in swinging, Dean, you know that.”

He grumbled an agreement, his gaze wandering aimlessly over Sam’s shoulder. There were two little girls, sharing a milkshake that looked pretty goddamn good. If She was here, Dean would buy Her a milkshake. Then She’d tell him that she could buy it herself, both of us are using stolen money, Winchester, and Dean would convince Her that it was actually pretty fucking important that Dean but the milkshake. It was about chivalry.

And in his fake dream world, She’d give in with a giggle, and he’d get to wrap his arm over Her shoulder. Kiss the top of Her head, then watch her drink with a big innocent expression, adorably unaware of how Dean was watching Her lips wrap around the straw, thinking of all the things he was going to do to Her when they got back to the motel.

She’d makes Dean drink some of it. And he’d get little bit of whipped cream on his nose—on purpose, but She wouldn’t be able to prove that—so She’d kiss it off. Then it wouldn’t matter what Dean had been planning, because he’d kiss Her fully, She’d climb into his lap, and by the time people were coughing and staring at them making out in the booth, Dean wouldn’t be able to wait for the motel. He’d just bring Her right to the backseat of the Impala, find a shady corner to park, and bury his face between Her thighs-

“Dean.” Sam waved in front of his face, snapping Dean out of the daydream. “Stop thinking about her and focus.”

“I wasn’t-“

“You make the same face, whenever you think about her.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “The hell I do-“

“Yeah, you do. It’s better than Her Dean face, though. C’mon.”

“Her-“

Sam stood up, and Dean’s words died in his throat.

Right where Sam’s massive fucking head had been blocking, was a huge Indiana Jones poster.

And Dean would be all the stolen money on his credit card that it hadn’t been there the days before.

Sam wasn’t interested in any of Dean’s theories, though. He hadn’t heard the singing, couldn’t smell Her apple, didn’t seem to notice how this whole town was drenched in Her.

“Maybe we should go back to the Alien lady.” Dean muttered, staring blankly at the vic’s body. “See what the alien goddess thing is about.”

“No. That would be a waste of time.” Sam turned the vic’s neck, and gave Dean a smug look. “See?”

He angled the neck for Dean to see, and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I never said it wasn’t a vamp. I just- Something’s up, Sam-“

“Yeah, vampires.” Sam dropped the neck, picking up the arm with a frown. “The bodies are bloated, though. And they’re always found in the river. Maybe the vamps dump them, after feeding fresh-“

“Sure. We haven’t seen a single demon-“

“Maybe there never were demons. Bobby can be wrong sometimes.”

Dean scowled. Bobby could be wrong. But usually when Bobby was wrong, they had Her there to say what was right. And that was always on cases with weird fucking shit.

“Let’s check upstream.” Sam said, grabbing his jacket off a chair. “See if we can find the nest-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted, grabbing his arm. “Look, I know you don’t have feelings right now, or whatever, but you gotta at least admit something’s up here. That this isn’t a normal case.”

Sam nose wrinkled slightly, but he let out a long sigh, and nodded. “Yeah, it’s strange. But we know there are vamps, Dean. And if we gank them and still see some weird shit, then we can start thinking about- Aliens.”

Dean nodded slowly, opening his mouth to make some sort of point about the demons—three things in one town was kind of a lot, so maybe there was a bigger root problem that needed to be dealt with—that was cut off by a knock on the door.

The coroner—a round faced, smiling man—waved at them from the window, and Dean sighed, pulling the door open.

“Hey, boys!” The coroner breamed between them, and Dean had never met anyone who was happier to be working with dead bodies. “You find what you needed? Anythin’ else I can do to help?”

“No.” Sam said, giving the coroner a close-lipped smile. “We got it. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Hey, anything for the big timers, right?” The coroner laughed. “The FBI bein’ this interested in our little town-“

“Yep. Well, we should head out-“

“I mean, three feds, lookin’ at my dead bodies? This is the best week of my life.”

Dean froze, his body going rigid, and he didn’t have to look at Sam to know he’d done the same.

“Your dead bodies?” Sam asked, and Dean scowled.

“And,” he shot Sam a glare. “Three agents? I don’t know if you’re seeing double, buddy, but there’s only two of us-“

“Well, there’s you guys, and the lady.”

Sam frowned. “The lady?”

“Yep. Scary looking gal, real looker. Started walkin’ around my office like she owned it, talked like a book had a baby with a pirate.”

Dread started to twist in Dean’s gut. Dread and something worse. Something with soft light that could be fucking hope. “Her eyes.” He muttered, gesturing to his own face. “Were they- What’d they look like?”

“Huh.” The coroner tilted his head. “Kinda sparkly. Like stars.”

Son of a bitch.

He didn’t wait for Sam, before stomping out of the office. He couldn’t goddamn breathe, or see anything but blurred color, and it felt like he was having a freaking heart attack, with the strain to the right of his heart. She couldn’t be here. Dean would fucking know if She was here. She was still in the cage, because he couldn’t get her out, but that meant-

“Dean.” Sam called, jogging after him. “Slow down-“

“I’m not gonna fucking slow down,” Dean sneered, whirling around. “I told you, Sam, something crazy is happening in this town. Someone is messing with me, making me- I can-“

Sam braced his hands on his hips as Dean took a deep, unsteady breath. “Dude, I know that sounded like her, but-“

“No.” Dean snapped. “You don’t get it, I can smell her and hear her, and- She loves chicken nuggets, Sam. She loves chicken nuggets, and candy, and Indiana Jones, and- Son of a bitch, she loves that purple cow ice cream, I remember her giving Cas some- And the bar has been playing all her favorite songs and she loves flowers and- Christ, Sam, I think I’m gonna open the shower tonight a find a kitten in the bathtub-“

“Dean-“

“Someone is fucking with me, Sam. Someone is trying to drive me insane-“

“Dean-“

“And I’m gonna- I’ll fucking kill them-“

“Dean!” Sam shouted. “I think you’re right.”

Dean blinked. “You do?”

“Yep. It’s-“ Sam sighed, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Dean’s. “Don’t look. But there’s a child watching us.”

“A-“ Dean turned, Sam groaned, and there was a child watching them. Not in the way children watched adults fight, but with a strange sort of intent.

The moment her eyes locked with Dean’s, she took off down the street.

Dean sighed. “Are we chasing a child.”

Sam shrugged. “Guess we have to.”

They took off after her. Down the street—fast fucking kid—and around the block, before she turned into an alley-

Something slammed over Dean’s head, drove into his gut, and the world went black.

Stayed black, for a little while.

Dean’s head fucking hurt again, when he could think. The low groan that left him wasn’t dignified, either.

But they had bigger problems to deal with.

The room was pretty dark. Windowless, with a soft carpet Dean’s face had be dropped against. Everything goddamn hurt, and between the throbbing in his skull, ache in his jaw, and sticky, wet feeling in his gut, someone had beaten the shit out of him. His hands were tied behind his back, and when he glanced over, Sam was in the exact same position, with a gash on his arm and black eye blooming on his face.

His eyes slowly started to adjust, as he forced through the pain and pushed himself up on his knees. The whole room was full of fancy shit. Polished wooden tables and plush chairs, with the stupid, cream and red design you’d see in a grandmother’s house. There were paintings on the walls, and crystal glasses filled with something red, and a man.

One man, bald and bored looking, sitting on the largest chair with one leg over the other. Watching Sam and Dean try to get their bearings with vague amusement, swirling the red stuff in his own glass.

Blood.

“Sam.” Dean groaned, scrunching his nose as another pain stabbed through his skull. “Think we found the vamp nest.”

Sam glared at him, and the man chuckled.

“You are Dean, I presume?” He hummed, his voice smooth and dry. “Which makes the big one Sam.”

Dean smirked at him. His gun was gone. Best bet was getting the evil plan, then finding a way out. “So you heard of us?”

The man sighed. “Every Alpha has heard of the Winchesters. At this point, every monster has heard of the Winchesters. I’ve always heard you travelled in a herd of three...” The man raised his brows, and Dean tensed. “But I guess the brains couldn’t grace us with her presence, being trapped in the cage.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Sam cleared his throat. “Alpha?”

“Yes, Sam Winchester.” The man sighed. “Alpha. You’re a smart boy, I’m sure you can work out what that means.”

Sam blinked. “Alpha is the first letter of the greek alphabet. So, uh-“

“He’s the first vampire.” Dean grunted, eyes narrowing. “Or he’s saying he is.”

The man—Alpha Vampire—gave Dean an amused look. “Interesting. Not just the beauty, are you, Dean.”

Sam frowned. “He’s right?”

“Oh, yes.” The Alpha hummed. “I am indeed the first vampire. The father of the greatest race my mother ever created-“

“Mother?”

“Yes, Dean. Mother. We all come from somewhere, just as my children came from me. And you two have killed many of them-“

“Sorry, Dracula.” Dean shrugged, and the move split his spine. “They were killing people-“

“They were eating food.” The Alpha snapped. “Just like a hunter, to speak of things they don’t understand. I was hoping to speak to the Magdalene-“

“You know about Magdalenes?” Sam cut in, and the Alpha sighed.

“Of course I know about Magdalenes. I have met several, in my life. But you have the Magdalene.” The Alpha laughed to himself. “Had the Magdalene.”

Dean’s fists curled, and even that movement hurt. “Listen, Count Chocula, you better shut your goddamn mouth-“

“Or what, Dean.” The Alpha drawled. “You are not at the advantage here. And I would not go making threats when I am already very displeased with your presence in my town.” He leaned forward, glaring between Sam and Dean. “I have spent almost two hundred years in Cadillac without disturbances. Do you have any idea how long it takes to convince a town that flooding season is a genuine reason for people to die en masse?” He sighed, lips curling. “Very long. And it was all going just swimmingly, then suddenly there are demons and fairies, and it is all the Winchester’s fault.”

“Demons?”

“Fairies?”

The Alpha sighed. “Yes, Sam. Fairies. They are rare, in our world, which makes the fact that about three dozen of them have been running around my town all week all the more annoying. And-“

“Uh, can we go back to the demon thing.” Dean said over the Alpha, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Cause we’ve been here a few days, and I haven’t seen a single demon-“

“And we’ve never heard of fairies.” Sam added. “We’re here to hunt vampires.”

The Alpha gave Sam an amused look. “And is that supposed to help your case?”

“No.” Sam shrugged. “But demons and fairies aren’t us.”

Dean really wanted to circle back to demons—they hadn’t even fucking seen one—but they also had to get out of this alive. So it could go on the back burner for now.”

“Sam’s right.” He said, throwing the Alpha another grin. “You’ve got the wrong guys, buddy. Sucks.”

The Alpha scowled. “You cannot trick me, Dean Winchester. I know it is you. My people have been on lockdown, since they arrived, and none of them are foolish enough to deal with a hoard of demons in this political climate. Not when the new boy-king of Hell is trying to make me open the door to Purgatory-“

“Purgatory?” Sam cut in, the room was sort of spinning as the Alpha sighed.

“Yes, Sam. Purgatory. Even our souls deserve a place to rest, when vermin like you bite.”

“But why would Crowley care about that, he’s the King of Hell-“

“I have not been asking him,” the Alpha sneered. “While he’s been trying to kidnap me. And as I was trying to say, demons are unruly, but fairies? They can be controlled.”

“That’s great, dude.” Dean grunted, straining slightly at the ropes around his ankles. They were fucking tight, and every movement send a new wave of pain through his body. “The hell do you want-“

“I want you to listen.” The Alpha snapped. “You claim you are not behind any of this, but I know otherwise.”

Sam frowned. “We’ve been here three days, we couldn’t-“

Sam cut himself off as one of the curtains moved, revealing the little girl that had been watching them on the street. Dark hair and big eyes, a blank expression as She stood so goddamn still Dean didn’t know if she was breathing or not.

“This is Ella.” The Alpha hummed, standing to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “She’s a young good fairy, bound to my service.”

“She a kid.” Dean hissed, and the Alpha laughed.

“Do not act like you wouldn’t hunt her if she was only a few years old, Dean. And she has been quite helpful, telling me exactly what’s going on.”

Sam gave Dean a tense look, Dean swallowed, and something seemed to bang outside.

“Ella,” the Alpha drawled. “Tell me why you’re here.”

The girl pointed.

To Dean.

“Dean?” Sam said, and Dean was confused as well, but the tone wasn’t fuckin’ needed. “That can’t be why she’s here-“

“I assure you, fairies cannot lie-“

“But they’re here for their goddess.” Sam snapped, and Dean felt kinda heavy

“Those were the aliens, Sammy-“

“Fairies that woman probably thought we aliens, Dean.” Sam gave the Alpha a glare. “It can’t be Dean. He’s not a goddess. Or a god. He’s just a guy.”

Dean scowled, and the Alpha tilted his head.

“What about the fairies cannot lie do you not understand-“

“The part where you think they’re here for Dean.”

Sam held the Alpha’s glare, Her apple smell was getting stronger, and Dean was starting to feel sort of lightheaded. Might be the blood loss, or just the fairy doing something to him, but-

“If you’re planning on do somethin’ to me.” He muttered, and the Alpha frowned at him. “Can it happen now, before I bleed all over your fancy freakin’ carpets?”

“The injuries won’t kill you,” the Alpha, snapped and Dean groaned, shaking his head.

He was going to bleed out in fucking Cadillac. The one thing Bobby had told him not to do was die, and he couldn’t even fucking manage that. And Sam was saying his name, but it didn’t sound all that worried, and if he went maybe he could be a part of that flooding season thing.

And Her apple smell was consuming him. Maybe he was already falling into hell.

Maybe She’d meet him there. All the way down.

He could already hear a lot of shouting, but it didn’t sound like hell shouting. That was more just screams of pain. There was a muffled urgency to this shouting, and Alpha was frowning somewhere over Dean’s head, and the ringing in his ears got louder.

“I may have to cut our audience short-“

“Father-“ A tall, broad man slammed open the doors of the fancy room panting heavily, and the Alpha frowned.

Dean’s knees felt weak, just keeping him upright. Everything fucking smelled like apples.

“Jonas, what-“

“It’s- Fuck, it’s-“ The man shook his head frantically, and the Alpha took a long step forward.

“Jonas, speak plainly-“

“It’s her!” Jonas screamed, and the Alpha flinched back. “It’s the girl-“

Jonas’ word died in a gurgle of blood, his throat slit clean open with a bubbling wound that spread, before his head fell clean from his shoulders.

And Dean must be dying. Or just already dead.

Because Jonas fell to the floor, and standing right behind him was Her.

She was fucking here. Out of the cage and right in front of him, the light from the hallway seeming to cast around Her like She was something ethereal from the night sky, come down to guide Dean home. All the color in the world growing vibrant, and the air in every ragged breath cleaner. Wind seemed to be blowing through Her shining hair, making Her look even more like a goddess from above heaven. But Her skin looked soft. Touchable. And She was still wearing Her usual jacket and dress, spinning Her blade in her hands, as she frowned down at Jonas.

“You know.” She drawled, nudging his body with her foot. “I’ve wanted to be the girl.”

She still sounded like a siren. It was the only noise in the world that wasn’t far away anymore, the only thing Dean could hear at all.

“Magdalene.” The Alpha hissed, and She looked up with a sweet smile.

“Hi. Do you like my trick? I-“

Her words died, and She was looking at Dean.

Right at him, with bright eyes.

He didn’t even know if this was real, but She was looking at him, and he couldn’t stop himself from groaning Her name.

If She was here because he was dying, it could only go faster. The sooner the pain ended, the sooner he’d be able to hold Her.

“Dean- Dean-“ She took a stumbling step forward, and the Alpha was faster. Dean felt himself be yanked up be the neck, another low sound of pain escaping his throat.

He probably didn’t look very heroic. If She was just another hallucination, it wouldn’t matter, but just in case She somehow wasn’t, Dean tried to puff out his chest and look like he wasn’t dying. It only made the Alpha’s sharp nails sink a little further into his neck, and another low groan leave his body. Somewhere in his periphery, Sam started to move, then let out a sharp grunt as the Alpha kicked his gut.

“The rumors are all true, it seems.” The Alpha said, voice mocking. “The Magdalene has a soft spot for the angel’s toys.”

She was frozen in doorway. Dean could see Her grip on the knife tightening, shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

She was freaking out. Dean needed to get to Her and touch Her—to make this all better—but he didn’t even know if he’d be able to, or he’d just fall right through the air.

“I’ve heard rumors that you’re particularly fond of this one.” The Alpha squeezed Dean’s neck, and his vision started to dance with spots.

She took another staggering step forward, Her voice far softer than only a moment before. “Don’t-“

Something sharp was starting to poke at Dean’s throat. “Another step, and he dies.”

Her eyes were locked onto Dean’s, and they were the only bright thing left in the world. Glossy and desperate, and he didn’t understand. He’d be fine. Once he was gone, he’d be able to touch Her again.

“No- Dean-“

“Knife down, darling.” The Alpha hummed, and she raised Her hands, shaking her head desperately.

“I- I can’t- Please, don’t-“

The Alpha roared, and nothing split open Dean’s throat, and the world didn’t go dark. All the pressure was released, and he fell onto the ground, flat on his back.

He could swear, through the fog clouding his head, he could see the little fairy girl wrapped around the Alpha’s head, clawing and chewing at his skin. But they fell out of his view, and Dean wasn’t sure if he was dead. There was too much pain for it, but he also couldn’t really feel his own body, and people were shouting around him, but he couldn’t make out the words.

He was being dragged. Across the ground, then hauled up into the air. When his head turned, he was pressed against something that smelled so fucking good. Then there was a harsh light that made him groan, then he was somewhere softer, a rumbling below him. Smaller arms were pulling him up, and he slumped forward against a warm body that fit his so perfectly. Familiar, gentle hands were grabbing his face, but he couldn’t control his own body, and he slumped down forward. There was a beautiful voice, calling his name, and it sounded so sad. When a tension released from Dean’s wrists, his arms moved to hold the source of it—the warm body—as he tried to mutter soothing words, but they just came out like nothing.

“Dean,” She whispered, prying him away from Her neck. “Dean, I need you to stay awake, no-“

She sounded like She was crying, and he couldn’t let that happen, either. Dean mumbled Her name—the word a little clearer than all the others—but She still wouldn’t let him fall down.

“I- Fuck- Don’t move-“ A hand pressed to his chest and he covered it, trying to keep Her there.

It worked.

Dean was touching Her.

He might still be dying, though. He could see that light people were always talking about, as he forced his vision to focus. Forced himself to see Her.

She looked so sad. Almost broken, with Her hair stuck to Her brow and Her eyes darting between his face, and Her hand on his chest. Her brow was wrinkled, and there were bags under Her eyes, and She’d never looked more beautiful because She was here. Real, and touching Dean in a way he could feel as more than a phantom shiver.

And Dean could touch Her.

It was slipping so fast. The word was getting sharper, and the pain was easing, but now he just felt so tired. He had to touch Her, though, before exhaustion pulled him under. He had to, just so he knew this wouldn’t have to become another nightmare where She slipped through his fingers.

Dean grabbed Her face between his hands, and She stared at him. Wide eyed and pretty. Flushing slightly.

Real.

“Hey, Princess.” He tried to sound collected and charming, but his mouth was swelling, and the world was still spinning. “You look pretty.”

His brow dropped to Her shoulder, the exhaustion settling into his bones. But he grinned, as it washed over his body.

Because he could hear Her.

Saying his name.

Home.

This wasn’t one of those dreams.

It was like he was back underwater, reaching up to try and get to the surface, his hand scraping over the waves but never breaching the surface. He couldn’t breathe, or see, or even roar Her name, to make sure she was still there.

But then it was different.

Suddenly the water was warm, and the world started to glow with light.

He was swimming. Drifting even further down.

But it didn’t hurt anymore. And when he blinked around, there was something bright and silver and beautiful, like a star fallen right into the ocean, watching over him in the dark.

“I don’t remember anything.”

“Anything?” There was a light pressure on Dean’s chest, and it went still. “Not even- Anything?”

“That’s what I said.”

It started moving again. “Well, where did you wake up?”

“Cas said Kansas. You didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t.”

There was a lot of light, here. Behind Dean’s eyes, softer than the light when he’d been dragged around earlier. This was also a softer surface, and everything still smelled like apples, but there wasn’t a ringing in his ears, or more than a stinging pain in his chest that his body was too tired to fight.

He’d been injured. The pain was stitches, because he’d gotten the shit beat out of him. And most of what he could remember was a blur, but there had been the Alpha, the fairies, and-

Her.

She was here. Home. This was probably Her hotel, because there wasn’t any rattling of the heater. It was Her and Sam talking, and Her hands on Dean’s chest. She’d tensed, because Sam didn’t remember the cage, and they’d been in there together.

But they were both out. Dean hadn’t died, She was real.

“Are you going to tell me-“

“Jerusalem.” Her words were short. Tight. Dean wanted to curve over Her, until She relaxed, but he couldn’t really find enough strength to move. And selfishly, he just wanted to keep Her hands on his chest.

“Huh. Alright.” Sam paused. “Why were you hunting alone?"

“I was looking for you guys.”

Lie. That was a lie. Dean didn’t know why, but that was a freaking lie, and he was too fucking tired to understand it.

“What the hell happened, back there?”

“I don’t know.” She murmured. “The- Fairy?”

“Yep.”

“The fairy,” She sighed. “Attacked, and I didn’t pause to take an audit. I- I had to-“

Her words died off, and Dean fought his shiver as Her fingers trailed up his chest.

Sam cleared his throat. “I’m gonna go call Bobby. Give him the rundown. Vampires, fairies, demons-“

“Demons?”

“Bobby said there were demons, and Dean was looking for one, to help Cas with find what Crowley’s after or some shit. But we didn’t see any.”

“Oh.” She hummed, and there was something strange to Her tone Dean was too tired to place. “Okay. Tell Bobby we’re a star up and three over, he’ll know what it means.”

Something scraped on the floor, the wood of the floor creaked, and a door slammed.

She was still touching Dean.

It lingered, every time She brushed over Dean’s skin. Like a brand he didn’t want to heal from, or something hot sinking under his muscles and taking root in his gut. He’d never try and remove it.

He never wanted Her to be gone again.

When She finished the stitches, there was rush of panic through his body. She’d stop touching him, and he didn’t want Her to. He shouldn’t have played passed out, now he couldn’t tell Her to stay without freaking Her out. He couldn’t even pretend to grab Her wrist in his sleep, She hated that-

She didn’t move away. Light fingers ghosted over the wound, a soft sound came from somewhere above him, and his hand was pulled into Her’s. He felt Her touch his fingers so delicately, tracing over every callous and line, before they were tangled together, and Dean’s hand was set back down as the mattress dipped.

She was lying next to him. Holding his hand, even though She didn’t know he was awake.

Like She couldn’t bear to leave either.

Fuck it.

Slowly enough that She could stop him if She wanted, Dean pulled Her into his chest. He heard Her breath hitch slightly, but She was still relaxed in his arms, right until She was almost curled over him, free hand resting on his chest.

When he opened his eyes, She was there. Right next to him, blinking up at him with wide, slightly puffy eyes. Her lips were swollen from chewing, that little wrinkle between Her brows. Dean held Her gaze as he moved his arm over Her head, and around Her shoulders, swallowing the grunt the movement caused and reaching around to rub his thumb down Her nose.

Her eyes fluttered, slightly, and he couldn’t stop his small grin.

“Morning.”

Her throat bobbed, voice perfectly soft. “It’s 1pm.”

“Brunch time.”

“That’s just lunch, De-“

“Brunch is a feeling, Princess.”

“You’ve never even had brunch-“

“I ate eggs with you at 2, that one time.”

“That was 2am.”

“Yeah, and it felt like brunch.”

Her lips twitched as She sniffed, turning Her face into Dean shoulder, and he chuckled. It hurt.

He didn’t care.

“Hey, Princess.”

She hummed, not moving, and Dean sighed.

“Sam’s soul is blocked, by the way. That’s why he’s being such a dick.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“He tell you?”

“No.”

“Then how-“

“Demon.” She mumbled, still not moving. “In Iraq.”

Dean frowned into the air. Iraq. That was halfway across the freaking world, not just a few days to South Carolina. And Sam was right, She had been hunting alone. Lying about why.

Not wearing the clothes She’d fallen in with, like Sammy had been.

And suddenly his throat hurt again. She wouldn’t be so calm, if She’d just gotten out of the cage. She might not have been a shattered mess like Sammy, but She wouldn’t be spinning Her blade and carving through vampires. She’d be too tired, from being dead.

He had to ask.

Even when he didn’t really want the answer.

“You’ve been out-“

“Since September.” She whispered, and Dean felt the ache from his chest move to the pit of his stomach.

Three months.

Three fucking months.

“Why.” He grunted, unable to think of anything else to say.

She pushed up on Her palms, looking at him with a pleading expression. “I- I had to.”

She didn’t say more. And looking at Her, Dean couldn’t bring himself to push for it.

She looked so fucking tired. All the lines of Her face were sharper, Her eyes holding new strange depth to them that he couldn’t name. As if She’d seen all the stars in the sky, been blinded by them, and done something horrible to keep seeing.

To keep looking at Dean.

But it still fucking hurt. And he couldn’t stop the bitterness of his tone.

“Bobby know?” He muttered, holding Her palm over his chest because he loved Her, and if She turned into mist above him, he might snap in half. “That you’re back?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, scanning over Dean’s face. “I- I just got back a few days ago. I lost my phone, his number is the only one I know. And he- He told me you were here.”

Truth. That was the truth.

And She looked so fucking sad.

“So you came,” Dean muttered, and She nodded. A small, nervous movement, Her whole body tensed above Dean’s. Like She expected him to shove Her away.

And it was boiling in the cavity of his chest. She ran again, when She swore she wouldn’t.

But she was here now. Looking at Dean like he was the most important thing in the world. Like he could possibly hurt something as vital as Her. And he doesn’t want to break Her. Touchable. In Dean’s hands, with one still covering Her’s and the other on Her waist.

He knew that, the longer he sat in it, the pit was only going to split further open.

But She was filling it with light.

And right now, he’d been in the dark too long to care.

“I missed you.” He said, his voice barely a rasp, and something flashed over Her features.

“I missed you, too.”

She squeezed his hand three times, with the words.

Okay. Everything’s okay.

It wasn’t. He wasn’t even that angry with Her. It just hurt. It goddamn hurt, that She hadn’t come back. Maybe She’d known what he was doing, while She was gone, and decided She wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe he’d been insane to think She’d ever want to crawl back to him at all, when he was still from the mud.

But She’d saved him. And he could see it, haunted in Her eyes. All those stars behind Her gaze, crashing back down to Earth to only look at Dean. Look at him like She loved him. And maybe She did, but Dean couldn’t have that be a burden. An obligation. Something that made this all worse, to be loved by something as low as Dean.

So he would be better. Do better. Figure out where he went wrong, and never be something She ran from again.

She was still looking at him. And he was out of words to say it. How he’d missed Her, and how he loved Her, and how fucking sorry he was for all of it.

But when he reached up to cup Her face, She leaned into the touch, and Dean knew. He was bad at saying it. He’d fuck it up.

He’d just have to show it.

She stared at Dean, as he guided Her down, but melted into him all the same.

Pressed Her lips against Dean’s, as his hand glided up Her back, and made a soft, blissful sound as he kissed Her with a little more than he’d ever had before. Then She kissed him back—wrapping Her legs carefully around his torso and crashing so deep into him he couldn’t really think past Her apple on his tongue and warmth in his arms—and it was like breathing.

Simple and natural and thoughtless. The most crucial thing, to move his lips against Her’s and press his tongue between Her lips. To keep holding Her as she made a high, sweet sound and ran Her fingers through his hair.

She was still fragile in his arms. Dean still felt the weight of the whole year, hanging over their heads. But it wouldn’t matter, as long as he got to hold Her and kiss Her like this. Like he’d been made to do it, with his mouth slotted perfectly against Her’s and every sound Dean pulled from Her like music. He was still Her shadow, and not time would wipe him away.

He’d love Her in the dark, as long as She kept being light.

And it wasn’t something She could stop being. She just was. Even with Her body shivering under Dean’s touch—his hand dipping under Her shirt to skim up Her back, Her neck being angled by his careful hand—and way Her nails dug into his shoulders, She was still light.

Her light had never been pure white enough for it to just stop shining. It was made with a little bit of darkness. Made of silver.

So She’d last.

And Dean would stay Her shadow, nipping at Her lips as they drew back for ragged breaths, until She left him in the dark.

“Don’t leave.” She whispered against his lips. “I- I’m sorry, Dean, I’m sorry-“

“I know.” He murmured, bumping their noses. “I know, Princess-“

A sob shook Her body, and Dean could taste the salt of Her tears. “I’m sorry, please don’t leave me-“

“Hey.” He ran his thumb down Her nose, and those pretty lashes fluttered. “I’m not leaving, sweetheart. Just- Don’t run again.” His voice was hoarse. “Please.”

“Oh- Okay.”

She said it like it was simple. Hooked Her pinky with Dean’s and silently swore to it, as if it was nothing. And when She spoke, Her words sounded like a plea.

“All the way down?”

He leaned back to look at Her, and there it was again. That look.

And Dean had tried being mad at Her. Tried hating Her, as well.

It never worked in his favor.

And She always came back.

“Yeah, Princess.” He squeezed Her hand three times, giving Her a small—but so painfully fucking real—grin. “All the way down.”

End Note: I'm sorry for edging you guys, thank you for trusting.

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

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abyssyby · 19 hours ago

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i get a little overwhelmed answering asks sometimes, so i dont get to answer as quick as i'd like to. but i see you all, and appreciate always your kind words, thoughts & ideas on my stories & the little twin universe!!!

had the free time tonight to go through my inbox & did a little inventory on requests. there are a handful of wonderful ones that sparked inspo! and i am somewhat of a perfectionist (as i insist on attaching drabbles to my answers) at heart, so it might take a while to get to them (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

anyway, i just wanted to give that update because, as you have gotten out of your way to leave such lovely messages, the last thing i want you to think is that i just brush them off (NO, i squeal and happy cry when an ask pops up, actually)

i try my best to respond to as much as i can while also still keeping the fun & enjoying the things i write and post. i hope you all understand <3

thanks always for reading, thanks for being here. take care of yourselves, have a great restful weekend ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ!!

#urs yaps ( ⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝ )੭⁾⁾

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harusmichixo · 19 hours ago

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omg i love ur oneshots sm,,,,, i adore u pageee !! Can u maybe write a chishiya x reader where she has REALLY REALLY bad social anxiety and like never goes out at all😭

chishiya x anxious!reader

summary: you had never been extroverted (to say the least). But luckily for you, neither has chishiya.

tags: established relationship, fluff, social anxiety

A/N: hiiii! i feel like this is so bad so i’m so sorry😭😭 my writers block has been terrible these past few days so this is just whatever slop my brain could produce😭😭

word count: 1.7k

masterlist!!!

You’ve always been a creature of habit, but “habit” feels too gentle a word for the walls you’ve built around yourself. Your life exists almost exclusively between the four walls of your apartment, a soft-lit sanctuary of blankets, books, and the faint hum of your laptop. Going out? That’s for other people – those that don’t feel their heart slam into your chest at the mere thought of a stranger’s glance.

But then there’s Chishiya. He is different - solitary, like you, but by choice rather than necessity. You had met on one of your rare visits to the grocery store, bumping into him, literally, and, for some reason, he decided to stick around. You finally confessed your struggles with anxiety to him a few weeks after, expecting him to become disinterested like so many others, but he just said, “meh, outside is overrated anyway.”

He’s learned you, piece by piece, even noticing the signs before you do sometimes. The way your fingers twist the hem of your shirt when you’re overwhelmed. The shallow breaths that come when the doorbell rings unexpectedly. The way you curl into yourself on the couch when your brain thinks just a little too much.

Tonight is one of those quiet evenings between you both. You’re nestled under a blanket, scrolling through your phone, while Chishiya lounges in the armchair across from you, flipping through a book on biochemistry or something equally impenetrable.

“You’re fidgeting,” he says suddenly, not looking up from his page.

You freeze, realizing your foot has been tapping against the floor. “Am I? Sorry.”

He glances at you then, those sharp eyes softening just a fraction. “It’s fine. What’s on your mind?”

It’s nothing big - not really, just the usual spiral. You had seen a post online about a local event happening this weekend. It looked fun, like something you’d enjoy, but you were hyperaware that fear would keep you away once again. It stirred that familiar ache: the longing to be involved, to be normal. But saying it aloud feels silly, redundant even. “Just… stuff. You know.”

He nods, closing his book with a soft thud. “The delivery guy’s coming soon. Want me to handle it?”

You exhale, grateful he doesn’t press. He never does. He was good like that, always offering without making it seem like a favor. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You eat in companionable silence, the kind that never demands filling. It never did with him. Afterward, he clears the table while you wash up, and when you return to the living room, he’s already dimmed the lights, knowing you prefer it dark.

“Movie?” he asks, settling on the couch.

You nod, curling up beside him. His arm drapes over your shoulders casually, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. It’s these little things - the way he anticipates what you need without words - that make you feel seen.

Safe.

But Chishiya isn’t content to let you hide away forever. Not in a forceful, sudden way; no, he’s far too clever for that. He plants seeds, subtle suggestions that will nudge you toward the edge of your comfort zone. Like last week, when he mentioned ordering books online but mused aloud about browsing in person someday. “Less waiting,” he had said offhandedly. You had brushed it off, but the idea lingered in your mind. It would be nice, you hadn’t been to a bookstore in years.

He’s doing it again now, as the movie credits roll. “I finished that thriller you lent me. The ending was predictable like you said.”

You smile, shifting to face him. “Told you. What did you think of the twist with the sister?”

“Oh that was from chapter three.” He said with a playful smirk, knowing you didn’t get it until chapter 10. “I need something new. There’s a bookstore downtown – it’s small, independent. Not too crowded.”

Your stomach twists, that familiar knot forming. “You could go alone. Or order online.”

“I could.” He pauses, his eyes meeting yours. “But I thought you might want to come. They have that section on rare editions you like.”

It’s not a demand; Chishiya never demands. But there’s a subtle challenge in his tone. The kind which means he’s not going to back down. He knows you love books - the smell of paper, how the pages sound when you turn thrm. Your apartment is lined with shelves, supplementing any need to go to a library, but all of those books were bought online or gifts from family if you were lucky.

“I… don’t know.” The thought of stepping out, navigating the streets, possible small talk with a cashier - it sends your pulse racing. “What if it’s busy? Or someone talks to me?”

“Then we leave.” Simple, logical. “It’s a Tuesday afternoon. There won’t be many people. And I’ll handle any talking.”

You bite your lip, fingers twisting in your lap - a sign he clocks immediately. His hand covers yours, stilling the motion. “No pressure though. Just think about it.”

The next morning, you wake to the scent of coffee. Chishiya’s already up, leaning against your kitchen counter with a mug in hand.

“Morning,” he says, sliding a cup toward you.

You mumble a reply, sipping gratefully. It was the same routine as always: breakfast together, him reading the news on his phone while you sketch absentmindedly in your notebook. But today, you can tell he’s watching you more closely, not overtly, but you feel his eyes in the side of your head.

By noon, he broaches it again. “I’m heading to the bookstore at around two. If you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. Part of you wants to - desperately. To feel normal, to share something simple with him outside the confines of your apartment. But…

What if you get overwhelmed? What if you embarrass him?

He senses the war in your head without needing to ask. Setting his phone down, he moves to sit beside you at the table. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s stupid,” you whisper. “I want to go, but… my chest gets tight just imagining it. How would I cope if I can’t even think about it? What if I freeze up?”

His expression doesn’t change - no pity, no frustration. Just understanding. “It’s not stupid. And they won’t be staring; people are too focused on themselves. But if it happens, we adapt to it. Breathe through it, like we practiced.”

Those practices - he started those subtly too. Deep breathing exercises disguised as “meditation for focus,” which he claimed helped his studies. You know better now; it was for you, to arm you against your own anxieties.

“Okay,” you say finally, surprising yourself. “I’ll try.”

His lips quirk into an almost-smile. “Good.”

The next hour is preparation, though he doesn’t call it that. He suggests comfortable clothes - your oversized sweater and jeans that don’t pinch. He packs a small bag: a water bottle and noise-canceling headphones, for you, just incase.

As you step toward the door, your hands start to tremble. Chishiya notices - of course he does, he notices everything when it comes to you - and he silently slips his fingers through yours.

Outside, the world felt obnoxious: cars humming and clanking as they drive by, people talking too loudly, eyes looking your way. You cling to chishiya’s arm, your eyes focused on the ground. “Too much?” he asks.

“A little.” Your voice wavers.

“We can turn back.”

But you shake your head. “No. Lets keep going.”

He just nods, continuing to guide you down the sidewalk. It’s not far - ten minutes at most – but right now it feels eternal. A passerby brushes too close, and you flinch so Chishiya shifts, positioning himself between you and the street, like a human shield.

“Focus on the details,” he says quietly. “Count the cracks in the pavement. Or name the colors around us.”

It’s another trick he’s taught you. You try: gray sidewalk, blue sky, red stoplight. And slowly, the panic ebbs away to something more manageable.

The bookstore appears ahead - a quaint corner shop with a faded sign. Through the window, you can see shelves stacked high, soft lighting, and only a few people.

Inside, it’s heaven. The air smells of old paper and ink, a silence which is only broken by the turn of pages. A single clerk nods from behind the counter, then returns to their book. No forced greetings, no hovering.

Safe.

You exhale, the tension in you uncoiling slowly. Chishiya releases your hand but stays close, browsing a nearby shelf. “Take your time.”

You wander tentatively, fingers trailing the spines. Fantasy, mystery, poetry - your havens. For the first time in ages, the outside world feels… tolerable. Chishiya picks up a volume of his favourite medical journal, but his eyes flick to you often, just checking in.

At one point, you reach for a high shelf, and he’s there instantly, plucking the book down. “This one?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He adds it to his stack. “Anything else?”

You browse longer than planned, the anxiety fading into mere background noise. But as you approach the counter, it surges back. The clerk - a kind-faced woman in her forties - looks up. “Find everything okay?”

Your throat tightens, the words sticking in your throat like tar. Chishiya steps forward seamlessly. “Yes. Just these.”

He handles the transaction, chatting minimally with the cashier about the weather. You stand beside him , grateful for his buffer.

The walk home feels lighter than the one on the way here. You had actually done it – a small step that feels like a milestone towards a slimmer of normalcy. Maybe it was a coincidence, but the cars were quieter now, and the pavements less crowded.

“You did well,” he says once you’re inside, door locked behind you.

“I almost didn’t.” You sink onto the couch. “But… it wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

He sits beside you, unpacking the books. “Progress isn’t linear. Today was a step. A big step for you.”

You lean against him, exhaustion mingling with the small pride. “Why do you push me like this? Not that I mind, but… you are okay with staying in, right?”

“I am.” His voice is thoughtful. “But I see how the isolation weighs on you. I don’t want you to feel trapped - not by anxiety, anyway.”

That’s the closest he’s come to admitting he’s helping on purpose. “Thank you.”

Later that evening, as you’re both reading your new finds, he says, “There’s a café near the bookstore. I heard its nice… quiet. Maybe we could try it sometime?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe is good.”

And it is. With him, nothing feels too scary anymore.

#chishiya imagines #chishiya fluff #chishiya imagine #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya smut #chishiya alice in borderland #aib chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya #chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #chishiya fanfic #alice in borderland x you #alice in borderland x reader #alice in borderland #aib imagines #aib #aib x reader

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turinspeachjam · 2 days ago

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Is it the weekend already? Damn time flies!

You know the drill: Make Me Write!

To the people who have been tagging me the past couple weekends: this is for you 😘

Rules: Send me an emoji corresponding with a fic and I'll send you a snippet of what I'm working on!

This weekend's docket:

👻 Stranger. Honored Guest. Family. - my Steddie Big Bang Project (Under the Whispering Door au)

⛈️ The Way That We Weather the Storm - Steve Storm Powers au (still gen)

🧠 A Place For Crows to Rest Their Feet - Marbles by TAD inspired Stobin Songfic

🌸 Untitled Hanahaki fic - inspired by @withacapitalp 's Daisies fic

💀 Untitled spooky Jeff fic - new addition!

Here's a snippet from 👻 my Steddie Big Bang to sweeten the deal:

“Is this a prank?”

Robin scowled at him in a way that was almost intimidating. Eddie simply glared at her in return, waiting for an answer.

“Is what a prank?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Eddie scoffed irritably. “This doesn’t look like a fucking gateway to the afterlife. We’re standing in a goddamn tea shop!”

“Keen observation skills you’ve got there,” a voice declared behind Eddie, causing him to jump out of his skin—or at least he would have if he still had any.

Eddie whirled around, ready to rip a new one into whoever had interrupted him, only to find a burly looking old man wryly smiling down at him. The guy was huge, dressed casually in a flannel jacket draped over matching pajamas and wielding a cane in a way that implied he used it more as a prop than a tool. This had to be the guy Robin had been telling him about earlier.

“You must be Steve,” Eddie said, barely holding back his annoyance—and not very successfully if Robin’s unsubtle coughing was anything to go by. “Robin’s been telling me about you.”

There was a gleam in the man’s eyes and a roguish smile gracing his lips, but Eddie could not for the death of him decipher the look he was receiving.

“Oh? What was she saying about me? Good things, I hope.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. He was not here to boost some old man’s ego. He just wanted to go home, goddamnit.

“She said that you knew more about all of this shit than she did. That you could answer my questions better than she could.”

Robin scoffed behind him, but he ignored her. The old man nodded, rubbing his hand against his chin thoughtfully.

“Sure, I can definitely answer your questions.”

Eddie sighed, relieved that he could finally get some goddamn answers. This whole death business was frustrating enough without all the not knowing that went with it.

“Okay, so Robin here says I’m dead, which I guess is true enough since I was at my own fucking funeral—”

“Funeral?” The old man choked on a laugh, but Eddie ignored it and pushed onward.

“—and I’m not really ready to be dead, you know? I’m a little young for that and I’m supposed to be working on a new album right now, so if you could help a guy out and fix this for me, that would be great.”

The old man—Eddie supposed that he should really call him Steve since he was helping him out and whatnot instead of relegating him to the title of old man—stared at him for a moment before grinning. Eddie hoped that was a good sign.

“You want me to fix it? Well, let me see what I can do.”

The sense of relief that swept through Eddie was better than any sex he had ever had in his life, which was saying something. Once Steve fixed it so that he was alive again, Eddie was going to give Rick and the label what for. Hell, maybe he would call up Gareth and the guys, try to apologize for being an ass and get the band back together.

“Okay, so what do I need to do?”

If Eddie sounded a little on the eager side, that was no one’s business but his own. Robin’s muffled laughter could shove it.

“First, you need to stand on one foot. Your left one.”

Eddie was unsure about that considering his balance was not the greatest, but he gave it a go anyway, standing on his left foot and only wobbling slightly. Steve nodded at him thoughtfully.

“Okay, now hop counterclockwise for three full rotations.”

Taking a deep breath, Eddie maintained his balance as best he could as he did as Steve instructed, only slipping a bit a few times. He managed to not fall on his ass and honestly he counted that as a win.

“Stop! Now fan your fingers out and cross your arms in front of you.”

Eddie did so, at this point feeling a little bit like he was back on stage performing, which only made him feel like this while concoction of movements was working.

“Now repeat after me: I am an idiot,” Steve stated slowly.

“I am an idiot,” Eddie repeated with the same cadence.

“And I’m dead.”

“And I’m dead.” Eddie swore that he could feel something in the air change. It made him hopeful for the first time in years.

“There’s no way for me to come back to life because that’s not how it works,” Steve continued.

“There’s—HEY!”

This time it was both Steve and Robin’s laughter that surrounded Eddie. His face felt hot and knew that if he still had blood that he would be the same shade of scarlet that Vicki was on the day he called her out on her bullshit.

“Where the hell do you get off on making me look like a fool, huh,” Eddie demanded, positively fuming. He was so done with this whole ordeal. He just wanted to get back to his life dammit. Was that so hard to ask?

No pressure tags: @tinytalkingtina @stellarspecter @helpimstuckposting @kikidoesfanfic @eriquin @sidekick-hero @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @sourw0lfs @little-annie @onirislanding @penny00dreadful @klausinamarink @griefabyss69 @queenofshenanigans @machtaholic @yesdangerpls @felixir-of-moths @beingmissbatty @hbyrde36

And, of course, @strangerthingswritersguild

#wip weekend #my writing #stranger things

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taintedsoul-if · 2 days ago

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Goodnight. Did y’all miss me and my increasingly long progress reports? Well guess what—I’m back with another one… so shall we begin?

Even though I’ve been quiet over here, I’ve actually been a busy little bee. 🐝 As you all know, we recently got the poll results back, and can someone please tell me why my readers on the COG Forum didn’t stick to the agenda? They chose the side story His Touch, while y'all on Tumblr and Patreon picked military Cadmus × broken-hearted MC. So what does that mean for me? It means that come August, I’ll be releasing four demos. Yup, you read that right—four.

I’ve officially passed the 4,000-word mark on the first side story—and since I’m still feeling motivated, I’ll probably keep going and save it for the next update, which will likely drop in about four months (because, hey, we’re working with a roster, right?).

Starting tomorrow through to Monday morning, I’ll finally have the time to plug in my music and get some solid writing done. I’ve figured out exactly how I want TS fight scenes to go, and I’ve finally mastered the art of scene separation. T’s scene is currently kicking my ass, so I’ve decided to start chipping away at Cadmus’s staircase scene with MC instead. This version is for romancers—platonic players will, of course, be approached by N.

Today I had a little sit-down with myself and promised I wouldn’t stress over how the Yesenia fight scene turns out—first drafts are meant to be messy. And guess what? Everything suddenly clicked. I even remembered the counterfeit book that was created in the opening of Chapter Three… so yes, consequences.

Also, slight change of plans: I’ve decided not to have MC and Caddy fight, since they’re in the same student batch. But Cadmus and Atticus—yeah… they nearly killed each other, so that’s still on the table.

So, the three people MC can challenge will officially be Drusilla, Yesenia, and T. For the Patreon update dropping in August, all three fight scenes will be fully covered. Honestly, I’m so over this chapter—ugh. Anyway, during N’s scene, we’ll also explore Sascha’s fight, where the MC finally finds out what their ability is. So that’s another exciting bit to look forward to.

As for the inspiration behind the fight scenes and the overall vibe—let’s thank a few series that fed my nightmares for weeks: Sweet Home (Seasons 1–3), Solo Leveling (Seasons 1–2), Gone Girl, Get Away, Happiness, All of Us Are Dead, #Alive, Kingdom (Seasons 1–2), and The Menu. Yeah… most of those are zombie shows. And yes, I had nightmares because of them. Thanks for asking.

Onto our next topic... what’s happening with Dangerous Games?

I am working on it—slowly. These past few days, I’ve been balancing all my IFs. If I wake up and feel demotivated with one, I just chip away at the other. But yes, an update is going live for this one. Honestly, I’m planning to release everything at once so y’all can just binge and enjoy yourselves.

I also figured out something important about Dangerous Games. Originally, I thought if players chose not to look after the babies, the story would just end... and that’s just bleh. So guess what? This author is forcing that babysitting job on y’all. Go clean a diaper or two and accidentally fall in love with the Underworld boss’s son. He’s hot, tatted, and yes—he has nipple piercings. Cadmus 2.0? Possibly.

Just imagine... eating waffles off those abs. I’m kidding. (Kind of.) Anyway, yes—I always have to include a male RO in my IFs. Why, you ask? I don’t know—men are just interesting creatures. They’re built different. Sometimes I want to dissect them like frogs...Don’t listen to me. It’s definitely the sleep talking.

But the good thing is—we’re already ten thousand words in, currently at the will scene where Bob tells you who killed your father. Between me and you? I don’t trust that man.

Next weekend—or maybe even tomorrow—I plan to start working on the second side story demo. So, as you can see, we’ve got a lot to tie up on our seemingly overflowing plate. But one thing’s for sure: I’m having fun. During my one-week rest, I spent some time watching a few series. Turns out, watching something on my tablet while scribbling away on my phone does wonders for productivity.

So for this week, we’ll be working on a few things...

Tomorrow, I’ll finish Drusilla and MC’s test match. Then, we’ll move on to the opening scenes for both the Platonic and Romantic routes with Cadmus—so that’s two different scenes to knock out. Once those are tied up, we can focus on the first day of school, especially Instructor Levesque’s class.

For Dangerous Games, I want to focus on the will scene, then the discharge scene, and from there, the visitation to Alister’s grave—where MC will meet the second RO. As for the third RO’s career... I’m still deciding. Should I make them a manny/nanny? A next-door neighbor? A doctor? Or maybe MC’s personal assistant at AetherCorp Industries? Decisions, decisions.

As for the side stories:

I’ll start the opening for His Touch.

For the other one, I’ll finish the breakup scene between MC and Emory, and have Kyle (your supervisor) burst in—guns blazing... but not literally. Then I’ll write the flight scene. So that’ll be my focus.

In the coming week—or maybe Sunday—I’ll try to fit in answering some asks. I’m here, I’m always around, but I also know how it feels to want to give attention to everything at once and only have the capacity to focus on one thing. August will be that month—the one where you’ll probably worry about my mental state from how much I’ll get done 😅

I’ll leave a few screenshots down below of what I’ve been working on. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your night. See you in a few. 😊

#what I've been up to #spoilers #screenshots #upcoming chapter

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orangeshinigami · 2 years ago

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Hit the ♡ for a holiday themed starter.

#I'm bored at work can u tell #... even tho i have a million things to do #don't wanna do anything tho ugh #adulting is hard #anyways!!! i will write these on the weekend #( starter call. )#multimuses pls specify the muse u want the starter to be directed to!!

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humanjarvis · 10 days ago

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“quit sulking. c’mon, i’ll let you take the tape off.”

“no.”

“your hands are smaller than mine. so, you can probably maneuver the scissors better than me. i’d just make a mess.”

“no.” grumbling, you cross your arms and burrow further into the sofa. “stop trying to make me feel better. it’s not fair.”

sighing, caleb shakes his head and grins slightly. “what, you goin’ on strike now?”

“yes!” you huff, the word muffled by the throw pillow squished against your front. “i shouldn’t have to ask you to come all the way over here just to pull something out of a box!”

he scoffs and lays a mocking hand over his heart. “and here i thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“i would have been—if i hadn’t spent 30 minutes trying to pull that thing out of the package! i mean, not everybody is as strong as you.” you gesture toward him, choosing to ignore the way his chest puffs with pride. “they need to package things so even the weakest person can open them without help.”

“they do, huh?” he asks, rubbing his chin in feigned contemplation. “tell you what—i’ll pass along your concerns in my report to the higher-ups tomorrow. surely the fleet will want to work with linkon and make this a top priority.”

you sniff and nod, pleased he’s playing along. “exactly! what if a super important aircraft part comes in the mail, but the recruit can’t get it out of the box? this is basically a national security hazard.”

“you’re right, as always. they should just put you in charge of the whole thing.” he lifts a brow. “but…there is another solution, you know.”

your narrowed eyes meet his twinkling ones. “a solution better than national packaging reform?”

“twice as good.” he smiles innocently. “you can just move in with me.”

“oh, wow,” you snort. “what happened to solidarity? i thought you were fast-tracking this to the government. you’re a real sellout, caleb.”

“hey, i’m just tryin’ to make it easier for you.” he dodges when you launch your pillow at his head, and it lands right into the mangled box you’d wrestled with earlier. “legislation can take a while. what if you get another delivery next week, or even tomorrow? it’s way too risky. i’ll just have to be your personal unboxer from now on.”

scowling, you plug your fingers in your ears and shake your head. “i thought you were on my side here.”

“you’ll never have to open another package,” he bribes, dangling a torn strip of cardboard in your face.

you look to its ripped edges, the war zone on the floor, then back to him. “…keep talking.”

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seokminfilm · 9 days ago

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gentle / lee seokmin

⭐ pairing lee seokmin x reader warnings non idol au, very short, fluff, comfort, established relationship, boyfriend seokmin, kissing, skinship, love drunk seokmin, pet names: pretty baby (reader's), seok (seokmin's), slightly self indulgent summary your boyfriend was so gentle on you. lyr's notes been very very busy this week (and i mean VERY busy) so here's the tiniest update to let you all know i'm still alive 😭 dawn ur fic is coming soon trust!! i just wanted to write something short and sweet to give u guys a little update to enjoy until the weekend 💗 now playing lover's rock / tv girl word count 527 written for ---

"hey, pretty baby."

seokmin's arms are slithering around your waist, gently gripping at the light material of your sleeping clothes. they loosely hang around your body, but with seokmin's hands on your waist and body so close, he can feel every dip of you on him. it drives him insane, and he's smiling like a idiot because of it, gracefully pressing a kiss to your exposed neck.

"hi, seok. i missed you today." your voice is soft, buried in seokmin's shoulder as he holds you to him. he's swaying to an invisible beat, guiding you with his steady hands as you move to his time. seokmin lets out a low hum, reassuring as he rubs circles into your hips.

"not as much as i've missed you today. you've been so busy. getting so many things done and making me proud, yeah?"

the praise goes straight to your stomach, and you bite back a dramatic groan, face flushing an even darker red as seokmin pulls away to get a good luck at your face.

he's blessed with a blush dusting your cheeks and the words kiss me written all over your face before he leans in, sharp nose pressing to yours as his eyes slowly drift down to your lips. the same lips that say his name like it's a prayer and a chant at the same time.

"can i kiss you?" seokmin's heart is fluttering like the first time he ever kissed you, and you're the same, fisting his shirt as you sigh out a small "please."

that's enough to send seokmin over the edge; his lips meet yours in a split second, tasting every bit of you on him as he presses you closer to his body. seokmin's hands are fisting your shirt now, fingertips sliding under the fabric to run his fingers along your tingling skin.

"seok, i'm-" your words are swallowed up by another kiss, and you don't care about what you're saying anymore, flinging your arms around seokmin's neck as you let him take the lead.

after what seems like eternities of goodness, you finally pull away. seokmin's lips are kiss swollen, flushed and glossy as his eyes lock with yours. his eyes are filled with so much love you can feel your heart grow ten times more in your chest, and you're interlocking hands with him quickly, head laid on his chest.

"thank you. for this, i mean." you sigh out, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders. kissing seokmin usually had this effect on you: the effect of feeling like you're floating in mid-air, all of your problems finally passing you by.

seokmin nods, tucking your hair behind the tips of your blushed ears before running a thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. they match seokmin's in that same flushed tone, still tingling from earlier.

"of course, pretty baby. i know the "i need to decompress" look in your eyes when i see it." seokmin smiles, poking your cheek to which you giggle.

as you lay down to sleep that night, with seokmin's firm chest gently pressed against your back and muscled arm draped over your waist, you know you'll be okay.

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woolying · 3 months ago

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COUNTDOWN TO LAST TETRO PINK FRIDAY!!

yanagi and watari!!!! i will miss u both dearly kisses them on the forehead

gonna try to doodle the students everyday until then (i havent planned for this at all... i only came up with this idea this morning... hopefully i last until then)

#tetro danganronpa pink #tetro danganronpa #watari nishino #yanagi shigeki #my art #artlying #URGENT QUESTION!! does anyone know if hama and okazaki interact like ever....theyre the only pair i couldnt think of anything for #i havent looked through yet but the only time i can think of when they even speak to each other is maybe restaurant? i think?? uh #ill try to draw a ton of these in advance this weekend pray for me #i would love to write sappy paragraphs about how much i love each of the cast when its their turn but #unfortunately it is Quickly approaching the end of the semester for me i gotta lock in #and if i think too hard about tetro i wont be able to stop and i will not get any work done #that is already a Difficult Task so alas i will imbue each brushstroke with love and telepathically communicate my adoration #im not much of a big writer anyway #the reason this is so late is bc i am for some reason so paranoid i somehow got the dates wrong #like??? there actually is 8 days left right #im not stupid i swear

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 2 months ago

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The Way You Care for Me (M, illness)

I'm shifting out of my comfort zone, aka writing the guys outside of the restaurant!!! A huge thank you and props to @ghostlychill who came up with this amazing prompt, on which this fic is based, and also gave me additional scene ideas. they're the real MVP of this fic.

In this, Greyson and Elijah are both sick and Elijah helps Greyson get to the doctor. It takes place before Greyson gets with Reed, but after Matt and Mark are together, just to place y'all in the timeline correctly. It's REAL whumpy for me, to the point where it's much more of a traditional sickfic or hurt/comfort fic than a snzfic. But I'll be honest, it's maybe my favorite fic I've written. I think I might try writing more outside the restaurant soon.

I'd love to hear any feedback, good, bad, or otherwise :) and if you have anything you'd like to see from these guys, as always feel free to send it. My inbox is always open.

CW: Male illness/snz, coughing, high fevers, contagion, passing out. 5.5K words under the cut

The Way You Care for Me

“Well, that escalated quickly.”

From across the prep table, Greyson shot his boss a dirty look before pulling a handful of tissues out of the box beside him. “I don’t wandt to talk about iiih – hhIGTZCH-ue!” He pitched forward into his hands, a soft groan escaping his throat. “’Least we’re closed the ndext two,” he muttered, tossing the tissues. Elijah pressed his lips together.

“Yeah, lucky you, sick as a dog for the only two days off in a row you’ve had since high school,” he said, prompting a stuffy laugh from the chef. “I thought you said it just felt like a cold yesterday?”

Greyson shrugged. “It did,” he said, shivering despite the kitchen heat and the sweatshirt – was that Elijah’s sweatshirt? – he had on over his chef’s coat. “I’mb sure it’s ndothing, Lij, just mby stupid body rebelling at the thought of time off.” He held his hands up as if to say, What can you do? “I’ll mbake it,” he finished, coughing.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay tonight?” Elijah asked, tapping his fingers nervously on the butcher block on the prep station. “I mean, there’s no Matt.”

No Matt or Mark, Elijah thought to himself, grim and foreboding. The two junior managers were celebrating their one-year anniversary this week, and as a surprise for the two of them, Greyson and Elijah had agreed to work double time for two days and close the restaurant for the other two to give Matt and Mark a full four-day-weekend together. Of course, as soon as Matt and Mark had waved their bosses goodbye from Elijah’s car – letting them borrow it to drive to the Jersey shore was the other half of the younger men’s gift – Greyson started coming down with whatever this shit was. Yesterday had been annoying, but fine; Greyson sneezed his way through his prep, hoarsely expoed throughout service, and promised he’d be fine for the next night. Now, though?

A sudden “HNGTSCHH-ue!” escaped Greyson’s lips before he could answer, a sneeze so harsh it made Elijah take two steps back.

“Dude,” he said, wincing while Greyson grabbed more tissues to clean himself up. As he watched Greyson blow his nose, he couldn’t help but press two fingers to the base of his own throat. The tiny pang he’d felt when he woke up this morning had not gone away with water, as he’d hoped, but had blossomed into a full sore throat. It burned brighter the longer Elijah watched Greyson cough, as though upon seeing how ill the chef was, his body had been given permission to start its own downward spiral. Finally, Greyson tossed the tissues, cleared his throat as well as he could.

“I’ll be finde,” Greyson growled. “Let’s just get through this fuckigg ndi- HRRTSHH-uhh!”

***

There was absolutely no way in hell Greyson was going to make it back to Brooklyn tonight.

The shift had gone about as well as Elijah expected; Greyson lost his voice halfway through the night, couldn’t stop sneezing long enough to garnish the plates, and eventually had to retire to the office to put his head between his knees to quell the dizzy spell he’d coughed himself into. Eventually, Elijah put Riley, his head server, in charge of watching the floor and went to the kitchen to expo while Greyson snored on the floor of the office.

Meanwhile, Elijah spent the evening well-and-truly coming down with Greyson’s disgusting illness. His head ached, his throat felt sticky and painful, and possibly most annoying, his breath kept hitching around a sneeze that – “Hh-! Hhh… hnnghh” – never quite came.

It had been, to put it mildly, a true fucking nightmare.

Now, at nearly one in the morning, Greyson was burning up with fever and high on cough medicine, glassy-eyed and chatty, spinning the office chair round and round like a kid. Beside him, Elijah was rapidly deteriorating.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lij, of course I’mb goigg hombe,” Greyson rasped, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “I’mb fine, it’s a cold, it’s ndot a big deal.”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand, “you are not fine. Did you somehow forget the last seven hours?” He grabbed Greyson’s chair then, stopping it in its tracks. “And stop fucking spinning you’re going to pahh – hh… pass… huh… passoutNGTSZH-oo! Huh-! HGTZCH-ue! Fuck, finally,” Elijah sighed into the sleeve of his shirt. From over his glasses, Elijah could see Greyson fold his arms.

“Bless you,” he said, accusatory. “You feeling okay?” Elijah rolled his eyes, painfully.

“Yes, Mama Greyson,” he said, sucking in through his nose and sitting up. “How do you plan on getting home, anyway? Isn’t an uber out there like a million dollars on a Saturday night?”

Greyson raised a confused eyebrow. “I’mb… what am I, Warren Buffett? Ndo I’mb ndot ubering, Elijah, I’mb taking the train.” Again, despite the worrying amount of cough syrup he’d ingested, Greyson dissolved into a painful-sounding coughing fit. Elijah bit his cheek to keep from snapping.

“Grey,” he said, massaging his throat. “You’re not taking the train an hour home when you have a fucking fever. Just – fuck – GTSCHH-uhh! NGTSZCH-ue! Snrf.” Elijah snatched a tissue from the box Greyson thunked next to him, wiping his nose before finishing. “Just stay with mbe,” he said, congestion finally seeping into his voice. At this, Greyson visibly perked up.

“Stay… you mbean stay at your apartment?” he asked. “Like sleep at your apartment?”

The look on Elijah’s face betrayed his every feeling. “I – yes, you fucking freak, like sleep at my apartment, why are you being weird?”

“You ndever let anyone stay over at your apartment,” Greyson said, pushing out of his chair and putting his winter coat over what was definitely Elijah’s sweatshirt. “Like, it’s a whole thigg Matt and Mark and I joke about, that ndo one is allowed at your place past seven p.m because you have sombe sort of weird bedtime ritual ndo one can see. Mby theory was you’re one of those people who sleeps in those who-goes-there-ass old-timey pajamas. The ones with a hat.”

Elijah blinked. “People stay at my apartment,” he said. Throwing the GM’s coat into his lap, Greyson scoffed.

“Yeah?” Greyson asked as Elijah slowly pushed up from his chair. “Whend?”

“I mean, it’s been awhile,” Elijah mused. Now that he thought about it – when was the last time he had someone stay at his place? Greyson had never asked or needed to stay with him; if he was gallivanting through the city after work, he was staying with whoever took him to bed. Mark lived practically next door to the restaurant, so he and Matt had never asked to stay even if all of them were out drinking. And the last time he’d had a date come to the house… well, if he was being honest, he couldn’t remember ever having a date stay the night at his apartment.

“That’s what I thought,” Greyson said, grabbing onto the back of Elijah’s chair to keep from falling over. “Oh – jesus, shit, hold on.” The chef closed his eyes, took as deep of a breath as his spasming lungs could handle. Slowly, he let the breath out, unfurled his fingers from the chair, and opened one eye. “Okay,” Greyson said, “mbaybe the train would be out of the question.”

Elijah bleated out a laugh. “You think?” he said, clapping Greyson on the shoulder. “C’mon, patient zero. Let’s get you to bed.”

***

As the winter night sky parted and made way for the blue-black light of morning, Elijah let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for hours. Okay, he said to himself, time to get him to fucking urgent care.

Despite his goofing-off, his quipping, his inability to be serious for five fucking seconds, the moment Greyson’s body collapsed into Elijah’s bed, he crashed harder than Elijah had ever seen anyone crash. The shivers he’d had at the restaurant turned to shaking that rattled the headboard against the wall so loudly, Elijah assumed his neighbors would come and bang on the door. His teeth chattered in his head hard enough to crack the enamel, and his eyes, in the brief moments they were open, were bloodshot to hell. Greyson’s fever – however high it was, Elijah could only guess since he wasn’t exactly the type of guy who kept a thermometer lying around – just would not budge.

Elijah tried everything he knew to help get his friend’s fever down. At first, he tried to get Greyson to feel comfortable, to feel warm – piling blankets on top of him, forcing wool socks and a coat on him in bed, the whole nine. When that didn’t seem to do anything except make his skin burn hotter, Elijah tried moving on to old reliable: medicine.

The issue here was Greyson was barely conscious, and even getting water into him was proving difficult. “Greyson,” Elijah whispered after an hour of trying and failing to get the other man to swallow some ibuprofen. “Please, man, just take it, I promise you’ll feel better.”

Greyson’s eyes flitted open for a few moments, and Elijah pressed the pills into his hand. “Please,” he repeated. The chef attempted a nod, put the pills in his mouth, and immediately coughed them onto the bed; he shook his head, grabbing at his throat as the coughing continued. Unfortunately, Elijah related deeply to what his friend was implying: his throat was too swollen to swallow pills. Elijah swallowed around the knives in his own throat. Nodded.

“Okay,” he said, handing Greyson a cup filled with water instead. “Okay, fair enough.” God, why didn’t he keep any fucking Nyquil on hand?

After that episode, Elijah came to his senses and pulled out his phone to google how to get a fever down. One of the websites – one that looked to be for mothers of small children, but whatever, he’d try anything at this point – mentioned a lukewarm or cool bath, which didn’t sound like a terrible idea, but ultimately Greyson was seemingly unable to move and with the five inches and thirty pounds he had on Elijah, no shot was he getting carried to the bath.

Ultimately, Elijah ended up pressing a cool washcloth to Greyson’s forehead from three a.m. onward, the night spreading endlessly around him. The sleepless, worrying hours of trying to care for Greyson were only made worse by the fact that Elijah felt like absolute fucking dog shit; his lungs constricted with angry, bubbling coughs every few moments, and breathing out his nose was, as of about five in the morning, an absolute no-go. Worse still, as Greyson sweat through his sheets, Elijah could feel the stifling heat of his own fever spreading itself behind his eyes. Whatever it was that Greyson had managed to pick up, it certainly didn’t fuck around.

At seven a.m., when the alarm Elijah had set on his phone notified him that the closest urgent care would be open in thirty minutes, Greyson, who’d finally settled into a true sleep about an hour before, gasped himself awake.

“’S timbe for work?” he slurred, attempting to sit up. Elijah coughed out a hoarse laugh.

“Ndot exactly, bud,” he said, clearing his throat. “C’mond, let mbe help you uhh – uh… up-NGTSZCHH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side to avoid sneezing directly in Greyson’s face as he pulled the chef to a sitting position. Greyson pressed his eyebrows together, reached out to place a hand on Elijah’s forehead.

“You have a fever,” he mused, as Elijah pulled a few tissues from the near-depleted box on the end table. “I thought you said you weren’t sick?”

“I lied,” Elijah said plainly, shoving the tissues into the pocket of his hoodie. “Let’s go, up and at ’em, we’re getting you to urgent care.”

“Wh -? Urgent care, what do you mbean? I’mb fine.” Greyson said as Elijah slowly helped him to his feet. Elijah laughed again, this time doubling over into his elbow to cough.

“Please don’t mbake mbe laugh,” Elijah said, helping Greyson into one of the winter coats he had hanging in his closet – Greyson’s coat had been sweat through multiple times over, and Elijah wasn’t about to brave the doctor’s office with the smell of fever sweat coating the two of them. It seemed, frankly, a little too on the nose.

“Ndot trying to be funny,” Greyson mumbled as he shakily put on the coat. “’S just a cold, Lij.” As he said it, Elijah could see his eyes starting to roll back in his head, felt his fever-warm body go limp – fuck.

“Grey!” Elijah yelled, jerking the chef back to a standing position. Greyson came back to quickly, collapsing into a barking fit of coughing that wouldn’t subside until Elijah sat him back on the bed. This is going to be harder than I thought. “Are you okay?” Elijah asked, Greyson’s arm still gripped in his hand. Shakily, Greyson nodded; clearly the near-fall was enough to scare him.

“Fuck,” Greyson moaned, pulling a hand down his face. “I haven’t felt this shitty in…. I don’t even kndow how long. Hh-! HRRSHHT! Fuckigg ow.” Greyson pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, his headache palpable even to Elijah. The GM sighed, rubbed his friend’s back.

“That’s why we’re goigg to urgent care,” he said. “This is clearly beyond mby scope of ability. I almbost took you to the ER last ndight.”

Greyson looked at Elijah as if he were completely deranged. “I appreciate you ndot bankrupting mbe over a fuckigg fever,” he said, some levity breathed back into the room. Elijah croaked out a chuckle. “But… I mbean yeah, okay, I guess it couldn’t hurt to go.”

At this, Elijah pat Greyson once on the back. “Good mban,” he said, once again helping the chef to his feet. Greyson squeezed his eyes shut as he stood, an attempt to not lose consciousness again.

“Ndot sure I’mb gonna mbake it down the elevator, you mbay have to carry mbe to the car,” he joked, an attempt to keep Elijah calm. At the word car, Elijah’s heart sunk.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, pressing a palm to his face. “The boys have the fuckigg car.” Greyson pressed his lips together, remembering. Matt and Mark were hundreds of miles away at the Jersey shore. With Elijah’s only mode of transportation. With Greyson sick as a fucking dog, and Elijah well on his way to being down just a bad. The fucking boys have the fucking car.

“Where’s the clinic,” Greyson said, his voice thin. Elijah looked down at his phone.

“Three miles away,” he said. “It’s… oh, fuck mbe I forgot about the fuckigg mbarathon this weekend.” He pressed a few buttons on his phone, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ubers are like a hundred and fifty bucks,” he murmured. Greyson groaned.

“Don’t tell mbe we have to take the fuckigg subway,” he said, eyes still closed. Elijah bit his cheek; their options were more than limited. Without a car, and with the possibility of an uber even picking the two of them up looking the way they did near-zero, their choices were basically train… or walk. A glance in Greyson’s direction proved that walking was simply not an option.

“Let’s try to get sombe ibuprofen in you,” he said, guiding Greyson towards the kitchen. “It’s gonnda be a long train ride.”

***

The fact that they made it to this god-forsaken clinic was nothing short of a complete fucking miracle.

Getting to the train was bad enough; after pumping Greyson with enough ibuprofen to kill an elephant, topped off with four shots of espresso to keep him awake enough to get to the subway, the two of them set out on their jaunt. Still, it took nearly thirty minutes for the two of them to walk three blocks to the subway station.

“Greyson,” Elijah said for what felt like the thousandth time, “we gotta pick up the pace, kid, you’re killigg mbe here.”

“I – HGTSCHHH-uhh! Snrk. I’mb goigg as fast as I possibly cand,” Greyson mumbled, wiping his running nose on the coat Elijah had lent him. If this nursing-home shuffle was as fast as he could go, Elijah mused, they’d be lucky to get there next fucking year. Pursing his lips, Elijah looped his arm through Greyson’s and started dragging. “Stop pulling,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his own forehead. “’M gonnda pass out if we go any faster.”

“Then pass out,” Elijah said, continuing to pull. “It’d take the same ambount of timbe for me to drag your lifeless corpse through the street. We ndeed to get theehh – holdon-NGTZCHH-ue! Hh-! Hhh…” Elijah held an elbow up to his face, trying to use the very few exposed rays of sunlight to coax out the second sneeze. It was in vain; Elijah let out a shaky breath, annoyed.

Beside him, Greyson regarded Elijah with bloodshot, half-lidded eyes. “Bless you,” he said, sniffling. Elijah returned his watery gaze with a venomous scowl.

“I should, like, sue you for givigg mbe this,” he said, arm still locked in his friend’s. “This is a fucked-up illndess to give to someone.”

Elijah couldn’t tell if Greyson was nodding, or if he momentarily lost consciousness, causing his head to bob. Either way, when he lifted his gaze to look Elijah in the eyes again, he was finally smiling. “Yeah,” he said, coughing away from his friend. “Yeah, I mbean, when you’re right, you’re right.”

By the time they reached the train, Elijah was completely spent. Greyson had been so dizzy for the last half of the walk that he’d pulled the hood of his coat over his eyes and pressed his face into Elijah’s shoulder while they trudged forward, adding what felt like a billion pounds to Elijah’s already-weighed-down-by-fever body. They had made it, though, down the stairs and into the train and – blessedly – into two seats that faced the outside. Finally, when the tinny voice canned in from above asked them to stand clear of the closing doors, please, Elijah dropped his head between his legs and let out a brutal fit of coughs.

“Y’okay?” Greyson asked from behind the hood with both hands shielding his eyes like a visor. When he finally caught his breath, Elijah slowly turned slowly towards the chef and gave an exhausted nod.

“Great,” he rasped. “Ndever better.”

Urgent care was five stops away – five of the longest fucking stops Elijah had ever endured. Each time the train jerked forward or ground to a halt, Greyson made a tiny, terrible whimper in discomfort, a noise that broke Elijah’s heart each time it escaped his lips. “You’re okay, kid,” Elijah muttered, rubbing his friend’s arm while he silently cursed himself for not just paying the two hundred dollars for a stupid uber. “Almbost there.”

After what felt like an eon, the train finally pulled into their station, and Elijah summoned all the strength he had left to hoist Greyson to his feet and pull him out the door. By the grace of whatever-the-fuck entity was watching this scene unfold, the clinic was the first thing he saw when they made their way up the stairs. Small mercies, he thought, dragging Greyson across the street and in through the double doors. Small fucking mercies.

***

“I take it you’re Mr. Abbott?”

As the nurse practitioner breezed through the door she smiled at Elijah, who was sitting in the chair immediately to her right. The GM swung his head around to look her in the eye – fuck, she was pretty. Figures, he thought, wiping under his nose.

“Uh, ndo, I’mb Mr. Morrison – uh, I’m Elijah. That’s the patient,” Elijah said, pointing at Greyson swinging his feet loopily on the exam table. The NP hummed, taking her seat on the stool next to the computer.

“My apologies,” she said, adjusting her mask so it was more secure over her nose and mouth – can’t blame her there, Elijah thought. “Mr. Abbott, I’m Emily. I’ll be helping you out today.”

“Ohh, you cand call mbe Greyson, Doctor Embily,” Greyson said, smiling sloppily. From his chair, Elijah’s face burned red – only Greyson would be able to flirt with a hundred-and-three-degree fever. The NP smiled.

“Just Emily is fine,” she said, her voice kind and cheerful. “Can you tell me a little bit about what’s going on with you?”

Greyson, still with a half-drunk smile pasted on his face, just shrugged. “I’mb good,” he said, before turning suddenly to cough into the collar of his jacket, long enough for Emily to wince and bring him a cup of water from the machine right outside the door of the exam room they were in. “Thangks,” Greyson rasped, sipping the water with his eyes closed. “D’you mbind if I, uh, lay down for a mbinute?”

The NP nodded, then stood in time with Elijah to help him lay Greyson on the crumpled paper. While Greyson fought back the dizziness, Emily the NP turned towards Elijah. “Maybe you could help us with the details?” she asked, smiling.

Elijah nodded, cleared his throat. Fought back a shiver – why the fuck do they keep these offices so fucking cold? “Yeah,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “Sure thiihh – hh..scusembe-NGTXCH-uhh!” Elijah attempted to stifle the sneeze into the sleeve of his sweatshirt, to no avail. Before he could even look around for one, Emily placed a tissue box on the chair next to Elijah, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Bless,” she said, simply. Elijah nodded, taking a tissue and wiping his nose to keep from seeming any grosser that he already was.

“Thangks, sorry,” he said, swallowing painfully. “Uh, yeah, I mbean he’s had a fever since… Friday, I thingk? Thursday ndight, mbaybe? And a cough, which has definitely gotten, uh, worse…” Again, Elijah held up a finger as though to say give me a minute, before turning away in hopes of a sneeze. This time, he wasn’t so lucky – it evaded him, and left in its place a crunchy, painful cough. On the exam bed, Greyson coughed in time with his boss. The NP raised her eyebrows.

“And… is there a reason you aren’t up on that exam table with him?” she asked, her voice light. Greyson croaked out a laugh, not opening his eyes. Ignoring the chef, Elijah attempted a smile.

“I’mb okay,” he promised, clearing his throat. “Anyway, last ndight the fever just got really intense, he was shakigg and couldn’t get mbedicine down and uh… yeah.” Elijah blinked, trying to clear his head. “Is that… does that help?”

Emily nodded, standing. “It does,” she said. “Let’s take a look and see what we can do.” She approached Greyson then, placing a hand on the bed. “Mr. Abbott? Is it okay if your husband and I help you up?”

At this, Greyson’s eyes flew open. “Mby what?” he asked, coughing out another laugh. A look of panic passed over Emily’s eyes, and she looked back at Elijah as if for confirmation. Elijah just rubbed his face with one hand, a modicum of embarrassment on his face.

“We’re, uh… he’s ndot mby husband,” he said, standing to help the NP lift Greyson to a seated position. “We’re busindess partners. Friends, y’kndow, and… business partners.”

“I keep askigg and askigg, and he keeps sayigg ‘ndo’,” Greyson said, a hand kept over one eye to keep from falling down or passing out as he sat up. He smiled at Emily, a charmer to the end, even when he was half-dead. “You’d thingk I’d kndow how to deal with the heartbreak by ndow, but it just ndever gets easier,” he said, turning once again to cough away from the other two. Emily flashed Elijah a confused look.

“He’s kidding,” Elijah promised, sniffling. “I’d say it’s the fever, but really this is just… how he is.”

Emily nodded slowly. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed anything,” she said, putting the earbuds of her stethoscope in her ears and placing the cold bell on Greyson’s chest. Coughing into his sleeve, Elijah lowered himself back into his seat.

“All good,” he said, voice mangled. “You wouldn’t be the first person to assumbe it.”

The NP worked quietly then, asking Greyson to breathe as she listened to his lungs, checking his throat and ears, swabbing his nose for a flu test and his tonsils for strep. By the time she was finished and the rapid tests were back, Greyson looked ready to pass out again.

“Alright, Mr. Abbott,” Emily said, breezing into the exam room with a clipboard in hand. “Good news and bad news; the good news is, you tested negative for strep. Bad news is you tested positive for Flu A, and based on how your lungs sound, I’d say you also have bronchitis. And most likely, a sinus infection.”

From his laid-out position on the bed, Greyson attempted a smile. “Yay?” he said, coughing into his hand. Emily laughed a little behind her mask.

“I’m going to prescribe you an antibiotic for the sinus infection; unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about the flu or the bronchitis, unless you’d like a steroid shot. Obviously get rest and lots of fluids, over the counter medicine is fine, too, you can take it with the antibiotic. Do you need a doctor’s note for work?”

Greyson smiled at Elijah from the bed. “Mmm, ndo pretty sure mby boss believes that I’mb sick,” he said. Elijah rolled his eyes, then pressed his hand deep into one of their sockets when pain spread behind them. Emily also turned to look at Elijah.

“Ah, yeah, I forgot. Business partners,” she said, swiveling the seat of her chair to face Elijah and scooting herself towards his seat. The GM’s heart thumped in time with his head as she approached. “As for you, Mr…?”

“Elijah is finde,” Elijah said, suppressing a cough by swallowing hard.

“Elijah,” Emily repeated. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

When was the last time a woman asked you that? Elijah thought to himself, nodding. Emily gently brought her hands to his face and pressed under his eyes and holy fucking shit, fucking ouch.

“Jesus,” Elijah said, reeling back before turning away from her to suddenly – “HRRTSH-ue! NGTSCHHH-uhh!” The NP’s eyes betrayed the smile behind her mask.

“Bless you,” she said, backing up to her computer. “That’s what I figured; listen, I don’t normally do two-for-one type stuff, but it’s pretty clear that you have what he has, so I’m going to go ahead and prescribe a round of antibiotics for you as well. Keep you from having to come back in a couple days.”

Elijah’s face flamed as he grabbed another tissue and quietly blew his nose. This woman was the first person he’d felt those adolescent butterflies for in – he didn’t even know how long, honestly – and of course he was laid out, barely able to talk and sneezing in her face. The universe has it out for me, I swear to god.

“Uh, okay,” Elijah said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thangk you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, typing into her computer. When she finished and turned back to the two ill men, she smiled with her eyes. “Is there anything else I can do for the two of you?”

“You could hit mbe with a blow dart and wake mbe up when this shit is gone,” Greyson said, coughing again. Elijah bit the inside of his cheek while the NP laughed.

“Outside my jurisdiction,” she said, standing. “My apologies. Well, if that’s all then I’ll let you two get home. Take care of yourselves, if things get worse don’t be afraid to come back in.” Emily opened the door, pulled her mask down to smile at the two of them. Fuck, this woman is gorgeous. “Feel better,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

***

“So, do you thingk you’re goigg to go by Mr. Doctor Embily?” Greyson asked, propping himself up on an elbow. “Or is that, like, too on-the-ndose?”

From under the warm washcloth he’d placed over his aching sinuses, Elijah snorted and threw his friend a playful middle finger. “You’re an asshole,” he muttered, pulling the blanket Greyson had moved when he shifted positions back over his torso. “That womban wouldn’t touch mbe with a ten-foot pole after the fuckigg performance we put on in there.”

“Mmmb, I don’t kndow about that,” Greyson mused plucking the washcloth off of Elijah’s face and placing it over his own. “Seemed like she thought you were cute.”

This time, Elijah was the one who sat up. “Yeah,” he said grabbing both his and Greyson’s cups of TheraFlu off the side table and pressing the chef’s cup into his hand. “Ndothing cuter than sombe guy nearly sneezing into your open eyes. Dringk your damn mbedicine.”

Greyson did as he was told, sifting through the arsenal of Doordashed medications the two men had laid out on the bed as he sipped. After they’d stumbled out of the urgent care Elijah, who’d held it together as well as was humanly possible the past thirty hours, hit a wall so hard he nearly dropped to his knees. Without saying anything, Greyson had pulled out his phone and ordered an eye-wateringly expensive uber to cart them the few miles back to Elijah’s apartment; in return, Elijah had sent for an equally expensive courier to pick them up a pharmacy’s worth of medication and the best soup that the upper west side had to offer. While they waited for everything to be delivered, the two shivering, coughing men curled into Elijah’s sweat-soaked bed, listening to the labored sounds of one another’s breathing until they both passed out.

Now, an hour later and finally medicated, Greyson seemed wont to talk, while Elijah felt himself slipping into a deeper rung of illness. His whole body ached; he could think of nothing but sleep. Still, Greyson continued to prod.

“I’mb being serious,” Greyson said, unwrapping a cough drop and popping it in his mouth. “Mbaybe you should go back and ask for her ndumber.”

Elijah, eyes laden with bags from a sleepless night, flushed and sweating and breathing through his mouth, looked at Greyson, deadpan. “Look mbe in the eye and tell mbe that’s a goooo – hh… snrf. A good ideahh – hhGTSCHHH-oo! HRRTSCH-uh!” He wrenched to the side just in time, groaning at the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, Elijah saw Greyson wince.

“Well, obviously wait a few days,” he said, prompting Elijah to throw a pillow at him. The chef laughed, a soupy cough punctuating it.

“God, this is fuckigg mbiserable,” Elijah muttered, laying down again. “I can’t believe you worked yesterday feeling like this.”

Shrugging, Greyson placed his cup back on the side table and laid down as well. “I’mb mbade of different stuff, what can I say,” he joked. Elijah made a sound between a laugh and a snort before closing his eyes, the soft tendrils of sleep curling their fingers around his fevered mind. Moments before he dropped off, Elijah heard Greyson speak up again. “Hey, Lij?”

“Mmm?” Elijah muttered, sleep still right on the horizon. When Greyson didn’t immediately speak up, he opened one eye just a crack. Greyson, face pale and lips cracked, was looking right at him, clearly thinking of how to put whatever it was he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke up again.

“Thangk you,” Greyson said. “For takigg care of mbe.”

For a moment, Elijah just stared back, the sincerity of the sentiment setting him off-balance in a way he wasn’t expecting. Elijah rubbed his face to wake up enough to speak, nodded without letting his head leave the pillow. “’Course, Grey,” he said, attempting a weak smile. “That’s what friends are for.” He shrugged then, nonchalant, and closed his eyes once again. “I kndow you’d do the sambe for mbe.”

“Yeah,” Greyson said, voice soft. “I would.”

Right on the edge of sleep, Elijah allowed himself the last word. “Grey?”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever get mbe this sigck again, I will shoot you with a gun.”

For the first time in days, Greyson laughed in earnest. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said. “Ndight, Lij.”

“G’night,” Elijah mumbled before finally, blessedly, drifting into sleep.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #snzblr #illness #fever fic #flu fic #whump #hurt/comfort #we love a terrible title around here!! i'm so bad at titles i could end it all #i hope you guys like this one!! i know ive written a lot lately and ppl may be sick of these guys lol #but ultimately i do write for an audience of one: me #as should we all i think!!#anyway have a good weekend friends!

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