#passed this bit a while ago but not only am i obsessed with the house.... i'm obsessed with the car too.....

[lesbianalanwake]

She might never leave the road at all, but just hurry on and on until the wheels of the car were worn to nothing and she had come to the end of the world.

The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson

[allbark-no-bite]

Don’t Say Love || Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: you notice Rafe is different in the mornings, softer in someways. Definitely not in others

word count: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ smut, wouldn’t consider anything in here a OBX3 spoiler

author’s note: this one’s pretty short and sweet. enjoy :)

Propped up only by my own elbow and a tangle of his limbs, I caress his timelessly drawn face. There's a half smile underneath my fingers, and I pass my index finger over his mouth. My finger ventures past his lips, pushing them aside to reveal glossy white teeth. Rafe reels his head back slightly as to ward off my ridiculous ministrations.

"What are you doing?" His tone verges on the rhetorical side, obviously possessing little interest in entertaining whatever I'm up to but willing to amuse me for now. It's the least he could do after being inside me just a few hours ago.

Nevertheless, I am relentless, as with all things in life and when he returns to my reach, rather than answering him, I pursue my venture again. This time he allows it, his lip curling upwards to indulge me further. My finger runs along the slick gloss of his pearly teeth — teeth that have both scraped along the tender skin of my throat and aligned on occasion to remind me of just what made him so attractive. I rather adored his pristinely bleached smile and it's viscous canines.

"I love you," I whisper to him. It means no more than the obscenities that I moaned into his mouth last night as he ground his hips into me. It's not a dramatic proclamation of my affection for him, nor a confession in the slightest. I just—I like him. I like him differently than I have ever liked anyone else.

He breaks into a smile and scoffs, almost laughing as he falls backs onto the mattress. "Don't say that," he admonishes gently.

I bite the bottom of my lip to keep from laughing myself. This whole thing was ridiculous. Turning to catch his gaze again, we smile at each other, lips pressed together to convey what we won't say out loud. Something inside me knows he won't be this way tomorrow. He won't share this same look with me, won't be this gentle or placid again.

The thing is, I would go all in if he let me. Would place all my cards on the table if he said he wanted me to. He needs a four? Sure, I've got a four. What else? I would willingly give him everything.

Laying in his bed together the morning after a party is an occurrence that has become more and more common over the past month. Admittedly a welcome one. We're not a item, probably never will be, but it's nice to think that he's mine for now.

With Rafe, things between us are so utterly simple. I don't think I've ever had so much fun with one person. And it's not even that he's so entirely special or even the love of my life. He's cocky and charming and a bit of a jerk at times, but I like that about him.

Sometimes, while we're laying in the darkness together, he tells me that if he had grown up differently he would be less of a nervous wreck and more honest. I tell him that I grew up mostly alone, in a small little house with my alcohol obsessed father, who was still growing up himself when he became a dad. That nothing was ever enough, but how was I supposed to know the difference? I tell him that his family is alright because at least he has siblings and a father who loves him, even if that love is questionable.

He smiles softly and pulls my hand away from his mouth, kissing the palm of it tenderly. His lips grace the inside of my wrist and warmth spreads through my naked body. I slip my leg over his waist, pulling myself on top of him. The white sheets that have been doing very little to cover our bareness slip further down my waist — I am sure much to his enjoyment. His broad chest expands as he breathes in, and I watch the steady rise and fall of it.

"Quit doing that."

"Doing what?" he asks, his voice still gruff with sleep, wondering what I could possibly be on about this time.

"That panty-dropping smile. It's ridiculous."

Twinkling, his blue eyes gaze up at me, as if storing the image of me to his memory. His billowy white shirt is barley enough to cover the top of my thighs from where I'm straddled over him, pining his hips to the plush mattress. The light coming in from the early morning sun seeps in through the curtains, slowly swallowing everything in his bedroom whole and washing us in gold.

"It worked, didn't it?" he chuffs, lazily sliding a warm palm up my bare thigh. Timidly, he hooks a finger on the edge of the sheet bunched around my waist and tugs it back slightly. Without an ounce of shame, his eyes dip down to indulge in my bareness. "God, you're so fucking sexy," he groans, his head falling back onto the pillow for dramatic effect.

Laughing, I lean down to kiss his puffy lips, and he graciously meets me part of the way. I pull away to press my lips to his chin, and then his jaw, and then his collar bone, spending no more time on the next than the first until I reach his shoulder. This time, I kiss the firm muscle there, lingering to drag my nose along his skin. His scent engulfs me – manly, with the lingering traces of expensive cologne and the musk of sex.

With all the tenderness that I can muster, I attach my lips to the hollow of his throat, close my eyes and breathe him in. I want to remember him. All of him. My tongue smooths across his salty skin, working to soothe the already bruising flesh. Beside my ear, the swallow of his throat echos clearly, but he doesn't budge beneath me. His skin tastes salty and raw, unsullied by the usual cleanly redolence of woody soap and washing detergent. I continue to suck until his taste is tinged coppery, and only then do I release him. The imprint remains after I pull away, the impression red and tender on his throat.

There, in the bruising flesh of his skin, is my only claim to him.

In a way, it is impressive — his charisma. He is so good at giving me nothing at all and making me feel as though I have everything. He breathes my name and it sounds like his religion. I'm an atheist, truthfully, but I have come to believe that religion is mostly subjective anyhow. I'm certain the golden cross around Rafe's neck means very little to him.

His jaw cracks open in a yawn, revealing pink gums and pearly teeth again as he reaches his arms over his head and flexes his legs beneath me. I reach out to graze my knuckles along his jaw, reveling in the barely there bristles and the way the sun catches on them, turning blonde to gold. In the morning light, his eyes shine wet with a combination of bleary affection and sleep.

After stretching his body into wakefulness, Rafe grabs my face in his large hands and draws me towards him, kissing my forehead, then my nose, and then the corners of my mouth. His thumbs caress my cheekbones, petting aside lose strands of hair.

"I've got some things to take care of today," he informs me vaguely while gently removing me from the entanglement of his body. Suddenly he's not underneath me anymore, and I'm left on his pristine mattress alone.

It's my turn to stare as he shuffles around the room. Smiling smugly to myself, I watch as he tugs on a fresh pair of boxers from the floor, the material fitting snuggly around him.

"Yeah?" I hum, trying not to sound too disappointed. "What kinds of things?" I really don't care, just want to ask him to stay a while longer, but I'm not sure I should push my luck.

"Family stuff," he answers mindlessly, effectively putting a stop the the conversation as he turns away. His retreating back gives me a perfect display of his sinewy body as he walks into the connecting bathroom. I wait, listening to the sound of water splash into the sink and Rafe brushing his teeth before I muster up the will to get out of his warm bed.

The title is cold against my bare feet, and I whine at the unpleasantness of the sensation. Immediately seeking the comfort of Rafe's warmth again, I curl around him from behind, my face pressed into his neck. He hums from around his toothbrush, one palm leant against the counter as he scrubs with the other.

Presented with the opportunity in which both of his hands are occupied, my own hand that is splayed across his stomach slides downwards. His blue eyes flicker up to mine in the reflection of the mirror. Teasingly, I cup my hand to palm his crotch.

He's already hard, straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. His nostrils flare, toothbrush still in his mouth as my hand slides back up, fingers slipping under the waistband of his boxers, warming to his skin.

Rafe dips down to the sink to spit and rinse his mouth before straightening, both palms gripping the counter. His chest heaves, muscles sliding over his ribs when I take him in my hand. He's heavy and throbbing. There is nothing deceiving about what's being concealed within the confines of his pants.

"You gotta go?" I ask softly, kissing between his tensed shoulder blades as my thumb swipes over his weeping tip. His hips stutter into my hand at the motion.

Rafe swallows heavy, head dipped down as he shakes it. "No, no," he dismisses, his voice thick. He clears his throat. "If you stop now I'll never get that thing tucked into my pants."

I nearly laugh against his back, pressing my lips against his impossibly warm skin again. His blue eyes narrow at me jadedly through the mirror. Not funny, is what that look means.

I pump him lazily a few times, twisting my wrist as my hand slides up and down his shaft. He's already slick with precum and likely very close to coming. There's an a large portion of it already leaking through the front of his navy blue boxers.

"Fuuuuck, baby," he moans, tucking his nose into his shoulder to get a grip on himself. "Jesus—fuck me."

With a whimper that's a dignified as he can muster, his body jerks when I rub my thumb over the swollen pink head. He's breathing hard at this point, trying to breathe and restrain himself at the same time. He won't let go until I say so.

"Good boy," I murmur softly, my lips attached to his shoulder, the top of his spine — the spine that I'm noticing is becoming less and less ridged with each passing week. With his dad off in Guadeloupe, his posture has lost the intensity that it usually carries. His brow has softened too, and he smiles a bit more often.

“You're a good boy, Rafe," I repeat. He is. He's good to me. He can be a good guy when he wants to be. I think people are so focused on this preconceived idea of him that he just goes with it rather than fighting it.

He whines, with his eyes closed, jaw slack, and head hanging down. I change the pace, alternating between pumping him until he's clinging to the sink and going so slow that his hips buck up into my fist, chasing what I won't give him.

"Please, (y/n)," he finally asks, his voice strained as he pants.

I hum, my body lounging nonchalantly against his back, admiring his ability to keep his composure for so long. He's beautiful like this, golden skin flushed red, chest heaving. So much to be trusted with in my hands.

The moment I give him the okay, he's spilling into my hand, his hot release dripping down my fingers and I'm sure the front of his boxers. He sags against the sink, body limp and boneless as the high of his orgasm fades away.

Smiling privately to myself at his sudden lethargy, I draw my hand away as he gathers himself. There's a crumpled towel on the floor that I use to wipe my hand. I’m not entirely sure it was clean in the first place.

Rafe nabs it from me when I’m done and uses it to clean himself up as well. Then, as if he was not doubled over, receiving a handjob against the sink moments before, he splashes cold water on his face and slips out of the bathroom. Through the doorway, I can see him opening and closing drawers as he searches for clothes.

"Very dignified," I hum watching him tug his pants on out of the corner of my eye. "Coming in your boxers."

"Shut up."

[lowkeyremi]

Compatible choso x fem!reader

remi's note: thank u guys again for 1k AHHHHHHH idk where i'd be without your support!! you guys chose choso so here's the 1k special fic!! i am obsessed with the "best friend's older brother trope" yuji is the best friend :3

content: fluff, meeting, yuji doesn't get a break, etc.

Being one of Yuji's closest friends you've seen his "roommate" as you like to call him, every once in awhile. He would always leave his room to grab something to eat or such whenever you were hanging out with your pink haired friend.

Today you finally had the courage to ask who he was. You and Yuji are sitting very close on his couch, practically cuddling, while watching Inuyasha on Netflix when you suddenly ask, "Hey Yuji, who's that black haired guy who lives with you?"

He doesn't turn his attention away from the tv but instead answers you with, "you know how I told you I have a brother?"

He notices you nodding in his peripheral vision. "Yeah, well that's my older half brother Choso."

"Oh.. I thought he was like your roommate or something." Yuji chuckles, "haha.. technically yeah. I'm crashing with him until I get a place of my own. He doesn't mind though."

This whole time you thought this was Yuji's place, but it does make sense. Yuji's been job-hopping lately. He hasn't had a stable career in seven months.

And speak of the devil, Choso came out of his room without a shirt on, he passes by the two of you on his way to the kitchen then he stops, "Sesshomaru is the best character."

The two brothers argued about this for twenty minutes. Apparently it's a hot take in their house hold. "Inuyasha is obviously better than his older brother!" Yuji yells for the 9th time.

"Sesshomaru is cooler, and has a better understanding of the world. Like me. You only like Inuyasha because you're a younger brother." What he's saying actually does make some sense.

"Yuji, I have to agree with your brother. On top of Sesshomaru being smarter he's also hotter." Yuji looks betrayed in a playful way.

"What?? Oh come on! Not you too. Might as well go hang out with my brother, you traitor." Yuji isn't serious about the offer but Choso makes the offer real.

"I mean, if you're not opposed to it we can hang out? I don't mind joining you two." He's standing closer to the couch now with a mug of tea in his hand.

His shirtless body does something to you, because your mouth hangs open trying to form a response but you close it again not knowing what to say.

"We're good thanks! Go on back to your cave, Batman!" Yuji rolls his eyes trying to get his brother to leave.

"I was asking her, dumbass. Not you." He says getting close enough to kick Yuji and the younger retaliates by trying to block it.

"Um sure, you can hang out with us." You mumble and Yuji whines in defeat.

"Seriously?! I'm your friend not him!!" To your ears it sound like the pink haired boy is jealous.

"Scoot over Yuji. I'll sit in the middle." Choso says with a smirk on his face.

"Nuh-uh! I'm sitting next to [name] you don't even know her like that!!"

That was the first time you'd hung out with Choso Kamo.

---------

That was about four months ago, as of current, you're sitting on Choso's bed waiting for him to grab the snacks you two bought a few hours ago.

When he returns you show him a tiktok that reminds you of him, "Cho, you look like this cat!" Upon seeing the cat he chuckles a little bit, "I do not."

Yuji's started working a night job so you usually hang out with Choso until he gets off of work.

"Thanks for the snacks. I love these ones." He nods politely at you and joins you on his bed. The first time the two of you hung out in his room you were very nervous and sat on his floor as to not invade his privacy. He thought it was so cute how you were acting and invited you up on his bed.

You told him it was a mistake on his behalf because now you make yourself comfortable in his bed any time you come over.

"Do you wanna finish that show we were watching?" You turn to him and catch him staring at you. He quickly turns away and fakes a cough. You've been wondering if your accusations were true.

Yuji tells you that all his brother wants to talk about now is you. Yuji suspects his brother has a crush on you, but when he confronted him the gloomy looking male denied it. Yuji doesn't know that you like Choso.

"Yeah sure, do you wanna, like, cuddle? Platonically, though." You wonder if he's making it clear for you that he doesn't like you or he's just trying to keep you from becoming uncomfortable.

"What if I wanted to cuddle romantically??" You ask with a sudden sprout of bravery.

"Um.. I'd be okay with that, heh." He says shyly, you noticed how his face slightly turned red.

"I like hanging out with you, Cho." You crawl into his lap and he wraps his arms around you. He places his head in the crook of your neck and breathes in deeply.

"I lik- no I love hanging out with you too, [name]."

[charmedreincarnation]

Hello! How are you? I am very good for now. because after trying for over a year I switched to void state last night very easily! it was an incredibly amazing experience for me. I stumbled upon your account on tumblr a few days ago, I saw a lot of people have succeeded with the method you suggested! I felt so happy for them!

Now I will tell my own success story.

I used to be so obsessed with it that I was just procrastinating and "trying" to get into the void when I had so much work to do whenever I had free time.

Throughout this process, I always thought that I would not succeed and always went back to the beginning. I was very bad with everyone around me, I was constantly fighting and exposed to violence. In short, I was experiencing hell on this earth.

Months passed and I decided to focus on my life a little bit. I tried to think positively and convince myself how easy it was for me to manifest. But there was one very important thing that I forgot, all the evil forces in this hell were coming only on me, only me.

I spent the whole of last year and the first months of this year like a living dead...

But in these last few days, I have made a decision that will radically change my life. Before, I tried every method to enter void constantly, but something was not going well every time. So I decided that it would be easier and more useful to just assume that I woke up there, rather than making dozens of efforts to enter void 2 days ago.

THE DAY I FINALLY ENTERED THE VOID CONSCIOUSLY!

I didn't listen to the subliminal, I just did a 20-minute meditation, my wish to revisit life in more detail. At the end of the meditation, I said only one affirmation: I will wake up in void tonight.

I wasn't tired and very sleepy that night (these are usually what people think is necessary for a void).I just lay on my bed in my usual position and affirmed that I would wake up in void at night. After that I already went straight to sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night, I didn't move. The sounds were so muffled, it's like you're listening to a song through a broken earpiece, that's how I heard it. I stayed like that for a few minutes, then the sounds suddenly stopped and I felt myself being pulled into the darkness. My heart was beating so fast, so I focused on calming myself. I couldn't feel my body anymore, as if someone was separating my soul from my body and floating it in a vacuum of space. That's when I realized that I really succeeded! And I calmed down for a while and then said my affirmations. I didn't make a special list, so I said it all one by one.

My manifests:

The face and body I dreamed of down to the smallest detail

My desired name, surname(i have two names in different languages)

My dream room and house with all the items on my Pinterest board(There were almost 50K pins on the board I mentioned...)

I overhauled my father as someone else entirely. With his nationality, zodiac sign, appearance, name.(I also added that he is a person who gets along perfectly with his 4 children and his wife!)

I made my mother younger in appearance, not in age, I also wished her a happy and peaceful life in every way.

As for our financial situation, my father is an extraordinarily wealthy businessman, we own the largest house and the most luxurious car in my city. We also have 4 modern apartments and 1 huge villa in another city! It does not end with these, we also have houses in America, France, England!

I also manifested new phone and other electronic gadgets.

We are 4 siblings in the family and we all get along very well, no hurtful words and no violence!

I have a private room for my unfinished clothes in my room and a very nice bathroom adjacent to my room!

I also manifested success in the lessons: no matter how long the paragraph is, it stays in my mind only once I read it and I never forget it! I do not have a single error in all the tests I have solved.

We have a total of 4 pets including 2 cats and a puppy and a husky dog. Our garden is huge, with a big swing, a covered area to sit in in the winter, and lots of lavender flowers, white roses!

By the way, I manifested that I have lived this life from the beginning, so our house is full of memories we have accumulated with my siblings and parents since childhood, our childhood photos everywhere, emotional diaries my mother wrote when she was pregnant.

I also manifested new friends to myself: one of them is famous (keep this part private lol), I wished to meet him since childhood. Apart from her, I also have a male friend who is our family friend and my best friend who lives with us.

That's all I wanted, I left everything else to my subconscious and my last sentence before leaving the void was "I will open my eyes to the life I dreamed of".

Finally, when I came out of the void, I heard my brother's voice, scolding me for turning off the air conditioner in my room and leaving it on until morning, and saying that he would be very upset if I got sick. (it did indeed come true more perfectly than I had imagined! )

The reason why I wrote my success story and the life I manifested at length is this: most people limit their desires and try to make do with less. Believe me, I was thinking the same way a month ago, thinking that living the life I wanted was unfair to the people in my life. But lately, thanks to what those people did to me, I realized that all this time I had been unfair to myself, not to them. After realizing this, I reminded myself that I only deserved the life of my dreams.

And now that I'm who I should be, I'm pretty happy with it. I can't thank you enough  my dear. The success stories you shared motivated me a lot and helped me take action.

I am so proud of you my love. I absolutely adore revision stories as well as the usage of intention which is my personal favorite method. No method is stronger than your will to have your desires. Thank you so much for sharing your story and I hope you continue to always live your best life <3

[writersdare]

Two Gummy Worms | Luke Hemmings

Pairing: Luke Hemmings x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Luke was determined to take Y/N on a night drive. Some things, though, didn't want to go according to his perfect plan.

Warning: friends to lovers, fluff, mentioning of food

Word Count: 1 503

Requested: yes

Author’s Note: Honestly I enjoyed writing it so much, it gave me some sense of comfort, and I really hope you'll feel it as well once you read it ♡ Also, yes, I am obsessed with Luke's blue eyes, you can't take it from me...

A calm evening was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Y/N lazily got up from a couch and wandered into the hall, feeling tiredness with her whole body. Someone celebrated Fridays with friends in local bars, Y/N, though, preferred to spent it quietly that time. Watching a silly show on Netflix, she’s been wrapping herself up in an old blanket, which was given by her friend Luke few years ago. Maybe – only maybe – it was fair to correct that the poor blanket was actually stolen from him, however, in Y/N’s defence, Luke didn’t use it much anyway, so the girl only borrowed something he never needed. 

Possibly, the stolen blanket made the guy to come over uninvited; in any case, once Y/N opened the door, she saw the friend on the threshold of her apartment.

“Let’s go,” without a proper greeting, Luke grabbed Y/N’s hand and dragged her out of the house.

“Where?” the girl stumbled, trying her best to stay where she was. Y/N was in her PJs, the hair was carelessly tide up in something close to a ponytail — the look that simply screamed “I’m staying in today”.

“For a drive. I’ll bring you back in few hours,” he promised, sounding both calm and determined.

“I warned you hours ago that I’m not going!” Y/N outraged, ignoring the fact that her friend drove all the way out there. The girl made it clear in her message that even though his adventitious idea sounded nice, she simply did not have any powers left for the trip. The tiredness was the size of the passing week, which fell on her shoulders sharply once Y/N entered home that evening.  

“It’s just few hours!” he whined and suddenly lifted the friend from the ground to bring her to the car himself. It was almost ten o’clock in the evening, and Y/N was getting cold. 

“Gosh, wait! Let me get changed at least,” the girl rolled the eyes, smiling a bit and still trying to set herself free. 

“Five minutes,” Luke warned, and once he put her on the ground, Y/N hurried up inside. She hoped to shut the door in his face, however, the guy foresaw it well, so he managed to slip through the door quicker. A wide smile appeared on his face. 

Even though the whole idea of going somewhere so late didn’t really excite Y/N, once she was in the car, checking all the snacks Luke bought them for the little trip, the girl thought that, perhaps, it was a nice distraction from her exhaustion for an hour or so. 

“You didn’t need to change, you looked pretty earlier, too,” Luke spoke up, glancing at Y/N who was chewing gummy worms and time to time placing few in his mouth as well.  

“That’s sudden,” the girl chuckled, trying to ignore a quick shutter of her heart. The girl fancied her friend for quite some time, but it was not as scary as dangerous to reveal her feelings. Y/N didn’t want to ruin their friendship. “Be honest, you just wanted me to get sick. I was freezing cold, by the way!”

“Well, if you didn’t hesitate for so long, you would be in the car a while ago, enjoying my company and food.”

“Thank you for mentioning food, I’d put it on the first place, though,” Y/N laughed shortly, looking at the window. Even though it was late, the lights were illuminating the road, and quite soon she started to see untouched fields, passing by. “Also, I wasn’t hesitant, I told you right away I wasn’t going.”

“Here you are with an urge to reply on everything,” Luke rolled his eyes jokingly and glanced at Y/N again. He liked how cozy and comfortable she looked at that moment. It was actually rather precious to know that a person he cared about so much trusted him, fully.

“You are the same,” the girl reminded and, giggling, put another gummy worm, a blue one, in his mouth. “Suits your eyes.”

The musician chuckled, barely being able to chew the marmalade.

“A worm?”

“Yeah,” Y/N laughed back and smiled vividly. “I like your eyes,” she mumbled and looked away, feeling too overwhelmed. If only he could be hers, and she could be his…

“So, we have a problem,” Luke announced, when about thirty minutes were left from the final destination. The guy was planning to show Y/N a sunflower field, but GPS suddenly stopped working properly. However, the guy was sure he remembered the way there so didn’t worry too much. Until…

Y/N turned her head towards a friend and frowned a little.

“Are you going to keep holding the dramatic pause or will just tell me?” she smiled, though, not even thinking there could be something serious.  

“Yeah, well,” Luke hesitated and glanced at a dashboard of the car. He still couldn’t believe what he saw. “Apparently, I forgot to refuel and noticed only now…”

“You are joking,” Y/N raised up in a seat to check it herself. “How could you forget?”

“I don’t know!” Luke outraged, slowing down the speed of the car. “I was in a hurry cause I wanted to make a good surprise for you!”

“Well, it is a good surprise after all, Luke!” Y/N giggled, not being mad for some reason. “Let me find the closest gas station,” she mumbled and opened her phone to check a map. The girl didn’t hear how her friend mumbled quietly “go for it”, as he already knew that GPS stopped working twenty minutes ago.

“Okay, so… we’re in the middle of nowhere,” she announced dramatically, zooming in and out on the map. “It doesn’t work. How much gas is left? Maybe we should go back,” Y/N sighed, once Luke stopped the car on the side of the road. He was upset. “Hey, that’s alright,” the girl smiled and unfastened her seat belt to sit sideways to the windshield, facing the musician. The girl gently placed her palms on his cheeks and nodded. “I’m not mad, it’s still a fun trip. After all, it wouldn’t be us if it didn’t end up like this, don’t you think?” she chuckled kindly.

Luke hurried up to cover her palms with his, being scared she’d break the touch too soon.

“We still can stay here for some time? Before going back?” he suggested carefully.

Y/N nodded, feeling the pulsation of her heartbeat almost in a throat. If only she could kiss him, and he could kiss her…

“Y/N,” Luke spoke up, and the voice was hoarse. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I guess there is something I needed to tell you,” he started, immediately regretting it, though. How was he supposed to tell her that? Was it a bad timing? It probably was. There was no where to go, and if… if Y/N didn’t feel the same way it’d be hell awkward. He really didn’t think it through…

“Again?”

“What?”

“You need to tell me something else? I thought we’re done with surprises,” she giggled, fooling around a bit, as Y/N could see how anxious Luke started to look all of a sudden.

“Oh, no, that’s the main surprise, I guess,” the guy chuckled and looked down only for a moment. The fear took him over, though, and he rested his palms on the knees, so Y/N pulled away from him. “No, actually, forget about it.”

“No.”

Luke looked up at the friend, being surprised.

“What do you mean “no"?…”

“That’s exactly what I mean. I waited for too long to allow you to step back once again,” Y/N shook her head, getting annoyed. Why was he so uncertain sometimes? She was sitting there, next to him, worrying that her heart would break the chest, and he couldn’t say few simple words?… “Would you finally acknowledge my feelings for you if I kiss you right now? You’re so bad at taking hints! How can you keep doubting if I feel the same way you do?”

“How do you– How do you know?…” Luke mumbled, staring at Y/N. The guy couldn’t hide his terror. So she knew? All that time?!

“Honestly, it seems like it’s only you who is blind here,” the girl smiled sadly and looked down, feeling ridiculous.

Another second, though, she felt Luke’s hand on the chin. He carefully lifted her face so the girl could look at him before he covered Y/N’s lips with his. The kiss was tender and gentle, slowly changing into a more passionate one. They both just couldn’t believe it took them that long to confess. And honestly, who knew how long it’d have still taken if Y/N had kept silence. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered, touching her forehead with his.

“You already did,” the girl whispered back and, smiling, pressed the lips against his in another kiss.

taglist: @dgrangaa, @gracieboogirl, @yukichan67

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All stories are original and written by me. Do not copy, trace and post anywhere without permission and credit. The stories are fictional, they do not correspond to reality and written just for fun ♡

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[henneseyhoe]

Unexpected Expected Guest

Killmonger X BLACK!FEM!reader.

WARNINGS :SMUT, slight spiritualism, vampire/ghost!killmonger,profanities(obvi), use of the Nword, all that spooky Halloween shit too lmao.

Summary :reader is curious about the history of the house she just moved into, so she digs deep into it with the help of google and her “witch” friend.

-

3:00 AM, 𝐒𝐮𝐧, 𝐨𝐜𝐭 31𝐬𝐭.

My clock read, making me sigh in annoyance. I sucked my teeth "this shit do not work, takin' my ass to bed" I mumbled to myself, blowing out the candles I had lit about an hour ago, all seven of them sitting in a circle around a destroyed picture.

The picture contained a man, his face scribbled out completely with all of the corners of the Polaroid ripped. I found the picture laying around just outside of my door, sitting there on my porch.

since then I never stopped obsessing over it. I've had reoccurring dreams, waking up in a pool of sweat because of how every dream ended. With me getting bit by some creature, the unknown being sucking the life out of me with its sharp fangs. Worse part is that I enjoyed the image, not only the image, but the feeling.

You could clearly tell the picture was old, along with proof on the back of it, a date being written out.

'1965' it read, my curiosity becoming overwhelming.

-

𝐒𝐚𝐭, 𝐨𝐜𝐭 25𝐭𝐡.

"That's weird right? Like who just leaves a picture on a strangers doorstep" I spoke to my friend 'Eboni' while wiping down my kitchens counters

"okay, hear me out Y/N, I know you don't do that witchy shit, but that ain't no mistake. somebodies trynna get your attention" I heard my friend from the other side, her conclusion making me roll my eyes and shake my head.

"Eboni, if you think I'm finna 'call upon' a random ass nigga you out of yo damn mind! He can kiss my ass and stay where the fuck he at!" I argued, my dishwashers door falling open with a loud 'bang', the sound of my plates clicking together accompanying the startling sound, all of it happening simultaneously to me ending my sentence.

I jumped back slightly and glared over at the appliance before walking over and closing it, continuing to listen to my friend.

"Y/N! This is serious! You know you just moved in and literally told me to my face that something was off, and you know after you got that picture it wasn't the first time you had a dream like that in that damn house. What if summoning it is the only way it'll leave? That shit is very possible, you know?"

I thought about it for a moment before groaning, stomping my feet as I walked into my living room

"...fine! Damn!".

I knew the trouble I was getting into, somewhat, but that didn't stop me. Just like how I knew there was something about this house before I moved in, which made me think back to the day I signed the papers for the five bedroom house. Thinking, the stories still didn't stop me.

-

𝐓𝐮𝐞, 𝐀𝐮𝐠 12𝐭𝐡.

"So for legal reasons, before you sign this lease, I am supposed to tell you that somebody did pass in this house, which is why it's so cheap, but before you rip the paper up, this house has been blessed and saged from in and out! There was never any problems before, but we wanted to double check!" My realtor explained in her thick southern accent, smiling as I stared at her like she was crazy before looking back at the house.

"Um...what exactly happened to this person?" I asked, my eyebrows raising. The woman shrugged, still smiling widely "no idea! But I assure you the house is clean, it's been about 59 years since anything happened, make it 60 when halloween hits actually. A happy family has lived here for 2 years and now they wanna sell, so is it still a deal?" She asked and I sighed, thinking while looking down at the legal papers, a pen in hand.

"..yeah, deal" I spoke, signing the papers with a quick 'flick' of my wrist.

-

3:33 AM, 𝐒𝐮𝐧, 𝐨𝐜𝐭 31𝐬𝐭.

I woke up in a sweat once again, turning over to look at my clock. '27 minutes of sleep without interruption. That's a record' I thought, a sudden pain striking my abdomen. "shit" I breathed. My clothes were damp against my skin, my thighs clenched tightly to make an attempt at trying to stop my second heart beat.

I looked back up at the ceiling, only to be surprised by the floating being; a man above me, his eyes glowing an electric blue as a sinister grin was plastered on his face, his fangs making the expression more prominent.

My eyebrows furrowed and my mouth widened before anything could come out, my expression beating my scream to the punch. "OH SHIT!" I scream at the top of my lungs, jumping up out of my bed.

I tripped over tangled covers while attempting to run for the door, tears already falling down my face. My hand made contact with the door handle, the limb immediately being jerked back as the metal knob glowed red with heat, burning my hand.

'SHIT!'.

I quickly turned, backing myself back against the door as I sobbed, crouching down and cowering.

the man nonchalantly sat on my dresser, crossing his legs. His clothes had a slick, elegant style to it, his body giving off a slight cologne scent that I could smell from where I was sitting. he was wearing a suit, the black blazer being open to show his plain, halfway opened, white button up, his pants being leather to match his black boots along with a literal chain and lock around his neck as an accessory.

"I like when you look scared, it’s cute" he spoke, an evil chuckle exiting his mouth as he watched me "who- who are you?" I stuttered, my body shaking intensely.

"Who am I? WHO. am. I?! You out here summoning niggas and don't even know they name? I could have been satan himself coming to personally drag you down to hell with me" he went on, jumping down from the wooden drawers and slowly inching his way over to me with a swaggered walk, his hands stuffed in his pocket.

"why, I'm the 'nigga' you've had imaginary beef with for like a month or so, but you can call me Kill, Killmonger, Erik, Daddy, whichever you prefer, doll” he responded and paused, looking down at me. “…Ya know, you talk a lot of shit for a mortal who can't fight" he teased, bending down into my face, shock being written all over my body language as my jaw hung low, my eyes being so wide that they could pop out like gum balls and my cheeks being stained with tears.

"Now what was that about me kissing your ass? I'd like to take up that offer since I'm here. in the flesh" he smiled, his pearly whites gleaming in the moonlight shining from my window.

"I-I-..I'm sorry...I didn't know you were real.." I cried quietly, his eyes rolling. "okay see, I purposely scared you earlier, but now you doing a little much" he leaned up, looking down at me as I wiped my tears, still shaking.

"Stop. shaking." he demanded, backing up as I was lifted out of my crouched position, the shock I already had ignoring the fact that it wasn't me who made my body move like that.

"I said stop." He snapped his fingers in front of my face, my body immediately stopping its movements with my heartbeat slowing down tremendously, my demeanor completely changing and becoming more chill.

I heard every beat of my heart in my ears, every pulse getting louder than the other.

"Much better. So now that I'm here, I wanna talk a little before I get to business. Any questions?" He asked, floating over to the end of my bed and sitting down, crossing his legs once again.

I carefully walk back over to my bed, sitting down as I try to comprehend the moment, yet it was like my brain wouldn’t let me on purpose.

"...what happened to you...and why are you still here?" I ask with almost zero thought behind it. He shrugged before answering. "don't know, honestly. Apparently I was murdered, but all I remember is waking up and BOOM!" He exclaimed loudly, leaning over to me while adding a dramatic pause "..I'm in hell" he stared, his eyes glowing once again before bursting into laughter, watching my terrified reaction "I'm joking. Dead people have amazing sense of humor dont we?" I blinked, still being confused.

He stopped laughing and his face straightened "...I didn't go to hell, obviously, and my ex girlfriend killed me. You can guess how" he explained and gestured to the chain around his neck. I nodded, finally understanding "okay...why?" I asked, the entity letting out a chuckle "let's just say I was very lucky with ladies"

I hummed, nodding again before tilting my head "...so why do you have a problem with me?"

He tilted his head back at me "Problem? I don't. It's not like I hate you or something, I just like fuckin’ around. ain't shit else to do when you're DEAD... but now that I'm HERE, I can finally be free, thanks to yo nosy ass and your witch ass friend" he smiled, his fangs making their third appearance tonight.

"Cool, it was nice talking to you then" I smiled slightly, a nervous feeling rising in my stomach as he shook his head 'no'

"Nah. I can't just...leave" he blinked "...whatchu mean? Yes you can" I squinted and he shook his head again "nope. I can't. See, you summoned me out of curiosity because your friend didn't give you enough information to execute this correctly, I'm guessing, and if I'm correct you didn't even read about me or either you didn't read enough. You want me to leave? Give me an offering" he explained.

"...fine. What do you want?" I asked with a slight attitude, being annoyed with how I actually had to work for him to leave.

He thought, humming "...bring me a body, a fresh body. I don't want anybody cold or dirty, so try not to bring me anyone with a drug or drinking pro-"

I interrupted him "wait— are you asking for a dead person?" My eyebrows knitted together in worry as I watched a smile fall upon his face, his teeth peeking out from under his lips

"Well..not dead exactly, I can do my own dirty work apart from getting them, I just need you to bring them to me. what'd you think I was asking for, silly?" He tilted his head with sarcasm, my head shaking.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that for you. I can't just go out and lure somebody in my house, that's disgusting!" he pouted and got up from the edge of the bed, turning to me with a sigh "well then there's no other way. too bad I gotta take you with me now" he leaned in, his eyes glowing a fear striking red now.

"Please! I'll do anything but that!" I screamed, backing up away from him, my back hitting the hard, wooden headboard. his movements paused as his eyes turned back to a midnight black, the red swirling around his iris before disappearing completely.

"Anything? And you mean anything, correct?" He asked and I nodded, a smirk carving in on his face as he began to chuckle, a deep voiced echo fallowing behind every laugh "why didn't you say that before, love?"

He grabbed my wrists and pinned me to the bed, my night set being ripped apart from my bottoms to my bra without him moving a finger

My thoughts ran wild as he began kissing me roughly as if he had been starving for any type of physical touch. His skin was soft and warm, comforting in a sense as he grazed his fingertips across my bare stomach. his lips went from mine to my neck, laying tender kisses across my jawline and collarbones before licking his way back up. His tongue swirled around over places he had left a kiss until he had came up to my chin, the tip of his tongue flicking up once he finally got to the end.

Almost as if only seconds passed by, he had already been going down on me, roughly pulling me to the edge of the bed by my ankles and putting them up to the sky. he pinned my thighs to the mattress, cupping the underside of my knees before he began going to work, his warm tongue swirling around my clit at an agonizing slow pace. The tip of his tongue did figure eights on my bundle of nerves, making me gasp and arch my back, my reaction encouraging him to go faster with flicking his tongue.

As time went on, he began slipping fingers inside of me. First one, then two, then it was his tongue, slowly sliding them in and aiming upwards for my gspot. The pressure inside of me built up with every thrust of his fingers, my stomach sucking in. "Oh— fuck!" I moaned, air being caught in my throat as I leaned up a bit, looking down at him just to make eye contact with the man himself. He had been watching the whole time, watching how my body reacted to ever motion.

"cum for me?" He asked before attaching his lips back around my clit and humming, his eyelids lowering while the whites of his eyes gained a bright glow as I finally let go, not even being able to answer his question as I came all over his fingers, a loud gasp escaping my throat.  He leaned up and my legs immediately clamped together, my orgasm still hitting hard for me as his fingers slid back out of my body. He looked down at me and licked his fingers clean, humming at the taste.

I breathed hard, trying to catch my breath "done?" I asked, trying to cover my body with my sheet, the material not budging from the bed "nope." He simply answered, kneeling on the bed and beginning to crawl closer to me.

I backed away hesitantly, my stomach steady churning with tension once I had made contact with the headboard.

"Stay still for me. You'll make a good partner for eternity" he mumbled quietly, smirking to himself.

[passivedecept]

DP drabble

So, a while ago I saw a bit of a message on here that Jazz actually showed interest in the show into doing either neuroscience, becoming a lawyer or a professor. And i remember me in the notes giving a bit of a random angsty idea.

Either way, while at work today that idea decided to kidnap me and hold me hostage for a bit.

So now I am writing and posting this to get it out of my system so i can continue my actual fanfic project. It doesn't even have all the things i thought about adding but I just went with where my brain took me for now and that is it.

Fair warning, It is a bit of a long read about 3600 words and it is unbeta'ed and no editing. Trigger Warnings: murder, mention torture, mention unethical/inhuman medical experiments. mention suicide. non detailed home surgery (dont do this at home kiddos). slight gore (not graphic but heavily implied).

Have fun. and feel free to use it as a jump off point for your own ideas.

DP drabble - Neuroscience doesn't seem fun anymore

Jazz stares right ahead as she grips the steering wheel. She refuses to look away from the dark road and only permits herself a small glance into the mirror to the back seat every ten minutes. Shequickly realised she couldn't keep herself from checking on her brother and so instead just stopped checking the time.

It is dark outside and without all the street lights there is only darkness around them. She takes comfort in that, The GIW always come with a lot of noise and sound. As long as it is quiet no one will try and take her brother away from her again.

This had been supposed to be their year.

Jazz had been accepted into her first choice of college and she had been preparing her dorm room to include Danny. The year before had been hard but Jazz had managed to convince Danny that he could leave the lower risk ghosts to Valerie as the Red Huntress. That it wasn't Danny's responsibility. Afterwards she had sat down together with him, Sam and Tucker and gone over what the plan had been to help Danny pass and be able to finish High School on time.

In the end Jazz had gone to talk with Mr. Lancer and after a long story about how Danny has a bad fear of ghosts and with her parents being obsessed wiht them and always talking about them it put Danny under a lot of stress since the ghosts actually showed up. And if he could please help with setting up a program of some kind to help Danny pass.

Mr. Lancer had seemed doubtful but had tried and given Danny the chance to study in peace and with help. And Danny flourished!

That together with the less ghost attacks he had to take care of they had been hopeful that Danny would actually pass and he did!

Summer vacation had been about to start and Danny would just have to finish his last year and he could escape Amity Park too. He would have come to her and join one of the colleges there. They had both given up on their parents ever accepting Danny and had accepted they would just be on their own. Tucker would go to his own dream school and Sam would first do charity and than go to school before they would all try and meet up again when things calmed down.

They had had a plan.

Which is why it had felt like a stab through the heart when she came back early for the summer holiday to go collega touring with Danny, only to see GIW having set up a parameter around her house. She had demanded to know what had happened and they had just said that that menace of a ghost named Phantom had killed both her parents and her little brother.

Bull. Shit.

But she knows how to play this part. She immediantly started crying and sobbing as she planned. She needed to get to the lab, she needed the security footage they had there. She needed to get into her house to get Danny's emergancy bag.

She continued to sob and went to a hotel, gracefully paid for by the GIW in her trying and hard times. She went there, searched the room for any listening or spying devices, none had been installed. and she immediantly set up a phone call wiht Tucker and Sam, both had been out on trips with their parents and one check in later and they both agreed to ditch it and come to Amity Park for their last Back Up plan.

"Paris" or the long version and the song line they had worked off of "If we go down, we go down together."

Next, Jazz set to work on getting the last member they would need for this. Valerie. She called her and Valerie agreed to meet with her. Valerie had tried to start and say how sorry she was for her loss but Jazz hadn't let her start. She had looked Valerie straight in the eyes and said "Danny is Phantom. And I know the GIW lied as Danny would never hurt anyone. They have him, and I need to get him out. He never meant for you to be hurt in that ghost attack but he fears your rejection more than your hatred."

It had been a lot to take in for Valerie but she had already meet Ellie after all. It didn't take her long to connect the dots and she agreed to help.

With Valerie helping as bait to lead the GIW to a 'high level ghost threat' Jazz managed to get into her house and ran straight to her brother's room. It was a mess, the GIW had clearly tried to search it but Jazz knew they wouldn't have found it. After all, why hide something under your bed when you can hide it in walls? Jazz pulled out her own lipstick blaster and blasted a hole right into the wall. She pulled out the overly stocked medkit and his emergancy bag. She moved to rush out of the room before spotting the little astronaut build a bear in the corner, she had a matching doctor one. It held a recording of their parents telling them they love them. she grabs it mostly on impulse before rushing down the stairs towards the lab.

It seemed like the GIW had locked it but one swipe of her hand and the door happily swings open with "Come right in jazz-pants princess!" in her father's cheerful voice.

She runs down the stairs and-

Found her parents.

Both dead.

On the ground.

Covered in bullet marks.

The only thing making her able to move is the adrenalin rushing through her body. She naps evidence pictures before running to the main computer. She slaps in an USB and starts up the security footage as she closes the portal. Machines connected to it start to sound loudly but Jazz ignored them. Jazz knows that reception in the lab is terrible and unless it is special Fenton Tech there is no signal coming out of this radioactive hell hole that her parents made.

She starts copying files as she looks through the old and dirty filters. She will overload the portal with one and the GIW will never be able to use it against anyone. Jazz finds the right one and switches the filters around. The portal immediantly dings the warning and Jazz mutes it. She returns to the computer where the USB is whiping all the fiiles after copying them and sees the last file being played. It is a video.

The GIW stand in the basement with their guns out at Danny, human Danny. Her parents are shouting at the GIW and move between them and Danny. And the GIW just... tell her parents what Danny is and with somekind of electric shock force Danny to transform. Danny had stared fearfully at their parents but then... mom just.. kicks the GIW agent that shot at Danny. Shouting about how they dare to shoot her baby boy!

The GIW yell about ghost being unfeeling and that THEY had said so as well. And her father... her father just tells them that obviously they had then missed something because Danny clearly feels and is sentient and if he is part ghost it means ghost s are as well.

JAzz feels tears leave her eyes. their... their parents accepted him. They didn't even need convincing.

Sure, her parents may be absentminded, obsessed with work and may have been technically neglectful. but they loved them. and they fought for them.

And then the GIW shot her parents and managed to capture Danny as he tried desperatly to stop mom from bleeding out.

Jazz sobs real tears as the download finished as she grabs the USB. she runs to the weapon vault and grabs her weapons of choice, the creep stick, the booo-morang and the Fenton Peeler. Next she locks the vault and changes the password. She leaves the lab and locks the door behind her as she ignores the red flashing light. The blast would destroy the lab but the shock doors should keep it contained to the lab, the foundations of the house would crumble and collapse and bury the molten and destroyed lab.

By the time she returns to her hotel room she has gotten messages from Tucker. Tucker had found the location of the base from the GIW after hacking some cameras to follow their path.

Jazz met up with Valerie and together made a plan to storm the base. Valerie would set off every single ghost alarm in the city before meeting up with Jazz at the base with a car for Jazz to use.

The base.

Jazz sudders and pulls herself out of her memories. the road in front of her is still dark and her hands shake on the steering wheel. A glance to the back shows Danny, still breathing in his little cocoon of blankets. She can just see the top of his head.

which is covered in white bandages.

The room had been covered in blood. Danny had just laid there, lifeless. With the top of his skull removed while a surgeon had stood over him with a scaple.

Jazz sobs and her sight grows hazy with tears. She had stiched her little brother up before. Had helped with setting bones before. stitching on a scalp as much as she could have been terrible. She had almost vomited when she saw the cut of part of his skull just in a bottle.

Jazz can't take it anymore and stops the car. she turns off the engine and sits in the darkness for a while. She steps outside and looks upwards. In the distance she spots Valerie on her hoverboard. And that helps her relax.

Valerie's suit had something that caused ecto detectors to just not notice her tech. She would stay near to make sure to keep danny hidden. Sure they could have used an Ecto blocker or something but Jazz didn't want to risk messing wiht Danny's powers. One of them was accelerated healing after all. And she is counting on that to help save her brother.

She gives Val a thumbs up to show it is no emergency before opening the back door and checking Danny. the white bandages she had put on to help protect the wound were becoming very red and she grabs a new roll as she starts to process of making sure the wound is clean and protected. Ironically the moment she starts working on this task her hands still and become stable again.

Seems like her first year at collega had helped, especially all those extra classes to learn and look in on surgeries.

After it she checks his pulse and his breathing. Both stable even if a bit slower than she would like but she will accept it for now. She gently checks his temperature, still running a slight fever. She will take the fever over the ice cold she had feared that was common with corpses.

Jazz gently, oh so gently, places a kiss on his cheek before backing off and going to the side of the road for a moment. she needs a moment to breath before she can keep going.

She only gives herself a minute before climbing back behind the steering wheel and driving again.

It is just before sunrise when she finds the right city and drives in, she had been driving for a good fourteen hours to get here but it had been worth it. She gets to the address Sam had send her and easily says the name Tucker had send her.

While she had been rescueing Danny wiht Valerie. Tucker and Sam had been on their way back to them. Tucker had crafted new identities for them to who Sam wired pretty much half of the emergency stach she had been saving and getting from her grandmother.

They wouldn't have needed it if Vlad hadn't been a coward. Vlad, the moment he learned that Maddie and JAck had died had just, stared lifelessly ahead of himself. Jazz had been trying to get his assistance in saving Danny but he had just. not cared. He had told her to leave and while Jazz and Val, who had broken into his lab to get more gear, left they heard a gunshot.

Jazz shakes her head as she walks into the lobby and smiles pleasantly at the security guard, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the lenses are. It are brown ones and that together with having her hair hidden in her clothes and a cap it should do enough. the man, barely awake. asks for indentification and Jazz nervously hands the copies of her new ID. the man nods and gives them back before handing her a key "4th floor. to the left and then the second door. numer 416" and he turns back to his book. Jazz thanks him quietly before rushing outside to get her things and more importantly to move Danny.

With Val's help they get everything and Danny up to her new home in one trip where they find the pre-furnished studio appartment.

Sam had outdone herself, after Tucker made them new IDs Sam had moved quickly to get them housing near the collega where Tucker transfered her too. Jazz doesn't even want to know how Tucker managed to get her own credits over to her new identity while not tripping any wires but she will just trust him. she owns them big time and she prays they will stay save.

Talking about save.

She pulls out her phone and easily connects to the secret server Tucker had set up as she types her message "We are here. Red will help get us settled before leaving. please stay save you two."

To which she only gets thumbs ups as replies. ugh. sixteen year olds.

JAzz turns to Danny and smiles before looking at Valerie. Valerie has taken a hold of Danny's hand and whispers to him "You idiot. you better live you hear me? Because after this i want to her the truth from you. and then we can figure things out okay?" valerie stares at danny before sighing as she pulls away and straightens herself.

"Okay. What do you need?"

Jazz frowns as she looks to the side "I need stuff from a hospital but i can't ask that of you."

Valerie rolls her eyes "I asked you what you need. Just give me a list."

Jazz frowns but writes down a list that has been forming since the first moment she saw what had happened to Danny. She gives it to the other girl and Val reads it over. Jazz rubs her arm "I am so sorry I am asking this off you but-"

Valerie cuts her off "Don't be. I... I never tried to listen to him. Even after Ellie. It is the least I can do." she puts on her helmet again as she kicks open her hover board "I left the signal blocker with you. I won't need it as long as I don't use my weapons which I don't plan on. Stay save. I will also get you some food." and she leaves through the window.

Jazz sits down on the ground next to the bed holding Danny and waits. her heart still beating a mile a second as she holds Danny's hand and counts his pulse.

It doesn't take more than 30 minutes before Valerie reappears with her arms full of bags. she lays it all down and moves some salads into the fridge and some macaroni boxes into the cabinet. she shrugs "and the sink has water. that should be fine and won't go bad as long as you eat the salads first." she walks over toJazz nad Jazz wraps her arms around Valerie.

"Thank you."

Valerie hugs her back "Don't be."

"Please stay save on your way home."

Valerie nods against her shoulder "I will. keep Danny save?"

JAzz chuckles as he grip tightens "With my life."

They stop hugging and Valerie starts to walk down in her normal outfit "I am leaving my blocker here. that should keep you guys save. I will drop the car off a cliff somewhere before going to look for Ellie to keep her save."

Jazz looks at the other "And your dad?"

Valerie sighs but gives a grin "I will call him after getting rid of the car. And just explain the situation to him, he has been understanding about this for so long... I am sure once I explain it he will just tell others that I am off doing some road trip." she grins "Don't worry about me. I know what i am doing."

Jazz nods and wishes her luck before locking the door behind the other girl. She takes a moment to quickly eat a salad and drink water before starting to close all the windows and double checking the place.

Everything else on operation 'We go down, we go down together' now rests on Tucker's hacking skills and Sam's photoshop and editing skills. Jazz has her own mission to complete.

Which is.

She opens one of the bags with her and carefully removes the bottle holding part of Danny's skull.

She needs to put her brother back together.

she starts undoing the bandages and checks the head wound. still bleeding but slowing down, seeing the open wound Jazz is convinced it is because Danny is loosing what he has. She takes a deep breath and grabs the bag that Val had brought and takes out the operation gown, gloves and tools. she disinfects a tray and gently places it under Danny's head and takes another deep breath.

She had only had theory about this. she had been lucky to have even been allowed to look in on a surgery of two.

Now it is time to put her limited skills to the test and it was drown or swim.

And damnit she was going to swim no matter what.

Once she starts to doesn't get easier. it gets worse and worse the longer she has to look at the brains of her little brother. the fears of what kind of lasting damage this will do to him get worse and worse. the fear of her accidentally killing him gets worse each second. The only thing keeping her from a panic attack, the only thing keeping her from breaking down. is the slow rise and fall of her brother's chest. it is the weak pulse she feels when checking it.

It guides her forwards.

She isn't even sure how long it took her and she doesn't want to know.

But at the end. She somehow managed.

Jazz finishes the bandages again and smiles at her little brother. and for a moment sees the tiny five year old version of him dressed as a mummy made of toilet paper, ready to go trick or treating.

And she has to run to the toilet to vomit before she breaks down sobbing and crying. she stares at her hands covered in bloody gloves and throws them in the sink before rushing back to her brother.

Still breathing.

Still alive.

She sobs as she sits down next to the bed. one hand takes a hold of his hand, it feels cold, and she checks his pulse. Still going, still alive.

Jazz takes out her phone and finds the server. the last message she send was two days ago. She takes a moment to breath before sending the last needed message for a while.

"alive. time to burn the bridges." and she watches her phone.

Two thumbs ups appear within seconds. and a moment later a third tumbs up appears from the newest added number.

Jazz opens the news app on her phonea dn waits. moments later every artical gets replaced by a list of crimes that the GIW has commited and proof about ghosts having feelings in the form of interviews with Kitty, Johnny and Ember.

She keeps watching for as long as it takes until it appears. An edited version of the GIW attacking Phantom and taking him. of her parents saying they had been wrong and ghosts clearly do have feelings and to release him!

Then... the crime of them killer her parents. moments later of Danny trying to save their mom and them shooting him with something.

A short edited shot of the GIW torturing Danny in his phantom form.

Honestly? The cutting and pasting had been masterful. It shows the whole story but skips the part where Phantom and Danny had been the same person.

Then she sees the bit about herself. about her entering the GIW base as herself and then later a message from the GIW that Jazz had died. the GIW said heartbreak but now no one will believe that.

Jazz smiles as she puts her phone down and turns around until she can lay with her head on Danny's chest, where she can hear her little brother's heartbeat.

Now Tucker and Sam woudl make their own get away and they would go back to the original plan of eventually meeting up.

She smiles as she falls to sleep with the sound of her brother's heartbeat and knowing that the public will tear the GIW apart for what they did and the inhuman acts they commited.

If they want to hurt her brother.

They will have to deal with her.

And unlike Danny, Jazz has no problem fighting dirty.

[tomtenadia]

Detours to You

After many months of inability to write I think I am back. The path to this fic has been one long detour... This is based on the original version I started writing a while ago... then I stopped and stupidly binned it. I had tried something else but that story will remain in my wips. Then I had a chat with @backtobl4ck and it rekindled the will to go back to the original story. I have been writing for the past few days and this time I feel good about it.

It's basically a single parent au/ secret child trope/ second chance romance/ firefighter Rowan and Bookshop owner Aelin.

There will be fluff and some angst too.

The title is from a song by Jordan Davis called Detours (thanks to @leiawritesstoriesfor the obsession)

I only have the prologue for now

Hope you will enjoy it

The house was a mess. Rowan stared at his living room and all he saw was a sea of boxes. And  tripping hazards. His entire house was a trove of safety red flags and the firefighter in him was trying to tackle one mission at the time and get the house back in order. He had moved back to Orynth after a five years absence. A painful spell back in his homeland in Wendlyn after his father passing. His mother fell deeply into depression so he had decided to go back to be with her.

The entire clan had been shocked shook by Alasdair passing. So Rowan had moved back to be with her, put dreams on hold for his family.

Until one day his mother told him that she was sick of having him around and begged him to go back to Terrasen and live his life. And when the job opportunity of a lifetime was served on a plate for him, he knew what to do. A month later he had found a house and had started the slow painstaking back and forth on the ferry between Wendlyn and Adarlan to move his life back.

Now, looking outside the floor to ceiling window at the white landscape outside he finally felt at home. He was born in Wendlyn but his family had moved to Terrasen when he was about ten for his father’s job. He had grown up there, made friends and then joined the TFD as a firefighter as soon as he was done with school, after Lorcan dragged him to an open day at one of the local firehouses. They went through academy together and became best friends. And it was during one of those nights out that he met her. Aelin. The woman of his dreams and the love of his life. They had not started with the right foot but slowly a tepid friendship had began to blossom until it became more. So much more. Until his dreams and his life fell to pieces. 

And now five years later he was ready to start again. 

He had bought a house at the edge of Orynth, very near the boundaries with the mountains. His father had left a substantial amount of money for him and his mum and he had saved it until he moved back to Terrasen and decided to buy his dream house.  Two storey house with green wooden walls, a front porch and gardens back and front. At the back he had a path leading to the woods. It was the perfect place for a family.

Rowan finished folding another empty box and stopped to stare at the snow that had started to fall outside. He had missed it. Wendlyn was warm and it never snowed and Rowan had longed for the cold dark winter months. 

After a moment he went back to his job and kept unpacking. The following day was going to be his first day at his new job. While still in Terrasen he had raised to the rank of Captain, in Wendlyn he had been promoted to battalion chief. Surprise hit him when he had started looking for jobs in Terrasen and the commissioner had contacted him and offered him the job of Chief for the whole of Orynth. Apparently Lorcan, who had succeeded him as captain, had let it slip that he was coming back and a day later he got a phone call for a new job. He was nervous but he was looking forward this new challenge. 

An hour later the living room had started looking a bit more liveable and the only boxes left to unpack in that room were his books. He had to build the bookcases first. And that’s when he realised, shelves spread on the floor, that he had no tools. 

Rowan swore mentally, then forced himself to get changed and dragged himself out to an hardware store. The house had come furnished and he had little to build. He had just forgotten the bookcases.

The trip to the hardware store had been fruitful and now he was walking back to his car. The city was crowded as it was the beginning of November and the winter festival was already underway, shops full of patrons picking gifts for the solstice.

It was at the end of the busy road that he spotted a head of blonde hair he hadn’t seen in five years. She was facing a piano shop and her usual smile lit up the evening.

Aelin was a mere ten metres from him and all he could do was stare. And when she turned, his world stopped. Aelin was holding the hand of a little girl with the hair as silver as his. 

Rowan stood, incapable of thinking or move. Silver hair. It was not a common trait in Terrasen. It only ran in his family, a genetic mutation on his father’s side.

Which meant…

A daughter.

The girl looked towards him and he froze when she waved at him with a big smile on her face.

“Let’s go Maya,” he heard Aelin say.

The girl waved back at him and they disappeared.

Rowan stood still on the pavement.

The image of a little girl with silver hair etched in his mind.

taglist

@swankii-art-teacher @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127

[persage]

DIFFERENT - S. HARRINGTON

Summary: When you and Steve Harrington find yourself partners on a school project, you quickly realize that maybe he's not the jerk you thought. But that's not enough for you to let go of your fears.

Words Count: 2.5k

Tags: Mostly Fluff. Jealous!Buckley Reader x Insicure Steve Harrington. Family Trauma. Set Before S1.

After a huge writer block, here I am again hope you like it!

3 weeks ago

"Here we are" When you reach the Harrington residence, it's as big and rich as you've always imagined. Steve throws the door open and sets his keys on the table while he watches your eyes drift around the house as you walk further inside. He gestures to the stairs and when you walk in his room you are impressed by the lack of object, photos and posters: it's so simple and plain that it doesn't even feel like someone's room, least of all Steve Harrington. Also you notice that there are no pictures of him in the house, not even family pictures, just an old photo of his parent's wedding where they don't even smile and you know you must not jump to conclusions but you can't help but find it sad. 

Steve feels suddenly nervous, it's not the first time he has a girl in his room of course, but the way you study the space around you, as if you really care, is something new for him. It's oddly intimate, even if he feels like you don't like him at all and you he's an idiot and -also- you are here only cause you have to work on a project.

"My parents won't be home till late so we've got the place to ourselves," He says to distract himself from the fact that y/n Buckley, Carol's Perkins's cute childhood friend, is standing right here in his room. The silence puts him on edge so he keeps talking. "Good thing my parents aren't here to be honest."  

He notices your confused - and maybe even a little disgusted- face.

"Oh don't get me wrong it's just that they are so loud, they scream so much, it's annoying." He sees your face fall, pity written all over your expression. Why doesn't he know when to shut the fuck up? Why did he tell you something so personal? You smile at him, trying to hide the embarrassment and gesture to the bed.

" Can I?" You ask. He nods and he thinks that for some reason it's nice to have you here, within the walls of his room.

"I like your room." You say. "Except for the wallpaper"

He laughs "It’s the only thing I actually chose actually. You know, my mom is obsessed with this house, no pictures, no posters, no paintings. Especially not chosen by me. I ruin everything apparently."

"And she lets you keep this horrible wallpaper? Absurd" He smiles. "You know, I've always wanted a Tears For Fears's poster"

"That's better Harrington."

Present Day

You are chatting with Carol in front of your locker though you are not really listening to her, it's same old story: something about dumping a boy or shit like that. You don't want to be a bad friend, but with Carol it's getting more and more difficult to maintain a good relationship. Being one of the cool kid has gone to her head and sometimes you've got the feeling you're losing her for real. 

"And I said no,  I mean,  he has to fight for me... "

You spot him at the end of the corridor, he's coming towards you. Brown eyes, perfect hair and a big smile on his stupidly handsome face.  You roll your eyes, trying to sound more annoyed than you actually are. "Please, not again. "

"What?" Carol turns and see him. "Oh..." She bits her lip as Steve Harrington passes by and winks at you. "Hi Carol, hi y/n"  He stops,  looking at you "You're really beautiful today"

You lift your eyebrow. "I always am,  Harrington" You fake a smile,  taking Carol's hand and carrying her away towards  the cafeteria, before he can add anything You hate the fact that he’s a completely different person in school than he is in private, that he’s so cheeky and stupid, like he always needs to prove something to people.

"I don't understand why you keep rejecting him, he's hot and he seems really into you" Carols comments, struggling  behind you.  "He's an idiot" You reply.  Liar.

"Well, he is my friend and he' s cool guy". 

You shake your head. You don't wanna tell her the truth, 'cause even if Carol has been your friend since you were three years old you don't really recognize  the sweet girl you've known anymore, and you don't trust  her with your secrets. You can't tell her how you have grown to like Harrington, to care about him, cause the person you've feelings for its completely different from the one she knows.

"You're becoming so boring y/n"

**

"What are you staring at?"Steve asks, laughing as he throws you a pillow.

You throw it back at him, flushing as you look away, "Nothing."

"You looked like you were spacing out."

"I was."

"About what?"

Shit. You certainly can't tell him what you are really thinking. He's cute. And smart in his own way.

He is gentle, attentive to your needs: that you are warm but not too much, that you are comfortable, that you don't take the burden of the work only on your shoulders even if you are better and faster than him. He's even bought your favorite cookies and you don’t even remember telling him how much you like them. He's a total surprise, like a ray of sun in the clouds.

"I was thinking about our project, maybe we should change something." You say

"You're a bad liar. It's already perfect, you have thought about every detail." Steve looks at you like he knows and it makes your hear jump in you chest. What is happening to you?

"Focus on studying Harrington! You are the worst project partner ever."

"But you are the best y/n" He replies, seriously, moving to be near you. "I'm glad you are here" Although you  try to pay attention to what he is saying, you can't help but be distracted by the way he tucks your hair behind your ears. You want to say something clever, or even sweet, to tell him that he is different from the guy he appears at school. Before you can, there's a ring on the doorbell. "Oh, that must be the pizza"

"You've ordered pizza?" You ask, speechless.

"Only for you, partner"

**

Eyeing him as he sits across the cafeteria with Tommy and other friends, you can't help but think how Steve Harrington shines like nobody else in this room and you hate yourself for such a silly thought. Carol has just finished telling Tina about your exchange with Steve this morning.

"I don't understand you y/n" Tina says.

"I mean... He is a well famous knob, I don't wanna be just another name on his list."  You reply gazing at him as he laughs at something. That's the fact: you hate Steve Harrington cause he is not an asshole, not at all. He is kind, careful, nice and sensitive and a whole amount of adjectives that you wouldnt have attributed to him if you haven't find yourself spending so much with him for the stupid literature project.

Still in front of the rest of the world he changes completely, no more a good guy just another douchebag.

"Yes but, you know I've slept with him and he's... So. Good. " Tina winks at you.

Steve caughts your gaze and smiles at you before you can tear your eyes away from him muttering an "I don't  care, Tina." Blushing.

In spite of everything in his eyes, in his smile, you don't see the person he pretends to be. Also you know perfectly well that If you allow yourself to give in to his compliments and jokes, you will find yourself heartbroken.

Oh how you wish to be touched by those hands

"If you don't care then I'll go out with him" Tina states, drinking her coke. "He's asked me out a week ago"

And that's it, the final crack in your heart. "You go girl" You reply casually, playing perfectly your part.

**

By now Harrington's house is familiar to you, you know the smell and the sounds, the floor creaking in some places, the lights that occasionally jump, the garden. You know how Steve drops himself on the bed and how he sits at his desk, but you’re still nervous at the door. And you realize there’s still a million things you need to know about him, about his childhood and his family, and you’re shocked because you care, you care about everything that it's his, actually. You’re afraid you made a mistake, while waiting for him to open up and holding a poster and a vinyl that maybe you shouldn’t have bought. Maybe you’ll make him fight with his parents . "They are strict" He has said once, without adding any details, leaving you with bad sensation. The way his gaze darkned, which lasted only an instant, made you think the situation must be worse than you have imagined. Maybe for this stupid poster, you’ll get him in trouble, but when you have walked past the music store you saw it, you have thought of him as a child, the most innocent creature on earth. He wanted a poster, and you have got him. The Vinyl, that’s an extra. When he opens the door you don’t even realize it, lost in your thoughts.

"Oh y/n, sorry I expected to see you later. I'm still cleaning up." Steve says, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

"Excuse me, it’s... I haven't realized, you know... timing."

Lie, the truth that you couldn’t wait to see him. His big dark eyes are on you, he smiles as lets them slide on the objects you hold in your arms. "What do you have there? Things for the project? " He question, leaning towards you to peek. You walk away, laughing. "Why don't you let me in first?" He steps aside. "Sorry again for the mess" But there’s nothing more than a few out-of-place items to say the least. "When my parents are out, I always leave a mess."

"It is more tidy than my house, imagine... My sister Robin is a disaster and I am not less."

"I didn’t even know you had a sister. How much more do I have to find out about you?"

"I’m a mysterious girl Harrington," you chuckle, but he stays serious as he watches you carefully. "You are." You clear your throat. "Let’s start solving the first mystery." You hand him the vinyl and he his mouth, surprised and happy.

"Oh my god y/n, but...." He stutters something meaningless, a mixture of agitated and festive verses. The truth is that for years no one has given him a spontaneous gift, even his parents, and when it happens that a gift is given to him on his birthday or for some occasion it is never something that is really for him. They are anonymous gifts, made without thinking about him, without taking into account what he wants or likes, without knowing him. He doesn’t care about something expensive, no, Steve loves small gestures.

He loves your small gestures.

"There is more" You open the poster in front of your body so that he can see it well and Harrington’s expression is priceless, he looks like a child on Christmas Day.

"I can’t believe it" He whispers. He gently grabs the poster from your hands, incredulous and you notice a slight flicker. With a quick gesture he rests it on the sofa next to you and now there are you hips hin his hands and Steve Harrington holds you in a warm and strong embrace, which makes you feel more at home than ever before in your life. "No one has ever done so much for me." He whispers to your ear.

"I didn’t do anything." You reply.

"You heard me y/n, for real"

**

He is in the yard, joking and laughing with his friends avoiding to look at you on purpose. On the contrary, your eyes never left his figure. The truth is that Steve doesn't understand, sometimes he feels like he has hope with you, other times he see a wall between you two even during  your project it was as clear as sun that there was a spark, despite your initial coldness. He felt like you liked him. Not like, like him. Like him just as a person, in short, he' has believed for a moment that you could see something in him. The gift is a final demonstration, or so he thought. Things got worse at school, until you ended up ignoring him. And part of him just wants to run up to you and ask you what’s changed, the other part is terrified that Tommy might make fun of that. And in his heart he is aware that it is precisely this need of him to have to please everybody at all costs that has driven you away. But he can’t crawl to you, not in front of Tommy, its not something King Steve would do.

"I know you want him dead, but glaring at him isn't the right way to kill him" Robin Comments. She is sitting next to you, not looking up from her book. It's not common for you and your  sister to spend time together being so different from one another, but here you are, watching the basketball team's practice.

Watching Steve Harrington.

"Then why calling it a death stare if they don't die?" You ask annoyed, finally taking your eyes off of him to look at your sister.

"'Cause it doesn't work if you switch from an I wanna kill him type of look to an I wanna fuck him hard type of look, don't you know? " She explains. You don't answer, words don't come up at your mind and also you didn't think Robin could really notice your little, silly annoying crush on Steve. Not once.

"Why are you so upset, anyway?" She asks.

"Isn't it clear? He has slept with all my friends and... And I'm just the one who's missing he keeps  insisting being so... I don't know... Sometimes it's a douchebag, sometimes the sweetest boy on earth. Oh God, I'm going crazy"

"Look, Y/n we are the ones sitting there, observing him like perverts, not him. From what you told me he hasn't even tried that hard, in short, he could have done a lot more, if a compliment every now and then is enough to make you want to jump on a guy ... Maybe it's because you like that guy more than you you want to admit. "

You shake your head.

" He is Steve idiot Harrington, I can't like him"

"Oh yes, you totally don't."

"Bullshit, I don't like him, he is an asshole" You say once more.

She sighs at your stubbornness but before she adds something, you continue. "Also he has asked Tina out."

Robin smiles. "Smart move Harrington."

"What?"

"Y/n he's been avoiding to look since we arrived and he's totally failing. I don't like him at all, I think he is an idiot but you are not and if you really like this douchebag that much maybe he's something more than what I think, I also really really doubt it but that's another problem... I mean I believe you are clever enough to understand if he's just using you, but you will never know for sure if you don't give him a chance. "

You quickly realize it's true, you give your sister a smile and without saying another word you take your backpack and head quickly towards him. He spots you and bite his lower lip to hide a smile, while he walks in your direction too.

You take him by his arm and you drag him to the locker room, while his mates call him back and Tommy yells "Get in Harrington" you remember why you wanted to avoid Steve in the first place. You have learned one thing in life: to really understand someone observe the people they surround themselves with. Under this assumption Steve should be a bad person, yet he looks at you with eyes full of something you can't define and apologizes with disarming sincerity. "They are not so bad" He says referring to his friends. "It's that sometimes they forget respect"

"Isn't it the same?" You ask. He smiles. "Would you ever get angry with a monkey because it's rude or stupid? That's the same thing with them. "

"Monkeys are not stupid" You reply.

"You always have to have the last word don't you? " He chuckles, but he doesn't seem nervous. You stay silent. "Do you need something for the project or... Something else?"

"Stop it" You demand.

"Stop what?"

"You know what I mean" You say frustrated.

"No, please, really tell me. " He is lost and sincere.

"Stop... Acting like you care about me, like you really like me and then asking Tina out." And you know it's not fair, the Tina part, but you can't help yourself.

"Oh so you are jealous!" He exclaims as he suddenly realizes it and he is happy, like genuinely happy. You don't know how to react.

"What?! No, I'm not jealous! I'm angry because you're a asshole and you are using my friend and me" You reply, more frustrated by the minute.

"I'm not using her, I know Tina well enough to understand what I can do with her. We are friends too also I have never done everything wrong to you, Y/n." He seems hurt, he is biting his nails in anxiety and he has a  disappointed expression on his handsome face.

" I... " He starts to leave, but you grab him by the arm. "What's up?" He asks. "I'm an asshole, mh? You've been repeating it for as long as I've known you."

"You confuse me. But I don't think you are ... but you act like one, often."

"Not with you.  never with you."

You look in his eyes. "I know, but... I'm scared." He caresses your face, his soft finger tips between your h/c hair.

" So I better not fucking this up"

You nod. "I wanna know you better Steve Harrington."

"I'm honored" After a moment of silence he continues,  his voice firm and low. "I'm serious, I've never been so serious in my life" He takes your face between his large hands, his finger on your burning cheeks.

"Also I asked Tina to lie to you." He whispers leaning his forehead against yours, laughing while you punch him on the chest. He join your lips in a wet but sweet kiss. He had waited so long to taste your red lips, he can't believe this is  really happening, from the moment you have walked in his house showing sincere interest in him, he has known you were different and he has fallen for you quickly. He smiles against your mouth.

"You're an idiot Harrington "

"I agree."

[a-little-unsteddie]

Happy 500! I am so happy for you 💗! For the prompt w37. famous au (i want you to go hogwild) but Argyle/Steve

the moment i saw this prompt i knew i had to fulfill it as soon as possible because!!!! permission to go hogwild!! thank you so much!! i hope you enjoy what i whipped up! (coughs this also may or may not have an alternative version that i started writing and abandoned because i thought it was too much but if you wanna see that version too i’ll finish it and post it, too!)

37. Famous AU (Steve/Argyle)

Prompts || AO3

Steve wasn’t obsessed, despite what Robin insisted. Steve just had a healthy interest, that was all. A director that simply went by ‘Argyle’ had directed so many of Steve’s favorite films, and when he had learned that the man was planning on hiring for a new film, Steve had jumped at the chance to audition. He had immediately called Robin and told her to submit his portfolio for the audition. Since then, Steve hadn’t stopped checking his emails, voice mails, DMs on various social sites, just in case he hadn’t seen the acceptance to move forward with the physical audition.

He’d also been stalking Argyle’s social media accounts just to see the goofy pictures he always posted.

Robin called him obsessed.

Honestly, even if Steve didn’t want to admit it, she was probably right. He couldn’t stop refreshing his instagram page, holding his breath for any sort of update from the director. Robin was trying to be a good manager and drag him out to some sort of party that some big wig was hosting, to make connections, but he just didn’t want to go out.

“What if Argyle’s people contact us while we’re out?” Steve asked, biting his thumbnail, looking wildly between Robin and his phone.

“Then they’ll leave a message and we can get it in the morning,” Robin said, throwing her hands in the air. Steve suddenly realized actually, maybe Robin was right, he was a little obsessed, huh? He took a deep breath, nodding.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Okay. I’ll go.” He said with another nod. Robin grinned, Steve squinted, “Why do you look so smug?”

“I do not,” Robin said, rolling her eyes. “Go change, something fancy but, like, feel free to be a whore.”

Steve let out a loud laugh at that, knowing that he had a bit of a reputation around the scene as someone who wore extravagant things. It was something he prided himself in. This time, Steve went with a sleeveless blue turtle neck that was made out of velvet, tight white jeans and a necklace made out of quartz beading. He enjoyed how the shirt showed off his broad shoulders.

“Are you finally done getting ready?” Robin asked, waiting for him by the bottom of the stairs as he exited his room.

“You can’t rush perfection, Robbie. Let’s go,” he said, brushing off imaginary lint from his shoulder. Robin rolled her eyes, walking towards the door with him where a sleek black car was waiting to take them to the party.

“Who’s even hosting the party?” Steve asked, sometime later as street lights passed them in a blur.

Robin hummed, suddenly looking nervous, “Uh, you’ll see!” She said, grinning at him. “Oh, look! We’re here!” She said, gesturing to the door that was currently being opened for them. Steve blinked, sure that they were just driving through the city moments ago. Shrugging, he stepped out, smiling at the flashing lights as he and Robin walked the short distance between the car and front door. The party had already been going for at least an hour, Steve knew, as Robin had spent most of the day trying to convince him to go and he had only agreed once the party was starting. It probably was fine that they were fashionably late.

The moment Steve entered the house, he suddenly knew exactly who was hosting the party. He leaned over to whisper into Robin’s ear.

“What the fuck?” He hissed, eyes darting around the semi-familiar decorating. Steve had seen it often enough on Argyle’s feed, or on a documentary that had been done on his directing style.

“Well! Someone had to make sure you didn’t panic about tonight!” Robin said, holding his elbow, smiling at some of the other celebrities that had made an appearance tonight.

Steve was cut off from responding when suddenly a loud, serene voice greeted them, “My dudes! You made it!” The voice said, to which Steve turned and came face-to-face with the man he had been lowkey obsessing over the last several weeks.

Steve forced a smile onto his face, hoping that it adequately hid the all-consuming panic that washed over him. “Of course, sorry we’re late,” Steve said, looking at the other man sheepishly. Argyle was wearing a bright outfit, something that he was normally seen in, so it wasn’t something that particularly surprised Steve to see.

“No worries, man,” Argyle said, smiling at Steve in a way that let him know that the director was definitely partaking in something. “Just glad you could make it, Stevie, can I call you Stevie?” He asked imploringly, looking completely at ease, which Steve found himself jealous of because it felt as though his heart was beating so hard it had to be visible—at least audible.

Steve felt his cheeks heating at the nickname, a shyer smile overtaking his features as he responded, “That’s fine,” he confirmed softly.

“Sweet,” Argyle said, pulling him into a hug, which caused Steve to freeze before wrapping his arms around the other man as well. He blinked rapidly as the man pulled back with a smile, “Let me show you around, Stevie,” he said, before leading them away from Robin, who didn’t follow. Steve swallowed thickly, feeling completely off-kilter, like his entire world just tilted on its’ axis.

Steve found himself being shown to a quieter part of the house, where there were fewer people around. It looked as though this was reserved for people close to Argyle, which Steve figured made sense, but he was confused as to why he was being invited to this inner-sanctum, where the likes of Jonathan Byers and Eden Bringham were lounging, as well as a few others that Steve recognized from Argyle’s instagram, but didn’t remember the names of.

“Stevie, this is Jonathan, Eden, Chrissy, and Eddie,” Argyle introduced, to which everyone looked over and smiled in greeting. “Everyone, this is Steve,” he said, and Steve thought it was odd that it was already alien to hear his ‘legal’ name falling from Argyle’s lips. Unknown to Steve, Argyle had purposely introduced him to them using his proper name to avoid the others from calling Steve ‘Stevie’, wanting the nickname all to himself.

After being introduced, Argyle led him to the far side of the room, to a loveseat that was already half taken up by Eden. Argyle sat and dragged Steve down onto his lap, which, while Steve definitely didn’t mind, found himself squirming in place anyway.

“It’s good to meet you, Steve,” Eden said, smiling in the same serene way that Argyle smiled, which was a little unnerving to see on her in a way that it wasn’t on Argyle.

“You, too,” Steve returned with a smile, always polite even if he was confused. He leaned closer to Argyle’s side, “What am I doin’ down here?” He asked quietly, looking at him with open confusion. “Not that I mind,” he added after a moment.

“Well,” Argyle said, smiling at him in a way that should’ve felt absent, but wasn’t, “Robin sent in your portfolio, and I liked what I saw, so I wanted to make sure we got along, Stevie. Think of this as the audition,” he explained, which didn’t shed light on why he was in Argyle’s lap, but did sort of explain why he was invited to the inner-sanctum. He had heard that Argyle’s auditions were a bit more casual than others, but he hadn’t expected this sort of casual.

“That makes sense,” Steve said, trying to settle in his new spot. Argyle helped him get comfortable, gripping his hips and adjusting him until he was sitting between Argyle and the end of the couch, with his legs thrown over Argyle’s lap while the other man had his arm around Steve’s shoulders.

From there, conversation picked up around them and soon enough it felt as though Steve was just hanging out with a couple of friends. Steve wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Argyle checked the clock and groaned.

“Aw, bummer, I gotta make an appearance upstairs,” Argyle announced, nudging Steve slightly to get off.

“I can join you,” he offered with an easy smile, “make it a little less unbearable?”

Argyle’s face brightened, “Perfect, Stevie. Let us go,” he said, offering his arm. Steve flushed, grabbing it.

They made their rounds, making small talk with a few of the guests, making sure that they were making appearances in a few different conversations. It was the most boring part of the night, but Steve didn’t mind. He didn’t particularly understand how he got there—hanging off the arm of Argyle, but he didn’t mind being the pretty thing on this particular arm. Eventually, they were able to escape, this time out to the balcony rather than the basement.

“Wow,” Steve breathed, taking in the view, “that’s gorgeous.” Argyle glanced at him and smiled.

“Almost as gorgeous as you, Stevie.”

Steve turned to him in surprise, feeling heat flood his cheeks. He smiled shyly, which Argyle easily returned with confidence.

“Thank you,” Steve breathed, turning to look back out at the view. He felt Argyle move to stand behind him, wrapping one arm around him and the other rest on the railing in front of them.

“What are the chances of a date, Stevie?” Argyle asked, with a confidence that Steve envied.

“With me?” Steve asked, needing to be sure. Argyle hummed affirmatively. “I’d say they’re pretty good,” he admitted softly, smiling as Argyle cheered in his ear.

“Then, will you go on a date with me, Stevie?”

“Absolutely.”

Steve was definitely obsessed.

[with-love-from-hell]

Melancholia

{part Nine}

Fandom: Obey me!

Genre: Angst

Written for F!Mc (she/her pronouns used)

WC: ~1.1k

CW: Allusion to past sexual violence in Vermillion Skies, Gaslighting/invalidation, use of the word “Paranoia,” Nightmares, vague illusion to torture and burns, blood mention, bruises mention. 

A/N: sorry for the wait! Its finally here! 😊

>> Though I have a Masters Degree in Psychology, I am not your therapist. If you have experienced any form of depression or suicidal thoughts, and are in need of help, please utilize the Suicide Prevention Lifeline, NIMH helpline, or the SAMHSA helpline. <<

You can find any future parts by searching the tag #Vermillion Skies or #Melancholia on my blog! I have added it to all parts!”

Series Masterlist

Though the days past by quickly, the nights for Simeon were restless. Each horrid nightmare about Mc made the fleeting bits of slumber he managed to achieve unbearable, to the point where he was becoming severely sleep deprived. Even after multiple scoldings from Lucifer and Barbatos, his grades continued to falter. Whats more, he began silently following Mc around just a few paces behind. His fear of losing them becoming so strong, that he no longer heeded the warnings from Mammon, Barbatos, or even Lucifer to stay away, which came as a significant annoyance to the three over-protective caretakers of Mc. He even went so far as to stand outside the house of Lamentation, just below the balcony to Lucifer’s room, as if waiting to see some lurker dare to attempt to harm them like in his dreams. 

What frustrated Simeon the most about the dreams is that the individual responsible for their torture was faceless. Try as he might, he could not make out any defining features to give the cruel captor an identity. The setting he was able to place Mc in was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he had seen it before, and something about the individual reeked of resentment and betrayal, though at this point there could be many who fit that bill. The only two faces in his dreams that gave any clarity were that of Mc- bloody and bruised as she was- and Lucifer, who’s interruptions of Mc’s torture were just as painful to watch as he paced around his office, desperately fighting tears amongst the tarnished books, shelves, and furniture. 

Much to Simeon’s surprise, the only one who gave his dreams any consideration was Luke. He was dismissed by Solomon, who passed him off as paranoid, and Raphael he was dismissed by Raphael for being obsessive in his ruminations about the human girl. But Luke seemed equally as concerned by the nighttime horrors as Simeon, going so far as to walk Mc to class hand-in-hand almost every day. 

“Do you really think something so terrible could happen to her?”

“Well...” Simeon sighed, scratching his ear anxiously. “I would like to hope it wouldn’t, but if someone had harmed her once, surely there could be a chance of harm coming to her again.” 

Luke’s frown intensified, casting worry lines all over the small angels face. Simeon gave a weak smile, and outstretched his arms. Accepting the invitation, Luke nearly jumped into the hug, soft tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“I don’t want to think about this any more...” He murmured into Simeon’s coat, sniffling back mucus. “Can we go to the Cat Café with Satan again or something?” 

Simeon obliged, ushering Luke toward the Library where Satan had been seen reading a book on dark mages earlier in the day. Simeon had seemingly bonded back with Luke after sharing his dream all those nights ago, and it offered the opportunity for Simeon to share his reasons for abandoning virtue. While Luke still didn’t quite understand, he knew that Simeon had no ill intentions toward him, nor toward the celestial realm despite the tortures he had suffered at the hands of Michael. 

Forgiveness was still long off for Luke, certainly. But being able to talk through things with Simeon brought him a step closer to it. Besides, he had been so desperate for some sort of connection again, since Michael seemed to only care about Mc when he spoke with him. His fascination with her wasn’t quite misplaced, as Mc seemed to have even captured the attention of Raphael, who had been previously so preoccupied with his duty that he barely cast them a second glance. 

It made Luke happy to know that the two individuals who admired the most in the celestial realm had taken an interest in his friend. Perhaps they would be able to help in keeping her safe from the impending doom that Simeon’s dreams promised. 

.......

“Luci...” You murmur as you creak open his office door. His head is perked up as he heard your meek voice, concern painting his face as you meet his stare. 

“Another bad dream?” Lucifer immediately rose to his feet as you nodded and walked toward you, cupping your chin in his hands delicately. Despite the fact that so much time had passed and you seemed to be improving still from everything that’s happened, the past two days had been torturous for you. He had stayed home with you the previous day due to your inability to get even a mediocre night’s sleep and the sickness that followed in the morning. The next night and day were no different, having confined you to your shared bedroom with Lucifer for a bulk of the day. Fortunately, tonight you seemed to get to sleep with ease, and managed to consistently sleep for a solid two hours before Lucifer snuck away to his office to catch up on some paperwork. 

“Come, love.” Lucifer gathered you in his arms, picking you up by your rear and urging you to wrap your legs around his waist. “Lets go back to bed.” 

Lucifer helped you back upstairs, snuggling in next to you after tucking you under the covers. His wings sprouted from his back as the raven feathers closed around you, pushing you closer to your lover’s chest. Listening to his heartbeat and the feeling of the silky feathers against your skin eased your nerves, despite the fact that you couldn’t remember most of the nightmares when you woke. All you felt was a burning sensation all over your skin, and you could remember a vaguely familiar looking man standing over you with pure disdain in his eyes. You couldnt ever remember the words he said to you, nor could you remember how you got into the tiny room with him, but you knew was that the room meant pain and torture for anyone who stepped foot in it. 

You sigh, clinging to Lucifer tightly. He assured you that you were safe, and you felt it now, too. But something still hung heavy in your stomach; something that told you the safety you felt in this moment wouldn’t last much longer.

[suenitos]

i am a lore head and i won't even apologize for it i was writting essays in my friends dms on the wholeeee thing until Um techno's passing where i lost any and all motivation to tap in (he was my favorite). idk it was so special i can atest that the reason it was sooo build up was because it worked in a way you could both take things at face value (as in, dream looking for the disc using his minecraft abilities being translated to him having those abilities in-character) and also imaginate stuff (such as burning george's house and/or the pogtopia arc could both be dramatized and downplayed). IDK IT WAS SO FUCKING SPECIAL

i do agree that q's lore being of incredible visual quality and cinematographic helped create this sense of greatness but it lacked so much succint stuff. you couldn't do anything but strong lore beats with that kind of lore, so a mixture of normal rp-ing and big lore cinematographics would've been good, but he missed the equlibrium and made a lot of people very annoying in how they reacted to the "writting" of the dsmp (like, remember those people saying that certain characters should have certain endings for how their characters had done, while the ccs were just having fun? yeah the change between dnd kind of rping to the fake idea of this being a fully scripted and narratively consistent arcs was q lolol). ANYWAY IDKKK lots of thoughts about everything always

sidenote on "is this lore" "is this canon" i also hatedddd that so much everything is canon lore. nothing is canon lore. lore doesnt even mean what you think it means 😭 you really mean plot.

YESSSS LIKE THESE PEOPLE WERE OUT THERE CHECKING EVERYTHING ANF CATEGORIZINFG EVERYTHIGN JESUS CHRIST THAT FAKE NATION YOU LOVE ROSE UP TO MAKE A DRUG MONOPOLY AND MAKE CDREAM'S LIFE HELL NOTHING MORE !!🌟

like people forgot really quickly that this used to be a mishmash of breaking bad and hamilton roleplay 😭 and most of the ccs are not actors or writers but they clearly had a lot of fun with it and again the relatively unserious medium of streaming made a lot of those moments actually more epic becuase it was serious but also not. i love your persepctive on this! its kinda funny you mention the dream irl abilities a little bit because i remember a few months ago friday got slammed for that here by an insane lorehead who was very much of the Everything Must Have A Reason crowd even though that was WAYY before any actual substantative plot HAPPENED.

i agree with the balance aspect and even though a lot more interactions between LN characters happened on other peoples streams (and was relatively more chill), i think the emphasis on these huge lore streams was a detriment to the story it was trying to tell whatever that was. i was confused more than sad that slime fucking died because as a casual dsmp viewer i only tapped into the big streams and nothing about the way slime was intro'd or integrated into the story through those streams really captured me the way someone might be swept into like crimeboys for example. it just wasnt the same. and also on the point of obsessive viewers FUCK michael i wish sapnap killed his ass

[blochnessm0nstr]

Way too much info about me!! (Warning, word vomit)

My stats:

Height: 5’7

Sw: 184 lbs

Cw: 156 lbs

Lw: 151 lbs

Gw: 96 lbs

I’ve been bulimic since March but last night i binged and could barely purge, scared me right back into ana. I was ana for about a year before that though.

It’s currently 8 AM and i haven’t slept, but i don’t wanna sleep through christmas eve so i’m too scared to go to sleep now, oh well I’ll pull another all nighter

Kind of? addicted to getting high on benadryl which is really stupid but yknow. Trying to stop because last time i dosed i had 35 (875mg) and barely hallucinated at all and if i dose again i’ll probably want at least a gram which scares me, don’t want seizures. Was alcoholic when i was 14 but passed out behind a closed down bush’s chicken (blood alcohol level was 0.27) and had to go to the hospital, haven’t really drank since. Been hospitalized once for benadryl as well, took 35 before my tolerance was very high (like it is now) and was speaking gibberish and my mom found me :/ went to the psych ward after that one.

Been to 3 psych wards in the span of 2 months for various reasons, was diagnosed w a lot but i don’t trust them because they diagnosed me w BPD even though i’m only 15? Off all my meds too because fuck em.

Dad recently shot up my house then killed himself so that’s fun. Happened 8? days ago i think. He had a little psychotic break. He had pretty bad bipolar disorder so honestly he wasn’t really acting out of character.

Obsessed w butterflies and ready to make it my whole personality. The color purple too.

This is mostly for my own well being because i really need somewhere to vent/blog and why not make it public?

I love piercings sm, and will be getting more hopefully in the near future. I currently have 4 lobes, both daiths, 2 helixes, 1 nostril, smiley, frowny, tongue web, and a vertical labret. I really want snake bites, medusa, other nostril, and dimples, as well as a shit ton more on my ears. Have to wait until after my dad’s funeral though, his family is very conservative and my mom doesn’t want to be judged.

I really like working out and have a bit of muscle, but i wanna be way more toned.

Still unhealthily obsessed w my ex who dumped me right after i got out of the psych ward the first time (and ditched me to drink alone, which is when i almost died) he was good to me before the end, I think he’s in jail now though, not positive. He just kinda disappeared.

Mom keeps trying to send me to a ed clinic, rehab, or RTC so if i disappear i probably didn’t die.

Came from twitter but it’s shit now so i’m here, i like it so far.

I used to self harm a lot, like a lot. Used to have a shtwt account but we don’t do that anymore, it made me feel special because i could cut to beans 😬. I won’t post any gore on here. If i ever post my body (unlikely for a long while) be warned there will be scars.

edit: I’m also depressed asf if u couldn’t tell 😭 barely hanging on by a thread. I need to clean so bad i’m considering overdosing on sudafed to give me the energy.

I live w just my mom, my brothers in college, and my dads dead (obvi) probs gonna have to move now that we only have one income.

I doubt anyone read this but that’s my whole life basically. I’m really sweet but get so scared ppl r judging me when they interact so i may not answer 😭

[uncouth-the-fifth]

pythia - a supernatural rewrite. pilot.

read it on ao3. masterlist.

words: 20298 (she's a big'un).

notes: Is the fandom dead? Am I speaking into the void? I have no clue. Do I persist? Yea.

I recently got back onto my spn train after like sixish years of not being obsessed with the show, so I'm going in bald to pretty much all fandom and canon elements that came after 2017. (By that I mean that my brain shorts out sometime after season six). This is utterly indulgent, and is mostly for my fourteen y/o self who couldn't write for shit and desperately wanted to be in the backseat of the Impala. I was circling through rewrites that my friend had sent me (thank you gracie!!) and none of them were scratching my particular, Dean-and-Sam-both-have-earrings-and-are-30%-more-affectionate itch. At present I can't decide which brother I'm leaning towards more for this, probably Sam, but for that reason, things are slow burn and split pretty evenly for the boys!

Season 1 is a period piece, in good and bad ways, so I try here to squash out most of the bad to leave some room for... well, us. All I ask is that u go through this imagining yourself with a flip-phone w little charms on it, as well as cute late 90s/early 2000s fashion.

Enjoy!

next part: wendigo, p1.

EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - OCT. 29th

Dean didn’t need to call ahead. He wouldn’t anyway—both because he was shit with phones and he liked to test you—but the moment you saw his headlights, you planned to gripe about it in the car.

The faintly sweet smell of dead leaves hung in the late October breeze. Your dark street was illuminated by two-story inflatable ghosts and pumpkin string lights, which threw an odd orange glow along parts of the road. One of your neighbors had gotten ambitious this year and decked out the side of his house with a massive spider web. You’d been forced to stare at it while you waited for Dean, and after too long it made you feel… detached. This time of year always felt like a bit of a joke; what was real for you every day was real for them for just one, and they mocked it.

All over, Halloween felt like a bad omen. It was a bad omen—or maybe you were just bitter you’d never been able to go trick-or-treating.

The Impala stole a spot on the curb, lighting up the whole street with sound. Dean popped the driver’s side door, his silhouette, as always, doubled by his leather jacket. You raked your eyes over him from where you sat on the stoop, suitcase at your side and a hand on the old duffle bag Dean had lent you years ago. He looked drained. The parts of his face touched by the gory orange light made him look almost sickly with nerves, until he passed into shadow again and all you could make out was his grin.

“Howdy,” Dean greeted. You didn’t need the light to know he was checking you over, too.

“Y’know, usually when you’re picking someone up you warn them first, Dean.” You dramatically flopped your hand against your forehead, almost tipping back into the concrete, “Oh, you never call, you never text! God, you may as well throw me in the old folk’s home—”

“Shut your trap, since when do I have to call ahead?” Dean tilted into a jog to meet you, “I missed you too, blah blah. It’s only been a week. You’re real clingy, you know that?”

You threw up a very graceful middle finger. Dean swatted at your hand, and you let it drop as you soaked each other in. When he was close enough, you rose and slid your hands under his jacket in a quick embrace, and Dean returned it by dropping his brow once to your shoulder.

Seeing you packed and ready when he hadn’t even called—hadn’t even told you he was coming—endeared him in some way, but there was a pinch in his brow that wouldn’t let him show it. Things must’ve been worse than you’d predicted. His jacket, which had been blown up, shot through, and repaired all over with fabric and patches, had a new repair on the right cuff. It looked like he’d patched the hole with faux snakeskin.

“So…” Dean tapped his temple, “how much did your weirdo-psychic stuff tell you?”

At this, you took up your duffle and Dean leaned across you to grab your suitcase. When he was close enough to meet eyes with, you knit your brows together. “Not much. I woke up from a dream half n’ hour ago, and all I knew was that you were on your way and needed me.”

Dean exhaled a laugh, flustered, and moved to turn around a little too sharply. But you stopped him by the arm, and by some miracle he listened.

“What’s happened?”

Up close, it was much easier to count the expressions Dean went through before he landed on tense. “Dad…” he said, “I was… I was in New Orleans, waitin’ on him…”

He paused, at a loss for words, so you did the only thing you could think to do and offered your free hand to him. The old ritual made Dean appropriately hesitant—using your gift to peek into his mind was cute when you were kids, but as much as he trusted you, at present it could be invasive. Dean only accepted when he was too tired to speak or had too much to say. By the look of him, this seemed like one of those times.

“Go on,” he pushed. Dean didn’t snap or grunt about it, and turned his cheek for you to connect.

You laid your knuckles on his cheekbone. His skin was chilled, but warm compared to the night air and coarse where his stubble started up his jaw. It took a breath, but you calmed your surprise and focussed on your powers.

They’d developed around your twelfth birthday, which was expected. The Gift ran in your family, from mother to daughter and so on, and with it came a responsibility that started long before you were born. Your mother had been guiding hunters for as long as you could remember. Just as she helped John Winchester, you’d been dragged across the country by his boys since Dean was old enough to drive. In all honesty, you doubted you’d be half as competent with your powers if they hadn’t been there to encourage you. (Or in Dean’s case: pester you constantly).

“Dean…”

His emotions came to you like nails out of rotted wood. Dean was terrified, so terrified, but before you could blink those feelings were yanked out of your reach. Instead, Dean presented you with a careful picking of his memories: hunting alone, checking his phone so much the screen never slept, and voicemail after voicemail after voicemail. All of it blurred together with burning anxiety. John’s last words to him hung hard over his head, and now over yours. We’re all in danger.

“Your dad’s missing,” you repeated.

Dean whipped around, embarrassed by the exchange, and rushed over to the Impala. “Yeah. For a couple weeks now. You heard anything from him? Or, y’know… felt anything?”

You were tempted to wonder if this was another one of John’s regular disappearances, but Dean was so rattled you were compelled to listen to him. His question made you pause. “Not recently, no. This time of year always messes me up, you know that—the veil thins, everything’s louder—”

He threw your suitcase into the backseat with a bang.

“Wouldn’t that make it easier?” Dean snapped. The heat in his voice flickered out as fast as it’d come, “...Y’know, to feel for him?”

The line of his shoulders was hard-cut with tension. You watched him drop both hands to the door of the car, dragging in a breath through his nose. Sympathetically, you set a hand on his shoulder. Dean flinched, like you were moving to reach into his mind again, but melted sideways into the touch when it warmed there to comfort.

“I wish it did,” you sighed. “But that’s why I’m coming with you, okay? Three heads are better than one dumb Dean one.”

He lifted his head, squinting. “Three? How’d you know we’re getting—” A slow smile grew on your face, and the bigger it got the harder he rolled his eyes. “...Nevermind. Stupid question.”

You tossed your duffle into the passenger’s seat (ready to bask in it before Sam inevitably called shotgun), reveling in the strained sound Dean made when you picked up his box of tapes and relocated them to the back. As Dean started the engine, you fished around for the headphones you’d dropped under the bench the last time you were with him.

“We got a thirty-somethin’ hour drive ahead of us,” Dean warned. “You got everything? Gonna be able to keep yourself entertained?”

You gave his closest knee a nudge with yours, shrugging slyly. “I brought coloring books.”

Dean snorted. Before you clicked your lap belt on, he threw an arm over the bench and nodded to the back almost shyly, “Pick something from the tapes.”

The motor rumbled. You hadn’t questioned why Dean had grabbed you before he grabbed Sam, since you were a closer drive, but it struck you that he’d still chosen you to help. John certainly hadn’t asked him. If anything, you made the old man nervous. Dean wanted you here. In your dream, that was all you’d felt—Dean needing you. It didn’t matter if his father was missing or if he just needed a beer. Either way, he would find you waiting with your suitcase. You hoped he knew that. He seemed to want you to know the same was true vice-versa.

After your long gloating silence, Dean threw back his head and groaned, “Sometime this year, please?”

Smugly, you bent over the backseat and felt around in the dark for what you were looking for. The music tapes shined in the streetlight like obsidian, but you only needed touch to find the peeling edge of the Led Zeppelin boxed set.

“You’re letting me pick the tape, and you said please? Man, you really do miss me.”

You predicted that he’d swat you on the ass, but he wasn’t fortunate enough to have your Gift when you swatted him on the back of the head too. Dean cursed, “S’ my music. Everything in there is good. That way you can’t pick something stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” you replied, and Dean took the bait, starting a train of no yous that lasted well into Iowa.

_

PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA - OCT 31st, morning.

It was as close to fall in California as it could get. Humid night-time air gushed through the open windows of the Impala, covering whatever chill the weather could manage. The parking lot of Sam’s apartment rung with a pregnant silence, so even the tiniest noises seemed loud. Four times your head had shot up, ears prickling for the twin sound of bootprints, but the front gate never rattled and the boys never emerged. You were unsure if you wanted Sam to come out or not—he’d given up hunting for good, and dragging him back just felt cruel.

Picking a thread in the seat, you sighed. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to go with Dean. You didn’t want to intrude on their reunion, but he’d been dead quiet for the last day, the silence of the car unfilled even by half-assed jokes. Trying to worm one out of Dean was pointless, anyway. It was obvious he was sobering himself for Sam. If their Dad really was missing, he had to be the strong, unflappable big brother that Sam could take example from. As sweet as the sentiment was, watching Dean quietly reassemble himself in the driver’s seat put a bad taste in your mouth. You knew you wouldn’t be seeing that Dean—the one who tenderly dropped his cheek into your hand because he was too wrecked to speak—for a while.

And Sam… It’d been two years for all of you, but you’d at least kept in touch with him over the phone. Seeing his stories come to life was bizarre. He’d called you about everything: dating Jess, getting the apartment, his score on the LSAT. It was weird, knowing the walking supernatural encyclopedia you’d grown up with now lived on this cutesy little road. The Sam who’d help you set up psychic rituals in your mom’s basement now bumbled along with the normies. Well, if it was going to be any of you… He probably studied in the museum gardens in town, drinking those caramel lattes he pretended not to love and listening to punk music and Cyndi Lauper covers. Freely enjoying all the little things John would give him shit for.

You dared to glance again at the front gate. Yeah, cursing John Winchester sounded pretty good right about now. You weren’t here for him—you were here for the boys.

As a result, you tried not to see all of this as a bad omen. Even if Dean was always on your couch between hunts, and even if it’d been two years since you’d last seen Sam in person, being with them again always tripled the output of your Gift. Just being in the Impala fed you visions of your memories with them. They had, in a way, grown up with your powers just as much as you had, and as a result you were a compass constantly pointing North. Sam and Dean were your (very stubborn, but very lovable) North.

And that—that was a good omen. Being split two ways between them like this had been messing you up. Maybe here, being with the boys you’d grown up with after so long, you’d gain the power to find John.

An electric pulse raced through your chest like you’d caught something right before it hit the floor… and two seconds later, Sam and Dean’s arguing carried out into the night air.

Dean’s tone was an inch away from cutting. His and Sam’s boots thudded down the concrete in tandem, like the beat of a racing heart. “—so what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?”

Sam’s softer voice chased his, almost pleading. “No. Not normal. Safe.”

Dean swung around at him so he and his brother were eye to eye. He scoffed. “...And that's why you ran away.”

“I was just going to college.” Sam hopelessly shook his head, “It was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing.”

You winced. Yeah, maybe another explosive argument wasn’t what you needed.

This was when they came into view for you. Growing up without siblings, you’d been the sum total of your parents' genes. Because of that, it was fascinating, cute even, to see how John and Mary had been distributed among the boys—pretty evenly, too. They only looked like brothers from a distance. The cut of their shoulders and jaws were identical in silhouette, and without meaning to they set their hammer-knuckled hands on their hips in the same bracing way. But Dean had Mary’s everything: her mouth, her lashes, her hair, and visions had taught you that he’d taken her scowl too. John was clearer in Sam’s face, but without the coarseness of grief. The cedar brown that’d snapped at you for crying about the kickback of a shotgun was Sam’s now, and Sam had rubbed your back while explaining how to hold it after John had stormed off.

Dean breathed deep through his nose, only to snap back: “Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now. If he's not dead already. I can feel it.”

The Impala’s door closing behind you made Sam jump, cutting off the argument. You stalked out from Dean’s shadow, saving whatever mixed feelings you had for later—his arms were already halfway open at the sound of the racing footsteps, and you ducked into them to squeeze him hard around the belly. Sam gave a satisfying oomf when you came in for landing, giving you a moment to enjoy your relationship with gravity before you were scooped up and spun in a circle so wide your legs flailed. You did your best to squeal with dignity when he set you down.

Sam breathlessly said your name. He smelled like good laundry detergent (that meant he had a washing machine, a working stove, and a dozen more luxuries they’d never had as kids) and something faintly woody, like cedar.

“Nice stud earrings, stud. Black is classy,” you snorted. Sam flicked you on the cheek for the remark.

From where your face was pressed into Sam’s shoulder, Dean scowled and mouthed: “Help me out here.” You ignored him to give his brother another good squeeze, and Dean deflated like a kid forced to share his favorite stuffed animal.

“S’ good to see you,” Sam half-grinned at you, rubbing his freshly bruised ribs. The Kansas twang was still in his voice a little. That, at least, remained the same. “You doing okay?”

“Halloween,” you winced by way of explanation, which earned an understanding nod. You’d complained about it to him for two hours over the phone.

“Do you still want to… even if you’re overloaded…?” Sam gestured to his face.

When you nodded, Sam tilted his cheek in your direction like he was offering his palm to shake hands. You set your knuckles easily on the side of his face, a friend taking his temperature, and like every time you reunited Sam opened himself up to you. This was not Dean’s massive wave of emotion. Subdued, Sam caught you up: on his anxiety for his interview on Monday, on how Jess was doing, the nightmares he’d been having. Even his own uneasy feelings about Halloween for your sake. But king above all of it was his frustration and his concern, for Dean and for John.

He poked at the connection, trying to get something out of you too, but you dropped it. Sam had caught one glimpse of your insecurities about your powers when he was twelve, and now he was hell-bent on convincing you they were normal. They weren’t, but you were fine with that. It was like Dean always said: s’ all part of the job.

The moment only lasted a second, but Dean slouched and grumbled like he’d been waiting for an hour. “Ladies, please, we can catch up in the car—we’ve got a hunting trip to take.”

Sam’s shoulders squared. He turned his pleading frown from Dean to you, and Dean did the exact same thing, imploring you to back him up. You could’ve sworn you were standing between two full-grown men, but instead you were being puppy-dog-eyed into taking sides. They knew what they were doing.

You took in each of their faces, then apologetically shuffled to stand beside Dean.

“He’s right, Sam,” you murmured, “We just can’t do this alone.”

“But you’re not alone!” He gestured snappishly between the two of you. “You and Dean can find Dad just fine together, and you have before! Why is it selfish of me to just want to live a normal life?”

You closed your eyes. That burned.

“It isn’t—” you said, just as Dean rumbled, “You owe Dad—”

Before he could finish the thought you put a silencing hand on Dean’s chest, whose jaw snapped shut into an immediate pout. He at least had the sense to know who had the better shot at convincing Sam. Dean stepped out of the dark and into the streetlight behind you, hovering at your shoulder. The shadows of moths tinking against a light flitted across his face. When Dean set his hand on your shoulder, you knew what you said next was for the both of you.

“Let me rephrase,” you spoke, carefully. “...We don’t want to do this alone.”

Sam hunted your expression for honesty. There was something so different about him, an edge that had peeled, a crack that had opened. His whole body felt like a scab so close to healing over. A part of you prayed that the scab was further healed than you thought—that maybe you were a week or a day too late, and Sam’s threshold for coming back to hunting had already passed. But between your involvement and Dean’s clenched teeth, the steel in his face gradually melted.

Sam ducked his head and sighed. “What was he hunting?”

The hand on your shoulder fell to your back and lightly fisted your jacket, giving it a little shake where Sam couldn’t see. Thank you, Dean seemed to say.

In unison, you and Dean spun on your heels. You tossed him the keys to the Impala, and he lapped you to jam a key into the trunk. Before he opened it, he looked at you, and you paused to close your eyes and feel around the area with your gift. “We’re alone,” you confirmed, and Dean hiked open the trunk.

The inside was unassuming until you opened the spare-tire compartment. Rows of weapons lined the inside, hatchets and firearms and ammunition of all kinds, gleaming in the low light. It was more jammed than usual, since your own hunting equipment was carefully organized alongside Dean’s clutter. Sam noted the differences himself, eyes keen, and heat prickled up your neck when he smiled slyly at a shiny new set of brass knuckles. Dean? He mouthed to you, and you pointed to yourself with a shy shrug, For my birthday. Sam’s grin was too knowing for your comfort.

Dean propped the hatch open with a shotgun. “All right, where’d I put that thing…?”

You plucked the file he was looking for right where it was laying on top of everything, clearly where he could see it. Idiot. Dean took it from you, mystified, like you’d pulled it out of thin air. “How do you do that?”

“Magic,” you replied. Dean seemed to believe you.

“All right, here we go,” He shuffled through the papers. “Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy,” he gave one of the pages to Sam, “they found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA.”

Sam glanced at the article. It was from the Jericho Herald, headlined Centennial Highway Disappearance, and dated for this September. A man’s missing photo was halfway covered by Sam’s thumb, who shrugged, “So maybe he was kidnapped.”

“Sure,” you mirrored his shrug, “and so was the guy in April,” Dean slapped down each corresponding article for you, “and December 'oh-four, 'oh-three, 'ninety-eight, 'ninety-two—ten guys in the past two decades.”

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting closer to read them over. “You had a vision of this?” He guessed.

“Nope,” Dean answered for you. He had his elbows on the edge of the trunk, posted up like a cowboy—and shit, watching him try to play the cool big brother was endlessly entertaining. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a hunt. Besides, she c’n always pick something up while we’re on the job, right?”

“Yes,” you tapped the paper in Sam’s hand with two fingers, “especially if it’s been going on this long in the same place. All of it happened on the same stretch of road.”

“It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough.”

Dean reached behind you for another bag in the trunk, and quickly fished through it for a handheld tape recorder. He raised his prize to the two of you, and Sam tried not to snort at the ghostbusters sticker on the side. You both sobered when Dean said, “Then I get this voicemail the other day.”

He clicked play. John Winchester’s rough voice was clear on the first word, then it descended mostly into static, punctured occasionally on the recording. “Dean...some—ng big—starting to hap—n...I need—try and fig—out what's… appen’ing. It may… Be ve—areful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

Sam’s expression was pinched with curiosity when Dean silenced the recording. Just hearing the feedback made your head feel fuzzy and cold, like you’d been dunked face-first into icy water and inhaled a lungful. Since Dean had needed to put a coat on you the first time he played the recording, you could feel his gaze sliding over your figure in search of more shivers. You gave him the most reassuring smile you could, but his face was still vigilant.

Sam was too deep in thought to notice. “You know there’s EVP on that?”

Dean’s grin lit up his entire face. Like you, he seemed to notice how far into normalcy Sam was—but unlike you, it worried him. “Not bad, Sammy,” he praised, “Kinda like riding a bike, ain’t it?”

Sam looked to you for a companion in his exasperation, and you shook your head in solidarity. Maybe, if you were lucky, this would just be one hunt. Maybe John wouldn’t drag you and Dean on another wild goose chase, and Sam could return home not totally upset with his family. With that in mind, you shifted deeper into their bubble and tried to enjoy this for what it was on the surface. The three of you were back together again. Two years suddenly felt like a million.

“Alright—I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got.”

Dean jabbed another button with his thumb and hit play. The cold, chilling voice of a woman echoed in the recording hollowly, like she was trapped in a place with air too thick to speak through. “I can never go home…”

You and Sam exchanged a thoughtful glance, repeating the phrase in unison: “Never go home…”

With a sigh, Dean tossed the recorder back into place. You stepped back so he could shut the trunk and everything in it, pressing your elbows into your ribs even if you could go swimming in the Palo Alto weather. Dean noticed, and quietly nodded behind him, “M’ spare jacket’s in the backseat.”

Taking the cue to give them even the illusion of privacy, you squeezed Sam’s arm and disappeared behind Dean. His green coat was right there on the bench, but you pulled open the door and slid into your new home to “look” for it, grabbing your bag from the front seat. Maybe they just needed a second to talk. The heater in the Impala was admittedly shit, so you slid into Dean’s jacket just in case and pretended you weren’t listening in.

“You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing.” Dean cleared his throat.

Sam sighed. You put your cheek on the backrest of the front seat, indulging in the familiar earthy smell of Dean’s jacket and Dean’s car. It was selfish, but you crossed your fingers in the sleeves. What you were hoping for, you weren’t entirely sure—at the very least that Sam would be okay after all of this.

“All right. I'll go. I'll help you find him.”

Dean’s relief was so potent you could feel it without touching him. It echoed oddly against the cold iron in your gut. He didn’t say anything, but you could sense the thankfulness settling hard into his joints. You’d both been prepared to go into this with only each other, but there was no way you couldn’t find John if Sam was in that passenger’s seat.

Sam’s shoes scraped against the concrete. “But I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here.”

The weight of the car shifted—Dean was sitting on the trunk. “What's first thing Monday?”

Sam bit his tongue. “I have this...I have an interview.”

“What, a job interview? Skip it.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you fell back against the seat. It was a good thing Sam was going inside to grab his stuff, since you needed some time to give Dean a good smack.

“It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“Law school?” You could hear the questioning smirk in Dean’s voice.

Sam swatted at him, exasperated. You began to wonder how Dean had gone in there and woken him up. “So we got a deal, or what?”

A minute later, Dean slid into the driver’s seat. He stared straight ahead for a concerning amount of time, then was possessed by the urge to do something and started cranking the windows shut. You watched him, and he felt you watching, but the lot was small and the buildings around it cast long shadows. Neither of you could make out each other's faces well, so you pressed your brow into Dean’s arm, and he flopped back into the seat to knock his head on top of yours.

“Thanks,” he said, finally. “I know you want Sam safe. I do too. I think he’s…” Dean sighed through his nose, “he’s safer where we can see him.”

“I don’t know how I survived that,” you snickered. It was better to just let Dean thank you—any earnest reply you could give him would just make him squirrely. Your voice was muffled by the fabric, but Dean was close enough to hear you anyway. “Sam’s puppy face should be legally classified as a weapon.”

Dean snickered too, until it died in his throat and you both just breathed in the silence. It was comfortable. He’d been making you nervous all day, but this eased it at least a little.

You flicked his ear. “Slut.”

Dean didn’t flinch. He just smiled, a little less exhausted than before. “Dick.”

_

NAPA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA.

The way to Jericho was filled mostly with wine country, so Dean drove with the windows down so you and Sam could smell the grapes on the wind. You found out that Dean had broken into Sam’s place, and between berating him, you tried to goad Sam into describing his apartment. That conversation kept you busy for most of the drive. The only homes Sam and Dean had ever known were Bobby’s house in Dakota and the antique shop where your mom gave her readings. Having a place that was purely your own was the hunter-kid dream, so you ate up visions of Sam’s breakfast nook (with cute coasters!) and Dean’s future megamansion with a jacuzzi-water bed.

“I don’t think it’s physically possible for something like that to exist,” Sam snickered.

Dean flicked the turn signal and wheeled into a gas station lot. “I said this was the future. They’ll invent it.”

You gave Sam a look from the backseat like, wait til you get a load of this, then asked: “Okay… and how are you gonna afford all that?”

“My sex tape’ll go viral,” Dean snorted. He took an empty pump, parked the car, and gave you an offended glance in the rearview mirror. Right, cause he was the one who could see the future. “Duh.”

Sam watched him bounce out of the car and into the convenience store, a half-fond, half-frustrated look on his face. You studied his profile down the line of his nose, and Sam caught you looking with a shy smile. He was still so smiley—perhaps even moreso than when you all hunted together.

You nodded to Dean, who’d been stopped at the door by a couple of girls complimenting his car. “I’ll bet you missed that, huh?”

“Weirdly enough?” Sam raised his brows, “Yeah, a little bit.” A beat later, he turned halfway in his seat to squint: “You stuck me up here in the front with him on purpose, didn’t you?”

With a dramatic whirl, you spread your arms across the width of the backseat and kicked up your feet by Sam’s face, spreading out as much as you possibly could to stake your claim. If you were going to be back here all weekend, you were going to be comfortable, that was for sure. Your blanket and pillow were waiting on your left for emergency backseat naps, and your snack bag crinkled on your other side. You gestured to your treasure pile with glee, as if to say, this is the lap of luxury.

“Yes,” you flipped down your sunglasses, “Yes I did.”

Sam gave your socks a friendly shove and shook his head. “Very clever. Do you know where Dean keeps his tapes?”

“Yeah! Here,” you disappeared under the bench, and hefted up the box by the bottom since its handles were broken. “He usually keeps em’ up front, but I knew you’d need all the leg room you could get.”

Soon, Sam was elbows-deep into his rifling, muttering and scoffing at the selection. You got back to reading the lore book you’d opened an hour ago, and ended up re-reading the same paragraph over and over until a plastic bag appeared through the window. It was followed by Dean’s smug face.

“For the lady,” he said, giving the bag a little shake.

You took it with a squeal of delight, wrestling it open to find your breakfast of choice. At the bottom of the bag there was also a small carton of plump, inky blackberries, and seeing it prompted you to turn out the window and coo, “I love youuu, Dean. Thank you.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered. The moment you opened the container, his open hand shoved through the window. At your possessive frown, he winked, “Dean tax. Hand some over.”

You reluctantly put a couple into his palm, filling out your Dean tax for the day, and he chewed around them as he spoke to Sam. “Hey,” he offered him a sleeve of mini donuts, “you want some breakfast?”

“No, thanks,” Sam scrunched his nose, polite as ever, and then very impolitely reached back to wiggle his open palm at you. Making a big show out of sighing, you split your ration with him too—finishing off your Sam tax as well.

There was a clinking sound as Dean started refilling the Impala’s tank. While you started to dig into what remained of your breakfast, Sam stretched his legs out the open door, the tapes still in his lap. “So how’d you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?”

Dean must’ve gotten into the donuts already, because his voice was muffled. “Yeah, well, huntin’ ain’t exactly a pro ball career. ‘Sides, all we do is apply. It’s not our fault they send us the cards.”

Sam chuckled, disappointed but unsurprised. He must’ve hoped that something had turned over while he was gone, that there was more than Dean’s mopey eyes to prove he’d left, but most things hadn’t changed. Almost nothing had except for him. When Sam had wondered what you two were doing for the last two years, he pictured the open road and the Impala chasing the shadow of John’s truck. Isn’t that what you were doing now? That was one of the main reasons why Sam had wanted to leave—the hunt was just one big, endless circle.

“Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?”

“Uh, Burt Aframian.” Dean plucked his own breakfast off the top of the car and reclaimed the driver’s seat. With him, Sam brought his legs back into the car and shut the door. “And his son Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal.”

“Sounds about right…” Sam raised his brows. He ran his finger over a line of tapes in the box on his lap, “I swear, man, you've gotta update your cassette tape collection.”

“What? Why?” Dean wiped powdered sugar on his jeans, and when he wasn’t looking you slunk forward to sneak a sip of his soda. He clearly noticed, but all you got from him was a playful smile when it appeared back in the cupholder.

“Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two…” Sam returned to surfing the box, which was brimming with more than two dozen albums, half of them labeled with masking tape and your and Dean’s handwriting. “Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock.”

As Dean plucked the Metallica tape from Sam’s hand, Sam shot you a pointed look. You tried not to flush when he tapped one of the newer additions, which was a little too lovingly labeled, for Dean <3. Letting his smirking silence say it all, Sam flipped the edge so you could see the subtle scrapes on the side—evidence of how many times it’d been played. Detective Sam missed nothing. Given time, he could probably even figure out the tracklist.

“Well, house rules, Sammy.” Dean pushed the Metallica tape into the player, all too proud of himself, “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

Sam’s side-eyed you, like it was necessary to stare at his true victim before going for the low blow. “Unless shotgun is ____, of course—”

The engine roared to life, and so did the music. Just in case that wasn’t enough to drown Sam out, Dean threw back his head and yelled, “Cakehole!” then slammed on the gas until the tires squealed.

For good measure, you found a lock of Sam’s hair and gave it a mean little tug. While Dean got the three of you back on the road, you leaned by Sam’s ear and hissed, “Never forget—I know your biggest weakness.”

“And what’s that?” Sam lazily grinned.

You clapped your hands over his eyes, pulling him back against the seat like you were strapping him into a torture device. In a sharp whisper, you cackled against his cheek, “...I know where you’re ticklish.”

Sam jolted out of your grip so fast his seatbelt caught. Out of the kindness of your heart, you released your captive, and he scrambled away to slouch low in his seat and protect his vulnerable sides. Sam was still nervously giggling half an hour later, so it was safe to say that the lesson had been learned.

_

CENTENNIAL HIGHWAY.

You and Sam took calling duty, checking the hospital and the morgue respectively for a man matching John’s description. He wasn’t at either place. Sam had always been uncomfortable with the lying aspect of the job, which was understandable, but regardless he was a champ at it. Dean was right: hunting was as all too easy to pick up again. Skill and instinct had overlapped a long time ago for all three of you.

“Check it out,” Dean said, and you and Sam raised your heads.

The bridge ahead was flocking with local law. Two police cruisers were aimed at an abandoned car, diagonal on the road and plastered with a whole night’s worth of leaves. You couldn’t see much more than that from here. Dean parked, and then reached across for the IDs in the glovebox. At least a dozen of them jostled forward, Dean’s dumb smolder in every single one. Your favorite had to be the wildlife service ID, though, since he’d forgotten to take his cartilage piercings out. Every time you were carded, somebody always asked.

Right on cue, Dean hooked them out of his ears and dropped the small pile of metal into one of the cupholders. Why he bothered, you didn’t know—he didn’t remove the rings or the bracelets he wore, so he looked like a goth football player anyway. Expectantly, he held out his hand to the backseat. You dropped a fistful of your warding and good luck rings into his palm, feeling Sam taking note of the routine. That was definitely one thing that had changed in the last two years: you and Dean were a tad more comfortable with each other than he remembered.

“Good?” Dean asked.

You waved your own fake ID at him. “All good.”

Dean’s grin moved from you to Sam, and as cheeky as ever, he nodded to the scene. “Let’s go.”

You lingered at Sam’s side, trying to gauge how he felt about this, but your concern quickly became unreasonable. In unison, their shoulders squared and their faces neutralized. It was eerie, how easy it was for them to become two different people—your mother trained you to protect yourself and others when you could, sure, but she was no John Winchester. You’d seen yourself what he’d done to the boys. The result was impressive, but… You slowed down until you were walking behind them, keeping the way your gut twisted to yourself.

Two deputies were inspecting the car when you approached, but you broke off early from Sam and Dean to float around the bridge. This was routine for you and Dean—he was always the rough-around-the-edges bad cop, and you played his head-in-the-clouds partner. It made it easier for Dean to get intel, while you felt around with your powers in case there was something to sense. This was the only time all weekend you regretted having Sam there. How long had you and Dean spent, goofily giving your FBI personas tragic backstories and coming up with their impressive exploits? Sam would be good cop now, there was no doubt about that. For a selfish breath, you wondered where that would leave you.

You heard Dean flash his badge and introduce you. “Federal Marshals.”

“Three of you?” One of the deputies—Jaffe—questioned.

“Uh,” Sam smoothly nodded in your direction, his voice full of humor, “she’s our trainee.”

Oh, you were going to eat him alive later. Not one tickle spot would be spared in your wrath.

“Oh, yeah—academy’s shootin’ em out like baby rabbits…” Dean agreed. He quirked his head and began to wander around the abandoned car, and since your cover was clear, you parted further from the boys to scope out the bridge.

The two continued to inch information out of the deputies, but you let yourself float into a headspace where you wouldn’t hear them. It was cold on the bridge, and just standing close to one of the railings made you feel like you were being sucked into a black hole. The drop to the river below was just barely far enough to kill. More cops were gleaning it for bodies, but you could sense that they wouldn’t find any. You walked down the length closest to the car, eyes closed, letting the rugged texture of the wood railing fall under your hand.

A hot rush of anger roared over you all at once—and you swore for an instant that Dean was yelling at you over your shoulder, telling you to get back to the car—that he can Sam could handle this without you—that he didn’t need you, that he’d never needed you—never loved you, had cheated on you for some useless girl—

“Sam!” You hollered. The black wall that had descended on you fell hard, like a sheet of glass shattering at your feet, and suddenly Sam had a hand on your arm and was ducking down to look at your face.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low, “Feel somethin’?”

You kept your eyes squeezed shut, chasing the void and the memories it’d given you. For a moment you were boiling with so much despair and rage—pure, throat-tearing rage—that you wanted to take him by the shirt and throttle him. Sam set his hand on your back and began to rub with his thumb, which made things so much worse and then slowly better. You blew a breath out of your nose, reminding yourself that you were needed here. That you were wanted. No one had cheated on you or lied to you—it was okay.

You made a grabby hand at the air and breathed, “Pen. I need a pen.”

Sam pat down his coat and handed you what he found. Taking the random coupon and an old ballpoint in hand, you spun Sam around to use him as a temporary desk. The name ended up sloppy from how fast you’d written it, but it was readable, and that was all that mattered.

“You did get something,” Sam smirked, and then turned around—only to pause and soften all over. “Woah, what happened? You’re crying…”

“I am?” You wiped your face on your sleeve, and Sam shielded you from the other officers while you gathered yourself. He was right; your sleeve was wet. But you didn’t feel like you were crying. “I don’t… I don’t think these are my tears.”

Before Sam could say anything about that, Dean gave the signal to leave, and automatically you both twisted to follow him. One of the deputies was there when you turned around, and paused at the sight of Sam’s arm around your back.

“Is she okay?” He spoke from below his hat.

“First crime scene,” Sam winced, which may have been less strange if you’d even glanced at the car—and if there was blood or a body to see. He steered you away, and you followed mostly to keep up with the lie. Whatever anger and sadness you’d had disappeared. Those weren’t your feelings, and neither were these tears.

You regrouped with Dean away from the cops. He stood more rigidly than usual, hands in his jacket, and whatever he planned to snipe about seemed to fall off his train of thought.

His brows jumped up his forehead. “Woah,” Dean said, “You get something?”

“Dean,” Sam chastised, but you waved him off.

You were almost surprised at how scolding he sounded, especially when Dean was barely concealing that closed-mouth, wide-eyed face he made when he was worried. It reminded you of your mom when you got the flu as a kid, and how she could always tell you were going to throw up—she’d slide the trashbin over in the nick of time. Dean’s shoulders were tensed in that same way, like at any moment he was prepared to get the bin under you.

“I’m good. Really. I think she was… projecting onto me.” With two fingers, you revealed the paper you’d written on, “S’ definitely some kind of vengeful—”

Sam cleared his throat. In tandem, you and Dean followed his gaze to Sheriff Pierce and a pair of (real) FBI agents stalking onto the bridge. They paused just outside the ring of your little meeting, your figures glittering in the Sheriff’s dark sunglasses. He managed to reflect the midday sun generously into your eyes.

“Can I help you kids?”

“No, sir,” you smiled pleasantly, “we were just leaving.”

Schooling the rigid stress in your frame, you willed the agents to find you unsuspicious and casually held the paper out behind your back. Sam took it, and with all the ease in the world you led the boys back to the car. The agents brushed past you, and again you willed nothing to happen—

“Agent Mulder,” Dean nodded to them each in turn, “Agent Scully.”

Well. That was three Winchesters for you to scold, then.

_

JERICHO, CALIFORNIA.

Constance Welch. That was the name you’d “heebie-jeebied” (Dean’s words) out of the spirit on the bridge. After only a little bit of fighting, it was agreed that you’d do some research at the local library while the boys followed a lead on the missing owner of the car. Separating made you uneasy—who knows what trouble those two idiots would get into without you there to keep them alive.

The Impala turned a few heads rumbling down the main street of Jericho. You couldn’t enjoy it like you usually did, since Sam was still in hovering mode. He’d even gone so far as to join you in the backseat. You generously allowed it, even though he took up most of the legroom, leaving you a very generous corner to yourself. Jessica was a lucky girl.

“Really, Sam, I’m fine,” you insisted, but you could tell by the way his brow twitched that he was skeptical. “S’ something I’ve picked up in the last year. I’m gettin’ to the point where I can do that seance thing that my mom does, letting the ghosts speak through her… I don’t think Constance was speaking through me, per se—most vengeful spirits are too angry to get a word out like that, anyway.”

Sam gave a little shake of his head. The Impala rocked a bit as Dean rolled into a stop, and you let the rhythm of the movement soothe you, an elbow out the window. On the next turn the public library loomed into view haloed by the midday sun, so you reached across Sam for your handbag. He passed it to you with a concerned smile.

“Are you sure?” Sam drummed a hand on his knee, almost vibrating with suspicion. “The spirit took over your mind, n’ that’s usually not a good thing…”

“Oh, hush, Sammy, the girl can handle herself,” Dean chided. “Yeah, maybe some normal loser couldn’t handle a ghost in their brain, but in case you haven’t noticed, it’s kinda her thing. You’d know that if you—”

You cut Dean off with a firm glare through the rearview mirror. “Enough of that, c’mon. It’s not his fault.”

Sam wilted in your peripherals, and seeing it instead of hearing it in his voice made your gut feel slit hip-to-hip. It wasn’t anybody’s job to make you feel good about your powers. You had them and there was nothing you could do about it—no special ritual to magic them away, no benevolent higher power that could take the Gift from you. If anything, complaining about it was just wasting time. But that didn’t mean you wished it was easier.

And Sam… he’d tried every day to make it easier for you. You remembered how ruthlessly protective he’d been as a kid, even being a year younger than you. Supernatural anything made hunters uneasy, even the mediums they visited, so it wasn’t like you hadn’t taken a couple jabs about your Gift growing up. Fuckin’ weirdo psychic… Wonder what’d take to hunt somethin’ like you… Does iron hurt you, freak? Just a muttered insult from some random hunter would have Sam spitting with rage. It was worse as you grew, when you could sense their unease at the sight of the women in your family, like each and every one of you was a bad omen. Some of them doubted that you were fully human.

But often, they were scared straight and were thrown out of your mother’s antique parlor with bloody noses. Or worse.

You remembered being seventeen: a pair of newcomers had come to your mother for a reading. Now that your powers were mostly off their training wheels, she’d had you sit in, to follow her example and to do some reading yourself. The new hunters had been antsy the whole time. Itching, like they’d planned to do something, eyeing you in your scooby doo shirt and flared jeans like they’d glare down a vamp right before the kill.

You remembered how your mother’s face had lost all color the moment she reached over to read them… the tremble in her voice when she explained that they’d made a mistake, that two simple mediums weren’t monsters to hunt… You remembered the absolute savagery in Sam’s eyes when he’d come into the back room and saw you held at gunpoint. And above all else, you could still see Sam wailing on one of them on the floor until two of his fingers were broken, the wet, bloody thud of his fist into bone echoing inside your head even now.

He’d sat on the bottom of the steps to your apartment above the dark shop all night, a shotgun in his lap. On guard. You’d been too nerve-wracked to sleep, apologizing to him over and over again for his messed-up hand. John’ll kill me, you’d babbled, and sixteen-year-old Sam had smiled with blood on his lip and assured: S’ not your fault. Besides, he’s been trying to get me to practice aiming with my left hand for months…

You stared into Sam’s face now, the broken thud of his fist still clear in your mind. The jab from Dean about being gone had already cut into him a little, like it really was important to him that he was caught up with the ins and outs of your powers. Like he really cared. His expression opened, full of earnest understanding, like he could reach into your mind just as easily as you could his.

Dean coasted the Impala up to the curb, giving you time to hop out onto the sidewalk. Sam followed you out of the backseat to reclaim his seat up front with his brother, eyes still dark with vigilant concern, so you stopped him by the arm. When he was on his feet and in front of you, you dragged him low enough to kiss the side of his face.

“Psychic shit later?” you said, and prompted him with your pinkie.

Playing at being annoyed, Sam hooked your pinkies and you both shook on it. “Later,” he agreed with a beaming eye-roll and rounded the car.

You turned your eyes on Dean, gleaming with dangerous intention. He paled with recognition. Desperate, he grabbed the crank and put his whole body into rolling the window up, but Dean wasn’t fast enough—you captured him by the cheeks and smushed a noisy one into his hairline. He gagged, he choked, he coughed, and when you dropped him he melted and steamed like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Kill me,” he said, flushed up to his ears. It was only fair—you had to give them equal treatment, or Dean would get jealous.

“I did. With cooties.”

You met eyes with Sam through the window, since Dean was mostly incoherent, and jerked a thumb over your shoulder at the cutesy small-town library. “Looking up this Constance chick will take me two hours, at most. First one to the motel buys?”

He gave the okay sign, and Dean drove off in such a hurry the Impala’s back wheels spit up dust. You watched them go, Dean still fake-hacking out the window like you’d given him influenza, until they’d turned the corner and disappeared. Boys.

You put on your warding rings as you melted into a crowd of pedestrians, just an inconspicuous girl arriving to research an unassuming name, with no strange intentions whatsoever.

_

Not more than an hour later, you were making the walk to the motel you and the boys had settled on. As much of a pleasure it was to dork around with Dean all day, you’d come to enjoy the quiet moments that were born out of splitting up. Unlike John, separating on a hunt was the last thing that Dean ever wanted to do, so these moments were few and far between. There was a beautiful sort of novelty in walking a strange new place alone. After a childhood spent shrouded under your mother’s roof, the world seemed even bigger than it should’ve been.

Your reflection floated in the displays of all sorts of little odds-and-ends stores, each one more fascinating than the last. There was a bookstore and a real estate office and a pretty little bakery, which you knew Dean would want to hit before you left. He kept a “pie-diary,” rating all the pie in the different places he went, and for some reason it expanded his palate so far beyond burgers and fries that he could talk about it for hours. You took note of it as you passed the beginning of a neighborhood, where a fenced-in backyard was spilling over with rusted classic cars. It was charming. For the millionth time in your life, you were glad most people didn’t know about the hunt—that way, you could still have your small towns and your pie diaries.

Black Velvet by Alannah Myles started chirping from your flip phone, so you flipped it open and put it to your ear. “Dean?”

“Headin’ over now,” he said, “We talked to the girlfriend of the victim, this guy named Troy—she was putting up missing posters downtown, n’ her friend told us about this local legend…”

You waited until a group of chatting girls walked past you to reply, kicking up dead leaves as you went. “Lemme guess? A woman found her children dead in the bathtub, and out of grief committed suicide on Centennial a few years ago. Now she haunts the bridge—”

“And whoever she hitchhikes with gets juped,” Dean finished. He sounded a little tense, and you got the feeling he and Sam had ripped each other up a bit in the, what? Ten seconds you’d been gone? Sigh. “You sense anything about my dad yet?”

“No. Were you and Sam fighting?” You dared to ask.

Dean blew a breath out of his nose, then immediately changed his tune. A smirk jumped into his voice. “...I’m only a couple roads over from the motel. Race you?”

You squinted down the street at the little beige and blue dot that was your destination. Out of superstition, you paused to listen for the Impala’s engine, but blissfully it didn’t come around the corner going sixty in a thirty.

“...You’re fuckin’ on, Winchester.”

_

You were gasping for breath so hard that your nose felt like it was gonna start bleeding, but it was worth it. The Impala pulled sourly into the lot, and with a slimy victory grin you watched Dean park just a few feet in front of you, hands on your hips. His eyes were dead cold with betrayal, like it was his god-given right as the eldest of the three of you to win all immature contests.

You had all of two seconds to bask in Dean’s loss before you were on your ass, on the concrete, with Sam and Dean’s worried faces blurring in your vision.

With a jolt, you sat up and blinked away your dizziness. Dean had you by both wrists, like you’d dropped right in front of him and they were the closest thing for him to reach. Sam looked significantly less calm. The brothers exchanged a look.

“Did you just faint cause you’re shit at running…?” Dean joked, and Sam filled in: “...Or was that a vision?”

You let Dean help you up onto your feet, took in a breath, then turned tail and booked it for the first floor of rooms. The buildings that made up the place were a baby blue color aged by the sun. A vintage sign at least three stories up promised vacancy and continental breakfast, and a rush came over you when you recognized its shadow under the sharp midday sun—the circle shape of it elongated onto a door almost exactly like it had in your vision. You noted a stain on the wall. This was it; this was the room your vision had shown you.

“Here,” you said, still shuddering for breath, now bent up with your hands on your knees. “Tuh—ten,” you jabbed the door number, “John was here.”

The boys didn’t even have to look at each other. Sam took a knee and rolled out his lock-picking kit, and with the same fluidity, Dean posted up against the wall and used the width of his too-big jacket to cover him. It only took Sam a moment to get it open, but immediately you were swallowed by the memory of what you’d seen: John drawing some kind of huge pentagram over the bed, every inch of the floor, wall, and tables laden with papers. John at this door, eyes dark with resolution. John roaring out of the parking lot in a hurry.

Sam took Dean’s shoulder and yanked him inside, and you bumbled in after them. It was exactly as John had left it in your vision. The normal, rustic-style hotel room had been massacred into a hunter’s den. Books poured from every surface, the unmade bed was hosting an open trunk of weaponry and a hazardous materials box, and any leftover space was used for warding purposes. John had an authentic dreamcatcher above the headboard and some kind of massive sigil on the ceiling… No wonder the do not disturb sign was still on the door handle—the cleaning lady would’ve shit herself.

“Woah…” Sam muttered.

The two paused by the closed door like John would come storming out from a crevice at any second, their shoulders stiff and ears perked. When Sam’s voice didn’t summon him, they deflated, and crept deeper into the room to investigate. You hung back to let them take the lead. Though you could sort through the clues just as well as they could, the dust hung in the air like it would in a mausoleum, and you certainly weren’t family.

Dean was thankful to get any trail he could, however, and perked up, giving the back of your head a rub as he floated over to the bedside table. “Atta’ girl,” he said, “gettin’ faster and faster every day.”

“Not fast enough,” you said, giving the empty room a dispirited once-over. “Who knows how long ago he left. Your dad hasn’t been here in days.”

To confirm, Dean flicked on the bedside lamp and gave the lopsided burger there a sniff. “Guh,” he recoiled, “no kidding.”

Sam was already stepping across the floor like he was navigating a laser grid. He stooped to finger the salt circle around the bed, checking it for breaks, and rose with pressed brows. “Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation where the connotations of that hung over you. The boys had never told you about the thing that’d killed their mother outright—your mom had explained their history to you, leaving the rest to be filled in by Dean’s haunted silences and Sam’s what-ifs. We are so lucky that we were in this from the start, your mother had said to you, some of us don’t have that luxury. Some of us are dragged into the hunt and can’t escape.

You hoped that the “something” John was chasing (or escaping) was easy to kill.

“What have you got here?” Sam said.

You followed his eye to Dean, who was examining a line-up of newspaper articles and missing posters pinned to the wall across from John’s bed. “Centennial Highway victims,” he said.

The names of several men were labeled all in John’s handwriting, and connected by long strips of paper with quotes or red string. Some overlapped each other in circles on the wall. To a civilian, it looked like the ravings of a mad-man. But to you… You hated John, but you had to admit that Sam and Dean had to have learned their prowess from somewhere.

“I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities…” Dean thought to the room. He tilted his head, listing his weight to one side and catching a square of golden light on his jaw. “There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?”

You drifted behind his shoulder to get your own look. “On the bridge, when I looked over the railing… I felt ice cold, like a bucket of water had been dumped over my head. Then all at once I could’ve sworn you’d… you’d…”

Dean turned his gaze on you, and of course when you were already at a loss for words the light hit his eyes just right and made them a sort of crystal green. There was a thought in your head about green apple candy in sunlight and then Dean was tilting closer, brows raised expectantly. “...Yeah?”

“This is gonna sound weird,” you winced.

Sam gestured generously at the hotel room you were in, which was chock-full of occult items and plastered all over with demonic symbols and supernatural lore. “S’ okay,” he chuckled dryly, “We are well past that.”

“I could’ve sworn for a second that… Ugh. That Dean had cheated on me?” You anxiously twisted your carnelian ring around your finger and spat out the words. “I knew in my right mind that I’d rather eat my boot than date him,” (“Thanks.”) “...but when it hit me I was overwhelmed with this mind-numbing rage. Almost throttled Sam, it was so powerful. Constance was putting all her emotions on me, that’s for sure.”

Dean’s grin was ear-to-ear. “I cheated on you,” he echoed, and you immediately leaned forward and pinched him on the arm. “Ow!” Dean whined, “Jesus, how old are you?”

Across the room, Sam’s nose was a couple inches from a spray of articles on the wall. One of them in particular had caught his eye, and when he honed in on it, his expression cleared of all doubt. The sound of everything clicking together in Sam’s brain was so loud you turned to him to get the verdict.

“That’s what the link is. Adultery,” he breathed, “and look here—Dad figured it out too.”

Sam flicked on a desk lamp to get a better view, lighting up the underside of his face with a handsome orange glow. You followed his eye to the article you’d found on Constance at the library. “That’s the one!” You read John’s label for the two of them: “She’s a… woman in white?”

Dean shot the wall of men a shit-eating grin. “You sly dogs.”

At your confused look, Sam filled in: “They’re female spirits associated with tragedy. Stuff like accidental death, murder, or suicide, but mostly some kind of betrayal by a husband or a fiancé.”

“That explains what I felt,” you sighed. “Man, it’s been so long since we’d hunted one of these, I’d almost forgotten. Had to be… what,” you shrugged at Sam, “my third or fourth hunt ever?”

“Yeah…” You could hear the smile growing on Dean’s face. He snapped his fingers, trying to recall, “yeah, that chick in Sedona. I got heatstroke from being out in the desert all day.”

You rocked back your head and groaned at the mere memory, playing up your annoyance for them, “I had to shove a bag of ice down his pants. And both armpits. Both! He’d sweat off all his deodorant, Sam! Fuckin’ unbearable. Never met anybody half as stubborn. Or smelly.”

Dean spun around, spread his arms to the room, and bowed at the waist like a humble prince. “What can I say? I’m a ladies' man.”

You were glad that, at least on the surface level, that was a happy memory for Dean. The two of you and John had been out in the desert all day, searching for where your woman in white had been buried, John barking at you to force something out of your gift and you barking at Dean to go back to the motel. You still carried the vivid image of his neck shining red in the high noon sun, the back of his shirt dark with sweat as he staggered along. John was no help in trying to convince Dean to take a break. After you’d snarled at him with an impressive amount of disgust for a girl your age, John had ordered you—and a swaying, incoherent Dean—back to the motel. Dean must’ve been too comatose to remember that part, but at least he remembered the better half: laying in your lap on the motel bed, while you dipped your hands in ice water and ran them through his hair. You’d put on Terminator 2 for him and fed him cold ice cream cake, mind flushed with unchecked fantasies of loading him into the Impala and driving as far away as you could.

You hadn’t even had your license, but the way Dean had been prepared to chug on for another four hours if you hadn’t tormented John into sending you back… and John would’ve let him…

Now, Dean swung around to turn off one of the lamps, giving you a glimpse at the spray of freckles on the back of his neck. You looked guiltily away from the result of the sunburn. “All right,” he said, “so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.”

Sam was still looking at the article. “She might have another weakness.”

“Or something else keeping her here,” you added, carefully picking at the emotions you’d felt on the bridge. They seemed separate from you, now, less like something you’d felt and more like the lingering emotions of an argument you’d resolved or a weird movie you’d watched.

“Well, Dad would wanna make sure.” Dean started to pry off his jacket, the buttons on the collar jingling against each other, “He’d dig her up. It say where she’s buried?”

You shook your head. “No. Or if she was cremated.”

“If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband.” Sam tapped the article, drawing your eye to a picture of Joseph Welch. Whatever lingered from the spirit’s tap into your mind made your stomach clench just seeing his face. “If he’s still alive. This article’s from 1981.”

Dean scratched his chin. “All right. Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, and I’ll go pick up some food.”

The promise of lunch was so alluring that you and Sam groaned in mutual starvation, and Dean went out of the room blowing kisses and humble of courses, in typical Queen of England fashion. You already had half an order formulated via text by the time the door shut. It was a good thing he’d escaped on time too, because Sam’s stomach was making the room shudder.

“Could you go grab us a room?” Sam asked, rubbing his stomach, “Use the cash Dean gave me. I think I’m gonna…”

He stopped. Concerned, you rotated carefully around the salt circle on the floor to join him by the mirror on the wall. At first you thought the rosary hanging from it had grabbed his attention, but the sag to his shoulders indicated the small picture stuck in the frame instead. Sam plucked it free, holding it in one shaking hand and sinking a few inches into the floor.

You gave him a moment, then braced his trembling wrist with a squeeze, teasing. “I wonder who those two cute little rascals are.”

In the photo (which must’ve been more than ten years old), John, Dean and Sam were sitting on the hood of the Impala, the youngest in his father’s lap and grinning that toothy grin that you hadn’t seen Sam wear in years. Dean wasn’t trying to look cool or sly; he just leaned in with his cheek on John’s jacket, freckled and just… tiny. So tiny. You could hardly believe any of you had been that young.

“I think your mom took this picture,” Sam murmured. He stuffed it into his jacket, and you didn’t comment on it or the hollow look on his face.

“I have whole bins of photo albums back home, brimming with pictures like that…” You smiled to yourself. “I haven’t looked through them in forever. Sometime, you should bring Jess up for the weekend and I can embarrass you with all the cute photos of us as kids.”

Sam tilted back his head, giggling, “Maybe, yeah. I dunno if Jess needs any more ammo against me. And some of them, uh, might be incriminating…”

You’re sure he means the random occult objects and the like caught in the background, but you can’t help but bump your hip against his and snort, “Oh, I agree. Those pictures of you and Dean dressed up as Batman and Robin are so adorable, they’re illegal.”

Now that he’s softened up a bit, you’re tempted to ask him what he and Dean had argued about earlier. For Sam, that wouldn’t be an out-of-line question to ask, and if you did then he’d likely give you at least the short answer. But the more you learn about John’s reasons for leaving… the longer you’re realizing this trip is going to take. The longest Dean could usually stand you was a month, then you toed the line a little far with your Gift and he’d drop you off to take a hunt by himself. It was normal for people in close quarters to get itchy after a while, but the armor Dean would slowly build up when you’d finished his sentences one too many times could hurt. It wasn't his fault or yours—Dean was protective of his privacy, and the boys always softened you so much you forgot about stifling your Gift altogether, the way you did with your mom. You shouldn't have to hide and Dean shouldn't have to have someone glimpsing his thoughts. Still… it hurt more than it should.

You don’t know what it’d do to you, if Sam was the one needing a break from you that way. Sometimes you couldn’t help your Gift. But if you wanted to last more than three weeks with the boys, you would need to learn how. Maybe it’d be best to use it only for the hunt, and give Dean and Sam some room to get used to each other again. Yeah. That sounded workable.

Like he could sense you resolving to stay out of things, Sam hefted up the trunk on John's bed and made room for the two of you to sit. “But hey, before then, we've got a little time…” He plopped down. “Catch me up on your psychic stuff?”

You winced when he moved John's trunk, but his inviting, careful smile made the room feel less like a mausoleum that shouldn’t be disturbed. Careful not to break the salt line on the carpet, you took the spot next to him and tried to think.

“You don't talk about it much over the phone,” Sam commented.

“It makes it seem silly, I guess,” you rubbed your palms down your knees. You tried not to talk about hunting on the phone with him too, because someone could overhear and talking about hunting usually meant talking about Dean. It surprised you that they were already on the road to making up—but then again, they’d been attached at the hip for so long… “And I'd rather tell you in person. It's… hard to explain.”

“Well, here I am, live and in person,” Sam folded his hands in his lap, giving your shoulder a playful nudge and you a shy smile. “Hit me.”

Suddenly having your powers under the spotlight like this made you totally blank. Searching for a place to start, you asked him, “...What do you remember my Gift being like?”

Sam tilted his head, bangs waving to one side with the direction of his thoughts. He played with the bracelet on his wrist. “You could pick up… vibes, I guess, is the word I'm looking for. Sometimes you saw apparitions when we went hunting. From the start you could touch people and see things—their memories, or their feelings and thoughts.”

And if you hadn't been raised with him, you would've never noticed how hard he was playing subtle, adding, “And dreams. You had dreams of things… happening.”

Okay. Pushing that weird reaction into the back of your mind for later, you abandoned the bed and immediately started to pace. “Damn—well, a month or two after you… left, everything started... doubling. It wasn't triggered by a hunt or anything, I was just at home, n’ Dean was over making dinner. Those awesome fuckin’ chili bowls he makes—anyway, I went to bed and Dean couldn't wake me up the next day. We were halfway to the hospital when I woke up in the car, completely fine, and after that my Gift was… bigger. Broader.”

Sam's frown made his entire face look jagged and worn. “Dean never told me about that.”

“I mean, it was nothing. I wasn't hurt, there wasn't any lasting damage…” You shrugged, gut dropping into your toes. Shit. He looked hurt you hadn't called. “You know if it was anything serious I would come out of a coma to make Dean get you, right? But it wasn't serious. He took me to my mom's, and she said that I barely felt different. My powers had just… matured really fast.”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, eyes wide, and stared into the middle distance in thought. “Psychic puberty?”

You stopped putting a trench in the floor and set your hands on your hips. “I dunno. Part two?”

For a long moment, Sam drew in a cavernous breath and stared through the wallpaper. You deflated a little. This seemed like Sam’s normal heavy, thought-filled pauses, just heavier. “I mean, when we were kids, it wasn’t exactly that. You just… had it. You used to faint, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s normal,” you said, and Sam shot you a look that made you add, “—for us. My mom fainted when her powers were developing, and so did my Grandma before that. But neither of them ever had a black-out episode like mine.”

Sam had moved into Stage Three of Deep Sam Thinking, which involved a hand on his chin and a hard squint. He rubbed his jaw, and you were struck by the fact that he was here, next to you, after two years of only his voice. Whatever had brought on the nostalgia urged you to sit next to him again, and Sam shuffled back so it was easier for him to look at you.

“But that’s just when I started noticing things—” you said, just as Sam built up the courage to ask, “Did you dream about anything?”

You stared at him. He stared at you. “During my episode? Yeah, how’d you know?”

Sam didn’t answer your question. “What did you dream about?”

“Oh,” you balked, and any attempts to hide it were useless against him—Sam’s eyes were big and soulful, like your response to his interrogation would make or break him. That kind of hyper-focus from him made tougher hunters than you melt. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. A nightmare or some kind of vision. But I don’t really remember it.”

Sam exhaled through his nose, realizing you were getting suspicious of him. “Sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair, eyes creasing with apology, “I interrupted you. That was just the start?”

You put a hand on the back of his arm, like it would be possible to coax out whatever he was thinking with a little affection. Then you remembered: you already had. Sam had shown you before, the moment you’d reunited, and the memory of just what he’d been worried about rattled through your skeleton like a cold wind.

“Your nightmares,” you sat up, holding tighter to him, “you’ve been having nightmares too. About—?”

The hand you had on his arm was covered by Sam’s, which was twice as big and twice as warm. It came with twice as much warning, too. Drop it. “I’m okay. Just, uh, just a stupid thought. Your blackout was just the start of everything, you said?”

You blinked at him, and Sam did an excellent impression of Dean avoiding the subject. Two years apart had done nothing to their similarities, then. You knew it would take nuclear warfare, an apocalypse, and the weight of Mount Rushmore to make Sam even consider not emulating his big brother. If it hadn’t been two years and you weren’t a little scared of where the boundary line stood, you might have pushed it.

But Sam looked so anxious. You let it go.

“Yeah,” you swallowed, “Yeah. That happened, and then I could do so much more. Everything that my mom had to struggle for and learn, I stumbled on overnight. The things she can do: reading people without touching them, getting visions when she’s awake, n-not always fainting when she gets them… I can just do them now. This never happened to her, my grandma, or anybody else. A-and I don’t know why.”

Sam’s brows ticked up with concern, all gooey and understanding. It was awful, how good he was at throwing his own feelings under the rug and stomping right over it for others. “I don’t know about you, but this doesn’t necessarily sound like a bad thing. You’re not fainting anymore, you’re getting stronger… This just means you’ll be able to protect yourself more.”

“And other people,” you added. That must’ve been your impression of Dean, because Sam scoffed through his nose the way he did when Dean said something too in character. You were all caricatures of each other, sometimes. “I dunno. I’m just… I don’t like what this could mean, me falling out of pattern…”

“Whatever it is,” Sam’s hand closed on top of yours, “we’ll figure it out together, okay? You don’t have to worry.”

Your heart picked up like a starting gun had fired, taking off on racing hooves too fast for you to catch. Just as quickly as it’d pitched up, it slowed in realization. Sam still had his interview. This promise, if it lived past this weekend, would be a long-distance one. As soon as disappointment starts to settle in your stomach, you remind yourself of all the little things you imagined Sam doing in the last two years: studying in the library and falling asleep in his coffee, staying up late with Jess to watch Criminal Minds, floating through all of his classes, in his element. He could be safe. Far away from here, but safe. How long had you been wishing that for him, anyway?

Sam followed you down to the front desk, where you got the three of you a room with two queens. It was easy for him to find Welch’s address, so Sam spent a few minutes listening to Jessica’s messages from the night before and making one of his own, guest-starring you. He was so bubbly just thinking about her. You’d seen plenty of the boys’ dates come and go, but Sam had always been a little too nervous to get too invested. Even if it was only once or twice, you’d kill to meet Jess—she seemed to represent everything that had changed about Sam.

Dean shouldered open the door just a minute later, towing some takeout bags and bringing with him a chilled swell of fall air. He was doing an impressive balancing act, eating a burger as he walked, cradling your food and Sam’s, while fighting to shrug off one of the sleeves of his coat. You were already on your feet to relieve him before the door was fully shut.

“Find it?” He asked, still chewing. You dropped the plastic bag on one of the beds as Sam rattled off the address. “Good! I’m poppin’ in the shower, then we can head out,” Dean scooped up his open tray bridal-style, “n’ your coming with me, pretty girl.”

Your brain stalled, heat crawling up your neck—until you saw the intimate moment Dean and his burger were having. The words you planned to say fell right out of your mouth, and thankfully, Sam picked them up for you: “Hey, man, ____ was thinking that Joseph might be a little skittish, by the looks of his address—maybe he doesn’t need three ‘reporters’ hounding him. She and I can leave to talk to him now, and meet up with you later about what we find?”

Halfway through his burger already, Dean winked. “Sounds like a plan. M’ gonna check Dad’s room, see if there’s anything in there I missed. You two crazy kids be careful.”

“Who you calling kids?”

_

In slow motion, you and Sam fell into the front seats of the car and shut your doors in unison. A thoughtful silence filled the Impala. The fields outside Joseph Welch’s house were alive with fizzing cicadas and other chirping bugs, the tall, blonde grass swaying in the wind. It was sunset now, so the front windshield was a whiskey color in the light. Evenings like this brought you back to when you’d walk the woods around Bobby’s house with the boys, eating off the blackberry bushes and throwing them at each other. Remembering something so innocent at a time like this made your chest swell with guilt.

“You didn’t have to go so hard on him,” you murmured, trying to be playful.

Sam’s version of hard was very different from Dean’s, who you were used to playing alongside as the good cop. However, you realized now that you’d never seen Sam work a suspect before, and like everything else, he was unfortunately good at it.

“I needed to get a reaction out of him, see if he was lying about his and Constance’s perfect marriage.” Sam frowned to one side like he wasn’t all that pleased about it either. He jammed the key in the ignition and shot you a look, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged a shoulder and ran your hands down your pant legs. “Yeah. Just, some jobs get to you more than others. Can you even imagine? Being so heartbroken that you drown your own children?”

Sam put the car in reverse, frowning into his dimples. “No, I don’t think I can… Just think of it this way: soon, Constance will be put to rest and everyone can finally move on from what’s happened. All of this will be over, n’ everyone will be safe.”

You couldn’t conjure anything to say to that, so you accepted it with a nod and dissolved into your thoughts. It was natural at this point to roll down your window and lean out to clear your head with a little breeze therapy. The sunset wouldn’t last for long, so you tried to enjoy it to smooth yourself over for what was ahead. Joseph Welch had cheated on his wife, and his wife had in turn killed their children and herself for what had happened. She was, without a doubt, a woman in white, which meant that you’d have to salt and burn her. You didn’t always get so mushy on a hunt; maybe it was Sam’s influence.

Once you were off the back-road that led to Joseph’s property, Sam slid his cell out of his coat and shook his head, brow worried. “I just don’t understand why Dad hadn’t salt-n-burned her. If he was here, n’ he’d talked to Joseph, then the first thing he would’ve done was take care of the body.”

“Maybe he did. Maybe that’s not what she’s attached to,” you offered, one elbow out the open window. “Or he could’ve skipped town halfway through, right where we’ve found ourselves. Did Dean get anything?”

Sam gave his phone to you. “Can you check for a text?”

You blinked slowly at him, forgetting for a moment which brother you were talking to, and accepted the phone with a vicious smile. “Of course Sam Winchester doesn’t text and drive. You’re adorably responsible, you know that?”

Sam blew his bangs out of his eyes, pouting. “What? It’s dangerous,” he said, and you knew instantly by the tone of his voice that he hadn’t been marked off once on his driver’s test. “Don’t look at me like that, ____. Just because I do monster-dangerous doesn’t mean I do driving-dangerous.”

You barely subdued the cheek-aching smile that little line gave you as you checked his messages. “No text from Dean, Mr. Driver’s Ed.”

Just to prove how very cool and very non-responsible he was, Sam tipped his head to check the rear-view, then the road ahead, and once it was clear he gave the entire car a very bold swivel in and out of your lane. Once his stunt show was over, he put on a smooth face and waited for you to be impressed.

“Yeah, yeah, you Winchester men are all born-again street racers,” you snorted, patting Sam’s knee, “M’ calling Dean and telling him how wild you’re getting with his car.”

You heard Sam mutter something like, I ain’t scared a’ him, but the motor was loud and the nearly-dead sunset was playing on his profile like it only did in the movies, so you forgot all about it. When Dean picked up your call, you stalled for a moment on the line.

“Sam?” He questioned.

“S’ me, he’s driving,” you spoke. “We talked to Welch—just like we thought, Constance is a woman in white. Their story follows the normal bits of the legend. He said she was buried behind their old house, so that’s where your Dad must’ve gone. Don’t know why he didn’t dig her up, though.”

“Cause he booked it,” Dean snapped. At that, you turned on speakerphone and moved it between the two of you to listen. “Dad did leave Jericho, just like your vision-crap said. And I know where to.”

You glanced worriedly at Sam, who sighed through his nose. “Really? How do you know?”

There was a subtle smack on the other end of the line, then the familiar sound of rifling papers. Dean scoffed, “I found his journal in the motel room.”

Plenty of hunters you knew kept journals, all for the same reasons: necessity, practicality, and then sentiment. Back when all of you had been fighting evil in corsets and buckle shoes, information—like how to kill a werewolf or the signs of demonic possession—was not commonplace. And in a world where your body had to be burned and no literal piece of you could remain on this planet, a hunter’s journal was her will, her body, and her legacy. It was how your generation of hunters had any idea how to do shit. The information had been noted by one perceptive hunter back in ancient times, then a thousand years later dug up by you or Dean or Sam researching on a hunt.

Along with being the entirety of a hunter’s own personal legacy, journals contributed to the greater history of hunting as a being. In simple terms, beyond being resourceful, it was an old hunter tradition—and doing a job as lonely as this one would make anyone want to be a part of something bigger. Hunting often felt like swimming an ocean alone, so participating in an old practice was a reminder that you weren’t alone. All of you were a piece of a community.

You knew that John didn’t care much about the whole brotherhood thing, since he rarely hunted with others. Still, the significance wasn’t lost on you. A hunter’s journal was his body, his legacy. And he’d passed that body, by force or willingly, onto his sons.

“Holy shit,” you said, just as Sam’s shoulders sank. He muttered, “He never goes anywhere without that thing.”

Dean exhaled through his nose. “Yeah, well, he did this time.”

You’d only seen a few select pages of John’s journal, but you suspected it was probably his fifth or sixth, since twenty or so years of hunting definitely filled up more than one book. He’d probably gotten the first one from an older hunter, also per tradition. You’d received yours as a gift from your mom after your first hunt. John had done the same with his boys, and Bobby had made special leather-bound ones for you, Sam, and Dean when you filled up your firsts. The antique shop had a mini-library of them on display, but not for sale, a dozen legacies from people you’d never known. Dean had you convinced to this day that every single one was haunted.

To get—to earn one of those journals was the mark of a real hunter, so you and Dean had been geeking about it long before your first hunts. You’d cleared out the entire sticker bin at the record store for the cover of his book, which was written in an unreadable Hill cipher (and his already eligible handwriting). If the Black Sabbath and AC/DC logos didn’t ward civilian readers away, then the inner contents certainly would. Sam’s was inviting by comparison. Everything was written in his perfectly printed script, on lined paper, with annotated, color-coordinated sticky notes you’d bought him yourself. You’d never seen Sam as enthusiastic about hunting as he’d been writing in that thing. In turn, you’d filled your own notebook with colorful glitter pen (from Dean) and a planetary bookmark (from Sam).

Thinking about John’s journal made you realize that, somewhere down the line, you’d stopped writing in yours. In fact, your current journal was probably shoved in your sock drawer. Sam had definitely dropped his somewhere on the way to Stanford. Dean hadn’t touched his in a while, either. It made your chest ache with a curious wistfulness. You knew your body as it was now would never be buried with the Winchesters, but maybe your journal would be in between Sam and Dean’s on an archive shelf someday. That didn’t sound half bad.

“What does it say?” Sam asked, and you blinked your way out of your thoughts.

“Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going,” Dean grouched, “Coordinates, I think.”

Your mouth became a flat line. The sky was dark now, and Sam flicked on the headlights as you asked, “Where to?”

Dean let out a long, frustrated sigh. You could imagine him bent over the table back at the motel, scratching his head and running a careful hand over his father’s words. “...I'm not sure yet.”

The phrase made you clam up. Feeling suddenly cold, you started cranking the window shut and turned on the heat. The airflow didn’t start. You tried it again, but the damn car was messing with you.

“I don't understand,” Sam scowled. He jerked into the next turn a little harsher than usual, coasting you fast around a wide curve in the forest. Despite how fast you were going, the wind seemed to go silent. “I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?”

Sam’s knuckles on the wheel turned white. You studied it, and as the entire dash began to double and sway in your vision, you grabbed the edge of the bench with a free hand. A picture flashed in your mind.

“Sam! The road!”

He jammed the brake. The figure on the blacktop didn’t move. For a breathless, soundless moment, the two of you floated off your seats as the car’s momentum hurtled you forward, straining against the lap belts and covering your faces with your arms—you could hear the tires squeal—smell the rubber burning—the figure was bigger and bigger in the headlights—

The car skid right through her.

You came to a brutal stop, and the Impala heaved forward and then settled back on its wheels. Sam’s arm thudded into your chest, pinning you to your seat instead of letting you hit the dash. His phone had spiraled somewhere by your feet. You had a fistful of his shirt in your nearest hand, like you could physically pull him back into safety. Dean was screaming on the other end of the phone. The two of you startled back to life at the same time, gasping for breath and sharing a wild-eyed look—

Constance Welch was in the backseat.

“Take me home.”

_

The sweet, picturesque woman captured in the newspaper was gone.

Constance’s face was now gaunt and gray, when it wasn’t whirling and flickering the harder you tried to focus on it. Staring at her face for too long put that dragging feeling in your gut, like you were hanging over the edge of an endless fall, and Constance would be there to push you over. It didn’t feel right to call her by her old name, either. She was someone else now. Something else.

“Take me home!” She said again. Her voice punctured the heavy silence like it was coming from the inside of your mind.

Sam found his voice, gasping, “No.”

Her glare turned your blood to ice. All at once, the doors locked with a resounding chk, chk, chk, chk, sealing you and Sam inside. The air turned brittle and cold. You and Sam lurched for the doors anyway, trying to pry them open, but it was no use—

The Impala’s gas pedal depressed, and the wheels stampeded ahead.

When Dean had first gotten the car for his eighteenth birthday, he’d sworn up and down that he’d treat her carefully, and then immediately took you out for a joyride. You remembered how different the car had felt, even if the boys had grown up in it; now that it was Dean’s car, you were twice as excited to see it pull up to your house. He’d driven until you had five miles of straight road between you and the rest of the world. Your heart still fluttered at the memory of him taking your hand, his face close enough to scratch his stubble on your temple, and the rumble of his voice as he told you to count to ten. He’d gunned it. Through shrieking laughter you’d counted, and at ten you were whipping down the road at a hundred miles an hour.

This felt faster than that.

The Impala flew off its tires, the power of the engine vibrating through the entire car. Sam scrambled to get a hold of the wheel as you hurtled toward a turn, but it was whirling back and forth so fast that he recoiled. He hissed at the new scrapes on his hand. Between yelling, gripping your seatbelt for dear life, gripping Sam for dear life, and trying to keep your head from slamming into something, you watched Constance’s form in the backseat vanish.

You whipped to look at Sam, and he glanced at you, the fabric of your furthest shoulder fisted in his hand like that alone could save you in a crash. You could feel the panic in his body turn his grip to steel.

“The house!” You screamed over the roar of the car, “She’s taking us to where she’s buried!”

_

You almost wanted the drive to last longer—maybe it would give Dean more time to reach you.

Even if he couldn’t, you’d rip her to shreds to protect Sam. You could feel your blood pumping more than anything else, could feel the hot, unpiloted rage Constance had given you before overclocking your mind. Her tears were pouring out of your eyes so hard it felt like your skull was going to explode. The Impala suddenly hurled to the side and thundered fast over a thicket of bushes, flattening them until the overgrown path she’d taken you to looked more like it would’ve years ago. All you could see through the windshield was a wild spasm of snapping branches and twigs, then the shape of a house loomed out in front of the sky.

As sharp as a gunshot, the Impala surged in front of the house and jammed itself to a stop. The engine shut off, and the headlights went with it.

You and Sam could finally hear your strangled breathing again, and your eyes fixated on the steam climbing fast out from under the bonnet, trying to focus. Salt. Iron. Was Sam okay? How close was Dean?

You hate him, Constance’s voice flushed through your mind. Kill him, she begged. He did this to you, he lied to you, she urged.

And for a moment it worked. The hand cupping Sam’s arm over your chest turned into nails, pressing hard into his skin—he cried out, and with a shock you dropped the grip. I hurt him! The realization surged oily guilt through your body, and the overpowering emotion, the complete impossibility of you ever hurting Sam, forced Constance to unshackle the hold she had on your mind.

“Don’t you touch her!” He snarled, which was right when Constance shattered the passenger’s side window with your face.

You came to only a few seconds later, your vision filled with bubbling, constellating black dots. It was so dark without the headlights that you couldn’t see either way. But you could hear Sam roaring with pain, and without thinking, powered by instinct and rage, you jammed your foot under the glove box, hooked the crowbar hidden there up into your hands, and batted Constance into a cloud of smoke. You were only sure it had iron in it once it was over, thanking whoever was out there that Dean was consistent.

An instant later she was in the backseat, and you were swinging again before you could double-check. The faceful of deathly smoke that came afterward confirmed it.

“Come get some, fucker!”

You whirled around, kneeling on the seat and crazed with adrenaline, catching her going for Sam again, and again, whenever she appeared, and then a sluggish arm hauled you into the shield of Sam’s bloody chest—

“I’m taking you home,” he sneered, and the Impala kicked forward.

You woke up pinned between the wheel and Sam’s ribs, the crowbar clutched still in your sweaty grip. The air reeked of rotten wood, metal, and sawdust, which you hacked up, sputtering and coughing as you dragged yourself off Sam as best you could. You managed to get onto your knees, stabilizing yourself with one hand and trying not to sway. Sam’s seat was pushed back. You blinked at him in the dark, coughing wetly. There may have been bits of glass in your face, but Sam...

His hoodie was open. He was bleeding. A sudden cold flushed down your spine—Constance, she was here still, you needed to protect Sam—

The passenger’s side door wrenched open, spraying broken glass across the seat. Every muscle in your body tensed, and on instinct, your grip tightened on your weapon and you blindly swung behind you, snarling like an animal.

“Jesus!” Dean yelled. His hands were raised in surrender, “It’s me, s’ me! You’re okay, I’ve got you—c’mere, we’ve gotta get Sam out—”

The familiar image of Dean, shaken and opening his arms to you, ripped you back to the present. You instantly flew into his hold, letting him haphazardly pull you from the wreckage with your hands scrambling across the back of his jacket. You could care less how he'd gotten here, whether he'd stolen a car or fuckin' ran, blinded by adrenaline and relief at the sight of his face. The sight of yours made him wince. Constance introducing you the window must've looked worse than it felt. He propped you against the side of the car, cooing reassurances, and once he was sure his pretty face wasn’t going to be rearranged, trusted you with the crowbar again.

Standing there as he gave Sam a hand out, you clutched the iron like a bat and scanned the room. The Impala had shoved the ragged dining room into the kitchen of the first floor, which now had an open floor plan. Pieces of fence, porch railing and the front door hung on the hood of the car. The only thing that had survived the house’s decay and Sam’s greeting were the stairs.

At the base of them, more solid than you’d ever seen her, was Constance.

There was a heavy photograph in her hands, and her back was turned to you. Immediately, you pushed off the car, stormed forward and heaved the iron over your head. A hand on your arm reeled you back.

“Wait,” Sam warned. His weight was almost entirely on Dean’s arm, but he was okay. Both of them were. You felt the raw muscles in your hands relax, almost dropping your weapon in the process.

Constance looked up at the word. In the swirling void of her face you could almost make out something that surprised you. Beside the burning, world-shattering rage and all-consuming grief that she’d been showing you for the last day, there was something new which Sam had recognized: fear.

She threw down the portrait with silent disdain, and the second it shattered a bureau flew away from the wall and pinned you to the too-hot bonnet of the Impala. Dean and Sam were forced apart as the bureau crammed you in between them, wedging the heavy wood against your hips and burning the bases of your spines on the steaming car. You screamed as the boys hollered in pain, which began a desperate but short-lived struggle to break free.

Constance’s figure closed in, her image stuttering and doubling like a technical glitch. This close, you watched the human piece of her melt away, and then she looked indescribable—like grief, like loss, like malice, like regret. She was featureless. Bodiless.

Her hand raised, reaching. Then, like a fire being lit, the sconces in the stairwell began to flicker.

Constance turned to meet them, slowly, hauntingly, written all over with fear. There was the squeak of a faucet turning, and you paused your struggle at the sound of flowing water. Dean reached across you to fist Sam’s shoulder, bracing you close to him. Each of you forgot how to breathe.

Ushered forward, by her own will or something stronger, Constance turned to face the glow billowing from the top of the steps. From here, you could only make out the shadows of their stringy wet hair and soaked clothes. Constance’s face, her human face, explained everything else. You flinched; the two children were suddenly behind her, and before Constance could take them in, apologize, or speak for what she’d done, a ferocious white light struck the room, expanding out with the pressure of a sonic boom. A scream ripped so viciously through the air that your ears rung.

It cleared. The bureau tipped back and crashed to the floor. Everything went dark, but heat glowed beneath your eyelids from the sudden burst of light.

You wobbled on your feet. Somewhere along the way your crowbar had thudded aside, but your first instinct wasn’t to reach for it. Instead, your hand felt around until it was closed around Dean’s sleeve, and the other cupped the top of Sam’s back. It took a full minute for the pins-and-needles feeling to begin to pass, but you knew you’d be feeling it for several days afterwards. You imagined it was how all spirits felt, intangible yet overloaded with sensation.

“Holy shit,” you spoke for the three of you.

Dean was working his jaw and blinking furiously, no doubt trying to force some feeling back into it. He peeled his boots off the floor and teetered around to Sam’s other side, tilting one way to peer up the steps. “So this is where she drowned her kids…”

Sam did his best to nod, but it looked more like he was dipping in and out of consciousness. “That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.”

Seeing as it’d been two years since Sam had been in the game, you felt your heart fill with quiet pride and terrible pain. None of you could ever escape this. Dean, of course, held a different opinion, and dipped to support Sam’s other shoulder with a blazing smile. “You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.”

“I just drove,” Sam mumbled, smiling dryly, “____ was the one taking a swing at Casper half-conscious.”

“You animal,” Dean’s eyes gleamed up at you in the dark, “Almost took my teeth out with that thing. Remind me not to mess with you, Mean Swing.”

You shrugged a shoulder, warmed all over with relief, love, and probably a little blood. “I’m useful beyond being eye-candy and team morale, y'know,” you smiled, and the boys dropped their heads to snicker.

Team. The word, even as a substitute for something else, was familiar and welcome. When Sam had conspired with you four years ago to do pre-law online, you’d urged him, practically begged him to do it, even if it’d felt like a crossroad’s contract. You knew that the time you had with him would be cut short. That was only four years to treasure your childhood with him and Dean, which had turned into two after John found out. It’d been like watching yourself bleed out, knowing Sam was going to leave—and he’d taken your youth and everything that made it worth surviving right along with him.

You never thought you’d see those golden summer days again; learning to hunt with the boys, saving people with the boys, storytelling and dreaming and growing with them. Each of those rose-colored memories had a padlock on them now. Good things like that never lasted long in this world, not for you. Sam would graduate to be some big top lawyer with an innocent, happy family, and you and Dean would watch from afar but never come close enough to infect. Your path had forked a long time ago.

But here, it’d connected one last time. Maybe as a parting gift. One last hunt with your boys, before Sam was safe from it all and you and Dean drove off without him.

It was supposed to give you closure.

Yet here you were, selfishly yearning for more time.

_

PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA - NOV. 2nd, night.

The rain died out a few miles out from Sam’s apartment.

You tried to stay awake through the drive, knowing they’d be your last moments with Sam for a long time, but the soft coo of their voices in the front seat, combined with the rain on the car, knocked you out hard. The Impala’s backseat was still curved to your shape. After the most comfortable sleep you’d had in months, you woke up slowly and apologized to Dean; right now was about when you’d switch off. He could drive Baby forever, but you had a rule about being at the wheel with such little sleep, and Dean hadn’t even thought about a bed since before he’d picked you up. It seemed he didn’t want to miss his time with Sam, either.

Unfortunately, the ride to California flew by, even with Dean avoiding interstates and going the speed limit. Since the way to Sam had dragged, his stories about Jess and “home” (not Bobby’s, not your mom’s, not even the Impala) stole the time. You’d also looked into the coordinates John had passed on, which would take the three of you—the two of you up to Colorado.

You pretended you were glad. But it was hard to be glad about Sam living the apple pie life when all you could focus on was how you were going to say goodbye to him. Worse: none of this felt final. It would’ve been easier if you couldn’t imagine you and Dean picking up Sam again next weekend, and finding some other small way to save the world before Monday. When had you gotten so selfish?

At around two or three in the morning, Sam started to recognize street signs. The Impala put a Herculean effort into pulling into the lot, a pregnant silence filling its interior, and it was barely parked when you flung yourself out of the backseat. Sam stepped out too. Dragging his feet, Dean left the key in the ignition and trudged into the circle of amber light cast by a street lamp outside Sam’s building.

You tried to compose yourself, but the corners of your lip burned with the effort. The street was dead quiet and cold, so your shaky breath was seen and heard to both brothers, who sagged in tandem. You just stood there, trying to summon something to say, but all you could think was, it’s over, it’s over, why aren’t I happy for him?

But of course, these were the boys you’d grown up with. You and Sam had shared cribs as toddlers, for god’s sake, and Dean himself had taught you how to drive and bought you your first drink. There were no two men who knew you better in this world, so you didn’t need to say a single thing.

Sam drew you into a deep, leeching hug, and that was enough to get your shoulders hitching with your sobs. At first it was gentle, a hug for you, then one of his breaths came a little too sharp and Sam’s hold became near-bruising, for himself and no one else. One of his palms cupped the back of your head. The gesture was small, but for whatever reason it almost made you lose it—so with the last of your rationality, you peeled yourself away from him.

You looked to Dean. He was trying his hardest to be nonchalant, even awkwardly half-smiling as if he had any will to joke left in him, and like Dean always did when he needed you, he gently clutched the back of your jacket. The familiar weight settled warmly on your shoulders. At least you still had him. For that reason, you spoke for him now.

“We love you, Sammy,” you sniffed into your sleeve, “Don’t worry about me and Dean, okay? I’ll take care a’ your brother and he’ll take care a’ me. Get some sleep, have a big breakfast, give Jess a kiss for us, and then go destroy that interview. Okay?”

Sam nodded. The line of his mouth was hard and he wasn’t letting you see how wet his eyes were, his shadow crossing with yours on the pavement.

You tried to laugh, but it came out delirious and tear-soaked. “If one of us goes to jail, we’re gonna need a really good lawyer.”

To your surprise, his eyes heaved away from the concrete and looked past you to Dean, a smile on his face. “I’ll be the best,” he swore, “...and we’ll meet up later, okay?”

Sam took two steps forward, crossing a mile-wide chasm to open his hand to his older brother.

“Call me if you find him?”

John. Right. This was all because John was missing. That had never left Dean’s mind like it’d left yours, though, because he gave a stiff nod and found the strength to take Sam’s hand. You thought that they would shake on it, but Sam could read the grief in Dean even better than you could. They embraced, and after that first touch, without any reservation, Dean returned it.

“Yeah,” Dean cleared the frog in his throat, “Yeah, alright.”

Sam adjusted his bag on his shoulder, then leaned down so you were eye to eye with him. Your brain stalled, but it caught up when Sam gave a teasing dip of his cheek in your direction.

Immediately, you laid the back of your hand against his face, and for once allowed the connection to have equal input.

Just as you were greeted with Sam’s regret, his gratitude, and his love, you greeted him with something of your own. You showed him a memory from before all of this had started, when Dean had parked in front of Sam’s apartment and stared up at his window for hours, praying for the first time in his life—praying that his brother, his kid, wouldn’t push him away. It was a plea: Please. Call him. Talk to him, like you talk to me.

You turned your hand over to stroke Sam’s cheek, and he nodded into your palm, face too deep in shadow to read. “I promise,” his voice broke.

You stepped back to Dean’s side. Sam gave you both long, wet looks, putting on that sweet, toothy grin only his younger self knew, and disappeared into the curling shadows behind the front gate. The rattle of the metal on its hinges as it closed played through your mind on loop.

In the same breath that Dean slid a finger through one of the belt loops on your hip, you ran your hand under his jacket and scratched gently at his undershirt, pulling each other closer.

You didn’t look at him, and Dean didn’t look at you. You’d already had to watch Sam cry.

_

Somehow, the two of you managed to load back into the car. You took your old spot in the front seat, still warm from Sam’s body heat, and wallowed there as Dean shifted the Impala into drive. The streetlight cut the edges of all shadows sharper, which turned the bone-deep exhaustion on his face into a scythe. It struck you then how young Dean was. Having his experience and his influence above you for long, you forgot often he was only two years your senior. You forgot how young you both were, despite what you were dealing with.

You wanted to reassure him, but the future hadn’t given you anything yet. He needed proof, real proof, that everything would be alright, and right now that wasn’t something you could give to him.

Before he pulled out of the lot, Dean ducked his head and stared into his lap, one hand on the wheel. “So…” he cleared his throat, “where to?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but paused at the weight in his expression. This was not a, where are we going next? But a, are you coming with me? It honestly made you wonder what kind of friend you were if Dean didn’t know the answer to that question—and he did, but after all the bad luck he’d had, Dean couldn’t believe that anyone would stick around. Even you. That, at least, was something you could prove to him.

Scooting closer to his side of the car, you gently turned his chin so he was facing you. Sighing through his nose, Dean’s dewy eyes flickered from the dash to you, more brown than green, and in exchange you made it obvious you were admiring him. A little humor came back into his eyes. Maybe boosting his ego wasn’t the smartest way to cheer him up, but you were both stupid. You wished you had the strength to say it, but there were upsides to this: Sam would be safe, doing something he loved, and you and Dean would be on the road together again. That was better than anything else you’d been stuck with, anyway.

“A motel, definitely a motel. We haven’t slept in forever, Dean. Then? Colorado,” you relaxed back in your seat, giving him some time to compose himself while you fought with your seatbelt. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Winchester.”

Dean finally stopped taking you in like this was the last time he’d ever see you, and finally started to drive. He pulled out to the right and then spurred out of the parking lot. Between keeping his eyes on the road, you could feel him stealing looks at you, admiring you as you had him—realizing you were the last thing the other had.

“Card’s nearly dead, you know. Are you prepared to share a single with me? I haven’t showered in, like, a week.” Dean rumbled.

You snorted, swiping the tear streaks out from under your eyes. It was nothing short of impressive how ready he was for you to bolt. “And you think I have? We’ll suffer with each other. Snuggle and rent Terminator or something.”

“T2?” Dean suggested. He almost sounded excited.

Maybe if you could make this next week good for him, you could both scrape through your Sam withdrawals without burning up inside. You could make it for Dean. You always had, before.

Feeling a headache coming on, you bent forward, rubbing circles into the pressure at the center of your forehead. “Gah,” you complained, “I can’t wait to go to… to, uh… sleep...”

When you opened your eyes again, you were in a vision.

The apartment was dark but warm, the air flush with sticky summer humidity, thick enough that a match might set the whole apartment alight. You welcomed the contrast to the chilly parking lot and padded down the hall in your socks, wondering why Jess was in the shower so late at night. You paused outside the bathroom door… She had probably just waited up for you. The hunt and Dean and ____—they’d all set you on edge, that was all. At least she wouldn’t see you crying.

Tossing your travel bag down by the bed, you let the texture of Jess’s signature cookies melt in your mouth and collapsed face-first into the mattress, still chewing. The clean smell of laundry detergent in the sheets still surprised you, after so many years in shitty motels—

Something wet dripped onto your neck. You startled up onto your hands, feeling the hot liquid slide down your skin and into your shirt.

Turning onto your back, you flinched as another droplet hit your cheek.

Then, you saw her.

_

Every streetlight on the block had burst. Without them, the only light to be found was the unnerving flash of red and blue police cruisers, firetrucks, and an ambulance. You doubted you could ever think of this night outside those two frames. There were the deep blues of Dean’s haunted silhouette among the crowd of observers, then the deeper reds outlining the stillness in Sam’s shoulders. You felt like the lightless void in between them, swallowed whole by what you’d seen in that apartment—by what Sam had seen now, and what Dean had seen when he was four.

Your hands were still shaking, but you hid it by turning your rings around your fingers in one hand, feeling stupid for wearing them. They were supposed to bring good luck. They were supposed to ward away evil. But you’d never felt anything eviler than that thing inside that apartment, the thing that’d killed Jessica Moore. Mary Winchester. God knows who else.

And you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d seen that vision before.

Sam’s face was soot-stained, soaked with tears, and yet harder than you’d ever seen it. Nothing about the soft baby-face you adored had changed, but something behind it was hollowed out and ransacked, a violated grave. He’d spent the last hour rifling ceaselessly through the trunk of the car, searching for the imaginary weapon that could finish this. Every once in a while he paused to scrub at his neck. You stood behind him, mindlessly rubbing his back and watching the too-black smoke whirl into the moonless sky.

Dean emerged from the crowd of on-lookers soon after, face somber and cold. Without a word, he filled the empty space at Sam’s other side, and together you watched his younger brother throw a shotgun into the trunk and shut the spare tire compartment. He grit his teeth.

For the first time in hours, Sam spoke:

“We’ve got work to do.”

_

NEXT PART: wendigo, p1.

[chateautae]

maybe i do | kth. III

➵ summary :  maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳  part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre :  arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 17k (im sorry omg)

➵ warnings : oh boi we have aNgSt, serious familial issues, swearing, multiple fight scenes, mainly verbal but there is a slap in one, mentions of a wound, mentions of alcohol, (there’s honestly a lot that goes wrong in this chapter but at least tae and the reader have each other), sexual tension :o, bit of possessive!tae, (i mention a short reader a lot but i just wanted to say you’re beautiful even if you’re tall! tae is just very tall to me askldjs)  

➵ a/n: i’m back and hoLY is this chapter loaded (and a lil unedited forgive me!!) i’ve finally finished school and get a whole month off now! who knows what works i’ll release in that time 👀. as always, feedback is appreciated loves!

chapter three : “the window opened one time with you and me”

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“Mother?” You stood frozen, completely and utterly shocked as to how your mother was just opposite of you, smiling brightly as if she hadn’t done a single thing wrong in her life and loved you unconditionally.

How incredibly wrong that was. 

“Y/N! How are you? Oh dear, it’s been so long!” Your mother threw her arms around your neck, pulling you against her for a hug you just barely returned. 

“Good. You?” 

“Oh, I’m great!” She beamed.

“What are you doing here?” You inquired, shutting the door after her entry.

“Ah, I just couldn’t believe my daughter’s married now, I wanted to drop by and say congratulations!” Your mother cheered, grinning widely as she began scanning the grand interior of your house, leering as though you weren’t standing just before her.

“Drop by? You could’ve just came to the wedding, Mother...” You suggested despondently, plastering a pained smile onto your face. You attempted to meet her eyes, though they rather seemed to sparkle at anything that appeared expensive.

Anything but you. 

“Oh, I was in Ibiza. I couldn’t just leave while my resort pass still had benefits on it, you know me.” She flashed you a cheeky smile as she playfully hit you, propping her heels off.

You nodded half heartedly, trying extremely hard to not lose it on her because you were in your home; a place meant for peace and comfort and didn’t have room for negative.

Not to mention, Taehyung resided just upstairs in his study with most likely his door open, and you didn’t want to risk bothering him if you raised your voice. 

“Ibiza was more important than your own daughter’s wedding, huh?” You spoke to yourself, nodding in a manner that would somehow help you accept the sad fact, though instead called forth a feeling you should’ve grown accustomed to by now.

Disappointment.

She knew about the wedding, you knew your father informed her of the ceremony along with its date and time. Though as she audaciously ogled the embellishments of your front foyer and spoke to you carelessly, she practically screamed she gave 0 fucks about your wedding. That what really mattered to her was living out the full experience of an expensive vacation than attending a life-changing night for her daughter. 

Typical. 

“Oh, c’mon now. When you put it like that it makes me seem so bad.” Your mother pouted like a child. “It wasn’t a real marriage, anyway.” She waved off the conversation as she ventured further into the house, bold enough to strike another conversation . “My God, this is the house of the Kim Taehyung?” Your mother’s eyebrows shot up, drinking in the grand size and wealthy look of the home. “You got very lucky, Y/N.” 

You cocked an eyebrow, incredulous of what she was insinuating. “What do you mean, Mother?” 

“Y/N, you’re married to Kim Taehyung. Do you understand how fantastic that is? For you?” Your mother was on the verge of scoffing, smoothing over her dress as she looked elsewhere. “He’s an incredibly rich man, and considering that life of yours it’s a miracle he ever agreed to marry you.” Your mother relayed nonchalantly as she caught sight of an exquisite vase. 

And there it was, the belittling. You’d mentioned before you were often disparaged and received numerous insults when anything concerned your status as the runaway heiress. But what you failed to mention was the person who claimed the #1 position as your largest and most incessant hater. 

Your mother. 

“Mother, it doesn’t matter to me whether a man is rich or not.” You countered, trying to quell your snippy tone but it was as grand a fail your mother was at being a mother. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Unlike you, I’m not obsessed with my husband’s money.” You almost spat with crossed arms, only this comment causing her to turn towards you. 

“Excuse me? I’m your mother, watch your tone a little.” She scolded quite lightly, before returning to inspect a painting. 

You scoffed, “My mother...” you repeated under your breath, rolling your eyes. 

“No mumbling, Y/N. Speak up.”

“I said it’s funny you’re referring to yourself as my mother.” You voiced clearer.

“And why is that so funny?” You could visibly see your mother failing to control her temper with you, masking it all behind a fake smile she mastered ages ago. 

“Because you’ve been anything but a mother.” You retorted, knowing exactly what this conversation was leading into. 

An argument.

“And you’ve been daughter of the year?” Your mother countered, sarcastic tone cutting the air, and it only made you more irritated. 

“Here we go again, the bad daughter narrative.” You scoffed. “Find something new to argue, will you?” You narrowed your eyes.

“And you believe your bad mother narrative is any better?” She sneered back. “I’ve even come to visit you yet this it how you’re treating me. When will you ever learn to be grateful?”

“Please, you chose a vacation over your own daughter’s wedding.” You held a hand up, gesturing against her audacity. “And when have I ever been ungrateful? I don’t remember biting the hand that fed me.” 

“No, Y/N, you didn’t bite the hand that fed you, you completely neglected and abandoned it.” She claimed, drawing closer towards your direction. “You left this family to pursue your own selfish desires. You’re the very definition of ungrateful.” 

“Excuse me? Definition?” 

“Yes, definition. You threw everything your father worked so hard for away. All he ever wanted was to provide his family with a comfortable life, but you instead wasted his efforts and made everyone's lives so much harder. Do you really think I’ll forgive you for what you did to your older brother?” Your mother voiced in an accusatory tone, bringing up an age old argument you knew was going to ravage any peace between you two. 

“That was not my fault, he was already due for the same thing in Korea, it doesn’t matter if he’s in the U.S now.” You argued back. 

“It’s all your fault! You’re the reason Yoongi hasn’t been able to come home in years! You ruined his entire life by making him uproot and take over the U.S faction when it was your role. Your decision to leave forced him into it!” 

“So you’d rather have my life uprooted and ruined than your precious son’s?”

“Because my son isn’t like you! He isn’t selfish at all, Yoonie is a hard-working man who’s always listened to me and your father, always rightfully prioritized the company. But you? You’ve only ever made things worse. You’re completely useless, all you do is tear this family apart. Your father has to pick up your work, you keep your brother out of this country and give me years worth of stress!” Your mother shouted louder than she should’ve, angry as her eyes revealed searing frustration, contempt. 

You were trying to negate the hurt you felt by her words, having trained yourself to endure their sharp sting, though no matter how many times you heard them, it never made it any easier. 

“Oh please, your favouritism is showing, mother.” You remarked with near tears, her disregard for you so disturbingly apparent it left your eyes watering. 

“Yoongi has always loved his work and the company, but I never have. When will you understand that? If I’ve ruined our family so much why have I never heard these same words from Dad or Yoongi? They’ve always supported me, understood and loved me regardless of what life I chose. Why can’t you do the same? Why can’t you just try to understand me for once?” 

“Because there’s nothing to understand. You’re an heiress to this family, you are meant to live for this company and this company only. You owe your father and I your life, nothing has ever been yours. The least you could do to pay us back is by rightfully working at the company and not being as much of a disappointment as you are now.” You mother’s tone was strict and resolute, utterly fed up with you.

“Cry me a river, mother. I don't owe you a single thing. You’re one to talk about working alongside Dad and the company, all you’ve ever done is use his money without a single care for his work.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me, Mother, all you do is use Dad for his money. You know next to nothing about business or the company and have the least amount of right to lecture me about it. At least I’m not a woman who mooches off somebody and lives recklessly!” You snapped back at her with tears just pooling your lash line, arms crossed tightly holding your chest where it felt your heart would collapse.  

“Do you understand who you’re talking to? Speak with respect, Y/N, I am your mother.” She tried to finalize, but you weren’t having any of it. 

“And I could care less. You’ve never once done anything to warrant that title. All you’ve ever done is travel the world and bathe in the luxuries your husband affords you without ever being there for me or Yoongi. It was always dad despite being so busy, it was never you. You weren't even there for my wedding, when I needed my mother the most. No, you’re someone who’d rather use your rich husband and forget he’s a person.” Your voice was shaking at this point, practically rattling. “You may not have been there for my wedding, but I would never do that to my husband.” You let everything out without a care at the point, flooding the tense air. 

Your mother seemed to completely lose it at this, her tone scarily still as she gritted through her teeth. “You wouldn’t do that to your husband, really? Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing right now?” 

You flashed her an incredulous look. “Pardon?”

“You’re married to one of the richest men in Seoul, and you think you’re not doing the same thing? Whose house do you live in? Whose food do you eat? Whose lavish lifestyle do you now get to relish in? It’s all your husband’s, not yours.” Your mother was practically spitting venom at this point, scoffing. “I must say, your quest for independence is interesting, having landed you in the exact same place you always berated me for. Look where you are now, mooching off your rich husband.” 

If words could dagger you in the heart and looks could kill, you’d surely be 6 ft. under by now.

Years, years you’ve been stuck in this constant loop of back and fourth with your mother, arguing the same 5 things you could never see eye-to-eye on. And no matter what she said, no matter the insults, the belittling, the verbal abuse she always spat your way; you’d grown used to it. Her words became normal, second nature to you and so you easily drowned them out. Her insults became useless weapons you simply dodged and avoided. 

But this, this was where your mother won. 

Her words dawned a laughable sense of irony on you, nearly physically reeling as though someone had punched you in the gut at the realization. It was raw agony, the very prospect you’d spent the entirety of this ordeal evading. 

To think the same independence you fought so gravely for, can so easily be erased and forgotten all due to marrying a rich CEO. It felt pathetic, unfair you had no choice but to marry Taehyung. It wasn’t his fault he was rich, neither was it yours. 

It was just coincidence, pure and utter coincidence. But to think this very coincidence would be the reason your stomach is churning and self-worth is collapsing; it was fucking unfortunate, miserable. 

“Leave my house, this instance.” There was no emotion in your voice, it was flat, vision clouded.

“What did you say to me?” 

“I said get out!” You yelled, the shrill in your voice evidence of tears. “I don’t ever want to see you again!” 

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me! I’m your mother!” 

“You’re not my mother at all, you’re the worst excuse of one. Leave my house!” 

“It’s not your house, Y/N! It’s your husband’s, and you will end up living the same life as me, using your husband for his money!” Your mother had somehow made her way over to you, having the audacity to push you back by your arms, driving her point home by the act of aggression. 

You gritted through your teeth, eyes teary. “I’ll never be like you, I’ll never be a cheap woman who only stays with a man for his money. A woman who probably cheats on her husband with wealthy men in other countries!”

This was the moment your mother gasped scandalously, becoming so irate she didn’t hesitate to raise her hand and slap you across the face. 

You stood emotionless, not even having the capacity to feel shocked or in pain due to how normal this was. There wasn’t a single unfamiliar thing about the sting of her hand, the way her manicured nails scratched against your skin and worse, the way her wedding ring usually cut into your cheek to produce a small wound. 

It was all too familiar, making you scoff as if this was exactly what you expected from her, exactly what you've always known. 

“You still hit your grown daughter, huh? The last 10 years of it weren’t enough?” You endured the ache, swallowing back tears. You weren’t letting them spill, not at this. 

Not at something as undeserving as your mother. 

“You give reasons to, Y/N.” Your mother simply crossed her arms and looked away, showing the slightest hint of shame though never allowing it to leak into the proud and egotistical persona she assumed around you. 

A suffocating silence pierced the air, looming for some time until you spoke. 

“Leave this house, mother. I beg of you.” You pleaded, not out of desperation, though out of sheer tiredness. Tiredness of the same argument and the same insults you always directed each other, tired of the same outcomes that only ever lead to more bitterness tainting your relationship. “Don’t make this any worse, we’ve probably disturbed Taehyung upstairs.” 

Your mother looked at you with lightly raised eyebrows, inquiring. “He’s home?” 

You nodded faintly. “Yeah, so leave.” 

“Am I not allowed to meet him?” Your mother seemed offended. 

“No, you’re not.” You stated firmly, not caring about the sliver of respect you thought you had for her and instantly pushing her towards your front entrance, nabbing her shoes along the way. 

“What are you-” She didn’t even get to finish her sentence before you swung the front door open, guiding her outside and shoving her shoes in her hands. 

She was about to retort until you shut the door on her, locking it. You leaned against the wood as you heard her protests, not minding her calls as you allowed your constrained tears to finally stream down your face. 

It was too much, she was too much. 

Why could your mother never see eye-to-eye with you? Why couldn’t she be a normal mother? Why couldn’t she be supportive? All she ever did was preach how useless you were, how selfish and ungrateful your very existence was.

Of course someone like her could never understand, never understand the value of autonomy and achieving something for yourself; she’s never once done anything along those lines in her entire life. 

Her words ran deeper today than they ever have, sending a stifling feeling to swarm your chest, your self-esteem and everything alike collapsing along with your pride.

It hurt, it really did. To hear those words from the very woman meant to love you so dearly, so unconditionally only exacerbated the pain. It made you jealous of every child you was gifted with a kind mother, not daring to curse anyone for it but simply feel it was unfair. Even Taehyung had such a warm and loving mother. 

Maybe that’s why Taehyung was so warm. 

Taehyung. 

You realized you were out in the open shedding tears where he could possibly see you, trying to silence the sobs that escaped your lips. You only failed, agony tightening your chest and growing more painful the more you held it all in. So you clutched your hand to your mouth and made straight for the kitchen sink, running the water loudly enough to drown out the sounds of you candidly crying. 

Your cheek still stung, your heart ached and your mind spun endlessly, all while trying to desperately rid yourself of the worthless feeling inside you. 

And it didn’t work. 

Taehyung had been working, scrolling through his laptop as he diligently reviewed status reports, only to have a notification brighten his phone screen. He flashed his occupied vision towards it and caught sight of his security system alerting him of his front door. 

He grew curious knowing the housekeepers were shopping for groceries at this hour, causing him to tap the notification and display the camera feed of his front porch. He was welcomed by a woman he’s never seen, peaking his curiosity. 

He almost rose from his seat until he saw the woman turn towards the door in accordance with you opening it, assuming you most likely knew her as she smiled brightly and ventured comfortably into the home. 

Taehyung shrugged it off and returned to his tedious reading, staring at the practically blurring lines of text until he eventually began hearing raised voices from downstairs, his ajar doors and grand home producing an echoing effect that reached his study. 

Taehyung cocked an eyebrow as he grew slightly worried, discerning it didn’t sound like a friendly conversation. He abandoned his work and made towards the doors of his study, peaking towards the direction of his stair railings that overlooked the first floor of his home. 

More of the conversation became apparent, and Taehyung instantly identified it sounded more like a negatively charged argument than a conversation. His eyebrows furrowed the more he listened, knowing it was bad manners to eavesdrop though finding himself doing so anyways. 

“You heard me, Mother, all you do is use Dad’s money. You know next to nothing about business or the company...” Taehyung’s eyebrows shot to the sky, realizing you were speaking to your mother; the same woman you explicitly expressed was to be avoided at all costs and even winced at the mention of. 

He couldn’t forget that from the first time he met you. 

“...Speak with respect, Y/N, I am your mother. ” The crudeness in your mother’s voice was already indicative of your ill relationship, the harshness sounding like second nature. 

Taehyung grimaced. 

“...All you’ve ever done is travel the world and bathe in the luxuries your husband affords you without ever being there for me or Yoongi...” Yoongi? As in your brother, Min Yoongi? Taehyung only loosely recalled Min Yoongi lived and worked in the States, where he headed your father’s lucrative faction there.

He’d only met the mellow, though diligent man a couple times before.

“...I would never do that to my husband.” Despite the intense situation, Taehyung felt the slightest tinge of pride hearing you refer to him as your husband.  

“You wouldn’t do that to your husband? Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing right now?” 

Oh fuck, Taehyung thought. This isn’t going anywhere good. 

“You’re married to one of the richest men in Seoul, and you think you’re not doing the same thing? Whose house do you live in? Whose food do you eat?...”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Taehyung became alarmed, silently drawing his index finger and thumb over his lips in frustration. You didn’t need to hear this, it was complete bullshit. Your situation with him was different, it was forced and coerced. Taehyung could tell you were someone who truly didn't favour using someone else’s money, and knew you were trying your damn hardest to adjust to the idea itself having to spend your life with him. 

He rushed out into the hallway where he began pacing, trying his hardest to contain himself and hope that you wouldn’t take your mother’s words to heart. Was this why you were so adamant about the fucking card? Because you had to hear shit like this from your mother? 

This was only going to undo the work he’d successfully laid out, thinking it would erase any convincing he had done about his money and what’s his is yours. This was bad news, he didn’t want you thinking any of your mother’s words were true. 

They simply weren’t. 

“Leave my house, this instance.”

“What did you say to me?”

“I said get out! I don’t ever want to see you again!”

Taehyung was becoming anxious, the argument was clearly escalating and he felt uneasy, an incessant feeling bothering his chest. 

There it was again, that same sense of protection he felt when he saw you practically shaking talking to that Kisoo guy. He didn't understand why it manifested, or why he felt it so emphatically. All he knew was after hearing the way your voice nearly cracked, unstable and troubled as you grew more emotional, he felt the strong feeling to oddly.. rescue you? 

It’s like he wanted to bolt down the stairs, physically stand in between the argument and force your mother out of the house, all while trying to persuade you what she said wasn't true. 

Why did he feel this way? This was none of his damn business, had absolutely nothing to do with him yet if it weren't for half the mind he had, he could’ve found himself racing down the stairs to defend you.

Taehyung shivered at the thought, shaking it off.

“... you will end up living the same life as me, using your husband for his money!”

“I’ll never be like you, I’ll never be a cheap woman who only stays with a man for his money. A woman who probably cheats...”

And not long after he heard the slap, evidently hard and painful in just it’s sound. Taehyung immediately froze in his tracks, halting his pacing as worry blossomed in his chest. He prodded over to hide against the edge of the wall that connected to his staircase, able to peak at the sight of both you and your mother stood before the front foyer. 

Taehyung felt pissed within seconds, again unable to decipher why he felt the need to protect you. Though what he did know was that he felt bothered, never wanted anyone to hurt you and he hated the very thought of it. 

Maybe it was because of his considerate personality again, or maybe it really was because of you. 

What made Taehyung grow even angrier, though, was the way you reacted, listening to you dub this as something that happened often, and he was uber pissed now. 

You didn’t fucking deserve that at all. 

It took him no time to understand your apprehension and natural disliking for your mother, wanting himself to never have to converse with her. He would most likely be rude and curt, replaying the same vile words she really had the nerve to say to her own daughter. Scratch that, his wife. 

Yeah, Taehyung thought. My wife shouldn’t be treated like this. 

He knew it was wrong, impolite of him to assume and judge a person so openly based on their cover, though Taehyung could tell these were your mother’s true colours, and any other persona she assumed would only be a farce. 

Taehyung watched as you simply shoved your mother out of the house, shutting the door only to lean against it and allow the tears you’d hidden to fall down your cheeks. Taehyung turned his back and leaned against the wall, concealing himself to give you privacy. 

He knew it was already rude to have eavesdropped, even ruder to look on at such a vulnerable moment. It was rude because he wouldn’t even be able to comfort you, only watch as a dumb-founded bystander; rendered useless because it wasn’t his place to console you.

He knew nothing about you.

He really didn’t know your situation, the relationship you had with your mother. He couldn’t step on your toes and give you advice as if he knew you, nor supply you with words that would make you feel better; contemplating he’d possibly never be able to. 

He wasn’t your remedy, he wasn’t your muse, just a man you were forced to marry and now have to live with. A man who stripped you of your independence, ruined your life all just by his mere existence.

 And so Taehyung found even more reasons to not rush to you, simply leave you on your own knowing he was partly the reason for your pain, your suffering. That your mother only said such things because of him, that she only insulted you because of him. 

So he found himself retreating, walking carefully back to his study to mind his own business and continue his work, complete it as though nothing happened. 

But as each step seemed to grow longer, heavier, he found himself unable to retreat. Unable to function knowing you were probably hurting, unable to ignore you and so blatantly turn his back on you. 

So in a hasty, irrational decision, Taehyung found himself turning on his heel and rushing towards the staircase. 

You continued to sob quietly, thinking if you just let it all out now, cried just about hard enough all the sorrow would leave your body. So that’s what you did, bit your lips to contain the aching feeling in your chest as your throat seemed to constrict, swallowing all your feelings down in an attempt to poorly control them. 

You were in your own world, the sink’s water masking any noise behind you, and so when somebody’s hand reached out to rest against your shoulder, you were completely startled. You jumped, quickly shutting the water in a flash and refusing to look back at the culprit to save your pride. 

Whoever it was, they couldn’t see you like this. 

Though when you heard his dulcet, deep voice calling your name, you knew exactly who it was.

“Y/N?”

You straightened yourself up, breathing out the emotions ravaging your chest and stabilizing your voice to address him. “Hey, Taehyung. What um.. what are you doing here?” 

Taehyung could hear your solemn attempt to cover everything up, feeling your sense of embarrassment practically fill the air. 

“Nothing, just.. wanted to see you.” Taehyung said, unsure of how to approach this.

“You’re probably busy. You should go back to work.” You tried hard to sound okay while you practically swallowed back tears, clutching the counter of the sink.

“It’s alright, not important.” Taehyung waved it off, letting his hard remain on your shoulder seeing you didn’t reject him. A beat of silence lingered until he spoke again.

“Can you look at me, Y/N?” There was no pressure in his voice, just the same soft consideration you’d heard at the hotel suite a couple nights ago.

And you hated it, hated that it made you want to give in, want to so easily follow his request and bare to him whatever he wanted.

Until your last braincell kicked in. 

“I’m sorry, Taehyung. I’m really sorry if I interrupted your work. Please go back to your study.” You voiced just barely above a shaky tone, trying your absolute hardest to sound just fine, seem okay. But the more Taehyung spoke, the more you felt your defense mechanisms slowly coming undone.

And you knew he knew.

“I wasn't interrupted.” He stated normally, his voice natural and yet he sounded so.. comforting? He was simply responding to you and yet his voice and presence seemed to soothe the sharp ache in your chest. 

It was fucking poetic. 

“I’m sure I did, Taehyung. Just please, return to your work.” 

“I don’t need to, Y/N, I can stay here.” He was firm as he stood behind you, measly hand against your shoulder and his usually intimidating, towering figure reassuring.

It was odd.

“You shouldn’t. Just go back, Taehyung.” You attempted to voice with more strength, trying to blink tears away and it didn’t convince Taehyung in the slightest.

“I don’t want to. Look at me first.” His voice sounded calm, and it was really like honey. Thick yet sweet, so deep and yet it’s cadence harboured the ability to put anyone at ease.

You shut your eyes tightly, wiping at them hastily to rid any tears as you sniffled and turned around. You were met by his face that slightly softened at the sight of you, eyes seeming to melt as they swirled with consideration, different from his usually unreadable expression. 

“See, I’m fine. You can go back to work.” You plastered a smile on, trying to stand a little more confidently, though Taehyung didn’t budge. 

He only remained, gazing at the features of your face as he seemed to drape his own with a small sense of sadness, like he was upset, maybe even hurt? It was slight, though identifiable. It left you quite speechless, thinking it was all just part of your imagination.

It couldn’t be real.  

But it exactly was as Taehyung’s large hand came up to gently touch the cheek your mother slapped. You didn’t realize it hurt more than it should’ve when you felt a sharp sting at his touch, wincing.

You registered there was probably a visible mark and grew too vulnerable, downright embarrassed for your liking and so you deflected him, smacking his hand away from your face as you looked off to the side. 

“I’m fine, Taehyung.” You declared, and Taehyung didn’t know how to react as his hand came off you, feeling a bit disheartened. He simply wanted to help, and he didn’t want to leave without doing so.

So he still looked at you, eyes possibly growing sympathetic though it could’ve been a figment of your imagination again.

“You didn’t deserve that.” He voiced soft in sound, though resolute in nature.

Taehyung was having trouble choosing what he could say without overstepping, invading a part of you he probably shouldn’t. 

“I didn’t ask for a pity party, Taehyung. Go back to work.” You said with a more snippy tone than you planned, though found it befitting of your current emotions nonetheless. 

“I’m not pitying. I’m..” Taehyung struggled for a word until you answered. 

“What, caring?” You scoffed, “Please, Taehyung, you don’t have to care like my real husband, it’s only on paper-”

“But I am your real husband.” Taehyung emphasized, his serious eyes meeting yours. “It’s on paper and in real life, so I think I’m allowed to care.” Taehyung retorted with narrowed eyes finding he liked that sentence, liked what it had to convey because it was damn true. 

Taehyung decided on reaching for your arms to drive his point home, though watched as you again, naturally retracted from him. You still seemed to refuse him, didn’t see him in a good enough light to not cower away. 

And he still fucking hated it. 

Taehyung went for it anyway and gripped your arms when you began to draw away, catching you. The action nearly demanded you look into his eyes, and found yourself doing exactly so. 

“Y/N, first, don’t be scared of me, please?” His eyes grew soft. “I seriously-I really hate it. I would never..” Taehyung trailed as his vision fell to the side of your face, eyes seeming to reflect concern.

You were completely surprised, watching him unmask a plethora of emotion you didn't think he’d so candidly reveal.

Taehyung brought his hand to brush your slightly swollen cheek, continuing. “I would never do this, do anything to scare you. I just wouldn’t.” Taehyung was emphatic and genuine, gently touching the fresh wound on the apple of your cheek.

“I.. know that, Taehyung.” You again felt that same urge to touch his hand that touched you, but you decided against it. “Though I don’t need your pity. This doesn’t hurt, don’t break a sweat about it, please.” You were trying to turn away from his hold but Taehyung didn’t let go, maintaining you in his hands.

“It’s not pity, Y/N. It’s sympathy. This bothers me, okay?”

“I don’t need it. I’ve got myself-” 

“But you’re not alone.” Taehyung suddenly stated seriously, tone permeating the air and you just about froze. You only looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to decipher what he was trying to say.

“You’re not.. alone, okay? You have me.” He spoke as though he was trying to convey a meaningful message, trying to mark his own words. “In whatever way... you have me.” It was a hesitant claim, but it felt just like when he’d made his promise to you at the altar. 

And suddenly you found yourself giving in, sighing as you registered this was all pretty much an elaborate reflection of the lesson you learned not so long ago.  You and Taehyung are married now, and no matter how that status manifested itself, you had to accept what came with it.

Especially if it meant him.

“Okay.” You replied simply, multiple emotions masked by the plain word. 

Taehyung looked at you a little surprised you’d actually accepted that, but broke into a genuine grin you hadn’t really seen before. 

And you really did like the way he smiled.

He made you want to smile too, though as your facial muscles worked for the grin your cheek stung, wincing as a result. Taehyung exclaimed within a matter of seconds. “Ah, don’t move.” He cautioned, smiling a little when you chuckled at his overreaction. “Don’t worry, Taehyung. It’s alright.” 

“Alright, my foot.” Taehyung joked, bending down to inspect your wound closer than you expected, and you hid the feeling that shot through you because of his proximity with a nervous laugh, causing you to wince again. 

“Hey, what did I say?” Taehyung chastised you lightly, lips in a straight line as he shook his head disapprovingly. “C’mon, let’s treat this.” 

You immediately whined, feeling too lazy to get something so small and insignificant treated. “Taehyung, it’s not even that bad, why?” You pouted. 

“Cause it’ll leave a mark on your pretty face.” Taehyung smiled innocently, not even caring about the effect it left on you as he found your hand and tugged you along to the second floor. Your eyes only remained widened, never letting up the surprise that took you. 

Did he just call you pretty? 

You let Taehyung lead you to your master bathroom, where he situated you by the counter and shuffled around for his first-aid kit. He finally retrieved the box, dabbing some alcohol onto a cotton swab and bringing it to your face. 

Taehyung just about performed the action until he began struggling bending to your height, wanting to carefully apply the alcohol. So he tried different angles and maneuvered himself around, all coming up useless. “God, why do you have to be so small?” Taehyung huffed under his breath as he stood to his full height, contemplating how he’d accomplish this. 

“I’m not small, you’re just really-” You were about to complete your sentence until Taehyung’s hands suddenly grabbed your waist, lifting you in a single breath and propping you up onto the bathroom counter. You would’ve exclaimed, maybe protest though believed it would’ve made the heat in your face so much more apparent.

“That’s better.” He grinned, biting back a chuckle at your flushed face and widened eyes.  

Those fucking eyes. 

Taehyung then found it easier to apply what he needed, cleaning up the wound precariously before dabbing on some ointment to avoid any scarring, only missing a bandage to place on your cheek. Taehyung searched for one in his kit and drawers, though came up empty-handed. He became puzzled as to where he put his bandages, placing his hands in his pockets to think until he felt the familiar scratch of a wrapper.

He furrowed his eyebrows at first until he figured exactly what it was. 

And he suppressed a stupid grin. 

Taehyung pulled out the wrapper and watched as you avoided eye contact with him, cheeks still clearly warm as you swung your legs on the counter in anticipation of him.

Cute, he thought.

He ripped the wrapper, chucking the garbage aside as he drew close to your face. His breath suddenly fanned you, mere inches from your face with his lips so proximal you were stupidly remembering your kiss from a couple days ago.

He was just so close. So close that you could actually discern he had this pretty little mole on his cheek, even one just underneath his eye, lining his lash line. You smiled realizing he had such unique details, even seeing he had a mono-lid and a double eyelid. Then came his obvious features, his plushy, pink lips, his chocolate eyes, his soft hair and sculpted face structure. It made you want to hide your own face out of near insecurity.

He was just so beautiful.

You watched him as he focused on you, trying to calm down your oddly racing heart, feeling the sensation of his closeness shoot through your body. He smoothed the bandage over your cheek and drew away far too earlier than you wanted.

“There. Apply something before putting a bandage on, right?” He cocked an eyebrow and looked at you knowingly, crossing his arms. 

You immediately smiled at the sentiment, realizing it’s the same line you said to him during your first exchange, and you felt your heart just slightly, slightly flutter at the thought he remembered.

“Right.”

It had been a week since that incident.

Taehyung and yourself had assumed your regular lives, having to drudge back to work after a few days off.

Your mother’s words still lingered around in your head, spoiling your mood here and there though assuming the ever-so healthy manner of simply pushing the mentally detrimental thoughts away, distracting yourself with work. 

You wish you could detail anymore interactions with Taehyung, though they were scarce with how rarely you saw each other. You both either just missed each other, were too busy to pay attention or simply came home too late. Even sleeping together was hit or miss, usually either of you crawling into bed earlier than the other with no real exchanges.

You could say it made you feel just a little sad, though not entirely considering you two were genuinely busy people, Taehyung an even busier person.

That all came to a full stop though one Friday morning, you were seated by the island and staring at your most recent design for a building, iPad pen twirling in hand. You were sipping on coffee when Taehyung pulled out a chair and suddenly startled you, coffee almost spilling.

“Jheez,” you huffed, “you scared me.” 

“Sorry, you were just really focused.” Taehyung apologized as he placed his own iPad down, reading away.

It’d been like this the whole week, you either designing and leading projects at your own job with Taehyung the ever-busy CEO at his own company, causing you both to often sit in each other’s presence though never take your eyes off your screens.

“Hey, I wanted to tell you something.” Taehyung suddenly perked up, stopping his scrolling. 

“Hm?” You looked up. 

“I should’ve told you this sooner, but we have to attend a gala tonight.” Taehyung grimaced at how sudden this seemed, arms crossed as he leaned on the counter.

Did the action really have to make his biceps pop?

Anyway, you were nearly spitting out your drink for the umpteenth time because of Taehyung, eyes blown out at his abrupt news. 

“Wh-what did you just say? Tonight?”

“Yeah, one of friends’ companies. 25th anniversary since establishment.” Taehyung went to bite a piece of his toast with strawberry jam.

You noticed he liked strawberries and didn’t like bread crust, making you want to smile sometimes at the child-like charm he hid underneath his intimidating persona. “They’re holding a huge gala and he’s one of my best friends, we’ll have to attend.”

You eventually came to understanding him, trying to wrap your head around having to suddenly attend such a high-end event. 

“This event is also going to be our first public appearance together. It’s important.” Taehyung stressed, back to scrolling through his iPad. 

“That’s alright. I don’t mind going, it’s just...I don’t think I even have a dress for a gala.” You mentally sifted through your own wardrobe, coming up short once you realized you haven’t been to an extravagant event like that since you were a teenager.

“I know, I bought one for you.”

You should really stop drinking beverages around Taehyung because you can never seem to keep them in your damn mouth. “You bought one? Taehyung..” You whined. “What did I say about giving me things?” 

“Hey, what did I say about giving you things?” He scolded you lightly. “I give you things simply because I want to.”  

You pouted. “Still, you don’t even know my size, when did you even have time?”

“That doesn’t matter. It’ll fit you, don’t worry.” Taehyung sent a smile as he deflected your question and returned to his iPad, not wanting to reveal that he’d secretly referred to your other dresses in your shared closet for your correct measurements.

“But it probably wasted your time. I should’ve gone out and bought it myself.” You felt guilty, realizing it probably made him compromise his work.

“It wasn’t a waste of time.” Taehyung countered, not really liking how you considered yourself not worthy of spending time on.

“I- thank you.” You blurted out before his statement could effect you. “When does the event begin?”

“7. You should try getting off work early to get ready.” Taehyung suggested, sipping his tea as he looked at you.

“Oh God, I’m gonna have to doll myself up. I haven’t done that in ages.” You held a hand to your mouth, trying to digest the fact you’d probably have to look like a trophy wife. 

“I could get you a makeup artist and hair stylist.” Taehyung offered. 

“No, it’s okay. I think I’ll be fine. I just haven’t been to a gala in a long time.” You felt surprised about the fact yourself. “I’m gonna have to meet so many people.” 

“You will, but I’ll be there.” Taehyung assured, glancing up at you.

“Of course, but you won’t be with me the entire night. I’ll have to brush up on my rich people skills.” You blew a raspberry, knowing you had great interpersonal skills but just didn’t like acting so fake all the time. 

“I won’t leave, just stick with me the whole night.” Taehyung stated as he absentmindedly held his index finger to his lips reading an email, quite goddamn illegally if you had to say so yourself. 

“I will.” You confirmed, erasing at a line on your iPad. “Will you come home early too?”

Taehyung clicked his tongue disappointingly. “I will but just barely on time. Friday’s mean meetings for me, so I can’t leave early. I’ll get ready at work, come back inside the house to get you.”

“Okay.” You’re not sure why you felt suddenly sad he wouldn’t be home earlier. Maybe it was just the usual feeling of not wanting to be alone, because God forbid you actually started getting used to Taehyung’s presence. 

Taehyung rose from his seat and cast his iPad to the side, sliding on his suit jacket as he glanced at his watch, checking the time. You noticed yourself and flashed your vision to your iPad, gawking at the time and realizing you could be late. 

“Oh shit, I have to go.” 

“Me too, I’ll see you tonight, okay?” Taehyung confirmed as he made his way to the front door, fixing his sleeve. You propped off your own seat and began walking towards the stairs, just about ascending until Taehyung suddenly called your name. 

“Y/N!” He peeked out from the front door, seconds from leaving. 

“Yes?” 

“I hope you like the colour, it’s one of my favourites.” Taehyung smiled sweetly, sending his last farewell before he dashed out of the house. 

Your eyebrows shot up and practically gawked, immediately running up the stairs thinking of where to find this dress. He had to have hidden it from you considering he’s been doing so ever since he mysteriously bought it. 

You instinctively rushed into your shared bedroom to grab a scrunchy for the day, all distracted until you caught sight of a white box adorned with a black bow sitting atop your bed. 

Your eyes went wide just reading the infamous label. 

Chanel. 

You had to physically keep from flooring yourself, in disbelief he’d purchased you a Chanel dress. You were even more fearful to uncover it, the information of him buying it himself raking your brain. 

It was even his favourite colour, nearly swooning at the fact he chose for you to wear his favourite colour. So you made your way over to the box hesitantly, untying the ribbon and casting the lid aside cautiously, only to audibly gasp. 

Your eyes fell to a ruby red dress with a delicate V neckline, completely blown away he chose such a bold colour for you to wear. 

You carefully grabbed the dress to take it out of its box, revealing more to discover it was a floor-length gown. It produced a small train though lifted in the front to reveal the shoes you’d wear, the skirt of plain, thick fabric until you saw the torso area; light beading expanding from the stomach area eventually leading into the skirt. 

Shock wasn’t even the correct word to use, you were stunned, completely taken by his choice. The dress was simply gorgeous, beautiful in its own right and you were almost too afraid to wear it. 

Nonetheless, this event was important to Taehyung, so you took a deep breath, tucked the dress back into its box and mentally prepared yourself for the day ahead. 

It was bordering 6:30 now. 

You’d successfully left work early, around the 2 o’clock mark to come home and indulge in a 4 hour self-care routine. It’d seriously been too long since you last attended an event similar to this, grand in size and visited by at least a hundred people. 

It reminded you of your engagement party, though not entirely since there would paparazzi and would be your first real appearance with Taehyung ever since your wedding. 

And quite frankly, you really wanted look better than you did then. You labelled it pretty much a disaster since you were a catatonic mess regretting all her life choices, probably looking unappealing in all your photos. 

Along with knowing the impact Taehyung has, not only in the business world but in general also left you wanting to up your game. You were his wife now, and that came with a high amount of scrutiny and criticism having nabbed one of the most eligible bachelor’s in Korea.

You’d already given up ever checking any articles and avoided social media, knowing that there would be inevitably nasty and judgmental comments. This night was important though, where you’d flank him as the women he’s so-called ‘in love with’ or the ‘love of his life’. 

It also dawned on you Taehyung in fact had a high-valued reputation to uphold, and so did you as his wife. 

So as you stood before the mirror in the walk-in closet, inspecting your dress, you contemplated how you’d survive this night, how you would act as the perfect, most suitable wife to Taehyung. 

You really wanted to hide your face out of how dolled up you looked; your makeup was on the elegant side, not heavy but brushed up to look soft, completed with red lipstick that matched your dress and hair set around your face in loose waves. 

The dress looked almost embarrassingly good on you, Taehyung somehow having chosen the right sized dress as it hugged your every curve right, accentuating the right parts of your body and even the V neckline not dipping too low, but showing quite the generous amount of skin. 

You couldn’t stop blushing at all. 

Taehyung had finally arrived at the house, rushing inside quickly registering he was cutting the time close. “Y/N! I’m home!” he called for you, quickly checking his appearance in a mirror as he smoothed pieces of his parted hair, curling just before his eyes and revealing some forehead.

“I’m in our room!” 

He approved his own look in the mirror and jogged up the stairs, mentally preparing himself before he’d have to see you in the dress he chose, almost excited about it. 

He’d simply loved it at first sight, and couldn’t stop pondering what the striking colour would look like on you. So as Taehyung entered your bedroom, he became confused finding it empty. He then ventured further inside, catching sight of the ajar closet door and light beaming through. 

He sauntered over carefully, peeking inside and Taehyung’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor, almost stupidly. 

His eyes fell to you standing in front of the mirror, fidgeting as you looked at yourself in the dress with the back of it undone. 

And Taehyung had never seen anything more pretty in his life. 

He was speechless for the umpteenth time because of you, not even knowing how to begin a sentence because he might sound like a second grader if he did. So all Taehyung could muster up the literacy to say was “Wow.” 

You turned around instantly, eyes looking as though you were a deer caught in headlights. Taehyung’s eyes widened even more peering at the elegant front, jaw almost slack as he scanned over your body.

“T-Taehyung.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

Taehyung still seemed to be struggling a little, eyes glued to you until he cleared his throat and looked away. “Um, yeah?” 

“S-sorry, but.. could you actually..?” And you did it again, angling your back towards Taehyung to call to the zipper of your dress. You really couldn’t try zipping it yourself, which left it sitting comfortably just at your lower back, your skin exposed to Taehyung. 

You could visibly see Taehyung flash his eyes to your skin until he looked elsewhere, nodding as he licked his lips. “Sure.” 

You watched him near you, his face blank as he took a handful of your hair and softly placed in front of you. He then brought his hand against your side to hold you in place, his other working for the zipper. It was another case of his rather hot breath fanning your back, almost teasingly zipping up your dress by simple inches. 

He was close again, closer than he’s been in a week and you sincerely hated it always affected you in some way. It made your chest flutter, suck in a breath you didn’t even need to hold in. You relaxed when Taehyung finally finished, his hands gripping your arms from behind as he looked at you through the mirror.

And for some odd reason, he liked how your heights contrasted each other. 

He had the slightest hint of a smile, eyes seeming to gleam with something you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“You look pretty.” He said, gazing at you through the reflection and you had to physically stop from beaming like an idiot. Your chest fills with butterflies, face collecting with heat at his compliment. 

How could an Adonis like him call you pretty?

You bit your lip, gazing up at his taller, impeccably dressed reflection as you admired him, his every feature crafted to a degree of perfection that left you in awe. 

“You look really handsome.” You complimented, watching his lips just about curve into a smile that met his eyes, and you wish he didn’t have to look so handsome when he smiled too. 

“Thank you.” He voiced before turning you around by your arms to face him. “Make sure you wear a coat tonight, it’s cold.” He informed, you nodding until your quick eyes spotted his tie loosened by just a centimeter, throwing you off. 

“Oh, your tie.” You exclaimed quietly, reaching for it without a thought and pushing it upwards, angling it to perfection. Taehyung suddenly froze, unexpecting of you doing such a thing and so proximal his nose flooded with your perfume, liking the scent. 

Peonies. 

He tensed with an unknown feeling until your gazes locked on each other, simply looking to look while your hands remained on his tie. He realized more than a second passed and Taehyung scrambled for something to say, sputtering.

“I’ll uh.. I’ll be waiting out front.” He assured as he stepped away, exiting the room quickly and leaving you to your lonesome. 

This was gonna be one hell of a night, you thought.

“Remember, there’s going to be a lot of cameras and people here. We’ll really need to act like a couple.” Taehyung sat beside you in the back of an Escalade, manspreading in all his glory and you were sincerely glad he couldn’t read your mind.

“Got it, let’s give em’ a show.” You cheered with your little fists, determined as the car arrived at the lavish venue. 

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Taehyung mimicked your action. “Don’t worry about getting nervous, I’m there.” He assured for good measure, gauging your affirmation.  

You nodded as you took a deep breath, smoothing over your dress and fixing your hair. Taehyung unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned into you, speaking near your ear. “I’ll get out first and open the door for you, wait here.” You tensed at the action before nodding again, Taehyung making his way out the car. 

He then opened your door as promised within seconds, greeting you with a warm smile as he held out his hand for you. You grinned back at him affectionately as you took it, adjusting your dress to step onto the concrete. 

You were met by dozens of camera flashes and a yelling crowd, shouting various things you couldn’t quite make out. You were almost distracted by it and felt a small sense of anxiety creep up you, until Taehyung pulled you flush against his side, hand curving around your waist.

You smiled up at him in accordance, and he beamed back as he walked you two down the carpet leading into the venue, casually ignoring all the noise and people. 

Taehyung guided you inside safely to where you were welcomed by a beautiful looking hall, pristine and extremely elegant. It was surely fitting for a grand gala. Your eyes caught a small crowd of photographers in the foyer snapping photos at a certain wall with a backdrop, curiosity dawning on you as Taehyung led you towards the coat check. 

“What’s happening there?” You pointed towards the scene. 

“Oh, exclusive press.” He snuck a look, stripping off his coat. “They’re the ones I was talking about, they’re gonna take pictures of us.” Taehyung answered distracted as he retrieved your coat and gave both to the coat checker, smiling a thank you. 

You didn’t even have time to really respond as Taehyung dragged you to the very scene, the pair of you next to have photos taken. You tried to process the whole thing as he walked you over, mentally preparing to look your best until Taehyung suddenly whispered lowly in your ear again. 

And again, it sent shivers down your spine. 

“Just smile and hold me, okay?” Your chest fluttered for an odd reason, nodding back to him as he brought you in front of the line of photographers. 

You stayed true to your promise and tucked an arm around his torso as the other draped his chest, closest to him as you could. Taehyung almost settled next to you until he felt something at his feet, noticing he was nearly stepping on your gown. 

He broke away from you, unexpectedly bending down to catch the skirt of your dress and delicately fix it behind you. You heard the hushed exclamations of the photographers, most of them doting on his considerate act as you just about protested, though suddenly remembered Taehyung’s words from today. 

It was probably better to stay silent. 

So you simply smiled as you watched Taehyung adjust your dress, feeling a warm sensation spread across your chest when he returned even though it most likely was for show, his hands coming back on you. 

This time you didn’t try to suppress anything, allowing some of your feelings to manifest into a real smile, remembering you were to appear as a couple anyway. 

And whether or not there was some truth to your expressions, was anyone really keeping track?

You two began posing for the photographers, smiling in all directions and clutching onto each other closely. You occasionally tried different angles to look better, everything going smoothly until you heard someone shout out, eyes widening as a result.

“Kiss her!” 

It wasn’t long before the other photographers began agreeing, encouraging Taehyung to kiss you and you had no clue how he would react. You were slightly biting your lip as you were occupied avoiding eye contact, that was until Taehyung quietly called you.

“Y/N, look at me.” 

“Hm?” You instinctively responded and looked up at him, completely taken by surprise when Taehyung suddenly planted a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes visibly went wider, only his chest to stare at until he eventually disconnected.

He returned his eyes to you and grinned at your wide-eyed reaction, suddenly reminding you. “Smile,” he encouraged with the flash of his own boxy grin, wanting to see you smile. 

And it damn well worked. 

Taehyung was right about the size of this gala. 

Huge. 

It was grand, the entire hall seeming to be spat right out of a castle with about a hundred fancy-looking people inside. You thought it would’ve been uninteresting and difficult to communicate with others tonight and put on your best fake smile, though the night’s atmosphere amassed with champagne, good food and great conversationalists left you in a better mood than you expected. 

It was actually quite fun, finding yourself genuinely conversing with the people Taehyung dragged you to meet, keeping to your promise of staying right by his side the whole night, and he kept his, never having left you. 

You’d met various people, having gotten familiar to Taehyung’s high-status world of business and relations. Long story short, Taehyung knew a lot of people, and you were surprised at how extroverted he suddenly seemed.  

He was practically a social butterfly, not having forgotten a single name of who he spoke to along with somehow remembering personal details about their lives. It left you impressed, joining along with his light-hearted conversation with your own extrovert tendencies. 

Everyone you’d met had been nice so far, but by far the most amusing people you’d met had to have been Taehyung’s 5 best friends, the same ones you’d seen in his photographs. 

“Y/N, this is Kim Namjoon and Seokjin, they’re brothers.” 

Both tall and quite frankly broad men greeted you warmly, one of them having a nice dimply smile while the other was far too handsome to be looked at for free. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” They said after another, reaching out to shake your hand. “We’re co-CEOs of one of Korea’s largest private airline.” Namjoon of the two informed.   

“Likewise. And wow, that’s impressive.” You complimented. “Might I also say, you’re both.. tall.” You had to almost crane your neck to meet their eyes, thankful for the heels you were wearing as the group laughed at your remark. 

“Perhaps, though you’re quite short yourself, Y/N.” Seokijn commented light-heartedly, causing you to playfully pout and retort him. “Oh c’mon, I hear that from Taehyung already, not you too.” You giggled, absentmindedly leaning into Taehyung as he tensed, your body pressing into his. 

“It’s cause Taehyung likes short girls, teasing means he likes you.”  A built looking man with longer hair suddenly joked, nudging Taehyung with his elbow.

“Shut up, Jungkook. I was gonna give you a proper introduction, not anymore.” Taehyung scolded, though Jungkook persisted. 

“Well, you just said my name, that’s already half the intro.” Jungkook then gently took your hand, placing a chaste kiss against the back of it you didn’t expect at all. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Jeon Jungkook, CEO of Korea’s largest game development company.” Jungkook sent you a kind smile and it was hard to not compare him to a bunny, his teeth reminding you of one. 

“Yah, don’t do that” Taehyung swatted Jungkook’s hand away, protesting disapprovingly. 

“Woah, did Taehyung just get jealous?” Namjoon inquired shocked.

“Somebody get their phone out, we’ll need evidence I didn’t hit him first.” Jungkook held up his hands in mock surrender. 

“Jungkook, the only thing we’re finding in our phones is videos of you nibbling on carrots.” Taehyung quipped and it made the group chortle, yourself speaking up at the mention of a rabbit. 

“Actually, I was thinking you resemble a bunny.” You simply wanted to voice an observation, though it sent the whole group into a frenzy. 

“See Jungkook! Other people notice it too!” A man you hadn’t been introduced to yet suddenly burst out, though you could automatically tell he gave off this radiant energy that was infectious. 

He almost felt like the sun. 

“Whatever, Hoseok, you’re like a squirrel.” Jungkook countered and you digested the man’s name for information. 

“And you’re a rabbit, you better buy me what we wagered.” Hoseok scolded from what you could assume, was the younger of the two. 

“Wagered? I don’t remember anything about that.” Jungkook feigned innocence as he looked off to the side.

“Jungkook, we were all there that day, you owe Hoseok a vending machine.” Namjoon spoke up, laughing through the remark. 

“Guys. Y/N is literally right here, we didn’t even introduce ourselves properly.” A man with a fairly sweet voice interjected. He had such soft visuals, almost similar to an angel if you wanted to be honest. 

He then looked to you with a sweet smile, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Park Jimin, CEO of Park Hotels & Resorts”

“This is his event.” Taehyung informed.

“Ohh, nice to meet you!” You perked up, his aura making you feel all comfortable and giggly, there was just something about his bubbly energy. 

The man named Hoseok then extended his hand, “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Jung Hoseok. Sorry for the late introduction, but I basically own a bunch of famous clubs across Korea.” He laughed all dimply and warm, and he really did remind you of the sun. 

“Oh wow, hopefully we’ll get to visit sometime! Clubs are so fun.” You lit up, all excited about a good club scene until Taehyung ruined your fun. 

“Nuh uh, not after your little drunk scene at our engagement party.” Taehyung looked down at you and chastised. 

“Taehyung, it wasn’t even that much. Don’t be dramatic.” You scolded him back. 

“Alright Miss I’m-Not-A-Lightweight, I almost had to carry you.” 

“I was walking just fine last time I remembered.” You crossed your arms and feigned innocence, Taehyung growing scandalized. 

“Oh really, now?” He cocked an eyebrow, just about to continue until Namjoon interjected. “Looks like married life’s been treating you guys well.” 

“Of course, they look practically in love.” Hoseok beamed sarcastically, gesturing towards you both.

“C’mon, Taehyung, tell us what you love about her. Let’s see the simping.” Jungkook playfully taunted Taehyung, egging him on.  

“Shut up. You all already know our marriage isn’t real.” Taehyung rebutted the younger man, eyes narrowed. 

You were taken aback, eyes flashing to Taehyung. “They know?” 

“Of course they do, your best friend knows too, doesn’t she?” Taehyung was referring to Hana, and you acquiesced realizing he had a point. 

“You know, you guys say it’s a fake marriage but you look pretty close to me.” Jimin pointed towards Taehyung’s arm still hugging around your waist, causing you both to realize and promptly disconnect. 

“No, we aren’t.” You and Taehyung retorted at the same time, vision snapping to each other with shocked eyes. 

“Oh c’mon, Tae, you’re really gonna say about your wife?” Seokjin teased him, playful lilt to his tone. 

“Yeah, Taehyung, just look at her, how aren’t you whipped already?” Jungkook remarked as he gestured towards you, feeling shy as your feet shuffled. 

“I’m not answering that.” Taehyung bit back with an irritated tone, folding his arms as he broke eye contact with the group. 

You decided to lighten the mood. “Guys, please, the only thing Taehyung’s whipped for is his company.” You joked, and despite the small sense of hurt saying that sentence, you felt joy making the men suddenly laugh so loudly. 

Taehyung’s shy and embarrassed expression was even more priceless. 

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’re seriously the perfect match for him.” Hoseok added on as he laughed and you couldn’t help but bite back a smile, not knowing what he meant by that though taking it as a compliment.

“Alright guys, remember we had a mission: operation make-Taehyung-and-Y/N’s-marriage-seem-real-as-fuck.” Jungkook suddenly put on the theatrics and halted the group, changing the conversation. 

“Oh yeah, we had a whole plan, didn’t we?” Jimin remembered. 

“Yup. Gotta prepare them for nosey press and annoying relatives. We should start with questions they’d get asked. Make it like a fake interview or something.” Namjoon suggested, leading along the others as he pretended to hold a microphone. 

“You’re all some of the richest men in Seoul yet you’re acting like children. I don’t know you people.” Taehyung tried waving the men off while you couldn’t help but laugh, finding them the most fun people you’ve encountered. 

Childish or not, they were completely unexpected of what you thought a group of CEOs. They didn’t live up to the cliché uptight and uber sophisticated stereotype, rather open and acted however they chose. 

It was refreshing. 

“It’s cause we’re friends with you, Taehyung.” Hoseok shot back and it made everyone snicker. 

“I got it. Let’s ask them to spill some details about each other only they’d know. Someone’s bound to ask that.” Seokjin reasoned, gauging agreeance from the others. 

“Oh my God, you guys already know our marriage is fake. Why would you make this up?” You asked through a giggle, still finding the situation comical. 

“Sorry Mrs. Kim, but that’s precisely why, and I’m afraid we don’t know what you mean by ‘fake’. Now tell the good press something about Mr. Kim we don’t know.” Jungkook began the skit as he held his fake microphone towards you, the others joining in as though imitating paparazzi. 

“Alright, this is gonna be exclusive, pens ready?” You decided to join them, and they all nodded in confirmation as Taehyung flashed his eyes to you, unprepared for you to play along. 

“Mr. Kim is quite something.” You addressed him formally for effect. “He acts all mysterious and cool, but he’s actually just a cuddler who likes tea and cuts the crusts off his bread.” You relayed with a wide grin, all of them suddenly exclaiming and reacting like a high schooler has just confessed the name of their crush. 

“Oh my God, Tae, seriously? Bread crusts? What are you, like, 3?” Seokjin teased. 

“Hyung, your ears literally turn red when people give you attention. Are you 3?” Taehyung retorted and it only elicited more noise from the group, Seokjin exclaiming defensively and Taehyung bringing a hand up to his forehead, sighing. 

“Guys! Okay, let’s get some real answers here. We gotta know what Y/N would say if someone asked her.. maybe some things she likes about Taehyung. Let’s hear it.” Jimin got everyone back on track, attention on you. 

You smiled nervously and flashed a look towards Taehyung, who still had this arms folded and vision looking off to the side, ignoring the entire situation before him. 

You could tell he was pissed with the way his jaw locked, though the fact that he wasn’t paying attention made you a little more confident. 

Taehyung wasn’t exactly pissed, though if he could bonk all his friends on the head a few times he would. He knew teasing and jokes were all common within the group, he just didn’t expect to be the sole target tonight, and so he decided to smoothly neglect the conversation altogether. 

He was succeeding, not expecting you to answer their question seriously until Taehyung suddenly heard you speak up, surprised eyes flickering to you. 

“Hmm, if I had to say..” You were hesitant, Taehyung shocked you were even answering. 

What would you say? 

“He has nice, big hands.” You admitted softly, Taehyung’s brows raising with surprise. “He has a nice voice, too, and... his smile.” You added as you nodded to yourself, confirming your own list and Taehyung was left damn near speechless once again. 

He didn’t really know how to act, acknowledging his face as the most common thing people liked about him, rarely ever hearing those aspects of himself mentioned. 

And he oddly felt.. nice.

“Awh, now that’s cute, good job, Y/N.” Jungkook praised you, Hoseok then pointing his make-believe mic in Taehyung’s direction. 

“Your turn, Chairman Kim, what do you like most about your wife?” He mimicked an interviewer and everyone followed in accordance, mics shifting towards him. 

“Uhh..” Taehyung became slightly nervous under everyone’s scrutiny, not knowing if he should assume his usual unreadable nature or answer their request truthfully. 

“Tae, dude, if you don’t say anything then I will.” Jungkook declared, just about ready to speak again until you cut him off, snorting. 

“Don’t sweat it, guys. He won’t say anything.” You really knew Taehyung would have nothing to say, so you crossed your arms and became uninterested in the conversation.

Until Taehyung spoke. 

“She does this pouting thing.. with her lips. It’s cute.” Taehyung started, coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly and peer at anything but a pair of eyes. “Her height.. and her eyes. She has nice eyes.” 

The floor had to be tired of you by now, because Taehyung seemed to make you want to fall hard pretty often. You didn’t know what to do, eyes blown and nearly on the verge of choking, unable to believe a Godly being like Taehyung just admitted to liking something about you. 

Is this what it feels like to win at life?

His words kept ringing in your head, melting into a shy mess with your cheeks beyond hot, avoiding eye contact with everyone while Taehyung grew slightly embarrassed, similarly looking off to the side. 

“Holy shit, you guys are actually cute.” Jimin remarked through a chuckle as he  pointed at you both, you and Taehyung mirroring the same look of horror while protesting at the same time. “No we aren’t!” 

And it only made the men crack up even harder. 

It was laugh after laugh as that conversation went on, finding a quick and pleasant liking to Taehyung’s friends. They’d made it clear as day they liked you as well, to be precise they seemed to love you, making playful nudges at Taehyung for saying yes to someone just right for him; and you seriously pondered what that exactly meant. 

It was further into the night now, the gala having picked up in activity and passed the long social hour, now leading into more of a party scene as upbeat music filled the hall. 

You’d stuck with Taehyung the whole night as promised, having met more of the people he knew. The evening had been quite calm, both you and Taehyung having silently, though mutually ignored the conversation from before for sanity purposes, only focusing on the additional people you met. 

Taehyung and yourself had been talking up a storm with Jimin for the past half an hour, Taehyung introducing him as his best friend and getting the full run down of how that came about. It was highly entertaining, listening to mentions of alcohol, 4AM fighting and even an incident with dumplings. 

It had you three laughing merrily while music played, Taehyung’s arm draped around you like it had been for majority of the night, practically hugging you to him. He was elaborating on a story that had something to do with a dream-catcher, all smiles and giggles. 

That was until Taehyung suddenly froze next to you, sight seeming to set on a person behind Jimin and he immediately changed his aura. 

“Jimin, what the fuck? Did you invite him?” Taehyung cocked his head in the general direction, eyes set hard. 

Jimin’s eyebrows shot up and and casually looked behind him, registering the culprit himself and turning back to Taehyung. “Holy shit, no, I didn’t.” 

“Then why is he here?” 

“Fuck, I don’t know, Tae. My parents probably invited him, I’m sorry.” Jimin apologized as he rubbed the back of his neck, growing apprehensive.

“Don’t worry, Jimin. It’s just.. not him, not fucking him.” Taehyung’s voice grew a little darker, almost hateful as his hand gripped around you tighter.  

“Taehyung, what’s wrong?” You asked tentatively, though didn’t exactly get a response since Taehyung became distracted, talking more so to himself. 

“Why the fuck is he here of all people? Of all damn people..” Taehyung scoffed to himself humorlessly, clearly annoyed. 

“Taehyung, who?” 

“Nobody, we’re getting a drink. Jimin, please?” Taehyung and Jimin had a conversation with their eyes, Jimin immediately nodding and moving towards a certain man you barely caught sight off before Taehyung was pulling you away. You tried protesting, but the tightened grip around you and Taehyung’s frustrated expression was enough to shut you up. 

Something was seriously wrong. 

You followed him along quietly until you heard a bit of a commotion behind you, able to distinguish Jimin’s voice protesting. You almost looked back until a stranger suddenly snuck up on Taehyung, draping an arm over him. 

“Kim Taehyung! Where you going? Damn, it’s been long.” The man spoke as he lowered his hand to Taehyung’s back, nearly smacking it as though they were old time buddies. 

Though the expression that painted Taehyung’s face said completely otherwise; he looked extremely irritated, and not the playful type. 

“Hisung, yeah, it has.” Taehyung bleakly acknowledged him, said man with an arm still draped over Taehyung’s shoulders until he shrugged him off harshly, pulling you closer to him protectively.

It made the man direct his attention to you. “Oh, this is your wife, right? Nice to meet you, Han Hisung.” The man smiled and extended his hand, not knowing if you should extend yours until Taehyung blatantly cut the man off, physically blocking his hand. 

“Skip the pleasantries, Hisung, what do you want?” You were shocked to see this emotion on Taehyung; rarely having seen him frustrated, trying to manage his annoyance as he gave Hisung a dead stare, intimidating as ever. 

Though Hisung didn’t cower like everyone else did, seeming to rather thrive.

“I don’t want anything. I can’t just meet your wife?” He coated his tone condescendingly, gesturing towards you. 

“No, you can’t. We’re getting a drink.” Taehyung seriously seemed bothered as he began walking you away with him, the harder squeeze of his hand around you indicating he was either growing more irritated, didn’t want to let you go, or a mix of both. 

“Oh, c’mon.” Hisung pulled Taehyung back by the shoulder but Taehyung becomes irritated, shoving his arm away harshly. 

“Not now, Hisung. Not at Jimin’s event.” Taehyung warned him as though he was crossing a fine line, and you grew afraid of what would occur if that were compromised.  

“What, I’m not doing anything.” Hisung held out his arms, feigning innocence. “I gotta say though, if I wanted one thing it’d be to say your wife’s hot as fuck.” He cocked an eyebrow and began eyeing you in your dress, growing uncomfortable and sending him a dirty look, though you naturally leaned closer towards Taehyung and he took notice. 

“Say that again I’ll make you regret it, Hisung.” Taehyung’s jaw was locked, a protective feeling overwhelming him. 

“You’re seriously gonna introduce her to everyone but me?” Hisung looked offended. “She should know who I am, especially to you.” He tried making a point, eluding to something between them. 

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Taehyung flat out rejected him, his expression blunt as he seemed to radiate unbothered energy. 

“I think you should. She should know the kind of man her husband is, and what he’s done.” He said knowingly, in a daunting way that accused Taehyung of something that seemed deeper than it looked.  

“There’s nothing to know, and I never did anything.” Taehyung simply denied, as though he’s said this multiple times.

“Really? You don’t wanna tell her about how you sabotage people? Use your money to buy success?” 

Taehyung had to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing out frustrated. “For fuck’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you? I’ve never done shit like that. Leave.” Taehyung finalized, attempting to control his anger.

You were trying to remain calm and look on objectively, though felt a sense of worry for where this was going, only Taehyung’s seemingly instinctive guard on you keeping you from anxiety. 

Hisung scoffed, “You know, your wife should know how much of a fucking liar you are.” He spat, his vision suddenly growing narrowed as he eyed you both suspiciously. “Come to think of it, wife kinda sounds like a stretch.” 

This time it wasn’t even Taehyung responding, you beating him to the punch. “Excuse me? The fuck does that mean?” 

“Oh, so she talks.” 

You were just about stepping forward to give this asshole a piece of your mind until Taehyung suddenly gripped onto your arms from behind, pulling you to him protectively.

“Hisung, what the fuck do you want?” Taehyung’s tone was leveled with a sense of controlled rage, clear effort to contain himself and you were completely understanding of that. 

“Not much. I just find your marriage suspicious, and if I do then others do too. Wouldn’t want to taint the precious Kim reputation with that, now would we?” The remark was sly, causing Taehyung’s hold around you to tense.  

“What the fuck are you implying, exactly? Try making some sense.” 

“Your marriage isn’t convincing, jackass. There’s no way you two are really married, don’t think I don’t know there’s something behind it.” He stared squarely back at Taehyung, determined. “And when I get my hands on that information, don't think you're the only one who can sabotage someone.” Hisung was resolute as he declared his threat, only making Taehyung more resentful, more rash. 

“Your opinion doesn’t matter to me, jackass. Nothing you do does” Taehyung was confident in the argument and it oddly made you proud, now understanding why he was so successful and well-acclaimed. It’s like he truly didn't care what others thought and only lived for the purpose of what he found important to him, contributing to his confidence and composed approach towards life. He carried himself with an affirmed sense of self-worth that never bordered egotistical, and you were lying if you said it wasn’t hot sometimes. 

Because scratch that, it was incredibly hot. 

Hisung laughed humourlessly, hissing. “I don’t think we can say the same about Mrs. Kim, though, her opinion should matter to you, right?” He then suddenly turned his vision to you and drew closer, speaking in a superficially saccharine tone. “Jagiya, you should really look into who your husband is. He’s not half the man he says he is.” Hisung suddenly came too close and Taehyung immediately tugged you behind him, shielding your smaller frame as his tone dangerously darkened. 

“Don’t call her that, and never fucking come near her.” Taehyung was seething now, clutching one of your hands so tightly you became worried of his heightened emotions.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Hisung mimicked him. “She should know I’d treat her better than her asshole of a husband, make sure she’s nice and satisfied with how much of a man I am compared to you.” Hisung remarked without a single care, and you nearly felt the blooding searing in Taehyung’s veins. 

But you could tell that was exactly Hisung’s goal; to rile Taehyung up and it unfortunately worked. No longer was the calm, cool and collected Taehyung you knew, instead feeling him suddenly rush towards Hisung with a fist until you gripped onto his jacket from behind, calling his name. 

“Tae.” Your voice was soft, immediately stopping him as you clutched urgently. Taehyung could hear the frailty of your worried voice, could feel your little hold on his jacket as he came to his senses.

Taehyung grinded his teeth hard as his fist tightened for a mere second before steadily loosening, calming himself down before he made his last remark. “Go fuck yourself, Hisung.” Taehyung spat with pure disdain as he turned around and swept up your hand, leading you away from the situation as far as possible. 

He pulled you along hastily, walking with a sense of speed that almost had you tripping on your dress. You were seconds from telling him to slow down until he stopped you both in a hallway.

“Taehyung, wh-” You almost got out until Taehyung suddenly pushed you up against the nearest wall, breath hot and heavy as he huffed frustratedly, raw anger written all over him. 

Taehyung’s entire towering body was unexpectedly inches from you, his forearms laid against the marble tiling above your head as he hung his own low, almost trying to conceal his face into your shoulder. It’s like he was blocking you off from any other person, defensively caging you as his chest rose and fell shallowly with white hot anger, your face tucked into his shoulder. His heated breath was continuously tickling the exposed skin of your neck, so close your heart was beating faster than it should’ve. 

You were only left shocked, hands fallen slack by your sides and unable to move. 

“I’m sorry.” He huffed out suddenly. “Fuck, I’m so sorry I’m just.. really angry right now and I can’t calm down.” Taehyung seemed infuriated though worried, his hands clutching into fists above you as he leaned in even closer, mere centimeters between you two as he remained pressed into your personal space.

“Shit, don’t be scared I just-fuck, I hate him. He’s the only person who makes me so angry.” Taehyung breathed out frustratedly, eyes shut as he tried to control himself. “And fuck, I didn’t want him near you. I don’t want him to talk to you. I don’t want anyone to fucking come near you.” 

Taehyung’s confessions kept coming and you were simply taken aback, another show of his emotions on full display and you wondered how he always so neatly composed himself.

“Tae-”

“Just stay in front of me, please.” He begged. “Where I can see you, just stay here.” He stressed, trying his best to breathe properly but only failed. “I don’t.. think I like when other guys are around you.” He confessed out of nowhere, trying to work through the claim hesitantly at first until he eventually nodded, affirming it. 

“Yeah, I don’t like it.” He declared as he continued to lean in, his proximity allowing for you to constantly smell his intoxicating, Invictus cologne; its sexy scent paired with his perfectly tailored suit hugging the curves of his large, broad body only arousing your nerves. 

“God, fuck.” He huffed out. “No matter what, stay away from Hisung. Never talk to him. He ruins everything he touches, every fucking thing.” Taehyung was dead serious, still hiding his face from you as he spoke angrily near your ear. “He’s been trying to ruin me for years. He’s already tried with everything else and he’ll come for you. He can’t ruin our marriage, and I swear to God if he fucking does anything to you-”

“Taehyung, hey, shh.” You brought your hands up to his chest to try calming him down, able to discern Taehyung ever rarely grew angry and when he did, just needed someone to quell his troubles. “Breathe, Taehyung, breathe, okay?” You spoke with a soft tone, trying to contrast the white hot anger you could sense in him by rubbing his chest pacifyingly. 

Taehyung immediately tensed at the action, almost in shock until he ultimately tried to breathe, slow and steady. 

“There you go, that’s better.” You encouraged into his shoulder, hands resting and lightly massaging as you inquired. “Talk to me, Taehyung, what’s wrong? Who’s Hisung?” 

“Fuck, I’ll get angry again.” He warned, breath still hot and heavy as you smoothed over his dress shirt, trying to soothe him.  

“It’s okay. I’m here, Tae, you have me. Tell me anything.” You assured and attempted to mirror his own words from a week ago, worried about his open show of emotions and thinking you should be helpful, make sure you're supplying all the support he needs because he may never be this open again. 

Taehyung’s temper was still high, more of his hot breath on your shoulder as he spoke, lips still by your ear and the bass in his voice sending currents through you. 

“It goes back 3 years, rival companies.” He began. “His father was dismissed as CEO and they held a shareholders meeting to decide a new one. Long story short, he won the vote, but only by a 49-51 percent margin. He barely scrapped by, and after he was appointed CEO he found out his major shareholders voted against him. What made things worse was that right after, they pulled all their shares from his company and invested in mine, and he fucking-” Taehyung was growing frustrated again recounting the story, his body rising and falling faster until your hands snaked up to his jaw, fingers splaying across his cheeks as you held his face pacifyingly. 

“Taehyung, breathe again. You’re fine.” You felt him listen to you, breathing deeply as he became more composed again, continuing.

“He thinks I sabotaged him, that I colluded with his shareholders and used my money when I never did. I only had acquainted relationships with them at the time and never convinced them of anything. They told me they chose to invest because they saw me as the better company, the more competent CEO.” Taehyung was venting, and you let him exactly do so by attentively listening, holding him. 

“It wasn’t my fault, but he thinks it is. And now he’s made it his life’s mission to ruin mine, ruin anything he can get his hands on because he’s convinced I ruined his.” Taehyung sounded upset, clearly fed up with having to deal with such an incessant pain in the ass. 

“Just not you,” He sounded like he was pleading, a whisper. “Not fucking you, he can’t ruin us, or our marriage.”  

“He won’t, Taehyung. We won’t let him.” The pads of your thumbs smoothed over Taehyung’s skin, trying to ease him as he moved back slightly, vision meeting yours.

“Y/N, I don’t lie. I wouldn’t sabotage anybody, I don’t play dirty like that. Even if the business world is riddled with people like that, I would never do it. I’m not like that at all.” A hint of desperation leaked into his tone, eyes gentle as he so emphatically tried to convince you he was nothing like Hisung said. 

And you found your heart softening thinking about the fact that it affected him so much. That while he didn’t care what others thought of him, he somehow valued what you thought. 

“Taehyung, don’t worry, I know, okay? You’re completely fine. He just tries to rile you up because he knows you’re better, more competent.” You slid your hands back down over his neck, letting them rest over his strong chest again. It made your breaths uneven, registering how close he was to you, just inches from your face. 

“He probably knows those shareholders chose you because you’re the better CEO. He knows it, he just tries to deny the truth by looking for ways to ruin your life, so he doesn’t have to accept he’s inferior.” You offered earnestly, rhythmically smoothing him over. Taehyung’s eyes suddenly swirled with a sense of ease, his tense body now seeming to relax. “You think so?” 

“Of course, Tae. You’re nothing like that, I know you’re not.” You said determinedly, gripping his shirt lightly to drive your point forward, eyes conveying warmth. 

Though the response that met you was Taehyung gazing into your eyes boldly as he heard you address him so casually by a nickname already, his look containing something you couldn’t decipher, and it left butterflies swarming your chest. 

You didn’t realize how intoxicatingly close you both were in this position; Taehyung’s arms caging you against the wall, body pressing into you as he looked at you, not breathing hard anymore but hotly, like he was feeling something he was attempting to manage. Your hands funnily contrasted the size of his chest as he glanced at them, then up at him, clutching him a little tighter the more the tension seemed to build.  

It was obvious now, both of you were merely staring at each other, Taehyung’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed and your eyes followed the movement, something unknown alighting inside you at the image. It called necessary attention to his sculpted neck and you found yourself wondering if you’d ever get to lay kisses on it, possibly even mark it

You bit your lip at the thought, hating that such an idea dawned on you, igniting with something unholy the more you breathed in his sexy scent, his large body enclosing you. It sent chills down your spine, trying to contain yourself by shifting and clamping down on your lip harder.

Taehyung’s eyes flickered to the very action, his undivided attention now on your mouth. He could feel every harder squeeze of your hands on his chest as the heat rose, fisting his own hands against the wall with the need to draw himself closer to you, especially with the way you looked right now. 

Taehyung already couldn’t keep his hands off you when you resembled the hottest, and yet most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen in that dress. Either a sweet angel descended from heaven or the right kind of demon he craved. It was even more difficult knowing it’s a dress he chose, adoring the way you were wrapped up in his favourite colour, and thought red has never looked better on anyone else.

It also made him think of some things he shouldn’t speak aloud. Though Taehyung knew you, and knew you weren't ready for anything of that sort, so he remained collected and only stuck to having an arm around you tonight, mindful of boundaries. 

But when you were under his scrutiny, smaller self tucked against a wall because of him and clearly hot and bothered yourself, your exposed skin raking his brain, he couldn’t keep from nearing your lips. 

He’s once felt how soft they were before, seeing on multiple occasions how plushy they truly are and desiring to feel that same soft sensation again. So he disregarded all thought, coming forward inch by inch as he gauged your response, and when he viewed you fluttering your eyes shut and lifting your head towards him, he fought back cracking a smirk. 

Taehyung was milliseconds from connecting your mouths, feeling the skin of his lips blissfully brush yours as his sweet breath invaded your mouth, only for a frantic voice suddenly calling out his name to interrupt, the very culprit tumbling into the hallway. 

“Taehyung! Y/N- oh shit.” Taehyung immediately ducked his face away from you and you hastily let him go, Taehyung puffing out frustrated air as he met his friends’ eyes. “Jimin.. what?” 

“I-uh. I’m sorry, but I got Hisung kicked out and we’re gonna start the last toast. You guys should um...be there.” Jimin cleared his throat and began shuffling, avoiding eye contact with the both of you. 

“Okay, we’re coming.” 

“Sorry, again.” Jimin bowed lightly and nearly made a break for it. 

Taehyung sighed heavily, pushing himself off the wall and straightening up as he freed you, finally able to breathe peacefully. 

“We should um.. go.” He voiced awkwardly.

“Yeah.. just give me a second. I’ll be back from the restroom.” You dared to make eye contact with him to seem unaffected, though panicked the instant your gazes locked.

“Okay.” He nodded, seeming unbothered.

You grasped the skirt of your dress and your heels clacked against the tiled flooring as you scurried off, needing to find the bathroom to see whether or not you appeared as much of a mess as you felt. 

You bolted inside and ran towards the sink, spotting two women possibly your age by the mirror though ultimately ignored them, patting over your cheeks to feel how warm they were. 

Were you really just seconds away from kissing Taehyung? Kissing him? What would’ve happened if Jimin never walked in? Would you have kissed him for however long, would you have stopped it? 

Even better question, why didn’t you stop it? Why were you so ready to kiss him, maybe even excited by the very idea? It sent a chill down your spine, even recalling that Taehyung stated earlier he liked your lips. 

Kim Taehyung liked your lips, the same ridiculously high-status, wealthy man people were on their knees for, practically Seoul’s most powerful CEO and Korea’s seemingly unattainable bachelor; that same Taehyung was the one who liked not only your lips, but your height, even your eyes. 

He said they were nice. 

You didn’t even want to unbox the entire Hisung situation. He so naturally defended you, even held you back out of consideration for your safety it seemed, and it frightened you how much you liked it, liked that he was so protective and made all those confessions about disliking other men around you.

It may have been possessive, but you fucking liked it. 

And you already felt doomed. 

You were simply imploding on yourself, having your own personal meltdown when one of the two women audaciously addressed you, tone light and airy. 

“Oh my God, are you Min Y/N?” She inquired. 

You flashed your eyes to her, answering with furrowed eyebrows. “Uh, Kim Y/N now, but yes.” 

“Wow, so you’re the woman Kim Taehyung married?” The other one perked up. 

“..Yes.” You answered confused.  

The other woman really scoffed here, scoffed, “Song-i, it’s the other way around. She married him.” The rather rude looking woman clarified, and you found out right after just how rude she was. “The Kim Taehyung would never willingly marry someone like her.” 

Your expression immediately contorted, unbelieving of her audacity. “Excuse me?” 

“Don’t think we’re stupid, everyone knows you seduced him into it.” She nearly spat, tone snobby as ever. 

You guffawed humourlessly, truly having it up to here with today because it seemed never-ending with bullshit. “Think what you want, but I didn’t seduce him.” 

“We know you’re lying, he wouldn’t marry some runaway like you. You came out of nowhere, you clearly got into his bed before you got him to the altar.” The other one added on, painting their twisted narrative together. 

“It wasn’t like that all, but if you want to think so because you’re not the one he takes home at night, then be my fucking guest.” You countered them, look sharp enough you were sure you could cut a diamond. 

They both took immediate offence, having the audacity to near you and invade your personal space. “You’re not the only woman he’s taken home, do you really think you’re special?” She insinuated something you weren’t dumb enough to not catch, heart sinking at the thought. 

“What exactly are you trying to get at?” 

“The fact that he married you as a favour, you runaway, and everyone knows your marriage isn’t love at all.” She relayed with a snippy tone. “Don’t you get you’re just charity to him? Everyone knows it, sweetie.” 

You were trying hard to think of a way to counter, though your stinging heart took the jab like it was white hot lightning. You felt crushed within seconds at the comment hitting home, sinking lower until you spoke up. 

“Our marriage isn’t your business. Maybe try getting a life before you revolve it around mine.” You spat as you sent them a petty look, making your way out and almost exiting until you felt a splash of water hitting the back of your hair, mouth falling agape at the sheer audacity of what just fucking happened. 

“Your life is fucking miserable. You’ll stay by his side but he’ll never love you. Keep acting like your his real wife and see what’ll happen. Everyone hates you and how you made him marry you out of pity. Watch your back, runaway, you never know when he might end it all and break your little heart.” You almost, almost turned around to land a right hook across the girl’s face until you decided against it, composing yourself with a breathing mantra and instead choosing your favourite way of leaving a bad situation. 

With a snarky last word. 

“Seems he’s already broken yours with this ring, huh? Stay mad at the ring bitches, stay mad at the ring.” You smiled condescendingly as you flaunted Taehyung’s twelve thousand dollar ring, walking out of the bathroom despite their exclamations and practically marching towards the hall, seething. 

You arrived inside and plopped down on your seat next to Taehyung bitterly, utterly vexed as you crossed your arms and grinded your teeth. 

“Hey, where were you?” Taehyung asked. “You missed the toast.” 

“Could’ve done it without me anyway.” You replied curtly, all the information you received in just 2 minutes ruling your thoughts and sending you into a storm of anger, spoiling your mood. 

Taehyung became confused. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Nothing.” You huffed and reached for your glass of water, taking a large swig and nearly slamming it back onto the table. 

Taehyung reacted surprised. “Seriously, what’s wrong?” He became apprehensive of your mood, grabbing your hand on the table gently as he searched for your eyes. 

Though he instead found your eyes flashing towards something else, someone else before you snatched your hand away, eyes set cold.  

“I said nothing.” 

Taehyung followed your previous line of sight and landed on two women finding their seats a few tables away, their own eyes immediately deflecting from him once he made eye contact.

And it really only took two seconds for Taehyung to connect the dots, recognizing their faces. 

Taehyung sighed heavily, feeling guilty and suddenly apologetic about the possible situation, knowing something must have been said to you. 

He turned back around, “Y/N, what happened?” He tried inquiring again, though you responded with absolutely nothing, completely crossed and avoiding him. 

He exhaled tiredly, this day having been the epitome of a joke. Taehyung was scanning over you again when he suddenly noticed the ends of your hair, distinguishing they were wet and he found it strange. “Y/N, why the fuck is your hair wet?” He was moving to touch the damp parts until you evaded him, tone rigid. 

“Nothing, Taehyung.” 

Taehyung sighed again, frustrated as he once again put two-and-two together, remembering you’d all come from the restroom and addressed you. “What did they say, Y/N? Tell me right now, is that why your hair’s wet?” 

“No, Taehyung, nothing happened,” You stressed, turning your body even further away from him and crossing your arms tighter. 

Taehyung determined he’s truly had enough of today and rose from his seat, you noticing though choosing to ignore him. Taehyung quickly resolved he was going to fix this, beyond agitated this entire day had been damned to hell. He was having a good time too, especially keeping in mind whatever in God’s name was happening between you two, and only knowing that it made him inexplicably happy for some reason. 

Though that mood was ruined now, Taehyung shaking away his thoughts as he began plotting his approach towards your situation, entirely pissed off as he made his way towards the bar, concocting his plan. 

It took Taehyung only a good 10 minutes to get what he needed, snatching the nicest bottle of champagne and trying to remember where he’d observed the two women sitting, strolling his way over to the table with his fakest grin.  

“Good evening, ladies.” He greeted with a saccharine tone as he neared them. 

“Oh my God, Taehyung!” One of the girls beamed. “We haven’t seen you so long, what are you doing here?” 

“Yeah, too long!” 

“It has.” Taehyung smiled. “I actually wanted to offer this.” Taehyung then revealed the bottle of champagne from behind his back, holding it out towards them. 

The two women became elated, practically cheering as they clearly admired Taehyung more than he liked. “Oh wow! Thank you so much!” One of them thanked, receiving the bottle bashfully. 

“You’re too kind, Taehyung, did you really get this for us?” The other inquired, a bright smile on her face. 

“Actually, I didn’t.” 

Both women looked at each other confused, eyebrows furrowed. “You.. didn’t?” 

“No,” Taehyung responded with a bleak expression in near offence they’d assume that, smile wiped from his face. “You both did.”

“Wh-what?” They both questioned, incredulous. 

“I put it on your tabs, geniuses. There’s 6 more bottles, by the way.” 

Both women’s eyes went wide, immediately protesting. “T-this is the most expensive bottle of champagne here!” They looked annoyed, and Taehyung was all about it.  

“I know.” Taehyung smiled condescendingly, drawing closer to the women and dropping his tone to a scarily low, threatening octave. 

“Say anything to my wife again and I’ll make sure you pay more.” Taehyung finalized and rubbed his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he walked away, smirking. He ignored their protests as he passed by the bartender, winking for the 6 other bottles of champagne to be delivered to them. 

Taehyung then made his way to you, now in a hurry to leave this awful night behind as he gently gripped your arm, speaking into your ear to not alert anyone else at the table. “Y/N, we’re leaving.” 

Taehyung didn’t really have to wait, you responding rapidly, “Don’t have to tell me twice.” You were already rising from your seat, done with this entire Godforsaken night yourself. 

You both stepped away together, just about reaching the hall doors until Taehyung stopped you in front, holding you by your arms. “Stay here, I’ll get your coat.” 

You nodded at him and Taehyung bolted off, wanting to nab your coat as fast as possible so he could drape it around you and practically flaunt your relationship in front of everyone. He didn’t care if it was fake anymore, didn’t care for the legitimacy of his actions; he simply wanted the world to know you’re his wife, purposely wanted those two girls and everyone to see him treating you affectionately.

And he most certainly wanted to squash any of the doubt Hisung called attention to earlier that kept bugging him, entailing your marriage already seeming fake to him, and could to multiple other people.  

So he retrieved the coats and came rushing back to you, having worn his as he approached you. You almost reached out for your coat until Taehyung halted you. 

“Don’t, I’m putting it on you.” He rounded the coat around your body, helping your arms into the sleeves. He pulled it snug around you and held onto the ends where it should’ve been buttoned, taking a moment to think. 

Taehyung simply gazed at you, licking his lips contemplating what more he could do in this moment that would be convincing enough, knowing there had to be people watching you two right now. 

He realized he was staring without having said anything. “Sorry, I’m trying to think of something to do for everyone watching but I don’t know what.” Taehyung flashed to your lips and his mind explored the idea, though ultimately fought against it. 

“People are watching?” You inquired.

“Yeah,” Taehyung clutched onto your jacket, trying to think as he looked at your little bundled up self. 

“But I’m not sure what to do-” Taehyung was cut off by you suddenly grabbing his tie and crashing your lips onto his in a single second. 

Taehyung’s eyes blew out, taken by surprise until he found himself quickly melting into your kiss, hands gripping your jacket tighter. He couldn’t help himself from opening up his mouth to catch more of yours, lips sensually kissing yours in a slow, unhurried pace. 

You instantly loved the way he kissed, Taehyung somehow having taken control when you were the one who initiated everything, completely taken by his pillowy, delicate lips. 

Taehyung didn’t care if your lipstick smudged onto him or how brash the public display of affection seemed; all he cared about was the soft feeling of your lips against his own, and the sexy way you wre tugging him by his tie.

He knew it would stay on his mind for weeks. 

You were getting lost until he disconnected your mouths, only looking at each other with undecipherable feelings, shimmering eyes that had no clue what just happened. 

Taehyung smiled before sweeping up your hand in an instant, pulling you out of the hall and eventually outside to quickly sent a text to his driver, guiding you to the curb of the venue. 

He held you against him to keep you warm while walking, suddenly speaking up when something occurred to him. 

“You called me Tae, you know.” 

“What?” 

“My nickname, you called me by it earlier.” Taehyung repeated. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just heard your friends say it and it slipped out, I didn’t mean to-”

“Say it all you want.” Taehyung was grinning to himself like an idiot, thinking you weren’t looking at him but that’s exactly what you were doing, admiring the curve of his perfect cupid’s bow with hints of your lipstick smeared on him. “It’s better when you say it.” 

And now it was your turn to smile like an idiot. 

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[collecting-stories]

Jolly Rancher - JJ Maybank

Request: Hey! Do you think you could do an imagine where the reader is Sarah’s twin and all the pogues are at a party or on the boat and her blood sugar drops really low (she has type one diabetes) and her pump keeps beeping. She is mid passing out, not feeling good and rafe has her Insulin so little bit of big brother rafe worried about his little sister and JJ and her not being together yet but he was super worried about her (like all of the pogues tbh). Thanks xxxx I really love your writing 🥺 every time you post something it makes my day

A/N: I did moderate research for this because the only person I actually know with diabetes is a cousin I don’t speak to. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

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In hindsight, taking the Druthers out in the bay for a party after sunset wasn’t exactly the best idea you and Sarah had ever come up with. And yeah, technically, taking the boat out would have been totally fine and acceptable but none of you had considered bringing anything but alcohol with you. Six pogues (two honorary) on a yacht in the middle of the bay with just alcohol and weed. It was a bad combination in any version of the world but especially in this one, where you’d been pregaming white claw because you were finally, finally, gonna tell JJ how you felt about him.

The crush had been a saga ongoing since you had first discovered JJ Maybank, which coincided with discovering that boys, while terrible, were incredibly attractive. And sometimes...not too terrible. John B had started working for your family the summer before highschool and at the same time JJ started to pop up. Around the Druthers when John B was cleaning the boat, in a neighbor’s yard mowing the grass or cleaning the pool. And then at the Island Club. By then you’d started hanging out with Kiara and her friends and JJ wasn’t just some cute guy who was friends with John B.  

“Honey,” Kiara laughed, reaching for the can of Naturdays in your hand, “I think you need to slow down.”  

“I’m fine.” You promised, knee jerking rapidly as you gulped the rest of the drink down before Kiara could take it from you.  

You weren’t a heavy drinker. The last time you’d gotten drunk was in ninth grade, at a house party on the cut with Kiara. You’d guzzled down one too many Pabst trying to act cool in front of JJ and had ended up in the hospital in diabetic shock. Once everyone was sure you weren’t going to die, your father had laid into you about how irresponsible you were and how you had acted like a child. It was embarrassing, mostly because you were still saddled to a hospital bed and your friends were standing in the hallway, well within ear shot of Ward.  

After that, you stayed away from anything more than two drinks at a party and you always kept your insulin with you. Except, apparently, for tonight. You’d gotten yourself worked up over confessing your feelings to JJ and the possibility of rejection that you were well on the way to drunk. And your insulin was in your backpack, in Rafe’s truck.  

“You’re not fine.” Kiara laughed, “you’re like, buzzing.”

“Buzzing,” you offered her a dopey smile as you leaned forward, whirling your pointer finger around as you made buzzing noises and tried to poke her.  

“What the hell?” She swatted your hand away, “are you sure you’re okay?”

The commotion was enough to get Sarah’s attention and she turned away from John B to look over at the two of you. “You’re like vibrating babe,” Sarah said, “you’re really jittery.”

“Fine, I’m fine...I’m all good.” You promised, bracing your hand on Sarah’s shoulder as you went to stand up. You missed your footing, tripping over the air and hitting the deck before either Kiara or Sarah could catch you.  

“Oh my god!” Kiara got down on her knees next to you and helped you sit up, leaning partially against her. She pushed your shirt up so that she could check your pump and noticed realized it had been going off. “Hey, do you have like...something to boost her blood sugar? I think it’s dropping really low, I can’t really read this?”

“It’s definitely low.” You replied, hands shaking as you checked your pump, “yeah...too much...too much alcohol.”

“Where’s your insulin?” Sarah asked, crouching down so she could try to meet your eyes, “hey, look at me, where’s your insulin?”  

You hummed, a little too long before finally looking at Sarah, “uh, Rafe’s...shit, Rafe’s truck.”

“Are you kidding me? Fuck!” Sarah cursed, getting up to grab her phone so she could call him, “John B, can you take us back?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, heading for the ladder.  

“Here!” JJ pushed through Pope and Kiara, spilling the contents of his backpack onto the deck beside you. Amongst a change of clothes, some pilfered pens, his wallet, house keys, weed, a stick of deodorant, and a travel toothbrush, was a bag of jolly ranchers. He grabbed a green one out and unwrapped it, holding it out to you, “here, it’ll make you feel better.”

“You have a bag of jolly ranchers in your backpack?” Kiara asked incredulously.

“Of course,” JJ replied, “if her sugar drops she said one jolly rancher usually does the trick.”  

It was a stupid thing to smile about, especially since you were currently using Kiara to hold yourself up and sucking on green apple jolly rancher, but you couldn’t help it. You had mentioned that ages ago, the first time you went out with the pogues after your drunken night turned ER visit, as you sat on the dock next to JJ. You had doubted he’d even cared and been embarrassed afterward for just rambling on about yourself but he remembered.

“You remembered,” you said as JJ sat beside you, letting you lean on his shoulder as the yacht headed back to the dock.  

Sarah had gotten a hold of Rafe quicker than she expected. He was already talking when he answered the phone, telling her that he was on the way back from Topper’s. According to Rafe he turned his truck immediately, that was what he told you later, when you were feeling more like yourself again. That he’d realized your backpack was still sitting on the passenger seat and he did a u-turn right there in the middle of the street. You weren’t sure that was totally true, your older brother’s pension for dramatics and your family’s obsession with treating you like a baby.  

Usually, it felt stifling but right now you were feeling pretty shitty about yourself. The jolly rancher did exactly what it was supposed to, boosting your blood sugar enough that you were beginning to feel better.  

“What were thinking?” Rafe called the minute he boarded the Druthers, “you know alcohol makes your blood sugar drop!”

“I know, I know!” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You’d moved from the floor to the couch, JJ leaving your side the minute your brother ran up the jetty. “I’m not a kid Rafe,” you muttered, grabbing your backpack from him.

“Really? Cause you left your bag in my truck and you’re out here drinking your ass off.” He snapped.  

“She’s okay,” Sarah urged.

“What if she wasn’t?”

“I am! And I’m right here!” You huffed, “Rafe, thank you and I know you were worried but I’m okay.”  

Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not trying to be dad here...but you can’t take risks like that, you know better.”  

“I’m fine!” You slung your backpack over your shoulder and pushed passed Rafe, climbing down the ladder to the jetty. You’d apologize later, for now you were irritable and embarrassed and you just wanted to be back in your room, locked in where no one could see you and remind you how horrible this entire night was. The only decent thing that had happened was JJ but the more you let yourself psychoanalyze everything that happened the more you were positive that the pogues just saw you as a kid too. Like you couldn’t take care of yourself. Like you hadn’t been for the last ten years, since you were diagnosed.  

The Druthers said docked but you couldn’t tell from your bedroom window if everyone had gone home or if they were still hanging out and partying. You thought about texting Sarah but she would just tell you to come back down to the dock and stop pouting in your bedroom. You did your usual checks, to make sure your blood sugar had gone back up, and changed into comfier clothes. Even scrubbing off your makeup...you’d let this shitty feeling die before you saw anyone again.  

Or at least, that was the plan. As you were sitting in bed though, a knock at your window startled you. Not just a tap but a full-on knock. You climbed out of bed and went to the window, laughing when you saw JJ standing on the small balcony off your room.  

“What are you doing here?” You mouthed, reaching for the lock so you could open the window.

He pointed to his ear and then shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t hear you.”

You rolled your eyes as you pushed the window open and sat on the sill, “What are you doing here JJ?” You were trying your best to calm your racing heart, the last thing you needed was to go into cardiac arrest in front of him too.

“You left the party.”

“Not exactly in a partying mood...I was being stupid tonight.”

He sat down on the windowsill beside you, facing out toward the backyard but turning to look at you, “hey, I’m stupid every night.”

“You know what I mean,” you laughed, “I’m so careful...I haven’t had a night that bad in a long time.”

“Why weren’t you? Careful, tonight, I mean.” He asked.  

“It’s stupid.” You put your hands on your knees and looked away from him. You’d hyped yourself up to crashing lows and now he wanted you to tell him why? “You should go back to the party.”

“Not really in the mood...can you believe it?” He laughed like it was nothing but you could hear the heaviness in his voice.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault...I just meant. If you’re up here, I don’t really feel like hanging out down there.”

You bit down on your bottom lip and looked over at him, feeling just the slightest catch in your throat. For a second you thought this night was going to get even worse and you’d throw up...but instead you just started talking, words falling out with no control, “I pregamed with Sarah before we even got on the Druthers cause I told her I was gonna tell you tonight that I liked you but I was so nervous that you would tell me you didn’t wanna date me so I just kept drinking...” you said. You realized a moment later what the implication was, “not that its on you that my sugars dropped...or like, not that you have to say you like me just cause I almost passed out.”

“What if I do like you though?”  

“You do?” You asked, shifting more toward him, “seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously...why do you think I came all the way up here? Or carry around jolly ranchers? I like you...I’d do anything for you.” He replied.  

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face as you leaned closer to him, “oh well, now it’s definitely your fault.”  

He laughed, “let me make it up to you.”  

You nodded, standing up and climbing back through the window before holding your hand out for him. JJ was quick to his feet, taking your hand and pushing the window closed as he followed you further into your room.