#<- Series tag in case it becomes one

[lucabyte]

Different standards

[bizarrelittlemew]

Gif Coloring: some examples (yes, more)

(click the gifs to enlarge)

note: the "before" gifs are after trimming the clip in a video editor, manually deleting duplicate frames created upon import (thanks photoshop!), frame rate adjustment, cropping, and resizing.

now, these are just some of my examples – each gif maker has their own style and methods, and i am by no means an expert (some people out there can truly do magic). my reasons for posting these are 1) it's fun to look at the difference before/after coloring :) and 2) to hopefully show that a lot of work and time goes into creating pretty gif sets, and it sucks big time and is incredibly demotivating when those gifs are reposted without credit. it's not just plopping a clip into an online gif converter (those often look even worse than these "before" gifs) ✌️

SO: credit gif makers if you repost gifs!! (on tumblr, reblog from the source or use the Add GIF function whenever possible) ❤️

[ihaveaskeleton]

A Self-Indulgent Scene from a Fic That Will Probably Never Be Written.

MCU!Loki and Sigyn marrying.

Inspiration was taken from here. The idea was inspired by learning that comics!Loki despised Sigyn in at least a few issues, as well as watching Loki (spoilers in the tags but not the actual scene).

Sigyn had always imagined her wedding to take place among her neighbors and friends. As she accepted her groom's ancestral sword, she glanced out at the hundreds witnessing the act. Among them, her grandfather's face was the only one she knew.

The sword she presented the prince of Asgard was less ornate than the one she received but equal in quality. Her grandfather's thousands of years of mastery was evident in its blade, and the snake engraved in the leather wrapping its hilt had been carefully etched by herself after he had told her of her betrothal to the Snake Prince of Asgard.

Servants in finer clothes than she had ever dreamed of wearing placed the wedding bands on the hilts of their swords to be exchanged. As Loki took his ring, she warmed her smile with her silent wish that their marriage become a friendship. His own smile faltered. As their eyes met, his expression became colder than the deserts of Jotenheim. Though the moment was brief, it left her with a lingering sense of dread.

The prince thrust his sword into the soft dirt between them. He wrapped his hand on its hilt and looked at her expectantly. She hesitated. She was tempted to flee before their vows bound them eternally, but to do so would be a grave insult against the prince and, by extension, King Odin himself. She wrapped her hand around the hilt, her fingers accidentally brushing against Loki's. The strange cold of his skin only intensified her worry that she had not married a man but a monster.

[woodohwanedandproud]

@just-a-living-meat-thing #this is why I love light yagami he’s just a series of masks and every time you think you’ve reached the end of them you find a message #that just says error 404 true face not found #I think he’d have an obsessive interest in anything that challenges him #but the moment he excels at it it stops being interesting and becomes a chore or another part of his fascade #hence why he stopped playing tennis once he got championship after championship #and why he’s so attracted to detective work (not unlike L) because it’s guaranteed that theres always going to be a smart criminal #there’s always going to be at least one good hard case in a thousand easy ones

I was just thinking about what type of interests Light would have and then I realized, really who is he outside of his performance? His perfect student, perfect son, son of the police chief, who is he really outside of it all? He never even knew

[joelsrose]

Tangled in Paradise

my masterlist here!

Ahhhh here is chapter 1 of my new mini-series!! I am so freakin excited for you guys to read it, i've had so much fun writing it - to everyone waiting for my other stories thanks so much for being patient and i promise i will get to them! enjoy and let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in the next chapters xx

The marble counter was cool against under your skin, a welcome relief from the lingering heat of the day. You perched on the edge, scrolling through your phone with one hand, the other holding a burrito that was rapidly becoming your favorite part of the evening. Mimi, your cat, stretched luxuriously beside you, her fluffy tail flicking in idle disinterest as she basked in the low glow of the kitchen light.

Your thumb idly swiped up, Instagram reels flitting past like a mindless parade. A stupid AI-generated meme caught your attention—something ridiculous but hilarious enough to make you snort, burrito in hand.

The sound of a FaceTime notification cut through your laugh, your phone vibrating in your palm. The screen flashed with Maria’s name, her photo—a sunny candid of her grinning at a picnic—lighting up the display.

You swiped to answer.

Her face appeared, as vibrant and glowing as ever, framed by the golden light of her apartment. “Hey, girl!” she chirped, her voice carrying the kind of energy that made you suspicious.

“Hey, you,” you replied, taking a bite of your burrito mid-sentence. “Shouldn’t you be packing for your honeymoon in Hawaii or something?”

“It’s not a honeymoon,” Maria groaned, her eyes rolling so dramatically they could’ve done a full lap.

“Sure,” you drawled, giving her a knowing look. Maria and Tommy had been dating for a year and a half, and if anyone was going to get engaged in an annoyingly picture-perfect way, it was them. “But seriously,” you added, “don’t you leave in, like, two days?”

“Yeah, about that…” Her voice trailed off, her expression shifting to something between sheepish and conspiratorial.

You froze mid-chew. “Oh no. Are you guys okay? Don’t tell me you—”

“No!” she interrupted, waving her hands at the camera as if to swat the idea away. “God, you’re such a cynic.”

“Cynicism comes with being single,” you shot back, gesturing vaguely to your burrito.

She laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Okay, so here’s the thing,” she said, leaning closer to her screen. “I have… a situation.”

“Go on,” you said, intrigued now.

Her sigh was long and theatrical. “For some reason, I let Tommy book our trip.”

“And?” you prompted, taking another bite.

“And the idiot accidentally booked a couples package,” she said, dragging out the words like they physically pained her.

You blinked, unfazed. “I don’t get it. You guys are a couple.”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head so fast her hair whipped around her face. “He booked it for two couples. Four people.”

You nearly choked on your burrito, a laugh bursting from your chest. “Classic Tommy,” you said, grinning. “So? What’s the big deal? You’ve got a million couple friends. Pick one.”

“I’ve been asking around!” she huffed. “But everyone already has New Year’s plans, and the package is non-refundable.” She gave you a pointed look, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“Oh no,” you said immediately, holding up a hand. “If this is going where I think it’s going—”

“Would you want to come?” she asked, her tone overly sweet. “You’re my best friend. You’re legally obligated to say yes.”

You stared at her, incredulous. “Maria, in case it wasn’t painfully obvious, I’m single.”

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why Tommy was going to ask his brother Joel to come along. That makes four people. Problem solved.”

You paused, brow furrowing. “Joel, huh?”

Maria nodded eagerly.

You thought about it for a moment. Joel. You didn’t know much about him—just snippets from Maria here and there. He worked with Tommy in construction, lived in Texas. You didn't even know what he looked like.

“I don’t know…” you hedged.

“Oh, come on,” Maria whined. “You’re not doing anything for New Year’s, and you know it. You’re just gonna sit at home, watch Bridget Jones’s Diary, and drink cheap wine with Mimi like you do every year.”

You glanced at Mimi, who stretched lazily, her tail flicking as if to agree. Maria wasn’t wrong.

“Plus,” she continued, her grin widening, “once we get there, you guys can do whatever you want. Hawaii! Beaches, cocktails, hot guys—live your best life.”

You sighed, the temptation starting to outweigh your resistance. A free trip to Hawaii with your best friend? Sand, sun, and maybe a chance to flirt your way into a memorable New Year’s Eve?

“Prettyyyyy please?” Maria hummed, drawing out the word in a way that made you laugh despite yourself.

“Okay,” you said finally, shaking your head. “I’m in.”

Maria let out a squeal of victory, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re the best! I’ll text you the details. Pack something cute!”

As the call ended, you set your phone down and looked at Mimi, who yawned lazily in response.

“Well,” you said, leaning back on the counter. “Looks like we’re skipping Bridget Jones this year.”

Hawaii, you thought. The idea felt distant, unreal. But as you glanced at the empty corner of your apartment where your suitcase sat gathering dust, you had a feeling this trip might just change more than your New Year’s plans.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

Hawaii was breathtaking. The kind of beauty that made you forget how much your neck hurt from the long flight or how unreasonably sweaty you felt in the tropical heat.

You leaned your head against the open window of the taxi, letting the warm wind tangle through your hair as you gazed out at the scenery. Endless shades of green blanketed the mountains in the distance, framed by the electric blue of the ocean stretching out to the horizon. Palm trees lined the road like an army of dancers frozen mid-sway, their fronds whispering in the breeze.

Maria sat beside you, her voice animated as she gave Tommy a play-by-play update on your whereabouts. “Yep, we’re just pulling in now,” she said, twisting her body slightly to look at the approaching hotel. “Alright, bye, love you!”

You turned to her, sticking a finger down your throat in mock disgust.

“Shut up,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling anyway.

The taxi turned into a long driveway lined with torch-lit paths and vibrant hibiscus flowers in full bloom. As the hotel came into view, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning closer to the window.

It was like something out of a movie—a sprawling, open-air building with white stucco walls, wooden beams, and a terracotta-tiled roof. The entrance was framed by a massive archway, beyond which you could see a lush courtyard with fountains trickling water that sparkled in the sunlight.

A uniformed staff member waved the taxi forward, and your jaw nearly dropped as you took in the full view. The lobby was entirely open, its vaulted ceilings soaring toward the sky. Just beyond it, you could glimpse the infinity pool that seemed to spill directly into the ocean. The smell hit you next—salt air mixed with plumeria and something faintly sweet, like coconut.

“This is insane,” you said under your breath.

Maria beamed. “Right? This is so much better than the photos.”

The taxi slowed to a stop, and the driver hopped out to help you with your luggage. You tipped him generously and offered a polite “Mahalo,” feeling strangely self-conscious about whether you pronounced it right.

“Tommy already checked us in, so we can go straight to our room!” Maria practically bounced on her toes as she grabbed her carry-on. “Eeeeek, I’m so excited!”

“Me too,” you said with a grin, taking it all in. “And to think, you’ll be leaving here engaged.”

“Hey,” she said, giving you a mock glare. “Don’t jinx it.”

As you approached the entrance, a small group of staff members greeted you with warm smiles. A woman wearing a flowy dress in bright tropical prints stepped forward, holding a pair of leis made of fresh flowers. She draped one around Maria’s neck first, then yours, the cool petals brushing your collarbone as she said, “Aloha, and welcome.”

“Aloha,” you replied awkwardly, still feeling like an outsider in this slice of paradise.

Another staff member offered you both chilled glasses of pineapple juice, the condensation slicking your fingers. You took a sip and practically melted. It was fresh and sweet, with just the right amount of tartness.

“This is heaven,” Maria whispered as you followed the bellhop toward the elevator.

You couldn’t argue with her.

Everything about this place felt surreal—the golden light filtering through the palms, the faint hum of ukulele music from somewhere in the distance, and the soft roar of waves crashing against the shore. It was the kind of place where time seemed to slow down, urging you to forget the rest of the world existed.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

“So,” Maria began, standing beside you in the elevator, glancing down at her phone. “Since it’s already…” she trailed off, squinting at the screen. “Five o’clock, how about we settle in, freshen up, and then have dinner around 6:30?”

“Sounds good,” you agreed, leaning back against the elevator wall, the faint scent of hibiscus and sea salt lingering in the air.

The elevator chimed softly, announcing your arrival at the designated floor.

You followed her as she led the way down the long, carpeted corridor, passing room numbers etched into sleek gold plaques.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, stopping in front of Room 712. “This is us.”

Us? you thought, a flicker of confusion crossing your face. But you let it slide, figuring she meant she and Tommy.

Maria slipped the key card into the slot with a practiced flourish, and the door opened with a soft click. You stepped in behind her, expecting a hotel room. Maybe a nice one—Maria had said Tommy splurged—but this wasn’t a room.

It was a suite.

No, not just a suite—a goddamn palace disguised as a hotel suite.

Your breath hitched as you took it all in. The entryway alone was larger than your living room back home, its polished marble floors gleaming under warm recessed lighting. Beyond it, the suite opened into an expansive living space with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed an unbroken view of the turquoise ocean. Sheer white curtains swayed gently in the breeze from the open balcony doors, where plush loungers and a private hot tub overlooked the horizon.

To your left, an oversized sectional couch sat in front of a sleek flat-screen TV, its armrest stacked with neatly folded, resort-branded towels. To your right, a dining table made of dark, glossy wood was set for four, complete with fresh flowers and an ice bucket chilling a bottle of champagne.

“Shit, Maria,” you breathed, turning to her with wide eyes. “This is insane.”

“I know!” she squealed, grabbing your hands and bouncing up and down like a kid at Christmas. “We’re gonna have the best time!”

You were about to ask where you’d be staying when a familiar voice cut through the moment.

“Hey, baby,” Tommy called, appearing from one of the adjacent rooms. He grinned as he walked over, pulling Maria into a hug and kissing her lightly on the lips. “I thought I heard you. How was the flight?”

“Good,” she replied, resting her head briefly against his shoulder before pulling back to gesture around the suite. “This is incredible, Tommy.”

“Yeah, guess I didn’t fuck up too bad, huh?” he said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile softened.

Tommy’s gaze shifted to you, his grin widening. “Hey, darlin’. How’ve you been?”

You returned his smile as he pulled you into a friendly hug, the scent of sunscreen and a hint of aftershave clinging to him.

“Good, Tommy. You?”

“Better now that I’m in fucking Hawaii,” he said with a laugh, gesturing around dramatically.

You laughed, too, feeling some of the tension from the long day begin to melt away. Tommy had always been easy to like—funny, respectful, and completely devoted to Maria. He had that older brother vibe with you, always quick to check in and make you laugh when you needed it.

“So,” you said, glancing around. “Do I have a room key or something?”

Maria and Tommy exchanged a quick glance, his arm still draped casually around her shoulders.

“Oh,” Tommy said, scratching the back of his neck as he turned to Maria. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, the first twinges of unease creeping in.

Tommy gestured around the suite. “This is it. The suite. We’re all staying here. There are two big rooms—come on, I’ll show you!”

Before you could even react, Tommy had slipped his arm around yours, steering you further into the space like an overenthusiastic tour guide.

“Maria—” you started, but he was already pointing things out.

“Look at this place!” Tommy exclaimed, his voice brimming with the kind of excitement that made it hard to stay mad at him. He pointed at the sprawling living room like a proud real estate agent. “Big-ass TV, private balcony, minibar—it’s nuts. And wait ‘til you see the bedrooms. King-sized beds, the works.”

You shot a quick glance over your shoulder, catching Maria hovering by the door. She met your glare with a sheepish shrug, mouthing a silent sorry, her lips curving into an awkward half-smile.

Sorry? That was all she had to say?

Tommy was already leading you deeper into the suite, his arm draped comfortably around yours, blissfully unaware of the rising irritation simmering beneath your polite nods.

“Over here’s the kitchen,” Tommy said, gesturing to a sleek, open-concept area with dark wood cabinets, marble countertops, and stainless steel appliances that gleamed like they’d never been touched. “I mean, not that we’re cooking or anything, but still—pretty sweet, huh?”

You nodded absently, still reeling from the revelation that this wasn’t just their setup—it was your setup, too.

“And here,” Tommy said, stopping in front of a door, “is one of the bedrooms.” He swung it open with a flourish.

The room was absurdly gorgeous. A king-sized bed dominated the space, dressed in crisp white linens with a soft, seafoam-green throw draped across the foot. The headboard was made of rich, dark wood, its edges carved with delicate floral patterns that gave the room an understated elegance. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a private balcony, where you could already hear the gentle crash of waves in the distance.

“Not bad, huh?” Tommy grinned, leaning against the doorframe.

“Not bad?” you echoed, unable to hide the hint of sarcasm in your tone. “Tommy, this is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously awesome,” he corrected, winking.

You let out a breath, forcing a smile as you turned back toward the living room. Maria was still hovering by the door, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.

“Maria,” you hissed, your voice low but sharp as you made your way over to her.

She plastered on an innocent smile. “What?”

“What do you mean what?” you whispered, glancing back to make sure Tommy wasn’t listening. “You didn’t think to mention we’re all staying in the same suite?”

She shrugged again, this time with exaggerated nonchalance. “I didn’t think it was a big deal! The place is huge. You’ll hardly even notice.”

“Hardly notice?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly before you caught yourself. You took a calming breath, lowering your tone again. “Maria, I thought I’d have my own room. My own space.”

“You do have your own space!” she insisted, gesturing toward the suite with a grin. “Look around—it’s basically a mansion. And Tommy said the other bedroom is just as nice as this one.”

“Maria,” you started, pinching the bridge of your nose.

She cut you off with a dramatic sigh, stepping closer to loop her arm through yours. “Look, I know this isn’t what you were expecting, but come on. It’s Hawaii. The suite is incredible. We’re gonna have an amazing time.”

“I didn’t realize me and Joel would be sharing a fucking room together!” you hissed, keeping your voice low but sharp.

Maria waved a dismissive hand, her expression almost too breezy. “It’s fine. Joel’s a gentleman. He’ll sleep on the couch or something.”

“Oh, so I’ll just be the bitch who forced a man to sleep on a couch during his vacation?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maria winced, but only slightly. “You’re being dramatic.”

You raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Am I?”

She stepped forward, placing her hands on your shoulders, her expression softening into the kind of pout that had gotten her out of trouble since you were in college. “Please,” she murmured, drawing out your name like a plea. “It’ll be fine. Joel’s easygoing. And think about it—how much time are you really gonna spend in the room? You’ll barely even notice.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she cut you off again. “Plus,” she added, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m getting engaged this week. You can deal with this, right? For meee?”

Her eyes were wide and imploring, and despite every bone in your body wanting to say no, the guilt crept in like an uninvited guest. You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair.

She was right. You could deal with it. Worst-case scenario, you’d take the damn couch yourself. It was a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things… right?

“Okay,” you said finally, the word coming out like a reluctant exhale. “Okay. Yeah. Fine.”

Maria’s face lit up like the Fourth of July. “You’re the best! I owe you one,” she said, pulling you into a quick, triumphant hug.

“Oh, you owe me big,” you muttered, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

She pulled back, grinning. “I promise, this is gonna be the best trip ever. You’ll see.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You stepped into the room you’d be sharing with Joel and let out a long sigh. It was gorgeous, of course, just like the rest of the suite—spacious, luxurious, and dripping with the kind of elegance that made you feel like an imposter just by being there.

The centerpiece was a king-sized bed that dominated the room, its crisp white linens layered with soft, seafoam-green pillows that practically begged you to sink into them.

A pair of matching nightstands flanked the bed, each topped with sleek glass lamps that cast a warm, inviting glow. Across from the bed, a low, polished dresser supported a large flat-screen TV, and the far wall was made entirely of glass, leading out to a private balcony. Through the sliding doors, you could see the ocean stretching endlessly, the sound of waves crashing faintly in the distance.

It was beautiful. It was serene. And it was yours… and Joel’s.

Sharing a room with a stranger wasn’t exactly how you imagined this trip starting, but it wasn’t like you could back out now.

You smoothed down your clothes and stepped out into the suite’s living room. The evening light poured through the massive windows, painting the space in shades of gold and orange. Maria and Tommy were curled up on the couch together, her head resting on his chest as they laughed softly at something he’d said.

“Hey, lovebirds,” you called, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“Hey!” Maria greeted you with a bright smile, sitting up slightly while Tommy offered you a quick nod.

“So, uh…” you began, shifting awkwardly. “Is Joel—?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy said, interrupting you as he sat up straighter. “The idiot missed his flight.” He shook his head, though there was no real malice in his voice, only amusement. “But he’ll be here soon.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding. “Okay. I think I’m gonna take a shower in the meantime.”

“Alright,” Maria replied, stretching her legs out across Tommy’s lap.

But just as you turned to head back to your room, Tommy’s voice stopped you.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his tone softening as you glanced back. “I think you two will really get along.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” he continued, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “I know it’s a weird situation—sharing a room and all—but Joel’s… he’s a good guy.”

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond but unable to stop the flicker of curiosity sparking in your chest.

“Well,” you said finally, “I guess we’ll see.”

Tommy grinned, leaning back into the couch as Maria nestled closer to him.

You turned and headed for your room, the sound of waves and the low murmur of their voices fading behind you. As you closed the door, you couldn’t help but glance at the bed again. Sharing a room might be awkward, sure—but it might also be the most interesting part of this trip.

And something told you that Joel Miller wasn’t the kind of man you could easily forget.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The shower was as luxurious as the rest of the suite, a spa-like haven of sleek stone tiles in earthy tones that stretched from floor to ceiling. The water cascaded from a wide, rain-style showerhead above, warm and steady, like a soothing tropical downpour.

Built-in shelves held miniature bottles of fragrant shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, each scented faintly of coconut and vanilla. Soft recessed lighting bathed the space in a warm glow, and a small, fog-free mirror was cleverly positioned above a polished stainless-steel bench.

You hummed softly, the sound mingling with the rhythmic patter of water as you worked shampoo through your hair. The gentle steam wrapped around you like a cocoon, loosening the knots in your muscles and leaving your skin dewy and warm.

This was paradise, you thought, your hands scrubbing at your scalp. For the first time in months—years, maybe—you felt truly relaxed. No deadlines, no responsibilities, just the soothing rush of water and the faint scent of the ocean wafting through the cracked bathroom window.

“Hey!” Maria’s voice rang out from the living room, muffled by the sound of the shower.

You turned the water pressure down just enough to hear her better. “Yeah?”

“Tommy and I are gonna head out and grab a coffee. Do you want anything?”

“Ooh! An iced vanilla latte please!” you shouted back, your voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls.

“Got it!” she called. “We’ll lock up behind us.”

“Okay!” you yelled, adjusting the temperature slightly.

A soft click of the door signaled their departure, the quiet settling over the suite like a warm blanket. You were alone now, the world outside reduced to the distant hum of waves and the steady rhythm of water hitting the tiles.

You sighed, working conditioner through the ends of your hair, letting the tension in your shoulders melt away. This was perfect. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this kind of peace—a moment entirely yours, untouched by worry or distraction.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The bathroom was warm and hazy with steam, the scent of coconut and vanilla lingering in the air as you wrapped a fluffy white towel around yourself. Your hair dripped in lazy rivulets down your back, and you ran a hand through it, reveling in the feeling of complete relaxation. This was bliss.

You barely registered the muffled sound of the suite door opening, or the faint, low rumble of a man’s voice calling, “Tommy?” from the living room. Even if you had, it would have been drowned out by your impassioned rendition of Smooth Operator, your voice echoing off the bathroom tiles as you gave yourself over to the moment.

Joel Miller—unknowingly your temporary roommate—entered the shared room with his eyes glued to his phone, his brow furrowed in mild annoyance. His thumb scrolled idly as he typed out a text to Tommy, Where the hell are you? He muttered something to himself under his breath, the deep, low timbre of his voice carrying a faint Texas drawl.

Completely oblivious, he walked toward the bed, not noticing the neatly folded pile of your clothes sitting on top of it, or your travel bag perched on the dresser. His focus was laser-sharp on the glowing screen in his hand, his frustration apparent in the slight clench of his jaw and the furrow of his dark brows.

You didn’t hear him.

He didn’t see you.

Not until you pushed the bathroom door open, a plume of steam rolling out ahead of you as you stepped into the main room.

And there he was.

Standing by the bed, his broad shoulders filling the space as effortlessly as the sunlight spilling in from the balcony. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his scruff-lined jaw shifted as he frowned down at his phone. He was gorgeous.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Joel, still engrossed in whatever was on his screen, didn’t notice you at first. Then, slowly, his head lifted—like he sensed your presence—and his eyes landed on you.

The moment stretched, silent and charged.

And then you screamed.

Like, actually screamed.

Joel jumped, his phone nearly slipping from his hand as his wide eyes shot up to meet yours. “Jesus Christ!” he barked, his voice rough and sharp, like gravel. “What the hell—”

“What the hell?” you shrieked back, clutching your towel tighter as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

Joel held up his hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender, his phone dangling precariously between his fingers. “Hey, easy! I—” His words faltered as his gaze flickered—briefly, too briefly—to the towel clinging to your body before snapping back to your face. His cheeks flushed slightly, though his tone remained gruff. “I didn’t know you were… here.”

“You didn’t know?” you sputtered, taking a defensive step back toward the bathroom door. “What are you even doing in my room?”

Joel frowned, gesturing vaguely at the space around him. “Your room? Pretty sure this is my room too.”

Your jaw dropped, words failing you for a moment as your mind scrambled to process the situation. “You—you’re Joel?”

His brow lifted slightly, his mouth twitching into what might have been a smirk if the situation weren’t so absurd. “That’d be me,” he said, his voice dipping lower.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your damp face. “Of course. Of course this is how I meet you.”

Joel crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the edge of the bed as he regarded you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Look, didn’t mean to scare you, alright? Figured this room was empty when I didn’t see Tommy’s stuff.”

“Well, it’s not empty,” you shot back, your cheeks burning. “Clearly.”

“Yeah, I got that now,” he said dryly, his lips quirking into something dangerously close to a smile. His gaze flickered briefly to the bathroom door, then back to you, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “You, uh… wanna put on some clothes before we keep yellin’ at each other?”

Your face burned, heat flooding your cheeks as the reality of the situation hit you. You were still standing there, dripping wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel, completely exposed in every possible way.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, tightening your grip on the towel.

His eyebrows shot up, and damn it, he looked smug about it. That stupid little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that only made him seem more amused.

Before you could say anything else—or throw something at him—Tommy burst into the room, Maria trailing close behind, both of them wide-eyed and holding coffee cups.

“Hey!” Tommy shouted, his voice loud and panicked. “Are you alright? We heard screaming—”

He froze mid-sentence, his gaze bouncing between you, half-naked and flushed, and Joel, standing entirely too casually by the bed.

Maria’s hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling a laugh as she took in the scene, her eyes dancing with poorly concealed amusement.

“Maria!” you snapped, your voice a sharp plea as you clutched the towel tighter around you.

Tommy, meanwhile, didn’t miss a beat. He grinned, his worry evaporating in an instant as he stepped toward Joel. “Hey, big bro,” he said, pulling Joel into a quick hug, completely unfazed by the tension in the room.

“Hey,” Joel replied, his voice smooth and easy, like this whole situation wasn’t absolutely mortifying.

“How was your flight?” Tommy asked, stepping back as if this were the most normal reunion in the world.

“Good,” Joel said, shrugging as he turned to Maria. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, his tone softening just slightly. “Hey, Maria.”

You stood there, utterly stunned, your mouth slightly open as the three of them exchanged greetings like you weren’t standing there, soaking wet and humiliated in the middle of the room. It was laughable. It was absurd.

Maria caught your desperate look and cleared her throat, nudging Tommy. “We should, uh…”

“Right,” Tommy agreed, glancing at the coffees in his hands. “We should get outta your hair.”

Joel, however, didn’t move right away. His gaze flicked back to you, slow and deliberate, his dark eyes dragging over you in a way that felt both infuriating and electric. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening.

“See you soon, roomie,” he drawled, the emphasis on the word sending a jolt of annoyance through you. He finished with a wink that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t care to analyze.

You barely managed to hold back a growl as he turned and followed Tommy and Maria out of the room, their laughter trailing behind them. The door clicked shut, leaving you standing there, still clutching your towel and feeling like the universe’s favorite punchline.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself, glaring at the door. “This is just great.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, staring at the crisp white linens like they might hold the answer to your predicament. For thirty long minutes, you debated your options, none of which seemed remotely appealing.

Option one: walk out there and pretend like nothing happened, even though Joel’s smug face was now burned into your memory. Option two: stay in this room for the rest of the vacation, surviving on room service and spite. Option three: book a flight home and disappear into the dead of night, leaving Maria to deal with the fallout of her matchmaking debacle.

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands.

Your phone buzzed, the soft ding breaking the silence. You picked it up, already bracing yourself.

Maria: You gonna come out or stay in there forever?

You sighed heavily, typing back a quick response. You: Maria, this is so embarrassing.

Her reply came almost immediately. Maria: It’s not. Can Joel come and get settled? The poor guy.

Poor guy? Was she kidding? Poor you!

You sighed again, the sound loud and dramatic even to your own ears. Fine. If Joel needed to get into the room so badly, you weren’t going to be the one standing in his way. You: Yes. He can.

Maria’s response came with an infuriating kissy-face emoji that made you want to hurl your phone across the room.

A sharp knock on the door startled you out of your spiraling thoughts.

And then the knock came again. And again. And again.

You rolled your eyes, standing up and calling out, “Yes?”

“Hey, it’s Joel,” his voice came from the other side of the door, deep and slightly muffled. He kept knocking.

Still knocking.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you shouted, exasperated.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Are you clothed?”

You threw your hands in the air, your irritation bubbling over. “Jesus Christ!”

He laughed softly through the door, the sound aggravatingly charming.

You stormed to the door and yanked it open, ready to let him have it—but the words caught in your throat when you saw him. Joel stood there, hand still raised mid-knock, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was leaning slightly against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space effortlessly, and the playful glint in his eyes told you he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Just makin’ sure,” Joel said, his tone easy as his gaze flicked over you, his eyes pausing briefly on your flushed cheeks before settling on yours. There was a teasing glint in his expression, the kind that made your pulse do a little stumble.

You stood there, arms crossed, doing your best to meet his gaze without faltering.

He tilted his head slightly, his brow lifting as he watched you.

“What?” you asked, your voice sharp, defensive.

“You’re, uh…” he gestured toward the doorframe with a small tilt of his chin, “kinda in the way.”

“Oh.” You blinked, flustered, before stepping aside. “Come in.”

Joel stepped past you, his eyes scanning the room with a low whistle. “This place is insane,” he said, his voice warm with genuine awe. “Fuckin’ worlds away from Texas.”

You almost smiled, thankful he didn’t make the whole towel incident more awkward than it already was.

He turned to you then, leaning casually against the edge of the dresser, his arms crossing over his chest. “So,” he began, his voice dipping into something dangerously close to playful. “I see you claimed the right side of the bed.”

“Is that a problem?” you shot back, mirroring his crossed arms with your own.

“Nah.” Joel shook his head, his lips quirking into that same infuriating smirk. “I should be closest to the door anyway.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“In case a murderer comes in,” he said simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What the hell?” you asked, staring at him.

“What?” He gave you a look, like you were the one being unreasonable. “Us men gotta think about these things.”

You were about to reply—maybe point out how absurd he sounded—but the words died on your tongue as Joel casually reached behind his neck, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and shrugged it off in one smooth motion.

Your breath caught.

He stood there, completely unbothered, the golden light from the balcony casting shadows across the toned muscles of his chest. His skin was sun-kissed, his shoulders broad and strong, with a faint trail of dark hair running down his stomach. It was like something out of a magazine—effortless, masculine, and almost unbearably unfair.

You gulped, suddenly forgetting how words worked.

Joel caught your stare, his mouth twitching into that damn smirk again. “What’re you doin’?” you managed, your voice higher than you intended.

“What does it look like?” he replied, tossing his shirt onto the back of a chair like he owned the place. “Seriously, if you’re gonna freak out every time I take my shirt off, we’re gonna have a problem.”

You blinked at him, floundering for a response.

“We’re in Hawaii,” he added, gesturing vaguely toward the balcony as if to drive his point home.

“I know that,” you snapped, crossing your arms tighter, though the heat rushing to your face wasn’t helping your case.

Joel grinned, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel from the dresser. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said, his tone light, teasing, like this was all some game he was enjoying far too much.

You stood there for a moment after Joel disappeared into the bathroom, the faint click of the door echoing through the room. It was ridiculous how your heart was racing, how the heat lingering in your cheeks wouldn’t budge no matter how many deep breaths you took.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself as you crossed the room. “Unbelievable. Insufferable.” You tossed a glance at the bathroom door, half-expecting Joel to stick his head out and throw another one of those infuriating comments your way. But all you could hear was the sound of the shower turning on, the steady stream of water muffling whatever he might be saying to himself in there.

You tried to focus on something else, anything else. You unpacked a few things, neatly folding your clothes into the dresser drawers, your movements quick and sharp. But your mind refused to stay on task, wandering back to the way Joel had just… shrugged off his shirt like it was nothing. Like he didn’t notice—or care—how good he looked doing it.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you shoved the last of your shirts into the drawer. You’d met plenty of flirty guys before, but there was something about Joel—something about the way he seemed so at ease, so himself, that made him impossible to ignore.

The bathroom door opened, and Joel stepped out, a cloud of steam following him like it was part of his aura. He was shirtless, of course, a white towel slung casually around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. His damp hair curled slightly at the ends, darker now that it was wet, and he was rubbing the back of his neck as though he hadn’t just walked out looking like a whole damn Calvin Klein ad.

You froze, your hand still on the drawer handle, and for the briefest second, you considered looking away. But Joel caught your gaze before you could, his lips curving into that easy, teasing grin.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your unpacking,” he said, his tone warm and playful. “Figured you’d need the bathroom soon.”

“I—uh—yeah,” you stammered, mentally kicking yourself for how pathetic that sounded.

Joel’s grin widened, and he leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Y’know,” he drawled, “you don’t have to look so nervous. I don’t bite.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Unless you’re into that.”

Your mouth fell open, and you snapped it shut again almost immediately. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, pushing past him toward the bathroom.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson, its golden light filtering into your room through the slightly ajar door leading to the suite’s main balcony. From outside, you could hear Maria, Tommy, and Joel’s voices carrying on the ocean breeze—easy laughter and teasing banter.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, your back resting against the edge of the bed. The large mirror propped in front of you reflected your half-done makeup, the bronzer brush in your hand hovering mid-air as you muttered a curse under your breath. You were running late—distracted by the events of the afternoon.

Behind you, the bed was a mess of organized chaos: two dresses—one slinky and black, the other vibrant red—lay sprawled across the sheets, along with a carefully chosen collection of jewelry. Your music played softly from your phone on the floor, and you hummed along absentmindedly between swipes of blush.

What you didn’t notice was the sound of the balcony door sliding open, or the way Joel sauntered into the room like he had all the time in the world.

He wore a pale linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, paired with beige shorts that hung low on his hips. The soft golden light of the setting sun kissed his skin, highlighting the faint sheen of the humid evening air. His hair was perfectly tousled, like he’d just run his fingers through it, and he carried two beers in hand, the bottles clinking softly as he moved.

“Hey,” he said casually, his deep drawl breaking through your concentration as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed behind you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

You jumped slightly, your eyes darting to the mirror where you caught his reflection. Your gaze locked with his, and for a moment, the air in the room felt heavier, smaller. “Hey,” you replied, suddenly hyper-aware of the blush brush in your hand and the faint flush already spreading across your cheeks.

Joel leaned back slightly, one elbow propped on the mattress, his expression easy but his eyes sharp as he studied you. “Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he said with a faint grin, holding out one of the beers. “Beer?”

You shook your head quickly, turning back to the mirror and dabbing more blush onto your cheeks, as if that could somehow cool the warmth rising to your face. “Oh, no thank you. Can’t stand the taste of beer.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, twisting the cap off one of the bottles with practiced ease. “Can’t stand it?”

You laughed softly, glancing at him through the mirror. “Nope. I don’t get how anyone likes it.”

He chuckled, taking a swig before setting the untouched bottle on the nightstand. “Guess that means more for me.”

The silence between you settled, not awkward but charged, the kind of silence that felt heavy with words unspoken. Joel’s gaze drifted to the bed beside him, his fingers brushing over the fabric of the red dress before he glanced back at you.

“So,” he began, his tone teasing but gentle. “Which one are you plannin’ on?”

Your hand froze mid-swipe, and you turned to face him fully, your lips parting slightly. “I, uh…” You looked between him and the dresses, suddenly feeling shy under his steady gaze.

Joel tilted his head, his grin shifting into something softer, more crooked. “C’mon, roomie. You gotta pick. Red or black?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I was leaning toward the black one,” you admitted, though you weren’t entirely sure why you felt the need to explain.

Joel nodded thoughtfully, his fingers brushing the fabric of the red dress again before he picked it up, holding it out as though inspecting it more closely. “Black’s classy. Safe,” he said slowly, his voice quieting. “But…” He paused, swallowing hard enough that you noticed. “I think red.” His usual confidence faltered for a fleeting moment, his gaze flickering to you briefly before returning to the dress. “Red would look, uh… really good.”

Something in his voice—almost awkward, but sincere—made your chest tighten. “Okay,” you said softly, turning back to the mirror before the moment stretched too long. “I’ll think about it.”

Joel nodded, setting the dress back down just as your timer went off on your phone. You swore softly, rushing to finish your blush. “Shit, I swear I’m almost done,” you said, glancing at Joel apologetically.

Joel stayed exactly where he was, his gaze still on you in the mirror, his voice warm and easy. “Hey,” he said. “Take your time. We’re not in a hurry.”

You hesitated, meeting his eyes through the reflection. “You sure? I don’t want to hold everyone up.”

Joel shook his head, his grin softening. “We’re in Hawaii. Ain’t no rules about bein’ late here. Besides, worth the wait.”

Your chest tightened again, and this time, you couldn’t quite hide the faint smile pulling at your lips. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“No problem,” Joel replied, leaning back on his hands. “I’ll, uh, let you get ready.”

His gaze caught on something on the bed, and he reached out, picking up the delicate necklace you’d set aside. “Oh. Did you need help with this?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you said quickly, shaking your head.

“It’s really no problem,” Joel said, already standing and crouching down behind you.

The warmth of him was immediate, his presence so close that you swore you could feel the faint brush of his breath against your neck. “Here,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “Hold still.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted your hair, exposing the back of your neck. Joel’s fingers were surprisingly gentle as he fastened the clasp, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“There,” he said, his voice soft as his hands dropped back to his sides.

You turned slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror. His eyes lingered on yours, and for a moment, neither of you said a word.

“Perfect,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Thanks.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The hotel grounds were even more breathtaking at night. The warm glow of lanterns lined the stone pathways, their soft light spilling onto lush tropical plants and casting flickering shadows on the ground. The air was thick with the mingling scents of saltwater and frangipani, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore carried through the warm breeze.

Maria and Tommy walked ahead of you, their hands interlocked, their laughter soft and easy. Maria wore a flowing emerald-green dress that seemed to shimmer as she moved, her hair styled in loose waves that framed her glowing face. Tommy leaned toward her as she said something, his smile wide and unrestrained as he brushed a kiss against her temple. They looked like something out of a postcard—effortlessly in love and perfectly matched.

You and Joel followed behind, your steps falling into an unspoken rhythm. His hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his shorts, the rolled sleeves of his linen shirt revealing the golden tan of his forearms. The easy sway of his stride gave him an air of confidence that felt completely natural, like he didn’t even realize the effect he had on people—or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

As you passed beneath an arch of twinkling string lights, Joel glanced over at you, his dark eyes catching the light for a brief moment before his lips curved into a small, knowing smile.

“So,” he drawled, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You listened to me, huh?”

You glanced up at him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

He nodded subtly toward your dress, the red fabric clinging to your figure in all the right ways. “The red,” he said, his grin turning slightly crooked. “Told you it’d look good.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, the heat crawling up your neck despite the cool evening breeze. You glanced down at the dress, brushing invisible lint off the fabric as you tried to steady your voice. “Thanks,” you said lightly, tilting your head just enough to give him a sidelong glance. “Guess you’ll be my fashion advisor for the trip.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and rich, like a melody you didn’t realize you wanted to hear on repeat.

“Careful now,” he said, leaning closer as his voice dropped just a fraction. “You let me make too many decisions, and next thing you know, I’ll have you in cowboy boots and denim shorts.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

“Never say never, roomie,” he teased, his grin widening as his arm brushed yours for a fleeting moment.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence for a few beats, your steps in sync as you followed the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the path. Maria and Tommy’s laughter floated back to you from up ahead, their silhouettes framed by the soft flicker of string lights.

“So,” Joel said after a moment, leaning slightly toward you as though he were sharing some grand secret. “Tommy thinks Maria has no clue he’s gonna propose.”

You glanced up at him, your brow furrowing. “Seriously?”

Joel nodded, his grin growing more playful. “Yep. Poor guy’s convinced she hasn’t pieced it together.”

“She’s got a hunch,” you said knowingly, the corners of your mouth quirking into a small smile.

Joel let out a warm laugh, the sound easy and genuine. He leaned a little closer, his voice dipping just enough to feel more personal. “So,” he began casually, though the teasing edge in his tone gave him away, “you, uh… got a boyfriend or something?”

Your steps faltered slightly, and you turned to look at him fully, raising an eyebrow. “Joel,” you said, your voice dry but amused. “If I had a boyfriend, do you think I’d be here on a couples trip, with someone who is not my boyfriend?”

Joel blinked, his lips parting as he realized how ridiculous the question was. “Oh,” he said quickly, his grin softening into something sheepish. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you replied, brushing it off with a wave of your hand.

Joel’s smile returned, his gaze flicking over you with an almost curious warmth. “Just find it hard to believe,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, more sincere.

You blinked, caught slightly off guard by the shift in his tone. “Oh, come on,” you said, rolling your eyes to cover the sudden flutter in your chest. “Does that line usually work for you?”

Joel’s brow furrowed, his expression turning playfully indignant. “What line?”

“The cheesy pickup lines,” you shot back, your lips curving into a smirk.

“I’m being serious,” he said, his tone dipping into something earnest, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained.

“Mhm,” you replied, your voice laced with mock skepticism as you tilted your head at him.

Joel let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head as though genuinely disappointed. “Wow. So cynical,” he said, his grin returning as he leaned slightly closer, the heat of his gaze brushing over you. “Bet you’re a real hit at parties.”

Before you could fire back a retort, Maria’s voice called out from ahead, cutting through the night air. “Guys, hurry up! We’re gonna miss the live music!”

Joel turned toward her voice, then glanced back at you with a grin that was all charm and mischief. “Better pick up the pace,” he said, his drawl warm and teasing. “Wouldn’t wanna get left behind and have to serenade you myself. Though, fair warnin’—my singin’ ain’t free.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you quickened your step. “Lucky for you, Joel, I’m not paying to hear whatever cowboy karaoke you’ve got up your sleeve.”

Joel chuckled, falling into stride beside you. “Careful,” he said, his voice low and playful. “Talk like that, and you’re gonna hurt my feelin’s.”

“Somehow, I think you’ll survive,” you replied with a grin, your heart skipping as his gaze lingered on you just a moment too long.

As the two of you caught up with Maria and Tommy, the warm glow of the hotel lights and the faint hum of music ahead set the perfect stage for the night—and for whatever this thing between you and Joel was slowly becoming.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

“Holy shit,” Tommy murmured as you all stepped into the restaurant.

And honestly, he wasn’t wrong.

The place was stunning, a picture of understated luxury that somehow felt warm and inviting rather than intimidating. The open-air design let in the salty breeze, while woven lanterns hung from high wooden beams, casting soft, flickering light across the room. The walls were draped with lush greenery, accented by vibrant tropical flowers that seemed too perfect to be real. Somewhere in the background, the faint hum of live music blended seamlessly with the rhythmic crash of waves.

“This place is insane,” Joel murmured beside you, his deep drawl laced with quiet awe as his gaze swept across the space.

You glanced at him, catching the way the soft lighting brushed over the angles of his face, highlighting the faint scruff along his jaw and the warm brown of his eyes. “Not bad, huh?” you said with a small smile, your voice teasing.

He nodded, his lips curving into a slight grin. “Guess Tommy finally got somethin’ right.”

A waiter appeared, all effortless poise as he greeted you with a warm smile. “Right this way,” he said, motioning for you to follow.

The four of you trailed him through the restaurant, past tables filled with couples leaning into quiet conversations and groups laughing over cocktails. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across polished wood and crisp white tablecloths, giving the whole place a dreamy, golden hue.

The waiter led you outside to a terrace overlooking the ocean, where more lanterns were strung across the open space, their warm light mingling with the silver glow of the moon reflecting off the water. The sound of the waves was louder here, blending with the distant strum of a ukulele from the live band.

Maria and Tommy slid into one side of the table, their fingers already interlocking as they settled in. Joel, without hesitation, pulled out a chair next to yours and gestured for you to sit.

“Ladies first,” he said, his grin softening into something almost gentlemanly.

You gave him a small nod, sinking into the seat. He followed, sitting beside you with the kind of ease that made it seem like he’d been doing this for years.

“Here are the menus,” the waiter said, placing them delicately in front of you. “And the drink menus.” He offered a quick, practiced smile. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

As soon as he disappeared, Tommy leaned forward, flipping open the drink menu with wide eyes. “This place has everything,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Maria laughed, resting her chin on her hand as she glanced at her boyfriend. “Don’t get too excited. You still have to pay for it.”

“Worth it,” Tommy replied, already scanning the cocktails.

Beside you, Joel leaned back in his chair, his arm resting casually along the back of yours. He opened his menu with one hand, but his attention wasn’t on it—it was on you.

“See anything you like?” he asked, his voice low, teasing.

You glanced at him, your brows furrowing slightly. “The menu just got here.”

“Not talkin’ about the menu,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening just enough to make your pulse skip.

“Jesus,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head and focusing hard on the menu in front of you.

Joel laughed, the sound warm and rich, as he grabbed a menu for himself. “Relax,” he said, flipping lazily to the drinks page, his eyes scanning the options with a faint smirk.

After a moment, he leaned closer, angling the menu so you could see it too. His shoulder brushed yours, the warmth of his presence impossibly distracting. “Hey, look,” he said, pointing to a section of colorful, overly elaborate cocktails. “These all sound fancy. Perfect for you.”

You arched an eyebrow, glancing at the names—everything from Tropical Temptation to Hibiscus Bliss. “You think I’m a ‘fancy cocktail’ kind of person?”

Joel’s grin grew wider. “I dunno. Thought you might enjoy somethin’ a little sweeter. Balance out all that sass.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, Joel straightened in his seat, his gaze lighting up with a spark of mischief. “Hey, let’s play a game,” he said, turning to face you more fully.

You frowned, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. “What kind of game?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dipping low as though sharing a secret. “Simple. I choose your drink, you choose mine.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “How is that a game?”

Joel chuckled, resting his elbow on the back of your chair as he met your gaze head-on. “Because,” he said, his tone slow and deliberate, “it’s a test of trust.”

“Trust?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, completely unfazed by your skepticism. “Yep. You trust me not to order you somethin’ ridiculous, and I trust you not to screw me over with, I dunno…” He gestured toward the menu. “A Pink Flamingo Paradise or somethin’.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, shaking your head. “You don’t strike me as a Pink Flamingo Paradise kind of guy.”

Joel smirked, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual confidence. “I’d rock it, though.”

You snorted, your fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the menu as you debated. “Alright, fine,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “But if you pick something gross, I’m holding it against you for the rest of the trip.”

“Fair,” he replied easily, his grin never wavering. “Same rules apply.”

You both turned back to your menus, scanning the options with newfound purpose.

Joel glanced at you, his tone teasing. “What’re you thinkin’? Something with an umbrella in it?”

“Maybe,” you shot back, smirking. “What about you? Something boring like beer?”

“Boring?” Joel placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense as he leaned back in his chair. “You wound me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, shaking your head as you glanced back at the menu. After a moment, you settled on a drink, pointing it out to the waiter with a confident nod. Joel followed suit, his choice quick and deliberate, though the glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t about to let the game end there.

“All right,” Tommy said, leaning forward and slapping the table lightly. “We gotta get serious about this food situation. There’s too many damn things on this menu. What’s everyone thinkin’?”

Maria laughed, nudging his arm. “You’re acting like we’re solving world hunger, babe. Just pick something.”

Joel glanced at his brother with a faint smirk before turning his attention back to you. But this time, his playful demeanor softened, his gaze shifting to something quieter, more thoughtful.

“You got any dietary stuff I should know about?” Joel asked, his voice lower now, almost tender.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His tone was so different from the usual teasing lilt you’d come to expect—gentle, sincere, like he genuinely cared about the answer.

“Uh, no,” you said after a beat, shaking your head. “Nothing like that.”

Joel nodded, his expression relaxed but still warm. “Good to know,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to the menu.

You swallowed hard, the faint warmth of his attention leaving a subtle flutter in your chest.

“Okay,” Tommy said, clearly oblivious to the moment as he squinted at the menu. “What the hell is a coconut lime mahi-mahi? Am I supposed to know what mahi-mahi is?”

“It’s fish, Tommy,” Maria said with a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes fondly. “You’ve had it before. Remember that time we went to the seafood place in Austin?”

“Oh,” Tommy said, nodding. “Right. That was good.”

Joel chuckled, his voice breaking the small bubble of tension that had lingered between you. “Y’know, Maria,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair, “you’re gonna have your hands full with him.”

Maria grinned, clearly unfazed. “Already do.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

This was fun, you thought, glancing around the table as laughter spilled into the warm night air. The conversation flowed effortlessly, Maria and Tommy trading playful jabs while Joel chimed in with his dry, easy humor. For the first time in a while, you felt completely at ease, the tension of earlier moments melting into the atmosphere of good company and golden light.

The food arrived before you even realized how much time had passed, the waiter placing each dish with practiced elegance.

Tommy, true to form, had ordered something hearty—a perfectly seared steak topped with garlic butter, its aroma rich and mouthwatering. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing it like it was the centerpiece of a grand feast. “Now this,” he declared, picking up his knife and fork, “is what I’m talkin’ about.”

Maria, ever the balance to his bold choices, had gone for a delicate seafood linguine, the pasta glistening with olive oil and white wine, studded with shrimp and fresh herbs. “You’d better share,” Tommy teased, eyeing her plate, but Maria only swatted his hand away with a laugh.

You had chosen a grilled snapper, its crispy skin drizzled with a tangy mango salsa and paired with a vibrant side of coconut rice. The bright colors and tropical flavors made your plate look like something straight out of a magazine.

Joel’s choice was classic and unfussy—a plate of barbecued ribs slathered in smoky sauce, with a side of roasted potatoes and charred corn on the cob.

He caught your gaze as he picked up a rib, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What?” he asked innocently, though his smirk betrayed him. “You were gonna judge me no matter what I got.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I wasn’t judging. Just… admiring your commitment to the messiest thing on the menu.”

“Gotta live a little,” Joel replied, his tone light but his gaze lingering just long enough to make your heart skip.

The laughter continued as everyone dug in, the clinking of silverware and the hum of the nearby live music weaving seamlessly into the scene. Soon after, the waiter returned, a tray balanced expertly in his hands.

“For the lady,” he said with a polite smile, setting a vibrant, colorful cocktail in front of you. It was topped with a slice of fresh pineapple and a tiny pink umbrella, the drink itself a swirl of coral and gold hues.

Your jaw dropped slightly as you stared at it. “Oh my god,” you said, biting back a laugh. “What is this?”

Joel leaned in, his grin widening as he inspected the drink. “That,” he said, his voice full of mock-seriousness, “is a Sunset Paradise.”

You shot him a look, your lips twitching as you tried to hold back your laughter. “Are you kidding me? You picked this?”

“Hey, I thought it suited you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes dancing with mischief. “Sweet, colorful… a little over the top.”

You shook your head, picking up the glass and taking a small sip. The flavors burst on your tongue—pineapple, passionfruit, a hint of coconut rum. Damn it. It was actually good.

“Alright,” you admitted reluctantly. “Not bad, Miller. Not bad.”

Joel’s grin only widened.

“And for the gentleman,” the waiter continued, placing Joel’s drink in front of him with a subtle flourish.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you as you stared at the delicate martini glass, filled with a pale pink liquid and garnished with a single orchid flower floating on top. “Oh, this is perfect,” you said, barely able to contain yourself. “Joel Miller, enjoying a Hibiscus Bliss.”

Joel narrowed his eyes at you, his lips twitching as though he was fighting a laugh of his own. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much,” he muttered, picking up the glass with exaggerated care.

“Go on,” you teased, leaning forward on your elbows. “Take a sip. Let me see you savor that hibiscus.”

Joel held your gaze, his grin slowly breaking through as he raised the glass to his lips. He took a slow, deliberate sip, setting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Not bad,” he said, his tone deadpan. “Real sophisticated.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair. “I can’t believe you’re pulling this off.”

“Darlin’,” Joel said, his grin turning cocky as he leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “I could pull off anything.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The four of you sat back in your chairs, the plates cleared and glasses now reduced to condensation-rimmed remnants of colorful cocktails and beer. The warm buzz of good food and drinks settled over the group, and you realized with a start just how comfortable you felt.

Somehow, throughout the course of dinner, you and Joel had drifted closer. His arm rested casually along the back of your chair, and though he wasn’t quite touching you, you could feel the faint pull of his presence—the warmth radiating from him like he was the sun itself.

“Alright,” Joel said, his voice soft and low as he turned to you, his grin creeping in at the edges. “Now you gotta rate the drink I picked for you. Outta ten.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think, though the teasing glint in your eye gave you away. “Hmmm…” you hummed, dragging it out just to watch his brow twitch in anticipation. “I’ll give you a… seven.”

Joel leaned back, letting out a low hum of approval. “Seven, huh? Above average. I’ll take it.”

You smirked, leaning slightly toward him. “And now you?”

He glanced at the remnants of his Hibiscus Bliss, the delicate pink drink looking comically out of place in his hand, then back at you with an exaggerated frown. “Five.”

Your jaw dropped, and you straightened in mock offense. “A five?”

Joel nodded, his lips curving into a crooked smile as he took another sip. “Yeah, and that’s me bein’ generous.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head, but you couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out.

In front of you, Maria and Tommy were leaning into each other, their voices softer now, heads close as they shared a quick peck. Maria’s laughter was light and sweet, blending with the faint strum of live music in the distance. The two of them were completely in their own world, whispering and exchanging smiles like the honeymoon phase had never ended.

Joel’s voice cut through the moment, low and warm as he leaned closer to you, his breath brushing your ear. “Let’s make a bet.”

You turned to him, your brows arching in curiosity. “I’m listening.”

He angled himself toward you, his grin widening just enough to make your heart do an annoying little flip. “Whoever’s right about when Tommy proposes gets to make the other person do whatever they want.”

Your brows furrowed as you studied him, skeptical. “That’s not fair,” you said, shaking your head. “He’s your brother. He’s probably told you everything he’s planned.”

Joel raised a hand, his expression softening into something almost boyish. “Swear to God, he hasn’t said a thing. I got no clue when he’s gonna do it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for any hint of deception, but Joel just held your gaze steadily, his grin turning a little smug, like he knew you were about to give in.

“So?” he prompted, his voice a touch lower now, coaxing. “You in?”

You hesitated, glancing back at Maria and Tommy. The way they were leaning into each other, so completely at ease, made you think it had to be soon. And honestly, the thought of beating Joel at his own game was too tempting to pass up.

“Alright,” you said finally, turning back to him. “I’m in.”

Joel’s grin widened, and he leaned back in his chair, his arm brushing yours ever so slightly as he settled into the space between you. “Good,” he said, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Don’t worry, roomie. I’ll go easy on you when I win.”

“You mean if you win,” you corrected, your voice sharp but playful.

Joel chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement as he raised his glass in a mock toast. “To fair play,” he said, his drawl warm and teasing.

You clinked your glass lightly against his, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. Whatever this was—this slow, teasing back-and-forth—it was addictive, pulling you in like a tide you didn’t want to fight.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

When you arrived back at the suite, the quiet hum of the evening enveloped the four of you. The buzz of laughter and conversation from dinner had given way to the heavy weight of exhaustion. Maria and Tommy murmured their goodnights as they veered off to their side of the suite, their soft laughter fading behind the sound of their door closing.

You and Joel walked to your side in silence, the tension between you as palpable as the warmth of the tropical night. You could feel his presence behind you, his steps slow and deliberate, and you swore you could feel his gaze burning into your back. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the cool tiles beneath your bare feet as you reached the bedroom door.

Inside, Joel moved toward the bed, dropping his phone onto his side with a casual thud before sprawling back against the pillows. His arm rested lazily above his head, the glow from his screen illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You grabbed your pajamas and headed toward the bathroom. The cool splash of water on your face was grounding as you scrubbed off your makeup, brushed your teeth, and slipped into something more comfortable. But even as you tried to settle your thoughts, you couldn’t shake the image of Joel, relaxed and at ease, sprawled out on the bed like he owned it.

When you emerged, Joel’s eyes flicked up from his phone immediately, locking on you like you’d just stepped into a spotlight. His gaze traveled over you briefly—too brief to feel invasive but long enough to send heat rushing up your neck.

“What?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended as you set your things on the dresser.

“Nothing,” he said easily, his lips curving into a faint smile as he stood, grabbing his own bundle of clothes. “Just didn’t realize bedtime was a fashion show.”

You shot him a glare, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. “Go brush your teeth, Joel.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked past you, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, disappearing into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Christ,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand and taking a long sip.

You settled into bed, plugging your phone into the charger and pulling the covers up to your chest. The clock on the nightstand blinked 11:03, and the suite was quiet except for the faint sound of the ocean outside.

Just as you were starting to relax, the bathroom door swung open, and Joel strolled back into the room like it was nothing—barefoot, shirtless, and in a pair of low-slung pajama pants. His hair was damp, his skin still warm and golden from the day, and he was entirely, maddeningly unbothered as he crossed to his side of the bed.

Without a word, he threw himself onto the mattress, the springs creaking slightly under his weight as he flopped down with an exaggerated sigh.

“Jesus, Joel,” you muttered, your voice sharp as you stared at him.

“What?” he asked innocently, propping himself up on one elbow to meet your gaze. “I live here too, roomie.”

You gestured vaguely toward him, your eyebrows lifting. “Could you maybe warn someone before… doing that?”

Joel tilted his head, clearly biting back a grin. “Doin’ what?”

You waved your hand in his direction, exasperated. “Showing up half-naked like some—some—”

“Some what?” he interrupted, his voice low and teasing as his grin finally broke free. “Greek god? Movie star? Go on, I’m listenin’.”

You groaned, throwing your head back against the pillows. “You’re insufferable.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm as he turned his head to look at you, his grin teasing but his gaze soft. “And you,” he emphasized, his drawl stretching the words as though savoring them, “are too wound up.” He rested one arm behind his head, the picture of lazy confidence as he continued. “Good thing you’re on vacation, or you might just explode.”

You turned your head to glare at him, though the twitch of your lips betrayed you. “Gee, thanks, Joel.”

“Just statin’ facts,” he said easily, his smirk widening as he stretched out across the bed like he owned it. “Bet you’re one of those people who makes to-do lists for their time off.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I do not.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. So you didn’t already plan out tomorrow?”

You hesitated, pressing your lips together, and Joel laughed, the sound rumbling and warm.

“Knew it,” he said, his voice laced with triumph. “C’mon, roomie, you’re supposed to be relaxin’. Let me guess—early morning hike? Sunrise yoga?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the corner of the blanket and pulling it higher up your chest. “For your information, I was thinking about hitting the beach. Maybe snorkeling. Normal vacation stuff.”

He tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before meeting your eyes again. “So, what time we headin’ out?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Tomorrow,” Joel said, his voice casual but his grin edging toward mischievous. “You’re plannin’ it, right? Guess that makes me your plus one.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening slightly before you caught yourself. “You want to come with me?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his tone turning mock-serious. “You expect me to leave you unsupervised in Hawaii? What if you trip over a rock or somethin’?”

You sighed, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. “Fine. But only if you promise not to complain the whole time.”

“Me? Complain?” Joel said, his brows lifting in mock offense. “Never.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him, but before you could retort, his gaze shifted, softening as it settled on you.

“Serious question,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to make your heart falter for a beat.

Your eyes snapped to his, the teasing grin on your face fading as your breath hitched slightly. “What?” you asked, wary of his tone.

Joel tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment before he said, deadpan, “Do you snore?”

Your heart stopped, then restarted with a kick of disbelief. “Joel.”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his brow furrowing like this was some grand existential question. “I can’t do snorin’. It’s a dealbreaker.”

You glared at him, though the faint blush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “I do not snore.”

“Good,” Joel said, nodding like he was checking something off a list. “Because sometimes… pretty girls do weird things in their sleep.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice sharp but your cheeks betraying you as they burned.

Joel grinned, his gaze lingering on your face a moment too long as your blush deepened. “Just sayin’,” he added with a soft chuckle, clearly enjoying himself.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in your chest, but before you could respond, Joel’s expression shifted again—his grin fading into something gentler, more serious.

“Also,” he began, his voice quieter now, “if you want, I can, uh, sleep outside. On the couch.” He gestured vaguely toward the suite’s living area, his tone so casual it almost masked the sincerity in his words. “It’s no big deal. I know you weren’t expectin’ this whole… shared bed thing.”

The offer caught you off guard, the sweetness of it pulling you up short. Joel—so cheeky, so infuriatingly confident—was looking at you now with an openness that you hadn’t expected.

You breathed in slowly, your gaze dropping for a moment before meeting his. “No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine.”

Joel raised a brow, his lips curving faintly. “You sure?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed.”

His grin widened, that playful spark returning to his eyes. “Good,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Because, truth is, I really didn’t wanna sleep on the couch. It looked lumpy.”

You laughed softly, your chest loosening as the tension faded. “Wow, such a gentleman.”

Joel leaned back against the pillows, his grin turning smug but somehow still boyish. “Told you. I’m full of surprises.”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh escaping you, though the warmth in your chest betrayed your amusement. Settling back onto your side of the bed, you pulled the blanket up to your shoulders, the faint scent of clean linen and something distinctly Joel filling the air.

The room was quiet now, the low hum of the ocean outside mingling with the soft creaks of the suite as it settled around you. Despite the space between you, the warmth of Joel’s presence lingered, stretching into the silence like something unspoken but understood.

“Night, Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft and a little shy as you closed your eyes.

There was a pause—a small, almost imperceptible beat—and then his voice came, low and warm, carrying the faintest trace of a smile. “Night, roomie’.”

CHAPTER 2 IS OUT HERE

[lovscb97]

railway (b.cc.) ༉‧₊˚.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TRACK 001: part of the step out series

synopsis: you didn’t mean to get tied up with your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, but sometimes all you can do is hold on tight for the rough ride ahead of you, even if it means going against all the pre-written rules of friendship.

tags: best friend's ex!bangchan x fem!reader, angst, forbidden romance, mutually toxic relationship, morally grey characters, chan and reader are both kind of awful, mention of other idols (rest of stray kids, stayc, enhypen, etc), oc as chan's ex-girlfriend (aeri), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, use of nicknames (baby, darling, etc), very brief pussy slapping, possessiveness, mild dacryphilia, car sex, fingering, sir kink, squirting, jealousy, slight exhibitionism, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation (bitch, slut, etc), dirty talk, very brief mention of strength kink, mirror sex, breeding kink, creampie, brief choking, slight overstimulation, etc

theme board: www.pin.1003 / song link: prod:b.cc

wc: 7.85k

add. notes: welcome 2 the first course >:] i've offered my insights n analysis on railway alr but delving into the meaning of the song n creating a whole fic based off of it was very intriguing for me esp cus i don't usually write based off of music i listen to. i knew i wanted smth wrong to put out but i don't like infidelity n the usual story on toxic situations is tough to pull of so i decided to go down the more 'scandalous' route of sorts n make chan ur best friend's ex instead :3 there's a pinterest board i made for all these fics which for this one u can find linked above to grasp the aesthetics of it n i'd recommend reading this while listening to railway ofc. as always plz make sure u watch out for the tags n dni if ur a minor. also sidenote but aeri (the oc) is not meant to be seen as giselle from aespa but rather i just used that name bcs it's pretty lol just thought i'd lyk that. either way i hope u all enjoy! 

. . .

19:23 PM from: dni!!! Wyd? 

you swallow thickly at the sight of the text which lights up your screen, eyes zeroed in on the simple three letters which still hold thousands of words worth of meaning in themselves when combined. if it weren’t for the rubber case at the back, you reckon you would’ve dropped your phone with how instantly sweaty your palms become upon having received the message. the way you’re staring at your app, maybe even enough to bore holes into the words displayed back at you, doesn't go unnoticed either, and you barely manage to pocket the device as quick as you'd pulled it out just in time as your best friend approaches you. 

“everything okay? you look kinda pale.” aeri frowns once she’s in front of you, voice laced with concern so sweet that it almost makes bile rise up your throat as you attempt to lean back against jake’s kitchen counter to stabilise yourself. she doesn’t seem to buy the eventual shaky nodding of your head that you offer after realising she’d just asked you something that required an answer, but even if she wants to probe you further, she doesn’t, deciding to immerse you in conversation about something your other friends had told her; another one of her gossip sessions with yoon and jungwon, you presume.

her storytelling fades into background noise at some point, for you can’t ignore the heavy weight of the object tucked away in the back of your skirt pocket, still incessantly burning and buzzing with notifications you know you shouldn’t pay half a mind to. you’re well aware that they’re all most likely from the same person; the one individual you shouldn’t and have no right to indulge and mix with to this day; whose bedsheets you’ve found yourself tangled up in late at night alongside dirty noises slipping past both your lips; the very man who remains as sin personified in the storyline of your current life, and honestly might stay that way for as long as you live.

or in other words, aeri’s ex-boyfriend, chan.

your best friend met chan in her final year of university, bumping into him on chance encounter outside her lecture hall and exchanging textbooks by accident. chan had been all smiles when she’d invited him to lunch as an apology for the mix up, often tagging along with her after that until soon enough, they grew close enough and began seeing each other romantically. he seemed to treat her well for the most part, and you were happy for aeri that she’d found a good man worth her time and effort in the world. she’d drag you with her on their outings one too many times, and you’d gotten to know him from those instances, finding him to be a decent match for her.

unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and the spark between them started dwindling. you’re not sure what exactly happened, only able to recall bits and pieces from what aeri had told you mid-sob on your calls about her previous lover slowly becoming distant nearing the final stages of their relationship, so you’ve always just thought it was a mutual decision to cut ties for the betterment of each other. according to her vividly detailed breakdowns though, chan had been the one to suggest calling it off first, and everything came to a screeching halt three years down the line with much screaming and tears from her side. to an extent, their split did shake up things a little between all your mutual friends, but it also didn’t fully stop everybody from engaging with each other. all this brings you to your current situation— waiting in jake’s apartment for the rest of your friends to arrive for a random party he’d decided to plan on a whim.

“yo, guys!” speak of the devil, you think, tugging yourself out of your thoughts as you turn your body to let jake’s figure come into view. he beams at you like a big puppy, his hair flopping in a way that loosely resembles dog ears, and you remember after a split second that that’s just how your friend is referred to as in your group; the resident golden retriever. he parades up to you and aeri as one too, his vibrant smile lighting up the atmosphere in a way that you can’t stop relief from flooding your system at his presence.

“how are my favourite girls doing this fine evening?” he smirks, his usual flirting the same as always, causing aeri to roll her eyes as you chuckle. “har har up yours, sim.” she sticks her tongue out, prompting jake to do the same as he ruffles her hair, to which she shrieks. “oh, by the way,” jake perks up as if he’s just thought of something, completely ignoring your best friend smacking him on the arm lightly over his actions. “y/n, would you be so kind as to get the pack of beer from my car?” he pleads, doe eyes twinkling under the light of the room. 

you’re about to groan in protest, not wanting to go back out in the cold and freeze your ass off for a measly few cans of alcohol, but the front door swinging open accompanied by the all too familiar voice you’ve grown acquainted to fills the air, making your stomach drop— chan. chan is here. suddenly, you’re not too opposed to getting far away, and you quickly nod your head rapidly in agreement, not bothering to wait for the way jake lights up at you accepting his proposal before snatching the keys from his hold and darting towards the lift. 

chan’s jaw tightens at this. he barely manages to catch a glimpse of you from how you rush out past him, not even able to take in your outfit or face in the dashing haze you leave in. he points his thumb to where you had exited, bluffing something about helping you when jake responds how you’d gone out to grab the load of drinks he’d been too lazy to heave upstairs himself. nobody makes any work to question him when he turns on his heel to catch the elevator himself, thinking nothing of his usual gentleman-like behaviour.

nobody except for a pair of eyes lingering on his disappearing frame that neither one of the visitors in the house manages to grasp onto.

meanwhile, you quickly find yourself in the outdoor parking lot of jake’s building, hugging your shivering body tightly in an effort to warm yourself up against the chilling wind that blows past the trees. the sky has basically turned dark by now, but the streetlamps hanging overhead on the sides of the pavement serve as enough illumination to carry out your task. your breath comes out in heavy smoke to the point you can see it, and you try your best to spot your friend’s car as soon as possible, cheering internally when you manage to do so. after having jogged on over to it, you enter the key into the trunk lock with trembling fingers, twisting it until that same latch you’ve grown used to feeling with your own vehicle opens and makes way for you to push up the boot lid. 

you’re about to hook underneath to manoeuvre it open, that is, until a sudden cold hand tugs on the bare skin of your arm, making you jump out of your own flesh. you open your mouth to yell out loud, ready to alert your friends a few floors upstairs that someone is trying to kidnap you potentially when that same hand clamps over it. only when your vision stabilises in your dimly lit surroundings do you recognise chan in front of you, and you feel your shoulders physically drop as you put down your defences, glaring at him when he removes himself.

“why the hell would you sneak up on me like that? i—“

“are you avoiding me?”

his question comes out gruff and annoyed, causing you to blink at the way he’s glowering at you in suspicion. his arms are crossed against his chest, hiding the black button-up you’ve seen him wearing and committed to memory one too many times from how it clings perfectly onto his chiselled shoulders and biceps. it makes you gulp, but you attempt to hide your affected reaction anyways, delivering a scoff in his direction which only makes chan grit his teeth at your attitude. “so what if i am? you know damn well either way without needing me to spell it out for you.” you bite back, moving to turn around when he catches you by the elbow, leaving you to scowl at him.

“what’s gotten into you? just a few days ago, we were fine, yet now you’re ignoring my texts?” he narrows his eyes, holding you in place so you can’t budge away from him. you let out a faint tch at his words, more so at your own susceptibility to succumb to his advances, but chan tongues the side of his cheek after assuming you’re just being blatantly disrespectful towards him. his voice drops to a lower, seductive tone as he speaks up again. “need me to remind you again? you came over last saturday and humped my thigh before squirting on my tong— hmph!“ 

“god, yes, i fucking remember, okay?” you exclaim in a whisper after having slapped a hand over his mouth this time, eyes darting around frantically to make sure no one heard that. “could you be any more louder? jesus christ.” chan peels you off of him shortly afterwards, his expression souring at the way you address him. something about the anger in his features makes your own rise, and you feel any or all remorse you'd experienced prior to seeing him in person today vanish, replaced with a bubbling hatred of sorts.

you and chan began your weird affiliation with one another around two months ago, exactly a few days after he and your best friend broke up. to this day, you don’t know why he made a move on you, much less why you yourself reciprocated it. sure, you’d always found him objectively attractive when he and aeri were together, and while he may be your exact match of an ideal type to a tee, you would never think to act on the growing tension you experienced for him, especially when he was in a long term commitment with the closest person in the world to you. 

it all happened in the most random of occurrences too. you still remember meeting him the night you were out at the convenience store to run errands, catching him hunched over a table in a hoodie and messy hair with two bottles of soju in front. he’d flashed you a polite smile and offered to drink together, which realistically, you should’ve declined. you should’ve turned the other way in disgust and walked out on him to tell your best friend what he’d attempted to do, regardless of whether that would’ve led to something or not. instead, you found yourself in his bed that day, moaning his name as he ravished you under the moonlight streaming through his curtains in your combined drunken craze.

the next morning had been full of hiccuped cries, chan cradling you in his arms despite the scalding touch of his hold gnashing against you and leaving metaphorical imprints that you would never be able to scrub off. each time he soothed you, rubbing your back and kissing your hair, you felt the waves of guilt wash over harsher than the last. he continued to reassure you throughout anyways, telling you it’d be okay and that no one would have to know. blindly, you’d believed him, promising yourself and him to never act on either of your arbitrary lust by not letting go of your inhibitions.

that was the first lie you told yourself. 

“y’know, i’m really not a fan of this whole backtalk towards me.” chan criticises, and you laugh bitterly after picking up on his audible disappointment as it hits your ears. “see? there it is again. maybe i’ve gotta teach you some manners, hm?” his tone is sultry once more, leaving you fighting the urge to flush under his gaze. you ultimately lose though, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face with the way he snickers at your cheeks reddening crimson. instead, you try retain the little dignity you have left as you push against his chest, scanning your parameters with paranoia when he steps closer to you.

“we can’t.” you mumble, clearly slipping. chan’s only response to that is a breathless huff, warm against your face as you peer up at him through your lashes, finally getting a good look at him. he’s wearing his signature hoop earrings today, hair brushed down so his bangs fall over his forehead. the collar of that same dress shirt he’s got on is popped despite a few buttons being undone, leaving the styling choice to highlight his collarbone. that same milky skin you’ve ghosted your nails over multiple times hides underneath the black fabric, leaving you to shiver at the memories of it. it also doesn’t help that the way he towers you is sending your mind reeling into submission way too easily, and you only manage to shake out of it when his fingers trail down to wrap around your wrist, allowing you to feel the cold metal of a ring you recognise all too well press into your joint—

the same half of a promise ring you’d helped him pick out for aeri a year ago.

the realisation that he’s still wearing it hits, and combined with the once again forming shame in the back of your head, it all makes you want to shove him away in favour of storming out of here to tell your best friend everything once and for all. a part of you can sense undue jealousy simmering inside at the fact that he’s still got a piece of her with him too, something you know you have no right to feel, but you try ignore it to your best ability. “chan, we can’t.” you repeat with a hitch in your breath, more so for yourself than him. and yet, you don’t even believe your own words, finding the less rational and weak side of you surrendering to the temptation chan tantalises in you; it overshadows whatever morality you have left.

“d’you really want me to stop?” he breathes out, body sagging far too close into yours for it to be friendly, although you suppose none of your interactions since starting this scandalous relationship have ever been that. his fingers, the very same ones bearing the ring on them, move to wrap around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head up and lock eyes with him. goosebumps prick your skin when you catch sight of the way his gaze is hooded, orbs swirling with black desire he’s begun to reserve only for you in these coming weeks. “because, if you want me to stop, i will.” chan points out. “say the word and i’ll turn around. out of sight, out of mind.” he makes a statement out of it by retracting his hand from you, but the very distinct whine you let out is all the confirmation he needs to press his mouth to yours.

kissing chan always feels like playing with fire. it scorches, and singes, and sears, reducing you to a burnt crisp, yet you can’t help but yearn for the flame he ignites in you. even the way he’s clutching onto you now, pressing forward with a fervour only you bring out in him, has his lips moulding against your cherry stained ones despite not fitting as perfectly as you’d want them to. the two of you are by no means a compatible match for each other; neither of you has made a single good decision ever since you began indulging in whatever you’ve got going on, but you also can’t help but crave the scandalous nature of everything. you’re truly a despicable pair, you think.

“get in the car.” chan’s voice cuts through your thoughts when he pulls away. he doesn’t even give you time to think when he walks over and opens the door, gesturing inside to the warm confines of the backseat. ideally, you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but alas, you’ve never been one to listen to yourself, instead finding your legs scrambling and following suit to shuffle into jake’s vehicle before the weight of your actions even sinks in. chan’s hot on your trail too, and before you can even get comfortable in the cramped space, he’s returning to making out with you, fingers roaming greedily around the expanse of your skin. 

“t-they’ll know we’re gone.” you stutter, moving your face out of his reach to try and stop chan’s movements when it finally dawns on you that your friends had sent you out on an errand you’d taken far too long to complete by now. chan’s only response is to grunt though, tugging you back in for another smouldering kiss that knocks the wind out of your lungs. his hands grasp, pinch, and squeeze whatever part of you they can, until he’s finally decided that he’s had enough foreplay, opting to cage you underneath him and hike up the tight, red dress that’s adorning your body for today’s occasion. “i’ll be quick. i always am.” he winks, and you’re too far gone now to understand that he’s responding to your previous comment, a fact that only makes him chuckle.

“wore this to tease me, yeah?” chan clicks his tongue at the way he has to practically peel off the bottom half of your clothing, the snug fit of the fabric around your curves leaving nothing to the imagination as he bites his lip. he debates whether he’s glad you chose this outfit to show off for him, or if that pisses him off because it means everybody gets an eyeful of your figure; he decides on the latter. “wanted to slut yourself out for my attention? all you had to do was ask, baby.” you shake your head with a whimper, and he raises an eyebrow at your reaction. “d-didn’t.. didn’t wear it for you.” you manage to breathe out, which proves to be the wrong answer because next thing you know, his hand is coming down to smack your clothed core.

you yelp at the sting of his actions, teary eyes blinking up at him in a way that makes chan’s boxers tighten. he’s so close to losing his composure, but he holds back for your sake, not wanting to let you see his cool slip. “is that so? i guess you’re just a dirty girl then.” he sneers, yanking down your soaked panties in one swift motion, leaving you to gasp as the cool air hits your sticky folds.

chan wastes not even one second, knobby digits dragging through the wetness he’s not surprised to find whatsoever. he spreads it over your clit, getting you messier than you already are, especially from the way you appear to leak even more arousal from his movements. he touches you until you’re twitching under his hold, biting back the sounds that threaten to escape you, which seems to be a fact he doesn’t approve of from the way he pinches your nub between his fingers; you cry out softly from the rush of stimulation it shoots through you. “eyes on me.” chan growls, sliding his hand down to circle your oozing hole before he’s abruptly shoving two fingers inside.

“fuck.” you moan this time, loud and clear. this seems to satisfy him, seeing as he rewards you with a steady pump of his digits thrusting into your heat. his speed in fingering you increases quickly, and it isn’t long before he’s scissoring you open, the sloppy sounds of your juices slicking up his fingers and echoing in the stuffy space of jake’s car. you’re probably staining the leather of the seats, but neither you nor chan seem to care about that right now, not when he’s knuckle deep inside your wet cunt and you’re making such pretty noises all for him.

“just filthy, aren’t ya? getting finger fucked in the back of your friends car. i bet your dumb little brain can’t even understand what i’m saying right now.” chan mocks, his tone laced with a level of condescension that only makes you buck your hips up to chase his movements. you know he’s completely right too, because the way he’s thrusting his digits inside you, stroking your warm walls with the tips of them has you seeing stars to the point you can’t even respond back something snarky in return. “all you’re good for is being a nasty toy for sir’s use, hm?” you barely even register his question, only remembering you need to answer him when he pulls his wet hand away to smack you once more, this time over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“y-yes, sir. only a toy for you. jus’ you.” you mindlessly slur out, and chan groans at that. not even a moment passes before he’s sinking his fingers back inside you, curling them up to massage that rough spot which always has you clenching down on him. his expression twists to a smug one when you jerk forward instantly. bingo, he thinks. “that’s that spot there, yeah? the one that has you losing yourself on me?” he coos, but his voice drips with a smidge of venom you can’t quite fixate on just yet. instead, you nod dumbly, spasming around him as you try grind upwards to chase the rising sensation of your climax. 

chan leans into your frame, one hand splayed flat onto jake’s backseat above your head to maintain his balance whilst his body hovers over you. by now, your eyes are clenched shut, but he can’t even find it in him to get mad at you over that, not when you’re dribbling down his wrist and mewling so pretty under the glow of the night as he works you towards your orgasm. “c’mon, baby. cum f’me. wanna see you cum so pretty for sir.” he encourages, jaw locked with concentration. 

it only takes about one or two flicks of his expertly trained thumb pressing on your puffy clit, combined with the pads of his fingers hitting your g-spot with terrifying accuracy, before you’re shuddering through your climax. a small, clear stream of liquid sprays out the sides of where he’s got you plugged up, and he pulls his hand away in favour of rubbing you over to coax out the last remnants of your high. your quivering body thrashes when he tries to draw out the remaining few droplets again, weakly bringing your arm up to push him away gently when the shocks of overstimulation begin to take over. chan dips down to place one, final kiss on your lips, smooching down to your chin as a way to say you did well. his actions make you heart beat out of your chest, but you don’t say anything about the domesticity of them. 

you wonder if he ever treated aeri like this after having been intimate with her.

“go in first. i’ll clean up the car.” chan clears his throat after a short while, not daring to make eye contact with you as he quietly pulls your underwear back up your legs. you watch in silence while he sits up, looking for a rag to fix the mess you two made when that same awkward air you’ve gotten used to facing with him enters the atmosphere, leaving you to try and ignore how it tugs at the strings of your soul as you give a curt nod. “don’t forget the beer.” you remind him before swinging the door open to step outside, finding yourself back in the nipping cold of the winter night.

you try and stand on your wobbly legs to straighten out the creases of your dress, paying no mind to the way your skin echoes with the ghost of chan’s previous touch. behind you, you can hear him rolling down the windows to let the musky smell of sex out of jake’s backseat, and you almost dare to sneak a glance back until deciding against it, knowing it’ll just hurt more. instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, opening them to land on the small balcony of your friend’s apartment where the rest of your group seems to have already gathered from the silhouettes you can see through the foggy glass. your conscience feels heavy with the weight of the knowledge that aeri is up there too, but you brush it off, just like all the other times you have.

i didn’t do anything wrong, you tell yourself, i’m still in the clear. that’s the second lie you’ve tried to believe in these last two months. a long sigh escapes your lips at that realisation, but you bite it down when making your way back inside the building, choosing to rack your brain on what shitty excuse you’ll have to provide this time for being gone so long.

. . .

to your surprise, nobody bothers to question why either you or chan disappeared, simply whisking you back in conversation about unrelated topics when you walk in through the door a few minutes before him. as per usual, your heart still feels heavy when you watch aeri laugh at something heeseung and sieun are arguing over, but you cover it up by letting out a noise of amusement yourself, hoping it throws off any suspicion that might be directed your way. you don’t bother turning your head upon hearing jake’s delight at the sight of chan entering his apartment with the very much requested pack of beer too, deciding to force a smile at whatever point heeseung is busy making over looking back no matter how much your body itches to do so.

it’s even worse how from the corner of your eye, you can see aeri shifting uncomfortably on her feet at her ex-boyfriend’s second arrival, her expression dropping in the slightest so as to not draw attention to herself, but it’s still enough for you to notice. it only makes the weight of your actions dawn on you further, and you can’t help but let your mind wander as to what she’d say if she knew what truly went on behind closed doors. despite your best efforts to bury those thoughts beneath you though, you know there’s nothing you can do to make amends to the problems you’ve created yourself. after all, you’ve got to reap what you sow.

the party continues to kick in on full swing after that, with you and aeri both doing your best to keep your distances from chan for all too different reasons. it doesn’t help that you can feel someone’s stare raking across your figure throughout the duration of the evening, and when you finally do decide to sneak a glance in that direction with expectations of finding chan ogling you over, you’re met with a different answer—

for it isn’t you he’s busy looking at, but rather your best friend that’s been glued to your side since the beginning of the night. 

he averts his gaze as quick as he’d cast it when you catch him, seamlessly blending back in discussion with whatever nonsense changbin is rambling about this time, acting like he hadn’t just been getting an eyeful of his ex-girlfriend moments prior. you also don’t miss how he fiddles with the old ring that adorns his right hand, long fingers twisting it around the middle digit in a way that’s reminiscent of his past behaviour, or at least based on what you’d often find him doing back then. 

his actions spark a memory deep from the confines of your brain, one you wish you hadn’t remembered as the vision of chan asking you to help pick out promise rings for him and aeri crosses your mind. it was raining heavily that day, but he’d insisted that the two of you go out in secret anyways so he could buy his then girlfriend a token of his love and appreciation. he’d claimed you knew her taste the best and could therefore help in selecting a better possible gift for their upcoming anniversary than he ever could. 

you’d hesitantly agreed, and although you weren’t sure how it would all play out, you later found yourself sharing an umbrella and visiting various jewellery stores to point out all the designs you knew your closest friend would adore. chan had settled soon on a matching pair for the two of them, beaming in your direction with a bright smile that left you weak in the knees despite however much you tried to hide it. a few days later, aeri excitedly showed off her own silver band to you, buzzing about how he’d chosen the perfect present that she couldn’t wait to replace with a real one in their future; you couldn’t help then but think if he ever told her it was all your idea instead of his.

“hey, can you hold my phone?” your best friend’s voice cuts through your inner replay, and you blink in a daze to find her facing you, expression innocent. “hyunjin asked to play beer pong, and i don’t have any pockets to put it away in safely.” she explains at your confused face, but all you can do is nod as you robotically outstretch your arm to take it off of her. unfortunately or fortunately, that’s when you notice it—

the same matching ring on her hand.

aeri doesn’t pay you any attention when she drops off her device into your awaiting palm, not even realising you’re zeroed in on the jewellery that decorates her left hand with a fire burning in your eyes that you’re both ignorant of. you don’t stop gaping even when felix shakes your shoulder, asking you what you’re so fixated on before leaving you be under the impression that you’re probably just drunk out of your head. meanwhile, you’re still frozen in place, everything around you seeming to slow down.

why is chan wearing a ring he bought for his ex-girlfriend two years ago to a party he knows she’s going to be at? no, why does said ex-girlfriend also have her matching pair of the ring on her hand at a party she too is aware he’s going to be present for? much less, why are either of them hung up on each other to the point they’re carrying around reminders of their past relationship with one another? you know the answer to all these questions, but you don’t wish to sit and delve into them in fear you might throw up at the conclusion they’ll give you. instead, all you can do is squeeze the can of seltzer you’d spiked in your hand dangerously tight out of unwanted emotion, enough for some of the liquid inside to spill out. you can’t be bothered to care about it though, just like how you can’t be bothered to care about how anybody in their right mind could probably see you gawking at chan right now.

you watch as he cracks up at a joke seungmin makes, his head falling back in a fit of laughter you’ve been a happy witness or recipient of multiple times, yet this time it fills you with emotion that you don’t wish to identify in fear it’d mean something more than what you’re capable of confronting right now. even so, you can’t stop the train of questions invading your thoughts at the view in front of you. did he laugh like that with aeri? smile so wide with her? couldn’t help the joy that spread across due to her presence? maybe that’s why he came today, because he couldn’t take his mind off of her, especially seeing as he was wearing a symbol of their time spent before right now. 

but, what does that say about you in this picture? were you just a scapegoat to escape all those feelings for him? had you been one this entire time, only deluding yourself into thinking what you both had translated into a situation deeper and could potentially progress into one even more had things happened under different circumstances? the more you think, the more you feel nauseous, and you can’t stop yourself from diverting your gaze to where your best friend is, observing her concentrated face as she attempts to aim a ping pong ball into one of the lined up solo cups. your eyes involuntarily flicker to the ring on her finger once more, its evident shimmer reflecting in the light causing you to clutch your drink tighter. 

you’re not a jealous person by any means. you know your boundaries, hence you know chan isn’t yours. he isn’t an object you can own, and neither are you to him. that was the unspoken agreement you both nodded on when you got into this entire ordeal— you’re both free to see other people openly in front of aeri as long as it’s not each other, because the latter you manage in secret despite the shame that surges in you two upon doing so. it doesn’t matter if you wish to stake your claim on him, to see the marks you leave on him evident on his skin the next morning for him to show off other girls who think they stand a chance at him taking them to bed. it doesn’t matter how much your heart aches when you wake up to the blanket strewn aside from his absence, the sheets long gone cold to indicate that he’d left hours ago. it doesn’t matter how much you wish to cling onto his arm in public and profess your.. feelings for him in front of everyone else.

it simply doesn’t matter, it never did. chan’s never been yours, and he never will be anytime soon.

20:51 PM from: Myself meet me at the upstairs bathroom in five

you punch in the message before you can even think, watching it turn from delivered to read in a matter of seconds. the three dots next to chan’s side of texts appear, indicating that he’s typing, but you choose to lock your device rather than waiting like a dog to see him reply. instead, your feet lead you to your designated location, taking one step at a time leisurely as opposed to in a rush so as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself. right as you reach the door handle, your phone pings with a familiar ringtone.

20:52 PM from: dni!!! Reacted with “👍🏻” to your message

you sigh. tonight was going to be a long night.

. . .

skin slapping. heavy panting. low grunting. 

that’s all you can hear from where you’re splayed across the sink in the small confines of jake’s bathroom, aside from the occasional thumping of music booming from downstairs. if you strain your ear enough, you’ll be able to make out the lyrics to the cliche song that’s come up on shuffle, but you honestly lack the mentality to care about that right now, especially considering the way chan has your legs pushed apart in favour of drilling his length into you. each thrust is rapid and fervent in nature, seeming to knock the wind out of your lungs to the point you don’t even realise how loud you’re being until his hand comes up to shove two fingers in your mouth. “be fucking quiet.” he sneers, leaving you to drool everywhere. the only reaction he spares when you try muffle out an apology is a sickening smirk at that too. 

“needed this, didn’t you, slut? always need to be filled with some cock like a bitch in heat.” chan chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to his voice that sends shivers crawling up your spine. he presses down on your tongue with the pads of his fingers, and you can’t stop the garbling of spit choking past your lips from the way his thickness nestles deep inside you. each heavy drag of his dick against your rough walls leaves you clenching and attempting to buck your hips forward, but you can’t even manage that with the grip he has on your waist. the mere idea that all chan really needs to restrain you is the simple strength of his one hand sends your mind reeling, so much so that you don’t even realise he’s speaking to you until the hand that was previously in your mouth pulls out to slap light and wet against your cheek.

“i asked you a question, whore.” chan growls, the sound resonating warm within your stomach despite the mean undertone to it as his movements still. you blink up at him in confusion at this point, doe eyes brimming with tears that threaten to spill from the loss of pleasure in a way that has chan damn near finishing. it doesn’t help that he’s buried to the hilt currently, hissing painfully at how you squeeze down on him in involuntary instinct. for a split second, you swear you see the ridges on his face soften, and the manner in which he looms over you feels filled with more comfort than intimidation, but that smidge of emotion vanishes as soon as it arrives. “i said,” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “do you wanna get caught?” you rapidly shake your head no at that, and chan cocks his head to the side.

“oh, really?” he muses, nails sliding over to dig into the supple flesh of your thigh, making you whine out loud. “‘cause with the way you’re making so much noise like that, i’d have assumed the opposite.” with a click of his tongue, his actions resume. luckily, all that escapes you is a loud gasp this time, an anxious clamp of your palm over your mouth barely covering up the rest of your lewdity. you wish so desperately to refute, to plead him in favour of slowing down and having some mercy, but the sensation of his bulbous cockhead slamming roughly into that one spot only sends stars in your vision and prevents your previous desires. 

your body jerks in chan’s hold even more when his same hand still lubed with your saliva finds it way between where you’re connected, leaving you to suppress a pathetic whimper that longs to bubble out of your throat as he presses the tips of his fingers to your swollen clit. his touch is harsh, filled with an overwhelming need to make you burst at the seams, but the fear that lingers in the back of your head refuses to let you fall apart so easily, not when aeri is barely a flight of stairs from your vicinity. chan decides he isn’t fond of the silence you’re giving him though, pulling out with a quiet mumble for you to get down and face the mirror. he sheaths himself back in just as quickly, setting an unforgiving pace from the seemingly more accessible position, and this time, you really can’t stop the long drawn out moan that escapes you. 

“j-just like that, yeah, baby? all those filthy noises are just for me, aren’t they?” he sounds more delirious this time, presumably drunk off the essence of this situation from the possessive gibberish he’s spouting, just like he always does in the heat of the moment. unfortunately for you, you’re no better than him, nodding furiously in agreement as you babble high-pitched and breathy. “so good, sir! s-so, so fucking good, feels so good! wan’ cum f’you, p-please. ‘m a good girl, please lemme cum, please, please, please.” small stutters spew out of you mid-sentence, but neither of you can be bothered by them, too wrapped up in the throes of all-consuming passion and contempt even to register what’s being said. 

“such a nasty, nasty girl.. getting fucked by your best friend’s ex. don’t you feel a-any shame?” chan groans almost wearily in midst of his lust-filled haze, eyes catching yours from the reflection of the mirror that’s displaying you getting absolutely wrecked right now. the sight of you so fucked up and in bliss, no coherent thought visible by the looks of your dazed expression and tongue halfway lolling out— it all has him burning with hot, rampant hunger. hunger for you, hunger to claim you. “look at yourself.” he rasps, fingers clutching at your chin to force you into meeting where he is. “look how dirty you are, fuck. what would she say about you wrapped so warm and snug around my cock? hm? think we should— ah. think we should call her in and find out?” 

the tears that were brewing in your waterline are streaming down your face by now, horrifically mimicking the disgusting manner in your wetness seeping and dripping down chan’s balls. you feel awful. downright terrible and tainted, forever branded by the searing touch of chan’s skin grazing against yours because that’s what you are, that’s what you have been for the past two months. down from the night you let him lead you into his sheets, following the countless occasions you found yourself returning there, and finally falling to now, your underwear strewn across the tiles of jake’s bathroom as you spread your legs for the same man who broke your best friend’s heart; the same man who you’ve let into yours after very consciously disregarding the repercussions of your actions. 

you’re truly a loathsome piece of work.

“think she’d like to watch me fill this pussy up? watch me shoot my load deep inside you over and over again until i’m sure it’s taken?” chan mutters, hot breath fanning against your sweaty neck. “maybe i should breed this stupid cunt full of my seed and send you back out there with it spilling past your legs. that way, every time you sit down, you’ll feel it inside you.” the mental image of his release lodged in your walls as you’re surrounded by all your friends, surrounded by the one person you’ve both been hiding from, all of them oblivious to the way he’s staked his claim on you except for the shared knowledge between you two and you two only— it has you quivering to the point you physically keen in his hold. chan, however, just laughs sadistically at your reaction. 

“you’ll feel it as a reminder of me, yeah? a reminder that you’re just as terrible as me. coming to me to get this slutty cunt stuffed even though you know you shouldn’t.” he continues to whisper. “after all, it takes two to tango, darling.” chan makes it a point to tilt his hips up in an effort to ensure his mushroom tip hits your g-spot with precise force, all the while breathlessly uttering more sickening words in your ear in hopes of fulfilling your need for relief. 

surely enough, the combination of his cock shoving itself past your opening and his guilt-inducing remarks that only make you sob harder work you up to the point of no return. all it really takes after that is one touch of his thumb to your pulsating nub to eventually have you seizing up in no time, your pussy messily tightening and gushing as your high crashes over you in large waves of ecstasy. it seems to trigger him too, because by the time you even realise you’re there, chan’s twitching and leaking spurts of thick cum inside you. there’s so much of it that it trickles past where he’s got you plugged up, and you barely comprehend yourself pushing a hand near your oozing hole to catch it on your fingertips. 

you both come to slowly, ragged breathing that fills the air growing quieter to pair with the musk of the room. chan’s gaze is still trained on you through the mirror, unreadable just like always whenever you’ve made the same mistake again, but you take the opportunity in this instance specifically to raise the hand that’s collected his seed in it to your mouth, proceeding to lick up the droplets of his excess release. even though you don’t catch his stare in the reflection, you can still feel it burning holes through your head, a fact that only leaves goosebumps rising over your skin. it’s only when you pull your hand away once more to catch the last of his remaining cum that he decides to finally interject, grabbing your palm in his coarse one with hooded eyes. they’re blown out when he tugs your back flush into his chest, the impact leaving his length pushing deeper inside, and they’re blown out when his fingers wrap around your neck to give it a slight squeeze, the little loss of oxygen making your mind spin.

“you think that’s funny? teasing me even after i just fucked you? after i left my mark on you and made sure you know that you’re mine?” chan murmurs, lips sultrily ghosting the shell of your ear. you want to fixate on what he’d addressed you as, let it marinate in your thoughts and brood over it for the next weeks to come even if it was just an absentminded slip of the mouth, but your focus is interrupted by the moving of his hips against yours picking up once more. the previously repeated actions send his dick driving into you again, breaching your cervix and pressing deliciously into every nook and cranny in a way that has you nearly losing your footing, but chan is quicker to hold you up with his free hand. “w-wait, ‘m still sensitive.” you manage to tremble out at a particularly well-placed graze of his cock, but chan doesn’t seem to care, grinding into you even more eagerly at your admission to the point you struggle to keep the sounds spilling out you at bay.

there’s a resounding knock on the door all of a sudden, one that makes your breath hitch and your chest twist in uneasiness. some part of you feels wary and on edge, and you would assume chan’s movements would halt at that, but he doesn’t show any signs of stopping, ignoring your frantic attempts to make him do so by holding you in place instead as he begins to pick up the pace. “s-stop, we’ll get caught.” you heave out upon the noise of skin slapping rising in volume. you do your best to stand your ground, to avoid the gradual closing of your eyes and the mushy fog of your brain clouding over in euphoria, but it’s to no avail. you’re about to let go of your inhibitions completely, to forget about what had just happened and throw caution into the wind in order to lose yourself in the moment, until—

“y/n, i know you’re in there with chris.”

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

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[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Don’t Prove I’m Right - [Part 4]

♥ prev

♥ series masterlist | main masterlist

♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

♥ series synopsis: you didn't think twice about the dj you hooked up with until you found out you were pregnant. turns out the man wasn't just some dj but a famous formula 1 driver.

♥ chapter synopsis: after his reckless decisions, lando attempts to make it up to you. it took some convincing from oscar but you eventually gave in and had a conversation with him.

♥ smau + written - fc: girls on pinterest - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: its been MONTHS since the last chapter I am so sorry lovelies!

liked by logansargeant, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, and 120,538 more

yourusername ever since @/logansargeant and @/oscarpiastri got camila these plushies she’s been obsessed with them

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yourbestfriend please don’t tell me the deer is being replaced 😔

yourusername camila would never

lilyzneimer shes just too cute to not spoil

user1 haven’t seen lando in any of her posts recently 😕

user3 they did JUST get back to Monaco so I wouldn't be worried

user6 they're not dating either so I don't see why he would be

user4 we need a godfather reveal

logansargeant it’s me

oscarpiastri its me

carlossainz55 … it’s probably not me 😕

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It had been a couple of days since your last conversation with Lando and a knock on your door drew your attention away from your phone.

A giant box was sitting on the doorstep alone with no sender information. You hesitantly brought it into the living room and grabbed a pocket knife to cut through the clear strip of tape. The box quickly burst open from the pressure of the deeply packed objects—about a dozen jellycats and an apology note placed on top. 

It was clear to you that this package was from Lando, and it was a very sweet gesture. He’d clearly seen the post you made the previous day and was trying his best to make up for his mistakes. You sighed and folded the note up, setting it on your couch. You pulled out a soft pink bunny from the box causing Camila to squeal and hold her arms open. 

You still hadn’t checked your texts from Lando, but Oscar was right. You couldn’t ignore him forever. Lily offered to take you out for the night in order to clear your head. You were extremely grateful for Lily’s support and generosity ever since you met her. She had truly become one of your best friends throughout this experience.

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liked by lilymhe, carmenmundt,, and 102,843 more 102,473 more

yourusername girls night

tagged; @/lilyzneimer

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lilyzneimer <3

user1 we love a self care queen

user2 she’s so pretty

alexandrasaintmleux we should all hang out together <3

francisca.cgomes i second that

yourusername i’m so there

user7 i love that the wags include her 🥹

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You sat next to Lily with a glass of white wine in your hand, conflicted. Of course you were. Like Oscar said, you had to confront him at some point, but it was going to take a lot for you to trust Lando again. You pulled your phone out of your purse.

You got the response pretty much immediately.

You sighed and turned to Lily, "I'm gonna go talk to Lando."

"Good luck," she said with a smile, and took another sip of her drink.

You picked Camila up off the couch and bundled her up in a small yellow blanket.

-

You were at his apartment in about twenty minutes. You knocked hesitantly, tapping your nails on the case of your phone and jangling your keys in attempt to reduce your anxiety. Lando opened the door in silence, letting you into the room. He sat back down on his couch and you followed, cradling your daughter in your arms and choosing to stand up as you spoke.

“Listen Y/n, I know what I did was-“

"I'm not going to take your child away from you,” you stated, cutting him off. “You said you want to be in her life, but you have to keep that promise."

He nodded and ran his hands across his face. You wanted to get straight to the point with no excuses. You had heard all of his apologies already.

"Lily talked to Kmag and found her a babysitter, so we're good on that end. But, you still have to earn back my trust to be alone with her and if anything like this happens again I won't be nice."

He looked back up at you, “It won’t ever happen again, I swear. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

”I agree.”

There was some awkward silence as you gently sat on the arm rest of the couch.

You looked down at your daughter, “She may not fully get it yet, but you’re her dad and she loves you,” you locked eyes with Lando again. “You chose to raise her with me, so you need to take responsibility.”

He nodded, “I understand.”

"Good," you responded, standing back up and stepping towards the front door. You paused without turning your head back towards him, "Good luck in Imola.”

With that you were gone.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: this was short, I am aware! there was originally supposed to be more to this chapter but I decided to turn it into its own whole part lol :) I've already started working on it so stay tuned!

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[emilys-bangs]

I can't read you (but if you want, the pleasure's all mine) | e.p

Tags: flirty!emily, shy!hotch's assistant!reader, fluff, hint of angst?, implied that emily isn't sleeping well :[, worried reader (duh), emily calls reader petnames, emily is down BAD

Summary: Emily loiters around in your office for no good reason.

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: I'm not sure if the idea of Hotch's assistant reader belongs to a single person, but I take no credit for it, I got inspired to write my own after reading @/mariasont's absolutely fabulous bimbo!assistant series, so very many thanks to her!! (and if there are any hotch girlies around here go check it out). Alsoo I think I'm probably gonna add a few more parts to this as interconnected oneshots, I had too many ideas and they couldn't all fit into one fic :p

It’s not that your office is hidden; it’s just out of the way. A short walk before the bullpen’s glass doors, on the opposite side of the restrooms. It’s not nestled within the buzz, and yet a single agent flits to it like a moth to a flame, with no reason or purpose behind her frequent visits.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Emily murmurs. She flashes you a smile, genuine but fading as she rests her hip against your desk and leans on it.

“Hi.” You don’t return her smile, too busy examining the bruised shadows under her eyes. A frown pulls your lips downward. “You look tired.”

“Ouch,” she mock winces. “Take it easy on a girl’s ego, will you?”

“I’m serious. Did you sleep okay?”

Something flickers behind her eyes. They’re dark eyes, endless and lovely, but something about them seems dull today. “Slept okay,” she dips her chin in a nod, “as well as I could without you there with me.”

It’s instantaneous, the knot in your tongue. Heat surges above the collar of your button down, the flush creeping up your neck, and Emily’s gaze becomes too much to hold. You drop your eyes to the neat surface of your desk, shifting files around beneath your sweaty fingertips. 

“It’s a big bed,” she continues through her brilliant teeth, gently poking at your composure. “A king. Gets cold easily, y’know? Hey, out of curiosity, do you happen to run hot? I’m freezing most of—”

“Prentiss.”

You both look up to find Hotch at your open door, his mouth set in a straight line—probably at the blatant show of fraternization from his subordinate. Emily grins at him winningly, unabashed as she gives a nod and drawls out, “Morning.”

The stare he gives her is a usual for when she’s leaning against your desk: stop flirting with my assistant. He doesn’t say it, only arches his brow, but everyone hears it.

“Good morning.” His voice is dry. Walking in, his gaze flits to you. “Any urgent cases?”

“N-No sir,” you fluster, cheeks still unbearably hot at the thought of you and Emily intertwined on her bed. Rubbing at your temple, your eyes dip down to the sticky note you’d stuck on your desk in preparation for the day’s tasks. The scrawl of your handwriting sparks competence back into your brain. “Uh, Strauss called again,” you say sheepishly; Hotch’s lips press together, his top lip disappearing, “about the budget meeting. That’s…three times this month?” You tilt your head, grimacing. “I’m starting to worry she’ll barter away the jet soon, save herself the headache.”

Emily lets out a small laugh. “I think letting Morgan go would be more cost effective.” 

She’s not entirely unfair—you’ve filed enough damage reports this month to make the director weep. The corner of your mouth tickles. Emily catches your eyes, lashes feathering over her cheek in a wink.

Hotch ignores her. 

“We’ve only got consults for today, right?” He asks. You nod. “See if we can schedule it today, get it over with. And, uh,” his eyes linger pointedly on Emily, “it’s almost 9.”

“We’ll be there in a minute,” she answers for the both of you, drowning out your low, yes sir.

The lumping of you and her in a we makes you pathetically giddy. 

It could possibly be considered rude for you to drop your eyes back to your desk before your boss leaves, robbing him of attention, but he’s already turning on his heel and with the two of them crowding your space, it’s like you’re flayed open beneath their sharp eyes. Profilers, you grumble internally, a small shake to your hands as Emily’s perfume dissolves over you in waves, a product of her coming closer. She’s next to your elbow now, the pale outline of her hand creeping up next to yours.

“Here, honey, let me help.”

You inhale a sharp breath, feeling the cold air drop all the way to the pit of your stomach. “They’re just a few files.” You mumble, gathering the consults and standing clumsily, eager to escape the heat of her body pressing against yours.

It’s a bad move. Your chest bumps into her arm, not hard, but enough to make you sway on your feet. Emily’s other hand is quick to land on your waist, steadily restoring your balance with a squeeze through your cardigan that has your head reeling.

“Careful there,” she says softly. You blink at her, the tired slant of her lashes now almost at eye-level. “Sorry, I was in your way—”

“Are you sure you’re good?” You blurt. Emily’s mouth snaps shut and you hug the files to your chest, looking her over more thoroughly. Minimal, effortless makeup, but there’s a wrinkle in her shirt, creases in the skin under her eyes. It’s not unusual for her to be tired, given the nature of her job, but the lines of her body are more tense than you’ve seen them.

At your question, it’s almost like she coils further into a tight spring.

“Yeah.” Emily says firmly. “I’m good, don’t worry about me. My cat kept waking me up, yelling all night to be let out and then yelling to be let in.” Her mouth twists into a wry smile.

“Sergio?”

“Mhm,” she nods. “He’s talkative.”

Her tone is as convincing as it ever is, buttery smooth and warm. But you don’t believe her. It’s a gut feeling, not something you can explain with any shred of reason; the certainty of it clings to you, so you look into the molten pools of her irises and hold on.

“You can—you, um…” the thoughts scatter from your brain just when you start, possibly the quiet intensity of Emily’s eyes making them flutter out of your skull. But she’s patient. Tilting her head, she doesn’t interrupt your silence, only presses her lips together in a reassuring smile.

The frustration settles bitterly in your gut, but you blow out a breath. Swallow and gather your words with a firm hand. When you finally have a good grasp on them, you look Emily in the eye and speak slowly.

“You could talk to me, you know. About anything. If you’re not sleeping, or—or just if you want to,” you shrug jerkily. “Doesn’t have to be anything, really, but I’m here. For you.” Stupidly, you wish you could reach out, gather the courage to place your hand on her shoulder or curl your fingers around her elbow. Maybe offer a reassuring squeeze, something more tangible than your useless, mumbled words. Emily touches you so much, it should be normal, but sweat slicks your skin at the thought of you initiating.

The arch of her brows softens as she smiles. It takes some pressure off your chest, more so when she loosely cups your elbow. “Thank you.” She says quietly. Her hand squeezes and your eyes skate over her face, searching. “Really, honey, thank you. But I’m fine. Slept late is all.”

Now that you’ve caught her out, she lets you hear the hint of exhaustion in her voice, raspy threads lacing through her words. It makes you wonder what else she hides so easily, exactly how much effort it would take to get her to let her walls crumble and the facade burn down. But she’s already a flighty person, wings flapping if she feels like the walls are starting to close in, so you don’t push further even though you want to.

“Oh. Uh, okay,” you fidget with your sleeve, tugging it further down your hand to dry the sweat on it. A quick flash of your eyes on Emily’s face tells you she’s still smiling, her lips drawn in a gentle curve. You look away again. 

“I just wanted you to know. That you could, if you wanted to. ’bout anything.” The last part comes out as a whisper. You hug the consult files closer to your chest, your eyes dropping to the watch strapped to your wrist. 8:59. “We should go, the team’s—”

“I do know that.” Emily says. Her hand falls away from your elbow, but her eyes fill with so much warmth you hardly feel the loss. “I know it. And I—” The heat of her eyes disappears, seeking something lower than your eyesight before snapping back up again. A confused flurry rips through your gut and she falters, mouth opening and closing. Her lips part again and she finally says, “You could, too. Talk to me about anything.” Sincerity is thick in her voice, her gaze earnest as she stares into your soul. “I hope you know that.”

The back of your throat is briefly dry. A small dip of your chin constitutes a nod; swallowing, you curl your fingers around the edges of the consultation files.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, I know.”

When Emily smiles, her eyes brighten the tiniest bit. A thrill goes through you at the thought of igniting it. Your own lips start to curve, but their path is rudely stopped when Emily’s brows tick upward.

“Oops,” she says lightly, her eyes finding the clock above your door. “9:01—” You curse as you look down at your own watch, eyes bugging out at the time. One minute is hardly late, but so far your record with Hotch has been spotless, and you want to keep it that way. 

Emily’s hand needlessly nudges the center of your back. “Let’s go, gorgeous.” She murmurs. You’re already moving, shooting past the open door of your office without hanging back to close it. A distant click tells you Emily does it, and a few more not so distant clicks of her heels on the floor tell you that she hurries to catch up to your gait. You’re still cursing under your breath, preemptively flustered at the thought of walking in late into the conference room, the rest of the team seated and waiting for your arrival. The weight of their eyes on you is already heavy.

“Your fault,” you mumble to Emily without any real heat.

She pulls open the bullpen door for you. You step through. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s just a minute, two tops.” The relaxed drawl of her voice doesn’t make you slow down. “Listen, if Hotch does pull out the death glare just get behind me, yeah? I’ll protect you.”

You finally turn your head and look at her, none too surprised to find her grinning. It makes you falter, feet slowing as you cross the bullpen floor. Stupid heat burns in your cheeks; you look away.

“Shut up, Prentiss.”

“Sorry, babe.”

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[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (10) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; mentions of childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, attempted assault; mention of implied of domestic violence (PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; eventual explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 20.6k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii we're close to the end! I've been enjoying this journey with all of you; thank you for being patient, and again for all your love and appreciation for this story. 🥰 Updates will continue to take longer as I continue to work and study. On another note, pls savour this! Hehe

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

The weekend after your site visits passes by excruciatingly slowly. 

You zone out while watching your variety shows the rest of Saturday. On Sunday, you do errands and clean your apartment. Whether you’re lying on the couch or moving about, you find yourself constantly stopping, wondering how Jungkook is doing. 

You could say that the trip ended on a good note. The drive back home had you sharing both the silence and conversations about growing up with your friends and finding refuge in your favorite places. He was smiling as you narrated your stories and while he told his. He was engaged most of the time, drifting away for only some short moments before coming back to you. 

There was a different emotion in his eyes when you said your goodbye after he dropped you off, though. You could see gratitude in them but also sadness, as if the memories from the night before and from 20 years ago lingered. You know enough about that, too. Good memories can override bad ones sometimes, but in some cases, they only do so for a while, and they can only do so much. 

The image of him of looking afraid from that Friday night is etched in your mind. The way he heaved, how he gripped your wrists as if in desperation for the sounds to stop, and the emptiness in his eyes as the thunder continued to roar keep you up at night.

You felt so constrained at that moment. There wasn’t much you could do that would be appropriate, but it doesn’t mean that you didn’t wish you could’ve done something more to comfort him, to tell him that no matter how scared he was, he wasn’t alone. That night and the morning after, you saw the most human side of Jungkook - the one that buries a lot of memories, that deals with pain and loneliness, the part that’s fearful of others seeing him stripped bare, that cowers in his own corner until the storm has passed. You saw him as someone who needs a companion but is too scared, maybe too stubborn to reach out. He looked familiar because he looked like you. 

All you could do was hold him in any way, protect him from the monsters outside and maybe within, and show him that whatever hurt, gentleness could make it hurt less; hopefully it could slowly heal the ache, too. 

That’s what you learned all these years - all the fear and pain you experienced as a child slowly turned into scars because of your mother’s grace and your best friends’ kindness. You don’t know who gives any of that to Jungkook, and you hoped that during that moment, you were able to give even just a fraction of what you received. 

Even if he kept his distance, you stayed close because you knew that that’s when he needed you the most. And you won’t ever forget the way his eyes softened during that ride home; you won’t forget the smile tinged with apology and gratitude that accompanied the silence. You knew it was his way of expressing emotions he couldn’t verbalize and you could only wish that he knew that you accept them, that you understand. 

You stop yourself from sending him messages a few times, not wanting to invade his space if he prefers to be alone. Maybe he’s figured out a way to cope. Maybe he’s moved on from the incident and wants to just forget about it. Regardless, the last thing you want is to push him away by being too close, so you do the hard thing and wait for the start of the week to see him again.

You enter the car that Monday morning with Mr. Ri’s soft eyes greeting you. You ask if he’s feeling better and he says he is, expressing his disappointment at not being there to drive you and Jungkook last week. 

“How was he?” He asks, knowing that the weather was pretty bad.

“He wasn’t good,” you answer dejectedly. “I think he had a nightmare. I had to calm him down. And he… he told me what happened at that cabin when he was young. I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“It was. He was just a kid. He was only excited about the trip because he thought his parents were joining him and his brother,” the elder man says. “And well, that was when they had to be separated for safety reasons. Then that incident happened. I think he’s carried that resentment towards them ever since.”

“Were you there?” 

“I was the one who found him,” Mr. Ri answers, baring his own pain at having witnessed a young Jungkook being so scared. “I noticed he was missing and I searched for over an hour. It was a big area and the ground was wet and I couldn’t hear him because of the rain. When I finally found him, I carried him back and stayed with him until he woke up. He was so frightened and he… he wasn’t the same after. There was this constant fear and this desire to just be left on his own.”

You force the scene of a young Jungkook yelling for someone under the rain out of your mind. Perhaps the detachment in his eyes that you always see is a remnant from that time when he’d felt so helpless and alone. You don’t know how someone can carry that with them for 20 years. You don’t know how someone heals from that either.

“I know he’s not your responsibility, ___. You’ve done so much for him already,” Mr. Ri continues in your silence. “But no one has shown him kindness the way you have and he's learned to accept that now. He needs it the most during those times. If it’s not too much, I hope you can continue doing that.”

“I intend to,” you respond. It had been natural for you to be gentle, to be patient, and reluctant he may have been at the start, you know your persistence helped him as well. “He’s done so much for me and I don’t think I’ll ever get to thank him for that.”

“Is that why, then?” He wonders. “Is all this just to repay him for the times he was there for you? Or is there another reason?”

You meet his eyes in the rear view mirror and the sullen, almost guilty look in yours tells him that there's more. When you look away, he learns it’s something you don’t want to accept, something you don’t want to acknowledge. 

“It’s okay, you know?” He says, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking and maybe he does. “We can’t help what we feel sometimes.”

“It doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“It doesn’t mean it’s always wrong.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” you sigh. 

“I know it isn’t. But I just think that being honest about what you feel helps. It may not be easy but you owe it to yourself to find the happiness you deserve.”

“But I don’t know what that looks like.”

“You do,” he insists. “Maybe you’re just scared of what chasing it would mean. But if you allow yourself to truly feel what you feel, then it would be clear what you’d need to do. Just remember that whatever decision you make, you’re gonna have to stand by it, okay? You can’t regret any of it.”

You let his words settle, knowing that they come from a place of pain. But still, you ask a question you’ve been meaning to for a while now.

“Do you regret the decision you made back then?”

Mr. Ri prolongs the silence. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he answers.

“Everyday.”

Your heart breaks for him. You know what he did all those years ago, and knowing that it continues to haunt him pains you. You don’t want that burden. You don’t want one decision to determine how the rest of your life is gonna go with no way to make up for it. You suppose that’s what will happen to you, but you’ve got time to change all that. Maybe you just need the courage to do it.

“The debt I owed kept me from chasing my happiness,” he continues. “You’ve paid yours so don’t let it stop you. You just have to be brave enough for it.”

You nod, meeting his eyes through the mirror this time in understanding and gratitude, letting his words comfort you as you exit the car. 

You walk towards Jungkook’s penthouse in anticipation, as the worry of how he’s been creeps in again. The moment you enter, you get your answer, as you hear the sound of leather hitting leather, the loudest it’s ever been. You could hear him heaving, almost breathless with every movement, but he grunts in between, and you hear the frustration in his every breath. 

From your position in the kitchen, you can see him in the far right corner of his gym, throwing one punch after another, his face wincing in pain, his body gradually giving in as he slows down. He hugs the punching bag with one arm while his free hand continues to jab at it until eventually, that stops, too. He releases it then spreads his body out on the floor as he tries to catch his breath now. You can feel his exhaustion; there’s desperation, too.

He stays there for a while, and you wonder if he’s releasing whatever negative emotions he’s had these past days just now, or if this is what he’s been doing everyday since he got back. 

He sits up, and you look away the moment he glances at your direction. He heads your way, nods at you in acknowledgment, then gulps down the energy drink that he takes from the fridge. His drenched white shirt sticks to his body, but it’s his bruised knuckles that catch your attention. You don’t know if these wounds are from this morning or from the days before but regardless, he acts as if they’re not there. You doubt if he even feels them sting.

Perhaps this is how he copes with anything - tiring himself out, expending all his energy until he’s numb, releasing his emotions in a way that doesn’t require him to be honest or to even say anything. Maybe this is how he accepts; maybe it’s how he moves on and forgets.

He drags himself towards his bedroom then you make your way to his closet to prepare his clothes. You return to the kitchen soon after and decide to make some fried rice. It’s the one dish you make that might make a difference to his mood this morning, so you get to work and cook with what you can, deciding that it’s definitely one of the most delicious ones you’ve ever made.

He finishes his morning routine later than usual. When you walk towards him to fix his tie, you try to hold his gaze, wanting to tell him in your own way that you’re there if he ever wants to talk, but he only glances at you before looking away. You’re unsure of the cause of his somber disposition but the sadness in his eyes causes a crack in your heart. It’s different, you think, and you don’t know how else you can comfort him.

“I made some fried rice,” you tell him as you walk to the dining table. 

He follows, taking his seat then quietly eating his meal as you go through his schedule. He merely hums and doesn’t ask questions, only speaking up when you bring up last week’s site visits, with him saying that there’s no rush for that, and that you’ll talk about it some other time. It’s what tells you that what happened last Friday isn’t something he’s really gotten over. Maybe there are still remnants from that night - of fear, of discomfort; perhaps a bit of shame. And you don’t blame him. They’re what you felt after the incident at the restaurant and after your injury. Being helpless in front of someone is confronting; there’s so much of yourself that gets exposed, and you suppose it’s not something that Jungkook is used to.

You share in the silence, glancing at him to see if what you’ve prepared is affecting him in any way, and you don’t miss the subtle satisfied look he makes once he finishes his meal. It’s what prompts you to push it a little. You stand up, take an ice pack from the fridge, then retrieve the first-aid kit from the drawer. Taking a seat next to him, you lay your palm out on the table, gesturing for him to give you his hands to treat.

“There’s no need,” he says, turning away again.

“I let you push my wheelchair,” you remind him. “And I let you dress my foot.”

“You were injured.”

“And you have gashes on your hands,” you point out. “Which means you’re wounded and you can’t leave those exposed. So please, would you let me do this for you?”

There’s a hint of desperation in your voice, as if all you want is for him to give in and let you help him. You’ve been trying to meet his eyes since you arrived and he’s been the coward who avoids it every time. But the last thing he wants is for you to think that he wants to push you away because he doesn’t; he just doesn’t know how to act around you after what happened last Friday. It may have ended with your unspoken forgiveness and your smile telling him that he’ll be alright, that you’ll be alright, but the past days haven’t been good to him.

In an effort to show you that he’s not angry, he moves his hand towards yours ever so slightly. He doesn’t look at you when you take his left hand and put it over your palm, but he does feel his heart skip a beat at your touch. You place the ice pack over his knuckles, then you move it over to his other hand so you can put antiseptic cream on the one that’s free.

You’re so gentle with him even when tending to his wounds. But that shouldn’t come as a surprise, especially now, as he sees you make an effort in letting him know that everything’s okay and that you’re around in case he needs anything.

The thing is, he doesn’t know what he needs right now. After last week’s incident when he blamed you for not checking the weather, he felt ashamed. He’d apologized for how he used to treat you right before that, and then he went ahead and did all that again over a fear of his that he couldn’t get over, one that came to light that night. 

You saw it all - that part of him that he despises, that he keeps hidden, that he’s burdened by.

That was another thing - you were the one who woke him up and kept him steady. Perhaps it was a nightmare he was having,  but it’s also always been the way his body reacted to the rain and the thunder because of what happened when he was a child. But you saw him bare and terrified, a side of him he wasn’t sure you’d want to see or be around for. You saw him weak and helpless, things he never wants to be in front of other people. You experienced him being honest and not in control, and that made him feel unguarded.

You held him steady though, grounding him when he was slowly losing himself to the fear. Your hands on his head kept him in the present, pulling him back when his mind would travel to that fateful rainy evening in the woods. Your calm and soft voice sounded like a lullaby to him, fighting away the loud sounds that have haunted him for years. It soothed parts of him that were hurting, and you’d done it so naturally, so easily. 

It’s what prompted him to share with you the memory he just can’t erase. And you told him that he could call you when it happened again so you can both replace the bad memories with good ones. Maybe you want him to be brave; he thinks that’s not something that he is. 

Maybe that’s why he’s been this way since he got home that day. There’s a lot of emotion he doesn’t know how to express nor even properly name. He’s sure they’re negative though, and somehow that makes him even more ashamed. He doesn’t like not being in control. He doesn’t like being that bare and uninhibited, especially in front of you, the only person he doesn’t want to scare away. 

He spent the entire weekend boxing and running around the Han River parks in hopes that all the tiredness would help keep his mind off things. But somehow, it always ended up thinking of you. It wanted to hear your voice once more; it wanted your touch.

He has them again today and he feels undeserving. Yet you’re here, healing his physical wounds and everything else that’s hurting within in the ways only you know how to. And he just wants to pull you close. He realizes now that even on days when he hates himself, you’re the one he wants to be around. Somehow you make that hate a little less than before. 

“All done,” you say after placing the fabric bandage on his knuckles. “Minimal movements, okay? And ice them when you can in case something’s swollen.”

“I will,” he says softly, retrieving his hand and feeling your touch still linger, knowing he wants more of it.

You proceed to discuss some events he needs to attend all the way to the office with no mentions of how either of your weekends went. He wonders how you spent yours, hoping it was better than his. He wonders, too, if you thought about him the way he thought about you. But you seem focused on work matters for today, perhaps thinking he doesn’t want to talk about anything else. And you wouldn’t be wrong. 

He gets to his room where he sighs in relief once he sits on his desk chair. It’s now that he feels the soreness and fatigue, as all he wants is to go home and lay in bed for the rest of the day. But he can’t afford that, so he pushes on, surviving a morning meeting and slowly going through each of his emails. He’s surprised when you serve him his favorite beef brisket for lunch, and your soft smile as he thanks you is his bright spot for the rest of the afternoon. 

He powers through reviewing documents right after but his eyes start falling, prompting him to just lean back on his chair for a good few seconds before getting back to work. You knock on the door not long after, and then you place a cup of chamomile tea on his desk.

“I need about five espresso shots, Ms. Cho, not this,” he sighs, the tiredness in his voice evident. But you don’t seem taken aback by his words.

“I disagree, sir,” you reply. “This is to help you calm down. There’s also a couch right there. There’s a reason why it’s big and comfortable.”

He picks up on what you’re suggesting, and he shakes his head in response. 

“I’m not gonna sleep here.”

“No one will know,” you shrug. “But you know it’s okay, right? I can’t imagine how tired you must be. You’re not Superman, Mr. Jeon. Plus, Mr. Jung would take naps here after long nights or during hectic days. It’s normal. And it might just be what you need.”

“I’ll decide what I need, Ms. Cho,” he says defensively. “I wouldn’t want my staff sleeping on the job so why should I?”

Jungkook regrets the words right as he says them, especially when he sees your face fall the tiniest bit. But you recover, saying that you understand then turning to head out. But you fix the pillow on the couch and place the blanket on the armrest before leaving, and he knows that your stubbornness is often a reflection of how you care. 

So he takes a sip of the tea and eventually finishes it, indulging you in this way, but given the morning he’s had, his body gives in. He decides, like you said, that he needs a nap, and he doesn’t miss the victorious smile on your face that he sees from inside when he calls to instruct you not to disturb him for the next half hour. 

With the dim lights and air purifier, he falls asleep right as his body hits the couch. When he wakes up 30 minutes later, he feels infinitely better; now he can focus and be productive.

You see the lights turn back on from outside and it’s your signal that he’s woken up from his nap. You wait a while before asking to enter his room to say that his father requested a meeting due to start in an hour. Jungkook’s putting his coat back on and you walk towards him to help.

“Was it good?” You ask, fixing the creases and aligning his necktie.

“Yeah,” he hums, not meeting your eyes again. “You were right, I needed that. And the couch really is comfortable.”

“That’s good. You should listen to your assistant more often,” you tease. 

“I really should,” he smiles now, soft and reserved. “But I do feel better. Thank you.”

You exit his room and feel accomplished. You believe, like what others have told you, that showing him a bit of gentleness will prompt him to be a little gentler to himself, too. He works too hard sometimes, and taking a break when he needs it is one thing, but of course, it’s not everything.

The rest of the week goes by fairly similarly. Jungkook always looks tired, and it makes you wonder if he’s able to sleep properly at night or if he just overexerts himself during his morning workouts. He’s quiet when you’re not discussing work matters, making you miss your casual conversations. And though he acknowledges your occasional teasing remark, he doesn’t tease back like he’s been doing recently. 

He has his moments of frustration but he’s mostly serious when you glance at him. He’s less engaging, too, and you suppose that’s what bothers you the most, as you realize that you enjoy talking with him, you enjoy getting to know him through your exchanges, allowing you a peek into his world that you know is reserved for very, very few people. 

You suppose that whatever he’s dealing with is something he wants to go through on his own. Accepting your fears is one thing; accepting that you exposed all those to someone else is another. It’s why you try, in your own ways, to lift his spirits, wanting to let him know that he has nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to you. 

You get him lunch from his favorite restaurants everyday, you add sweets to his servings of coffee or chocolate milk, you smile at him more, encourage him frequently, and during the times when he seems distant, you don’t completely move away. You reach out just a little bit, hoping that he’ll know that you’re around even when he doesn’t feel much like himself. You don’t want to match his detachment with your own.

It seems that you got your point across. On Friday, he dismisses you after he insists that he wants to stay back to work on a few things.

“___,” he calls out as you’re about to exit his room. “Thank you for being patient with me this week. I… I needed that.”

You turn around and Jungkook doesn’t shy away from meeting your eyes this time. He’s noticed you try to hold his gaze all week; you always lingered, too. Maybe it’s your way of comforting him or saying that you understand him. He felt both of those but he couldn’t find it in him to acknowledge them. There was a lot on his mind as he dealt with the frustration and shame of what happened, of how exposed and unguarded he was in front of you.

But you didn’t complain; you didn’t push him to engage or share anything. Even his moments of frustration were met with kindness and his silence was received with assurance. You tried to cheer him up in whatever way you could, and he could feel you just giving him time to be on his own. 

He hopes he didn’t push you away. There were so many times when he just wanted you around so he could see more of your smile and hear the calmness of your voice; those always made him feel better. Whatever fears he had about how you would think of him after the incident have dissipated, as you look softly at him in understanding. He doesn’t need to say anything more, as you seem to know exactly what he means because this whole time, you seemed to also know exactly what he needed.

“I hope you’re feeling better, Jungkook,” you smile. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Jungkook returns to his usual self the week after. He says he went to one of their properties in Gwangju over the weekend where the weather was good and the long drive helped him stay focused and rejuvenated. He doesn’t say much of what he’s feeling and you expect that, but you’re glad his little trip gave him some peace somehow. 

You, on the other hand, were left to deal with your growing feelings for him while downplaying them to your best friends. They came over for their regular visit on Saturday and while they were sympathetic with Jungkook over what happened, they still reminded you to be cautious. Once you cross a line, there’s no going back, and once you fully admit to what you feel, you can’t unfeel it; not acting on it becomes too hard and in your case, complicated.

The week is like any other but with much anticipation, given the upcoming annual team building that everyone’s excited about. This is one of the things that the support team was worried wouldn’t happen under Jungkook’s leadership, but you assured them early on that it was mandatory. And with him having loosened up and feeling more comfortable around them, you have high hopes that he’ll enjoy it as much as everyone will. 

It’s why on that Saturday, you find yourself in the mall to buy the things that you’ll be needing for those three days that you’ll be spending in one of the Jeon properties in Gangwon. The venue changes every year and the villas by the lake are perfect for spring this time. Your shopping list includes all the materials for the activities and some other things Jungkook requested, like a certain book that he doesn’t have time to buy.

You enter a bookstore and as you try to find what you’re looking for, something else catches your eye. You may love the library for the space more than the books, but there will always be those that pull you in and make you curious. Even if you only read picture books when you were younger, there were a few short stories and poems that piqued your interest. You never finished them but you did manage to get through several pages.

The one right in front of you - with its pastel colored cover and simple yet intriguing design - feels like one of those. To your delight, it’s a short story collection, and your smile is immediate as you go through the pages, with each story being accompanied by illustrations that feel so personal. This would be a nice read while you’re lounging at the villa’s deck or even on your balcony, you think.

Another book catches your attention. The title is familiar, and you realize it’s one of the classics that you were required to read in high school. It has a new cover, and you see that it’s a new edition to celebrate its 30th year. You go through the pages as well, thinking back to when you had to force yourself to finish this some 15 years ago. It looks more fresh now, and definitely more enticing.

“Did you find what you’re looking for?”

You look up to find a tall man with deep-set eyes as the owner of the voice who’d interrupted your moment of book appreciation. 

“I’m okay,” you dismiss him. “I don’t need assistance.”

You politely smile then return the books in their respective spots, ready to head out and search for what you came here to buy. 

“Are you not going to get those?” The man presses. “You seemed to be interested in them and—”

“Were you watching me?” You ask, taken aback.

“Uh, no. I mean, not in the way you think,” he answers in panic, seemingly nervous at how it looks. “I wasn’t being creepy or anything I just… I…”

“Do you even work here?” You interrogate him, your alarm bells ringing at this man’s odd behavior and the absence of a nameplate that the other staff have on.

“I actually work for the company that published those books,” he says, his head down as if in embarrassment. “And we just put those out this week and I’m checking around to see people’s reaction and I realize now that it’s incredibly foolish of me to stand around and observe customers because it’s not only creepy, it’s also terribly disrespectful. I’m so sorry.”

There’s guilt in his eyes and it’s something you can recognize. You decide he’s being sincere and engage him a little.

“So… you work at Rkive Publishing?” You ask as you glance at the books. “As what?”

“I’m an editor, actually,” he answers, revealing his shy smile and dimples. “I’ve spent months on these books and thought, what better way to know people’s impression than to see them for myself? It seemed better in my head. I guess I wasn’t being subtle.”

“No, not really. I was kinda having a moment but then you popped out of nowhere,” you say, laughing to ease the tension. “But uh, the covers are stunning. I liked the personal touch of the short story collection and this classic looks a lot more interesting than I remember.”

“That’s uh, that’s good,” he grins, mostly to himself. “Our production team did really well in putting them together and to see the final products is incredibly satisfying, even more so when customers feel the same.”

“I don’t really read books but these just caught my eye. It’s a good way to pull people in,” you admit. 

“That’s nice to know,” he smiles again. “I feel pretty fulfilled just knowing they got your attention. Even if you won’t buy them.”

He doesn’t seem like he’s guilt-tripping you but he still apologizes for how it sounds. 

“I just… feel really strongly about how these pieces connect with people, even if it’s fleeting,” the man continues. “I just got over excited but thank you for not shunning me away.”

“I don’t think connections are fleeting, though,” you remark, surprising him and even yourself. “Even if it’s a thought or a memory or an impression… they stay with you in one way or another. I mean, every time I enter a bookstore, I’ll probably think about those covers and remember these books and maybe the excitement I felt. That’s still something, isn’t it?”

There’s appreciation in the man’s eyes as he takes in your words. 

You may not be a book nerd nor an artsy person but you’ve been more introspective lately about the things around you. You don’t know if it’s the desperation to relate with anything and everything but if there’s one thing that working on the Arts Center has pushed you to do, it’s that pursuit of connection - with your surroundings, with people, and with yourself. You suppose that’s where all this is coming from, and the stranger in front of you whom you’re somehow connecting with right now understands that. 

“It is something,” he flashes a smile again, the joy in it radiating and softening his very manly features. “That’s very reassuring, thank you.”

He steps aside and nods, perhaps giving you the space that he thinks he invaded, which in hindsight, you’re glad he did.

You bow in acknowledgment and head towards another aisle to look for that leadership book that Jungkook asked you to get. You immediately find it then make your way home, all the while thinking about your earlier encounter and how the briefest conversations can make you reflect about things and as you learn, lead you down a path you didn’t expect.

To appease your curiosity, you research about Rkive Publishing and learn that it’s a ten-year old company that works with up-and-coming local authors. It has also taken on special projects such as publishing classics for their milestone releases and some translated works. The man you met, who happens to be the editorial director, is a poet as well but apparently finds as much happiness in putting pieces out for people to enjoy as he does in writing them himself. He doesn’t seem that much older than you but he’s seen the world and in the eyes of an artist, you can’t imagine how beautiful and heartbreaking that must be.

You go down a rabbit hole of reading some of his poems and even some interviews he’d done when he set up the company years ago. You learn that he loves to write about the complexity of relationships, the fragility of human emotions, and the search for permanence in an impermanent world. 

His words are captivating. You want to pick apart his brain to know more about what he thinks about humans’ need for connection despite our fear of them. You want to know what makes love the way it is, why it creates and sustains and ruins those who feel and have them. You want to know if he thinks that each person is capable of love, if that’s what makes us human, or if our humanness derives from the inadequacy of love - of what we give and what we receive. 

You read a bit more about the books they’ve published and the authors they’ve worked with over the years. It’s midnight by the time you finish, and other than deciding that you’ll go back tomorrow to buy that short story book collection, one other thing fills your mind - the thought that there’s a reason for that encounter earlier, and it’s probably to lead you to finding this company and the production officer position that happens to be currently vacant. 

The soft eyes that greet you from across the table where the books are placed is a welcome sight this time. The man from yesterday flashes you a shy smile and you greet him with your own.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon but I’m glad that you’re here,” he says as he approaches you.

You raise the book you intend to buy. “Connections aren’t fleeting,” you remind him. “I couldn’t really stop thinking about this since yesterday. And uh, curiosity got to me and I looked up Rkive Publishing. You’re doing great work. I read that you’re working on translations of several books, too.”

His eyes light up as he talks about wanting to attract a wider audience, given the increasing interest in Korean culture. The story of your people appeals to many because it’s shared, and he says that’s one beauty of art in whatever form - the meanings are endless, and they weave together to form something enduring and constant. That’s what he and his mother hoped for the company when they founded it a decade ago, he narrates, and he has the tough task of creating that avenue for such art to affect more people without diluting its meaning.

“I’m sorry, I’m rambling again,” he shakes his head. “I just get so… yeah. I’ve just never met a buyer who actually searched us up after seeing our books on the shelf. I’m trying to engage more people. Our sales team said that’s one way to establish our presence.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you assure him. “I may not be as passionate about anything as you but I understand feeling strongly about something. And if I’m being honest… there’s another thing that caught my eye about your company.”

“What is it?”

“You have an opening for the production officer position. I… I was impressed and looked up career options.”

“Ah, so you’re interested then?” He asks excitedly. 

“I am. Although I don’t have any experience in publishing or anything related to books or literature for that matter.”

“Relevant experience is the qualification,” he hums. “I’d ask more but I can do so during the interview. What do you say?”

“That’s if I’ll make the shortlist,” you laugh. “Although I suppose my executive assistant experience is relevant enough.”

“Oh, it definitely is. That is no easy task.”

“Well, I hope meeting you like this won’t make any future application inappropriate,” you say. 

“Not at all. That position has been vacant for a while. And we’re looking for two. It’s not always the role that those in the industry go for. I suppose it’s made for those looking for a career change,” he playfully winks. “But seriously though, think of this encounter as part of the process. You’ve done your research about us anyway, which kind of means you’re already a step ahead. It’s only a matter of actually applying, which I hope you do.”

“It’s an option,” you hum. “This wasn’t something I initially considered but it’s amazing how certain moments shape our decisions, isn’t it? I mean, they’re not really fleeting.”

“Of course,” he nods, thinking back to your comment from yesterday. “It’s all about being open, so please think about it. I may not know anything about your credentials but talking with you has already given me insight into what you think about our work and the power of stories. And that’s very important to me.”

“I still have a lot going on but I’ll definitely keep you in mind. I hope the position is still open when the time comes.”

“If it’s meant to be then it will be,” he assures you. “I’m Namjoon, by the way.”

“I know,” you giggle, taking the business card that he hands out. “And I’m ___. I’ll see you around.”

His smile is the last thing you see before you head out the store with your purchased book in hand. And as you lay in bed that night, the possibilities of taking on a new journey play in your mind. 

There’s the connection to the good memories of your childhood and the unloading of the burdens you carry. There’s being around people you’re not tied or indebted to and there’s forging your own way towards a path that you deliberately chose.

But there’s also Jungkook, whom you can’t stop thinking about and who happens to be a hindrance when it comes to pursuing your own goals in life. Those goals include happiness and freedom even if ironically, those are the things he also gives you. There’s the new emotions he makes you feel, the connection you can’t deny you have with him, and the desire that constantly eats you up inside. 

You’ve always had your feet inside your walls with your hand on the door, just waiting for the courage to finally step out. The only thing stopping you is Jungkook and all the other possibilities with him. They may remain unrealized but they’re there. You just hope that one day you’ll convince yourself that walking away from him was exactly the thing you had to do.

You watch in awe as Yohan loads the last crate of food in the rented van you’ll be using for this weekend’s team building in some lakeside property in Gangwon. The trunk is filled with all sorts of meat and vegetables, chips, and alcohol that seem to be good for a tribe of more than 10, way more than your team of seven.

“You do know we’re only there for three days, right?” You remind the younger man. “I don’t think we eat this much.”

“Don’t you know Do-hyun?” Yohan says. “She’s half my size but she eats twice as much as I do. And I eat a lot. Plus, the guy she was seeing ghosted her so she’s probably gonna eat even more. Heartbreak shit, you know?”

“I don’t,” you chuckle, although you can’t help but feel bad again for Do-hyun whom you had to comfort not long ago because of her boy problems. “But are you sure these are all within budget?”

“Yes. Chin-sun is a master at bargaining. And, because we’re such a good team, Mr. Min and Mr. Jung gave us some of their favorite liquor,” Yohan hums satisfyingly. “Those smell expensive. So yeah, we didn’t have to spend much on alcohol since Mr. Jeon brought some, too, which is why we got to buy all this food.”

“Fine, but we can’t have drunken shenanigans, okay? I don’t have the energy to babysit you guys. And Mr. Jeon is no weakling; he’ll be awake to see you misbehave if you do.”

“We’ll go as far as incredibly out-of-tune karaoke singing, we promise,” Yohan laughs, learning his lesson after last year’s midnight swim in the freezing cold river where he almost got swept away. 

Hoseok was thankfully passed out and did not witness the almost-emergency. You had to remind your team that though you’ll be going on a team-building - which is really just an excuse for the staff to eat and drink in some scenic venue - there are still rules in place, and it would be best not to give Jungkook any problem, given the progress that you’ve all made.

You enter the car then leave the office - your meet up place - to take the long drive to your destination. You just got the message from Mr. Ri that they’re almost there; they left much earlier so that Jungkook could make it to a virtual meeting with Hoseok and his father. 

The ride starts off peaceful, as everyone is still slowly waking up. Halfway through, it becomes chaotic, with Do-hyun and Yohan arguing about who’ll be on cleaning duties on which days as the youngest ones on the team. You laugh along, knowing you’ll end up helping them anyway, but you look out the window and wonder how Jungkook is doing.

He’s been incredibly busy leading to today, with several site visits to the Arts Center and meetings with the project teams multiple times the past two weeks. He’s been staying late in the office, too, and working on the weekends. You know, because you get the odd-hour emails and find portfolios on your desk in the morning. Despite the work that he still has to squeeze in during this weekend, you hope he gets a bit of rest. More than that, you hope he finds time to be with the team and bond with them. Only you know this may be your last, and you want to keep the memories of these three days and make sure they’re good ones.

You arrive at the place and look around, amazed at every corner and every space you set your eyes on. You know that the Jeon family has dozens of properties in scenic locations that they escape to or put out for rent. This lakeside estate is one of a few you haven’t been to yet, and there’s a reason why Jungkook wanted this to be your venue this year. It’s spacious with lots of things to do and the view is absolutely stunning. Lush mountains frame the sparkling body of water, and with the breeze of spring, it’s every bit relaxing as you hoped. 

It’s quiet as the rest of the team walks around in awe. The main house boasts of a large kitchen and living space and it’s surrounded by four two-bedroom villas with their own decks. You, Chin-sun, and Do-hyun head to one while Yohan and Manager Lee head to another. You give yourselves half an hour to fix up before reconvening and when you do, you immediately smile upon seeing Jungkook already waiting. 

He greets the team, formally welcomes you all, then talks about the property and all its amenities. He discusses what’s in store for these next three days, then he proceeds with the first activity, which is really the only work-related thing you’re all required to do. 

Jungkook facilitates the session, and he starts by asking everyone to reflect on all the gains and challenges this past year. He instructs each of you to share your team highs and lows, what enabled you to achieve the successes and overcome the difficulties, what caused you the most stress, and what you’re most thankful for. Every answer is met with confirming nods and statements, and it seems that everyone is on the same page about how the year went. 

The session highlights your team dynamics - you’re all very encouraging of each other, but it doesn’t stop the young ones from bickering and teasing the rest of you. It’s fun though, as you end the hour with laughter and more memories to take with you. You glance at Jungkook who seems satisfied with every response; you hope he’s proud of how he managed everything, too, and you make sure you mention it during your turn. The smile he makes when everyone agrees warms your heart in a way you don’t expect, even more so when he holds your gaze when he thanks the team in return.

You’re rewarded with a hearty lunch an hour later, and not long after, you find yourselves near the deck of the lake, discussing how to spend your two hours of free time before the next activity.

Chin-sun and Manager Lee decide on just laying on the lounge chairs to soak up the sun. Yohan gets on a jet-ski while Do-hyun flounders about in the lake. Sipping your beer, you lean on one of the tables and savor the fresh air. 

There’s not much of this in the city, and the silence - save for the young ones’ laughter in the background - is definitely worth the long ride and the backlog you’ll be having once the weekend is over. You’re not really one to stay outdoors. You’d much rather stay inside, under the covers where you could watch movies or variety shows. That was always how you preserved your peace. Being outside always intimidated you, and you think now it’s probably because you just haven’t seen that many beautiful views like this in your life. If this is what’s outside your window everyday, you’d probably be out all the time. 

“___, are you just gonna stay there? The water’s amazing,” Do-hyun whines as she approaches you. “Or sunbathe if you don’t want to get wet. Just get out there.”

“I’m content just watching you enjoy yourselves,” you say. “I can see the view just fine from here.”

“It’s much better up close,” she counters, standing next to you now. “Come on, this is your time to let loose since you have the permission to do so. Mr. Jeon isn’t gonna be a killjoy and watch your every move, you know? If he will, then I will…”

“You will what?” You laugh.

“I will tell him he’s being a killjoy. How often can we be in a place as beautiful as this?”

“Do-hyun’s right,” Jungkook says as he appears to your left, catching both of you off guard and prompting Do-hyun to sweetly smile at him. He’s in shorts and a loose long-sleeve shirt, perhaps ready to enjoy the outdoors as well. “The place is too beautiful for you to just sit back and watch.”

“And what will you do?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Sit back and watch,” he shrugs, earning him a laugh from you and Do-hyun. “And enjoy my beer. That’s how I relax.”

“Please don’t be boring,” Do-hyun pouts at him, embracing that little sister energy that you’ve all come to love. “You should know, Mr. Jeon, Yohan is being all cocky, saying that he’s the best jet ski rider among all of us here. I have a feeling that he’s wrong, so please show him who’s boss. I mean, you are, obviously. But, you know what I mean.”

“I think I do,” Jungkook chuckles, putting down his drink and looking out into the lake. “But sure. I haven’t ridden one in a while but let’s see how I go.”

Jungkook walks towards the water then unknots the other jet ski. He removes his shirt and wears the life vest before riding towards where Yohan is. The view of him half-naked triggers memories of all the times you’ve seen him like that, times when you’d look away and keep yourself from thinking inappropriate thoughts. It’s no different this time, but somehow, it’s much harder to keep your heart from racing this fast.

“Holy fuck,” Do-hyun gasps next to you. “Please don’t report me but shit, ___. Whoever’s doing Mr. Jeon is one lucky woman. I mean, look at that. And who knew he had a full sleeve of tattoo? That is so freaking hot.”

From your periphery, you could see her shocked face but you merely hum in response. You don’t want to get carried away by your own expletives because there really aren’t enough curses in the dictionary when it comes to describing Jungkook’s body. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” she looks at you curiously. “And you’re not affected. You’ve seen it before, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have. I’m with him everyday,” you say nonchalantly. 

“In clothes, I would assume.”

“He works out every morning and he’s in sleeveless tops sometimes,” you clarify. “Obviously I’ve seen his arm.”

She furrows her brows as if she doesn’t believe you, even if you’re telling the truth. There are just other parts of that story that you don’t want to share.

“Hmm, fair enough,” she gives in. “But I’d probably be constantly flustered or even crushing on him if I were you. So how have you managed being around him and not being attracted all this time knowing he looks like that?”

You’re forced to look at Do-hyun, as you try to find the words to say, when she answers her own question.

“Right, he can be quite detached and too serious and he’s a playboy and—”

“You also forget that I am his assistant and he is my boss,” you remind her. “Thoughts like that—”

“Are perfectly normal,” she interjects. “And totally understandable. He’s a hot bachelor, ____. I wouldn’t be able to function professionally if I were in your shoes. Which is why it’s great that I’m here and you’re the one in that position.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I might lose this job if I lose my shit every time because my boss is so hot,” she reasons. “And it’s not just me. I’ve seen the female staff lose their cool around him just because he spoke to them or looked their way. It’s kind of embarrassing. But I guess the broody, asshole-y vibes add to that. And then there’s you who’s in his apartment every morning and heavens know what you’ve seen or heard since we all know that the rumors about his dating life are true and you seem fine and totally unbothered.”

You want to laugh at how completely off Do-hyun is with her observations. Sure, you tried to be cool about it at the beginning and you mostly succeeded in being calm whenever you came close or saw any part of his body exposed. 

But somewhere along the way, things changed. When you saw the layers underneath, he wasn’t just attractive physically; he was suddenly so much more. That somehow made it harder but it also made all the restraint worth it. But that’s not something you want to divulge to Do-hyun. No matter how difficult, you know you need to keep yourself together and stop the feelings from going any deeper. 

“Well, just like you, I can’t lose my job and I will if I let it affect me,” you say. “But if I may say so… there’s definitely more to the broody, serious man we met almost a year ago.”

“Hmm, I guess that’s true. He’s definitely more thoughtful than I expected. Maybe a little funny, too. But that’s really all I know. He just seems too reserved, you know? Seeing him do something like ride a jet ski or laugh with us feels like such a luxury for a man like him,” Do-hyun adds. “It must be hard to get to know him beyond all this. I know it sure is hard to love someone like that.”

You know that Do-hyun’s merely projecting. The recent guy she was seeing was a lot more shy and private than the ones she’s dated before. But she got him to open up and she thought that was it, that she’d broken through his walls and they’d be permanently down for her, only to realize it wasn’t the case. He was distant for a few days and she tried to get through again only for him to completely shut her out; she hasn’t heard from him in weeks. 

It’s probably why you agree. People who keep their distance and disengage whenever they want are hard to love. You’d know because you’re like that. It hits you hard knowing that Jungkook is probably the same. 

Snapping out of your thoughts, you and Do-hyun watch Jungkook and Yohan outride one another, splashing each other with water and screaming in excitement when they speed up. Seeing this other side of Jungkook does something to you again, and the sight of his smile as he dries his hair while teasing Yohan triggers the butterflies in your belly. 

He approaches you - thankfully with his shirt on this time - and you suddenly feel too hot. He tells you that the water’s nice and you should get in, but you’re too self-conscious now, so you compromise and say you’ll just dip your feet in the water while you sit on the steps that lead down to the lake. 

That’s how you spend the rest of the hour, as Chin-sun, Manager Lee, and Do-hyun join Yohan in swimming while Jungkook stays back, watching you all from afar. You glance at him a few times and he catches your eyes. He lifts his can in cheers and you do the same. He heads to where you are some time after with five cans of beer then walks back to his room, and you suddenly miss his presence. You wish he was next to you, perhaps laughing or talking about something random or just sitting with you in silence. You’ve learned that last bit brings you a lot of comfort and peace; the view somehow isn’t as beautiful when you aren’t sharing it with him. 

It’s an hour later, after having dried and fixed up, when you’re all on the basketball court to start the next activity that Mr. Ri prepared. Divided into teams of two, each pair is assigned a path that leads to either the mountain, the woods, or the stream to find bags of coins needed to “purchase” materials to create a science experiment-type water rocket. It’s meant to practice your communication and problem-solving skills with those you work most closely with, which is why Chin-sun and Do-hyun, and Manager Lee and Yohan are paired up respectively while you, of course, end up with Jungkook. 

“The caretakers and I spent all morning preparing this game, so please take it seriously,” Mr Ri says. “And bond with each other while you’re at it.”

You see the competitiveness in the young ones’ eyes, especially when it’s announced that there’s a prize for the winners, and you like the energy. Being Jungkook’s partner, you know it’s just about completing the task and somehow, it’s the bonding bit that makes you nervous. You already know you’re going to like it, which is precisely why it terrifies you. 

“There are ATVs for each team which you will ride to the start of the path. You’ll have to go by foot when you get there or else you’ll miss the bags of coins,” Mr. Ri instructs. “You have walkie-talkies to reach me in case you get lost but please don’t. And try to be back here in an hour. All clear?”

You all express your acknowledgement and he signals the start. The other teams rush to their rides and quickly drive off while you and Jungkook stroll to yours. 

He takes the helmet and puts it on you, and he laughs again like he did at the Arts Center months ago before riding the vehicle. 

“I should’ve expected that,” you pout. 

“Which?”

“That you’ll laugh at me again.”

“It looks cute on you,” he says casually before riding the vehicle.

Your eyes widen at his words and you’re glad he has his back turned on you. That way he can’t see the way you’re trying to hold your smile and suppress the giddy feeling at his remark. It makes it that much harder for you to climb up behind him though, but you manage, and you ensure there’s some distance between you and him, knowing how you tend to be when you get close. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, internally smacks himself after he says the words. He didn’t mean for the thoughts in his head to actually come out. He’s glad he didn’t see your probably awkward expression, and that right now, he needs to focus on the road. That way, he can preoccupy himself with your safety and not his embarrassment. 

He means it though. There’s something about you in a helmet that gets him, or even in anything oversized, like his jacket that he made you wear once. There’s also something about you wading in the water and laughing so freely that make his insides melt. Anything you do actually triggers something in him - a protective side, a care-free side; a side that wants to take a pause and bask in the scenery that includes you. 

Now he has to act like he’s not affected with you sitting behind him as he drives the ATV down the rugged path. He feels you far from him, sitting close to the edge and holding onto the handles behind you. But as the road gets rockier, he starts to get worried. 

“You should hold onto me,” he says, turning his head to the side so you could hear him before slowing down. “It’s safer that way.”

It takes a few seconds but he feels you move closer to him, your arms slowly wrapping around his torso. It’s a bit loose but it’s enough for his breathing to quicken.

“Is… is this okay?” You softly ask.

“Yeah,” he manages to say. “It’s a bit rocky out here so be careful. You can, uh, you can hold on tighter if you feel unstable.”

You hum in response but you maintain your position. He supposes you don’t know how bumpy it could be. It makes him worry and he wishes you’d grab onto him more only because he’s afraid you’d fall, and that’s exactly what happens after the first big bump. 

You yelp, tightening your grip around him immediately. He feels his heart stop, unprepared to have your arms around his waist and your chest flushed against his back even if that’s what he’d suggested you do. He’s felt you close in several instances already, but each time feels different. It affects him the same way though - all he wants is to have you even closer.

But that’s not something he can think of right now, especially when you’re both alone, in a place that’s conducive to letting his inhibitions go. 

It’s calm and peaceful out here. There’s a lot of open space but he enjoys it more when he’s looking at it from the comforts of the balcony or the deck. He always prefers to stay indoors because the outdoors somehow make him feel more constricted; he supposes that being trapped in the woods as a child would do that to anyone. He’s always just been a spectator, watching everything from behind the safety of his walls, knowing that he could feel a bit unsteady out there.

But ever since you got here and he’d seen you enjoy the surroundings, all he’s felt was the stability of having you near him. That, ironically, scares him, too. The more he’s comfortable with you, the more worried he becomes. So he settles on what he knows how to do - keeping you at a fair distance but creating moments here and there, only so you don’t think he’s pushing you away or detaching himself. 

You decide to just hold onto Jungkook for safety purposes. You didn’t realize that the path towards the stream is this rocky, but you suppose it should be since you’re in the undeveloped part of the property. It's probably why he asked you to hold onto him; he’s your safety precaution and you know enough that he wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

He’s steady and skilled in navigating the ATV, avoiding the big bumps and alerting you when there’s going to be one. It’s actually quite attractive. He feels so nice like this, with his soft hoodie and natural scent, and you have to pull away every once in a while so as not to get too comfortable. You can’t let yourself imagine this to be a possibility beyond today, you remind yourself. He can’t be someone you constantly seek, that you could fall into, even if that’s pretty much where you’re at at this point. 

You reach the end of the road and Jungkook lets you get down first, instructing you to hold his arm for support, before following right after. You walk towards the mark that signifies the start of the path where you’re supposed to find the bags of coins, and you look around to see that there are more shrubs than trees. It feels a little less constricting compared to if you were in the mountains or the woods, which is why you think Mr. Ri assigned this to both of you.

You and Jungkook start searching, and with the topography of the place, it’s easy to spot the bags that are hanging from the tree branches. You point one out and Jungkook steps on the hollowed out trunk to retrieve it. You stand by watching, reminding him to be careful. And though you tell yourself to focus on the bag, you can’t help but glance at the sight of him - in his light gray sweatpants and hooded sweatshirt, looking casual and comfortable and even more attractive. 

It doesn’t help when he reaches out towards the branch while you stay on a spot below him, and the view of him from this angle leaves you quite breathless. Not only does his hoodie rise up to reveal his waist and that lower half of his torso that you’d held onto earlier, but you also get a peek of the band of his underwear, too. Your mind short-circuits for the briefest moment, even more when he stretches even more to pull the bag towards him, and you’re able to snap out of it in time, as you watch him slowly make his way down.

“Watch your step, watch your step!” You call out.

He easily descends, and with his smug face, he lifts the bag for you to see. 

“Do you not have faith in my tree-climbing capabilities?” he asks you.   

“It’s just not something I’ve seen you do before,” you shrug, acting nonchalantly as you return to walking down the path.

“So, were you worried?”

“Uhm, yes? I can’t have an injured Vice President on my watch,” you exclaim, earning you a laugh. “How am I gonna transport you out of this dirt road and back to the house? I can barely keep still as a passenger on the ATV.”

“Well, I could get hurt but I definitely won’t be immobile,” he points out. “I won’t be a hard person to help.”

“Right… I’m the one who gets injured and then can’t walk.”

He frowns at you at the reminder, and you counter that it’s okay for you to make fun of your injury but that he’s right, he probably won’t be as injured as you. You wave him off, hoping that you don’t have to deal with an incapacitated version of him during this game. You also won’t be able to handle worrying about him without giving too much away. 

You return your focus on finding the other bags. There are those hidden behind rocks and in shallow holes; you know because of the shovel next to them. There’s another one tied around the trunk of the tree, and you have to hold your breath again when Jungkook climbs up to get it.

As expected, you have good teamwork. You section off areas to search at and quickly find what you’re looking for. You go for the ones you can get and then ask him to reach for the ones you can’t. There’s some bickering in between, with him pretending that he’s stuck or caught on something while you panic and then pout at him for scaring you. But there are some moments of silence, too, where you walk side by side and bask in the scent of your surroundings. Either way, it’s time that you enjoy just being around him, taking in the environment that you often stayed away from. With him, it’s a lot less scary and definitely more freeing.

When you’re down to your last one, you and Jungkook think that Mr. Ri would hide it somewhere near the end of the path, so you both decide to just take in your surroundings as you stroll towards the stream.  

“So, nature smells like this, huh?” you hum. “It’s quite comforting.”

“It is,” he says. “I forget sometimes. It’s nice to remember.”

“Don’t you spend a lot of time outdoors?” You wonder. “You’ve mentioned driving out to some of your properties with views like this. I’d assume you stay out and enjoy the scenery.”

“I do enjoy the scenery… just from inside,” he chuckles, knowing the irony of his words. “It’s just more comfortable that way, I guess. So I appreciate being forced to go outside this weekend.”

“At least you’re not alone, right?”

“That’s true.”

“I’m the same,” you say. “I don’t go out much. I mean, I’m often on my own so I just stay indoors but I do enjoy the scenery when I’m with others. It feels too lonely when you’re by yourself. To be something so small in a world so big… It's kind of scary.”

“Well, I’m here with you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You don’t think Jungkook will ever know the weight of his words and just how wrong he is. To be in a place so beautiful with him next to you… it’s everything you’re scared of. You’ve come to appreciate a lot of things because of him. You’ve come to want more when you shouldn’t because of him. You always find yourself in a state of push-and-pull with your emotions when it comes to him, knowing that he’s someone you can’t have. He’ll always be out of reach no matter how close he is. He’ll always hinder you from the kind of life you want to have even if that includes him. 

The logical part of you wants to keep your distance, to not create any more memories that will haunt you and that you’ll miss. But the stubborn part of you wants you to hold onto this to remind you that beautiful things are tangible and he’s the one thing you can see and hear; maybe he’s something you can touch, too. 

The latter one wins, so you slow your pace, take in the sight before you, and decide that this is a memory you’ll want to keep. You take the disposable camera from your pouch, something you bought the other week specifically for this trip, knowing it might be your last. You take a photo of the sky, then of the path ahead of you, then of the stream, making sure there’s a bit of him in there - a mop of hair, a portion of his arm, his shadow. 

It’s then that you see the last bright red bag on one of the big rocks near the water’s edge. 

“Oh, there it is,” you say, immediately walking towards it. 

You look around and strategize how you’ll get to the rock safely but Jungkook insists that he’ll be the one to get it.

“You’ve gotten all the tricky ones,” you argue, given that he’d climbed the tree and crawled under the shrub because your leggings were too thin and wouldn’t be able to protect you from the thorny branches. “I can get this.”

“It might be slippery.”

“I have good balance,” you lie.

“Uh, I clearly remember that you don’t.”

“Hey,” you pout at him, knowing he’s referring to that time you tripped on yourself during one of your Arts Center visits. “It was the heels. That’s clearly not a problem this time.”

You step on the wet stones and balance your way as they lead towards the big rock, with Jungkook repeatedly telling you to be careful. His voice just gets louder and louder, but you turn around and see that he’s actually just following you. It’s your mistake, as your loss of focus causes you to  slip on one of the rocks and almost lose your balance. Fortunately, it doesn’t make you fall on your ass. Your foot merely slides to the side, barely missing the water, which is really fine, but Jungkook doesn’t think so.

“Don’t move until you’re stable,” he instructs, holding out his hand for you to take, prompting you to look at him questioningly. “That’s the foot you injured. You can’t risk spraining it again. Just take my hand or hold my wrist so you can safely get the bag.”

You do as he says, grabbing his forearm so you can stabilize yourself. You let him go once you do, then you turn and take a few small steps to get what you need. He stays close to you though, and once you retrieve the bag, you turn towards him with a proud smile and announce that half of your task has been completed. 

“You’re incredibly stubborn, you know that?” He says instead, his firm voice a contrast to his playful frown.

“And you are quite the nagger,” you hit back. “I wouldn’t have slipped if I hadn’t turned and I wouldn’t have done that if you weren’t so noisy.”

“Sure, it’s my fault. Sorry for caring about your safety,” he shakes his head. 

“Well, you were underestimating me,” you frown now. “I could’ve done all this without your help.”

“Really?” He challenges.

“Yes,” you stand your ground. “Although I would still need your help to get back to land.”

It’s what makes him laugh, and the way his eyes light up and crinkle makes your heart race. He has such a sweet sound, and you wish you could hear more of it. 

“I figured. Let’s go, then.”

“Wait,” you stop him and check your watch. “We still have time. Can we stay for a bit? The water’s quite nice and the view of the mountains is prettier from here.”

Jungkook looks around. The mountain range from far away looks majestic from this angle, and with the sun about to set soon, the way the light shines on the water is just as beautiful. 

“Okay then,” he says, wanting to savor this as well. 

You just said you don’t go out much, and maybe like what he feels, being with him makes you want to take it all in; maybe it makes you feel less scared.

You both find dry rocks to sit at and it’s the perfect spot for you to take more photos, so you take out your camera and see which angles look best.

“Did you buy that for this trip?” he asks.

“Yeah. I knew the sights would be beautiful. I just wanted to keep something from here,” you explain.

“Give it to me then,” he says, reaching out his hand and gesturing towards your camera. “Let me take one of you so you’ll always remember.”

You hand it over to him then suddenly feel awkward at how you’re supposed to pose. You stay seated with your legs just slightly bent but are unsure of where you’re supposed to look. It feels a little too tense if you look at his direction, even if that’s what you should be doing.

“It’s free to smile, you know? That’s what people usually do for photos,” he says, causing you to giggle. He takes the photo right then, and you have an idea he caught your smile at the right time.

“Was that a trick?” You ask.

“Sort of. I knew you were gonna think of how bold it was of me to say that, considering that I barely even smile.”

“Wow, I can’t even tease you anymore because you already know what I’m gonna say.”

“I know sometimes you can’t help but just tease me like that. I know you too well,” he smugly says. “But I think I got a good photo. You’re welcome.”

You laugh at his playfulness, knowing it’s rare for him to show that side of him. So you ask for your camera back and decide you want him to be part of this particular memory. You hold it out and turn towards him.

“May I?” You ask.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” he hums. “I just don’t know how to smile.”

You giggle again and you’re quick enough to catch the brief moment when he lets out a short laugh. 

You look at him softly, as if there’s more you want to say - that you’ll keep this close to you so you’ll remember what his smile looks like, that he’s something beautiful you can hear and see, that you  feel so safe out here with him, and that you hope he’ll remember this, too.

But you look away before any of the words make it out. 

You think to just quietly savor this, as you bask in the sounds of the cicadas and the flow of the water and the rustling of the leaves. You’re so small in this big world, but being with Jungkook makes things a little less scary. With him, you don’t feel so alone.

A bit more time passes before you both decide to head back. He reaches out his hand which you mindlessly take, your fingers instinctively wrapping around his palm. You’re too focused on your steps that you only realize you’re still holding him once you both safely make it to dry land. But it’s also at that moment when he lets go. Though a part of you wishes he’d drag the illusion a bit more, you’re also glad he didn’t; you would’ve probably held on longer if he didn’t pull away. 

The silence continues as you both walk back to the start of the path, but he stays near you, occasionally asking if you’re tired or cold. You make it to the ATV and you hold onto his waist again with no instructions needed this time. He drives a bit faster than earlier but you feel safe and steady, and there’s something natural about the way you’re clinging to him for support. Part of the illusion as well, you think, but that ends, too.

You’re the last one back to the villas but you and Jungkook quickly make up some ground in assembling the water rocket. It was mostly him, though, as he says that he tinkers around and easily figures these things out. Do-hyun and Chin-sun feel the pressure as you catch up, and they shriek as they slowly feel the win slipping away from them. But then Jungkook holds onto the last piece and lets them win instead. The way they celebrate after their rocket successfully launches makes it feel worth it; you don’t feel bad about it at all. If anything, you expected he’d let either of the other two teams finish first. 

After the winners are handed out hotel accommodation gift cards, Jungkook excuses himself to get a bit of work done while the rest of the team prepares for dinner. The team works on your assigned tasks of preparing the grill and slicing the vegetables, while you cook your famed fried rice after Do-hyun convinced you that it would heal her broken heart. Seated outside with the cool evening air, you all wait for Jungkook before starting.

“Mr. Jeon said he’ll just message me once he’s ready to eat,” Mr. Ri says as he takes his seat. “We can start without him.”

“But it’s not a team dinner without him,” Do-hyun whines. “He should take a break from working and spend time with us.”

“I’m sure he wants that, too,” you say. “Let’s just give him some time, maybe there’s something urgent he needs to do. Let’s just enjoy our meal and leave some food for him.”

Everyone dives in once the meat is cooked, and there’s a consensus that your fried rice is definitely worth all the hype. The laughter and teasing immediately start, and you wish Jungkook was here to enjoy it with you. You constantly glance at his villa, noting the dim lights, and you wonder what has him holed up inside this time, knowing he didn’t plan on working too much while he’s here. 

It’s one hour later when you decide that he’s gone too long without having dinner, so you take portions of everything and set them on a tray. 

“Wait, let me make him a drink. Hopefully that’ll convince him to come out,” Yohan says. 

Managing to carry everything, you head towards Jungkook’s villa, and when he opens the door after your constant bell-ringing, he looks at you in surprise. 

“The team’s been wondering when you were coming out,” you say. “You might be in there because of work, but I’m not fully convinced. Whatever it is, the food’s too delicious for you to not have a taste, so I brought you some.” 

You raise the tray that you placed on the small table outside and flash him a smile. He nods in acknowledgement and takes it from you but you don’t leave just yet. 

“I hope you’re not working anymore,” you say. 

“I only did for a while,” he replies. “I… got a bit tired.”

“I’ve seen you workout in the morning and work all day after only having three hours of sleep, Jungkook. You wouldn’t get tired from just a jet ski ride and some scavenger hunt,” you raise an eyebrow. 

He lets out a dry laugh before heading to the dining room. He leaves the door open so you follow him inside.

“I mean I’m socially tired. Isn’t that a thing?” 

“Gee, I didn’t think that spending time with me outdoors drained your energy so much,” you frown. 

Your playful pout tells him you’re teasing. He sure hopes it’s not what you really feel. It’s the opposite, in fact. He felt relieved of a lot of things during that hour that he walked around and breathed in the fresh air with you. And you both had moments - comforting glances, the shared silence… the fleeting touches that made him want more. You’re everything new and familiar and he wants to know how it’s like to have you close to him. 

He knows it’s a desire he can’t act on, not just because he’s your superior but also because he can’t imagine you feeling a fraction of what he feels. It’s tempting to mistake your kindness for something more, and he’d fall into it if only hoping didn’t lead to disappointment. But like what Yoongi had said before, it’s how you naturally are, even as someone who prefers to be alone. Whatever type of friendship you offer is all that it is - friendship. 

Jungkook clearly doesn’t deserve you. It’s not just because of the way he treated you at the beginning but because even until now, whenever he pulls away, you’re always the first one who reaches out. He’s scared that anything he does might push you away, and that’s the last thing he wants. He’ll keep you at a distance for as much as he can and for as long as you’re around. He can handle that, but losing you in any way has become his biggest fear. 

That’s why he needed to be on his own after your time together in such a casual and comfortable environment. It’s easy to want that with you and to think that he can have it. Pulling away has always been his default when dealing with things he can’t control, and earlier, he just couldn’t control his mind and his heart. 

But you’re here now, having knocked on his door like you always do, wondering if he’ll come out.

“I brought you dinner but I purposely gave you small servings so you’ll want more and leave your villa,” you explain. 

“Half a cup of your fried rice?” He scowls. “That’s a crime.”

“I know. And you’ll run out if you don’t go outside,” you warn. “Are you planning on just staying here? Do-hyun’s right. It’s not a team dinner without you there.”

“I… I was planning to go out a bit later. It’s a different setting and I’m a little anxious,” he admits.

He looks away and you feel for him. You were the same in the beginning, too. It’s one thing to share meals with people in a work environment but it’s another when it’s more casual, where people are less filtered and guarded. But you had to try, and after spending time getting to know your colleagues, things got easier.

The team has adjusted to Jungkook but you suppose Jungkook hasn’t fully adjusted to them. Perhaps he was planning on sneaking in much later in the evening or using work as an excuse. But this is part of his function, and like you promised him early on, you want to help him with this aspect of his role.

“I’ll help you loosen up a bit,” you suggest. “I can have dinner with you here first and then we can go out once you’re ready.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees, even if he’d decided earlier that he’d keep his distance. “You can get your food outside. I’m not sharing mine.”

You laugh at how seriously he says the words.

“I know,” you say. “And by the way, Yohan made you that drink.”

“How’d he know I like highball?”

“A little birdie told him,” you shrug, feigning innocence. 

You smile before walking out, with Jungkook reminding you to set aside some fried rice for him.

You take your plate and reason to the team that you and Jungkook will just discuss some work stuff and they buy it, saying they won't get drunk until you’re both back outside.

You return to the villa with your dish and a bottle of beer, immediately realizing that it’s new territory for you and Jungkook, too. Sure, you’ve spent some time together out of work, but not in a place and situation like this. 

But you want to be there for him. You like that he looks to you for energy and support. On days when he’s distant, you want moments like right now to remind you of the times he needed you, that he wanted you around, even if it’s for a different reason.

It takes half an hour for Jungkook to ease his nerves. In that time, you talk about random things, like his favorite hawker centers in Singapore and the variety shows you watch on which days. You both tease each other, then compete on who gets less affected. You tell him it’s good preparation for when the team, in their drunken states, does the same. You assure him, though, that they won’t go below the belt but he also assures you that he’s a big boy and can handle it. 

When he says he wants more fried rice, it becomes your cue to head outside. You’re thankful that other than Mr. Ri subtly smirking at you, no one else reacts uncomfortably. You and Jungkook just came from his villa alone, after all, but you suppose everyone’s too tired or too careful to say anything. 

“I hope no one’s eaten my share of the fried rice,” Jungkook says as he sits across from you. “I was really looking forward to it.”

“Here, all yours, Mr. Jeon,” Yohan says as he hands him a bowl. “If it isn’t enough, just know that Do-hyun took one last scoop before we set this aside.”

“Traitor,” Do-hyun scowls at the younger man. “I couldn’t help it. It’s so good, right?” She turns to Jungkook now. “___ gatekeeps this! She says she’s too busy to make it and I only got her to do it now because I’m heartbroken.”

Jungkook smiles internally. You’ve made this for him a few times and it’s heartwarming to think that you had your reasons for doing so, knowing now that it’s not something you easily share. 

“It’s way better than the one I make,” Jungkook says, glancing at you. “I can have this everyday.”

“You cook?!” Do-hyun basically yells. 

“Uh, yeah. I lived on my own for years. How do you think I survived?” Jungkook asks.

“Paying people to do things for you,” Do-hyun shrugs. 

It’s a line he’s heard you say before and neither of you are wrong. It’s normal to make that assumption and it’s also true. He had people to do pretty much everything for him when he was in Singapore. He has that option here in Seoul, too, but he’s found himself wanting less people in his space for long periods of time. You’re really the only one he doesn’t mind being around him.

The conversation shifts to what happened in the afternoon, and you all end up talking about each team’s scavenger hunt experience and the anticipation for the next day’s obstacle course and relay games. A few more shots and bottles of beer later, the vibe turns more serious, as Manager Lee’s question to Do-hyun about how she’s feeling turns into an emotional session where she asks what she’s supposed to do about the man she was seeing, wondering if it’s worth reaching out or just moving on from him.

Chin-sun shares a piece of her mind and so does Yohan. Manager Lee says that sometimes, people don’t know what they want and isolate themselves in response. The pieces of advice are a mix of being patient and forgetting about the man, and you choose to observe rather than give an opinion. It’s always easy to say something but things could be totally different once you’re the one experiencing it. You think Jungkook feels the same, as he stays quiet but listens earnestly.

“What do you think, Mr. Ri?” Do-hyun asks. “You’re the oldest one here and would probably have a lot to say.”

“I wish I did but I wouldn’t say I’ve made the best decisions when it comes to my love life,” Mr. Ri laughs. “I mean, I’ve only ever loved one woman but I let her go. And that was over 20 years ago; I haven’t loved anyone that way since. I don’t think I ever really stopped.”

You watch everyone’s faces turn from shocked to somber. Mr. Ri, having been CEO Jeon’s right-hand man for a long time, has a stable and commanding presence. Everyone knows him to be loyal and firm, yet there’s a warmth about him with how protective and dependable he is. They all know about his commitment to his job, but his faithfulness to one person is perhaps surprising; he was never one to show much emotion, after all. But then again, people make sacrifices in the name of love - sometimes they give everything up for it, sometimes it’s what they let go of.

“Twenty years is a long time,” Do-hyun sighs. “And you never stopped. Where does all that love go?”

“I have people I care about,” Mr. Ri answers. “It goes to them. Obviously it’s different but I learned that if I keep all that love to myself, it hurts even more. That’s how I learned to live with the decision I made. It’s how I learned to let her go.”

“That’s so sad,” Do-hyun sniffles. “Here I am, heartbroken about a guy I was dating for only a few months while you’ve been harboring these feelings for decades.”

“It’s not about the length of time you were together or apart,” Mr. Ri shakes his head. “When you give a part of yourself to someone, losing them always hurts. That part of you is gone because they took it with them and you can’t take it back. So your pain is valid. We all love and grieve and move forward differently,” he says. “It’s all terrifying but that’s the irony of life, I’ve learned. The thing we all want and can’t live without is the same thing that hurts us the most, whether we have it or not.”

There’s a beat of silence as everyone takes in the elder man’s words. They cut deep, as you know they come from a place of deep pain. You don’t want to ever go through something that hurts that much. 

“I’m too emotional,” Do-hyun sighs, not wanting to spend the rest of the evening crying and having everyone feel bad for her, so she shifts her attention to something else. “I want something juicy.” She briefly looks at Jungkook, who looks blankly at her, so she turns to you instead. “I don’t know much about your love life, ___.”

“Yes, because I don’t have one,” you chuckle, masking the nervousness you feel because talking about its inexistence in front of the man plaguing your mind was not something you planned for this trip. 

“But I know you did,” she insists. “I mean, why wouldn’t you?”

“I think what Do-hyun means is that you’re a highly capable, kind, and attractive woman,” Chin-sun chimes in. “Surely there have been prospects for a relationship, yes?”

“Like Mr. Min!” Yohan says now. “I always thought you two were cute together. Do-hyun and I would bet on it since she says you’re not the type to date co-workers.”

“And she’s right,” you say, glancing at Jungkook whose face you can’t read. “Yoongi and I are good friends. That’s all we ever were.”

“Well, I think he’s very nice and he’d treat you well,” Yohan sighs. “But I guess it might be weird to date someone you work with. I have friends I can match you with!”

“That’s not necessary,” you laugh. “I don’t think relationships are for everyone.”

“Why not?” Do-hyun asks.

You contemplate on whether or not you’re ready for this conversation, especially since it’s the type you usually just have with your best friends. You suppose it’s why your colleagues claim they don’t know much about you other than the way you work because you don’t really share much about your life, your dreams, or the things you wonder about. You’ve always preferred to keep things to yourself, always worried about how they will be received.

But everyone’s allowed themselves to be vulnerable tonight, and given the distance you’ve created between you and them all these years, you think the least you could do is be honest. It’s a team building thing anyway, and people bond over shared experiences during these times.

“I’ve… dated people but it was never serious,” you start. “I never really saw myself committing to them. Sure, I’d give my time and energy but nothing more. There’s so much courage in loving another person. I just don’t think I’ll ever be brave enough for that. I mean, it’s just hard to control. Once you start, you can’t stop; once you do it too much, you can’t pull back.”

“Sounds to me like you’re afraid that you won’t receive as much as you give,” Manager Lee states. “It’s how love is, though. It’s not always equal. But that’s the risk you take, that’s the trust you build. That even when what’s given isn’t the same, there’s still love there.”

“But isn’t that the scary part of it all?” You counter. “Like what Mr. Ri said, you give a part of yourself to someone when you love them but what if they don’t want that specific part of you? Or they did then one day they decide they don’t anymore? So they just retreat and leave you out in the open. They’re safe but you’re not, because you broke down your walls for them but they didn’t do the same.”

“That’s the thing about finding the right person, ___,” Manager Lee says, with all the wisdom of a man who’s loved and lost and loved again. “You either trust that they won’t do that, or you accept that they could and you’d still think that loving them is worth all the pain that losing them would cost. In the end, you get to decide. If you keep yourself from feeling it, how are you to know what’s worth it and what isn’t?”

You’ve heard versions of these words before, too. Soomin and Jimin, whose respective relationship ups and downs you’ve witnessed, have said themselves that committing yourself to someone takes a whole lot of faith in the person and in yourself. It’s because you’re giving them an opportunity to hurt you but you have to trust that they won’t. A lot of times, they do, so you then have to trust in your own ability to get over them. 

The thoughts swim in your head and with your silence, Chin-sun gives you an encouraging smile. She’s a few years older than you and has experienced a lot when it comes to relationships, and you can sense that she understands your hesitation and your fear.

“It’s scary but when you find someone who makes you feel brave, that can make all the difference,” she says. 

Admitting all this makes you feel exposed, especially when your eyes flit to Jungkook and you find him gazing at you, as if he’s trying to figure you out. You’re worried that any other move you make or things you say will lead him to uncovering your feelings that you acknowledge is beyond just physical attraction at this point. 

You find yourself worrying about him constantly, wondering what he’s doing or if he’s getting proper rest. You’re always thinking about his smile and the sound of his laugh, and you imagine how much sweeter and softer they could get. You want him to be happy, to find his peace, to have something to look forward to. And you want to know what his touch feels and how it’s like to have him close. 

You know all this is wrong because of who you are and who he is in this world, especially as you realize that you’ve never felt anything quite like this before. The fear makes itself even more known as it is embodied in the man across from you - so palpable and overwhelming that you can’t help but want more, and the more his eyes bore into you, the closer you are to giving in. 

How are you to know what’s worth it and what isn’t if you don’t let yourself feel all of it? And if Jungkook makes you feel brave, then what if he’s the person you’re willing to break down your walls for?

You shake your head, knowing you can’t fall into the trap of your own mind. You need to be logical about this, but you also think that you’ve been that way all your life and it hasn’t brought you much happiness. At this point, you question what that looks like. 

Maybe it looks like him. Maybe it’s also life without him. 

How do people make decisions like this? You wonder. How do they know how much pain they can bear? And when does it become worth it?

“Wise words,” you manage to say after a tense silence. “You make it sound simple.”

“Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t,” Chin-sun says. “Human beings are complicated, ___, so are our emotions. Love makes people stupid. But it also makes us brave and happy and complete. And when it’s shared with the right person, god it feels so good.”

You’re able to get her to share about her own experience and remove the spotlight away from you. Manager Lee narrates his serendipitous love story as well, and the serious tone of the conversation turns into a giddy, enjoyable one. You find yourself constantly glancing at Jungkook, liking his soft smiles and giggles as the stories are told. He briefly meets your eyes during some moments though, and that’s when you look away. 

The night ends when he announces that everyone should get some rest and prepare for tomorrow’s activities, so you all clean up and wish each other a good night. Your eyes linger on Jungkook as he walks back to his villa, and you turn away before he does the same, the yearning for him getting stronger as each day passes.

The sun shines beautifully over the lake as you lean on the railing overlooking the water. The clouds over the mountains look like the fog that cleared earlier, and the majestic way that the scenery is framed by the blue skies is absolutely stunning.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Jungkook hums from several meters next to you. “I never really bothered to appreciate this view before.”

“It is,” you say, turning to him as he continues to gaze at the scene before you while you gaze at him. If he notices from his periphery, he doesn’t say anything. “It’s breathtaking. I could take a picture but that wouldn’t give this justice.”

“I can try,” he says, reaching out to ask for your phone. “I’m good at this.”

You indulge him and watch as he finds the right angle to beautifully capture the surroundings. He asks if you want him to take another photo with you in it this time, and though you’re a little shy, you let him. 

You warm at how natural your smile looks, realizing that you were focusing on his smile while he was taking the picture. The view looks surreal but you’re in there, and it’s a reminder of where you are and who you’re with. Jungkook remarks that it’s a nice shot before turning back to the water, and while you wish you were braver and had asked to take one with him so you could hold onto this memory, you know you’ll look at this photo of you and also remember what you’re feeling. There’s so much calm and clarity, and you know it’s not just because of the mountains. 

The tension and fear that filled you up last night have slowly turned into a sense of relief. The distance that once bothered you about Jungkook now gives you comfort. No matter how far or unattainable he may be, you still feel his presence - his warmth is in the peacefulness of a park at night, or in the calmness of the lake, or in the safety of your neighborhood library. You never imagined that one Jeon Jungkook would ever make you feel this way, and if he’s someone who makes you be brave to feel something new, maybe you owe it to him and to yourself to be brave to pursue that, too.

Your thoughts are disrupted when Yohan yells that breakfast is ready. You all gather in the common dining room for some dumpling soup before a short planning session to give you time to digest. At 9:30, the first activity begins, with all six of you divided into two teams to finish an obstacle course.

It gets competitive when you’re teamed up with the younger ones, as Do-hyun and Yohan attempt to trash talk the others. They give it their all, especially when they see Jungkook dominating the kayaking part of the course, but the three of you manage in the end. A part of you feels that the other team just wanted to make the younger ones win only to use it against them later on, but the fun and excitement are what matter.

You enjoy some meat and stew for lunch and have another planning session before doing the afternoon games, which has Jungkook on the losing team again. He comes up with a last minute individual game that gives Manager Lee the chance to win this time, and the afternoon ends with all of you, excluding him, winning prizes you can enjoy after this.

The free time before dinner has you reading your book by the lake and then talking with Chin-sun in the hammock while the rest of the team enjoy the sunset and some beer. You’re thankful that this time, Mr. Ri was tasked to handle all the activities instead of you, and so you’re able to focus on spending time with your colleagues. 

You grill meat again for dinner, roast marshmallows over the campfire, and passionately sing off-key in the karaoke. But unlike last night, people decide to go to bed early, definitely tired from today’s physical activities. 

You’re exhausted as well but somehow, the pull of the cold evening air is too strong, so you decide to walk to the main house and grab a bottle of beer. When you walk out to the deck, you’re surprised to find Jungkook seated on a lounge chair outside of his villa, glass in hand as he looks up at the sky. 

Jungkook savors the crisp breeze, knowing that once he gets back to Seoul, all he’ll have is the musty air and the buzzing sounds of the city. He wants to remember this weekend and the peace he felt. Maybe he should’ve taken a photo of the view this morning like he did for you; he at least has the one of you in it that he took ingrained in his mind. You looked so calm and happy; he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face then. 

He’s trying to keep as much of today in his memory as he can, knowing how hectic it’s going to be when you all get back. Other than the amount of fun he didn’t expect to have with the team, he enjoyed seeing a different side of you. 

You were competitive but encouraging, probably not the most athletic but definitely capable. He could pick out your squeals and laughter and he thought they were sweet and hypnotic, and he appreciated how thoughtful you were during dinner, making sure everyone had enough to eat, especially him. You would catch his attention to ask if his meat is okay or if he’s feeling comfortable; he hated that it all ended so soon. Though he shouldn’t, he wanted more time with you. It’s different being out here than it is in the office or even in his home. Here, he’s unguarded and a lot more free, and he’s able to make more sense of how you affect him; in a way, he’s able to truly feel all that you make him feel.

There’s so much of you in his mind but you’re not around, so he stands up to head to bed already, hoping he’d at least see you in his dreams. But when he turns towards the door, he sees a silhouette in the main house’s deck. And as if the universe is giving him some sign, he finds you there, standing by the post with a beer in hand. You lift the bottle in cheers and he lifts his drink in return, sipping every last drop he could.

He sees you grab another bottle from the outdoor fridge then place it on the coffee table, an invitation to join you that he’s glad you make. He would’ve been too hesitant to make the move, unsure of your willingness to be in his presence. 

“Can’t sleep?” You ask as he nears the couch. 

He sits next to you, the short distance a little too tempting to close. 

“Sort of,” he hums. “And you?”

“Not really. I don’t get much of the outdoors back in my tiny apartment,” you chuckle.

“Fair enough. The weather’s been nice, fortunately. Not like the last time we were out of town, yeah?”

“Yeah, fortunately,” you shyly look at him, not saying more, perhaps unsure if it’s something he’s ready to talk about.

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “I’ve accepted you having witnessed my extreme moment of weakness. You were patient and understanding even when I was angry and I… I don’t know if I’ve thanked you enough for that.”

“You have, and I understand it all. But Jungkook, what happened at that guest house is not weakness,” you insist. “That’s… dealing with a painful memory.”

“That wasn’t dealing, ___. I was suffering. That's… that’s what happens when someone doesn’t know how to move on from something.”

“Does it happen a lot?” You wonder. 

“Well, the nightmares tend to happen when the thunder is really loud,” he says. “Otherwise I just get really anxious, like when it rains, my brain just expects things to get bad.”

“What do you do when it does?”

“I don’t know how I manage, actually,” he answers. “I usually forget and just remember that I wake up dry in my bed. I mean, I’d be sweating but not soaked. I guess that night, I was just too nervous because the rain was so strong, we were on the road. And I was somewhere completely unfamiliar with you. I… I think that made it worse.”

Your silence prompts him to clarify. “I mean, I didn’t want you to see me that way, that’s why it was worse,” he states. “It’s not a side of me I’m proud of. Which is silly thinking about it now because you’ve seen a lot of sides of me that I’m not proud of. All of them, actually.”

“So you’re not proud of the side of you that protected me? That made sure I was safe? That rushed to find me when I was stuck in the rain?” You ask. 

“It’s what any decent human being would do,” he dismisses. “Those just probably stand out because I wasn’t exactly one in the beginning.”

“Well, you had Mr. Ri drive me. You’d make me go home early sometimes, too.”

“___, again, that’s what a decent boss should be doing. It’s the bare minimum. You deserve more kindness than you’re receiving. I… I should have been that to you from the start.”

“We’ve moved past that, remember? It’s all okay. I managed, I stayed. And I’m glad I did. I got to learn so much from you,” you assure him. “And you deserve more kindness than you’re receiving, too.”

Jungkook hums. He wouldn’t have thought that he’d be able to freely talk to you about all this - about how he was before and how he’s been recently. And like always, you’re gentle with him. He could only hope you’re as gentle as you are with yourself, something he doesn’t know how to do. 

“I… I hope you’ve found ways to cope with all that you went through,” he says, turning away from you in shame. “I… I’m still learning.”

“It’s a process, and it’s not an easy one. No one really tells you how to do it. You kind of just… find your way,” you share. “But just think that the thunder doesn’t last long. It’s going to pass. So maybe when it starts raining, you can do what I did. Just cover your ears to block out the sounds. All we can do sometimes is shield ourselves from it, you know? It would scare us a little less.”

“I don’t even remember how you did it,” he admits. “I felt so out of it that night.”

“But did it help?” You ask. 

He nods in response. “I wasn’t alone. I think that was the first time in a long time.”

“When you are, just do what I do,” you say, turning towards him and closing the distance to cover his ears with your hands. “Edge of the palms or your fingers then press tightly. The hollowness will drown out the sounds until they stop.” 

Jungkook’s eyes swim in yours. He can’t tell you that he doubts it’d work without you, since your comforting look and your calm voice are what made him pull through. But still, he knows that imagining you’re there would definitely help.

“Edge of the palms or your fingers then press tightly,” he repeats, almost like a whisper. “Got it.”

You smile and it’s like a spell for him, as he mindlessly puts his hands over yours and slowly brings them down. He’s so lost in you that he only realizes he’s still holding your hands when you look down, so he immediately pulls away.

“Who taught you how to do that?” He asks, masking his embarrassment.

“My mom,” you answer, shifting back on your seat and looking out at the horizon. “My dad copped out before he knew I existed and she was too heartbroken to ask for him back. It took a while but she eventually found another man. I was pretty young then. He was okay, but then he lost his job and things went downhill from there.”

Jungkook sees the way your face falls and he already knows his heart is going to break for you.

“He would drink a lot and they’d fight all the time. He’d yell and yell, and then yell some more,” you narrate. “Mom would make me hide in the closet or under the bed just so I’d hear less of it. Thunder used to scare me, too; it sounded like his banging on the wall when he’d scream at her but eventually, I realized the roar drowns him out so I welcomed it. But I would just cover my ears and think of happy thoughts like she said. Sometimes she’d come to me and do it like I did with you. I always liked that better.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, wanting to take your hand back and comfort you in any way. “You shouldn’t have experienced that.”

“Life isn’t fair sometimes,” you sigh, having accepted the hand you were dealt. “My mom and I got out and she found someone who loves and respects her. And we just found ways to deal with the pain, you know? We could only bury it for so long. And so covering my ears just became a habit as I grew up. It was a way to battle all that.”

“I’ve seen you do that a few times.”

“It’s like a general coping mechanism of some sort,” you explain. “Sometimes the loud sounds come from inside, too. Thoughts of not being good enough, of being selfish, of not deserving of happiness… I mean, they come from others but they stay in my head. I have to cover my ears to stop them from overwhelming me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, looking away in shame when you turn to him questioningly. “You did that several times during my first weeks. I know I… I said things that hurt you.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It was hard for everyone and like I said, I forgive you. But I've been told worse things,” you shake your head. “You’ve heard some of them.”

“You didn’t deserve those either.”

“I know. That’s why I walked away. It’s easy to do that when you don’t give much of yourself to them. And I do it all the time,” you say. “I never really stay.”

“Would you stay if you found the right person?”

You remember a conversation with him months ago, about people being temporary and how they’d only stay if they had a reason to. It’s safe to say that finding the right person would be your reason, but that also makes it harder. 

“I probably would,” you respond. “And I think that scares me, too.”

“Why?” He asks.

“What if I would stay for them? But they won’t stay for me?”

Jungkook leaves your question unanswered, knowing there’s nothing he can say that would sufficiently validate your fear nor comfort you about it. His own past relationship doesn’t give him any right - Chaerin left him but he gave her all the reasons to; she walked away and he did the same. Sometimes he wonders if she’d lost him before he lost her. He also doesn’t know if he loved her so much that he let her go, or if he didn’t love her enough to make her stay. Maybe it was neither. Or maybe he was just too scared - that she’d reject him, or that he wouldn’t be able to love her better if he she came back, he doesn’t know. He was never brave enough to find out.

He lets the silence linger, prompting you to remark that the conversation is too sad for a night as pretty as tonight.

“We should probably head to bed, though,” he suggests. “We still have stuff in the morning then a long ride home. I don’t have to remind you how hectic this next week is gonna be.”

“You just did,” you frown, earning you a laugh. “But I agree. Thank you for keeping me company tonight.”

Your shy smile makes his breath hitch. He wants this to go on for longer but he knows he might just let his guard down even more, maybe share about his other pains and frustrations and worries about life. Maybe he’ll end up moving closer to you, close enough that he’d smell your classic rose scent that makes his mind feel hazy. Maybe he’ll want more, and he reminds himself of all the boundaries he shouldn’t cross, and that crossing them may push you away. 

So he says goodnight and you both walk towards your respective villas, looking back one more time before heading inside. 

You’re all he thinks about for the rest of the night. His gaze follows you all through the next morning, too. He misses your presence when he leaves for Seoul in his own car, and he’s back to being a giddy mess when you message him, saying you hope he got home safely. 

It almost feels like the weekend was a dream and when Monday comes, he has to remind himself that he’s back to reality and that includes how he should be when it comes to you. Those days remain in his memory, but when you enter his apartment that morning with the softest smile, and when you meet his eyes as you fix his necktie, he knows it wasn’t a dream. And that somehow, just like him, you wish it didn’t have to end.

It’s been over a week since the team building and you haven’t really moved on from all that happened during those three days. There was the joy of being with your colleagues and the companionship you felt thankful to have. There was also the tranquility of the lake and the refreshing environment that rejuvenated you, making you wish you were back there, especially as you sort through the printed photos from your disposable camera and see the pretty views that you already miss. 

There’s that photo you took of Jungkook by the stream that you’ve been staring at, another reason why you want to go back to that time. His eyes are warm and his smile is soft and subtle, unforced and just as captivating. It’s quite calming, and it’s the image that you hold onto later that Thursday evening when you’re piled under loads of paperwork. It’s past 6PM but you can’t afford to leave yet, and the only good thing about it is that he’s still around, and you get to sneak in some glances through the window.

You’ve become that person, smitten by her attractive boss and definitely stupid enough to be overwhelmed by her emotions. You haven’t stopped thinking about him. Everyday that you enter his space, the desire to know him more gets stronger; with every common place you step into, you keep wishing he’d ask you to stay close, that he’d invite you to somewhere reserved for those he lets in. Every time your fingers brush, you’re reminded of the way his hands felt on top of yours and how you wanted him to keep them there, and every look you share makes you hope that you’re not the only one in this mess of emotions. And that if you’ll give in, so would he.

You’re not quite sure what he feels, but if his shy smiles and the way he intensely looks at you before looking away mean anything, then you could at least say that there’s definitely something there. You just don’t know if he would acknowledge it or if like you, it’s gotten too strong that you’re unable to think clearly or act rationally.

Finally done with the last item on your task list for today, you start to pack up. It’s at the same time that Jungkook exits from his room to return a portfolio he took earlier and place it on your desk. You’re about to pick it up but he says you should just leave it there and fix it tomorrow.

But you disregard him. You retrieve the stool and attempt to return the portfolio on the top shelf. It’s a little heavy but you manage; you even start fixing the others that moved because Jungkook’s been getting them these past days. You’re about to step down when you hear his heavy sigh.

“I told you to do that tomorrow,” he groans, walking towards you. 

With your back turned, you reply, “I like starting my days with a tidy desk, okay?”

“It’s just one portfolio,” he points out.

“It still takes up so much space. It makes my table look messy.”

“You still could’ve waited. Or you could’ve asked me to help,” he insists, continuing to reprimand you as you try to step down the stool. 

He’s a little close, blocking your view of the floor, and that’s why you miss a step and trip again, your squeal echoing throughout the empty floor. You think your heart racing is about to join in on the sounds, too, as it quickens when you realize that Jungkook has caught you by your waist, his tight grip on you sending shivers down your spine. 

He’s gotten even closer, as you look up and find his scrunched eyebrows and worried eyes staring back at you. The tension starts to rise but you manage to tell him that you’re fine after he asks if you’re hurt. 

“I’m sure,” you tell him. “You caught my fall. Again.”

You giggle and that’s what makes him let out a laugh as well. Your left hand holds onto the shelf but his hands remain on you. He’s still a breath away but you suddenly don’t mind, as your right hand mindlessly makes its way to rest on his arm. At this moment, this feels right. You’re all alone in your little bubble with him where you’re all he sees and he’s all you can breathe in. 

His bergamot scent wafts through your nose. You can count his eyelashes and see the scar on his cheek that you never noticed. He’s even more breathtaking up close, and as if all reason evaporates from your body, you don’t pull away. You want him just like this.

On second thought, you want him even closer.

“You’re a clumsy woman, aren’t you?” He says, his voice low and deep. “This isn’t the first time that I’m breaking your fall.”

“Well, if you would just be quiet while I’m attempting to go down, then that wouldn’t be a problem,” you breathily giggle, inching the tiniest bit forward. 

“Well, if you just listened to me the first time, then you wouldn't have to climb up there,” he responds, earning him a playful roll of your eyes. “You’re a stubborn one, too.”

“So I’ve heard,” you match his teasing. “Can't help it sometimes.”

“So you acknowledge it?” He raises an eyebrow in intrigue. 

“Yeah, I guess,” you say much more nervously now, meeting his eyes. It’s like you’re hypnotized again, caught in some spell where being in his presence makes you honest and uninhibited. “I mean, I feel things I shouldn’t feel and want people I shouldn’t want,” you add. “Doesn’t that make me stubborn?”

“What’s stopping you from feeling them? From having them?” He asks, his voice remaining low and his eyes, even more piercing and desperate now as they stare back at you.

His thumbs lightly caress your waist and his touch electrifies you through the thin material of your blouse. There’s so much to say and it’s way more complicated, just as your feelings for him are. You can’t help but eye his lips, soft and pink, and the desire to know what they taste like intensifies, prompting you to nibble your own.  

“What’s stopping me?” You pant now, your gaze flitting from his eyes back to his lips, with him doing the same. “The ways of the world. And some… boundary that pulls me back, a line that I don’t know he’s ready to cross for me.”

The words actualize your fears the moment you say them. You know all the reasons why wanting him is wrong. But there’s a small part of you that wants to give in, and it’s terrified that he wouldn’t, that he’d dismiss what you feel and pull away. The way he’s been with you and the way he’s holding you right now spark that sliver of hope you have that he feels the same way, but it’s also the same moment that he lets you go, perhaps realizing that he’s not willing to take the risk the way you are. 

He releases you from his hold and steps back, creating distance, and you suddenly feel bare - exposed and unguarded without his touch. He looks at you in panic, in apology, in fear, as if he’d had some sense knocked into him, as if he awakened from some spell that pushed him close to you, only to realize that that’s a place he can’t go. 

“I—”

“I should go,” you interject, turning away so as not to see any more of the rejection in his eyes. “Have a good evening, Mr. Jeon.”

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Series:

The Harkonnen's Sweet Thing: Part 1, Part 2 - (Atreides!Reader) You watched your brother kill the man you love--a man you were once gifted to by the Baron--and now that he is gone, you think Paul will use you as a political pawn in his war. And you're right. But you're shocked to discover who is demanding to have you.

What Comes at Night: You have nightmares of Feyd's death and he's there to comfort you. *can be read alone* Mark of Luck: You give Feyd your mark of luck before he enters the arena. *can be read alone* Overprotective: Your son is due to be born any day now and Feyd is very protective. He kills anyone who so much as lays a finger on you, but it’s gotten out of control. *can be read alone* The Harkonnen's Loves: Feyd gives his four-year old son his first blade. (Mostly sweet family stuff)

His: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Forever His: Post-marriage stuff His and Yours: When you're told your pregnancy could cost you your life, Feyd demands you do whatever necessary to keep yourself alive. Protecting His: One of Feyd's harpies saves you. His Boy: Feyd is worried his son is too much like him. Defending His Lady: Both Feyd and your son take issue with the people of Giedi Prime not accepting you as their Lady More of His: You want another child, but after what happened with your first birth, Feyd is less than thrilled at the idea. Prequel Fics: Becoming His: Feyd chooses you as his concubine. Don't Touch What's His: Feyd's harpies attack you while you're both asleep in his bed and he gets real mad. Only His: A diplomat from Caladan wants to borrow Feyd's concubine. He doesn't like that very much.

Fremen Girl: The potential wife of any future Baron must prove herself by surviving in the arena before the current Baron will permit the marriage. In this case, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen wants a wife, and he might have just found a woman capable of meeting that challenge.

Part 2 Part 3

One-shots:

Feyd x reader on her period: Feyd doesn’t like anyone keeping him from his wife’s side, especially when she’s in pain.

Unexpected: No one expects Feyd's bride to like him.

Anniversary: Giedi Prime doesn't celebrate anniversaries, but you show Feyd a tradition from your planet.

Respect: Your betrothed is a son from one of the Great Houses, an awful man who has enjoyed threatening and scaring you since you were children. Feyd makes it known he doesn't appreciate such disrespectful treatment of the woman he loves.

Do You Love?: Feyd is soft for his wife and only wants to know if she loves him. His wife just wants him to come home.

He Will Hope: Feyd is obsessed with his bride from the moment he sees her, but on their wedding night he finds out she might not feel the same. (Angst, but hopeful ending) *also serves as a very early prequel to Do You Love?*

Staining: You think your husband is heartless, but maybe you're wrong.

All He Knew: Feyd deals with the emotional aftermath of protecting you from his uncle.

Healer: Feyd's a bit attached to his new healer.

A Trade: When Feyd asked for your hand, your father refused and took you away from him. Now he’ll do anything to get you back, and he’s not above kidnapping your sister to offer a trade.

An Heir: You and Feyd intend to be together forever--marry, have children, lead Giedi Prime side by side--but your plans are disrupted when the Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit reveals Lady Fenring is pregnant and, to Feyd's utter shock, the baby is his.

Bonded: You were a servant and companion to Paul Ateides, but the moment you met Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, you knew the universe had Bonded you to another.

What He Likes: When five daughters of Great Houses arrive on Giedi Prime, Feyd is meant to select one as a wife. But out of all of the foreigners on his territory, it is the Princess of Kaitain’s handmaid that catches his eye.

[senascoop]

꒰ DREAMSCAPE MASTERLIST >

WELCOME to the DREAMSCAPE MINI ENHYPEN series— a collection of seven unique fanfics that blur the lines between fantasy, crime, comedy, and romance. Each story dives deep into intricate plots, so if you were hoping for simple FLUFF or SMUT, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you're here for thrilling twists, complex characters, and captivating worlds, you've come to the right place! BUCKLE UP; it's going to be a wild ride!

WORD COUNT MIGHT RANGE FROM 10K—30K,

MINORS, please steer clear of the SMUT fanfics. However, don't worry—you’re more than welcome to dive into the fluff stories! They’re just as captivating and enjoyable, offering all the heartwarming moments without the mature content. Enjoy responsibly!

IF YOU’RE INTERESTED IN ANY OF THESE FICS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHICH ONE YOU'D LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN!

JUST REPLY WITH THE PREFERENCE, AND I’LL MAKE SURE TO KEEP YOU UPDATED. THANKS!

﹙ 🕊️ ﹚ ぃ ──── SHE HAS LOST EVERY CASE, HOW COULD SHE WIN MINE?

EXCUSE ME !

READ HERE

SUSPECT ! HEESEUNG × LAWYER ! AFAB READER

MATURE THEMES , LAW BASED & SMUT !

Heeseung is unexpectedly thrust into the center of a murder investigation, accused of killing an old school friend. The truth, however, runs deeper than it appears, leaving everyone questioning whether he's truly the suspect. Enter you, his defense lawyer, notorious for losing every case you take on. Against all odds, you're handed Heeseung's case, and let’s just say…it’s a recipe for disaster for both of you. As you dig deeper, unraveling layers of deception, you’ll have to confront your own doubts and insecurities. Will you be able to prove Heeseung's innocence, or will this case be another tally in your string of failures?

﹙ 🧊 ﹚ ぃ ──── DID I REALLY DESERVE TO BE CAUGHT UP WITH SUCH A TROUBLE?

OOPS, WRONG ERA !

READ HERE

TIME TRAVELLER ! JAY × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

20TH CENTURY AU , SLIGHTLY FUTURISTIC & FLUFF !

Jay was the epitome of a perfect student—charming, intelligent, and utterly dedicated. The only catch? He was a time traveler from the future, marooned in the 20th century and trying to blend in as a normal teenager. When you discovered his secret, you seized the opportunity. You blackmailed him into becoming your personal homework and assignment writer, using his advanced knowledge to help you ace your classes. Jay’s attempts to navigate high school life while fulfilling his unexpected new role provided endless amusement and challenges for both of you.

﹙ ☁️ ﹚ ぃ ──── WHY WOULD YOU SHOW UP WHEN I MOVED ON?

WINDS CHANGE !

READ HERE

EX ! JAKE × EX ! AFAB READER

ANGST & SMUT !

It's been five years since you and Jake called it quits, each going your separate ways. Life seemed fine—until the dreaded wedding invitation arrives from an old friend. Reluctantly, you decide to attend, only to find Jake, your ex, waiting there like a storm on the horizon, ready to turn your calm into chaos. With unresolved feelings and past memories looming, the wedding becomes a battlefield of witty exchanges, accidental encounters, and a slow unraveling of what truly ended between you two. Are the winds of change blowing in favor of a second chance, or will they only serve to remind you why you broke up in the first place?

﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!

GET WELL SOON シ︎

READ HERE

RACER ! SUNGHOON × ORPHAN ! AFAB READER

MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT , OVERALL FLUFF & CRACK !

You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.

﹙ 🦄 ﹚ ぃ ──── CAN'T YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF BY YOURSELF?

LIKE PINK !

READ HERE

GUARDIAN ANGEL ! SUNOO × CLUMSY ! AFAB READER

FANTASY & PURE FLUFF !

You’ve always believed you were cursed with the "unlucky girl syndrome." From tripping on flat surfaces to losing your keys every other day, it seemed like misfortune followed you everywhere. But was it really a curse, or just bad luck? You never quite figured it out. When a guardian angel was sent from above, you hoped your luck would finally turn around. Instead, you got Sunoo—a messy, clumsy, and utterly unhelpful angel who seemed more like a walking disaster than a divine helper. All you could think of was asking God for a refund, because with Sunoo around, your life was about to get a lot more chaotic… and maybe a little brighter, too.

﹙ 🔥 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW A TRICK TOO!

SIZZLES OF HIM ᯾

READ HERE

CLASSMATE ! JUNGWON × AFAB ! READER

FANTASY ELEMENTS , MAGICAL AU & SMUT !

There was always something about your quiet, mysterious classmate Jungwon that piqued your curiosity. You couldn't quite put your finger on it—until the day you accidentally peeked into his room and saw him hovering mid-air, surrounded by sparks of electricity. It all made sense then; he wasn't just your average student. Little did he know, you were hiding a secret of your own—one that mirrored his in more ways than one. Two forces of nature, each with powers as different as night and day, destined to collide. As they say, opposites attract, but in your case, they might just ignite.

﹙ 🍫 ﹚ ぃ ──── THIS MIGHT SOUND CRAZY BUT TRUST ME IT'S TRUE!

TIED UP IN YOU !

READ HERE

PHONE GUY ! NIKI × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

CRACK & PURE FLUFF !

Niki was a good guy, no doubt about it. The only problem? He was your phone. How, exactly, did your phone transform into this strikingly handsome guy? It was baffling, frustrating, and, honestly, a bit overwhelming. Here you were, trying to navigate a world where your device had somehow become a charming, infuriatingly attractive human being. And to make matters worse, he was as stubborn and endearing as any person you'd ever met.

﹙ 🍒 ﹚ ぃ ──── THANK YOU FOR READING!

SENA’S NOTE— I’m not sure when I'll finish these seven fics, but I hope it’s soon. I’m unsure if anyone will be interested, but this was a preview of what’s coming.

[potatomountain]

Case: It's Us - Masterlist

!!!!!!!! Please read first: Book 1~ Case: It's You !!!!!!!!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED IF SEEN INTERACTING WITH ANY OF THIS SERIES, LIKES INCLUDED!

Pairing: Poly 0t8 Ateez x fem reader AU: Mafia/detective Genre: action, romance, thriller? Ongoing Word Count: --- Summary: After 3 months since agreeing to join them fully, you had buried yourself into work to make up for how less you have been feeling since the traumatic incident. However, crime does not stop so you can properly heal, nor is it a burden you have to face alone. Eight is now nine, a lesson to be learned while also fighting for everything you believe in, and learning to believe in something new. General Warnings: 18+, member x member smut content and side ships, poly dynamics, lots of gay, kidnapping, killing minor characters, some members showing sadistic sides. Reader is recovering from a huge trauma so there will be light triggers, panic attacks, etc. General dark themes like stalking, killing, kidnapping, cnc, blood play, and a criminal world that condones human trafficking, r@pe, child slavery, and more. Smut warnings on the chapters that have them. About "Reader": For the sake of the story Reader is physically fit and professionally trained as a detective. There are some personality traits that are more based on the backstory of reader and so forth so I understand that it isn't entirely "reader insert". I try to avoid using y/n completely, thus the pet names. Reader is Fem for plot purposes however, reader's height, skin, weight, hair and eye color are left as vague as possible so you may picture her as yourself. Otherwise you can read it like an oc and picture your version of a femme fatale badass. Author's Note: I would like to note that the city this all takes place in is fictional, same with the country. Like Gotham or something similar. I know nothing about being a detective or undercover work aside from what i've seen in dramas. The world, characters, and actions are completely fictional and do not reflect on any of the idols used in this fic! edited in: All idols are aged up to be in their later twenties to early thirties for the time period to make sense (they didnt just become this influential after a few years but a decade). There will also be chapters that are backstory and will most likely be before MC arrived. Banner and dividers made by me! Beta readers include: @bunnliix , @adelusionforyourthoughts, and @yourfatherlucifer for all chapters. For any additional betas will be tagged in the chapters! Networks are first tags <3

Chapters

Act 1: The Vipers - One (march 1st) | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten

Act 2: The Goblins - TBD

Act 3: The Circle - TBD

Act 4: The Pirates - TBD

Act 5: The Wolves - TBD

Act 6: The Guardians - TBD

Taglist will always be the first reblogs!! Rules to apply for the taglist lie on Chapter 30 of book 1! Will cap at 100. Slots: 44/100

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 9 - Does The Feeling Haunt You

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Fixing the Supernatural women problem, one chapter at a time.

Chapter title from All the Stars by Kendrick Lamar & SZA

Word Count: 16.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Bobby sends you on a hunt, and Dean tracks someone down. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 8 - Chapter 10

Read on A03!

You’ve been trying.

You’ve been trying so fucking hard.

It’s been a long, lonely two years. You haven’t really been home in a way that counts. You haven’t been anywhere that isn’t now stained and cursed with the knowledge that you were there. That something worse than a monster or demon had walked their streets, sat in their coffee shops, and left a little bit of their city razed.

Because you are trying, but that doesn’t mean anything has gotten better.

It really only gotten worse. 

You’d left the hospital, and hadn’t looked back. Looking back would mean the White would win, and you’d turn around. You can’t turn around. It can’t matter how you feel like something inside of you has gone static—kept in silent place, caught and stuck in your body, shifting with the same colors no matter how time passes—or how you want to turn back. What you want doesn’t matter.

You don’t matter. No matter what Azazel claimed, you know deep, deep down that you cannot be allowed to matter. You can’t be the damnation or salvation or obstacle. You can barely be you.

You are the problem. It’s not a detriment, it’s fact. If you let yourself get a little too far out of control, if you sit in your own misery for just a few seconds too long, everything else hurts because of it.

You’re never not in pain anymore. There are no brief moments of reprieve or peace. Nothing has been silver in two years. It’s been hectic, blurring chaos in your body and blood, pushing and rioting and bursting under your skin until you snap, and something breaks.

You’ve become a shark. Drifting through town after town for a hunt, never static, always a little drenched in blood.

You haven’t seen a normal demon in a while. The glinting, rolling, black demons—who had always just watched from the sidelines—have purely vanished. You can stop a demon case or cure a possession just by crossing town lines. 

But the green demons don’t share that habit. They chase you. Most of them just do their job—flying at you with a knife and a sneer—and leave once you’ve either exorcised them or they’d scraped your skin, but some taunt you. They try to goad you into killing them, really properly killing them, and act disappointed when you only fight with your hands. 

Little bitch put herself on a leash. One of them had hissed, their face curled in a mocking grin. Righteous whore thinks she’s too good to just fucking kill one of her own.

You are not a demon. You’d bitten and shoved the Darkness down through sheer force of will, and—when the demon was only green smoke in the air—reminded yourself that you are not a demon.

You don’t know what you are. But it’s not a demon. 

There’s something in you that evil like the demons. Something in you that calls them. But you’d tested that theory. You’d drawn yourself into a devil’s trap, and dumped a bucket of holy water over your head. 

Not a demon.

Still wrong, but not a demon.

That the other thing you’ve been doing. Searching for a final and true answer to what you are, a reason why you’re like this. What you could possibly be to have the Darkness rooted so deep in your body, why you can’t stop those dreams and ideas from forming in your head, why your organs always bubble and blister from the contact of the demon’s knives, but you never die.

It’s always intolerable pain and fire under your skin, but it never kills you. It knocks you down and shreds you apart, and then you simply… put yourself back together. No stitches, no water, no healing yourself with the Darkness.

You’re just in pain, and then you’re moving.

You don’t stop moving.

You alternate days between hunting and sitting in a diner trying to find another answer. You sleep in the corners of motel room, on the floor with your knife clutched in your hands. 

And you’ve learned. Not what you are, but what you’re not. Every single thing you hunt seems to open another door, and every time it’s nothing. You’re no sort of pagan god, no odd hybrid-mutant, no normal monster or ancient lost beast. The closest you come is always witch, but still no normal witch. You’ve hunted dozens of witches and scoured their houses after they were finished, but nothing. No magical cure to fix what you are, no glowing arrow that read freaks of nature this way, no sign that they were at all like you.

There’s nothing like you. The longer you look, the surer you are that you’re alone. You’d only found one other mention of the women of the high. In a book that looked like it might turn to ash at one wrong touch, tucked away in the home of a lovely old woman who was harvesting her neighbor’s organs for spells.

It had mentioned the women of the high in that same, shifting way that Bobby’s book did, and elaborated that they were not quite witches. That witches were theorized to a diluted form of the women of the high, and that while witches are one with the world, women of the god are of the world. 

You don’t know what the fuck that means.

At this point, all you do know is that your skin is littered in bite marks from strangling the Darkness down, and that the iron rings on your fingers leave something scarred on the soft tissue under your skin. That it hurts—it’s destroying you and turning your body into something foreign to the White and your mind—and you’re so fucking tired, but you can’t use the Darkness. Not for anything. You cage it and pay whatever price you have to. You can fight without it. You’re good at fighting without it. And monsters still don’t attack you, so you’re doing fine.

The Darkness is eating and eroding at your body the longer you keep it down, but you’re getting through it. You’ll keep getting through it, until the green demons find a way to kill you.

Every waking hour you spent trying. To find answers, to keep your head down, to do your job, and to stay away from Dean.

Bobby doesn’t really mention his name over the phone anymore.

“They ain’t here,” he mutters, his voice choppy and muffled through the speaker. “You thinkin’ of havin’ another breakdown-“

“They’re not breakdowns.” You frown at the air, poking at your food with a plastic fork. “And I don’t exactly plan them, Bobby. They just sort of fucking happen.”

“I ain’t sayin’ you do, just,” Bobby sighs your name through the phone. “I know you won’t come ‘round if they’re here-“

“It’s not them-“

“Yeah, I know, it’s not them it’s you, this is all for the best, you’re wishin’ them well-“

“We didn’t break up.” You snap. “And this is for the best-“

“You think they see it that way?”

You try really, really hard not to dwell on what Sam and Dean might think of your disappearing act. If they ask Bobby about you. What Bobby tells them. If he says the script you’d fed him—you got sick again, you had to leave and get some treatment, but you’re safe—or admits something closer to the truth. The truth he knows.

Because you haven’t told Bobby the whole truth either. You’d told him Azazel mentioned you were something dangerous, and you needed to know what. That you didn’t want Sam and Dean worrying or wasting time on you, so you’re going to stay out of their way. 

He didn’t buy it. He didn’t push it, but the look on his face when you added and I’m still pissed at Dean, so I need some space was one carved from pure doubt.

It wasn’t your most convincing lie. 

It did the job.

And you don’t think about Dean. When you think about Dean you miss him, and White starts to tug and bend and pull you towards nothing at all. When you think about Dean the Darkness festers, and it all gets so much more painful because you’re sick and tired and alone, and Dean always made that better. 

You can’t afford the time that’s always wasted when you think of Dean. When you rot in the idea of him asking Bobby if you’re okay, of trying to convince Sam to just damn whatever disease you might have and find you. When you wonder if he misses you even half as much as you miss him—deep in your bones and somewhere a little to the left of your heart—or if he hates you. If he curses your name when he hears it and flips off your bedroom door when he passes it in Bobby’s house. If Sam isn’t allowed to say your name because it makes him angry—or makes him sad—or if whenever he visits Bobby’s, he pretends you never existed at all.

Those thoughts make you stumble. They slow you down, and you can’t ever stop moving. So it doesn’t matter how Sam and Dean see this. They don’t get a call on if you should just fall down or come home, because they don’t understand just how fucking wrong this whole thing is. You barely understand it.

“I- please, Bobby.” You scratch at your skin as you speak, forcing the Darkness back down from where it had started to hum and blink awake. “I really don’t want to talk about it. Please.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, then a sigh. “Fine. But I want you home soon. Been damn near seven months-“

“I can’t-“

“The hell you can’t.” He snaps. “You been running around the country without stoppin’ and everyone needs a break-“

“I don’t.” You mutter. Your skin is raised where your nails had been, and the sting is keeping you tethered. “I’m fine.”

Bobby says your name, his voice flat. “Last I saw you, you were cryin’ and screamin’ and tryin’ to rip your skin off. That ain’t fine.”

“I’m feeling better-“

“Try again.”

“I- I am.” You scowl at the air. “I’m just tired, Bobby, that-“

“Could be fixed if you’d actually sleep.”

You let out a long, controlled breath. “I can’t sleep. You know why.”

There’s a pause, and you can almost see the frown on Bobby’s face. “You know, I got demon traps. And a shotgun. You know you’d be safe here, it’s only reason you pop ‘round anymore.”

“Bobby, that’s not true-“

“It is. And I’m makin’ peace with that.” He sighs. “But you’d be safe.”

You would be safe. Home is always safe. When you get too sick, and the Darkness becomes so much that you know there’s not a thing in the world that could contain it, you go home. 

It’s an odd feeling to experience. It’s volcanic. Everything will be fine. Everything will be so fine, and then the Darkness will start to stir so deep in your body—coiling itself, ready to burst forward with enough force to break out—and you can’t be anywhere. 

You don’t count it as stopping. There’s too much pain and exhaustion for it to be stopping. It’s containment. Like you’re a fucking animal, locking yourself in Bobby’s basement with food and books as wasting time until it passes. In the barren concrete room, there’s nothing to infect, nothing to hunt. Just the Darkness vaulting out of you before realizing it’s only cold and harsh stone, and you gain enough control to pull yourself back together by the seams.

But you can’t feel it now.

And you can’t stop.

“Bobby-“

“Listen.” He cuts you off with a grunt of your name. “Sam and Dean are fuckin’ around out near Nashville. Those idjits call before they drop in on me, so if you’re worried about seein’ them, you won’t.”

You sigh, your grip tightening on the phone. “It’s not- I can’t, Bobby. I don’t have time-“

“Make the time. You don’t work a nine to five, kiddo, and there are plenty other hunters who are capable of dealin’ with the big bads. Come home.”

It would be the smart thing to say no. To apologize, hang up the phone, and keep going. You’re a danger. Not in danger.

You’re the thing that could make this end horribly. You could snap and the Darkness would explode on Bobby. You could lose it just a little too rough and quick, and destroy the house. Sam and Dean could forget to call, and it would be a green light for Azazel to make this all so much worse, because you were selfish and tired.

And you’re so tired. 

So your judgement is askew, and your will is loose, and your head is weak.

You want to go home. You’re not supposed to be permitted to want things right now—you’re supposed to keep yourself in line like a sergeant and whip yourself bloodied and broken until you’re not a problem anymore—but you want to go home so bad.

And there are other things you want more, that you’ll never be allowed to have. Smug, confident, charming things that you hear on the wind and see in the dead of night. 

At the very least you can allow yourself to briefly have this, that’s within reach and an idea to the Darkness and not a spark, a natural hum to the White and not a drug.

“Fine.” You run a hand through your hair, frowning around your dirty motel room. “But if they call you-“

“You’re turnin’ around and I ain’t speakin’ a word. I know the drill.” There’s a moment of silence, only the buzzing sound of the line in your ear, and then, “Thank you, kiddo.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble. “I’m in Des Moines anyway. Not too far a drive.”

“You’re in fuckin’ Des Moines?” You can hear Bobby’s indigence through the phone, and it makes you flinch slightly. “And you weren’t even plannin’ on stoppin’ by-“

“I’m stopping by now.” You grab your knife from the mattress, shoving it into your jacket as you jostle the sheets for any hidden papers or socks. “And I can still not come-“

“No, you smartass, just-“ Bobby sighs. “Your rooms always ready. I ain’t touched it since you last been here, so whenever your near, even if near is Iowa-“

“I know.” Your fingers curl in the comforter, and you force a lightness you can’t feel into your voice. “I’ll be there before dinner.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he grunts, and that’s fair. “We’re havin’ pizza. I ain’t warming it up for you, so hit the road soon.”

You nod at the air, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll make the highway patrol wish they’d never been born.”

“Don’t get fuckin’ arrested-“

You hang up the phone.

Bobby can yell at you when you get home.

It’s only ten minutes to pack everything in your room. You’ve grown accustomed to living like this, keeping everything already half stashed to flee, making sure nothing rolls away or gets lost in cushions so that—in the very high chance that you need to—you can just go.

Get in the car and leave, pushing your latest stolen Jaguar to its limits as you hit the highway, keeping one eye on the sharper shadows along the road.

Just in case. 

You’re home in four hours. Pulling into Bobby’s yard with a warning honk of the horn, grabbing your bag from the trunk, and pushing through the door.

“I’m here!” You shout, dropping your bag near the stairs—you can bring it to your room later, and it’s not like Bobby ever hosts dinner parties—and scanning over the space.

That was a mistake.

Dean is stained everywhere. Some places are a little faded—places he clearly hasn’t been in a few days, that he’d brushed past or not paid much attention to—but others are woven and branded with Dean. With that golden thing that only you can see, that waxes in your vision like a spirit and always ignites the White to scream Dean.

Dean’s been here.

He’s been on the sofa, and there are indents and scratches of him on the coffee table, where he’d likely kicked up his feet. There are a few books you recognize to be about demons that have him tattered on the corners of the pages, and some of Bobby’s older DVDs have him sunken into the plastic covering. 

They must have been here more, since you’ve last been home. Because you’ve seen Dean marked in Bobby’s house before—on the front doorknob, or imprinted on the kitchen counter—but he’s never invaded it like this before. It’s almost an infestation over your senses, overwhelmed with the same gravity of Dean.

You almost don’t hear Bobby calling your name. 

“We’re in here!” His voice is echoing from the kitchen, and you have to rip your attention from the couch. “And you better not be gettin’ mud over the floors, I just cleaned ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “I am not getting mud on the-“

You freeze in the doorway, your body tensing and brace on instinct. 

Nail dug into your palms, chin high, the world already starting to blur in defense. 

Because Bobby’s not alone.

“Welcome home, kiddo. This,” he nods to the woman across the table. “Is Jo Harvelle.”

Jo looks nice. A little like a paper doll—smooth skin, long and blonde hair, doe eyes—but not in a pathetic way. She’s scanning over you the same way you’re scanning over her, and her hands are braced on the table like she’s ready to leap at you and run. You’re pretty sure there’s a gun in her pants, and she’s not holding that fork like it’s just a fork.

And Bobby wouldn’t just let anyone in the house, let anyone meet you.

But she still looks human. Breakable, capable of being wounded by the Darkness if you lose control.

“Bobby.” You keep your voice level, your gaze never leaving Jo’s. “Explain.”

“Jo’s a hunter-“

“Guessed that.” You snap, shooting him a glare. “Why is she here.”

“I’m gettin’ to that.” Bobby shrugs, and you don’t love how he’s not as scared of you as he should be. “Let’s finish introductions first.”

Jo shakes her head, her expression slightly weary as she takes you fully in. “Bobby, I know ya’ said you’d help, but I can come back-“

“Don’t be a dumbass.” He grunts. “Sit down, girl. She’s gonna get over it, she’s just like a cat. Don’t take too well to new people.”

You scowl. “I am not a fucking cat-“

Bobby ignores you. “Jo, this is that trainer I talkin’ about.” He says your name, and Jo’s eyes widen.

“Bobby,” you frown, ignoring Jo’s stare. “What do you mean, trainer-“

Jo interrupts you with your own name, and you’re a little worried her eyes are going to fall out. “Wow. It’s- I thought they made you up.”

“Made-“ You blink at her. “What?”

“You know the Winchesters?”

Something heavy and tight wraps around your neck, and the White bucks against your ribs. “I’m aware of them, yeah.”

Bobby snorts. You’re going to kill him.

“They,” Jo clears her throat, looking over your face like it’s a lovely mystery. “I’ve heard of you. From them. And it sorts sounded like a girlfriend from camp thing-“

There’s a look of glee on Bobby’s face that going to get him stabbed.

“Just because you sounded too cool for those losers to know. Sam’s told me about you, and Dean-“

“Stop.” You raise your hand, trying to not visibly react to his name, and how it’s making the White howl like a sick animal. “Bobby.”

He just grunts, and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“What the fuck is happening.”

He sighs. “Jo’s been lookin’ for something hunting experience. Need someone I trust to show her the ropes-“

“Show her the-“ You blink at him incredulously. “Why can’t you do it?” 

“I’m busy.”

“With what?”

“Stuff, kiddo. I got a life.”

You give him a flat look. “I don’t believe you.”

“Course you don’t.” He mutters, running a hand over his face. “Look, I ain’t able do this. And I’d have thing one and thing two do it, but they’re all on Ellen’s no huntin’ shit-“

“Who’s-“

“Ellen’s my mom.” Jo interrupts you with low, but not soft words. “She doesn’t want me huntin’. And I had one case go bad last year, so now Sam and Dean won’t do it, and I asked Bobby-“

“And he said yes.” You mutter, shooting Bobby another glower. “Why can’t Rufus do it?”

“He’s out in Maine. And you’re a better hunter than Rufus anyway.” Bobby shrugs, and you snort.

“That’s not going to get me, Bobby, you taught me not to give in to ass-kissing-“

“It would be cool to hunt with another girl.” Jo says, watching you carefully. ‘But if you really don’t want to-“

“It’s not that.” You run your thumb over your palm, squeezing your eyes tight. “I- I don’t hunt ghosts. Or most of the other shit you’ve probably seen.”

When you open your eyes, Jo’s nodding.

“I know. Sam told me you did specialties-“

“It’s more than that. It’s- It’s complicated.”

You fucking hate that word. You hate saying it, hate how it’s bitter and heavy on your tongue, hate how it makes Jo slump slightly, hate how it makes a memory of Dean’s voice and glower and laugh ghost over your head. 

“I know what you’ve got goin’ on, kiddo.” Bobby mutters from his chair. “But you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you couldn’t handle it.”

You narrow your eyes at Bobby, the sneaky old fuck, and it clicks into place that this was a trap. Jo seems sweet in a real, genuine but still tough kind of way—like an old, brittle candy—and you can’t be around anyone but saying no feels like you’d be spitting on a puppy. A blonde puppy that’s still hanging her head, who you can very easily imagine trying to push against Sam and Dean, then subsequently failing massively. They’re big, meat-headed idiots, and she doesn’t have the life of experience to make her bite just as harsh as her bark.

You don’t want to do this. It’s dangerous, and annoying, and just on principle you should drag Bobby into another room and ask if he’s insane. If he’s forgotten that demons hunt you like you’re their prize game, if it’s somehow slipped his mind in old age that you’re unstable and dangerous, and if he’s looking for a safe environment for Jo to hunt in, he might as well have strapped her to a nuclear bomb set to go off without warning.

There are so many reasons not to do this. 

But you’ve been really lonely. And Jo seems tolerable. 

So you sigh, and nod.

“Fine. What am I doing.”

Bobby crosses his arms, and that’s his small, smug, I won grin. “You’re just hunting like you always do. But, wherever you’re goin’,” Bobby nods to Jo. “Take her.”

Jo gives you a nervous smile, and you sigh.

“Can I have some pizza first?”

“Guess I’ll allow it.” Bobby jerks his head to your usual chair, and you drop into it with a scowl. “Got your favorite.”

He did. Bobby got two boxes of your favorite pizza, likely as a silent sorry I tricked you, kiddo gesture. And dinner is long and awkward, but mostly because you and Bobby can’t talk about the thing, Jo doesn’t seems like she knows where she fits, and you’re too tired for small talk.

You’ll find it in the morning, when you leave for the case. For now you just glare at your pizza and eat in silences, tracing your finger around the rim of your glass as Bobby asks Jo about her mom. You’d tease him about how much he seems to like this Ellen lady if you weren’t so tired.

You want to sleep in your bed. Just for the night. You haven’t slept in your bed in two years, trading it for a cot in the basement.

Last time you were in that bed, Dean was there. He’d been at your side and all over your room, more than a voice echoing around your skull and a faint smell of grass and spice. A smell that’s still lingering deep in the jacket on your body because no matter how much you wash it there’s still something deeply golden ingrained into the material. And it’s soothing—a buoy in the storm, that you cling to like a baby blanket and acts as an artificial Dean, blending nothing but softening your harsher edges—and you want to walk through the whole house and find other things that are afflicted with Dean the same way you are-

Bobby grunts your name, and you realize Jo’s gone. “I know you’re angry-“

“I’m not angry.” You mutter, frowning at your glass. “I’m worried. This could go really wrong-“

“I know.” He lets out a heavy breath, and when you glance over, he’s giving you an odd look. “You know when I saw you the happiest?”

You blink at him, your surprise written all over your face, and Bobby takes it as a no.

“Those three years when you were huntin’ with a partner. When you had a friend that wasn’t a grumpy old asshole-“

“You’re not grumpy.” You cut him off with a small smile, and he chuckles.

“Can it, smartass, you know what I’m talkin’ about. I know you ain’t gonna take Sam and Dean as friend options anymore, so I’m offerin’ an alternative.” He nods up the stairs to where Jo had assumedly disappears. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders, even if can lead her wrong. And I do trust you with ‘er. Don’t think you’ll talk down, or take any bullshit. But ya need it, kiddo. Just as much as she does.”

You pick at your nails, unable to figure out how you can explain to Bobby that it wasn’t just hunting with a partner. It was Dean. You were happy because you had Dean, and Jo seems fine but she’s not what you need. Or even what you want.

But you can’t have what you want. 

So you sigh, nod, and shuffle off to bed. 

Your room is exactly as you left it, with the exception of having gather dust and being entirely empty of Dean.

You wait until you’re sure Bobby and Jo are asleep, and you sneak down to grab a blanket that has Dean stained all over it. 

And you’ll never tell anyone, but you fall asleep easily with the blanket wrapped around you. 

Jo’s up before you. Waiting at the table with an eager expression. 

“Do you have a case?” She asks, watching you shuffle around the kitchen. “Are we- Does Bobby gotta approve it-“

You snort, shaking your head. “No. Bobby’s not my boss.”

“Sorry, I just know my mom will assign cases to hunters-“

“I’m not your mom.” You drop at the table, glaring at the coffee in your mug. “I don’t usually hunt with other people.”

“But-“

You glare up at her—sensing a mention of Dean like a premonition, the hair on your neck standing up and the White scratching at your chest—and she shuts her mouth.

You’re being mean. You don’t want to be mean, you’re just in so much pain, and she’s awfully bubbly, and worse, she unfamiliar. You don’t know her, you don’t know what she knows about you, and you don’t know what to expect from her. 

Maybe Bobby had been right. Maybe you are a cat.

“I-“ You sigh, giving Jo a close-lipped smile. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

“It’s okay.” She returns your smile, sitting a little taller. “I get it.”

“Yeah.” You don’t think she does. It’s really not worth pointing out. “And I do.”

Jo frowns. “You-”

“Have a case. Ever been to Utah?”

“No?”

“That’s alright, it’s kind of shit. Lot of Mormons. And,” you turn your mug between your hands, and it’s burning your skin. You welcome it. “There’s very strange case of a lot of people’s wildest dreams suddenly coming true.”

“Like-“ Jo blinks at you. “Like what?”

“Like marriages and pregnancies out of nowhere.” You shrug. “Promotions, winning lottery numbers, getting your dream house with the owner putting it up for contest. No death yet, but-“

“It could happen.” Jo nods. “And whatever’s grantin’ is probably askin’ for payment.”

You nod. “A payment you wouldn’t want to come due. And the whole town seems to be having something, just once, so we need to at least stop it from moving.”

“The town-“

“Manti. About sixteen hours.”

Jo swallows, looking around the kitchen with wide eyes. “So do we- do we just go?”

“No.” You push to your feet, taking your coffee with you. “We get dressed, pack, leave a note, then go.”

Jo nods, and you’ll give her this. She’s efficient, and quick. She’s packed faster than you are—although you do waste about three minutes failing to talk yourself out of taking the Dean Blanket—and when you start to put on your shoes at the door, she’s already waiting for with her jacket and bag.

You go simple with the note.

Utah. Call you if I need help, message me if there’s a problem.

And you’re gone. Driving with Jo slightly bouncing at your side, putting on the radio to keep the Darkness smothered down just a little easier. You don’t really look at Jo, or attempt to start a conversation, or do anything but tap your fingers in time with the music. When you stop for gas you give a short order of get food if you want it, be back in five, and frown at your reflection in the mirror as you fill up the pump.

You’re a little worried you’re being a bitch. You’re really trying not to be, and you might have been kinder and more eager a few years ago, but you’re tired. You haven’t really spoken to anyone that’s not Bobby over the phone in two years. You can still make small talk, but you don’t remember how to have real conversations. How to talk about anything without your hand still inching towards your knife—stashed in your jacket—just in case. 

You also hadn’t been amazing at conversation before. Dean had been an exception because he was Dean, and it’s not that you’re unlikable, you’re just…

A lot.

And you’re not sure how much of it Jo would be set to handle.

But you still feel like you’re being a bitch.

“So, um,” You give talking an attempt about halfway through the drive, frowning at the road. “You have a mom.”

Everyone has a fucking mom. Even if they’re adopted or something, they still technically have a mom.

Jo doesn’t seem phased by it. “Yeah. Just her though, my dad died a while ago.” There’s a long pause, the radio suddenly not nearly loud enough, but before you can turn it up, Jo’s talking again. “What about you?”

“What about-“

“You have a mom? Or dad? Siblings?”

Your grip on the wheel tightens. “I have a Bobby.”

“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “I didn’t know you were Bobby’s daughter-“

“I’m informally adopted.” You mutter. “It’s complicated.”

Jo nods in your periphery, and you’re about ready to give up on conversation. You had to say complicated, and now you’re spiraling around how Jo had heard of you, but she hadn’t known about your relationship with Bobby, so what had Sam and Dean told her-

“You drive weird.”

You shoot Jo a surprised frown, and she looks incredibly passive for what she just said. “What?”

“I just never seen someone drive like that.” She shrugs, gesturing to your body, and you glance down at yourself with a frown.

You drive normally. Casually and easily. But you’ve spent half your life on the road, so of course you’d drive easily. With an elbow propped on the window, your fingers light on the bottom of the wheel, and a half-glazed attention on the road. You trust your instinct to catch anything before you crash, because this is something bland and easy, so you can trust yourself. You’ve never crashed. 

And you’ve never really thought about how you drive.

“You don’t got road rage either,” Jo adds, and you give her another frown. “A lot of assholes have cut us off, one guy honked at us, and you just didn’t care.”

“I have other things to be angry at.” You mutter. “And we’re in Wyoming.”

Jo blinks at you. “Is that… bad?”

“No. But if we get run off the road the nearest hospital is two hours away.”

“Oh.” She nods slowly. “You just, have hospitals memorized?”

“Yep.” 

Jo’s frowning at you, and something a little sore scratches at your skin. You’re being a bitch again.

You open your mouth to elaborate, try and come across a little sweeter—or at least not downright sour—but Jo’s talking before you get the chance.

“You kinda drive like Dean-“

“No, I don’t.” You snap, your words pushed for teeth. Seems like you’re going to lean into the bitch thing.

And it works. Jo shuts her mouth, giving you an odd look, and the rest of the ride is filled with a tense, frayed silence. 

You have to take one night—It’s a sixteen hour drive, and Jo doesn’t know where you’re going, so you have to rest—but you’re in Utah by morning the next day. And there are a few truly beautiful things about hunting in the Midwest, and the main one is that everything is cheap, and most things are empty. You can get a two-bed motel room without an issue, and buy some food for a reasonable fucking price. 

Jo doesn’t seem as thrilled about this as you are.

She’ll learn.

“When do, um,” Jo’s glancing around the motel room—bland colors, stiff mattresses, and chipped paint—and standing a little too tall. “How do we start?”

“Normally you’d make a plan.” You toss your bag on the bed closest to the door. “Write down what you already know, and what you need to figure out.”

Jo grabs a notepad from her bag, dropping at the table as she starts to write. “We know what happenin’, but we need to know why, so we should probably go to the library-“

“Wrong.” You shrug off your jacket, trading it for your stiff, tweed, professional one. “We’re starting with interviews.”

Jo frowns. “But you said-“

“I said normally. If you’re hunting alone or with someone else. But,” You sort through your bag, grabbing out two fake IDs and tossing one to Jo. “You’re hunting with me. And I already have a plan.”

Jo looks to the ID, then back to you with an expectant expression, and you sigh. 

“Research will be a good idea when we actually have a lead, but right now we only know the basics. We need to be able to rule things out before we start narrowing things down. This,” you tap your own ID, holding it up for her to see. “Is our cover.”

Jo scans over your ID, shaking her head slightly. “But that’s not a federal-“

“I know. Robinson and Miller are journalists. We’re doing a fluff piece on the whole luck thing. These are just normal IDs, because people might ask to make themselves feel better.” 

“Oh.” Jo mumbles, grabbing her own ID and putting it in her bag. “Okay. So we-“

“We’re getting the story in their words.” You say, tucking your knife back in your jacket. “Only push if you see an opening. Hopes are these people slip up themselves.”

Jo nods, moving back to her feet. “And we’re tryin’ to figure out where their luck came from?”

“Yep. Once we find out who’s giving them that luck,” You draw a finger over your mouth with a clicking sound, giving Jo a half-grin “And then we go home.”

Jo goes home. You keep wandering around the country, running from the demons that you’re still scanning for every second.

But Jo doesn’t need to worry about that. And it’s easier to just say go home.

Once you get started—bouncing from house to house, interviewing sudden millionaires and true love marriages—you do have to give Jo credit. She’s good at this part. The people seem to like her, she bounces off of you easily during the interviews, and is good at figuring out where openings for further questions. You catch her shooting you a few odd looks through the process, and you think it’s because you’d flipped on your journalist persona. Wide smiles and bright eyes, still standing tall, but with a relaxed demeanor you don’t really have in real life. 

You know it can be jarring, how quickly you can make that shift. How your voice becomes bright and sweet, and any dry exhaustion vanishes from your expression. Dean once told you he’s shocked you didn’t have a career in Hollywood, because you had the face and charm, Princess, just need to figure out how actually take some direction and you’d be golden.

You’d rolled your eyes and shoved him, snapping that you could take direction, just not stupid direction, and he needed to stop teasing you and focus on the dead guy who’s body you’re supposed to be examining.

He’d shrugged and called you Bossy, dodged your next shove with a laugh, and guided you aside with a hand on your back-

You bite down on your inner cheek, scowling at the air as Jo finishes up with the last interview. She’s doing fine with it, you think, but you can’t really focus because the White is thrashing and whining for Dean, and this is why you’re not supposed to think about him-

“What now?” Jo asks you as you walk back the car, and you blink at her.

“Wha-“

“That was the last interview. What’s next?”

You nod, forcing yourself into focus with your nails dug into your palm. “Now we go to the library, and look for things on…” Trailing off, you scan over your own notepad with a small frown, and Jo jumps in with soft words.

“Deals for luck?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, giving her a small, tight smile. “Thanks.”

She shrugs, and it takes a little while to find the library, but once you do the silence is easier than before. You trade notes as you pour over the books, and even if most of Jo’s ideas end up being blatantly wrong, at least she’s having ideas. She’s obviously trying, and trying hard, so when she gives a hideously incorrect theory, you do your best to be kind about shooting it down.

If it was Dean you would’ve giggled at him, and he would’ve known you didn’t really mean it. 

And Jo isn’t Dean. No one is.

But you’re gaining a little more patience with her, and you don’t hate this as much as you thought you would. Maybe it’s because she’s actually listening to you and respecting that you know what you’re talking about. You line out for her the current evidence—every person you interviewed mentioned karma, being good to the right people, and the golden rule—and offer her your working theories, and she listens. She takes notes, and you don’t have to defend that you do know what you’re talking about, and you’re certain these are the things you want to focus on.

Maybe it’s that when you’d clearly drawn a line about not mentioning Dean, she’d respected it.

A lot of it is probably that she doesn’t ever glance at you with a scowl, like she’s looking for something deeper or darker under your surface.

And you really like that the White and the Darkness are almost indifferent to her presence. The pain is there, but no different than normal, and there’s no pull or detonation set to go off as you sit with her. 

She just seems genuinely nice. A little self-assured, but nice. When she goes to get some coffee and food down the street, she asks if you want any. When she passes you the paper cup and small bag of lemon bread, she compliments your nails, and you flush because you’re not used to that.

You can’t remember the last time you got a real compliment that you just… accepted. With Bobby you roll your eyes, and with Dean you’d always analyzed them. He thought your fighting form was good, which meant he’d been watching, but it could’ve just been in passing rather than the careful, almost hypnotized way you watched him.

But Jo says you have nice nails, and you flush, and that’s it. You drink your coffee and read, picking at your food, and Jo does the same across the table until it’s dark outside and the librarians tell you it’s time to leave. 

You open a library card—technically Ms. Debbie Robinson opens an account, but the library doesn’t need to know that—and check out the books you hadn’t gotten to yet. Jo adds two of her own, and you head back to the motel in silence. 

“Do we need to compare notes?” Jo asks as you enter the room, setting the books down on the table. “Or-“

“I’ll look over your notes.” You pull out a chair, nodding your head to the bathroom. “You can shower first.”

Jo frowns. “But I-“

“After I look them over, I’ll explain what’s right and wrong.” You raise your brows at her. “And you can ask questions. Go shower.”

For a second you think she’s going to protest again, but she doesn’t. Jo nods slowly, places her notepad in front of you, grabs her clothing, and shuffles to the bathroom.

You frown at her back. “What are you doing?”

“Showerin’.” She gives you an odd look over her shoulder. “You- you just told me to-“

“I know, I’m-“ You gesture to her bag on the couch. “You’re forgetting all your shit.”

She raises her hand, sleepwear bundled in her fist. “I’ve got it.”

“No, your shower stuff-“

“What shower stuff?”

You gape at her slightly. “Shampoo? Conditioner? Body-“

“The motel will have it, right? I mean, Sam and-“ She catches herself, shaking her head. “I just don’t know any hunters who bring their own stuff.”

“Of course you don’t.” You roll your eyes, pushing out of your chair and walking to your own bag. “All the hunters you know are dumbasses. Use this.”

You toss your plastic shower bag to her, and she blinks at you. 

“What-“

“It’s my stuff.” You shrug. “Might not be right for your hair and skin types, but it’s better than whatever the fuck the motel is going to have.”

Jo frowns at the bag, sorting through its contents. “But-“

“You don’t have to use all of it.” You say, returning to your seat. “But if you use the body scrub, do it after you shower then rinse it off.”

“I…” Jo pauses, and when you glance back up, she’s watching you with wide eyes. “Do ya’ always use this stuff?”

“Yeah.” You hold her gaze, making yours as blank as possible. “Makes me feel normal. Clean.”

Jo nods slowly, and turns to the bathroom with the bag in her hand. You pour over the notes as she showers, not bothering to look up when you hear the door open.

“Good shower?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, dropping your shower bag on the table as she sits down. “Thanks.”

You just shrug, leaving your notebook open as you push out of your own chair.

“I wrote down everything,” you tell her, moving all the supplies across the table. “Look over it while I shower.”

She nods, her head hung as she scans over your writing, and you disappear into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

Jo used too much hot water for it to be scalding, so you keep it ice cold, and the darkness moves a little further down. 

There are no disasters. You’re under your own control, the Darkness is under your control, and when you return to the table all of Jo’s clarification are reasonable and answerable. Her presence isn’t like an axe over your head—more like an annoying buzz in your ear—and as long as this simple lull continues through the week, you’ll get through this without an issue.

“My money’s on witch.” You mutter around midnight, shifting through the last few book pages. “Which means tomorrow we need to start looking for who the witch is.”

Jo nods from her bed, curled up in the pillows with her own notes. “Why witch?”

“At this point it’s either witch or crossroad demon.” You close the book with a shrug. “And no one’s mentioned making a deal. Most of the people we knew didn’t have any relation, so while there’s a chance that’s a coordinated answer, it’s low. This sounded like they think they earned it, and they’re not at all worried about a bill coming due.”

“But there will be one.” Jo frowns at her own book. “There always is.”

“Yep. But we can’t exactly figure it out now.” You move to your own bed, feeling under your pillow for your knife before crawling into the sheets. “We’ll be up at six tomorrow.”

Jo hums, and for a second you think she’s going to try and make conversation, but she just rolls over and goes to sleep. 

You appreciate it. You have no interest in talking. 

Not as the lights turn off, and the case goes static for the night, and it’s just you in the whole world. Jo snores slightly, but it’s not louder than the Darkness creeping up your spine and wrapping around your skull, no more demanding that the White roaring and bursting in your chest.

You grab your knife, sit up against the headboard, and take long breaths. Slow, long breaths in even movements, your eyes squeezed tight in pain as it all starts to leak out. You can feel the suffocating heat of the mattress and disgust of your sweat on the sheets, and this can’t happen right now.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t sleep, if you’re blurry eyed and a little hazy in the morning—your skin still raw from where you’re allowing the knife to bury into your skin—this can’t happen. Bobby trusted you with Jo, and she’s trusting you, so you need to strangle every weak and feral part of you, locking them down until you’re alone again. You’ll get through this. You’ll drown in this agony alone, and Jo will be fine-

“Can you go to sleep?”

You drag your eyes open, looking to Jo’s bed with a frown. She’s still lying down, her face not fully visible in the dark, but you can see the light reflecting in her eyes. 

“Sorry,” she mutters, shrugging slightly. ”I just don’t like to sleep with someone sittin’ guard. Kinda weird.”

You blink at her. “Roll over then.”

“I’ll still know.” She pushes back, and there’s something a stronger in her voice than before. “It’s creepy. And we’re fine, I saw you saltin’ all the entrances and drawin’ those weird symbols on the floor-“

“They’re specialized demon traps.” You snap. “And I’m sorry it’s creepy, but I’m not sleeping.”

Jo sighs. “Alright.” 

You scowl at her, and she sits up, leaning over to turn on the light  between your beds.

“Now we’re both not sleepin’.”

You stare at her, shaking your head. “Are you fucking five? Go to bed-“

“I can’t sleep if you’re gonna be doin’ that.” She waves your tenses body on the bed, your knees clutched to your chest and your grip on the knife white. “Cool knife, by the way.”

“Thanks.” You mutter, turning the blade over in your hands. “Just- go back to sleep, Jo-“

“I said no.” She snaps. “I feel like somethings going to jump out and attack us when you’re doin’ that-“

You snort—it’s a little mean, but she also how no idea just how correct she is—and she frowns. 

“Why don’t you like me?”

“I-“ You gape at her. “I don’t not like you-“

“I’m not dumb.” She says, holding your gaze. “And I’m tryin’ to help-“

“You are helping-“

“I’m slowin’ you down. You coulda just told Bobby no-“

 “But I didn’t.” You narrow your eyes at her. “And if you don’t want to do this, you can go-“

“I don’t want to go!” She’s whining a little, and the sound is scraping at your ears. “I wanna hunt, and maybe you don’t have a lot of female friends or somethin’-“

You let out a small, dry laugh. “I don’t have a lot of friends. Period.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, and then, “Me neither.”

You nod at nothing, and as silence settles over the room, the sore ache of guilt runs and burns over your skin. 

“I don’t- I’m not used to hunting with people.” You mutter, staring at your hands as you pick at your nails. “And most people slow me down. It’s not just you.”

“That’s not much better. Kinda sad.”

You scowl at her. “Sorry I’m not a fun-“

“I don’t need ya’ to be fun, I just don’t-“ Jo sighs, slumping slightly. “You’re not babysittin’ me. And you don’t gotta be nice, but you- I dunno, you just seem-“

“Bossy?” The White whines, and you make your voice flat. “I’ve been told I can be bossy.”

“Yeah. Bossy.”

You scowl at your hands, wishing you could use them to turn your knife on your tongue. You hate this. Not Jo, but known that you’d been right. You were being a bitch, and Jo didn’t deserve that, and you’d been trying but being nice is so fucking exhausting with your whole body feels like it’s shredding itself apart-

“You been kind, though.” Jo cuts through the silence, and you stare at her.

“You just called me bossy-“

“Yeah. But you’ve let me actually do some work, and you gave me the hair and body stuff. It- It did feel nice.”

“Good.” You mumble. “That was the point.”

Jo scans over your face with an odd expression. “I can’t believe Bobby lets you hunt alone.”

You snort, and nothing defensive flares in your mouth. You can hear it in your voice, is not you she’s shocked with. It’s the very idea of anyone just hunting alone. 

She’s likely gotten the it’s dumb speech from Dean.

“Bobby doesn’t let me hunt alone so much as he ruefully accepts that he can’t stop me.” You drawl, giving Jo a half smile. “Whole permission, forgiveness thing.”

Jo hum, nodding. “How long you been huntin’?”

“Alone?” You raise your brows, and Jo nods. “Since I was fifteen.”

“Fif-“

“Yeah.” You smile at Jo’s open, wide expression. “Started small, got good at it. Bobby’d be hard pressed to stop me now.”

“Sam-“ Jo clears her throat, sitting a little taller. “He told me you were one of the best hunters they’ve ever met.”

You shrug, and bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking and what about Dean, what did he say, did he just give a grumbled agreement to Sam or did he add something else, and was his voice filled with hatred or affection-

“He said you’re hard to find, though.” Jo’s voice is cautious, and your nails dig into your skin. “That you’re… Dean told me you were sick.”

The White is roaring. Dean’s heard Bobby’s lie. And he may have believed it, and you can’t tell if you’re relieved or not, and Jo said you were hard to find. Like they’d looked. Like Sam and Dean had searched for you, even after you left them, and you could never see them again but they spoke about you, and Sam still saw you in that odd, flattering light and Dean still thought about you-

“Are you?”

You blink at Jo. “Am I-“

“Sick.”

“Yeah.” You watch her carefully, vigilant for any form of reaction. “I am.”

Jo nods, glancing to the lamp between your beds, and the knife in your hands. “Are you gonna go to sleep?”

You shake your head, rubbing your palm against the hilt of your knife. “Can’t.”

She sighs, settling a little further into her mattress. “Can you at least tell me why somethings gonna burst through the door-“

“No.”

She gives you a flat look that obviously says why, and you let out a long breath.

“It’s co-“ 

You stop yourself, turning your knife between your hands. You’re so fucking sick of that word. And you’re sick of being alone, and Jo seems genuinely nice, and Jo seems to understand discretion. 

She doesn’t seem like the type who’s going to just try and shoot you. 

Just to test a theory, you start slow. “You know John Winchester-“

“I fuckin’ hate that guy. He got my dad killed.”

You blink at her. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” She leans forward, giving you an odd look. “Why?”

She hates John. She’s friends with Sam and Dean, but not enough to tell them she’s going on a hunt. 

She can keep a secret.

And you’re really fucking tired.

“You can’t tell Sam or-“ You swallow, the White rearing its head. “Dean.”

Jo nods, leaning forward. “Okay.”

“You have to swear-“

“On my mom.” She crosses her heart like a girl scout, her expression purely open, and you believe her. 

You do something incredibly stupid, and Dean’s not even here.

You tell Jo everything. Almost everything. More than you’ve told Bobby, but less than the whole truth. You tell her about the Darkness and the White—but not the whole Dean thing—and you tell her about the monsters, and the demons, and the women of the high. You explain all your odd ideas, and the whole John thing, and that Azazel had threatened you, but you leave out exactly how. You tell her about the green-eyed demons and their knives, and how they never kill you, and how you’re in control of it—the last lie—but you still to be careful.

“You’re not in danger,” you add at the end, just because you’re a little worried her eyes are going to pop out of her head. “I know how to handle them, if they come, and I haven’t seen any but- Yeah. That’s it.”

There’s an odd sense of relief. Cool and soothing over your body like water. You’ve told her, and she hasn’t tried to kill you. 

She’s mostly just staring. 

You’re a little worried you broke her. 

“Jo-“

“Holy shit.” She whispers. “Is that- That’s why you’re always huntin’ alone, right?”

You nod, and she swallows.

“And Sam and Dean don’t-“

“No. And they can’t.” You make your voice firm, rubbing your calves as you speak. “I’m serious, they really can’t-“

“I won’t say anything.” She gives you a small smile. “I swore on my mom.”

You nod slowly. “I- Sorry if you didn’t want to hear-“

She cuts you off with a shrug. “I asked. And it’s explainin’ a lot.” She grabs the TV remote, and begins to flip through the channels. “National Treasure?”

You stare at her, then glance at the TV. It’s playing a grainy, half-static movie, and Jo’s mostly watching it with interest. 

“Are we- what about sleep-“

“You gonna sleep?”

“I- probably not-“

“Then we’re watchin’ TV.” She tosses the remote onto your bed. “You can pick, but I’m still not gonna sleep long as you’re up.”

And that’s it. You look between the remote and Jo’s casual expression, settle back into your bed with a nod, and you’re… okay. You’re still in pain but the exhaustion feels more manageable, and there’s really nothing bad happening. You told her, and nothing died or burst into flames. The only indication to ever told her is how, every ten or so minutes, she’ll ask a casual question about it, you’ll answer, and you’ll go back to watching the movie.

And eventually you make a joke, and she laughs, and bounces back with one of her own.

And when you fall asleep—passing out against the headboard—you wake up to find coffee waiting for you on the side-table and Jo already sorting through a new set of books.

“Mornin’.” She gives you a small smile. “I got you want you ordered yesterday, and I’ve been lookin’ at all the witness statements. Got some idea, if you wanna hear them.”

You nod, moving to sit with her at the table, and something simple and soft is stirring along your muscles. It’s the same feeling you got with Sam, two years ago in the hospital.

You have a friend.

——————

Dean’s really fucking tired.

There’s too much happening. The world has never moved this slow and this fast, and he couldn’t keep up. 

He has six months. It’s not enough, and it’s far too much. All the time feels wasted, and there’s so much to do that won’t end up mattering, because Dean is going to die.

He’s certain of it.

Sammy’s got faith they’ll fix this. That they’re gonna get Lilith and make her shred up Dean’s contract, that Ruby’s actually going to help instead of just ordering them around like a bitch, that this will all work and the year will end with Dean still alive.

It’s not the truth.

And Dean’s trying. He’s forcing himself to ride on Sam’s determination, mostly because it probably makes Sam feel better about the whole situation. And Dean can offer him that.

Whatever lets Sam keep going when he’s gone. 

In return, Sam indulges him. No annoying fights about strip clubs and one-night stands. No bitching and moaning about loud music or fast driving.

No more trying to mention Her, or attempting to convince Dean that they should pry Bobby for more information on where She’d gone.

Dean didn’t want to find her. He needed to find Her—he needed to know She was okay, he needed to ask why the hell she just up and vanished, why Sam said She’d been at the hospital, been crying over his body, but then She just fucking left before he could wake up and didn’t even try to come back—but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want the answers to his questions, because they’d probably just be wasn’t worth it. 

She must have finally realized Dean just wasn’t fucking worth it. 

And if he found Her, she’d tell him that, and he might just die right there. Screw the demons and the deal, She’d look at him with bright eyes, say Dean Winchester, I left because you’re more trouble than you’re worth, and he’d turn into ash.

It was pathetic. She was just a woman, not some kind of magical love-spell chick, but Dean knew—deep in his gut and a little to the left of his heart—that She could kill him like that.

And he fucking hated it.

He needed to be strong. He needed to hold it together for Sammy, and he needed to keep his head level so everyone could grieve him while he was still alive, and She made that impossible. The idea of Her made it impossible. It didn’t matter how many times Bobby told him he was holdin’ it together better than expected, or Sam reminded him that he was an ass, but they were going to work this out because Dean couldn’t die, Dean was starved for Her.

He bended to Her when she was only a phantom in his head. A siren-like voice between the notes in songs, and bright eyes in his dreams, and the smell of fruit and sugar on the wind.

He’d never figured out what that fruit was.

He had a feeling he never would. 

There was the other reason he didn’t want to find Her. Their last fight still circled around his head like lingering smoke after an explosion, and as much as it haunted him that he may never be able to mend things with her, it made him fear Her more.

Fear how She’d react to finding out about the deal, when She’d gotten so pissed when Dean hadn’t died. She’d been ready to throttle him when he’d in one full piece in front of her, with no dark cloud or promise of death lingering over his shoulder at all.

He was afraid that he’d meet a fate worse than Her being indifferent. 

He was afraid that She’d care.

That the wrath from Colorado would return, and She fight for him and rip herself apart for him just as Sammy was, and something would cave where She just kept liking him—despite all odds and reason, Dean was almost certain She had at least liked him—and he got Her. They’d fall into each other because She somehow cared, and Dean was never capable of not bathing and drowning himself in Her light.

And then he’d die. Sammy was a genius, and Bobby was the best damn hunter they knew, and She was Her, but they wouldn’t be able to save him.

And Dean would just fucking lose Her when his time ran out.

He hated that too.

Hated that he’d never had Her, and would never get to have Her. That she’d remain in his thoughts and haunt his sleep like a brilliant tattoo over his brain, but he’d never get to just touch Her. He’d fuck different bodies in town after town and none of them would ever be Her.

She’d left him to crave Her alone.

So Dean wouldn’t die alone. He’d die with Sammy at his side. 

But he’d die without Her, and that felt like he was abandoning something. Like he should maybe give a shit, because he didn’t want Her to know but he couldn’t stand the idea of dying without her there.

He was one selfish son of a bitch, wanting Her to witness his death just so he would die with some strange, deep part of him filled with light.

So he didn’t look for Her. 

And he just kept moving.

“We got a call from Ellen this morning.” 

Dean glanced up with a frown, and Sam hadn’t even looked up from his computer.

“About what?”

“Apparently Jo pulled the disappearing act again.” Sam shrugged. “Our job to go get her.”

“That is not our job.” Dean muttered, placing the gun he’d been cleaning off to the side. “Ellen got a clue where she went?”

“Nope, but you know who probably will?”

Sam raised his brows, and Dean groaned. 

“I don’t want to call him-“

“You have to. It’s not like she’s gonna pick up the phone-“

“That’s not what I- shut up.” Dean scowled. “If we call Bobby and he doesn’t know where Jo is, he’s gonna give us the help her learn lecture again-“

“And we’ll listen to it again-“

“I’ll listen to it! You’ll go hide in the bathroom like a pussy-“

“I’m not a pussy, Dean.” Sam tossed him the phone, attention returning to his laptop. “I’m just smarter than you are. Good luck.”

Dean rolled his eyes, muttering a bitch under his breath—that only made Sam laugh—as he dialed Bobby’s number.

It was five rings before the call picked up.

“Dean, it’s my week off, so unless you boys got a real good lead-“

“Jo’s trying to hunt again.” Dean cut Bobby off with careful words, his body already braced for the lecture. “You happen to know anything about that?”

“Maybe.” Bobby’s voice was bored through the phone, and Dean could picture his flat, neutral expression. “If I do?”

“Bobby-“

“She ain’t here, Dean-“

Dean scowled. “That’s not the fucking question, Bobby-“

“And I didn’t finish, boy.” Bobby snapped through the speaker, and Dean flinched slightly. “Jo ain’t here, but she stopped by. Ate dinner with me.”

There was silence, and Dean took a deep breath as he realized Bobby wasn’t going to keep talking.

“Bobby,” He muttered through his teeth. “If we don’t find her it’s all our asses with Ellen-“

“That ain’t true, I’m not the one who lost her-“

“Technically Ellen lost her,” Sam called from the table, attention still on the laptop. “So you could, I dunno, try telling her that.”

Bobby sighed through the speaker, and Dean almost heard the eye roll. “Why can’t you idjits just let that girl learn to hunt-“

“So she is hunting-“

“Course she’s hunting, Dean!” Bobby voice had grows loud enough for Dean to flinch, and Sammy needed to stop smirking, or he was going to get punched. “Showed up here damn near beggin’ me to help her, so I sent her off with another hunter.”

Dean’s grip on the phone tightened. “Who?”

“Best one I’ve got. She’ll be fine, Dean, Jo ain’t a fragile little bird-“ 

“No, but Ellen wants her home and I’d like to keep my life, Bobby.” Dean ran a hand over his face, frowning at Sam, who was finally actually paying attention. “Where’d they go.”

“Utah.”

“Where in Utah-“

“Don’t know.” Bobby hummed through the phone. “Big state though. Better start searchin’.”

The line dropped dead before Dean could protest, and that was it. Sam raised his brows in silent question, and Dean shook his head, chucking his phone onto the mattress.

“Utah.”

Sam frowned. “Where in-“

“I don’t fucking know!”

Sam ended up knowing. The kid just shrugged, combed over the news, and found a little town with a wish-granting problem in about thirty minutes flat. 

It wasn’t a flawless plan—there could be other cases to work in Utah that weren’t as obvious—but it was better than just driving town to town in Utah and testing their luck. 

And Dean’s luck hadn’t been good in two damn years.

“Did Bobby say who Jo’s with?” 

Dean shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “Just that they’re the best.”

“The best?” Sam sounded shocked, and Dean understood that. “Bobby called them-“

“The best.” Dean reappeared, tapping his hand on the wheel with a frown. He had an odd, powerful feeling he couldn’t place rolling around in his chest. “Probably just Rufus or something.”

“Wouldn’t Bobby have just said Rufus-“

“Sammy.” Dean grunted, and the odd feeling was intolerable. Almost sickening, like his heart was being grown over and throttled. “Shut up.”

Sam sighed, but listened, and Dean turned up the music until conversation wasn’t even a damn option. He didn’t know what the hell was happening to his body, or why it was turning against him in such a strangely urgent way, but it was consuming. Loud and sharp and furious and bright-

He only knew one person who was like that.

And he killed the thought before it could take root. She was sick. Bobby had probably sent Jo off with some old guy they’d simply never crossed paths with, who—once Sam and Dean explained the situation and used the proper threats—would let them take Jo home.

The nerves were probably just based in the fact that they were going to have to drive Jo home, and she wouldn’t be happy. Dean didn’t have the energy to hear her whining in the backseat about being treated like a child. He barely had the time for this, because the drive to Utah was damn near thirty hours, and Sammy wasn’t in favor of making it in one trip, so those were three more days of Dean’s fucking life gone. 

And the feeling only got worse the closer they got.

But he was always a step closer to death, and he had at least another three days to lose, and it was nothing. 

It wasn’t Her.

It couldn’t be Her. There was no reason for it to be. Just because Bobby was involved, and he’d said the best hunter—and Dean would never tell Her if he saw her, but his brain did move right to her with her books and knife and smart mouth—and this seemed like Her exact type of case, didn’t mean it would be Her.

So Dean ignored the feeling, and kept driving.

“Do you want to take care of the case after we get Jo?” Sammy asked in their last motel room, frowning at the newspaper clipping he’d ripped out about the town with a lucky streak in Utah. “I mean, mass luck out of nowhere in a small town, it’s kinda screaming-“

“It’s not that.” Dean grunted. “And if it is, how the hell is it gonna help us.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe this one’s got a line to Lilith.”

“And what, we just ask the son of a bitch to make a phone call-“

“Yeah, Dean. It’s better than nothing-“

Dean rolled his eyes and grunted whatever Sam needed to hear to shut up. It wasn’t better than nothing. At least nothing wouldn’t be filling his body with iridescent butterflies and haunting him with the smell of fruit.

When they rolled into the small town—Sammy had called it Morpi or something—Dean already wanted to just go. They just needed to grab Jo and head out, so this feeling could fade and pass like they all almost always did.

All this pain and suffering would be temporary. Dean reminded himself of that every second now. However tired or sick he felt now, everything would pass.

“Should we get a motel-“

“No,” Dean grunted, scanning over the streets as he looked for a place to park. Maybe Jo would just be walking around, they could grab her, and go. “We won’t be here long enough to need one. Waste of time.”

“Jo’s probably in a motel-“

“And she’s not just going to be fucking sitting there, Sammy-“

“Maybe she is.” Sam crossed his arms, and Dean could feel his pointed look. “It’s not unbelievable that she’s benched for the actual case.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “So we’re just supposed to knock on door and wait for her to open one? Is that your plan?”

“You got a better one?”

He didn’t. Dean had really been banking on the Jo just walks past them idea. 

“Stop looking so fucking pleased with yourself.” He muttered, and Sam scoffed.

“You weren’t even looking at me, jerk-“

“Could feel it.” Dean pulled Baby in a U-turn, heading back to the motel they’d passed a few minutes before. “You’re doing all the knocking, genius.”

It didn’t matter who did the knocking. All they got in result was one very angry old man, a trophy mom that offered Sammy the ride of his life—Dean didn’t bother to hide his wide grin at how Sam was red for several long minutes after—and a bunch of college kids who weren’t very good at hiding that they’d been smoking weed, calling a bong a dildo and hoping that Sam and Dean were cool cops.

On a better day, Dean might have fucked with them, just because this was boring and they seemed like douchebags. But he just wanted to get this done with, and the feeling was building, and he felt like he was going to vomit a rainbow or something-

“That was my idea.” Sam muttered, frowning at the motel. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Dean scowled. “I’m not the idea man, Sammy, I’m the action man-“

“Fuck off, dude, you have good ideas-“

“Yeah? Cause right now all I’ve got is shouting Jo and hoping something happens-“

Sam’s eyes widened slightly. “Dean-“

“Maybe we can build a fucking trap for her-“

“Dean-“

“Bait it with some beer and hope she walks into it-“

Sam rolled his eyes, grabbed Dean by the shoulders, physically turning Dean around to face the parking lot, and Dean’s heart felt like it had been plunged into lava and ice all at once.

Parking in the back of the lot was a hideous, bright red Jaguar, and climbing out of it was Jo and-

Son of a bitch. 

She’s didn’t look like She was sick. She looking perfectly alright. Her hair was a little messy, but still shiny, and Her skin looked soft, and Dean couldn’t see her eyes yet but they were probably blinding. She was wearing the jacket Dean had left with Her, and there was light catching off Her rings as she gestured at Jo, and Dean could hear the smooth and beautiful sound of Her voice from the sidewalk-

There was nothing soft or weak or hoarse in Her voice. No cracks, and no color lost from Her face when Dean saw her pretty side-profile, and she was standing tall, and She wasn’t sick.

Dean’s blood was hot in his body. She’d left him dying in the hospital, and avoided him for two years, and She wasn’t sick. 

He’d been right.

She just didn’t want him. 

And now She was right fucking here, and Dean wanted to run and grab Her and fold her into his arms until they were stuck together for the rest of time, and he’d never hated Her more.

It wasn’t real hate. Not the hate he’d had for Azazel or Gordon, but the raw and carved open hatred that had festered in him all those years ago after the poltergeist. A furious ache that reminded Dean he wasn’t going to be able to stop orbiting around Her, and that when She bit him it would be poisonous, and when he bit Her back, it would be destructive. Hate that was bigger than most other things he felt, because everything was bigger with Her. She was always prettier, and smarter, and brighter and anger and funnier and more.

Better.

She was still better than anything Dean had ever seen, just from across the parking lot, and he felt like he was catapulting into a star. 

He hated Her, for leaving him and doing this and not letting him properly fucking hate Her.

And then Her head turned, their eyes met, and the world stuttered. A mis-beat in a song or a scratch on a DVD, a brief second where it was only Her and Dean in the whole universe, where everything was technicolor and Dean felt like he was crashing down, down, down-

She was trying to get in the car. Her hands were pulling at the car door, and She was hissing something at Jo that Dean couldn’t hear, and She was trying to fucking run.

Dean was never not grateful for how Sammy wasn’t affected by whatever enchantment She cast on Dean. The car door had barely opened before Sam was sprinting forward, weaving between cars to reach them before they could drive away, and it snapped Dean out of his daze of Her and fruit on the wind.

Sam caught up to them in a few seconds—thank Christ for Sasquatch legs—and slammed the car door. 

None of them were speaking when Dean skidded to a stop. Sam was gaping at Her, Jo was silently bouncing on her feet—face painted with nerves—and She was frozen. Almost like marble, perfectly still to the point that Dean wasn’t sure She was breathing.

He’d be worried about Her if he wasn’t so fucking furious. 

Dean hissed Her name. He hated how right it felt in his mouth. “What the fuckin’ hell are you doing here-“

She just stared at him. Mouth parted slightly and eyes wide—a little blown out in a way Dean didn’t want to think about—and breathing far shallower than it should be. Dean shouldn’t be worried about that. He shouldn’t already be thinking about how there was raw, red skin around Her nails, and visible bags under Her eyes, and she didn’t look sick but She was colorless, and there was that little wrinkle in Her brow that Dean needed to reach out and smooth over-

“We’re hunting.” Jo provided, and Sam sighed.

“We worked that out, Jo. We’re just-“ Sam said Her name. It was a beautiful sound. Dean was going to hurt someone. “What are you doing here?”

She still wasn’t talking. Apparently, Jo had decided to be Her voice. 

Dean didn’t want to hear Jo’s voice.

He wanted to hear Her.

“Bobby asked her to help me-“

“No shit, kid.” Dean snapped, his eyes never leaving Her’s. She looked terrified, and exhausted, and Dean didn’t fucking love how it was making his own stomach twist. “And you’re not hunting anymore, we’re bringing you back to Ellen-“

That seemed to snap Her out of it. She shook Her head, her eyes narrowing on Dean, and his breath caught in his throat as She started speaking.

“We’ve got a case to finish, Winchester. You’re not taking Jo anywhere.”

Dean scoffed. “You think you get a say in this, sweetheart-“

“I think.” Her voice was too controlled. Too measured and cool, and it was a weight on the top of Dean’s chest. “That you can try to take her and see what happens.”

“What, you gonna freakin’ stab me-“

“If I have to, yeah.” She raised Her chin, and her hair always somehow framed her face perfectly. “Get out of town. Now.”

Sam said Her name, his voice soft. “We could just help you, more hands are-“

“No.” She snapped, Her stance going rigid. “You need to fucking go. We’ve got this handled-“

“You’ve got a demon handled?” Dean sneered, ignoring Sam’s so now you think it’s a demon look. “That’s new-“

Something hot flared in Her eyes. “Shut the fuck up, asshole, I can handle a demon-“

“Can you? ‘Cause last I remembered you got stabbed-“

“And I’m perfectly fine.” She gestured to Her body, and Dean wished he could shut down the way his cock twitched in his pants at just the indulgence of looking at Her fully clothed body. “And it doesn’t matter, because this isn’t a demon, dumbass. So you can fuck right off, and I’ll bring Jo home when we’re done.”

Sam frowned at Her. “No offense, but this really does seem like a demon.” He said Her name carefully, and something sunk down in Dean’s heart when Her attention turned away. “We’ve dealt with a lot of crossroads demons this year-“

Dean stomped on Sam’s foot, shooting him a glare. He didn’t want Her to know. She didn’t get to know, not when She’d so obviously decided Dean wasn’t worth Her time. When She was already trying to get rid of him, and she looked so horrified from the sight of him.

Sam glared right back at him, and She cleared Her throat. For a second Dean thought She’d push—ask what the fuck that was about—but she didn’t. She either really just didn’t fucking care enough, or she was that eager to get rid of them.

“It’s not a crossroads demon.” She said, crossing Her arms over her chest. It made her tits look good, and Dean needed to get it the fuck together. “It’s a witch.”

Sam stilled, his jaw dropping slightly. Dean didn’t know what the fuck that was about. Witches were annoying as hell, but they weren’t new, or shocking.

“You’re hunting a witch?” Sam asked, his voice higher than Dean had ever heard it, and She frowned. 

“We’re hunting a witch.” She said, nodding to Jo, still silent on the other side of the car. “And we’ve almost got it, so if you could kindly fuck off and let us work-“

Sam shook his head, his eyes getting wider by the second. “Since when do you hunt witches?” 

“Since a while.” Her voice was dry, and there was a look of pure exhaustion—and something deeper Dean couldn’t pinpoint—on Her face. “So, again, go-“

“We’re not going without Jo.” Dean snapped, and She shot him a glare. 

“I’m not asking, Winchester. You need to leave.”

They were just glaring at each other. There was that deep, heavy thing in Her eyes that didn’t dim them, but felt like a black light. Showing Dean something so far down inside of Her that he was certain he wasn’t supposed to see it, luring him further into Her orbit because everything in Her eyes was bigger than the universe and brighter than the sun beating down in the sky-

Dean needed to get it the fuck together. She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want him. Dean was an obstacle or nuisance to Her, and this is exactly why he hadn’t wanted to find Her. This is what he’d known would happen, and he had no one to blame but himself. 

“We’re not fucking going without Jo,” he grunted. They’d only just met. She couldn’t be that determined to keep Jo around. “Give it up, sweetheart, and we’ll get out of your way.”

He sneered those last words, and She seemed to visibly flinch.

Jo cleared her throat. “I’m not just gonna leave with you, Dean-“

“Jo,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “Not worth it.”

“But-“

“Sam’s right.” She snapped over Jo, and Sam blinked at Her. “This isn’t worth fighting about. And you two,” She gestured with a wave between Sam and Dean, the movement loose and careless and dismissive. It might have been better if She punched Dean square in the face. “Need to go. Keep hunting Azazel or something-“

“Dean killed Azazel.” Sam said, a small frown on his face, and She blinked at him, almost recoiling.

“What?”

Her voice was suddenly smaller. Dean had forgotten how frequently confused he was in Her presence.

“I shot him,” he muttered, watching Her carefully. “He’s been dead for months.”

Six months. The exact amount of time Dean’s time had been running out.

“Dead dead?” She whispered, glancing at Jo with wide eyes, who gave Her a small shrug and raised brows. 

They seemed to actually like each other. Enough to have silent exchanges.

That could be a problem.

“He used the Colt.” Sam provided, and when Dean looked at him, he had a weary expression on his face. “And Dean’s not lying. We can’t leave with Jo. Ellen will kill us.”

Jo paled. “Mom sent you?”

Sam gave her a grimacing look of sympathy. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Jo said Her name, giving Her an odd look. “How sure are you about-“

“Positive.”

“Then maybe-“

“No.”

“They ain’t gonna leave,” Jo crossed her arms, giving Her a pointed look. “And more hands are better than none.”

Sam frowned. “That’s what I said-“

“And I’m reaptin’ it.” Jo shrugged. “You two can stick around, ‘till the hunts done, and then I’ll go back without a fight. But I’m finishin’ the hunt.”

“I don’t think her majesty over there is gonna give the go ahead on that.” Dean muttered, and She shot him a glare.

But it was less venomous. Less hostile. 

More guarded. Spiked and nervous. 

Dean didn’t know what the fuck was happening.

“Did you really kill Azazel?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking lying?”

She let out a long breath. “No.”

Dean frowned. She wasn’t fighting back anymore. She just looked tired, and he didn’t understand what was going on-

“If I let you stick around,” She said, mostly looking at Sam. It hurt something along Dean’s skull and spine. “You listen to me and Jo-“

Sam blinked at Her. “And Jo?”

“This is our hunt, Sam, we know what we’re doing-“

“No, I just didn’t- Sorry.” Sam gave Her a small frown. “How long have you guys been hunting together?”

Jo shrugged. “A week.”

Sam shot Dean a what the hell look, and Dean just shook his head.

He’d spent years trying to understand Her, and never succeeded. He didn’t think it was going to all click in one damn second.

“You’re certain it’s a witch?” Sam asked, turning back to Her, and She nodded.

“Yep. Coven, actually. Bunch of assholes who travel town to town, pull this,” She gestured to the air around them. “And then bounce. In about five years the whole thing will crash down, and everyone in Manti’s luck will be dogshit until it kills them.”

“Town to town?” Sam looked between them with a frown. “Has this happened-“

“Ten times in the past fifty years.” She shrugged. “I worked it out, and Jo found where they live. House on the edge of this city.”

Sam nodded slowly, shooting Dean a silent, weary look, and Dean understood what it meant. 

They couldn’t leave without Jo. 

Jo seemed glued to Her every fucking word and order, as if in one damn week She was already Jo’s favorite person.

And She was the most stubborn person Dean had ever met. If She said they weren’t taking Jo, they weren’t taking Jo. 

Their only chance was listening to Her and ganking the witches.

Dean’s only chance was falling back in line behind Her, and fucking praying that when this was over, he’d be able to move out of Her orbit. 

And he’d have to beat himself into really, fully hating Her again. Into not caring that She’d left, and She wasn’t sick. She just didn’t want him. She was still something that was higher, and She’d hadn’t learned to not want the mud—She wouldn’t, She’d been raised in it right alongside Dean, only just out of his view—but She’d learned to not want Dean.

He could let that hurt and rip him apart later. Hell, he’d have all of eternity after he died to torture himself with the thought.

Right now all he could do was grunt, give a short nod, and force himself not to watch the way Her shoulders relaxed at his agreement.

“Good.” She muttered, looking between Sam and Dean with a frown, and She was rubbing the scar on Her palm. 

Dean still wanted to touch it. 

“Here’s the deal.” 

The deal was that they were storming the house. Two years Dean would’ve leaned down to Her ear and whispered like a break-in, Princess, then laughed at Her adorable glower, but now all he could do was watch Her silently. She still had that way of speaking and moving that made the world feel like it bent and shifted for Her. 

She barely looked at him the whole explanation, giving short answers to Sam’s questions and letting Jo fill in any gaps.

She didn’t lie once. She’d been so obviously hiding something—She had to be, between the sick thing and how She and Jo kept exchanging glances—but She wasn’t lying. She told them the plan, and how they’d reached the witch conclusion, and that She and Jo had been working well together so they didn’t need Sam and Dean, and-

There was a lie. One lie. 

“We don’t need you-“ She’d said, and Dean had scoffed.

“Says the girl who’s probably still hunting with a knife-“

“I’m serious.” She’d snapped, standing a little taller and twisting a ring on Her finger. “I don’t need you, Dean.”

Lie.

The only time She said his name all day, and it was in a lie he didn’t even understand.

But he was past trying to understand. Right now all he could do was follow Her orders and drive to the house, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled as he followed Her car.

That was another thing he’d die without knowing. Where the hell She got all those fancy cars.

“Dean,” Sammy wad frowning at him, and whatever he was about to say, Dean didn’t want to hear it. “We should tell her-“

“No.”

“She could help, you know how good she is with weird shit-“

“Sam.” Dean shot him a glare, his voice almost a growl. “There is not a chance in goddamn hell I’m telling her. And if you tell her, I’ll vanish and you’ll never fucking see me again.”

Sam sighed, but nodded, and that was it. They pulled up the house, right behind where She and Jo had parked, and Dean had been right.

She was still hunting without a gun.

All that was in Her hands was Her knife. And She held it with even more ease than last time, almost spinning it in Her hand and leaning against her car as she spoke to Jo.

It was memorizing. 

He didn’t have time for it.

“Jo and I are taking upstairs,” She said as Sam and Dean approached, her face painfully neutral. “You two are scoping downstairs and the basement. Don’t fire on anything unless you’re certain, and keep eyes out for hex bags. Got it?”

Sam nodded, glancing at the house with a frown. “Do we just… shoot them? If we find them?”

“Or stab them.” She flipped Her knife in her hand with an ease She definitely hadn’t had two years ago, and it was doing distracting things to Dean’s body. “Stick together, keep in earshot in case we need each other, and don’t be idiots.”

Dean scowled. “Don’t think we’re the ones who need that reminder, sweetheart.”

She sighed, and Her glare was still far too soft. “That’s rude, Deano. Play nice or you wait in the car.”

He blinked at Her, something in his brain sent into shock from hearing Her say Deano—not his name again, but close enough, intimate enough, to dumb his hatred back into desire in only a breath—and he had to physically fucking shake himself to follow them into the house.

The hunt was quick. Brutal.

Efficient.

Because it was Her. 

Jo had mentioned that they were pretty sure the coven had about seven witches. Sam found one chanting like a maniac in a closet, and Dean slammed another’s head into the concrete wall in the basement. From upstairs they heard a gun go off, which meant Jo had gotten one of her own. 

They’d started the head upstairs—exchanging a worried look that they hadn’t found any others, there hadn’t been another gunshot, and they were still missing four dead witches—and Sam nearly fell on his ass as someone blazed past him and out the door.

Dean caught him by his shoulders, glaring around the room and trying to grab his gun as he kept Sammy steady. 

“What the-“

“Fuck!” Dean blinked at Her shout, and She half-kept down the stairs, tearing after the runner.

She was moving really fast. 

He wasn’t sure he’d seen Her right.

There were loud sounds coming from outside, and Jo was running down after Her.

Sam pushed himself back onto his feet, frowning up the stairs. “Jo, what’s-“

“There were eight.” Jo snapped, reloading her shotgun. “Last one got the jump on us.”

Dean frowned. Last one would mean-

There was a crash, and any thoughts were torn from his head as he sprinted outside, coming to a stumbling stop of the porch as he took in the scene before him. 

Her car was folded around a lamppost, and She was stalking towards it, knife in hand, covered in blood. 

She yanked the witch out of the driver’s seat, exchanged low words with it that Dean couldn’t hear, and—when she obviously heard something she didn’t want to, Her whole body tensing—drove Her knife right into the son of a bitches heart.

She’d gotten five.

With just a fucking knife, She’d ganked five of the witches.

Dean’s brain was a little numb. She brushed past him as She returned to the house—they had a lot of cleanup to do—and his whole body felt like it was being dunked under water. Clear, clean water that was being cast in sunlight, and shit, She’d looked hot covered in blood, and even the metallic smell of it couldn’t stop the fruit from breaking through and getting Dean a little high-

“We can give you a ride,” Sam said, and Dean blinked. The idiot was talking to Her. “Since your car is wrecked.”

She just blinked at him. “A ride?”

“Yeah.” Sammy shrugged. He found a new way to get punched every day. “You and Jo can get cleaned up, grab your stuff from the motel, and you can head out of town with us. It’ll be faster than finding another car.”

She nodded.

She just nodded. Like it was nothing.

Dean was pretty damn certain She was just tired. Her shoulders were slumped, the heavy thing was back in Her eyes, and when they stopped at the motel Jo was half guiding her to the room.

They were friends. They were whispering to each other as they moved, and had been the whole ride, and when they returned to the car She gave Jo a look that Jo understood, and Jo moved something around in the trunk. 

It couldn’t mean anything good.

Not when Her eyes started to droop halfway back to the Roadhouse, and when She fell asleep it was against Jo. 

And Jo’s head dropped on Her’s, and now they were both fucking sleeping. Peacefully. They looked like they belonged in one of those chick flicks about girlhood, and somehow all Dean could think about was when She’d fallen asleep against him. When She’d hunted with him, and whispered with him, and they’d been friends. 

He wished he could think about it with distaste rather than longing. Wished his brain could stop trying to work out what he needed to get that back. Wished Sammy could just stop being fucking nice and offering to help people, so Dean could at least try to properly forget about Her.

But now he was stuck with Her in the car, drowning in the smell of fruit and repeating to himself that it didn’t matter.

He didn’t matter to Her.

He couldn’t matter to Her.

So he had to pretend She didn’t matter to him.

Sam tried to get Dean to stop for sleep again. Muttered that She and Jo were already passed out, and Dean wasn’t doing them any favors driving with a clouded head.

Sam could shove it up his ass.

They pulled into the Roadhouse around 3am, and Sam twisted in his seat, nudging Jo awake before helping her out of the car. He didn’t try to make Dean follow him, to face Ellen’s wrath at his side.

He left Dean to just stare at Her, like a fucking creep.

She was gorgeous. She’d always been gorgeous, and enchanting, and almost heavenly. She certainly was here, with the soft golden light of the streetlamps making Her skin glow and shadows casting over Her face in all the right ways. There was a little hair in Her face that Dean wanted to brush away, and that goddamn wrinkle was back, and She was shifting like something was making her uncomfortable, and Dean wanted to reach out and hold Her-

He couldn’t want to hold Her. She didn’t want him. She’d stopped fighting him, and Dean felt like an ass every time he pushed and snarled and She just gave him a look of exhaustion, but She’d just fucking left him. She’d said She didn’t hate him, and then she left. Fucking told Bobby She was sick, when She was obviously fine.

For a brief moment, Dean got a sickening feeling that Bobby had known She wasn’t sick, and had lied to them about it for Her, but he also didn’t hold that against Bobby.

She was the one who was a twisted sort of ethereal, and Dean understood that Bobby’s allegiance was to Her first, just as Dean’s had been to Dad-

Dad.

Dean really tried not to think about Dad that much. About how much he’d hate how useless and pathetic Dean had become. How he’d snap that Dean shouldn’t have put the burden of his life on Sammy, how now Sam was gonna have to live with the guilt of Dean’s death for the rest of his life.

It wouldn’t matter that Dad had done the same thing for him. Dean wasn’t Sam. 

He didn’t matter. 

None of this fucking mattered.

And it had, briefly and blindingly, mattered with Her. Dean had felt like he could’ve mattered with Her, and then she left, and he never wanted to forgive Her for that. 

But when Her eyes shot open and she sat up with a start, Dean couldn’t stop his hands from flexing to reach for Her. Couldn’t stop his chest from feeling cold, like there was something missing that was supposed to be molded into him, and his skin was aching and sore without it.

He was pathetic. Weak. Everything Dad had taught him not to be, doubled and amplified by the woman curling into herself and taking heavy breaths in the backseat.

Dean tried to ignore Her. 

He’d never been good at that.

“Did I fall asleep?” She whispered—Her voice oddly soft—and Dean grunted.

“Obviously, Princess.”

He couldn’t be trusted to be alone with Her. When he was, he’d fall down into Her, and the nickname he’d been biting down all day would slip past his tongue. It didn’t help that She was looking at him. That he could feel Her blinding attention on him, even as he forced his gaze onto the empty dirt lot ahead of him.

“When?” 

“Around Nebraska.”

“Oh.” Her voice was still too soft, and there was a pause before She spoke again. “Where are-“

“Inside.” He muttered. “Sammy’s dropping Jo off, then we’re bringing you-“

“You can just leave me here.”

Dean scowled. “That eager to get away from us, sweetheart?”

She didn’t answer. And when Dean’s will caved—weakened and whining from Her silence—and he glanced in the rearview mirror, She was staring at her hands. 

“Stop doing that.” 

She frowned up at him. “I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. Stop it.”

“You’re not my boss, Winchester-“

“I don’t fucking care, Princess.” There it was again. He needed to get a grip. “Stop it.”

She scowled, but sat on Her hands—as if that was the only possible way to stop herself from picking Her skin bloody—and wrinkled Her nose at Dean.

“Happy?”

He rolled his eyes, dropping his voice under his breath. “You have no idea.”

She blinked, opening Her mouth with a pouting frown, and Dean was saved from whatever she was about to say by Sam’s return.

“Ellen’s not happy with us.” Sammy slid back into his seat, glancing back to Her. “Or you. She made me give her your number, she, uh, has words for you.”

She just shrugged, sinking a little further in Her seat. “She can get in line.”

Dean frowned, ready to ask what the hell that meant, but Sam was faster.

“Good luck, then. Are you sticking around?”

She gave Sam a look of confusion that must have matched Dean’s. What the fuck was the big dumbass talking about-

“Sticking around?” Her voice was a whisper, and She gave Dean a nervous look he didn’t miss. “I- I don’t-“

“We’re working a big demon case,” Sam said, and Dean was going to slam his head into the dirt if that was where he was going- “Have you heard of Lilith?”

She frowned. “First demon?”

“Yeah, uh, exactly.” Sam blinked at Her. “How much do you know about the Devil’s Gate-“

“I haven’t exactly been keeping up with hunter news.” Her voice was flat as She cut Sam off, and she’d started to rock back and forth on her hands. It was a little distracting. “And Bobby hasn’t told me anything of what you’re up to-“

Dean frowned. He hadn’t expected that. “I thought you knew everything, sweetheart-“

“I’m smart, Winchester, not omniscient.” Her voice wasn’t as angry as Dean wanted it to be. She mostly just sounded tired. “I’ve been busy.”

“Are you still busy?”

“Sammy-“

“She could help, Dean.” Sam gave him a firm look, his brows raised. “Just with Lilith.”

She frowned. “You’re hunting Lilith?”

Sam nodded. “It’s an odd case. We could use some help.”

Dean didn’t know what the hell Sam was doing. If She stuck around, it would be so much fucking harder to work on getting Dean out of his contract, and She said she’d been busy, and She might be a fanatic damn hunter but Dean couldn’t have Her around or he’d lose his fucking mind with need, and She obviously didn’t even want to-

“You- You really killed Azazel?”

Her voice was so fucking soft. Dean didn’t understand why She was so caught on that, or why when Sam nodded, Her body seemed to melt into the seat.

“Yeah. Alright.” She glanced out the window—to the shadows around the Roadhouse—and in this life She really did look like a fallen star. So perfectly fit in Baby’s back seat, drawing Dean back down into Her like she’d never even left.

But She had.

And when She looked back to Sam and Dean, Her chin slightly raised, the world did that odd stutter again, and something to the left of Dean’s heart clenched. 

“What are we doing next?”

The thing near Dean’s heart burst. Exploded into a million fucking pieces and fused back together in a split second, and suddenly the world was colorful in a way he hadn’t realized it had been dulled. 

Sam started to talk about how they’d been tracking Lilith, and Dean’s eyes locked with Her’s one last time.

She became more blinding every time he looked. He fell further every time She returned his gaze.

He had six months.

And this was going to fucking suck.

End Note: On god I will make these women three dimensional and likable characters who have personality outside of Dean. Eric Kripke I am in your walls.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[ns2dstudios]

My EPIC Journey

Where do I even begin? I have dreamt of being an animator ever since I was a little girl, growing up with the Disney animation renaissance era as well as a non-stop barrage of anime, in particular Dragonball Z. I even wrote in my high school yearbook that I dreamed of one day working for the studio that worked on Dragonball Z just so I can animate for that very series. And I made sure everyone knew it LOL

The dream didn't materialize, but after decades of struggle, I got something far better than I could ever have imagined. I get to animate at the comfort of my own home. I get the career I've always wanted, and am able to generally work at my own time. I get to work with a wonderful team (drawmisu, Camalemsy, Novi, Nathan Kuan, Jenny) who are generous with their time and talents and are fun to work with. And I get to work with wonderful clients who have changed my life and afforded me and my family the comforts we are enjoying, from Mortius, to Casper Fox, but most of all to Jorge Rivera-Herrans, whom I fondly call simply as Jay.

Jay gave me the amazing opportunity to be part of the roster of talented (skillented according to Casper) animator for the official EPIC: The Musical animatics and animations. He entrusted me with his vision, is just an overall joy to work with, and as some of you may know during the Vengeance Saga, literally saved my life for the simple fact that he commissioned me two animations (Dangerous and 600 strike finale), which allowed me, who does not have health insurance, to afford expensive care for a bad case of pneumonia. Without Jay, I would not only have reached my dreams, but I would literally not be here typing this. (Don't worry, with the generosity of my clients, I am actually now shopping around for a good health insurance company....which I know is a hot button topic right now, but I don't live in the US and our private health care here is often times better than public).

But I digress.

With the premiere of the Ithaca Saga, comes the conclusion of the concept album of EPIC: The Musical. But as Jay mentioned, the journey is far from done. I have so many things planned: more commissioned animatics from clients whom I also consider dear friends, more EPIC fan animatics and animations, more musical animatics from other IPs, an animated short, an animated trailer for my upcoming animated pilot episode, and so much more in the future!

Everything I have, the happiness and contentment that I am experiencing right now would not be possible had my paths not crossed with Jay's and his wonderful EPIC the Musical project. Our paths would not have crossed where it not for the EPIC fans who relentlessly tagged him in my animated works, which made him take notice and reach out. And I would not have become a big fan of EPIC, where it not for my cousin Julia, who had been relentless in her goal to turn me into an EPIC fan ever since the TROY saga dropped (I will never stop thank you, pinsan! Love you so much!)

This is not goodbye. This is see you again soon.

REAL SOON.

Bye for now, you guys! This has been Gwendy from NS2D Studios saying, I will see you, when I see you.

[bellaxgiornata]

A Favor from the Devil |Chapter One|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Mom!Reader Word Count: 2.2k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Domestic abuse, depictions/mentions of sexual assault, struggles with past trauma, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut (possibly more warnings to come)

Summary: Between working cases at Nelson, Murdock, and Page and combating crime as Daredevil in Hell’s Kitchen at night, Matt had little time for much else. Until a new neighbor moves in across the hall and you attract his attention with your odd behavior. But when your quiet four year old doesn't just befriend the Devil–she unravels his biggest secret–Matt only grows closer and more protective of the both of you. Inevitably he learns the truth of your past, but that's not what surprises him most. It's a favor you ask of the Devil–a favor that initially leaves Matt conflicted.

a/n: This is a story I've had in my head for quite a few months now and have steadily been working on for a bit for myself, but now I've decided to share it. I've spent quite a bit of time outlining and fleshing out the story--more than I usually do. As always, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kee-0-kee @dethspllz @a-half-empty-g1rl @senjoritanana

“And that's the end,” you said. 

Closing the book in your lap, you glanced up from the brightly colored illustrations of animals on the back cover to your daughter who sat clutching Barnabas, the stuffed teddy bear that she never went to bed without. Her eyes had grown wide and hopeful as they held your gaze–a look you'd long since become familiar with. It was the same one she always gave you when she was about to stall in an attempt to avoid her inevitable bedtime. And it often worked on you, whether she realized it or not.

“Again?” Evelyn asked softly, a little hand reaching out towards the book. “Please, mama?”

“Cricket,” you replied gently, glad to hear she was stringing more words together tonight despite the excitement of this evening's move. “I've already read it five times now. I think it's time we put it away for tonight and you get to sleep.” 

Evelyn's face fell at your answer and the sight pained you. It didn’t help that you knew just how anxious she'd been the entire weekend with all the big changes you both had going on yet again. She'd spent the past week barely saying more than a single word because of it.

“The book will still be here tomorrow,” you promised her. “We can read it again then.”

“Helps me sleep,” she whispered.

The growing frown curving her lips downwards and the little crease forming between her furrowed brows tugged at your heart. Especially with how she looked so small tucked inside the too-large sleeping bag you'd recently purchased at a thrift store. It looked as if she was being swallowed up by the giant purple thing considering she didn't even take up half the length of it. 

Sighing, you felt your resolve fading the longer she stared up at you with her pleading eyes. With everything that you'd both been through over the past few months, and how you'd already felt guilty for all of the things you'd done wrong and hadn't been able to give her–which included an actual bed to sleep in once you'd gotten this apartment–you knew you wouldn't be able to resist that look. The very least you could do was read the book to her for a sixth time.

Leaning back once more against the bedroom wall behind you, you settled in for another few minutes on the uncomfortable floor. “Alright,” you relented. “I can read it just one more time for you, cricket. But then you've got to promise me something. Can you do that?”

The expression on her face changed, her small nose slightly scrunching up as her head turned to the side. “What?” she asked.

“Promise me that you'll actually go to sleep when I'm done,” you said, reaching a hand out to lightly ruffle her hair. “Because it's late and you've got your first day of preschool in the morning. Remember?”

“Oh,” she whispered, visibly sinking lower into the sleeping bag. 

You frowned. She'd been nervous for that, too.

“Hey,” you said, your hand smoothing her hair before coming to gently rest along her shoulder. “You'll have fun there, I promise. I know it can seem scary going somewhere new, but you've been doing a great job adjusting to all the new things we've been through already. And you'll make friends, Evie. It'll be alright, I promise.”

The doleful look on her face didn't waver despite your attempt to comfort her. You hoped that beginning preschool tomorrow in conjunction with yet another move didn't set her back to nonverbal responses again. Guilt burned inside of you at the thought of how much your previous situation had led her to become so timid and quiet, afraid to use her own voice. It didn't matter that everyone at Hope Haven had tried to reassure you that none of what you'd been through was your fault, that you had done everything you could when you could. That didn't stop you from still feeling wholly responsible.

You should have seen it coming. Should have done something sooner.

But that was in the past now.

“And after work I'll pick you up and bring you back home with me,” you told her, trying to lighten her mood. “We can eat tonight's leftover pizza for dinner. And maybe I can get us some ice cream on the way home. How does that sound, cricket?”

Evelyn's hands began fidgeting with the edge of her sleeping bag, rolling it up between her small fingers. Her eyes remained downcast, avoiding yours. You knew she often fidgeted when she was anxious, a habit that just seemed wrong for a four year old to have acquired.

“Is this home?” she asked. 

The ever present guilt in your stomach burned, your chest tightening at the unexpected and loaded question. You hated that she worried about things that no four year old should be worrying about, too. Another thing that was all your fault.

Expression softening, you nodded. “Yeah, Evie,” you answered, your hand dropping down to wrap around her little one that was still fidgeting with the edge of her sleeping bag. “This is home. We're staying here. Hopefully for a long, long time.”

Glancing up at you from beneath her lashes, you could see the expression on her face had yet again changed. This time she was staring up at you with a look that you absolutely hated seeing on her little face. One full of fear and uncertainty. A particular memory flashed through your mind at the sight of it and the acid in your stomach had a wave of nausea hitting you. Eyes briefly dropping down to the scar across the back of your right hand, you tried to fight back the tremble that had begun in it.

“We're safe?” Evie asked.

Attempting to swallow down the lump that had formed in the back of your throat, you nodded. You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, though it felt like your heart was shattering in that moment. Because after all, it had also been your fault that it had taken so long to get the pair of you somewhere safe.

“Yes,” you stated, your trembling hand gripping the book in your lap tighter in an attempt to calm the quivering. “We're safe here. Don't ever worry about that, alright? That's for me to worry about. And I will always make sure you're safe. You hear me? Always .”

There was a long pause before she very slowly nodded her head just once. Your left hand patted hers tenderly, sending her what was meant to be a reassuring smile. You hoped it had been, because you'd been doing your best to appear more put together than you actually felt lately. You didn't need Evie to be worrying about anything else.

“So,” you said, trying to change the topic, “I guess we should get back to finishing our bedtime story, huh?”

Evie nodded vigorously, pushing herself more upright in her sleeping bag, her expectant eyes on you. You sent her another smile before clearing your throat and focusing back down on the book in your lap. Opening it once more with your still quivering hand, you tried to push the bad memories from your mind as you began to read in an animated voice. 

It wasn't until four pages later that you'd glanced up at Evie. She had leaned over to see the pictures in the book while you read, all traces of fear gone from her face. Instead, she looked enraptured in the story that you knew she had completely memorized by now with how often you'd read it to her. There was a ghost of a smile on her face as she cuddled Barnabas tightly to her chest. And in that moment your heart felt full of hope.

Running a hand across your forehead, you paced your way around the mostly unfurnished apartment you'd just moved into this evening. The sparseness of the place was truthfully embarrassing. Currently all you had was Evie's sleeping bag, a blanket and lumpy pillow set aside by Evie’s bedroom door which would be your bed for the foreseeable future, and the empty boxes tossed around what would someday hopefully be a living room. For now it was just a large, empty room beside the small, empty kitchen.

As you paced around another overturned, half-broken down cardboard box, your shoulders dropped. You'd managed to pack all of Evelyn's and yours’ belongings in those boxes now lying discarded on the floor. Just six boxes fit your entire life. You certainly hadn't had much when you'd grabbed Evelyn and ran those couple of months ago. Just one garbage bag filled with mostly her clothes and things with a few of yours mixed in. Though even if you'd had time to pack more, there wouldn't have been much else to bring with you because neither of you’d ever had much to begin with. 

And now here you were struggling to afford the very little you had as it was, no matter how desperately you were trying to stretch your measly new salary. It pained you to not be able to provide properly for you and your daughter. You remembered how you’d felt that very last night you'd stayed at Hope Haven, the women's shelter that you’d be forever grateful for taking the pair of you in and helping you start your new life. 

Long after Evelyn had gone to sleep on your last night there, you'd laid awake in bed crying quietly to yourself as you stared at that damn purple sleeping bag mocking you from across the room. You’d felt like a terrible mother–for more than one reason. As tears ran down your cheeks, you’d vowed to save up to buy Evie a bed, doing whatever you needed to until you could. You'd give her that at least, even if it meant skipping meals whenever you could to save the extra cash. But honestly, you found yourself already often having to skip meals just so you could afford to keep Evie fed.

Pausing in your aimless pacing, you came to a stop beside one of the large windows in the living room. Placing a hand against the cool glass, you looked outside at the city. Your eyes inevitably found their way to the massive billboard positioned on the building across the street which hung at precisely your apartment's height. But fortunately for you the eyesore was more directly across from the apartment next door to yours, making it less noticeable and disruptive from your view. Though you had no choice but to feel grateful for the hideous thing because it had been the sole reason you'd gotten such a reduced rent in the first place. Otherwise you'd never have been able to afford a place in a relatively safe area of Hell’s Kitchen.

As you blankly stared outside at the billboard, watching the advertisements change from one to the next, you hoped things would be different here. Better. Because both you and Evie needed that. Your daughter needed a stable place to live, one she felt safe coming home to for once, and you desperately wanted to provide that for her. With every fiber of your being you hoped that this place would finally become the home you'd been struggling to create since the day she was born.

Pushing away from the glass, you rubbed at your tired eyes. It was late and you knew you should probably get some sleep yourself now that Evie had finally fallen asleep a little while ago. But the prospect of sleeping on the cold, hard floor with nothing but a singular blanket and pillow didn't sound that appealing. You certainly weren't rushing to get to sleep yourself. 

Making your way back across the apartment, you reluctantly picked up the blanket and pillow from the ground. Carrying both of them over towards the closed door of Evelyn's bedroom, you set the pillow down. With both hands you tossed the blanket out, splaying it wide across the floor. You realized it was probably ridiculous sleeping in front of her bedroom door like this, especially because there was another bedroom, but it made you feel better. Because laying here, you knew that you were between your daughter and anyone who might come through the front door–namely one person in particular. 

Not that he even knew where you were.

Beginning to lower yourself to the floor, preparing to get some rest, movement caught your attention out of the kitchen window across the room. You stopped instantly, head spinning fully towards the window as you sat half-crouched like a startled animal. Adrenaline and fear spiked through you as your eyes caught a shadow darting across the neighboring rooftop. For a moment you could have sworn the shadow had been shaped like a person, but as you scanned the rooftop now, you didn't see anything at all.

Shaking your head, you blinked hard a couple of times as you finally sunk to the floor. You had to have been seeing things because you were overtired and on edge. That's all it was. There was no reason for someone to be running along a rooftop late at night.

[incorrect-green-lantern-quotes]

Hey! Just wanna say im really glad i found this account ive been getting into green lantern comics recently and your page is a godsend.Aside from that its one of the few that isnt overrun with batman/batfam content propinng him or his orphan child soliders by putting down other dc characters..so i was curious if you knew any dc fanfics that portray the lanterns as competent and or calling bruce out on his bullshit ( sorry if my text is a bit jumbled english isnt my first language)

I'm glad you like my content!

Tbh the fanfiction situation for Green Lanterns is just as bad as it is on Tumblr, if not worse. So a few of these fics are going to be bat-centric, but I've specifically selected those that I feel actually respect and understand the GLs instead of flanderizing them to be stupid assholes.

I've tagged the authors whose Tumblr usernames I could find in the fic or their AO3 profiles. If you're one of the authors I haven't tagged, just let me know and I'll edit the post to add you.

But without further ado, the GL contents of my bookmarks in no particular order:

Fics where the Bats are uninvolved or only play a minor role

In the end, we all bleed Green. by @catboyollie (series) - a collection of GL shortfics

Kink Meme #5 by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic) - Most people forget Guy Gardner was a teacher...

Friendship, Ice Cream, and Green Lanterns by MildlyRebelliousMint - GLs hanging out after a battle

Family is What You Make Of It by @exasperatedfey - in which Hal has to bail his fellow GLs out of jail

In Case of Emergency by @susanphoenix - Kilowog’s been adopted by the Earth heroes as the GL to go to if they can’t find the earth lanterns. No one told him that.

i ate up all the light by @effietrinket1619 - Six times Hal was there for a fellow GL (and one time they're there for him). TW for roofie

Good Cop/Bad Cop by @meduseld - shortfic of Hal being a scary mf

Adrift by @rose-cake - Simon and Jessica are partners. That word has multiple meanings. Minor Simon/Jessica

These Mountains by pastelplastic - Superman meets Tomar-Re, the Green Lantern who failed to save Krypton

Justice League's most wanted fugitive: Hal Jordan by Panamic - The Justice League are trying to find Green Lantern. Hal does not want to be found by the JL. Shenanigans ensue

No Rest for a Superhero by Crimson_Crystal - Kyle sacrifices sleep to finish an art commission and crashes

A Mind Of His Own by @wolfsbanesparks - The Justice League finds out Captain Marvel is actually a kid, and Hal is the only one who still treats him like a fellow hero

The Goddess of Petty Annoyances by @galahadwilder - Jessica invades Apokolips specifically to annoy Darkseid. Crack

Shooting for the Stars by @green-lanterns-c0ck - Guy in his yellow ring era bumbles into saving a galaxy far far away. Crack crossover with Star Wars

canary in a coal mine by BrandyFromTheBottle - Guy is an asshole to Dinah, but he's trying to be better about it

Hal & Kyle fics (there's enough of these that they warrant their own category)

Luminance by @lanternwisp - Hal slowly realizing he thinks of Kyle as a son

trajectory from me to you by @softpunks - deaged!Kyle thinks Hal is his dad

the moldy cup is not a metaphor by MildlyRebelliousMint - Kyle calls Hal "dad" and Hal goes to visit Barry, totally not freaking out

friendly fields and open roads by @ufonaut - Hal returned to life and feels like shit. Kyle comes seeking a mentor.

ship in a bottle by @hopeworth - Two former hosts of Parallax meet up for brunch

Fics involving Bats that respect Green Lanterns

we're in the mellow mayhem together (series) by lunaratlasky - Jason seeks out Hal whenever he wants to piss off Bruce

Emergency Line (series) by @crucifixinhell - jason looked at hal once and went "you seem like good dad material"

For Whom We'd Give Blood (series) by Boogalee99 - How Hal Jordan becomes the favorite uncle of the batfam

There's Always Another One by lapsedpacifist - Dick gets fired and decides to crash at Hal's place

To Overcome Fear (ongoing) by @dc-sideblog - Stephanie gets fired and Kyle decides that if the Bats don't want a perfectly good superhero, the Green Lanterns definitely do

Disclosure by @aj-artjunkyard - Maybe Hal isn't as at peace with a certain android's death as he thought he was... and maybe he's not alone in his grief either.

Stars in a Paint-Filled Sky by @thenaphorism - Kyle has to explain to the Justice League why he has a Red Hood/Troia tramp stamp

because you know better by @matchahater - Ion and Red Hood contemplate the ethics of resurrection

catch the asteroids that come your way by @thepackwantsthed - the only JayKyle fic that I've ever liked

Justice League International - Spoiled! by @secretlystephaniebrown - Guy Gardner, Crystal Brown's childhood neighbor and best friend, ends up taking in her daughter Stephanie after an unexpected turn of events.

the superhero game (ongoing) by Nyame - Jason Todd Peggy Sue longfic ft. a near-omnipotent White Lantern

I'm gonna pin this post and update it as I encounter more fics I like, so drop some recommendations in the comments for me and everyone else!