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ahundredtimesover · 12 days ago

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Something About You (02) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, talks of cheating (JK’s ex), minor injury (18+)

Word count: 9k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

Despite your busy schedule, the week flies by painfully slow. You’re thankful to Mo-eum for checking on you and accompanying you to dinner on some days. Otherwise, you wouldn’t get off your laptop screen and actually eat. With the questions given to you in advance, you’ve also been practicing your answers for the panel discussion.

To be able to share your research to a group of people who’ll find the value in it and understand what you and your team went through to get it done is a big deal to you. More than anything, you just want to be able to give justice to the stories of the community you worked with; you want to shed light on who they are and what they’re experiencing.

Saturday finally comes, and after you grab a quick lunch after a field visit, you head home and get your power suit on then wait for Jungkook to arrive.

He’s in high spirits when you enter the car. His students won yesterday’s round of the swim meet again and they’ll be going into regionals next Friday. You’re elated for him, as he gets to share something he loves for the young people he truly feels passionate about.

You know about Jungkook's youth being all about sports. He wanted to become a professional athlete and growing up, he played everything he could. He was a taekwondo black belter and he excelled in swimming and track and field. He thought he’d go to the National Sports University to become an Olympian, but something changed in his senior year of high school.

One day he just decided he wanted to be a spectator of the sports he loves instead of being in the midst of it. The passion dwindled, he’d said. He was a late applicant to your university and took up Sports Science. He still enjoyed swimming so he joined the varsity team and won local competitions, but that was as far as he wanted to go. He eventually chose a teaching path over being a therapist in honor of his mother who’s also a teacher, and suddenly his desire to share his love for sports with kids like him just grew.

He talks about his students with such joy. It’s definitely different from the way you talk about your passion with such anger and intensity but like he’d said not long ago, you’re both changing lives anyway. Anger can do that. So can patience and commitment.

You let him talk about his classes to calm yourself down, and you learn that it’s easy with him. You don’t spend time alone with Jungkook as much as you do with Jimin or Taehyung, and you’re finding his presence to be comforting.

It’s mixed with teasing and nonsense talk and encouraging words. He makes fun of you one minute then tells you to stop biting your lips the next. He makes you play rock-paper-scissors and pinches your cheek when you lose, then goes to a drive-thru to get you a drink and a pastry, even if you insist there’ll be lots of food at the event.

“I bet you’ll be too anxious to eat before you go on,” he shrugs. “Just get something in your stomach.”

So you agree and nibble on the tarts he buys. The 75-minute drive ends and he drops you off at the conference center. He says he’ll find a cafe or a park to hang out in and that he’ll just wait until you finish.

You go through your panel discussion and engage in really good discourse with your peers. You feel that flutter in your chest the more you talk about your work and its importance in today’s social and political landscape.

You stay there for four hours. It’s enough time to entertain other attendees who ask more about your research and to make new networks that’ll be beneficial to your research teams moving forward. You only intended to stay a while so you message Jungkook and let him know you’re ready to go.

It’s 6:30 PM when he picks you up, and you breathe out a long exhale both in relief and in exhaustion.

“I’m sure you did well. You can take a nap if you want. All the talking and worrying must’ve drained you,” he says.

“It did,” you yawn. “Choose whatever restaurant you want. Just wake me up when we get there.”

Jungkook nods and watches you immediately fall asleep, with your arms reflexively crossing against your chest, as if you’re hugging yourself. You rarely snore loudly but you do this time; it tells him just how tired you really are. He records it for future use, but he can’t help but look at you fondly at how much you give yourself to the things you do.

You’re deep in dreamland when you suddenly feel tapping on your head, then your nose, then a pinch on your cheek. An annoying sing-song voice urges you to wake up.

You curse under your breath.

“Is that how you thank your chauffeur?” Jungkook laughs. “Wipe your crusty eyes. We’re here.”

You wake up to find yourself outside a Japanese hotpot place that you remember him talking about last week. You’re surprised he didn’t choose something more expensive, as Jimin and Taehyung tend to take advantage of you paying when you treat them out, but you suppose Jungkook is different in that sense.

“This is dinner,” he says. “There’s a dessert place not far from here.”

“Do I treat you there, too?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Yup. A meal isn’t complete without dessert.”

He flashes you his cheeky, bunny smile.

Never mind. They’re all the same, you think to yourself.

“Fine. That place better be good.”

As you expected, both are insanely delicious. Jungkook’s a foodie and you knew that he wouldn’t waste this free meal for something he’s not sure he’d like.

He took charge of the hotpot earlier. You don’t recall your bowl being empty and that’s another thing you’re not surprised about him. He likes making sure other people enjoy their food just as much as he enjoys eating.

Your conversations during dinner about your respective weeks continue over dessert.

His mornings are packed with PE classes for middle and high school kids. In the afternoons, he coaches the swim and track teams on alternate days. In between all of that, he organizes sporting events, facilitates intra-school competitions, makes sure the gyms are well-maintained, and occasionally deals with students with behavioral issues because he’s apparently good at managing them, and they seem to trust him, too.

He crashes when he gets home, wakes up in time to prepare his dinner, goes back to sleep, then does it all over again the next day. Weekends are really his only time to do things for himself - swim in the community pool, play his video games, or go to the gym.

“Sorry I hijacked your one other day of leisure and rest,” you sigh, as you finish the last of the black sesame cheesecake.

“Nah, all good. It was nice to go out for a drive. It’s relaxing for me,” he explains. “Except for when my passenger spends the entirety of it snoring but that’s fine, too.”

You kick his shin in response and he’s used to your violence by now. He barely feels anything anyway.

“But really, thank you, Kook.”

“Friends do nice things for each other,” he smiles. “Plus, I’m sure there have been times over the years when I wasn’t there for you when I should have been.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, maybe after your breakups or when you were getting burnout from your other job,” he shrugs. “Maybe even recently when you were so stressed with work.”

It’s a thought he had this past week, as your conversations last weekend triggered memories of your friendship. You’re a constant, as all his other friends are, but you always existed as part of the whole.

Within your smaller group, you’re the one he’s spent the least time with the most. He and Jimin have been friends since middle school and shared an apartment during university, which Taehyung crashed everyday. He and Mo-eum had a few classes together and he often asked her to teach him First Aid and other things to do during an emergency.

You were always busy and when you weren’t, he was. He knows the struggles you went through personally and professionally, but somehow hearing you talk about them at this point in your lives made you seem a little unfamiliar to him even if he was already used to you. It’s as if he’s experiencing you and your friendship on its own for the first time, and that’s made him think that perhaps he should’ve been a better friend to you.

“Kook, we were both going through breakups at the same time,” you remind him. “I never expected you to deal with my shit when you were dealing with your own. Plus, you’re literally the one with the stressful job. You deal with kids, parents, other teachers… that’s a lot to handle. We’ve been there for each other every time we could.”

“I guess,” he smiles, appreciative of the assurance.

“For all I know, there have been times when I also haven’t been there for you when I should’ve been,” you point out.

Come to think of it, there may have been instances when you were too caught up in your own issues to even ask him if he was doing okay.

“Remember the party the night after our graduation?” He asks, softening at the memory. “You kept dancing around me and I remember thinking you were just drunk and being a weirdo but I found out later on that Joo-yun was there and you were trying to make sure that she didn’t see me.”

“Yeah because if she did, she would’ve tried to talk to you and you said you were done with her shit. Keeping her away from all of us was the sane thing to do. I was scared they’d take back my diploma if I pulled her hair because I really wanted to do that,” you frown, remembering how that bitter woman was trying to look for him and you wanted to make sure that Jungkook didn’t have to deal with her again.

“And that last night at your apartment when I told everyone about Si-an…” He continues. “I was drunk but I clearly remember hearing you hatch a plan to go to her apartment and egg her car.”

You both burst into laughter. Twenty-five year old you was kind of a bitch.

“It was supposed to be her face but I didn’t want to get sued. That’s her money-maker after all,” you explain. “But you know me, Kook. I get angry a lot.”

“I know. And it’s not always a bad thing,” he says.

“Well, whatever happened or didn’t happen during those times, what matters is that we get to do good friend things for each other this time, right?” You smile. “Although you’ve been doing more of that recently with the driving and all.”

“Hey, you helped me with the research I needed for the youth wellbeing plan that the school asked me to do not long ago.”

“That just took me like, an hour,” you shrug.

He playfull rolls his eyes. He knows you put effort on that regardless.

But you accept his thanks and assure him that he can always go to you for help in that area.

You finish the last of your drinks and dessert and Jungkook drives you home.

Your night ends with the relief of the hot shower and your cozy bed.

His night ends with the warmth of the rare hug you give him and the sting of your pinch of his cheek.

It's next Friday when you find a chance to be there for Jungkook this time. Although you doubt he needs you, you think that showing your support would do good for team morale.

You’d just finished an offsite meeting and rushed to the school that you heard the swimming competition will take place. Jungkook’s students made it to the next round after last week’s win, and placing today would mean they’ll have a chance to compete in the nationals.

You make your way to the bleachers and spot him huddling the kids and giving an impassioned pep talk. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him and it’s nice to witness the often quiet, sometimes cheeky boy you know show this much emotion and intensity.

He finally looks up and spots you, waving eagerly at him in your corporate attire and looking a bit out of place, but somehow you fit right in. He smiles as he waves back and points to one of his kids taking position.

You cheer for each one and even get the crowd to yell louder when Jungkook’s team places in a race. You’re not really sure how this goes but his students have been performing well and you just keep hollering to encourage them.

Jungkook laughs from where he stands on the bench, even more so when he overhears one of his students remark that he didn’t know they had fans.

“Do we know her?” Another one asks as he gestures towards you.

“I do,” Jungkook hums. “She’s a friend.”

“You’re not even competing,” another one comments.

“Well, she’s cheering for me. And I’m part of your team so that means she’s cheering for you, too,” Jungkook smiles now.

His students look at you and wave, and you excitedly wave back. Your cheers seem to pump them up, as they all place, earning the team enough points to advance to the next round.

You meet them after awarding and introduce yourself as the loud auntie.

“We were surprised because no one ever cheers that loud for us,” one of the kids says. “But Coach said you’re his friend and you’re cheering for him which means you’re cheering for us, too.”

“Well, Coach Jeon cares about all of you and he’s my friend which means I care about you guys as well,” you smile. “But you all did really great out there. I’m sure you’ll do amazing next week.”

“Will you be there again?” One of them asks.

“I will,” you say. “Maybe a few of our other friends, too.”

They look excited and promise that they’ll train even harder. You bid them goodbye and walk with Jungkook to his car, reminding him that you still don’t have yours. It prompts him to tease that you probably only came today so he could drive you home.

“I can find my way, excuse you,” you stick out your tongue. “But a ride wouldn’t be bad.”

“Why did you come, anyway?”

“My meeting ended early. Plus, you were talking about how excited your students were,” you respond. “You did a lot to improve the school’s swimming program and you’re literally their coach, their biggest cheerleader. You need one, too. And that’s me.”

“Thanks,” he hums, flashing you his dimpled smile this time. “That’s actually pretty sweet.”

“Good friend things,” you remind him.

“So you’re really watching again next week?”

“Yeah! My schedule seems fine. Plus, the crowd’s really interesting,” you say. “I was talking to the women who were there for their sons and brothers from the other teams and they were gushing about the young Coach of the other school who was really handsome.”

“Oh, really? And did you agree?”

“Hmm, I said he was alright,” you shrug.

Jungkook laughs and accepts the honesty. He turns on the engine and turns to you.

“So, where to?”

“This barbecue place,” you say. “Jimin and Tae are meeting us there and Mo-eum will follow after her shift. So let’s go. We’re celebrating you tonight.”

Jungkook’s team was a few points away from placing in the nationals but none of the students, as well as him, was any bit disappointed. They worked hard and went as far as they could; even they didn’t expect to make it all the way here.

But Jungkook did. Despite his own concerns about stepping up at the start of the year after the head coach took an emergency leave, he knew the potential of his students. They did the sport for fun, but he saw how they committed themselves to it, how they disciplined themselves, and how they trusted and encouraged each other.

That final competition was a memorable one, especially as he had all of his friends supporting his students who received the loudest cheers from the audience. You managed to get everyone to attend on a Friday afternoon, and when Jungkook thanked you for showing up when you didn’t have to, you teased him by saying that you “did it for the kids.”

The soft smile you gave told him that was only partly true.

That night ended with dinner and drinks with everyone and an unspoken promise between the two of you that you’ll try to be there for each other more this time around.

That was two weeks ago and he’s hung out with you three times since then. He clocked out later than usual one Wednesday and randomly texted you, and you both ended up having dinner at a noodle house.

The Saturday after that, you all went to Taehyung’s apartment. You fell asleep, woke up at 2AM, and found Jungkook was still there because your friend insisted that he take you home.

A few days later, you were craving kebabs and messaged Jungkook, who was always good at finding the best restaurants and food stalls. So you went to one in another neighborhood and stayed until closing.

It’s another Friday night and you, Jungkook, Jimin, and Mo-eum decided to indulge Taehyung and go to this Club to relive your early twenties when you all used to do this almost every week.

Once you enter, you’re hit with the reality that you are definitely no longer built the same way, as the dress with the heels ensemble doesn't feel that bearable anymore. The crowd is at least around your age, and the place is a lot more sophisticated than you’re used to. The music has more of a chill vibe, and not the EDM sound that nowadays gives you headaches.

You’d much rather be elsewhere but you spend some of your nights like this because you want to be with your friends and tonight, at least three of them want to let loose and have fun.

Taehyung is socializing like always while Jimin and Mo-eum are dancing and taking shots on the dance floor. You were doing that earlier, too, but your legs started giving in and you asked Jungkook to not leave you at the cocktail table so you don’t look like a complete loser, hanging out by yourself.

“Not your ideal Friday night anymore, huh?” Jungkook whispers in your ear over the music. “You look so done with everything.”

“My feet hurt,” you pout. “I wanna drink some more but it’s so loud and so… busy. So many things are happening.”

“We can always–”

“Jungkook?”

It takes a while for the voice to register. It’s been years and it’s something he’s tried hard to forget but once he places it, the mixed feeling of anger and sadness comes rushing in. There are many things he never got to tell her, mostly because everything was so sudden and he just tried to bury it all in hopes of never having to deal with them again.

But the universe fucks with him sometimes and tonight just happens to be the night when it does.

“Uh, Si-an…” he finally says, the sound of her name tasting bitter off his lips. “Hey.”

“It’s so good to see you,” she says, eyeing him up and down. “It’s been so long! I saw you from the bar and thought you looked familiar and wow, you’ve… you’ve changed a lot. In a good way, of course. It’s so weird because I was thinking about you the other day and I was wondering how you were doing. I wanted to message you and ask—”

“Seriously?”

You wish your tone expressed how pathetic you think she sounds right now and her incredulous face tells you it probably did.

“Oh, you’re here,” she glares at you, her eyes looking offended at your mere presence. “And so are your friends,” she grudgingly says after looking around the Club.

“Is that a problem?” You ask, crossing your arms and moving closer to eye her up and down.

“Let’s just say… you’re not exactly the most pleasant people out there,” she replies.

“Aww, well. We tend to be like that to snakes and shitty people,” you sneer. “And don’t worry, we think the same way about you. Kinda surprised you even have the nerve to walk up here and talk to him after everything you did but then again, I guess being pathetic knows no limits.”

You can tell this provoked her, as her already irritated face distorts into anger but you’re unsure what else she has to say. She’s the one who messed up in the first place.

“Look, you may be friends with Jungkook but you don’t know me to be making claims like that. Whatever—”

“I know you enough. That shit you did says everything about you,” you interject, feeling your blood boiling to a high degree by now with how she thinks she even has a defense. Like she even has the right.

You feel like you’ve really pushed her buttons, as she rolls her eyes and flips her hair as if she’s someone important and you’re not even worth her time. You know she’s about to say something completely stupid and you telepathically apologize to Jungkook for the person you’ll become once that happens.

“You have no right to talk about my relationship with Jungkook,” she bites back. “We had our issues but we loved each other. Things happen and people make mistakes. He was busy and I needed—”

“Oh. Don’t even go there. You know what you did, Si-an,” you warn, your voice getting louder and more pointed now. “Don’t you dare trivialize or justify it. That was all on you so don’t come around here and act like you actually care.”

“You’re the one who seems to be caring too much!” She chides. “Why? You want to impress him by humiliating me? By showing him you can do better? Is that what you’re trying to prove?”

You shake your head in disbelief. You’ve dealt with people like this - the ones who deflect, the ones who can’t deal with the consequences of their actions, and those who think they can just get away with shitty behavior because of who they are. And well, you’ve got to admit she’s still as pretty as she was and she knows it; she’s not a model for no reason.

But still, you can’t stand her accusing you of stupid shit and taking everything she did to your friend this lightly.

“You know what? I actually feel sorry for you,” you sigh. “You finally get to date a good guy for once and then you mess it all up. Jungkook’s one of the nicest people in this messed up world and you know this, but you treated him like crap because you think you could and then get away with it. And now what, a couple of douchebags later you realize what you let go of and you regret it all? You get what you deserve. And you stopped deserving him the moment you betrayed him so cut the crap. No one’s falling for your shit this time.”

You’re panting by the time you finish, as the pent up anger from all these years reaches its boiling point. They may have dated for only a year but you knew Jungkook cared a lot about her. Even if she clung to him like glue whenever he brought her along, you respected their relationship enough to not meddle, although you knew that Jimin and Taehyung had hinted how uncomfortably clingy she was.

He seemed content. And then she cheated, and that was just inexcusable.

You remember how sullen Jungkook looked when he announced the breakup, and how he couldn’t properly narrate how he found out. You always thought it affected him so much that he never really talked about her in the three years since then, except when you were at the cabin not long ago. And even then, it wasn’t really much. You can’t imagine what it’s like to be betrayed like that, and for a tender-hearted man like him, you suppose it hits that much harder.

And so knowing how he’s kept it all in and then seeing her act like what she did was worthy of forgiveness or even another chance, it makes you sick. You’re not about to just stand around and watch her trivialize what she did, so you gave her a piece of your mind, which you think is quite overdue.

Si-an looks truly offended; she can’t even look in your direction.

“I don’t have to deal with you,” she manages to say, annoyance laced in her voice.

“Good, because we’re just about to leave,” you say.

You turn towards the left where the exit door is, not wanting to be anywhere near her, either. But then she speaks again.

“Jungkook, I meant what I said that I’ve been wondering how you are. There’s so much I want to say and I was hoping we could talk.”

Your gaze stays on him, wondering what he’ll do this time. You know he has self-respect that he won’t bend to her will and give her a chance to say whatever she thinks still needs to be said, but your heart still stops at the possibility of him still doing that.

“It’s too late for that, Si-an,” he utters. “I don’t really have anything to say to you. Have a good life.”

Then he grabs his coat hanging over the chair and walks towards you.

“Let’s go,” he gestures towards the door. “Kinda don’t wanna be here anymore.”

You grab onto his wrist to not lose him in the crowd and manage to get down to the lobby of the building unscathed. It’s nearing 12 AM and the Club is just about to get more full, and you know Jungkook enough that he won’t want to be around people after what happened.

Getting out on the street, you spot a convenience store. He looks a little dazed and you think a different environment is good for both of you at this moment.

“I’ll just buy a bottle of water over there. Is it okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, sure,” he responds, walking to the dangerous side of the sidewalk next to you.

It’s just a block away but you’re reminded of how painful your feet are, now that the adrenaline has waned a bit. He notices and holds your arm for support. You mumble your thanks and sit on the first stool you see and sigh in relief.

He chuckles as he looks at you.

“I’ll get the water,” he says before heading inside.

He returns with two bottles of them, ice cold, and sits across from you. You watch as his eyes flick from one side of the street to another and sip his drink. You’re unsure what’s going on in his mind but yours are flashbacks of what happened just minutes ago and how you lost your cool and called out his ex-girlfriend. Which you now realize you maybe shouldn’t have done.

“I’m so sorry, Kook,” you finally say, covering your face and bowing your head.

“For what?” He asks.

“For crossing a line and saying all those things to her.”

“You mean, for telling her all the things I wish I should have?” He replies, prompting you to look up and see his soft smile.

“When all of that happened, I felt like there was nothing more to say to her,” he says after a beat of silence. “But seeing her again, knowing she wanted to talk now? Maybe there was something to be said, and I kinda just froze and you swept in and said all of that, much more eloquently than I probably would’ve been able to,” he hums. “So thanks, ___. I felt a big load off my chest because of that.”

“That’s a relief,” you sigh. “I couldn’t stand her acting all apologetic and risk her rekindling things with you. But do you believe her? About wanting to talk to you?”

“Somewhat,” he nods. “I blocked her number and unfollowed her everywhere on social media but she was trying to send a message on Instagram the other day so maybe she was honest about that.”

“And you’re not curious about what she wants to tell you?” You wonder.

“Nope. I caught up with a friend who still sees her posts and he said she’s had a couple of boyfriends since the breakup so what you said about reaching out to me a couple of douchebags later… that seemed accurate. I wouldn’t have thought of it that way.”

“Oh wow. I mean, I just made that up but I wouldn’t put it past her to be like that,” you shake your head. “She really might be trying to get you back, then.”

“Her boyfriends before me didn’t really treat her well, so maybe it’s the same this time.”

You know enough that in many cases, that pattern of relationships is rooted in some kind of pain. And you feel a tiny bit bad for Si-an if that’s the case. Jungkook might’ve been really the only one who ever treated her right.

“It’s not your responsibility anymore. You don’t have to deal with whatever she has going on, whatever it is,” you advise.

“I don't want to anyway. What she did… that changes a person,” he sighs. “It’s not an easy thing to get over.”

He sees your somber face and thinks that with you seeing him like this, he might as well tell you everything.

“The night I caught her with that guy, she got emotional. She’d been drinking and it was her defense but it also made her more honest,” he continues. “That… that wasn’t the first time.”

“What the f—” you start, although you doubt any other curse word would suffice.

“So yeah, that’s why it was hard to talk about and why I just wanted to forget about it. A part of me wanted to know why she did that. One time was something but more than once? That’s messed up.”

“You know, maybe I was too nice,” you groan. You remove your shoes and attempt to get up. “Let me go back and smack her f—”

He puts his arm in front of you to stop you and laughs.

“It’s okay, ___. She got the message. She doesn’t deserve our time.”

“Ugh. I should’ve egged her face when I had the chance,” you growl.

He just laughs again and you’re glad it’s a sound you get to hear now. You look at him and see perhaps just a fraction of the pain underneath and hope you could do something to ease whatever is remaining.

“So, I doubt you wanna get back in there. What if we buy something to drink here and get back to my place? Not unless you want to be alone or something…”

“Definitely not,” he says. “Your place is fine.”

“Alright, let me just tell Tae.”

You call your friend while you and Jungkook enter the convenience store to get some beer and something else a little stronger. Taehyung says that Jimin and Mo-eum are still enjoying themselves and that some of his friends have just arrived.

“We saw Si-an,” you explain.

“What! That witch is here?” He exclaims.

“Yes. And I went off on her so she probably expects you’d do the same. I won’t be surprised if she’s left after that though,” you say. “But Kook and I will just hang out at my place.”

“Alright. I’ll tell Mr. Yang to drive you home.”

“Great. Thanks, Tae. Let me know when the three of you get home.”

“Will do. Hug Kook for me, yeah? He secretly likes those.”

“I will,” you smile, just as Jungkook checks out your purchases.

You drop the call and inform Taehyung’s chauffeur where you are.

It’s quiet in the car the whole ride home. You leave Jungkook to his thoughts, knowing that he prefers a bit of time for himself to process things.

You arrive at your apartment, grab your drinks, and head to your small balcony. It’s quite chilly outside so you take your blankets with you and sit next to Jungkook. With cans of beer and a nice bottle of whiskey - that you take shots of while he drinks it on the rocks - you watch the moon sit prettily on the sky and think it’s not a bad way to end an unpleasant evening.

It’s quiet again for the first few minutes as you both settle in, and it’s Jungkook who speaks first.

“Thanks again, ___,” he says. “And not just for standing up for me but also for saying those things about me.”

“And I meant them. You’re a great guy, Kook, but she stuffed it up so sucks for her because someone else gets to have you now, or whenever. Let’s hope she’s a good one,” you smile. “But also, I’ve literally fought so many of our friends’ exes. That’s kinda my thing. Not that I’m proud of it but you know… I’m the back up when you guys can’t say what you want to say.”

“That’s true. There are those like us who find it hard and—”

“People like me who find it easy to get angry?” You finish.

“I meant people who can find the words to say and actually say them like you,” he corrects. “Plus, I told you that anger is good sometimes. You’ve always stood up for us and we always appreciate it.”

“Well thank you. The times I did that for myself, it led to my relationships ending,” you bitterly laugh. “But I guess they were bound to.”

“Is that how you look at it? That they ended because you stood up for yourself?”

“I think it changes, depending on where I’m at in life,” you say. “I mean, isn’t that a normal thing? A defense mechanism of some sort? We shift the blame? Or chalk it up to immaturity or inexperience? Or think the relationship just ran its course?”

“What is it this time?”

“Lately I’ve been thinking it’s all of that, all at once. It’s me standing up to them but also probably me being too much, or too impatient. Maybe I had high expectations or I deserved better or maybe we weren’t a good match. Maybe I just wasn’t the right person for them, or for myself, at that time.”

“Hmm,” he hums, sipping his second glass of whiskey.

He seems to be in deep thought, as he sinks a little deeper into his seat. You let him, as you let your own words linger in your mind.

How would you know if you’re the right person entering a relationship? How would you know if the other is? Or better yet, is it about being or becoming the right person? How do both of you get to that point without losing the person that you are?

“I was just wondering if there’s anything I should’ve done differently,” Jungkook says after some time. “So many times before, I kept asking myself if it was a moment or an action I did that made Si-an decide to just… do that.”

“Yah!” You nudge his knee then turn towards him.

You’re two bottles of beer and three shots down and he’s a little distorted in your eyes but you still see the hint of sadness on his face.

“Do not for a second think any of that was your fault. She did that. She made that decision,” you exclaim.

“I know, but what if I made it easy? I would pick her up from a shoot at dawn; sometimes I’d drive out of town just to see her for two hours,” he shares. “I was always around for her and maybe she saw me as expendable or too available and so someone she could treat badly and expect would forgive her. But then again, she was always clingy when we were around in public and I wasn’t because I wasn’t like that so maybe I should’ve been the same?”

“Kook, you wanted to be where she was because you liked her; that’s not being too available and that’s not a bad thing. And she just had this complex, okay? Like, she needs people to see she’s wanted,” you explain. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have taken you for granted. Whether you were busy or not around, that’s no reason to do what she did; she’d be loyal either way if she was a good person. And she wasn’t.”

“I guess,” he sighs, unconvincingly.

Wanting to make a point, you turn to him and cup his cheeks with your hands.

“Kook, look at me.”

“I am. And you look like a tomato.”

“Shush, I turn puffy when I’m mad and drunk,” you pout, but you continue.

“You are a great guy, okay? And you care about people. You treat your friends so well so I just know you treat your partners amazingly. You may not be perfect but your exes messed up. And I’m not just saying this because I’m your friend but because I can see it. Don’t ever think that you have to change or dim your shine or be less nice or more clingy to be wanted enough. Because the right person will want you regardless.”

Jungkook meets your eyes to let you know that he’s listening to what you’re saying, and that he’ll keep them in mind for the next time and next person, whenever or whoever that might be. He also wishes you can hear yourself and that you’ll take that to heart, too. You’re all kinds of great things; he just doesn’t know how to express that to you.

“Okay,” he smiles at you.

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay,” he chuckles.

You remove your hands from his face and turn your gaze back to the view before you. You lean your head on his shoulder and he shifts his body to make you feel comfortable.

“We’re good people, Kook. We’ll find other good people meant for us, too.”

It’s a good thought, as the person who’s right or could become right for him is just out there in the world, going about their life, and completely clueless that the right person for them is out here, just waiting to find them.

It’s 3 AM by the time you and Jungkook decide to call it a night. It felt so long with everything that happened in the Club. You just spent the past few hours finishing some cans of beer and ¾ of the whiskey while talking about random things like your college days and books you’ve read and weird food you want to try and your non-generic fears.

You were close to tears due to laughter for half of it. Jungkook has this charming, playful sense of humor that’s different from what you’re used to with Jimin and Taehyung and it felt comfortable being able to experience him that way.

You usually spend time with him within a group and these past few weeks of hanging out with just him has been nice. He’s thoughtful and attentive, holding your arm before you fall off your chair and making sure you don’t hit your head on the wall since you keep leaning back when you laugh. He plays along with your jokes and teases you constantly. He also has a quiet wisdom about him that’s very assuring.

To Jungkook, you’ve always been a fiery individual. You’re constantly moving, thinking, and talking. You have this burning passion for good things and you��re not afraid to speak out about them.

You work with many types of individuals and your energy and how you present yourself changes with each set of people. Within your friend group, everyone looks after you. They give you the hugs you always seek and make sure you’re fed and well taken care of.

Spending this much time with just you these past weeks has given him a deeper look into who you are outside of all that, which is all of those versions of you all at once. It’s quite the experience, as you go from angry to pouty to unhinged to sentimental then introspective in one sitting.

And it’s entertaining for him. And exciting. Somehow it’s very reassuring. Especially earlier when you defended him to his ex and said all those good things about him.

He didn’t realize it right away but his heart did a thing then. He’s not really sure why and where it came from, but it happened several times the rest of the night at your balcony when you cupped his face and looked in his eyes and every time you leaned on his shoulder.

It’s doing it again now, with you softly looking at him - despite the glassy eyes - standing by the couch as you tell him to just spend the night.

“I’ll fix the sofa bed while you shower. I have some of Jimin’s clothes here that you can use.”

“Okay,” he responds.

“Oh, and one last thing,” you say, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close in an embrace.

“Tae told me to hug you,” you whisper.

Jungkook chuckles and he takes it. But you sigh and rest your chin against his shoulder then there goes his heart again. He flattens his palms on your back and pulls you in a little tighter.

It lasts for a few seconds before you pull away, pinch his cheeks as you like to do, and gesture towards the bathroom.

“Toothbrush on the first drawer and towel on the second,” you say.

“Got it. Thanks.”

You pull the levers on the couch to convert it into a bed then put sheets and pillows over it. You put away all your beer cans and turn on the humidifier.

You get in the shower after he does and then find him still sitting on the bed when you finish.

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow,” you say while combing your hair. “I’m sure I’ll feel all this alcohol and sore feet all morning.”

“Sure thing. Good night, ___.”

“You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. I already am.”

Jungkook stays up for another hour just staring at your ceiling. There’s nothing particularly interesting about it but it connects him to where you are, just behind the half wall that separates your bed space from the rest of the apartment.

You’re probably in deep sleep and he hopes it’s a good one. You’d spent much of the night filled with emotions related to him, from the anger over what Si-an said to the heartbreak over what he experienced. At the end of it was the assurance and shared hope over the good that you both deserve and the love you'll one day find.

The tenderness of your smile and the warmth of your embrace linger after all that. Even more concerning, at least for him, was the rapid beating of his heart whenever he saw your lips turn up or when you’d try to cheer him up or when you’d move closer to him.

He acted unaffected, as if everything was natural. But the thing is - it is. You’re naturally like this. You’re emotional and encouraging, passionate and hopeful. You’ve called out your friends’ exes before, which always left them stunned and speechless. You’ve had hundreds of pep talks that Jungkook had been the receiver of or witnessed.

And you’re affectionate, endearingly so. You have this fondness for all your friends, which they all return with the way they take care of you. You like to hug and cuddle and cling to people and it’s never meant anything more - not to you and as far as he knows, not to your other friends.

But tonight, it felt different. It felt confusing. It also felt good, like something he wants to feel again. And maybe he will, as the thought of spending the next day with you invades his mind.

He finally falls asleep after doing the trick he taught you not long ago, where he tenses his muscles then relaxes them. It’s the next morning when a loud thump from nearby wakes him up from sleep.

He turns around, as he’d cocooned himself to one of the pillows, then finds you standing by the sofa bed, grimacing in pain. He sits up and rubs his eyes.

“What happened to you?” He grunts.

“I was gonna wake you up but I stubbed my toe on the foot of the couch,” you frown. “It hurts.”

“Show me,” he instructs, scooting to the side so you could sit down and stretch your leg. “You’re such a child sometimes,” he teases.

You playfully smile then remove your sleeping socks and wiggle your toes but wince again in pain when you do.

Jungkook assesses it and decides it’s nothing to be concerned about.

“It’s just bruised. It'll heal soon but just put ice on it for relief,” he says.

You nod and watch him stand to get your cold pack in the freezer. You place it on your toe while he washes up in your bathroom and you already feel better. He comes back out and you say you just ordered hangover soup for the both of you.

“Do you have coffee?”

“Yes, Kook. It’s the one thing I actually have,” you giggle, given that your non-cook ass doesn’t have anything else.

You usually just get your meals delivered. Your mom also occasionally sends containers of food to heat up and Mo-eum and Hayoung sometimes come to your apartment just to cook. It sounds pathetic, you know, which is why you bought yourself an air fryer to make you feel a little less helpless.

You just put something in, turn a knob, then wait. You’ve only used it a few times but still, it doesn’t make you one of those people with staple ingredients in their pantries. It’s something your friends often tease you about.

Jungkook pulls out two drip coffee sachets from the jar and you limp towards the balcony. It’s 1PM - you really slept through to midday - and the autumn sky is beautiful today. It’s also quite chilly, but it’s the perfect weather to enjoy your hot coffee outdoors.

Jungkook arrives with your mugs and the teapot and gradually pours the water over. You sit in silence as you wait for the drink to be ready. You’re still slowly waking up and he seems to still be in that post-sleep daze.

He hands you your coffee and you hum in satisfaction after your first sip.

“Hmm. Reminds me of the second morning in Chungbuk,” you hum.

Jungkook smiles. You were surprisingly the first two people from your cabin who were awake that time and you spent almost an hour just talking on the picnic table outside. There was chaos in both your minds but it was calm all around. He remembers that day fondly.

“Tae messaged and wants to know what happened,” you inform him. “He said we’ll all have dinner tonight at his favorite Chinese restaurant. We can just chill and then I’ll drive us there. I can drive you home, for a change.”

A tiny smile forms on Jungkook’s face.

“Sounds good.”

You eat your hangover soup on your tiny dining table, then you spend the rest of the short afternoon on your couch while watching random shows on TV. You talk and laugh then sit in silence, then talk and laugh again.

It’s Jungkook and he’s used to your fluctuating energy by now. You’ve been friends for over 10 years and he knows how you are - blabbering one minute then zoning out the next. You never felt like you had to be a certain version of yourself around him. You go from berating and teasing him to asking him to take care of you.

It’s how you are with all your friends though. It’s why your friendship has lasted this long. It’s also why you think you’re able to just comfortably sit next to him with your messy hair and raggedy pajama pants and whine about your toe.

He just laughs and takes it all in. He doesn’t complain about you nor does he make you feel bad about anything you do. Just like all your friends, he’s supportive and dependable, and you suppose it’s what you’ll always need.

It’s 6:30 PM by the time you’re driving out of the basement parking lot to the restaurant, with you insisting that stepping on the gas doesn’t cause any pain on your toe. You arrive and are led to one of those private rooms because with your big group, it’s just always better to have your own space where you could be loud without much care for your surroundings.

You sit next to Hoseok, who babies you about your little injury because he truly is the most doting one out of all your friends, and to Mo-eum, who engages you in side conversations because there’s always something for you to ramble about.

You let Jungkook talk about last night. He mentions Si-an’s Instagram message and narrates the things she said, then he repeats the things that you said, almost in verbatim. You stop yourself from exploding at the memory of your exchange with her but it seems that your friends are making up for your hesitation, as a few of them curse and shake their heads in response.

He leaves out the part about Si-an cheating on him more than once, and you suppose it’s not a story he intends to share with others. He was vulnerable with you last night, so when he assures your friends that the past is something he’s already come to terms with and that he’s truly moved on, you send him a soft smile.

Jungkook’s heart does that thing again, and like the trained teacher that he is, he knows how to keep his emotions in check and not show them on his face.

He can’t help it though, not when he’s reminded of last night, especially with how you seemed affected again with just his narration. You were groaning under your breath earlier, clenching your fist, and pinching the corners of your eyes.

But like you always are, at the end of that rage is a kind of gentleness that he used to take for granted. Now, it’s what he looks forward to, whether it’s a smile or a lean on his shoulder or a pinch of his cheek.

The conversations continue around him but he finds himself still being drawn to you. He hopes the way he looks at you is as natural as it always had been; he hopes the effect of the leaping of his heart isn’t that obvious, either.

There’s a moment when concern creeps in, as he tries to make sense of what he suddenly feels, as if he just woke up one day and started feeling differently. He knows it’s too soon to act on it, though, especially with him still trying to figure it all out. He doesn’t want to risk anything, especially if it’ll cost him your friendship.

He tries to rationalize it. Perhaps he might just be reacting to how you’d been protective of him and it’ll pass. It could also be just a harmless crush or a fleeting one. He might also still be hungover. Or maybe it’s a result of how much time you’ve been spending together since your trip to Chungbuk, which hasn’t happened for a while, so maybe spending less time with you will return things to normal.

He decides that not making too much effort to be around you will help stabilize himself and his stubborn heart. That is, until Taehyung makes an announcement, which apparently is the reason why he asked for this dinner.

“So… I got the call earlier,” he starts, looking around at everyone’s expectant faces. “I got the role on Broadway. I’m heading to New York!”

The room erupts in excitement and Taehyung sports that proud and appreciative boxy smiley of his while he gets hugs and high-fives.

“There’s been a delay with production but I’m one of the first casts. They wanted to lock me in right away because they know I’m eyeing another show,” he explains. “But I fly in May and the shows start in October. I’m so excited.”

“Oh, our Tae,” Hayoung says. “We’re so proud of you! We’re definitely flying out to watch.”

“Yes! It’ll run for a couple of months so there’s time,” he nods. “But since I’ll be leaving again and the holidays are coming up soon, I was thinking of going on a trip.”

“To where?” Several of you ask.

“Hmm, any suggestions?” He asks back.

“Let’s go to Sapporo!” Jimin chirps.

It’s a place you’ve all talked about going to before, especially after your trip to Tokyo some time ago, so it’s not hard to convince everyone to agree. The planning begins and you all decide on a mid-December trip so it’s the school holidays and the rest can take their leaves. Some are checking out hotels while the others are searching up what to eat and where to stay.

Jungkook tries to process all the different conversations happening all at once but his mind goes back to his thoughts from earlier. So much for trying to spend less time with you. Now he’s thinking of those few days - snow, food, warmth… and you.

And if he’s being honest, he can’t wait for December to come.

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raven-dor · 4 months ago

Text

you took my breath away

in which gwayne hightower reunites with his wife at the battle of rook’s rest

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, gwayne hightower x wife!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x SISTER!reader

WARNINGS: angst, typical HOTD violence, kissing, arguing, VV FLUFFY ENDING

WORD COUNT: 4.9k

🎶 : Fallingforyou - The 1975

AN: the children’s names are ALYSSA + GAEMON!! heavily inspired by a comment on my masterlist!! saw it and absolutely ran with it, hope you guys enjoy!!

“Alyssa, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you may wake up and ride Morning.”

The young girl smiled, burying herself into her blankets. “Do you promise, Mother?”

“I promise.” Her voice broke as she spoke, smiling quickly. “Now go to sleep.”

“Is that a new riding dress?” Alyssa’s eyes lulled shut as she spoke.

“It is..” She laughed, kissing Alyssa’s forehead gently. “Try and get some rest.”

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, my darling.”

The woman stood up, tucking her daughter in before walking out of the room, smiling at the maid that passed by. “Please see to it that the children have their favorite breakfast made.”

The maid nodded. “Of course, my lady. Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you.” She waited until the girl rounded the corner to start running. She hadn’t wanted to alarm anyone or make any of her servants think that she’d left her husband.

Not that the corridors she walked down were populated. It had been hours since dusk, the last servant she’d seen had been by her children’s rooms.

After living in Oldtown for longer than she cared to admit, she knew this tower like the back of her hand. In the early years of her marriage, she admitted that her knowledge of the castle was lacking, which is when she discovered that her husband had made a servant help her find her way, worried she would get lost.

He was always so thoughtful.

So thoughtful, she knew it was only a matter of time before he realized she’d spent too long putting the children to sleep, and he would leave their shared chambers with the sole purpose of finding her. She picked up the pace, pushing the side door open that led to the dragon pit. Not many knew of its location as it was out of sight of the fortress. Only the Hightower family and its few dragon keepers knew where it stood.

It wasn’t large by any means, but Gwayne had built it for her. When they’d taken Daeron to ward, and Alyssa had claimed her dragon, he’d had the best dragon pit lords brought in to aid with the addition process. It was nothing compared to the dragon pit she’d grown up with, but it was large enough to house the three Hightower dragons, and it was perfect to her.

She had been beyond proud when her daughter claimed her dragon, Morning, at her last family visit to King’s Landing. Alyssa had only been eight, the second youngest dragon rider after her Aunt Rhaenyra. Alyssa’s grandfather had been even prouder, hosting a celebration feast in her honor, much to the Alicent’s dismay. A deep groan echoed through the pit, Silverwing’s snout peaking from her cave. Y/N’s hand fell to her stomach, caressing it gently, before approaching her dragon. “Lyka, ñuha prūmia.” (Quiet, my heart.)

Climbing the saddle, she wrapped her arm with the reigns like she had a hundred times before. She leaned forward, laying her cheek against the dragon’s scales, humming lightly. “Īlon're jāre lenton, Silverwing.” (We're going home, Silverwing.)

Silverwing practically purred, stretching her wings beneath the light of the moon.

“My love.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, straightening her spine, her husband’s deep blue eyes meeting hers. Silverwing purred yet again; she had loved him husband since the day you had.

“Gwayne.” Y/N’s tone was cold, colder than it had ever been while addressing him.

“I heard you telling the children goodnight. When will you return?” His voice was wavering as if he was forcing himself to remain calm, but she could tell he was itching to tell her to stay. “They will-”

“Do not bring them into this.” She looked down at the reigns. “The children will be fine.”

“And when they ask where their mother has gone? What then?” His calm facade had faded, he sounded tired, and ragged with grief. Her heart ached to hold him: he had told her the stories of his mother, how she’d left him so young. While she did not want the same for their children, she had to help her sister. “Stay, and I swear to you we will fight for your sister.”

“When? In two years time? Gwayne, I cannot continue the way we have. I am loyal to the true heir, to my sister. Surely you can-”

“Have you truly been so miserable? My heart lies with you, as it always has. I cannot stand that usurper king either, and yet I continue on. For your sake, for our children’s sake. You know he would not hesitate to kill us all.”

“So you cower? You cower when Rhaenyra needs you most? When I need you most?” She tightened her pull, preparing to flee. He had always been her weakness, and she could not back out. Not this time. “You are not the man I thought you were.”

“How-” He stumbled backward as if she had stabbed him in the heart. “I have loved you with every bit of my being-”

“And it is not enough!” She yelled, an uncomfortable silence falling over them.

His voice was quiet, a mere whisper that was only carried by the night’s breeze. “Then I am sorry I have let you down.”

“Tell the children I love them.” Gwayne watched as his wife flew away, his hair flying out of his face from the force of her dragon’s wings. That had not hurt him, not sent him into shock or despair. The pain of knowing that she’d left them rang through him, and he turned away, stalking back toward the castle a broken man.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, my darling.”

Her mother was elegant, standing quickly before gently tucking her in before leaving the room. Alyssa waited until she heard her footsteps turn into nothing before rolling out of bed. She ran to her wardrobe, pulling on her flying robes with ease. Alyssa had known, as hard as her mother had tried to hide it, that she was leaving.

The Lady Hightower was a proud woman. Of course, she was. Born a Targaryen, she had every right to be proud, everyone always said that Targaryens were closer to gods than men. Alyssa liked to think she was more Targaryen than Hightower. She loved her father, but she felt alive when she flew her dragon.

When she sat in the sept like her Aunt Alicent taught her, she felt as if she could fall asleep.

Opening her door as quietly as she could, she tiptoed down the hallway, following the path to the dragon pit. She’d almost reached the door that led outside when her brother’s voice called after her. “Lyssa? What are you doing?”

She sighed, throwing her head back in annoyance. “Gaemon, go to bed.”

“Not until you tell me where you’re going.”

She turned around, hissing. “I’m following Mother.”

His eyes grew teary. By the gods, he was tiresome. “Is she leaving us?”

Alyssa clenched her fists. “She doesn’t want to leave us, she wants to help her sister.”

“Aunt Helaena?”

Her brother needed to visit the library. “Aunt Rhaenyra. The true-born Queen.” She felt proud when she said it, but Gaemon only looked lost. “Swear you won’t tell Father I’ve gone.”

He nodded. “I won’t tell because I am coming with you.” He puffed his chest. “I want to help.”

She laughed. “You? With what dragon?”

“I can claim one, just like you did.” His bottom lip jutted out, and she fought the urge to groan.

“Fine, fine. Just promise you will stay quiet.”

She’d always loved Oldtown at night. It was quiet, peaceful compared to how busy it was during the day. Her favorite time to fly was late, long past dusk when no one could see her or judge her for her choice of clothing.

“My love.”

Alyssa’s heart stopped. There stood their father, confronting their mother. Gaemon whined. “I hate it when they fight.”

“They have not even begun to fight, Gaemon.”

“That is why I hate it.” He squeezed her hand. “It is starting.”

“I heard you, telling the children goodnight. When will you return?” Their father continued. Alyssa’s eyes welled, she hated seeing her father so upset. “They will-”

“Do not bring them into this. The children will be fine.”

“And when they ask where their mother has gone? What then?” Their father’s voice sounded upset, angry with their mother for leaving. Alyssa could feel Gaemon pulling away.

“Stay, and I swear to you we will fight for your sister.”

“When? In two years time? Gwayne, I cannot continue the way we have. I am loyal to the true heir, to my sister. Surely you can-”

As much as she wanted to listen to her parents, Gaemon was young and fragile, hearing this talk would only upset him further. She grabbed his hand, pulling him further into the dragon pit. “Come, Gaemon. There is a tunnel that leads to Morning’s cave.”

“But Mother-”

“We will see Mother soon.”

“And Papa?”

Her heart twisted, pretending she had not heard him. “Morning has missed you. If you behave, I will let you feed her first.”

Dragonstone was so beautiful in the early morning, the way the sun hit the sea just so. Not long ago, she had accompanied her sister to retrieve their brother’s egg. She had even brought Gwayne mere weeks after their courtship had begun. No one inhabited Dragonstone then, and they had fully taken advantage of the fact.

Her cheeks grew red thinking of it, that this had been the first place they’d kissed.

Now her sister resided in their ancestral home.

She knew that the Queen’s council would be wary of her arrival. Being the Lady Hightower, many expected her to be loyal to the new King. The lords who advised her sister had forgotten that she was a Targaryen, a Princess of royal birth, the youngest daughter of their beloved King Viserys and Queen Aemma. While she loved her husband deeply, she remained loyal to her sister, as she always had been.

Silverwing dove, landing gracefully on the clearing adjacent to Dragonstone. Sliding off her saddle, Y/N laid her forehead against Silverwing’s cheek, whispering her thanks before approaching the soldiers that stood guard.

“Who goes there?”

“Princess Y/N Targaryen. The Lady of Oldtown.” The guards looked at each other suspiciously. She couldn’t blame them, the Hightowers were the entire reason this war had started. She sighed. “I am the Queen’s sister.”

“Aunt.” Her niece emerged from the shadows, dismissing the two men. “How wonderful you could join us.”

“I sense you are less than happy to see me.” She walked past her, straight into the castle. “That will change.” The castle was dark, the candles doing little to illuminate its halls.

“You are mistaken.” Baela laughed. “I fear we need your help now more than ever.”

“Oh?” She frowned. “What has happened?”

“The small council,” Baela whispered, the servants in front of them pushing the great doors open, their ancestor’s Painted Table coming into view. “They grow tired laying in wait.”

“I see.” She allowed a faint smile to grace her face, showing her niece she had no ill will. “Then I am glad to be of help.”

“Y/N?”

Her eyes welled, her arms widening as her nephew ran to her. “Jaceaerys.” She hugged him tightly. “You are a man-grown.”

“I am glad you are here-”

“My Prince.” Sir Erryk interrupted. “Another dragon has landed.”

“Another?” Jaceaerys looked near murderous. Y/N could not blame him, her half-brothers were erratic, never stopping to think about what their actions might do to others. However, Aegon was not stupid enough to show up alone, and Aemond was too proud to let Aegon confront their sister.

“Allow me to accompany you.” Y/N hooked her arm through her nephews. “I should like to see my dear little brother again.”

Jaceaerys laughed. “I will enjoy you humbling my mother’s council.”

The sun had fully risen by the time they left the castle. The dragon was far back, far enough so that they could not make out the face of its rider. Even from a distance, both could tell that it was neither Vhagar nor Sunfyre. It was not small by any means, but its build was quainter than that of Vhagar or Sunfyre’s. Not to mention, its scales were pink, a color neither of the older dragons possessed. “Whose-” Y/N’s blood went cold. The only pink dragon she could name was-

Jaceaerys looked over, tilting his head. “Is everything alright, Aunt?”

“That dragon is my-”

“Mother!”

“Mama!”

She raced down the path, grabbing her children and holding them close, inspecting them for injuries. Jace just laughed, a hand covering his mouth. “Baela will enjoy this.”

The council, as her niece had said, was power-hungry by nature. With her sister absent, they seemed to pounce at the chance to silence Jaceaerys and her aunt. She turned away from the fire, setting her hands on the table as she brazenly interrupted. “I must say, Ser Broome, you are quite comfortable interrupting the heir to the Iron Throne.” The older man sat back in his chair, silent. “Have you recently come into a title that allows you to do so?”

He shook his head. “No, Princess.”

“Then I suggest, in the future, you hold your tongue.” Her smile was curt, looking back to her nephew. “As you were saying, My Prince.”

“We must send a dragon.”

“Where?” The council stood, bowing their heads as Rhaenyra walked into the room.

“Sister.”

Rhaenyra’s once sullen face grew joyous as Y/N approached her. “How long have you been here?”

“I arrived only yesterday.” Y/N leaned forward, whispering. “Where have you-”

Jaceaerys cleared his throat. “To support the war your vassals have been fighting in your absence… Your Grace.”

Rhaenys interjected. “Cole’s host has grown since riding abroad. He raised the levies of both Rosby and Stokeworth and with their combined strength sacked Duskendale.”

Ser Darklyn stepped forward. “Duskendale?”

“The city has fallen. Many Darklyn men declared for Aegon. Those who refused were put to the sword.”

“What of my father?”

“He kept his oath. Cole took his head for it.”

“Where have you been, these last days?” Y/N could tell her nephew was getting tired of his mother’s antics, eager to prove himself to her as they both had been with their father. “You vanished without so much as a word.”

“Well I apologize for my absence and the secrecy, but such was necessary. I went to King’s Landing.”

“To what possible end?”

“To meet Queen Alicent and sue for peace.”

“You saw Alicent?”

“I did.”

Y/N did not know whether to laugh or to stop her nephew.

“You could have been taken or slain!”

“I inherited eighty years of peace from my father. Before I was to end it, I needed to know there was no other path. And now I do.”

Y/N smiled, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “He would be proud, I know it.”

Rhaenyra looked melancholy at best. “Only one choice remains to me: either I win my claim or die.”

“Cole’s victories have only emboldened him. He marches on Rook’s Rest.”

“His host was just hours away when Lord Staunton’s ravens took wing.”

“Why Rook’s Rest? After Duskendale? It is but a small coastal keep.”

Y/N nodded. “A small coastal keep that is mere leagues from Dragonstone.”

“Lord Staunton is a member of this council. His castle is small and vulnerable and there for the taking. Cole knows that we have no army on the mainland.”

“He is brazen.”

“He is daring us to act.”

“We need to send a dragon.” Jace once again insisted.

“There are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing. I will go.”

“You cannot.” Jace looked tired.

“I will not lose dragons to the war whilst I hide here in my castle.”

“Our ally raise their banners for you, Mother. If you die, all is lost.” Jaceaerys puffed his chest. “Send me.”

“No.” Rhaneyra laughed. Y/N laughed as well, but it had been for a different reason. It had not been long ago when Rhaenyra herself had drove her father mad, now her son did the same.

“I will burn Cole’s lines and withdraw before King’s Landing could even raise the-”

“You lack the experience.”

“Then send me, sister.” Y/N interrupted. “They will be caught off guard by the Lady Hightower attacking. I am sure of it.”

Rhaenys nodded. “Send me as well, Your Grace. Meleys is your second-largest dragon and no stranger to battle. I will meet Cole.”

“Mother-” Alyssa whispered, pulling on her sleeve. “Please do not-”

“Alyssa.” Y/N hissed. “What did I say?”

“Do not interrupt,” Alyssa whined. “But Father-”

“Alyssa.” Y/N knelt, holding her daughter’s hands in hers. “You must know I would never harm your father. Trust me, everything will be fine.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Swear to me you shall stay here and look after your brother.”

“I swear.” The young girl smiled, her eyes watering. “I swear, Mother.”

The soldiers cowered in fear at the sight of Meleys and Silverwing flying above them. They began to scream in terror as they both rained fire on them. Y/N pat her dragon’s back, tightening her harness. “Sȳz, ñuha riña.” (Good, my girl.) Her eyes flickered to the tree line, her blood curdling when she saw her husband’s armor glimmering in the mid-day sun. Her heart beat faster as she watched her Aunt fly straight toward Aegon.

Sunfyre had always had a sweet disposition, and it broke Y/N to know that by the end of this battle, the dragon would not be with them. It had not, however, broken her to think of her half-brother’s death.

A deep roar echoed through the air, the hairs on her neck raising instantly. Vhagar’s head broke the clearing, heading straight for the pair of wrestling dragons. Y/N pulled the reigns, racing toward the older dragon before it could attack Meleys. “Dracarys, Silverwing, Dracarys!” A great stream of fire left her mouth, hitting Vhagar’s side. The older dragon let out a pained cry, erratically flapping her wing, desperately trying to rid herself of the pain.

Y/N flinched, gasping as she helplessly watched the wing smack Silverwing, knocking the younger dragon out in a single moment. “Silverwing, daor! Wake bē riña, wake bē!” (Silverwing, no! Wake up girl, wake up!)

Silverwing began to plummet, straight into the forest. She screamed, cried, anything to wake her dragon before they both met their deaths. “Sōvegon! gaomagon mirros, uēpa riña!” (Fly! Do anything, old girl!) The dragon remained gone to the world. Y/N sobbed, slapping her hands on her dragon’s side. “Wake bē!” (Wake up!)

Silverwing’s eyes cracked open, frantically slapping her wings, fear evident in her movements. Y/N cried, reassuring her. “Mirre kessa sagon sȳrī, Silverwing. Mirre kessa-” (All will be well, Silverwing. All will-)

Gwayne could only watch in horror at the battle that played out before him. Even during his days as a mere foot soldier, they had been civilized and honorable. There was no honor in this fight, in this war, in the men leading it. Criston Cole, who treated his soldiers with disdain, also treated his new position as Lord Hand with equal care. Now here the Dornish man stood, ordering Gwayne around as if he was just a mere foot soldier once more. Not to mention, his wife left him and had planned to leave without so much as a letter. He would have thought after their many years of blissful union, she would have thought to tell him of her plan. That had hurt more than her departure.

In the end, he was not shocked she had gone. His wife was loyal, and he could not blame her for her actions. He would have done the same for his own sister.

When the servants had told him his children had also left, he had truly become a wreck. He had been sitting at his place at their dining table when they’d told him. Their favorites had been already placed on their plates, now cold, while he sobbed in the dining hall. And there he stood, feeling just as empty, when he saw his wife’s dragon emerge from the clouds.

By the gods.

He swore then not only to his family but to himself, that he would be with her again, with his children again, even if that meant betraying his family. Not that his sister’s children or his own father had acted as a true family in the first place. Family was a system of connections to them, to the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. He and his wife, the woman that she was, had together made it much more.

She was, in his eyes, perfection itself.

He remembered, not long ago, she had convinced him to fly to Dragonstone. When they had been there, laying on the lawn in front, she’d told him what she wanted for the future. She swore to him, mere weeks into their courtship, that if they married, their children would be good, instead of the spoiled nobility they’d come to know, spreading greed and hurt.

That had made him surge forward, kissing her soundly.

He kissed her as often as he could after that moment. That moment, that promise, had been what made him ask the King for her hand in marriage days later.

She was too good for this world, a world that was constantly fighting. And her family, he told himself, she was too good for them too.

The same went for his children.

And now, as he watched his wife’s dragon fall from the sky, one thing raced through his mind. He needed her like the very air that filled his lungs. He left his men without a second thought, racing across the battlefield, his only goal to reach her.

“Y/N” A voice rang through the clearing Silverwing had created. “Y/N?”

She groaned, her ears ringing. Her entire body ached from the impact, her head felt pulsing as she rolled over. “Who-” Everything came rushing back, the battle, her aunt, Silverwing falling. Forcing herself up, she reached down, grabbing her dagger from her leg holster. “Whoever you are, think twice before-”

“Y/N!” Gwayne jumped off his horse, running toward her. “I saw you falling, and I-”

“Get back.” She glared. “I do not need your assistance.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You just fell from-” His arms flailed toward the sky. “I thought you were dead!”

“I am sure you would have been thrilled.” She turned her back, scanning the woods for any sign of Silverwing. She loosened her harness while she was falling, scared that Silverwing would crush her, would crush-

“I feel sorry for you.”

“You feel sorry for- Ah!” Her stomach twisted, and she winced, caressing it lightly. “It’s alright, darling.”

Gwayne’s voice was a mere whisper, so close that his breath grazed her neck. “What did you say?”

“I said-” She whipped around, glaring. “You-”

“Are you-” He looked hopeful, excited even.

“Gwayne, do me the courtesy of not revealing my location to your precious Lord Hand.”

“Do you truly think so little of me?” He sounded desperate. “I love you, I have for as long as I have known you, and it-” He grabbed her hand, laying it over his heart. “I have only lived for you and for our children, you must know that?”

She ripped her hand from his hold, her eyes tearing up. “I apologize for assuming otherwise. I should have told you, but I did not, and you cannot fault me for that!”

“I am not faulting you! I have not held it against you, even when our children flew after you! I knew in my heart, that you were right, that you were doing what your heart led you to do. It is one of your best qualities, the very thing that drew me to you in the first place.” His eyes were tearing up as well. “You- you make me-”

“What?” She yelled. “What exactly do I make you? Angry, upset, murderous?”

“Crazed!” He yelled back, walking up to her and grabbing her face with his hands. “I love you, desperately!”

Tears fell from her eyes faster than ever, she could not tell what exactly had caused it. It could be the exhaustion, or the adrenaline hitting her all at once. Or perhaps it was because when her eyes met his, she felt as if she was a young girl again, being wooed by the handsome knight. “Gwayne…” She grasped his hand tightly. “Come with me. Leave this all behind. I know the loss of your seat in the Lord’s Council will hurt, but you’ve never loved the pressure it brings you. Our children…” She smiled. “Will be happy around their family, around the very people who will never judge them. My love-” She took a deep breath, her eyes full of desperation. “I need you.”

His arm wrapped around her waist. “I-”

“If you do not wish to come with me, just say it.” Her eyes were red by now, there was no doubt. “Perhaps we should go our seper-”

“I will do anything you ask of me. Anything.”

“Then come with me.” She pleaded. “Come wit-”

Gwayne collided his lips against hers, pulling her closer than she’d ever thought possible. Her heart began to pound, harder than it ever had during a kiss, and the next thing she knew, the world was going dark, a dragon’s snout nudging her side before everything went black.

Bright orange light shone through the curtains, a warm breeze dancing through the room. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her heart beaming at the sight in front of her. She groaned, pushing herself to sit up in her bed. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. “My darlings.”

“Mother!” Alyssa all but jumped out of her chair. Gaemon, her perfect boy, was peacefully asleep in the seat beside her, his little fingers reaching out for hers. Her eyes watered, grabbing his hand gently.

Gwayne was pacing on the terrace, his auburn hair glowing in the sun. He looked like an angel, a worried angel indeed.

Alyssa hugged her mother tightly, her face buried in her neck. “You’re awake!”

She nodded, grinning. “Alyssa, will you please take your brother on a tour of the castle?”

“But-” Y/N raised an eyebrow, caressing her daughter’s cheek. “Yes, Mother.” Alyssa groaned, walking around the bed and impatiently tapping her brother’s shoulder. “Gaemon, wake up.”

“But what if Mother-” He rubbed his eyes, jumping onto Y/N without a second thought. “Mama!”

“My boy.” She kissed his temple delicately. “Run along with your sister. I will be here when you return, I swear it.”

She waited until they’d left the room to stand. Walking across the cold stone floor, she stood at the threshold of the balcony, leaning her head against the archway. “Gwayne, there’s something I must tell you.” He made no effort to face her, her stomach curling. ��It’s rather delicate…”

“I know.” He stopped, staring at her, his eyes wide. “I know.”

“How?”

“The maester.” He stepped forward, his voice steady as he gestured toward her stomach. “May I?”

She nodded, words refusing to leave her. He knew. During the fall, she wasn’t sure the babe would survive, but with the nauseous feeling in her stomach, there was no longer a doubt. He knelt, leaning his head gently against her. “Hello, little one.” Y/N’s eyes began to water. “You are quite the brave one, going into battle with your mother so young. When you leave her womb, we shall exchange battle stories.”

She laughed, a tear falling down her cheek. “Please, do not be upset with me.”

He looked up, tears falling down his cheeks. “Upset? My love, another child with you is never a reason to be upset.” He stood, leaning his forehead against hers. “I am a truly blessed man. To be your husband is the closest a man can be to the heavens themselves.”

She smiled, kissing his lips gently, her heart almost breaking all over again as she pushed him toward the door. “You must leave before my sister knows you are here.”

He laughed at her, actually laughed at her. “My darling girl, how do you believe you got here? I carried you into this room myself.”

“So-” Her lips tickled against his as she spoke. “My sister-”

“I pledged my support to her as soon as I knew you would survive. I am a man of my word.” He leaned down, pulling his lips to hers. “I will never leave you.”

Y/N smiled into his kiss. “I love you.” He grinned, spinning her around. She laughed, smacking his arm playfully. “Gwayne, put me down. The babe-”

“The babe?” The couple looked over, smiling at their children. Alyssa stepped forward. “What babe?”

“I-” Y/N hid her face in her husband’s neck. “I’m embarrassed.”

Gwayne laughed, shaking his head as he addressed their children. “Your mother is with child.”

Alyssa groaned, even as she smiled widely. “Again, Mother?”

Gaemon’s head fell to the side. “What does with child mean, Father?”

taglist: @beebeechaos @i-padfootblack-things

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confessedlyfannish · 1 year ago

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Writing Prompt #11

It's an innocent ("please," Jason sneers, "there's nothing innocent about a plagiaristic propaganda machine encouraging minors to dance for sick ol' pervs while it spews misogynistic hate speech.'"

"okay, boomer,"

"the fuck did you just call me, replacement?") TikTok, one of those ones that kind of simmers in the background for a few weeks until someone with a decent enough following posts it on the Platform Formerly Known as Twitter and from there it seriously catches traction, blowing up until Tim knocks on Bruce's office door, phone in hand. Damian stands behind him, arms crossed and clearly simmering.

Bruce, fresh off a series of zoom conferences, raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, so you haven't seen it," Tim decides, striding forward.

Bruce's eyebrow jumps a smidge higher, on the edge of concern, as Tim thrusts his phone into his grasp.

"So," he begins, reaching over to refresh the mobile page "there's a video that's been making the rounds on Twitter and—well you should probably see it," He sighs over Damian's scoff as he clicks through the pop-up asking him to sign in or join TikTok, and presses "Watch Again", unmuting the video.

🎶 "Doo, badoo-badoo-badoo Badoo-badoo-badoo-badoo,"🎶 an upbeat background song hums as someone, presumably a student, films a school hallway with their phone. They walk past students talking near their lockers, some of whom flash peace signs and silly grins as the camera swings their way before continuing on.

But the main point Bruce gets stuck on is the all lowercase white text at the center of the screen that an automated woman's voice awkwardly narrates:

"when you go to school with bruce wayne's other long lost lovechild"

The student filming comes up behind a much taller student who faces away from him, in conversation with a black haired pale teenaged girl. She spots the cameraman and shoots him a confused, disgruntled look, saying something to the boy who then turns around.

Bruce quietly observes as the camera zooms in on a boy around Tim's page, possibly older. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw, he raises an eyebrow at the one filming, looking beyond the camera, pitch black hair with blue undertones falling into his blue eyes. The camera momentarily zooms too far into those eyes then abruptly pulls back as he quirks a puzzled smile at the viewer, mouthing out an easily understandable "hi?".

The TikTok ends and seamlessly transitions to a person balancing their cat on an exercise ball with minimal success and this time Bruce presses the Watch Again button. The heart on the right side claims 750k likes.

Damian scoffs, louder, as it ends. "Clearly it is a hoax, but it has been popular among my classmates."

"The board hasn't made much noise about it—" Tim starts.

"And they won't," Bruce says, lifting his eyes from his phone. "Wayne Industries doesn't give statements on videos like these, no matter how viral they become. I've been getting lovechild claims since before I adopted Dick."

Which Tim knows, which is why his insistence on showing Bruce this one raises his hackles. He pins Tim down with a stare and despite Tim's perfected PR mask, he can see Tim is unsettled.

"B...he really, really looks like you." Tim admits. Damian scoffs for a third time and Tim shoots him a glare, "I get it, you don't see it, but you haven't seen the pictures of Bruce when he was younger."

"I don't need to!" Damian says angrily. "You're all being ridiculous!"

"All?" Bruce asks. Tim shifts awkwardly. "The family group chat has been talking," he says.

"I see," Bruce says. Because he does. Many claim Damian to be his doppelganger, but the boy actually favors Talia not just in skin tone but in the shape and color of his eyes, as well as the soft slope of her mouth and ears. Whether those features will sharpen once he goes through puberty is anyone's guess.

But this young man has Bruce's eyes. Martha's eyes.

That night they have a suspiciously full house for dinner, with even Jason dropping in, but no one says anything until Barbara wheels in for dessert, carrying a manila folder on her lap.

"What?" she says, when everyone stares. "Dick told me it was crème brûlée today!"

Bruce extends a hand wordlessly, and Barbara sheepishly hands the folder over.

"Bruce," she says, before he can open it, "I wouldn't have looked into this normally, but,"

"Just say it," Jason says, leaning back in his chair. "Take away the gray hairs, the receding hairline, and the wrinkles and the kid's a dead match."

"Take it back, Todd," Damian growls, "Father has a very full head of hair!"

"Not to mention a failed track record at keeping it in his pants, Exhibit A," Jason continues, pointing a fork at Damian, "oh wait," he says gleefully, "kid is definitely 18, so I guess that would make you Exhibit B!"

The table erupts, cutlery tinkling as Damian gets a knee up on the table to hurl himself at a cackling Todd, Dick jumping up to grab him as the others lean out of the way—

"Ahem!" Everyone stops cold as Alfred stands in the doorway, porcelain ramekins of crème brûlée stacked perfectly on a silver tray. Under his gaze, everyone sits back down, Damian and Jason both quietly uttering a "Sorry Alfie/Alfred," as they straighten up.

Bruce is oblivious to the chaos, Barbara biting her lip beside him as he stares blankly inside the folder at the printed copy of an adoption certificate.

Two days and several million likes later, another TikTok goes viral from the same user. Caught in the moment as whoever is filming runs up to the group, the same young man is chatting with a blonde in a red letterman jacket, a partially formed crowd around them. Even with one leg still in the cafeteria table, he towers over everyone.

"—sh. Look, we're all possibly Bruce Wayne's son!" the boy snarks. He has his hands out, palms up as if he's making a great point, and as he looks around he catches sight of the cameraman and his smirk drops.

"Ah Mac, c'mon dude not again—" and the TikTok ends.

#danny phantom #batman #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #bruce wayne #jason todd #danny fenton #my writing

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zilla314 · 1 month ago

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Beautiful melody 🎶

To think its crazy that Suns passion for music was inspired by this song would be an understatement. A true piece of musical art that I can't stop listening to

#fan art #fnaf daycare attendant #digital art #fnaf security breach #character art #moondrop #oc art #sundrop #fnaf #sun x moon #violin #music #orchestra #howls moving castle #Spotify

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waynes-multiverse · 25 days ago

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The Craving

Summary: Everyone is moving forward, only Dean is standing still. Sam leaves the bunker first, but when he fears to lose you as well, he knows he finally has to do something. Because, after all, all he really craves is you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language and smut, post S15, major angst, hurt, cheating, Reader x OMC (established), severe pining, jealousy, drinking, humor, idiots in love, friends to lovers, fluff

Word Count: 13.7k

Song Inspiration: The Craving (Jenna's Version) – twenty one pilots. Listen here! 🎶

Posten on Patreon March 1, 2025

A/N: Yay, finally this monster of a fic is here! There will be parts that hurt a lot, parts where you'll snort, parts where you might catch fire, and parts where you'll feel as fluffy as cotton candy. Hang in there 😉

Happy reading! 🩵

Main Masterlist || Dean Winchester Masterlist || Tag List

Dean’s not the jealous type. At least, he thinks he isn’t, considering he’s never really had opportunity to feel jealous before.

But then came you.

He knew he wanted to be with you – as in the one one – the minute Sam led you down the round, metal staircase after running into you during a hunt. Yup, it was instant. One of those “love at first sight” kinds of crap.

For quite some time, you’d been hunting on your own, but soon enough, you began to call the bunker your home and the brothers your family. And Dean would cockily smirk at you and throw flirtatious jokes your way all day long as if all he ever wanted was to simply get you for a drunk roll on the motel mattress and nothing more. But you crave more than a night of fun, not knowing he craves the same thing, too.

And it is more – more than a simple craving to kiss you, to touch you, or to fuck you. The craving wants to love you, to hold you, and to be with you endlessly, including all that other mushy, sappy shit that comes with it. And Dean’s not even sure it’s just all of that, either. Because all the craving ever screams is you. Nothing else.

You, you, you, you, you…

You.

That’s all there is. And the more he has of you, the happier the craving is. The less he has of you… well, one gets the gist.

The craving is a feeling greater and stronger than the bloodlust he’s experienced during the Mark of Cain – not that he’s ever told anyone that out of fear of being called crazy. It is crazy.

Fucking crazy.

Nonetheless, it’s true. The craving for you only grows stronger and more relentless every day, causes him to lose both appetite and sleep, and never leaves him in peace.

But for years, Dean’s never entertained the craving for too long. He’s never listened to his head, heart, or gut when either of those things urged him to ask you out. After all, you deserved better than him, deserved more than the darkness he could offer, deserved a life where you got everything you ever wanted and more.

He is sure, though, you don’t want him.

But then, finally, there was a dim, miniature, barely visible light at the end of his super dark tunnel full of horrors. Chuck was squashed, monsters were scarce, and retirement was on the near horizon.

Sam started bringing Eileen around more and going on dates and being all nauseously cute, while Dean watched Netflix, Disney+, Amazon Prime, and a whole lot of other subscription services Sam wasn’t happy about when he went through the household bills. The main takeaway, though, is: Dean was never bored.

Nope, not at all.

Besides, you were there, too. For some of it. At least for a while.

Not long after Sam’s “courting” began, his kid brother finally left the nest, and then only you and him remained.

“We’re kinda like full-on roommates now,” you’d said after Sam had grabbed his last box, and you had been entertaining Dean’s melancholic mood with whiskey in the kitchen.

Dean had only smiled into his glass. “We’ve been roommates for five years now.”

“Yeah, but we’re finally rid of Monica and Chandler. This is the Joey and Rachel era!” you announced with a slightly slurred speech and toasted to the occasion by drinking straight from the bottle.

Dean, of course, had found it fucking adorable and pressed his lips very hard against the rim of his glass upon his next sip, trying his best not to grab you and kiss you right then and there.

He’d already missed his fucking chance…

“Who’s Monica and who’s Chandler?” Dean had asked to distract himself from the craving.

“Duh, obviously Sam’s Monica. He’s a complete neat freak. And Eileen’s fucking funny,” you’d postulated. “This is what I mean, though! Both of us are sloths! We can finally let chaos reign!”

Welp, that hadn’t helped to lessen the craving at all. It had been downright whining then. His heart had only pounded louder, yearned more.

“What kinda mess were you thinking of, sweetheart?” Dean had flirtatiously and daringly asked – he still liked to test the water from time to time, although he knew the lake was frozen.

You had chided him with a partially amused look and then musingly sipped on the bottle. “Hmm, wanna throw wet paper towels against the wall?”

“Sure that’s a good idea? You know Sam’s coming by tomorrow morning to come pick up more boxes. I seriously think he’s taking the whole library with him,” Dean had joked.

“Even better! He’s gonna clean it up ‘cause he’s Monica!”

Drunk-you might have been evil in a mad but cute genius kind of way.

“No way!” Dean had scoffed it off, mostly to encourage you to carry on. He’d had feeling where this was heading.

“Oh, yeah? How much you wanna bet, Winchester?” You’d leaned forward with your elbows on the counter and a challenging look twinkling in your eyes.

And Dean had wanted nothing more than to bet a goddamn kiss. But he hadn’t been able to do that anymore, either.

As Dean grinds his brain about all of this, he stares at the reason why from the dark corner booth of the bar. He watches you with a gigantic lump in his throat as you’re in someone else’s embrace, his grip white-knuckling around the tumbler of whiskey once more.

Dean’s greener than green eyes see it all. He sees the arms that tightly clasp your body from behind that aren’t his. He sees your laughs at jokes that he can’t hear. He sees the face nuzzling in your hair that he can’t feel. He sees the smiles you draw when kisses litter your neck, leaving fucking purple and blue permanent tattoos behind – and he can’t ink any of them.

Dean sees the fucking happiness shining in your eyes. He’s never seen you happier than this before. And not any of it is caused by him. Nope.

“Hey, you good?”

Sam slides back into the booth opposite him and draws Dean’s attention, finally steering the insatiable craving away from you. But Dean knows his little brother only asks because he’s worried about Dean’s declining state of mind, even though there is really no reason to. Sam’s exaggerating as per usual.

If Sam’s showing signs of concern, it’s only because he knows too damn well how catastrophically Dean has failed and ruined any future with you by not communicating his craving. And now all there’s left is sulking and regretting. Then some more sulking and regretting. And oh, uh, more sulking and regretting till he drops for good, which is hopefully soon, considering the slow pace his life is currently going right now – just an agonizing crawl to the goddamn finish line.

See? No need for worries. Dean’s absolutely and completely–

“Fine.” Dean scoffs the word into his drink, his eyes flickering back to you. You’re making out now. Great.

Your boyfriend’s hands drift to your asscheeks and palm them. Dean wants to drown in his whiskey.

But it’s good. It’s good you have someone. Someone who can give you everything. Everything you want. God knows Dean can’t give you that, can he? Not then. But now? Now he could, couldn’t he?

What’s he got going on right now that’s so dangerous?

The only things that can kill him these days are the greasy food, alcoholism, and sheer boredom. Cancer. ‘Cause that son of a bitch can get anyone. Maybe some freakish household accident – getting electrocuted by a faulty outlet, slipping in the shower, food poisoning, choking. Maybe even a fucking car runs him over when he’s simply crossing the street.

Well, now it just sounds like a list of things that angel-dick Gabriel would’ve done to him…

He’s already been through it all. What more could go wrong?

“Dean…” Sam’s giving him a pointed look that says, ‘I’ve known you all my life. Stop pretending and talk to me.’

But Dean doesn’t want to talk.

“‘M good,” he repeats and forces the tightest smile known to mankind. It not even closely reaches the soft crinkles around his green eyes.

“I just talked to Trey at the bar,” Sam says then and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dean wants to scoff at the name.

In fact, he’s tried his hardest to hate the guy, but it’s impossible. Trey’s charming and funny and kind. He’s also taller and broader and younger than the older Winchester, which only adds another painful thorn.

But the dude treats you with respect, holds open doors for you, and cares about your feelings and thoughts and dreams. He listens to you, consoles you when you’re sad, and comforts you when you’re lonely. He’s even tried to become friends with the brothers, knowing how much they mean to you. And most of all, he not only shows you how much he craves you, but he also tells you so every day.

Dean’s been there a few times when it happened. It was fucking sickening.

And sure, Dean could still worry that some civilian can’t take care of you and protect you the way he would, but the guy was a fucking Navy SEAL and a hunter of all things that go bump in the night. To top it all off, he’s now retired and owns a small carpentry in Michigan.

The dude’s fucking Jesus, and Dean knows he stands no chance. So, yeah, maybe he’s a little jealous of the guy.

He has everything Dean wants.

“There’s something you should know, Dean,” Sam continues when the older brother’s lost in his craving again and hasn’t said anything for a full minute.

“Hm, what?” Dean can tell by Sam’s tight expression and slightly furrowed brows that it’s not good. His heart is already constricting. It knows why.

It was almost a year ago, a few months after Chuck’s reign of playing Sims had ended, that Dean had finally gathered enough courage to ask you out (with a lot of pushing from Sam and Eileen). So, while you’d been out on a small, two-day-long ghost hunt on your own, Dean had prepared a whole speech in his head.

Hunts were not only rare these lonely days, but they were also kind of… meh. Mostly your friendly neighborhood Caspers. Since Sam had dipped out, Dean and you resorted to coin tosses, drawing straws and matches, and the occasional paper-rock-scissors.

Dean still sucks at it.

Which is why you went alone. And he wasn’t even worried, just grateful for some space to get his head straight. He’d surprise you with something… romantic when you got back. He wasn’t sure what yet.

But two days turned into three, four, five and six. You’d give him regular updates, assuring him you were safe, sane, and healthy. The hunt was done – you’d decided to take a quick vacation.

The scenery had been so inviting.

On day eight, he questioned if he should follow you. Maybe you’d been kidnapped and held against your will, and he’d been texting with your tormentor this whole time. He barely ever caught you on the phone, and if he did, it was only briefly and you were always out of breath.

Hiking. That had been your explanation.

Yes, Dean should’ve put two and two together at that point, but he just couldn’t see beyond his own craving. It left him blindsided, even though he knew damn well you hated walking through nature as much as he did.

On the evening of day eight, you then called and told him you were coming home. His heart had swelled in his chest at the word.

Dean was your home. That was all he had heard.

Late on day nine, you finally returned to the bunker. Dean had prepared a movie night in the cave – he’d picked your favorite, nothing fancy, just the way you like it. But by the end of it – when you’d lie snuggled against his side like you usually did with his arm wrapped around your middle – he’d tell you about the craving.

He’d tell you he was in love with you. That you were all he was ever thinking about. That he couldn’t get enough of you. That he craved you day and night. That he couldn’t stop.

“So, how was the hunt?” he’d asked as you both stood in the war room, and you’d placed your duffel bag down on the table. “And the vacation?”

Until then, Dean hadn’t really questioned it. He knows you like to catch a wave and ride it out. It’s one of the things he loves about you, always hoping you’ll drag him with you into the sunset at some point.

“I-, uh…”

Dean had noted the subtle bite of your lower lip, the smile that was itching to break free underneath.

“I met someone,” you’d finally confessed.

Dean’s still sure those are the three most horrible words of the English language. Nothing has ever torn apart his heart more.

“Met someone, huh?” He had swallowed heavily but played it off with a teasing smile. “You’re not usually one for hook-ups…”

“I’m not,” you’d confirmed. The secretive smile that flashed across your lips almost killed him. “I-, uh, I think it might be more than that.”

“More, huh?”

“Yeah, more,” you’d said softly and bit your lip again. Your cheeks had been glowing. You’d been so fucking happy and yet tried to hide it from him to spare his feelings – not that you had a clue. You’d only known Dean hated change and strangers and abandonment.

“You, uh, wanna watch a movie with me?” he’d still tried. He’d been sure one night or one week with some stranger couldn’t trump what he had with you. If he said something now, maybe he could still turn it around.

“I’m honestly kinda beat. Raincheck?”

“Sure.” He’d nodded and forced a painful smile. Luckily, he knew how to hide his pain well.

At first, Dean hoped the guy wouldn’t call you again. Sure, he’d hate to see you broken-hearted, but he’d be there to pick up the pieces. One by one. Dean could satiate your craving.

But perfect fucking Trey called you that same night. Asked if you got home safely. Oh, Dean wanted to be mad about it. How dare this fucker, right? But how?

‘Stop caring about the girl I pretended not to care about for fucking years?’

Yeah, no, there’s no excuse. Dean’s the fucker, really.

So, come next morning, Dean made sure all traces of his romantic plans were erased in the cave. You were none the wiser when you woke up.

Dean then resorted to waiting. And waiting and waiting and waiting. And he figured if he waited long enough, your relationship with fucking Steve Rogers would run its natural course. Something would happen. It was long distance after all and not that threatening.

Yet.

It started with rare, brief visits. You’d stay in Michigan or a hotel in Kansas City for a weekend every once in a while, and Dean’s craving could deal with the temporary separation from you, although it was far from happy.

Yeah, alright, it was being a suicidal dickhead. He even preferred you staying in Michigan over the idea of you fucking your brains out in the hot tub of some fancy hotel.

Well, shit, like he said: The craving was being a complete dick about it and clearly not taking it so well.

The expensive whiskey you got him for his 42nd birthday, though, always quieted it enough to pass out till Sunday evening when you’d return.

But a weekend slowly turned into a full week and then into a whole goddamn month. Now, you weren’t just fucking your brains out anymore but playing house. Somehow, that was even fucking worse. The craving protested and screamed inside of him, urging him to keep you close.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You’d still call him every few days to check up on him, but hearing your voice only turned the craving more violent, more needy.

It was a whiny fucking bitch most days.

And now, well, you’re celebrating your first anniversary this fucking weekend. Your boyfriend has a whole goddamn romantic getaway planned. You’ve talked about it nonstop, looked forward to it for weeks.

Dean doesn’t know if he’s still waiting or if he’s given up. Feels a little like giving up.

His green eyes flick to you and Trey on the small dance floor of the dingy bar once again. Someone as breathtakingly beautiful as you is truly a juxtaposition in a place like this – in his life, really.

You have your arms locked tightly around your boyfriend’s neck, his hands enclose your hips as you sway to the rhythm of the live music. You laugh wholeheartedly and throw your head back. He runs his face through your hair and surely whispers something dirty into your ear the way your grasp tightens on him, too.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice snaps him out of his trance once more.

“Hmm, what?” Dean blinks at his little brother and sees the heartbreak shimmering in his hazel eyes. He knows it’s unavoidable by now.

“Look, uhm, Trey told me he was planing to propose to her this weekend.” Sam gets it out in one breath but then pauses. He watches his older brother closely as if Dean would break down at any second.

But Dean’s seen it coming for a while now. It’s been undeniable.

“He-, uh, he asked for our blessing.” Sam chuckles a little at the unnecessary gesture and scratches the mop of hair, but Dean can tell a part of his little brother feels honored at the consideration.

“You said no, right?!” Dean snaps too harshly, no control over the wild furrowing of his brow. The craving is taking over. It wants to fight. It wants to defend what’s his.

“Dean...” Sam frowns with a look that says the older Winchester was being ridiculous. “It’s not my place to give. That’s what I told him, too.”

“Good.” Dean huffs bitterly into his whiskey and empties the glass.

“I still told him we’d be happy for them, though,” Sam adds with reluctance and caution.

“Sam, c’mon, man!” Exasperatedly, Dean shakes his head. His glare is biting. “Bad day to play middle man! How about you’re on my side for once, huh? Pick your fucking battles, dude!”

“Dean, I’m always on your side,” Sam assures with that puppy dog look of his.

Dean scoffs at it. “Could’ve fooled me…”

But he knows Sam would give his soul to make this situation better for him. It’s just the alcohol and sadness talking. He has to let it out somewhere. Sam knows that, too.

“Maybe you should tell her,” his little brother suggests then, and Dean’s not even sure he’s heard him right because it’s so fucking insane.

“What, are you nuts?!”

“Just think about it,” Sam urges, nearly insists even. “Look, I know you’re scared she won’t feel the same way and reject you–“

“Duh.” Dean scoffs, wishing his tumbler would magically refill for this conversation.

“But if she says yes–,” Sam continues, “–you’ll lose her anyway. You know she won’t stay with you forever, right? I don’t think they’ll move into the bunker with you.”

And thank fucking God for that. Dean would probably hang himself in his room after three days of watching and hearing you honeymoon like newlyweds. Any chances Hell would take him back?

“Sam–“

“What d’you have to lose at this point, Dean?” Sam reiterates. This time, more forcefully. “This might be your last chance, man. You seriously wanna live with that regret for the rest of your life?”

Well, Dean isn’t planing on sticking around for that much longer anyway. He’s sure a monster will get him one of these days on those solo hunts if he upped the recklessness enough and got a little more careless. But obviously, he doesn’t tell his little brother that. Sam would only unnecessarily worry again.

Dean shakes his head once more, and it pains him to do so. “I-, I can’t, Sam. Can’t do it.”

“Dean–“

“I don’t wanna mess with her head, alright?” he finally says. His gaze drifts back to you; tears blur his vision and threaten to spill. “Look at her, man. She’s fucking happy. I don’t wanna ruin that for her.”

Sam lets out a deep sigh, his gaze flickering from you back to Dean. Then, he licks his lips, and Dean can tell his little brother just thought of a new argument to put forth. He really would’ve made a good lawyer.

“Listen, if that really messes with her head, then maybe she would’ve never been as happy with him to begin with,” Sam counters.

Admittedly, it’s a good theory. Dean almost buys it.

“Nah, it’s too late,” Dean brushes the sliver of hope away. He pulls out his wallet and slaps enough cash on the table to close his tab as he slides out of the booth. “I should go home.”

“Hey, are you guys leaving already?”

Suddenly, there you are, with a smile sparkling so bright Dean could confuse it for diamonds in the sky. His eyes then torturously follow your arm, down to your intertwined fingers and the tall man in tow behind you.

“Yeah, uh, kinda exhausted,” Dean says as casually as possible. He hopes you can’t see the torment in his heart.

“Oh, alright.” You nod, and Dean imagines even a hint of disappointment in your voice. The craving probably plays pretend to guard his heart.

You give him a hug goodbye and kiss his cheek. But your lips on his skin are only a quick fix for the craving. It wants more. It’s a beast that’s always ravenous and never satiated.

Leaving the bar hasn’t stopped Dean from drinking, however. He’s determined to drown his sorrows and continues to pour whiskey after whiskey, finding solace in his haze as he sulks and regrets at the kitchen island in the dark, empty bunker. He supposes he has to get used to that feeling – loneliness.

His mind’s still reeling, his skull functioning as a bathtub for cheap booze. He should probably switch to something more bubbly…

He snorts at his own joke, the sound echoing through the emptiness. Great, now he’s the weirdo hermit who laughs to himself.

Maybe Sam’s got a point. Maybe this is his last chance. There’s still a spark of hope – or so the craving believes.

And then, after two in the morning, you finally stagger home and tumble into the kitchen with a goofily drunk smile on your face that causes Dean’s breath to halt. His heart almost shoots out of his chest, wanting to jump straight into your warm embrace.

“Hey, you’re still up,” you say with a small yawn and round the corner to the island, grabbing yourself a glass of water by the sink. “Can’t sleep again, huh?”

It’s not unusual for you to find Dean roaming the bunker in the middle of the night like the ghosts he hunts. Most of the time, your strongest bonds were forged by the late-night, deep-talks you’d shared in here. You keep them close to your heart.

“Nah, not really,” Dean says casually and sips on his drink as if it were just a fluke – a one-time occurrence. But you know better than that.

“Is it about Sam?” you ask almost knowingly and watch Dean’s brow raise with his gaze.

Oh, that. He has completely forgotten about that – the whole reason they’ve gone out to celebrate tonight in the first place.

“Yeah, uh, was a lot tonight, y’know?” Dean deflects. He figures it’s at least a good excuse.

A soft smile spreads on your lips. “You’re gonna be an uncle, though. That’s gotta be exciting, right?”

You’re trying so hard to help him find the silver lining, to give him comfort and drag him out of his misery. But Dean’s sure he’s stuck at rock bottom.

“Yeah, ‘m happy for him,” Dean replies but doesn’t say more. Doesn’t say that he’s envious of his little brother, doesn’t say he craves the same thing, too.

“Dean,” you sigh his name and clasp his hand on the counter. Your touch burns his skin. The craving boils his blood. “I know you hate change, but it’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m sure it will, sweetheart,” Dean says but doesn’t mean it. He knows it’s not true. It won’t be okay without you. So, he forces a wry smile. It’s almost bitter. “Still got you, though, right?”

“Yeah, you got me,” you say softly and send him a smile. It doesn’t reach your eyes, however. Dean knows why.

“Thought you were spending the night out,” Dean notes then and disturbs the silence that has consumed the kitchen.

“Uh, Trey’s got an early flight,” you explain. “I’ll see him on the weekend, though. I suppose I’ll survive.”

Dean’s not sure he will, though, and doesn’t laugh at your joke.

At least, you barely ever bring your boyfriend around the bunker. You mostly spend the nights at a hotel whenever he comes to visit. Dean’s not entirely sure why. It might be the vibe he’s giving off when he’s near you two. You’ve had several talks with him about his attitude.

“Be nicer. Try a little harder to get along with him. I really like this guy,” you’d said.

And Dean tried for your sake, even though he didn’t really mean it. Moreover, he got the strange sense that Trey knew Dean was harboring feelings for you and was nice enough not to rub it in, keeping his distance. Like Dean stated earlier: It was fucking impossible to hate the guy.

The dude was not nice enough to back off and let you go, though. Dean supposes that also means Trey is smarter than him, too. Awesome.

“You know, uhm…” You chew on your lip. Your heart begins to sting. “Trey asked me to move in with him. In… in Michigan.”

Dean’s silent for a beat. His ears are ringing as if a doctor had just told him he’s got prostate cancer and only a few months left to live. Honestly, it sounds more pleasant than this.

“Hmm,” Dean hums and takes a bigger gulp of his whiskey.

He refills once more, the glass and bottle only blurry shapes in his vision at this point. He ponders if there’s something stronger to numb his pain. Maybe it’s time to pick up a heroin addiction – die cool like Morrison and Cobain.

“Dean…”

You see the devastation on his face. You don’t want to hurt him, but you know him well enough to know that you do. What are you supposed to do, though? Sacrifice your whole happiness and future for his? Never expect to get anything in return? You couldn’t keep living like this.

“You’re my best friend. You know I’m not gonna leave you, right?”

“So, you’re staying?” His look is hopeful, and it kills you.

You swallow lightly. “Sure, yeah,” you say with a weak smile and shrug. “I’m not moving out tomorrow.”

The hope deflates, his face drops, and his look turns crestfallen.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me, okay? It’s no problem, I promise,” you add comfortingly. You know he hates being alone. “I’m sure Trey and I can do long distance a little while longer. I mean, it worked fine so far. Don’t worry, alright?”

Dean hears you. He doesn’t want to drag you down, keep you from living your life. He supposes he has to set you free now.

“Look, I’ll be fine, alright?” he states and forces a cool, carefree, lazy smile with the utmost sincerity – as much as he can find at least. It might have been the worst lie he ever told, and he told a lot of lies over the decades. “If you wanna move out, you should. Don’t take my feelings into account.”

“Dean…”

Your heart stings. You can’t leave him like this. At the same time, you fight your own anger and push it down. If he really didn’t want you to leave, then why had he never done anything, said anything to make you stay? You’d waited years for him to see you, to take your hand, to love you and run toward the sunset with you. But he never did, not even when the big bads were all defeated and gone.

Instead, you watched him flirt with strange women in even stranger bars. You watched him lead them to his precious car with his hand on their backs (or their asses) and a wide, goofy, all-teeth grin on his punchable, freckled face. You watched him disappear for entire nights and return to the bunker, to the endless motels, in the mornings with his latest conquest’s marks on his skin.

A row of tattoos he’d gotten just for you that all read the same message: Fuck you.

And it fucking hurts every single time. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Sometimes, you thought you couldn’t take any more and would just grow numb to the pain. But you never did. It all mars your heart the same.

Some days, it felt like you were dying inside.

And then, after the hunting life slowed, you wanted to keep moving, explore what other wonders life had to offer aside from exterminating monsters and living underground. Sam felt the urge, too. So, you both set sail into the world – but Dean didn’t. He stood still at the docks.

“What’s going on with you?” You step closer, worry shimmering in your eyes. “I know it’s been hard on you since Sam’s moved out. But you’re the best guy I know. There’s great things out there for you, too. I just know it. Don’t give up hope now.”

Dean wants to scoff, cry, and laugh hysterically. He doesn’t look at you, just stares at the whiskey in his grasp.

“I’m in love with you.”

The words are out. Dean’s astonished they finally left his lips. He can’t quite believe it, even clasps his mouth with a hand and runs it across his face. It’s been his best guarded secret for so long. Someone should slap him. Where’s Sam when he needs him the most?

Dean downs the whiskey in his hand and looks up at you. He feels like he cursed you. You’re frozen in place, petrified by the spell he cast. But your lower lip and eyelids are quivering, so he supposes you’re still alive in there somewhere.

“Say something. Please... Anything,” he begs. He wants to drink more but fears you might think of him as a drunk, although he’s pretty sure you’re already aware. That train has left the station, so he might as well make its final destination his mouth.

On shaky legs, you grasp the edge of the counter for support. A “brace yourself, you might wanna sit down for this one” would’ve been greatly appreciated.

“I-, uh… I have to sit down,” you force the words out with a clear of your very dry fucking throat because you’re still rather speechless – and drunk.

Judging by the almost empty bottle of whiskey on the counter, so is Dean, it seems.

Dean heroically jumps from his seat to offer it to you but watches you simply lower to the cool tiles of the floor instead. You’d love nothing more than to lie there and curl in the fetal position right now.

Slowly, Dean crouches down and joins you, careful not to touch you, ignoring the craving’s persistent screams to do exactly that. His hands are shaking from holding back.

Your lips part and shut, your eyes are lost, your brows tremble as you try to understand and think of something to say. But your mind is overflowing. Your gaze stays fixed on the ground and the cracks in the grout between the old tiles.

“If this is some prank, Dean…”

You don’t really think he’s this cruel or moronic. You can always hope, though.

“It’s-, it’s not,” he assures you and tries not be offended. He knows you’re still processing. Besides, he may have overdone it with the pranks a little since Sam is gone. He's put that extra energy into you. “I’ve felt this way for a long time… Knew you were special the second I saw you… Knew I-… I loved you when we watched Shawshank Redemption together your first week here. Remember that? You quoted the whole movie. I guess, I-… I’ve been craving you since then.”

A fond smile flashes on his lips at the memory, but his jade green eyes flicker with insecurity.

You gasp for air and find your voice. “Why did you never say anything?”

“I-… I tried. Not hard enough, I guess.” He chuckles self-consciously, scratching the nape of his neck. But you don’t share his humor. “Last time I tried was when you told me you met–“

He stops himself from saying the name. His mouth twitches with a bitter taste. He doesn’t want to say the name you scream when you cum.

Oof, he wonders which of the many whiskeys was the one that has finally crossed the threshold to pathetic.

“I actually wanted to watch Shawshank Redemption with you that night when you came home, tell you then,” he continues, his tongue swiping over his chapped lips. It’s just his luck, isn’t it? He truly found out how unlucky he was once Chuck was gone. To think the guy actually protected him from some of it almost makes him scoff out loud. “But, uh…”

“I went to bed early,” you finish his thought.

He cocks a brow at you. A drop of resentment sneaks into his voice. “Did you, though? Your room’s right next to mine, sweetheart. I knew you were on the phone with–… I could hear you.”

You scoff darkly and stare straight into his eyes, and for the first time, Dean can see the real hurt in yours. Was he responsible for this?

“Yeah, trust me. I’ve been there,” you reply cynically.

Oh, Dean knows he has messed up.

“Why the fuck now, Dean? What’s changed, huh?” You rise from the floor and begin to frantically pace the kitchen. Dean follows you. “Is it because I told you I was leaving? What, you just decided now’s a good time?!”

“Look, uhm, Sam doesn’t want me to tell you this, but there’s something you should know, alright? I think you should know,” he insists but rubs a hand over his mouth. He knows he’s being selfish. He fucking knows he shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t tell you.

But he fucking wants you a lot more, cost what it will. He’d sell his goddamn soul all over again for you. The craving is not backing down now.

You look at him like he’s kidding. He must be. How could there be more?

“Your boyfriend’s gonna propose to you this weekend,” Dean tells you and slaps you right across the face with the news.

You think he might as well be joking and playing a prank on you again. His face is deadly serious, however, his green eyes dark, stern and unwavering. You can tell he hates the thought of it, the mere suggestion you could be someone else’s, and he’s probably stirred in that hatred all night. So, that’s what truly motivated his ship to leave the harbor.

“But–“ Dean pauses, considering his next words carefully, but his eyes remain fixed on you, drill into you. “But if there’s a chance you don’t want that, just a sliver… I-… I need to know, alright? I need to know if it could be me. I can’t let you go without knowing… without trying.”

You think you’re close to fainting. You feel lightheaded, dizzy. It’s too much. It’s all too fucking much.

“Are you fucking serious right now?! Why the fuck are you doing this to me? Why didn’t you say it earlier?” The tears of desperation sting your eyes as you shove at his chest. “Why didn’t you fucking move sooner?!”

It’s not a question as much as it is an accusation. Dean grabs your hands that still press against his chest and holds them still on his heart. His gaze locks with yours.

And then, Dean recognizes the familiar anger in your eyes. He knows it’s the craving. Not his, but yours.

For him.

“Do you love me?” he dares to ask. He might as well, considering this is the end and he’s putting all his cards on the table tonight. He knows he’ll lose you, so why not do it with a bang? Winchesters are known to go down swinging.

You fight for words. Your heart twists. “It’s too late,” you whisper, tears rolling down your hot cheeks freely.

“It’s not a no,” Dean says softly, his heart swelling a tiny bit more in his chest. It’s almost cute, like a little kid arguing about bedtime, asking for one more glass of water before he has to go down for good.

“It’s not a yes, either,” you counter quite spitefully. You can’t reward this behavior, can you? The man just took a wrecking ball to your life, to your current relationship, to your future – something you’ve carefully crafted and cared for and grown for close to a year.

A year.

And he thinks of this now? When you have one foot out the door? That’s when he fucking realizes?!

You’re furious and want to yell at him till you’re blue in the face. Mostly, though, you’re furious with yourself. Maybe you should’ve known, should’ve suspected. After all, you know him well. You know his insecurities and his deepest, darkest fantasies. What Sam has now, what you’re about to have – the apple pie life.

“So, it’s a… maybe?”

You want to sigh and pray heavenward. Is anyone listening to this? Hello?!

“Do you love him?”

This time, you sigh out loud. “You know I do.”

Your words are sharp, and you can tell that they sting. He flinches when you say them. But something weird tugs at you when you do.

“You love me, too?”

You’re silent for a moment. You don’t know if the truth makes it worse or better.

“I do,” you admit through more painful tears that blur your already hazy vision. His piercingly green eyes find you, and you note the soft, upward curve of his lips.

“You love me more?”

“Dean!”

Yeah, he was pushing it…

Pensively, his tongue swipes slowly over his upper lip before he tucks the lower one between his teeth. Then, he clicks his tongue when he’s thought of something to say, something to give him an advantage, anything.

You love him. There’s a chance.

“Look, it’s not too late, okay? If you wanna get out, just say the word,” Dean says. There’s urgency in the deep timbres of his voice. This is his last shot. He can’t keep watching from the window looking in as everyone eats dinner without him. He has to move.

“So, what? So I can live here with you and watch you hook up with strangers for eternity?” Frustratedly, you wipe the tears from your cheeks and look at him. You can tell your little comment caused a paper cut.

Bobbing his head, Dean rubs his lips with his fingers. He knows he deserves that snide comment. Those distractions from the craving certainly haven’t done him any favors.

“I get it. I screwed up. I came a little late to the party,” Dean admits. Tears threaten to drown the green in his eyes, but he fights to keep them behind the dam. He needs to get this out first. “But I’m here now. I’m yours. All yours. I’m not going anywhere,” he vows, and you believe him with your breaking heart. “I swear to you, to anyone who will fucking listen… I won’t screw this up again. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. You wanna get married? Have kids? I’d do it right now with you. You wanna go see the world? Go skydiving? Then knock me out and drag me onto a plane. Just tell me. I’d give you everything I have, sweetheart.”

His voice chokes on the last few words, barely pushing them out. His heart roars; his lungs wring for air. Every muscle, every vein, every nerve feels like its being electrocuted. Tenses, twists, and constricts under the pressure of the craving.

You’re speechless, your mouth agape. You look at him, stare. You see the desperation, the pain, the fear, the need, the love, the craving. But you can’t think of anything to say. You don’t know what to do, except wait for an ice age to come and freeze you both in time, so you get more time to think.

“I-I-… I should go. I’ll stay at a motel,” you manage to say, your voice trembling like the rest of your body. You can’t feel your legs, your hands, or your head. Most of all, you can’t feel your heart.

You don’t have to say yes or no. You don’t have to make a decision right now – wasted and sleep-deprived. You do the smart thing, the wise thing, the right thing.

But why does it feel so wrong and stupid then?

“You’re leaving?” Dean’s disbelief seeps into every syllable. He can’t understand. He figured this would fix it.

“I’m sorry.” The sniffled apology is quiet as you try to push past him. His skin brushes yours. A wildfire inflames inside of you that vaporizes all tears and fears.

Dean feels it, too.

All rational thought dissipates from his mind then. He grabs hold of your arm and spins you flush against his warm and inviting body. His lips collide with yours – hungry, wild, and fervent.

The craving wins.

You don’t fight it. You melt into the kiss, into him, into feeling instead of thinking. You lick the whiskey from his tongue, drink till you’re drunk on him, and Dean savors the minty Mojitos he’s watched you sip all night.

Your hands don’t find a place, neither can his. There’s too much to discover, new territory you’re both unfamiliar with but always wanted to see, feel, explore. So, he roams your soft curves and you his taut muscles. Squeezing, scratching, trailing.

Your fingers card and tug at the soft hair in the nape of his neck, lock tightly around him as you push yourself closer. He groans and sends vibrations through you.

Dean’s grip on your hips is bruising as he molds you to his frame. He really tries to achieve the impossible here. He won’t let go now. This is it, and with that thought, he cages you between his body and the kitchen island.

The two of you never dare to break the kiss, knowing that if you gave yourselves enough time to think, you’d stop this madness and come to your senses. Neither of you wants that. Not really. Not now.

The craving silenced everything else. It takes what it needs. It needs you. It needs him.

You’ve wanted this for so long – him and you, exactly like this. And now, it’s all so wrong but so fucking right, too.

You whimper into his mouth, your core flooding with desperate need when you feel his growing dick strain against his jeans and press between your legs. Your fingers work on autopilot as they unbutton his flannel and slide it over his broad shoulders.

Dean tosses your top over your head, and your legs wrap around his middle. He hoists you into his arms, and you fling his shirt somewhere when he’s on the move. Your bra follows, landing in the hallway, a trail of clothes marking the path of sin through the bunker.

You’re not sure the two of you will make it to a room, any room, as Dean stops and bumps you against walls, only to ravage more parts of your skin. He bites, he marks, and he grips your flesh so roughly you’re sure you’ll be more than blue in the morning. You know he wants to leave his impression on every inch of you. You don’t stop him because, God have mercy, you want that, too.

You feel him everywhere and still crave fucking more.

And Dean somehow still seems to make it to room 11 because when your eyes blink open the next time, you suddenly find yourself there. Of course it’s there. He needs your impressions to haunt him, too – your noises inside his four walls, your indentations in his mattress, your scent on his pillow, your arousal soaking his sheets.

He wants to lower you to his bed, to the memory foam, but your legs unravel around his waist, bare feet landing on the floor.

You can’t remember when you kicked off your shoes, but Dean isn’t wearing his boots anymore either and only one sock, so you figure they’re somewhere in the bunker with the rest of your lost items.

Your lips leave his but not him. They lick, suck, and bite down the scruffy column of his throat, his solid and freckled chest, all the way down his softly defined abs as you fall to your knees in front of him like he’s an altar you’re about to worship at.

Your fingers hastily unbuckle belt and lower zipper, pushing jeans to his ankles. You don’t bother long with his boxers, still strapped around his knees when you free him and wrap a hand around his throbbing cock as if to shield it from the sudden chill that creeps along your own skin. You don’t even manage a full pump before your lips seal around his red and swollen head. You swallow him whole.

You don’t wait. You don’t think. You give yourself fully to the craving.

It’s a greedy bitch.

A “shit” escapes him when you welcome him into your hot mouth till he hits the back of your throat, the first word that cuts through the moans and heavy breathing since this cataclysmic gluttony began.

You don’t pull back. You stay, hold on. Your tongue massages the thick vein. Your moans vibrate around him and send shivers up his spine, tighten his balls. Your mouth fills with saliva till it threatens to drool out. Your hand can’t even fully grasp his thickness, thumb out of reach from your other fingertips. You haven’t even noticed how big he truly is till tears sting your eyes, and you feel the aches in your jaw from trying to accommodate all of him. Luckily, the burning alcohol numbs some of it.

You both still and know there’s no fucking way back now when your eyes meet. There’s only forward and more.

A massive hand reaches to cradle your head, brushes your hair from your face, massages your jaw, and caresses your chin. Fuck. You drool more and press your thighs together while your pussy whines around nothing.

You slowly pull back, suck with hollowed cheeks and swirl around his tip and dip into his slit. He leaks precum onto your tongue, a tang of salt and sweetness and Dean.

You’re sucking his cock. You’re sucking Dean's cock. You’re fucking sucking Dean Winchester’s fucking cock.

“Fuck, that mouth…” Dean’s hips buck in rhythm with your bobbing head. The fist in your hair tightens, tugs harder, deliciously stings your scalp.

You want him to spill down your throat. You want to taste and drink and swallow all of him.

But Dean’s got other ideas. He raises you back to your feet with a strong grip of your upper arms. You barely catch a breath before he claims your swollen and soaking lips, kisses you truly, madly, deeply. He licks the taste of him from your tongue, his dick standing spit-wet and aching by your belly.

“Dean,” you whimper against his lips, thighs rubbing together. You can feel your arousal dripping down. You need friction, you need to get rid of your goddamn jeans and underwear, you need him.

“‘M take care of you,” he mumbles and nods like agreeing to a decision he just made, and you know he doesn’t just mean your climax or your craving. He means he’ll take care of you forever. That’s the promise he’s just made.

His fingers toy with your waistband and pull down your zipper. He pushes you back and leads you till you lie back onto the mattress, feet dangling over the edge. He shimmies you out of your confining denim, and then he’s on you, hovering above, kneeling between your spread legs.

Dean leaves you with one blazing kiss on your lips, but, fuck, those tits. He’s had dreams about them, day and night – about groping and squeezing and burying his entire face in them. He can’t resist and bites and tongues and sucks, and by the time his hands get to them, pinch and roll and tweak your stiff nipples, his mouth descends down your tummy.

Plush lips passing below your belly button is the imaginary line when he decides to deliver your sinfully throbbing clit from its misery and slides a hand inside your panties.

Ugh, fucking God, his large hand covers your entire cunt.

He could make you come with his fucking pinky alone by the sheer size and girth of his digits, you’re sure. You’ve observed their length and thickness over the years often enough, mostly from the backseat of Baby when he drives, always careful not to get caught in your shameful leering, always wondering what they’d feel like curling inside of you. And God, the things he does with those ten weapons while they linger on the steering wheel drive you insane with wanton need during most trips. Even short ones to the grocery store have become a solid method of torture for you.

And you know they could reach that spongey, sensitive spot inside of you oh-so easily. But it’s his middle and pointer finger that glide through your drenched folds first.

Dean hums against your skin, right by your hip bone. Oh God, he fucking hums and groans – deep and rich and desperate. Desperate for you.

He steals a glance at your face, your beautifully contorted face of glowing pleasure, and he flashes you an appreciative smile of surprise, like he hadn’t fucking anticipated you being so wet for him – so ready.

All you manage is barely a nod before your eyes roll back into your head. You don’t have the energy to argue about his weird insecurities right now. And yes, they are weird, considering how the guy looks, but it’s more than just the mesmerizingly green eyes that cause you to feel lost among tall pines, the faint and golden freckles that dance on his skin, twinkling from the tip of his nose down to soft dips and dents of his chest, or the way his smile carries you home like the beam of a lighthouse without fail each time you’re lost.

No, it’s the things you can’t (and he can’t) see in a mirror that award him the title of the greatest man who ever lived. It’s the kindness, it’s the sweetness, it’s the caring. It’s his heart of gold, his courage, and his warmth.

So, how come Dean can’t ever see any of that? You always could because you’ve loved him since he laughed through your Shawshank quotes that very first week.

And now… Fuck.

Not even the inebriated double-vision makes up for the amount of hands and fingers and mouths and tongues you feel on you. How does he do that? Are there six of them or just the two you see?

Your head is spinning. You don’t know up from down anymore; it’s all one blurry swirl. Is it sideways?

But you know where you are and you can count again when his tongue dives into your channel and his lips seal around your bundle of nerves and fucking suck hard.

A taste of your own medicine, you’re sure.

You cry out at the intensity and almost come right there, especially with his delighted chuckles against your center, but you actually come when two of those long, thick, admirable fingers spreads your tight walls. He manages three or four pumps maximum before you fall apart at his mercy.

You scream his name as your frame shakes, and he kisses your pulsing center softly as if to soothe your aches. But as his heavy erection presses against the inside of your thigh, you know you want more.

The craving never stops.

Heaving chest meeting his, his glistening lips lower upon yours, and your tongue tastes what his did just seconds ago. He hovers above, his nose nudging your cheek forcing your eyes to open, encountering an insecure glint in his gaze.

“You sure about this?” His voice is so quiet, so raspy, the words are almost inaudible as if he doesn’t want to say them at all because he’s afraid of the answer.

Luckily, so are you.

In the darkest, most isolated depths of your mind, there’s still someone else. A guy you claim to love, and yet, you’ve tied his hands with ropes, muzzled him with duct tape, locked him in a dungeon, and somehow found your way into Dean’s bed. Your best friend and roommate Dean.

Yeah, no, there’s no excuse, no justification. But there’s no way back, either. What’s done is done. You’ve already done unspeakable things to each other – all of them rule-breaking. Sucking his cock? Fully your idea! God knows Dean surely didn’t fall dick-first into your mouth.

No, you want this. And moreover, you need to see it through.

Life isn’t just black and white, is it? It’s not a straight road. There’s sharp curves, and hunters are known to ignore the odd dangerous bend symbol.

So you kiss him deep and hard, because your answer would’ve been a shallow and soft uncertainty. You don’t know if it’s right, you assume it’s not, but you follow the craving and cave to its needs.

It needs Dean. Not anyone else. Dean. Not Dean Martin or James Dean, no. Dean Winchester.

Your hand snakes between heated and damp bodies and wraps around the forbidden fruit, lets his cockhead catch at your more-than-ready entrance.

Is it really all Eve’s fault? Probably. Now, though, it’s very much on Adam.

Dean pushes in.

Well, they call it a sin for a reason. The craving clearly doesn’t give a fuck, though.

When his tip taps your cervix, you gasp. Your pussy clenches around him, he groans into your neck, and you moan at that little jitter that runs through his body.

He kisses a path down to your tits as he slowly pulls out to his dickhead and thrusts back into you. Fuck. And well, from there on out, it all blends into a foggy whirl of limbs, bodily fluids, and an obscene soundtrack.

It all comes slowly back, however, when you wake in the morning. You feel the remnants of a wild night, the sheer soreness between your thighs, instantly.

You remember it started slow and tender when your eyes finally flutter open barely a few hours later, just at the break of dawn. It started with good, ol’ missionary – the ‘getting to know each other’ phase. You both learned what made the other tick, while his cock moved pleasantly inside of you like calm ocean waves, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

When you carefully slide out under his arm for a simple pee break, panic begins to creep in, recalling how you eventually rolled him onto his back and rode him like his goddamn name was Larry. Shit.

And Dean loved it. His freckled face and the huge grin, staring up at you in awe, is branded into your mind. There’s no way to unsee it now.

As you collect clothes strewn throughout the bunker like they are scavenger hunt items, you remember how things took a turn for the worse then – or for the better, depending one’s perspective on the subject, you suppose.

Eventually, you found your way onto all fours, Dean giving his goddamn everything behind you, pounding relentlessly into you with a bruising grip on your flesh.

Your fingers subconsciously touch your hips, your eyes follow and see bruises there. You hurry into the bathroom, glimpse at the mirror, and immediately see more. They’re everywhere – your throat, your collarbone, your tits, your waist, hips, arms, and thighs. Oh shit, even your ass got some.

There’s no way of hiding a sin this big.

You came five times. You fucking remember that. Never happened with anyone before, either.

Fucking asshole…

With a sobering (but heavily hungover) mind, your anger at your roommate returns. Why did he have to do it this way? Why put you in this awful position in the first place? Did he have to wait till you both were close to blackout drunk and an almost engagement to someone else?

No discussion of anything. No feelings. No future. No plans. No protection. No checking in. No responsibility. No sobriety. No brains.

Naturally, all of this was a decision made by two completely sane people. Why would you do any of that? Talking is overrated. No, this clusterfuck was obviously the best choice.

Shit, shit, shit…

Beating hearts in their purest form. That was there.

You remember how he looked at you, both spent, lying next to each other with your heads by the foot of the bed, feet resting where pillows go. No clue where they went.

His smile was so warm and happy, fingers still caressing skin and never losing touch. You gazed and smiled at each other like idiots till your eyes closed, knowing without words that this was forever now.

Dean still wakes up alone that morning.

Oh, his goddamn brain is buzzing. Without opening his eyes, Dean twists his face into the darkness of his mattress, hands searching for the pillow underneath his head.

Wait… Where is his fucking pillow?

His brow furrows slightly, his head pounding louder as if to try to rattle him awake and alert him to something. If he could only remember what that something is…

The only reason he’s somewhat awake is because his own snore woke him up after he almost choked on his damn spit. God, what a night. He probably should make a mental note to drink less. Those hangovers aren’t getting easier to handle with progressing age.

Little goosebumps spread on his skin when a soft, cool breeze hits the exposed parts of his body. Something is odd, though. Why is it so damn cold? And why is his blanket only barely covering his bottom half?

And why the fuck is he naked? He’s not usually a birthday suit sleeper. A purple nightgown, a shirt and boxers, maybe even a pair of sweats, sure, but he only ever sleeps naked when he’s had se–

Shit!

Dean jolts up in bed, pupils wide and head swirling. He stretches his heavy and tired eyes with strain, forcing them to stay open. Jesus, he feels like a truck ran over him, only realizing then that said truck carried your goddamn license plates.

Shaking his head vigorously, he tries to find his orientation. He almost thinks he’s in a different room before realizing he’s slept upside down in his own bed. He rolls onto his back and sits up, blinking his eyes awake a little further.

The whole night comes crashing back to him then, but he starts to doubt the realness of it all when he can’t find you next to him. There’s just an empty spot.

Looking for evidence, he scans the room. He only finds some of his own clothes strewn across the floor, but none of yours till he feels something tangled around his ankle. Are those his boxers?

Nope! That’s your underwear. How did it get– Never mind. There are more important things to figure out now. First and foremost, where the hell are you?

With a groan, he swings his legs off the bed, bare feet landing on the cold ground. He runs a palm through his hair and rubs his face, even patting his own cheeks to wake up more. His head is fucking killing him. But it’s not the only thing aching.

Lifting the sheet slightly from his lap, he takes a quick peek. Oh, poor guy’s been certainly through a lot last night. Is that a bruise? How did that ha– Nope, never mind that, either. He’s surprised at his own stamina, though. A guy his age? Drunk? He mentally pats himself on the back for it, although he knows the craving did most of the work for him.

Nonetheless, his pride is quickly overshadowed by your absence.

His hand grabs his watch on the nightstand. Almost noon.

Well, your French leave makes a little more sense now. You probably had to pee. His own bladder feels goddamn full, the bottle of whiskey finally finding its exit again. His stomach is growling, too. Maybe you were hungry? Dean knows you practically wake up starving every morning and are unbearable till he stuffs that first stripe of bacon into your mouth.

However, he notices the eerie quiet of the bunker. There’s no smell of awaiting breakfast in the kitchen wafting down the long hallways. There are no sounds of clattering dishes, clinking cutlery, a running shower, or the flush of a toilet.

Silence.

And if you really got up for a bathroom and food break, why are your jeans gone? He knows he took them off in this room and not anywhere else. A perfectly fine and fresh flannel is hung over the chair by his small desk.

Not to complain, but wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d just thrown that one on instead of forcing yourself back into something skin-tight?

Dean’s not a complete idiot, however. He knows those aren’t good signs, and his chest starts to constrict, squeezing the air from his lungs. His mind races, green and red eyes flickering around desperately for answers.

You wouldn’t leave like that, would you? Not after–

“I love you,” Dean whispered, his forehead resting against yours when he spilled into you, your walls still gripping him tight.

“I love you, too,” you replied and could barely finish your answer before his lips claimed yours again.

No, you wouldn’t do that. It’s not the version of you he knows like the back of his hand. That’s not his best friend.

But then, his stomach overflows with guilt, the hows and whys of the night seeping into every corner of his mind and settling in his bones.

Fuck.

Oh, there had to have been another way, right? He shouldn’t have done what he did, shouldn’t have given into the craving so recklessly. He knew it was wrong. Everything was wrong. This was never supposed to happen this way.

It was supposed to be magical and memorable. The start of something great.

It still was for Dean, although your disappearance makes him unsure. Maybe it wasn’t all that magical for you.

Dean kissed you, which was a forgivable offense. And sure, you kissed him back. But was either of you in the right state of mind? Probably not.

And Dean knows he should’ve stopped it all there, should’ve slowed down, looked at you, and talked to you about it. About next steps, futures, plans. None of that happened.

Last night, after his confession, he could see you needed time to think, a night to sleep it over, gather your bearings with a sober mind. But Dean was scared of letting go. What would he have done if you hadn’t come back? But he didn’t listen to the warning.

The craving didn’t want to risk losing you and clearly didn’t give a damn about consequences.

But Dean does. He cares a fucking lot. And moreover, now he has to live with the damn consequences of its actions and not the stupid craving.

Right now, it’s achingly empty. Dean knows it means you’re not around.

Still, he rises from the bed and starts to pad down the hallways of the bunker in search of you. He needs to talk to you, find you, do whatever it takes to fix this mess. He wants to call you, but his phone is missing, too.

It happens sometimes. Usually, either you or Sam call him to find it, but no one’s here anymore. He’s all alone and realizes then that he’ll probably die this way – slipping pathetically in the bathroom with a disturbing alcohol level in his blood, his phone out of reach, lost somewhere between couch cushions. You or Sam will probably stumble upon his corpse weeks, maybe months later, and only find the flesh rotting from his bones.

Yup, he’s sure that’s it. Lovely end to a shitty life.

With a deep sigh stuck in his throat, Dean follows the path of destruction, a trail of lost clothing items leading him toward the kitchen before he picks up your bra from the floor.

He stops in his tracks when he hears the heavy thud of the garage door. His heart sings in relief. Food run! You probably went to fetch breakfast. Yeah, that must be it.

“Dean? Y/N?”

Sam.

Dean’s shoulders slump, the hopeful smile on his face faltering. He rubs his mouth with his fingers, his mind spinning. Not a minute later, Sam rounds the corner and meets him in front of the kitchen.

“Dean?” Sam then freezes and instantly squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head exasperatedly. “Dude! Why are you naked?!”

“Oh.” Dean blushes with a slight fluster, but his usual shameless grin is missing. He’s too fucking depressed for a witty response. “Hang on.”

Even Sam notices the tension and somber atmosphere when he hears Dean plodding back to his room, but he chalks it off to last night’s news. He slowly opens his hazel eyes and takes a quick scan of the kitchen.

Empty bottle of whiskey on the counter, flannel on the floor, boots in the hallway.

But wait… Is that one of your shoes?

Dean then comes back in a pair of gray sweats and a black henley, still carrying your bra in his hand as if it would help him find you like a dowsing rod.

“Rough night?” Sam quirks a brow at his older brother, a small smile of amusement on his face. It’s not the first time he found Dean like this, after all.

“Good night. Rough morning,” the older Winchester replies soberly.

“Dude, what happened? When did you have time to meet a hook-up after I drove you home last night?” Sam creases his brow, but the sinking feeling in his gut already confirms it. He knows those are your shoes, just like he knows that’s your bra in his brother’s hand. Sam’s been your laundry buddy for close to five years.

“I-I… I slept with her, Sam,” Dean confesses and claps his mouth like he’s done the last time he’s confessed something. He expects it to go about the same.

But Sam surprises him with calmness. “Yeah, I-I figured,” he admits, nodding, and takes another glimpse down the hall behind Dean. “Where is she? Still sleeping? Did she break up with Trey?”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes. Leave it to Sam to dive right into the uncomfortableness. Solely mentioning the name burns a hole into his heart. What if you went back to him?

“No, uh, I don’t know where she is. I just woke up,” Dean says slowly and licks his chapped lips. “I-… I think she left. For good. I think she-… you know.”

Dean swallows the thick lump in his dry throat, while Sam sits with the information for a minute.

“Dean, why–“ Sam shakes his head, collecting his thoughts. “Why didn’t you guys just talk? I mean, what happened?”

“Oh, yeah, great idea, Sammy!” Dean scoffs with a voice full of bark. “You think I haven’t thought about that? Does anything about this look planned to you? I mean, hell! You’re the one who told me to use my last chance and tell her in the first place!”

“I didn’t mean this,” Sam counters, exasperated. “I meant, use your mouth, idiot, not your–“ He frowns when he notices the rising smirk on his older brother’s face. “Dude, don’t even say it.”

“Fine.” Dean rolls his eyes a little and sighs. “Look, I need to find her and talk to her. Can you call my cell? I lost it somewhere.”

“Dude, again?”

“Just-… Would you call?” Dean massages his aching temples.

“You know, my worst nightmare is finding you dead down here one day, just rotting away,” Sam mutters wryly as he makes the call.

“Yeah, you and me both,” is all Dean says.

His ears then pick up the faint buzzing noises of his phone, only growing louder as the brothers follow it all the way to the library. His cell rests neatly on the wooden table, but he knows he hasn’t put it there.

Besides, underneath it is a folded piece of yellow, legal-pad paper that smells like you.

Dean grabs both phone and letter, his eyes fixing on the only two words there. The corners of his mouth quirk to a faint smile, but it’s sad in nature. He’s only laughing to cope with the loss of you. His black soul is rejoicing – it’s been right all along. Hallelujah!

I’m sorry.

You’re sorry. But Dean doesn’t know for what exactly. For sleeping with him? For telling him you loved him? For leaving?

Or is it all of the above?

“What does it say?” Sam’s voice keeps him from jumping straight into a spiral of sorrow.

“That she left,” Dean replies and crumples the paper in his hand, tossing it on the floor.

He tries calling you, but there’s no answer. And even when Sam tries, you don’t pick up.

“Voicemail again,” Sam says after his third try and clears his throat with lacking subtleness. “She-, uh, she probably forgot to charge it again.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it…” Dean pats his little brother’s shoulder as he saunters past him.

“Dean, where are you going?”

“Look, I just wanna be alone right now,” Dean says, his voice laden with emotion he tries to hold back. “I’ve got a raging headache, I smell like a liquor store…”

“Yeah, uh, sure.” Sam nods with understanding. He knows Dean’s shutting down now. “Can I do anything?”

“Yeah, leave,” Dean huffs bitterly, the door to his room slamming shut soon after.

The bunker is cold and dark when you trudge down the metal steps.

There’s just blackness, not a light on except for a small table lamp in the library. Your gaze lands on the giant table, both phone and your note gone. You know he must’ve found it by now; you assumed he would’ve.

Still, your heart cracks at the thought.

You should’ve been clearer with your message. But there was no time, and your head had been spinning. Now, though, the craving’s gone.

There’s finally clarity.

It replaces the feverish longing. It tells you exactly what your heart needs – Dean. Not in a carnal, all-consuming way but in the purest form of love. He’s the air you breathe.

You find the door of his room ajar, but it’s dark inside, too – and empty. You’ve checked the garage, though, and saw Baby parked in her usual spot, so you know its green-eyed owner can’t be far.

And of all places he could’ve been – the shooting range to take his anger out, the kitchen to eat his feelings, or the cave to drown his sorrows – you find him in your room.

He sits on the freezing floor by the foot of your bed like a sad pile of forgotten laundry. When his gaze lifts to you in the doorframe, his brow furrows a tiny bit as if not sure he’s seeing a ghost.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice close to a croak, but Dean averts his eyes as if seeing you pains him. And, well, that pains you.

“You-, uh, you forgot something?” He clears his throat to clear his feelings and seem casual. You don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling with that mask – again, sadly sitting on the floor in your room – but it sure ain’t you.

“Yeah, you,” you reply, a faint smile curving your lips. You step closer and kneel down in front of him, cupping his confused face in your palms as you brush your lips tentatively against his.

“I-… I don’t understand,” Dean says, the surprise still visible in the wrinkles of his brow when you pull back an inch. “Look, if you’ve changed your mind again–“

“No, Dean…” You shake your head and kiss the creases on his forehead. “I never changed my mind, okay? I meant what I said last night. I love you.”

His mouth is agape for a heartbeat, knitted brow ironing out with realization. “So, you’re staying?”

“Yeah. It's you. No contest.” You smile softly, the happiness in your veins almost forcing you to beam, but your other half doesn’t seem to be quite there yet.

“Then why did you leave?”

With a heavy sigh, you slump back against the footboard, taking a seat next to him. “I know. I’m sorry. I panicked when I woke up,” you explain. “I just-… I had to end it, you know?”

Dean’s brow raises with understanding. Oh.

“You broke up with him?”

You nod, swallowing. It hasn’t exactly been a fun day for you, either.

“I went to his hotel, but he’d already checked out. So, I went to the airport, but his flight was gone too,” you tell him. “I wanted to call you, but I forgot to charge my phone. My battery was dead.”

Dammit. Of course Sam was right.

“And, uhm, that’s when I bought a ticket and flew there.”

“You flew to Michigan?!”

Well, of all the scenarios that swirled around his head the past twenty-four hours, this hadn’t exactly been one of them. Sure, he’d buy you going after your boyfriend to be with him, but to break up with him?

“Wouldn’t a text done it?”

“Dean!” Gasping, you slap his arm scoldingly. “I know you don’t mean that. Look, I had to, okay? The guy wanted to propose to me, the least I could do is be honest and face him. I didn’t want to start something… new without ending it first, you know? Not that any of this was good, to begin with…”

Dean lifts a brow, pursing his lips. “So, last night wasn’t… good?”

You fix him with a glare. “Not the point, dude!” You shake your head at him. “Look, last night was–… You were–… It was–“

“Magical?” Dean offers with a small, puckish smile.

“Sure,” you relent, smiling internally at his childishness. Or is it cute? “I just meant it wasn’t ideal.”

“Yeah, uhm, I know. I’m sorry. Really. I am,” Dean says and meets your eyes. “So, did you tell him? About… you know?”

You exhale a long sigh. “Well, I didn’t want to. Not because I’m a coward and didn’t want to face the consequences, I just figured I was already cutting a wound. No need to pour salt into it, right?”

“Makes sense,” Dean agrees quietly.

“Yeah, well, that plan kinda went out the window thanks to your artwork on my neck,” you mutter a bit reproachfully, but a small smile still flashes on your lips. You know damn well he made it a point last night to mark you.

“Right, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, too,” he says and clears his throat, but it’s the apology he doesn’t really mean. He’s not even a little bit sorry about that. The only thing he feels sorry for is making you go through all of that.

“Please, like you mean that.” You snort, giggling. Dean clicks his tongue, his cheeks reddening guiltily. “Anyways, that whole thing then led to a five-hour break-up talk.”

“Five hours?!” Dean wildly furrows his brow. “What’s taking so long? I mean, you tell them you don’t love them, and you leave.”

You frown slightly and deadpan, “Right, forgot you’re the relationship expert. Have you ever actually broken up with someone?”

Well… Cassie broke it off with him. Lisa, too. But to be fair, both of those break-ups combined didn’t last more than ten minutes – tops.

“Thought so.” You smirk winningly.

“Alright, congrats. You’re a saint,” Dean huffs jokingly.

“Hardly,” you scoff and find his gaze. “Dean, I still cheated. That’s not a good thing.”

“No, I know. But–“

“You know I wouldn’t do that to you, right?”

Stumped, Dean arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course not. Wait, is that something you’re actually worried about? That I would think that?”

You meekly shrug your shoulders, playing with your fingers in your lap. “Well, yeah…”

Dean wets his lips for a brief moment of contemplation before his palm cups the back of your head and pulls you to him for a searing kiss. It’s deep and soft and hungry all the same. Most of all, it’s pure. It feels like the first kiss that isn’t controlled by the craving.

It’s just love now.

“I love you,” Dean says breathlessly as soon as he draws back from your lips, offering you one of his charming smiles full of mischief. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “And I know, alright? Don’t you worry about that.”

You nod and claim his lips again.

“So, uh, what d’you say? Wanna hit Vegas tomorrow? Stop by a chapel?” Dean suggests, causing your brow to raise significantly.

“Oh, you were actually serious about that?”

Dean chuckles. Yeah, he wouldn’t have necessarily believed him either, but it’s still true. He’s not even a little bit afraid of the commitment. In fact, he craves it.

“Yeah, I was. Meant every word I said,” he confirms with a big grin. “You wanna get married? We’ll do it. Hell, anything you want, just tell me, and I make it happen, sweetheart.”

“Huh… Anything?” A tiny smirk curves your lips.

Dean sighs playfully and rolls his eyes. “Jesus, stepped right into that one, didn’t I? So, you wanna get married? What is it? Atlantic City? You know that place is a shithole, right? Even Jersey thinks so…”

“No, Dean, nothing like that.” You laugh, shaking your head with pink cheeks. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure I wanna get married.”

Dean nods, rubbing his chin with his fingers. “Okay, just figured you’d-, you know, since…”

“No, I mean, I would’ve said yes.”

“Huh.” Dean scratches the back of his head a little too anxiously. “Gotta say, kinda hard not to take it the wrong way here.”

You stifle a chuckle. “I promise it’s not that. I’d marry you in a heartbeat, okay? I’m just telling you it’s not a priority. You wanna get married tomorrow, we’ll get married. What d’you want? Elvis? You know they do weddings without him there too, right? I heard they even have a drive-through chapel. We could get married in the Impala.”

Dean blinks at you for a minute before he shakes his head clear. “Okay, first of all, love that idea. Second… you know, maybe you’re right. Let’s slow down a little. I don’t wanna go on a first date with my wife.”

You laugh, nodding. “Kinda my point.”

“Alright, what d’you wanna do, huh? We could look for a place topside, like Sammy and Eileen,” Dean proposes, but you wrinkle your nose.

“I don’t wanna leave the bunker,” you state. “Do you know how much rent we’d pay for a place this size topside?”

Dean chuckles a little. “We could downsize, you know? I mean, it’s just the two of us.”

“Yeah, but where would we play hall ball? Do I need to remind you this place has a bowling alley and a shooting range? I can’t downsize. I’m used to luxury now.”

A deep laugh rumbles through Dean’s chest at that, remembering only more reasons why he loves you – why you’re the one. “Alright, we’ll stay, princess.”

“Look, all I want is to be with you and have fun adventures. We’re pretty good at that, you know?” you tell him with a teasing smile, seeing Dean nod in agreement. “So… how serious were you about me knocking you out and dragging you on a plane?”

Groaning, Dean throws his head back, pounding it softly against the wooden bed frame. “Oh, c’mon! You sure I can’t just knock you up? We do have enough rooms for a couple of ‘em…”

You snort a laugh at his theatrical reaction. “A, I’m sure. And B, how’s that slowing down, huh? Besides, I already booked the tickets. Our plane leaves tomorrow at eight. Pack your bathing suit ‘cause we’re going to Hawaii.”

Slinging your arms around his shoulders, you peck his scruffy cheek, while Dean rubs a palm across his face, but he can hardly hide the smile underneath it, although his heart is fluttering quite nervously.

“Okay, let’s do it, I guess. Better call Sam for a strong spell to knock me out, though.” Dean laughs a little.

“How about we just go to the pharmacy before we pull out the hex bags, huh?” you suggest gently, smiling in amusement. Only a Winchester would propose such a ridiculous thing. “And you also have me by your side, okay? I think it’s about time Dean Winchester joins the mile high club, don’t you?”

Dean purses his lips but can’t stop the smirk from splitting his cheeks. “Well, speaking of–“ He cradles your head and leans closer, gently pushing you down till your back touches the floor and your giggles fill the room. “You left a hickey on my dick. How about I repay the favor?”

Without another word, his lips find yours, and you cave to craving once more. Dean hopes he can satiate it for the rest of his life.

Quite a ride, but we got to our HEA 😜💕 Let me know all your precious thoughts. Feedback is very appreciated!

I've already written a follow-up one-shot for these two and may have been thinking of a Hawaii-themed miniseries (after all, the Winchesters never hunted in that state, so there surely might be something supernatural there 😉)

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