#I actually like how a lot of things like the hunt feel like a barely controlled mess that’s only holding together by a thread politically.

[enjoyvoidblack]

Was midway through typing out a defense of Jon's decisions in light of how everyone (including Jonny) seems to think he could've done much better, but then I remembered he walked up to Jude Perry's front door and knocked and yknow what post cancelled actually. For that alone this man is an idiot (affectionate)

[muqingslover]

Ok, so... this might be a bit of a +18 think piece, but... what do you think the lads men would have as their top 3 kinks? I started thinking about it after I read the Xavier somno one, lol. Maybe I'm crazy but I think Caleb would have blindfolds/rope play in his top 3 (on mc not on him, since he wants to see all of you but is very resultant to show all of himself back due to fear of rejection+ if mc is tied up she can't leave)

[ choosing only three was a lot harder than I thought whew. Also, I'm testing out different layouts rn so don't mind me (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ]

Predator/Prey Play: This guy is the literal definition of wolf in sheep's clothing. What gets him going is the thrill of the hunt and the turntables (his specialty), which is why he will often let you think you're in control and have your fun teasing him only to then pounce when you least expect. If you run from him then you better pray he won't catch you or not.

Exhibitionism: This might be a hot take but walk with me. Xavier is a very jealous man so he won't ever allow anyone to actually see you, buuuut he is very into letting others know you belong to him. You gotta leave for a mission with someone else? Not to worry, all he needs is 10 minutes in the bathroom stall. The bread guy is back at it again? It can't be helped, he'll just have to fuck against the door while he's knocking to show you're busy. He'd love to see you struggling (and failing) to keep your voice down and looks like a smug cat when others notice the marks he left on you.

Cunnilingus: This man eats pussy like a goddamn champ. He absolutely adores having your thighs wrapped around his head, to the point he finds it comforting, and the feeling of his tongue stretching open your dripping pussy for his cock later. Your taste is something he could have every day, which he will if you let him, and he takes pride when you're left a writhing, whimpering mess that begs for him to fuck you.

Bondage: The joke about him tying MC up with surgical knots was definitely not a joke. In my opinion, rather than the power rush over the control he has over you, what really gets him off is the trust you put in his hands. Bondage is all about having faith in your partner to never truly hurt you and knowing you see him that way makes him feel beyond special. Given the chance he'd love to have you wrapped in dark blue, silky ribbons and the aftercare is top tier with this guy.

Lingerie: For some reason I feel like Zayne is REALLY into seeing you wearing lingerie. Ladies, feel free to tease him by telling him you're wearing one, but not letting him see until he's home much later. He'll spend the entire day imagining what type of lace you have under your clothes and he pretty please asks you to strip for him as a reward for waiting.

Phone Sex: Another one I just have a feeling it's his thing. I mean, he is a busy man and sometimes it can't be helped, people have needs yk. He'd like the feeling of knowing you think of him as much as he does of you when the other is not around. The photos you send and the sounds of your needy whines right next to his ear goes straight to his cock and he is mortified when the post-nut clarity hits him and he realizes what he did in his own office.

Overstimulation: I'm an overly sensitive Caleb truther. The overstimulation has his head spinning so good that he can barely form a coherent thought that isn't your name while he slams into your pussy for the nth time like a desperate man. He doesn't want to simply break you he wants to break together, to the point neither of you can think about anything else besides how good it feels.

Roleplaying: I've lost count of the amount of times we've seen him and MC roleplaying and this man will unironically take it to the bedroom. It starts as a joke where he's only doing it to make you laugh, but then he won't allow you to break character and will edge you until you say your "lines" correctly. Forceful and cold soldier? Check. Teasing and pervy Gege? of course. A loving and gentle husband? Sign him up. Strict teacher? No need to ask twice.

Brat Taming: Now defying Caleb is the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull and you better run because when he catches you you're done for. He needs you to need him as much as he needs you and if he has to break you for you to admit it then he will. The rush of being the one in charge and "taking care" of you in a way no one else will is enough to have his cock throbbing.

Breeding AND Biting: These two go hand in hand every time you have sex with him. He craves to have a family with you but, more than anything, he wants you to be as full of him as his heart is of you. He wants you to be so filled with his cum that he has to keep his cock inside otherwise it'll leak out of you. He absolutely enjoys the slippery mess your warm insides become when he rocks his hips into you, slowly but deep, pushing his cum even further into your womb and hoping you'll get pregnant.

Body Worship: I've said it once and I'll say it again: Sylus is a lover boy! ! ! Each kiss on your skin is an offering, a promise and a worship. He wants to know the parts of your body not even you do and give you the love you deserve. The praises he whispers against your body are similar to a prayer and he could spend years exploring every inch of you without ever getting tired. You're the very reason for his existence and any less is just unacceptable.

Size: This guy is not only big but he's also very large. He is a softie who likes to tease you about how small you are compared to him while he holds your hand and pretends he doesn't hear your complaints about him suffocating you after the draped his heavy body over yours. That feeling of satisfaction extends when he has to gently coo you and kiss your tears away while he's spreading your little hole open. He can't help the fangy grin on his lips when he feels his cock bulge on your tummy and he holds your hand over the spot so you feel how deep he is inside of you as well.

Rough Sex: Another controversial take but I feel like he's a secret sadist just not the extreme type. Man can flip his demeanor from "harmless babyboy" to intimidating sea god in a split second who knows what else he's hiding under that purple wig. He'll keep an almost cold demeanor while he coaxes whimpers out of you in the best way and a wicked smirk spreads across his face at the sight of your tears, spurring him on until he's completely broken you.

Food Play: That's definitely one way to make sure he actually eats. Having you be his meal will make him hungry like never before and oh he absolutely will feast (this may or may not be a reference to this). He makes a point of not using his hands while licking along your skin, tasting the sweet chocolate before he left a purple mark on your thighs. Oh, this goes both ways so please pour wine on him and lick him clean ;)

Body Painting: I forgot if there's an actual English term for this but Rafayel would love to draw on your skin and watch you squirm each time the soft, wet brush went over your perked up nipples. He'd scold you when you move because you're making him smudge the lines and holds you in place with his free hand, warning you to stop or he'll take "extreme measures" to make you keep still. You are the only one he'd ever dare to call a masterpiece.

[nomaishuttle]

reading the desolations of devils acre and idk man im not tly feeling it

[nebularsung]

birthday mayhem | l.dh

chaotic boyfriend!haechan x birthday girl!reader

❝ on your birthday, haechan messed up the delivery address and had to race across the city to get your gifts back. meanwhile, he sent you on a sweet treasure hunt with help from his friends, each giving you cute clues and little surprises. you visited your favorite spots, laughed a lot, and felt how much he really cares. in the end, you found him—tired, messy, and holding your cake and flowers—just before he got down on one knee to propose. ❞

genre. fluff & crack ⭑ word count. 7.5k + 9 screenshots

content. birthday chaos... a lot!, haechan, as always, dragging the boys into his mess, down bad!haechan, fluff fluff fluff, haechan is super dedicated and you're his queen

“No, you’re messing with me!” Haechan let out a strangled laugh, though there was no humor behind it—only rising panic curdling in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lee, but we delivered to the address you provided,” the delivery man replied, voice steady and professional—completely indifferent to the full-blown crisis Haechan was having on the other end.

He gritted his teeth, fighting to stay calm. “Fine! Then give me the address. I’ll fix this myself.” His free hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t disclose—”

“Mark, I’m gonna lose my mind—” Haechan hissed, shoving the phone into Mark’s hands before he did something regrettable, like throw it across the room.

Mark sighed and took over the call, already negotiating with the delivery guy while Haechan paced the living room like a man possessed.

How could he screw up something this important?

He double-checked everything!

Triple-checked!

And now—God—your gifts, your birthday surprise… everything he had spent weeks planning was falling apart.

The ring.

His heart dropped to his stomach.

That stupidly expensive, carefully chosen ring that was supposed to slip onto your pretty finger tonight—gone, sitting somewhere across town in the hands of complete strangers.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath.

He needed to fix this.

Fast.

“Okay, good news and bad news,” Mark said, turning around, holding the phone in one hand, his expression a strange mix of sympathy and amusement. “Which do you want first?”

Haechan was already sitting on the floor, his arms locked tightly around his knees, bouncing slightly like a stressed-out child. His face was crumpled with panic.

“Good first. Please. I need something good,” he muttered into the fabric of his jeans.

“Good news: he gave me the address.” Mark waved the phone triumphantly. “Bad news: it's on the complete opposite side of the city.”

The words hit Haechan like a punch to the gut. He actually winced, clutching his knees tighter. He could swear he heard a crack somewhere inside his heart.

“Oh my God…” he whimpered. “I’m the worst boyfriend in history…” His voice cracked pitifully as he buried his face between his knees. His shoulders sagged as he felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes.

Mark stared at him in disbelief. “Dude, I’m starting to think you care more about her birthday than she does.” He crouched down next to Haechan, who looked genuinely on the verge of collapse.

“Of course I do! The day my beloved queen, my goddess, the meaning of my whole existence was born. How could I not?” He said in a dramatic tone, hyperventilating.

Mark rubbed his temple. “Okay, listen. What if we distract her? Y'know, plan something while you run around picking up her gifts?"

A muffled sniff came from Haechan. “Like what…” His voice was hoarse and small, barely audible against his jeans.

Mark paused, searching his brain for something—anything—that wouldn’t result in Haechan combusting from stress. “Didn't you say once that you wanted to do a treasure hunt with her?” he offered cautiously. “Maybe… this is the perfect time? Make it feel intentional?”

He winced a little, expecting the suggestion to somehow make things worse.

But Haechan slowly lifted his head, wide brown eyes gleaming—not just from unshed tears, but from the unmistakable spark of an idea taking root.

A dangerous spark.

“Oh, no. You’re thinking too hard—” Mark muttered, but it was too late.

That mischievous glint was back.

The same one Haechan always got before dragging everyone into his wild, extra ideas.

A crooked, teary smile spread across Haechan’s face. “This is perfect.”

Mark groaned, getting to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face in defeat. Still, he couldn't help the fondness tugging at his mouth.

“Gross, dude. Your nose is running.” He tossed a crumpled napkin from the kitchen counter at Haechan’s head, wrinkling his nose dramatically.

Haechan laughed weakly, wiping his face, then shot Mark a crooked grin—bright and boyish despite the chaos around him.

And just like that, the mission was back on.

Haechan bounced to his feet, buzzing with frantic energy, grabbing his phone and firing off frantic texts to the group chat.

They were doing this.

He was getting your gifts back.

He was making this the best, most unforgettable birthday of your life.

The soft golden morning light streamed gently through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting warm patterns across the walls. You stirred beneath the covers, blinking away sleep as your eyes adjusted to the brightness. The quiet hum of the city outside drifted in faintly through the window, grounding you in the gentle hush of a new day.

You sat up slowly, hands running through your hair as you stretched your arms above your head with a sleepy yawn. There was a certain stillness to the room—a kind that felt like a held breath.

Then, the scent hit you.

Warm, buttery toast. The sweetness of strawberries. A faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Your chest fluttered with soft recognition.

Of course he was here.

It was your birthday. There was no way Lee Donghyuck—your chaotic, loving, occasionally over-the-top boyfriend—was going to let you wake up alone.

A smile tugged at your lips as you slid out of bed and padded across the cool floor, drawn like a magnet to the source of the scent.

And there he was.

In the kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the morning light, Haechan stood by the table, carefully placing down two plates like they were fragile glass. He was wearing your favorite hoodie of his—slightly oversized, sleeves pushed up haphazardly. His hair was a little messy, like he'd barely run his fingers through it. But his expression… it was focused. Delicate. Like he was setting up a tiny celebration in your honor with the tenderness it deserved.

He didn’t notice you right away. Not until you leaned against the doorway, your voice still touched with sleep.

“Hyuck…”

His head snapped up.

His whole face lit up—instantly. That boyish grin bloomed like sunrise, and his eyes softened like they always did when they looked at you.

“You’re awake!” he grinned, already crossing the room to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Happy birthday, sleepyhead.”

You wrapped your arms around his middle, melting into the warmth of his hoodie and the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. He swayed with you a little, resting his chin on top of your head.

“You made breakfast?” you mumbled into his chest, your smile hidden against the fabric.

“Of course,” he said proudly, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. “Only the best for the birthday royalty.”

You laughed softly, and he looked so proud of himself that your heart swelled.

The table was beautiful.

Pancakes with strawberries and powdered sugar. Toast with a tiny heart cut into it. A cup of your favorite coffee, made just how you liked it. And even a tiny candle stuck into a single croissant.

You sat down together, sharing soft bites, laughs between sips, kisses peppered on your face, and his pinky brushing yours like a quiet promise.

But after a while, you noticed him glance at the clock—twice. And his knee bounced under the table just a little.

“Hey,” you said gently, setting your fork down. “Is everything okay?”

He blinked, then gave you a sheepish smile. “Yeah—yeah, everything’s perfect. I just…”

He reached for your hand, warm and slightly calloused from guitar strings he plays so often. His thumb rubbed soft circles into your knuckles.

“I actually need to head out soon,” he said carefully, eyes watching your reaction. “But you don’t need to do anything yet. Just… stay in your cute pajamas and wait by the door, okay?”

You tilted your head, suspicious. “Why?”

He grinned, squeezing your hand. “Because Mark’s coming to pick you up.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Mark?”

“Yep. And no, I’m not telling you what he’s doing,” he said before you could ask more. “All I’ll say is—it’s part of your birthday surprise. And I need you to trust me, alright?”

You pouted, and he groaned.

“Don’t give me that face, babe. It’s already hard enough to leave you when you’re sitting here looking all pretty and pouty.”

He stood up, kissing your temple, then your cheek, then your lips—quick, fluttering little pecks that made you giggle.

“Be ready when he arrives,” he said softly, brushing a hand down your arm. “You’re gonna have the best birthday ever. I promise.”

And with one last smile—wide and warm and so Haechan—he grabbed his keys and left with a wink.

And you?

You were left smiling into your coffee, already wondering what chaos he’d planned with his ridiculous, beautiful heart.

You didn’t have to wait long. Barely an hour after Haechan left, your phone buzzed with a message from Mark:

[10:03 AM] Mark Lee 🚗: “Get that pretty birthday self outside. Your knight in slightly wrinkled armor awaits.”

Laughing to yourself, you headed to your bedroom, threw on something cute but comfy—something you knew Haechan would love to see you in later—and stepped out the door.

Mark was leaning against his car in a hoodie and jeans, holding out a bouquet of mismatched wildflowers with a dramatic flourish.

“M’lady,” he said with an exaggerated bow.

“You’re such a dork.”

“It’s my birthday job,” he grinned, opening the passenger door. “Get in. Phase one awaits.”

You buckled in, still smiling as he pulled into traffic. The ride was filled with Mark’s usual nonsense—playlist shuffles between R&B and some chaotic EDM, his one-man commentary show about the drivers around him, and the occasional side-eye when you asked where you were going.

“You’ll see,” he’d say with a wink.

Eventually, you recognized the streets. Your eyes widened as he turned a familiar corner.

The café.

Your café.

The cozy little spot you and Haechan always visited. The one where the baristas already knew your favorite orders and where you'd spent countless rainy afternoons sharing pastries and playful banter in the back booth. The one where one of the baristas had become one of your best friends.

Mark parked and turned off the engine, grinning at you.

“Alright,” he said, turning to face you. “Go inside. They’re expecting you. Oh—” he reached into his jacket and handed you a small envelope, “—take this. You’ll need it after.”

Your heart was already fluttering as you pushed open the café door.

The familiar scent of roasted beans and sugar rushed over you. And waiting behind the counter was Jaemin, flashing you a mischievous smile. You hadn’t even realized he worked today.

“Happy birthday,” he said smoothly, handing you a small pastry box tied with a ribbon.

You blinked. “Wait—did you bake me something?”

“No,” he snorted, already wiping down the counter. “Haechan would fight me.”

You opened the box carefully—and inside was a tiny tart, your favorite. Nestled beside it was a folded note and a small square Polaroid.

Your heart squeezed.

It was a photo of you and Haechan—candid and warm, taken from a slight angle. You were laughing, hand half-raised like you were trying to block the shot, and he was kissing your cheek with his eyes scrunched shut in mock exaggeration.

You swallowed around the emotion in your throat and opened the note.

Clue #1: “Where we first danced in public, remember? I made a fool of myself, and you said it was the best thing you’d ever seen. Renjun’s waiting with your next surprise. P.S. Tell Jaemin he’s not allowed to flirt with you today. Birthday rule.”

You burst out laughing, folding the note as Jaemin raised his eyebrows.

“Tell him I said that’s boring,” Jaemin called out with a smirk.

“I’m telling him you said that,” you shot back, walking out with the Polaroid pressed to your chest, heart already glowing.

Mark was waiting by the car, biting into a croissant like this was the most normal day ever.

“Next stop?” you asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

He gave you a playful look.

“Let’s go see how good your memory is.”

And with that, the adventure continued—your heart racing with excitement and warmth, wondering what Haechan had planned next.

The car ride to the bookstore was filled with the kind of warm anticipation that buzzed quietly beneath your skin. You were holding the Polaroid in your hands still, glancing at it every so often like it might hold some secret code. Mark noticed, but didn’t say anything—he just smiled to himself, clearly enjoying the mystery as much as you were.

Eventually, he pulled up in front of the small independent bookstore tucked between a florist and a vintage clothing shop. You knew this place. You and Haechan had stumbled upon it during a rainy weekend stroll months ago, when you’d ducked inside to avoid the downpour and ended up dancing clumsily between the aisles while soft jazz played overhead.

It was the first time Haechan danced with you in public—a silly, half-spun waltz right by the poetry section.

Mark unlocked your seatbelt with an exaggerated click. “Your next prince is inside. I’ll wait in the car so you don’t feel like you’re being followed by a reality show.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and pushed open the glass door, a small bell jingling above your head. Inside, the world smelled of old pages, leather bindings, and something sweet—like cinnamon tea.

You looked around slowly. The sunlight poured through the wide windows in gentle streaks, casting golden lines across the hardwood floor and dust particles that danced in the air like little bits of magic.

And there he was—Renjun—standing by the poetry section with a small book in his hand, flipping through it with exaggerated elegance. He glanced up the moment you entered, his lips twitching with the faintest smile like he’d been waiting longer than he’d admit.

“Took you long enough,” he said, slipping the book shut and tucking it neatly back onto the shelf. “I was starting to recite sonnets to myself just to stay awake.”

You laughed softly, walking over. “Please. You love this place more than your apartment.”

He gave you a playful side-eye. “I do, but I don’t love standing around like some enchanted librarian while Haechan plays romantic scavenger hero.”

“Enchanted librarian suits you, though.”

Renjun pretended to gag, but his smile broke through anyway. “Okay, okay. Enough stalling. I’ve got something for you.”

He stepped aside and motioned to a display table behind him. “He told me to pick a book for you. Said it had to be meaningful. I had like… a crisis about it.”

You walked over and found the table set with a single wrapped gift—book-shaped, of course. Beside it was another Polaroid, this time of you and Haechan sitting in this very bookstore, sharing a drink while he dramatically read poetry to you from a worn-out book. Your face was blurry from laughter, mid-giggle, and Haechan’s mouth was wide open mid-line, one hand over his heart.

You smiled, heart swelling.

“Go on,” Renjun urged. “Open it.”

You peeled the wrapping back carefully. Inside was a copy of your favorite childhood novel—the very edition you once told Haechan your mom used to read to you from. He had remembered.

Pressed inside the front cover was another note in his handwriting:

Clue #2: “You always said music speaks when words can't. So I figured your next stop should be somewhere full of voices—even if they’re not saying anything at all. There’s a boy there with headphones always around his neck and the softest smile I’ve ever been jealous of. He’s got your next gift. P.S. Don’t let him be too cool! Don’t look too much, love!”

Renjun snorted behind you. “He called me at 1am crying because the first book he picked had a tragic ending.”

You laughed so hard you had to sit on the edge of the table for a moment, wiping at your eyes.

Before you left, Renjun pulled you into a rare hug, squeezing you a bit and kissing your temple.

“Happy birthday, idiot. He really put his whole soul into this.”

You clutched the book to your chest and headed out with another layer of joy wrapped around your heart.

Mark was already pulling a U-turn when you slid back into the passenger seat.

“Next?”

“The music shop,” you said, smiling.

The bell above the music shop door jingled softly as you stepped inside, a familiar scent of wood, old sheet music, and something slightly metallic greeting you. The cozy space was dimly lit with warm lights, and for a second, it seemed quiet—until, suddenly:

Strum.

A sharp, playful chord echoed across the shop, followed by another. Then—

“Baaaabe!” Jeno’s voice rang out dramatically as he slid into view on his knees, electric guitar in hand, strumming a short, silly but somehow impressive solo. He ended the riff with an exaggerated flourish, grinning like a kid at a talent show.

“You’re finally here!” he said, still kneeling like he’d just performed at a sold-out arena. “And yes, I have been practicing that move for an hour waiting for you, thanks for asking.”

You giggled, unable to help it, covering your face briefly as your cheeks warmed. Jeno chuckled, slinging the guitar behind his back and getting up to dust himself off.

“Alright, alright, now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself,” he said, stepping behind the counter. “Time for the real reason you’re here.”

He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, worn at the corners like he’d read it a hundred times. “Donghyuck told me to give you this only after I properly welcomed you, rockstar-style.”

You reached for the page with curious fingers, and when you unfolded it, your heart skipped.

It was a handwritten song—one Haechan had written himself. His unique scrawl filled the page in black ink, little hearts dotting the i’s, and a few musical notes dancing in the margins. The lyrics were gentle, full of intimate lines about quiet mornings, soft laughter, and the way you scrunch your nose when you're thinking. One particular line stood out:

"You are the chorus to every love song I never dared to sing out loud—until now."

Jeno leaned against the counter, watching you with a quiet smile as you read. “He really put his heart into that. Even recorded a demo, but I wasn’t allowed to show you. ‘Too cringey,’ he said.”

You were already biting your lip to fight the smile threatening to stretch across your face. Your eyes watered slightly—overwhelmed, touched, and just incredibly in love.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Jeno added, pulling another paper from his back pocket with a dramatic flourish. “Clue number three. You’re getting close.”

You took it, still holding Haechan’s lyrics carefully in the other hand.

Clue #3: “He says he doesn’t like sunshine, but you’ve seen the way he smiles when the light hits the trees just right. He’s waiting where the trees hum with wind, and kids run free—the park, of course. Your next gift is with Jaemin. P.S. Ask him about the time I challenged him to a cartwheel contest. I pulled something I didn’t know I had.”

Jeno gave you a playful wink. “Good luck, birthday girl. And give Jaemin my regards—but don’t believe anything he tells you about that cartwheel contest.”

You laughed, clutching the song to your chest and heading back out, already wondering what Jaemin—and your boyfriend—had planned next.

Getting back to the car, you slid into the backseat, looking at Mark in the rearview.

“He really outdid himself this time, huh?” you asked, still glancing at the song.

“I fear he did…” he chuckled, shaking his head. “This man loves you more than anything on Earth… You should’ve been used to it by now,” he started the engine, finishing his sentence. “And better be ready for the next birthday, because I’m sure he’ll prepare something even bigger.”

You laughed, knowing this will be true. “This man is only making me worry about his birthday…” you pouted, thinking about how you could do something that big for his birthday.

“Let’s be for real… you’re the only gift he needs, dude.” Mark turned at you. “May I know where we are going next?”

“The Park, my knight in slightly wrinkled armor.” you grinned mockingly as he laughed. “With Jaemin…?”

“Don’t mention it, but he forgot his stop. He wasn’t supposed to be at the café… It’s his day off…” he tells, a hint of embarrassment in his tone while you just laughed.

Yeah, your friends were really sweet.

While you were off following beautifully crafted clues, laughing with his best friends, and slowly unraveling the love-wrapped puzzle he’d orchestrated…

Haechan was sprinting across the city like a man possessed.

The sun beat down on his back as he power-walked through the second apartment complex he’d been to that day. His hair clung to his forehead, cheeks pink from heat and sheer stress. In one hand, he clutched his phone with the cursed email from the delivery service confirming the wrong address he’d given, and in the other hand, he held the bouquet that he’d already fought for at stop number one.

He had retrieved the flowers from a confused elderly neighbor who was more interested in his “soft cheeks” and “nice thighs” than the actual explanation of why he was there. She’d patted his face twice before letting go of the bouquet, claiming he reminded her of her second husband.

It was traumatizing.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part stood in front of him now—arms crossed, hip cocked to the side, sunglasses sliding down her nose. An immaculately dressed woman in heels and a silk robe, tapping her foot as she leaned against her doorframe.

Haechan had survived a lot in his twenty-something years of life. Awkward first dates. A shattered ankle during a dance rehearsal. Once, a bird flew into his open window and pecked his ear. But none of it—none—compared to this.

His heart thundered in his chest as he climbed the creaky stairs to apartment 3C, flowers crushed slightly in his grip and sweat trailing down his spine. He’d been to the florist. And now only one mission remained:

The Ring.

His final boss battle.

He knocked.

The door opened halfway, chain still latched. She peeked through—a woman in her mid-thirties, glowing skin, silk robe, fresh blowout. Sunglasses on indoors. She looked like the type who had a glass of wine with breakfast and named her dog something like Versace.

“Yes?” she said, lifting an arched brow.

Haechan offered the friendliest, tightest, most obviously-fake smile he’d ever forced. “Hi! Good afternoon. I’m really sorry to bother you, but there’s been a huge mistake with a package I ordered. The address was wrong, and the delivery was sent here instead of my apartment. And the package—it’s, um… it’s really important. It’s a ring.”

She didn’t blink. “I received a ring, yes.”

“Oh thank God, okay—” Haechan said again, for the third time, panting like he’d just run a marathon. “But that ring is not for you, ma’am.”

She huffed, raising an eyebrow like a queen being addressed by a peasant. “The label had my address.”

“Yes, because I messed it up!” he pleaded, gesturing to himself in wild frustration. “I’m the idiot here! That doesn’t mean the ring’s yours!”

“I assumed it was from my husband,” she cut him off, nails clicking against the wood of the door. “He travels often. Sends me gifts. I thought he was making up for last week.”

“What happened last week?”

“He told me I shouldn’t buy a second blender.”

Haechan blinked. “I—okay, yeah, anyway, that ring? Not from him.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, already starting to close the door.

“You don’t even know if he’s your husband?!”

She pouted. “You’re very aggressive.”

“I’m in love!” Haechan exploded. “Do you understand?! I am in love with a woman who makes me want to write songs and cook pancakes at 2am and—and commit federal crimes if someone doesn’t give me her ring back!”

That caught her attention. She tilted her head, intrigued. “...Federal crimes?”

“Ma’am,” he said, clutching his chest like he’d been shot, “that ring was custom-made. Do you know how many hours I spent choosing the band? The diamond? I was gonna give it to her during her birthday dinner. With the cake! That you also have, by the way! I made it myself! It has pink frosting and tiny letters that spell out her nickname!”

She tilted her head. “Hmm…”

Haechan threw a hand against it, heart pounding. “Please. Look, I’m begging you. It was meant for my girlfriend. It’s her birthday today. I’ve been running all over the city fixing this mess because I got the address wrong and I can’t—I won’t let her think I forgot, or didn’t care, or didn’t plan everything. I’ve got her friends helping me create this whole treasure hunt, and she’s following clues right now with the biggest smile on her face and—and the ring’s the last one. It has to be perfect.”

“Please,” he added, softly now. “It’s not just a ring. It’s her dream ring. I saved for months. I memorized her Pinterest board. It’s got this little wave etched inside because she said once that I reminded her of the ocean. I’ve never given someone something so important in my life.”

There was a long pause. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, eyeing him up and down.

“I see,” she said. “Well… that’s very romantic.”

“It is,” Haechan said with a breath of relief.

“But also,” she added, folding her arms, “how do I know you’re telling the truth? For all I know, you could be a con artist trying to steal gifts off people’s porches.”

“I look like I run a scam Etsy page, not a crime ring!” he sputtered.

She didn’t move. Instead, she reached for her phone.

“I’m calling my husband.”

“Oh, come on—” he complained exasperated.

“No. If it’s not from him, I’ll return it. If it is, I’m keeping it.”

As she dialed, Haechan paced in circles outside her door, muttering dramatic curses to himself.

“Hello, babe,” she said sweetly into the phone, turning away slightly. “Did you send me a ring?”

Pause.

“No? Are you sure?”

Pause.

“A white gold band with a small sapphire detail inside.”

Longer pause.

“…No, don’t be mad, I thought it was from you!”

Haechan grinned.

Victory.

But then—

“What do you mean ‘give it back’?! It’s already in my jewelry box!”

Haechan’s head snapped up. He could hear the muffled voice on the other end, rising in pitch. She pulled the phone away from her ear, face souring.

Then she turned back to Haechan.

“Fine. I’ll return it. But you owe me.”

He blinked. “Owe you?”

“You interrupted my facial. I was mid-serum.”

“I—I can Venmo you ten bucks and a sorry emoji?”

She stared.

“…And I’ll leave a five-star Yelp review for your building?” he offered.

Finally, she huffed, disappeared inside, and returned with a sleek velvet ring box in one hand and the crumpled bakery box in the other.

“It’s not gluten-free, by the way,” she said, handing him the cake. “I checked.”

“I know.”

“But it’s really good,” she added. “Your girlfriend’s lucky.”

He took the box gently, like it was made of glass. The ring sat nestled inside, shining softly in the light.

“…So am I,” he murmured.

With a grateful bow, a muttered thank you, and a spin on his heel, Haechan bolted out of the building like a man on a mission.

Because now, finally—ring in hand, cake secured, though slightly violated, flowers salvaged—he was ready for the final reveal.

And nothing, nothing, could stop him now.

The soft breeze rustled through the trees as you made your way toward the wide-open park. Children’s laughter echoed in the air, mingling with the distant bark of a dog and the faint melody of someone playing guitar nearby. The path was lined with golden light, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the grass as it dipped closer to the horizon.

You didn’t have to search long.

There he was—Na Jaemin, leaning back lazily against a picnic table bench, hair glowing in the sun, a ridiculous birthday sash over his hoodie that read: “Agent of Love Delivery #4” in sparkly gold letters.

You couldn’t help but smile.

He spotted you, stood up immediately, and with a dramatic bow, held out his arms like a game show host. “You’ve made it, birthday girl!”

“Oh my god, Jaemin…” you laughed. “What are you wearing?”

“Haechan made me. He said it was either this or a banana costume. So if anything, I chose dignity.”

You snorted.

On the table behind him was a little box wrapped in peach paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Next to it, a mason jar filled with wildflowers and one of those tiny Polaroid prints—it was a shot of you and Haechan under a café umbrella, rain misting behind you. He had his arm around you, cheeks squished against yours, both your eyes crinkled with laughter.

“Okay, that’s cheating,” you whispered, already clutching the photo to your chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Jaemin smiled, sitting down beside you on the bench. “He kinda stacked the deck with that one.”

You opened the box next. Inside was a pair of matching beaded bracelets—simple, homemade, with tiny letter charms. Yours had the initials H + (Y) in tiny silver, and his had your name’s first letter alongside his. It was the kind of sweet that punched you in the chest a little.

Jaemin leaned his elbows on the table, watching your expression. “You like them?”

You nodded, biting your lip, a soft warmth blooming in your chest. “He made these?”

Jaemin nodded. “Stayed up till like four a.m. muttering about bead sizes and knot strength. It was like watching someone lose a game of Tetris in real life.”

You laughed, eyes still fixed on the bracelets.

“He really loves you, you know,��� Jaemin added, gentler now. “Like, the mushy, ridiculous, ‘I’ll challenge my friends to public cartwheel contests’ kind of love.”

You blinked. “He what?”

Jaemin smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “He was here this morning. Said the park was a ‘critical love station’ and dared me to a cartwheel contest to ‘fill the air with romantic energy.’ I think he pulled something, but refused to admit it.”

You laughed so hard you had to lean into the table. “Please tell me you won.”

“Barely,” Jaemin grinned. “I’ve got a trick knee. But I had something to prove.”

The two of you sat in the sunlight for a moment longer—you, sipping water Jaemin had thoughtfully brought, him watching the clouds like he was trying to spot hidden heart shapes.

Then he turned toward you with a glint in his eye.

“Ready for your next mission?”

You nodded, excited again.

Jaemin reached into his jacket pocket and handed you a folded envelope. Inside, a hand-drawn doodle of Haechan in stick-figure form, holding a giant tray of chicken nuggets like a trophy.

You read the clue aloud:

Clue #4 "Every birthday queen deserves a royal feast. A place with fries, shakes, and room to breathe. Two noisy gremlins await your arrival— One sings too loud, one eats like a rival. They’ve got your last clue and a sugary bite. Meet them at the mall, under the neon light."

“Chenle and Jisung?” you guessed, grinning.

Jaemin nodded. “Good luck getting a word in between them.”

You slipped the envelope into your bag, already eager to see what chaos awaited you next—and what Haechan had planned for the final surprise.

The mall was buzzing—kids darted around with ice cream cones, couples shared trays of fries under glowing fast-food signs, and the distant echo of someone playing piano on the lower level added a strangely dramatic soundtrack to your search.

But you had a mission.

You scanned the food court until you saw them: Chenle and Jisung, sitting at a table with a comically large balloon bouquet tied to it, one of which had your name spelled wrong on purpose (“HBD Y/N 🐸❤️”)—a Haechan joke if you ever saw one.

Jisung spotted you first. “She’s here!” he shouted, mouth half-full of fries, earning a scolding swat on the arm from Chenle.

“Swallow first, you trash goblin!” Chenle hissed, then turned to you with a blinding smile. “Happy Birthday, Birthday Girl!”

You reached them, immediately greeted by a cupcake shoved toward you with a plastic tiara balanced on top.

“You have to wear this,” Chenle grinned, holding up the tiara. “Haechan’s orders. He said if you didn’t, the whole thing would be null and void.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and placed the tiara on your head. Jisung clapped like you’d won an award.

“Now, before we give you the final clue…” Chenle paused dramatically. “You must pass…”

“…THE BIRTHDAY INTERROGATION!” Jisung declared, pounding the table.

“Oh god.” you murmured to yourself, expecting the worst ever from these two.

“Question one,” Chenle leaned in like a talk show host. “How annoying is Haechan on a scale from 1 to ‘I fear for his safety around sharp objects’?”

You snorted. “Solid eight and a half. But in an endearing way.”

“Respectable answer,” Jisung nodded solemnly, handing you a chicken nugget like it was a prize.

Chenle grinned. “Question two: Do you like cheesy love songs?”

You blinked. “I mean, yeah?”

“Good,” Chenle stood up, dusting off his hands like he’d just completed a job. “Because he wrote you a whole damn EP and plans to sing half of it in falsetto when you walk in.”

You laughed, covering your face with your hands. “You’re joking.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Jisung said. “We’ve heard rehearsals. It’s… passionate.”

“And loud,” Chenle added, handing you a small velvet pouch. Inside, tucked carefully, was a delicate key charm necklace—a symbol for the next stop.

Attached to the pouch was a final envelope. You unfolded it, heart skipping.

Final Clue “You’ve danced through laughter, photos, crumbs, and clues, Now it’s time to find the one who planned it all for you. Not a prince, but a loud-mouthed fool in love, Waiting where stars shine through the ceiling above. Penthouse suite, the view’s a delight— Come find me, my love. We’ll end the night right. 💛 — Your forever idiot, Haechan”

You held the note close to your chest, heart full.

“Ready?” Chenle grinned.

“Let’s go get your idiot,” Jisung added, wiggling his brows.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the top floor of Haechan’s penthouse—and right in the center of the room stood your boyfriend, panting like he’d just outrun a bus.

And maybe he had.

His shirt was wrinkled and half-untucked, his hair disheveled and clinging to his forehead with sweat. In one hand, he clutched a sad-looking bouquet, the flowers clearly once beautiful but now crumpled from their journey—one was bent sideways like it had tried to escape. In the other hand was a slice of cake on a plastic plate, frosting sliding precariously off the side. Written in shaky red icing, clearly done in a moving car or under duress, were the words:

"HAPPY BRITHDAY (Y/N)"

He looked like a romantic wreck—disastrous but devoted, with the most relieved expression breaking over his face the second he saw you.

“Hey,” he breathed, voice raspy from the chaos of the day, “Surprise?”

You didn’t laugh at the misspelled cake. You didn’t point out the crushed petals or the fact that he looked like he’d been mugged by the wind.

You just ran straight into his arms, nearly knocking the plate to the floor as he caught you in a tight, sweaty, messy hug.

“I missed you so much today,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“I missed you more,” he whispered back, arms locking around your waist. “I swear I fought off at least two minor gods to get your cake back.”

“Oh my GOD, finally!” Chenle shouted from the couch. “You look like a wet dog, Lee Donghyuck.”

“I told you we should’ve wiped him down at the door,” Jisung added, wincing at the sight of Haechan’s ruined shirt.

“I think the cake’s bleeding,” Jaemin observed, poking the sagging icing with the end of a fork.

“Shut up!” Haechan barked over your shoulder, too tired to glare properly. “It’s romantic suffering, okay?!”

Mark walked over with a clean towel and patted Haechan’s face like a doting grandmother. “There, there. You did your best, champ.”

“I got the ring back,” Haechan mumbled into your hair, breath still fast. “That crazy lady tried to pretend it was hers—her husband chased me with a slipper, babe, I was nearly a crime statistic—”

“But you’re here,” you said gently, pulling back to look at him with a soft smile. “And you’re mine. And I love you.”

He stared at you for a second—dazed, overwhelmed, completely undone—and then gave you the most Haechan smile of all: crooked, tired, but absolutely bursting with affection.

“I love you more,” he said. “And next time, I’m triple-checking the delivery address.”

The boys groaned.

“You better!” Jeno called out, raising a soda can in mock salute. “Because none of us are doing this scavenger mission again!”

“Speak for yourself,” Jaemin said, smirking. “I got free cartwheels and cake out of it.”

“And I got to eat half the second cake,” Chenle added smugly.

“Wait, what—FIRST cake?” Renjun gawked.

But you were already pulling him by the hand toward the cozy setup at the balcony—a table full of candles, soft music, photos of your relationship strung like stars, and your friends shouting and laughing like they were born to make noise.

And amid the beautiful mess of the evening, you looked at Haechan—your ridiculous, stubborn, chaotic soulmate—and realized this was perfect.

Laughter still echoed from the living room—Chenle shouting over Jaemin about cake crumbs on the couch, Jeno and Jisung in a mock fight over the last soda, and Mark trying to get everyone to just sit down for one second.

But you and Haechan were out on the penthouse balcony, the door shut behind you, blocking out the noise.

It was quiet out here.

You leaned against the cool glass railing, the night breeze brushing your skin. Behind you, Haechan stood a step away, his hands stuffed in his pockets, face still flushed from the whirlwind of the day.

“Hey,” he said gently.

You turned, catching the way the city lights reflected in his eyes—warm, full of unspoken things.

He stepped closer, not saying anything for a beat. Just watching you. His breath slower now, but you could feel the tension humming beneath his skin, like something big was about to happen. Something he had been thinking about for a long time.

“I was gonna do this earlier,” he admitted softly, “but, you know… ring fiasco, stolen cake, getting chased with a slipper…” he rolled his eyes.

You laughed lightly, but your heart beat a little faster.

“But now…” Haechan exhaled and reached into his jacket pocket. Slowly. Carefully. His fingers shook a little as he pulled out a small velvet box—not in perfect condition, slightly dented from the day’s chaos, but clearly loved and protected.

He opened it with trembling hands. Inside sat the most beautiful ring—simple, elegant, glowing in the warm light of the city behind you.

“I bought this months ago,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “I practiced speeches. Even wrote a dumb poem about it. Thought I’d have this perfect moment, you know? But today was anything but perfect.”

He laughed at himself, a soft, breathless sound. Then, his voice grew steadier. Lower. More serious.

“But I realized… I don’t care about perfect. I care about you. And I’d do this in a thunderstorm or while hanging from a helicopter if that’s what it took.”

He dropped to one knee, and suddenly the world around you fell completely silent.

Your breath caught.

His eyes were wide and shining, vulnerable in a way you’d only seen when he was really, truly open with you.

“I would chase down every wrong delivery, run across the city, fight a hundred angry husbands—hell, I’d go to the moon and back to bring you the stupidest plushie if it made you smile. Because you make my life feel like the best kind of chaos. The kind I want forever.”

He held the ring up to you with both hands, almost like an offering.

“Will you marry me?”

Tears welled in your eyes, heart thrumming wildly against your ribs.

And in that second, it didn’t matter that the cake was a disaster, or the flowers were half-dead, or that Haechan was still wearing mismatched socks.

Because here he was—yours, messy and beautiful and completely sincere.

“Yes,” you breathed, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Of course I will.”

He let out the loudest, happiest laugh—the kind that crinkled his whole face—before standing up and wrapping you in the tightest hug, spinning you around with such giddy energy you forgot your feet ever touched the ground.

Behind the glass door, a chorus of cheering exploded. You glanced back to see your friends pressed against the windows, jumping and shouting and slapping each other’s backs.

“HE IS ENGAGED!” Chenle screamed.

“Who’s baking the wedding cake?!” Jaemin yelled.

“I CALL BEST MAN!” Jisung cried, while Mark smacked him on the head.

But all you heard was Haechan’s voice, close to your ear, whispering:

“You just made me the happiest idiot on Earth.”

The penthouse had finally quieted.

After all the shouting, teasing, cake-smearing, and an impromptu dance battle that involved Jeno trying to moonwalk in socks and almost breaking a vase—everyone had left, or crashed in the guest rooms.

But Haechan stayed wide awake.

You found him in the living room after your shower, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a blanket around his shoulders, hair still slightly damp from when Jisung tried to pour soda over him "in celebration." He was scrolling through the photos from the day on his phone—zooming into your reactions, his friends’ dumb expressions, and a few blurry moments that somehow felt more special than the perfectly framed ones.

He looked up when you entered, and his face softened like it always did when it was just you two.

“Hey,” he murmured, holding his hand out to you.

You walked over, taking it, and he immediately tugged you into his lap, wrapping both arms around you tightly, like he needed to feel every part of this was real.

You leaned back against his chest, his heartbeat thudding steady and warm under your ear.

It was quiet. Safe.

After a long moment, he whispered, “You really said yes.”

You smiled softly, fingers tracing over the fabric of his shirt. “I really did.”

“Even after I showed up panting like a dog, with half a cake and flowers that looked like roadkill?”

You laughed, your head tilting to look at him. “Especially after that.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, but they were glassy—emotions still high, the weight of the day slowly settling into him.

He pressed his lips against your temple, lingering there. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he said again, barely above a whisper. “I wanted everything to go right.”

“But it did,” you said, shifting to look at him fully now. “Because I got you at the end of it. A little sweaty, mildly traumatized, but still you.”

Haechan grinned, a breathy sound escaping him—part laugh, part disbelief.

“I think I love you more than I’m supposed to,” he said suddenly. “Like… dangerously. Like, I’d sell my liver on the black market if it meant getting you a second ring just to match the first.”

You snorted. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re marrying me,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the ring now resting there. Carefully. Reverently. Like it was a secret only you two shared.

After a long pause, he murmured, “I know I joke a lot. I mess up. I say dumb stuff all the time. But this…” His voice caught a little. “This is the most serious thing I’ve ever felt. I want to build something with you. A life. A forever. Even if we mess it up a little.”

You tilted his chin toward you, brushing your nose against his. “I don’t want perfect. I want you. Just like this.”

He kissed you—slow and full of everything he hadn’t been able to say with words. And when you pulled away, the grin returned, softer this time.

“Okay,” he said, tugging the blanket higher around both of you. “Then let’s mess up the world together.”

That night, you fell asleep curled into Haechan’s arms, your ring hand resting on his chest, the city lights painting lazy patterns on the ceiling. And for the first time in your life, the future didn’t feel like a question mark.

It felt like home.

BONUS:

☆ masterlist + notes. this one goes to my pretty @vanesycho my lovely birthday girl! hope you like it baby! i had so much fun writing it!!

★ @lyvhie @spacejip @zhapire @onriyuview @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

“Show, Don’t Tell”…But This Time Someone Explains It

If you’ve ever been on the hunt for writing advice, you've definitely seen the phrase “Show, Don’t Tell.”

Writeblr coughs up these three words on the daily; it’s often considered the “Golden Rule” of writing. However, many posts don't provide an in-depth explanation about what this "Golden Rule" means (This is most likely to save time, and under the assumption that viewers are already informed).

More dangerously, some posts fail to explain that “Show, Don’t Tell” occasionally doesn’t apply in certain contexts, toeing a dangerous line by issuing a blanket statement to every writing situation. 

The thing to take away from this is: “Show, Don’t Tell” is an essential tool for more immersive writing, but don't feel like a bad writer if you can’t make it work in every scenario (or if you can’t get the hang of it!)

1. What Does "Show, Don't Tell" Even Mean?

“Show, Don’t Tell” is a writing technique in which the narrative or a character’s feelings are related through sensory details rather than exposition. Instead of telling the reader what is happening, the reader infers what is happening due to the clues they’ve been shown.

EXAMPLE 1:

Telling: The room was very cold. Showing: She shivered as she stepped into the room, her breath steaming in the air.

EXAMPLE 2:

Telling: He was furious. Showing: He grabbed the nearest book and hurled it against the wall, his teeth bared and his eyes blazing.

EXAMPLE 3 ("SHOW, DON'T TELL" DOESN'T HAVE TO MEAN "WRITE A LOT MORE")

Telling: The room hadn't been lived in for a very long time. Showing: She shoved the door open with a spray of dust.

Although the “showing” sentences don’t explicitly state how the characters felt, you as the reader use context clues to form an interpretation; it provides information in an indirect way, rather than a direct one.

Because of this, “Show, Don’t Tell” is an incredibly immersive way to write; readers formulate conclusions alongside the characters, as if they were experiencing the story for themselves instead of spectating. 

As you have probably guessed, “showing” can require a lot more words (as well as patience and effort). It’s a skill that has to be practiced and improved, so don’t feel discouraged if you have trouble getting it on the first try!

2. How Do I Use “Show, Don’t Tell” ?

There are no foolproof parameters about where you “show” and not “tell" or vice versa; it’s more of a writing habit that you develop rather than something that you selectively decide to employ.

In actuality, most stories are a blend of both showing and telling, and more experienced writers instinctively switch between one and another to cater to their narrative needs. You need to find a good balance of both in order to create a narrative that is both immersive and engaging.

i. Help When Your Writing Feels Bare-Bones/Soulless/Boring

Your writing is just not what you’ve pictured in your head, no matter how much you do it over. Conversations are stilted. The characters are flat. The sentences don’t flow as well as they do in the books you've read. What’s missing?

It’s possibly because you’ve been “telling” your audience everything and not “showing”! If a reader's mind is not exercised (i.e. they're being "spoon-fed" all of the details), your writing may feel boring or uninspired!

Instead of saying that a room was old and dingy, maybe describe the peeling wallpaper. The cobwebs in the corners. The smell of dust and old mothballs. Write down what you see in your mind's eye, and allow your audience to formulate their own interpretations from that. (Scroll for a more in-depth explanation on HOW to develop this skill!)

ii. Add More Depth and Emotion to Your Scenes

Because "Show, Don't Tell" is a more immersive way of writing, a reader is going to feel the narrative beats of your story a lot more deeply when this rule is utilized.

Describing how a character has fallen to their knees sobbing and tearing our their hair is going to strike a reader's heart more than saying: "They were devastated."

Describing blood trickling through a character's fingers and staining their clothes will seem more dire than saying: "They were gravely wounded."

iii. Understand that Sometimes Telling Can Fit Your Story Better

Telling can be a great way to show your characters' personalities, especially when it comes to first-person or narrator-driven stories. Below, I've listed a few examples; however, this list isn't exclusive or comprehensive!

Initial Impressions and Character Opinions

If a character describes someone's outfit as "gaudy" or a room as "absolutely disgusting," it can pack more of a punch about their initial impression, rather than describing the way that they react (and can save you some words!). In addition, it can provide some interesting juxtaposition (i.e. when a character describes a dog as "hideous" despite telling their friend it looks cute).

2. Tone and Reader Opinions

Piggybacking off of the first point, you can "tell, not show" when you want to be certain about how a reader is supposed to feel about something. "Showing" revolves around readers drawing their own conclusions, so if you want to make sure that every reader draws the same conclusion, "telling" can be more useful! For example, if you describe a character's outfit as being a turquoise jacket with zebra-patterned pants, some readers may be like "Ok yeah a 2010 Justice-core girlie is slaying!" But if you want the outfit to come across as badly arranged, using a "telling" word like "ridiculous" or "gaudy" can help set the stage.

3. Pacing

"Show, don't tell" can often take more words; after all, describing a character's reaction is more complicated than stating how they're feeling. If your story calls for readers to be focused more on the action than the details, such as a fight or chase scene, sometimes "telling" can serve you better than "showing." A lot of writers have dedicated themselves to the rule "tell action, show emotion," but don't feel like you have to restrict yourself to one or the other.

iv. ABOVE ALL ELSE: Getting Words on the Page is More Important!

If you’re stuck on a section of your story and just can’t find it in yourself to write poetic, flowing prose, getting words on the paper is more important than writing something that’s “good.” If you want to be able to come back and fix it later, put your writing in brackets that you can Ctrl + F later.

Keeping your momentum is the hardest part of writing. Don't sacrifice your inspiration in favor of following rules!

3. How Can I Get Better at “Show, Don’t Tell”?

i. Use the Five Senses, and Immerse Yourself!

Imagine you’re the protagonist, standing in the scene that you have just created. Think of the setting. What are things about the space that you’d notice, if you were the one in your character’s shoes?

Smell? Hear? See? Touch? Taste?

Sight and sound are the senses that writers most often use, but don’t discount the importance of smell and taste! Smell is the most evocative sense, triggering memories and emotions the moment someone walks into the room and has registered what is going on inside—don’t take it for granted. And even if your character isn’t eating, there are some things that can be “tasted” in the air.

EXAMPLE:

TELLING: She walked into the room and felt disgusted. It smelled, and it was dirty and slightly creepy. She wished she could leave. SHOWING: She shuffled into the room, wrinkling her nose as she stepped over a suspicious stain on the carpet. The blankets on the bed were moth-bitten and yellowed, and the flowery wallpaper had peeled in places to reveal a layer of blood-red paint beneath…like torn cuticles. The stench of cigarettes and mildew permeated the air. “How long are we staying here again?” she asked, flinching as the door squealed shut. 

The “showing” excerpt gives more of an idea about how the room looks, and how the protagonist perceives it. However, something briefer may be more suited for writers who are not looking to break the momentum in their story. (I.e. if the character was CHASED into this room and doesn’t have time to take in the details.)

ii. Study Movies and TV Shows: Think like a Storyteller, Not Just a Writer

Movies and TV shows quite literally HAVE TO "show, and not tell." This is because there is often no inner monologue or narrator telling the viewers what's happening. As a filmmaker, you need to use your limited time wisely, and make sure that the audience is engaged.

Think about how boring it would be if a movie consisted solely of a character monologuing about what they think and feel, rather than having the actor ACT what they feel.

(Tangent, but there’s also been controversy that this exposition/“telling” mindset in current screenwriting marks a downfall of media literacy. Examples include the new Percy Jackson and Avatar: The Last Airbender remakes that have been criticized for info-dumping dialogue instead of “showing.”)

If you find it easy to envision things in your head, imagine how your scene would look in a movie. What is the lighting like? What are the subtle expressions flitting across the actors' faces, letting you know just how they're feeling? Is there any droning background noise that sets the tone-- like traffic outside, rain, or an air conditioner?

How do the actors convey things that can't be experienced through a screen, like smell and taste?

Write exactly what you see in your mind's eye, instead of explaining it with a degree of separation to your readers.

iii. Listen to Music

I find that because music evokes emotion, it helps you write with more passion—feelings instead of facts! It’s also slightly distracting, so if you’re writing while caught up in the music, it might free you from the rigid boundaries you’ve put in place for yourself.

Here’s a link to my master list of instrumental writing playlists!

iv. Practice, Practice, Practice! And Take Inspiration from Others!

“Show Don’t Tell” is the core of an immersive scene, and requires tons of writing skills cultivated through repeated exposure. Like I said before, more experienced writers instinctively switch between showing and telling as they write— but it’s a muscle that needs to be constantly exercised!

If I haven’t written in a while and need to get back into the flow of things, I take a look at a writing prompt, and try cultivating a scene that is as immersive as possible! Working on your “Show, Don’t Tell” skills by practicing writing short, fun one-shots can be much less restrictive than a lengthier work.

In addition, get some inspiration and study from reading the works of others, whether it be a fanfiction or published novel!

If you need some extra help, feel free to check out my Master List of Writing Tips and Advice, which features links to all of my best posts, each of them categorized !

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

[riminiscensce]

THINGS AJAW HATES

CHARACTER … kinich and ajaw

SYNOPSIS … the title says it all, here are some things ajaw hates about you and kinich

NOTES … can’t help but think about these two, I doubt ajaw doesn’t actually see him as a friend (p.s. check out this kinich x f.reader fic >:))

CONTENTS … sfw , fluff , platonic (ajaw) , domestic , gender neutral reader , likely ooc kinich & ajaw

Word count … 1043

Ajaw is a simple dragon, if he hates something, he lets it be known to others; if he likes something, he tries to hide it to save face. A simple dragon.

There are many things Ajaw has hated ever since Kinich moved in with you. You; someone whom Kinich calls his significant other, his best friend, his lover even.

The longer he stays there, the more Ajaw realizes he really doesn’t like it. Everything just feels so different.

Ajaw hates how long it takes for Kinich to say goodbye.

Usually, Kinich wakes up in the morning, gets ready, and then they both leave to start their hunt. But with you, it changed.

Instead of simply leaving at the brink of dawn, Kinich starts to slow down his movements, as if he doesn’t actually want to leave the house just yet, something Ajaw finds really odd about this nimble guy.

Kinich doesn’t just leave through the door after getting ready, not anymore. Instead, Ajaw always sees him helping you out with breakfast, always talking as if he’d never run out of things to say to you.

And when he’s about to leave, Kinich takes even longer when saying goodbye to you. Ajaw would always float there while the two of you kissed your goodbyes. It was painfully slow.

“We’re not going off to war here! Chop chop!” Ajaw would always voice his complaints loudly, always only receiving a small laugh from you before he and Kinich head through the door, starting their job.

Another thing Ajaw hates is that Kinich is harder to get annoyed now! He barely shows any annoyance nowadays, the rare times that Kinich would break out in irritation was starting to become nonexistent. Ajaw realizes it was all because of you.

The dragon doesn’t see that annoying scowl on the hunter’s face anymore, nor does he get scolded by Kinich whenever he’d mess with him. No matter how hard Ajaw tries, Kinich no longer clicks his tongue at him at all.

Oh and also—Ajaw hates having to share a space with your damn pet! He just hates it! Your pet is so energetic and loud, always chasing after his tail that he’s basically forced to hide behind you or Kinich.

You’d always shake this off though, telling him to get along with your pet, to treat it as a sibling or something. Your statement ticks off all the wrong buttons in Ajaw. He isn’t a pet. He doesn’t want to put up with any more of your pet’s shenanigans.

Not to mention, Ajaw hates it when he’s left alone in the house during your and Kinich’s date night. What’s he supposed to do all by himself? He can’t talk to anyone, tick anyone off, or do anything fun at all.

Ajaw has hated a lot of things ever since Kinich moved in with you.

Instead of his usual routine, so many things have changed so fast that Ajaw doesn’t know how to deal with it.

He hates it. He hates it a lot.

But whenever Ajaw thinks about wishing to return back to how it was back then, his little mind starts to think differently.

He will never say it, but Ajaw likes waking up early in the morning with a heavenly smell coming from the kitchen. He loves floating there to see you and Kinich, laughing at something you guys said while preparing the table.

Then he sees what you guys cooked, flavored slices of meat with beans mixed into the pot. Something he likes. When Ajaw went to the table, he saw three plates.

One for you, one for Kinich, and one for him too. He likes how full the table was, that there were three plates instead of none at all.

And on some occasions, Ajaw likes how you and him would gang up on Kinich and tease the hell out of him. Just innocent teasing, nothing more. Instead of the unbothered expression that Ajaw was too used to, Kinich would subtly laugh along with the two of you.

A laughing boy was something Ajaw was not used to, but he admits to himself that the smile suits Kinich quite well.

What’s more, Ajaw likes his new bed! Gone are the days he’s forced to either sleep on some hard wood or share a bed with Kinich. This time, you made him his own bed, paired with two soft pillows and a warm blanket to keep him warm during the cool nights.

You even placed a little lamp beside it if he ever wakes up in the middle of the night scared—oh what? I mean—the Dragonlord never gets scared. Why did you even put a lamp beside his bed? Not like he’ll need it or anything.

Ajaw likes having company all the time. No longer does he have to sit still in painful silence while Kinich naps the day away. Instead, whenever Kinich is resting, you’re there to accompany him. And even if you were napping alongside Kinich, Ajaw could always play with your pet (only when he’s truly bored though).

The Almighty Dragonlord is a big hater, a loud complainer, always wanting more than what he’s receiving. He is someone who used to pass his time by trying to pull out an expression from the inexpressive Kinich.

But Ajaw is also a sweet dragon, a fortunate friend, starting to accept the change you brought to his and Kinich’s lives.

He started to think that, maybe, change is a good thing.

After all, he wouldn’t have seen so much expression on his friend if it weren’t for you. He wouldn’t have such a nice bed if it weren’t for you. He wouldn’t be waking up to a tasty breakfast if it weren’t for you.

And, in a way, Ajaw thinks that he wouldn’t have anything at all if it weren’t for Kinich.

He has made up his mind.

Ajaw loves saying goodbye to you before going to work with Kinich.

Ajaw loves laughing alongside Kinich over something stupid.

Ajaw loves it when you two give him something after coming home from your date.

Ajaw loves it when he gets included in your outings.

Ajaw loves the two of you.

Not like he’ll say it out loud though.

rimi’s notes

I used to be a big fan of naruto back then and I screamed when I realized JP kinich and ajaw are the same as sasuke and naruto‼️‼️ Also, if you wanna read a kinich x f.reader fic, here! :) kinich is at college, ajaw is a lizard, mc is a designer

hearts / reblogs / follows are very much appreciated !

[cottonlemonade]

Marriage Of Convenience [Part 1]

word count: 1705 || avg. reading time: 7 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, slice of life

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Marriage is not a big deal, right? Anyone can do it and it comes with a whole lot of benefits! That’s why your friend proposes to you one morning with all the elegance and romance of an empty pudding cup.

The honey drizzled in deep golden ribbons onto the still warm buttered toast. The first signs of spring were in the air and the thickly plumed sparrows chattering on your balcony outside the kitchen window, hopping from railing to empty plant pots, almost drowned out the noise from the busy road down below. In typical Monday morning fashion, you only half-paid attention to your breakfast while you scrolled through your emails, picking out the important from the irrelevant and barely took note of the front door opening. Shuffling footsteps hurried along the short hallway. A few moments later, Tetsuro plopped down across from you, snatching a grape from your plate.

You looked up from your phone with a cocked brow when he took a second one, and he held your eyes questioningly, the grapes still bulging out his cheeks like a hamster, “What? You want them back?”

With pursed lips, you pushed your plate to the middle of the table and bit off a corner of toast, still scrolling.

“Did you see the email from Mr Maeda?”

Testuro nodded, “That guy really has nothing better to do on a Sunday than count coffee filters and complain about the office’s excessive caffeine consumption.”

You got up to quickly reheat the kettle for a second cup of tea, “I’ll have to go to the downtown office this morning, but I should be done by lunch. Wanna meet up at that new sushi place?”

“Sure thing. - Oh! Also, I went down quite the rabbit hole last night and I wanted to run something by you.”

“Is this a “I can’t believe pandas ever made it this far” or more a “we should totally start our own quilting business” kind of rabbit hole?”

Steam rose from the spout of the kettle, and you began pouring it over the loose green tea you knew was his favorite.

“How would you feel about getting married?”

You almost broke your neck, snapping your head around to look at him, “What?”

“It’s not weird, I promise. I saw this video of a couple yesterday who talked about how they were tired of dating and annoyed that they were getting overlooked on apartment hunts, perks at work, always being hounded by their families about when they’d finally find someone etc. and so just decided to marry their best friend. And I looked into it, they’re completely right! The amount of benefits married couples get is insane! And don’t even get me started on taxes.”

The cup was by now overflowing, and hot water trickled steadily from your kitchen counter onto your house slipper. You didn’t notice it because you were still staring at him.

“You’re dripping.”, he informed you, helpfully.

With a little shake of your head, you returned to reality in which Kuroo Tetsuro, local office dork, just casually suggested marrying him over a half-eaten slice of toast and remnants of grape stalks.

He went and grabbed the dish towel from the hook by your sink and crouched down to wipe up the small puddle. As he did, he looked up at you, continuing, “Anyway, I figured since I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re also nowhere near close to marriage-”

“Hey!”

“I thought I’d ask.”

“Are you gonna randomly propose to other people if I don’t say yes?”

“I dunno, actually. - Don’t think so. Why?”

You took a deep breath and accepted the wet towel he held out to mop up the rest from the counter.

“Alright. I’m not saying yes, yet!”, you clarified quickly as he was about to raise his hand for a high five, “I’m saying: bring me some actual facts about this, not just social media hearsay, and then I’ll decide.”

“You got it. I’ll present my findings to you by tomorrow night.” He ended with his most professional nod, then smiled and began clearing your table so you could head to work together.

After the morning meeting, you heavily neglected your tasks to sort your thoughts. A spreadsheet was made and pros and cons began slowly filling in either side of the neat list.

Pros:

> Tax deductions (!)

> he knows how to do laundry and picks up after himself

> Respectful, most of the time

> fun and comfortable to be around

> I’d not be offended if people assumed we’re married

You paused and looked at a small plant pot on your desk, deep in further consideration. Then you took to your keyboard again.

Cons:

> might have to pretend like all of his jokes are suddenly funny

> having to explain the situation to everyone

Your fingers stopped typing and after a heartbeat or two you deleted the last line, writing instead:

> having to pretend to be married in front of everyone

Much to your surprise, he didn‘t address the elephant in the room over lunch right away. Instead, you talked as per usual about this, that and everything, pulling small plates with bites of sushi from the conveyor belt in front of you. He had his tie flipped over his shoulder and the JVA lanyard was safely tucked in the breast pocket of his shirt to not accidentally dunk it in the little dish of wasabi and soy sauce in front of you. In your mind, you quietly added “good table manners” to the pro list.

“What’s up?”, he asked as he stacked an empty plate onto the ever-growing dish tower.

“Nothing.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Nope.”

“Come on, I might be your husband soon, we should be able to tell each other everything.”, he grinned.

“You’re very on board with this whole idea.”, you noted after a short pause.

Tetsuro made that smile he always did when he was about to deliver an awful pun, “One could say I’m pretty married to it, yes.”

You continued, unperturbed, “What about your dad? What would you tell him?”

“He likes you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“He’s gonna be fine as long as I am.” Tetsuro dipped the salmon of a nigiri in soy sauce and held it out to feed you - a poor attempt to distract.

“Don’t worry so much about it.”, he said to his very worried friend with a reassuring shrug when you took the bite, “He knows you make me happy. And that’s all there is to it.”

“I make you happy, do I?”

“Yeah, of course. What - don’t I make you happy?”, he grinned.

“Well.” With a raised brow, you pulled out your phone and, after a bit of tapping, turned the screen to show him your list.

Squinting a little, he produced his glasses from his pocket and put your phone on the table to scroll through the bullet points.

“Okay, first of all, I can’t see anything on here about my looks. That should be a major pro. Just look at these glasses.”, he gestured to the dark frames, “Don’t they scream office siren? That should definitely go into the pro column. You should write that not only am I gonna be an amazing husband but also some real eye candy”, under his breath he added, “which one might argue is the healthiest kind of candy.” He smirked at his own joke.

“That’s not relevant, though.”, you countered.

He disagreed, “It’s very relevant for bragging rights. I know, I’ll brag about you non-stop. Just look at how you did this Excel spreadsheet. Dream girl right there.”

“I know you’re joking, but I’m actually very proud of my skills, thank you very much.” You snatched the phone away again and answered his smile with your own. Maybe it really wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The following night, you settled in on his couch waiting for him to make his case, although, if you were honest, in your mind you were already picturing what life with him as a glorified roommate would be like. Tetsuro tipped on his laptop for about a minute, then rolled up his sleeves and turned on the TV. It showed the title card to a PowerPoint presentation by the name of Why You Should Marry Me. The next slide, reached by the click of a button from the little black remote in his hand, let you know that it was sub-sectioned into Perks, More Perks, Possible Issues and Even More Perks.

“Do you have any questions?”, he asked once the final slide read Thank you for your attention.

You took a deep, quiet breath, looking down at the empty notepad in your lap and back up at him.

“Nope. Let’s do it.”

He beamed and clicked the remote again. It jumped to a new title card: Guidelines For Our Happy Marriage.

Thanks to Tetsuro’s extensive research you had a list of needed paperwork ready to go and after a quick trip to your country’s embassy you soon stood in line at City Hall on Friday afternoon, both still in your office clothes, to get married. It felt much more like an errand than anything else, like popping into a convenience store on your way home from work because you forgot the milk on your last trip to the supermarket. Stacks of documents were signed and stamped, and once you were done, you received a coupon for a nearby restaurant as a gift. When you stepped out of the tall unassuming building, the last slivers of sunbeams peeked through the alleys and the streets were bathed in a subtle golden-gray glow. You came to a halt at the bottom of the steps.

“How do you feel?”, you asked.

He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders as if looking for a crank somewhere. “No different. You?”

You shook out your body as well, more so to make fun of him than anything else, and shrugged, “Nope. All good.”

On your walk to the restaurant for your discount wedding dinner, you simply carried on your usual conversations about a book you were currently reading and thought out loud about what you would pick off the menu.

The only indication that anything had changed was that when you reached your table, he pulled up the chair with a slight bow saying, “Mrs Tax Deduction.” and you played coy and did a small curtsy before sitting down with the reply of, “Too kind, Mr Tax Deduction.”

art: @freaka_loonyz on Instagram, X, Pinterest and TikTok

a/n: sooo, here we are. I really hope you’ll enjoy this one ✨

Huge thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for listening to me ramble about this incessantly and for brainstorming and for helping me edit.

[Part 2]

[allpiesforourown]

OKAY SO I have way too many WIPs to write a role reversal fic and I meant to just yap about my au and ended up writing 2k words about it if you want to read it below...

oblivious shizun luo binghe / oblivious disciple shen yuan

First of all i've been reading a lot of role reversal fics lately but big shout out to ao3 user anqlbean for this fic because it really gave me "fuckboy shizun binghe, hiding that he's a demon lord" brain rot

Okay so anyway. In fair cang qiong sect where we lay our scene-

Luo Binghe is the Qing Jing peak lord. He’s also the heavenly emperor of the demon realm. No one knows both of his identities except for mobei jun and a handful of other people from his inner circle. It’s risky for a demon to hide as one of the cultivation world’s most prominent figures, but he likes having the best of both worlds!

Enter Shen Yuan: Shen Yuan's cultivation history is somewhat similar to Shen Jiu's in that he started cultivating late and joined Qing Jing well into his teens. He’s about 16 when he becomes Binghe’s student, but the thing is… Luo Binghe is kind of just the peak lord in name.

He spends his free time getting laid in the next town or going on an adventure with some hot demoness instead of giving classes. He’ll go on cultivation missions and take requests from villages and whatnot, but he doesn't bother teaching his disciples, just gives them a cultivation manual and tells them to figure it out. Half the time when students greet him on the peak he just nods because he doesnt even remember the disciple’s name. It’s fine though, once every few months he’ll take a break from all the one night stands and actually take a student along with him on a mission, just to keep the sect leader from complaining. “See, I teach my kids! Last month I took what’s-his-name on a night hunt!”

By the time Luo Binghe bothers to take Shen Yuan along for a mission, Shen Yuan is already 20 and has been on the peak for 4 years. Luo Binghe barely knows he exists, and he justs wants to collect this herb he was tasked with retrieving, send Shen Yuan back with it, and then get nasty with the woman back in the village who gave them directions to the cave that grows it. 

Unfortunately for Binghe, the cave is also home to one of the few flowers that can affect a demon lord. Binghe can’t move as he falls to the ground and hears his student yell “Shizun!” and run over.

They can hear monsters nearby so Shen Yuan’s two options are to 1) heal his shizun by taking advantage of Binghe's body or 2) abandon him to die and leave by himself. Binghe has experienced both multiple times, and is ready for either one. He's not ready for Shen Yuan to choose a third option that no one has ever chosen before: heaving Luo Binghe onto his back, transferring him qi, and using every bit of strength to carry him to safety. 

By the time they return to the cave’s entrance, Shen Yuan only has enough energy to use a talisman signalling the sect for help before they both pass out. 

When Luo Binghe wakes up, the Qian Cao peak lord is asking him how he feels while his head disciple is yelling at a sheepish Shen Yuan for doing something reckless again! Apparently this is not the first time Shen Yuan has exhausted himself for the sake of another person. 

Over the next few days, he can’t think of anything other than his student. 

(Also, he secretly feels kind of… angry??? Was his body so unappealing to Shen Yuan that he'd rather half-die than dual cultivate with him?? He's not sure why he's so pissed off by the idea, it's not like he's ever wanted to dual cultivate with a man before, but still…)

Finally he decides he has every right to be curious about shen yuan, that’s his disciple! Unfortunately while Binghe was ignoring Shen Yuan's existence for the past few years, his disciple has managed to build up… a reputation at Cang Qiong. 

Oh Shen Yuan selflessly saved Luo Binghe? Big deal, saving people is an average Tuesday for Shen Yuan, apparently! “He stopped my qi deviation” this, “he threw me out of a poisonous demon's way” that. 

For the first time ever, Luo Binghe is not special. If anything, he has less pull with Shen Yuan than anyone else at Cang Qiong, because everyone else knows Shen Yuan better. Luo Binghe doesn’t know Shen Yuan’s birthday, but the rest of his students make sure to throw Shen Yuan a party every year to thank him for all his tutoring. Binghe is SO far behind, which is a feeling he hasn’t felt in YEARS. 

About a month after the mission, he finally sees Shen Yuan sparring alone. Luo Binghe walks over, acting unbothered and nonchalant even though he's screaming internally. He greets his disciple and says, “This master has yet to properly thank Shen Yuan for his assistance at the cave… join me at the bamboo house tonight.” 

Shen Yuan apologizes, says he has important plans but would love to join him another night, then spends the rest of the day off the peak with the An Ding head disciple. 

Luo Binghe is flabbergasted. He's less important than an An Ding disciple???? Really??? Fucking An Ding????? 

After that, Luo Binghe……. He isn’t stalking Shen Yuan, despite what Liu Mingyan (Xian Su peak lord) might say with excited eyes. He’s just keeping an eye on this interesting disciple he never knew he had! In secret. 

He walks in on Qingge and Shen Yuan “sparring” and sees the exact moment Shen Yuan oversteps, loses his balance and goes tumbling on top of Liu Qingge. Binghe storms over, picks Shen Yuan up by the back of his robe like a cat, and physically separates the two of them. The two disciples gawk at how weird that was and he has no idea how to come up with an excuse for whatever the hell that just was. 

Instead he asks what they’re doing. 

Shen Yuan, being polite and answering the question: Liu-shidi and I are heading on a mission soon-

Luo Binghe: this master shall join you.

Shen Yuan: uh… it's a very simple request, two disciples are more than en-

Luo Binghe: this. Master. Shall. Join. You.

Liu Qingge: ???? What the hell is his problem 

Shen Yuan: Okay… this disciple is grateful for shizun’s assistance…?

Their flight to the village is dead quiet. 

The townspeople sigh theyre so glad they’re here, some demonic creature has been destroying their wildlife! This area makes most of their money with lumber exports, so if the creature continues to destroy their trees, it’ll result in huge losses. 

When they find the demon, Shen Yuan starts yapping non stop. It’s like he’s suddenly transformed into a textbook, explaining that this little beaver-esque demon needs to chew up trees for its survival. Luo Binghe is bored out of his mind and pulls out his sword. 

Shen Yuan gaps and picks up the small creature, holding it protectively against his chest. “This species isn’t even violent! We can’t kill it!” 

Luo Binghe crosses his arms and says they have to complete this commission somehow. Shen Yuan argues they can simply relocate the demon somewhere else! Luo Binghe expects Liu Qingge to complain or brutishly try to kill it, but he shrugs and says he’ll follow Shen Yuan. Apparently this happens regularly…

By the time they rehome the creature somewhere it won��t be a bother, it’s too late to fly back to the sect.

The only close by inn apologizes and says they only have two rooms left, and each one is a single bed. They can have a mat sent up, but…

Binghe says he should room with Shen Yuan because they’re both from Qing Jing, and (he glares at Liu Qingge as he says this) Liu Qingge is an outsider. Liu Qingge narrows his eyes and says it would be inappropriate for a peak lord to share a room with a lowly disciple, so he should room with Shen Yuan. 

Shen Yuan cheerfully chimes in that he and Liu-shidi sleep together all the time! “Whenever shidi and I camp outdoors, he says he prefers sleeping on the ground. He’ll be happy to take the mat.”

Luo Binghe's smile becomes a little forced, but shen Yuan doesn't even notice the murderous intent rolling off his shizun, aimed at his friend from Bai Zhan. 

In the end, Shen Yuan gets one room, and Liu Qingge gets the other. Luo Binghe insists his cultivation is high enough he doesn’t need to sleep, and had no intention to sleep tonight anyway.

This is a perfect time to go and find a brothel or a hookup. He realizes this is the longest he’s gone without sex in a long time, all because he’s been obsessed with Shen Yuan so much lately. But he’s got too much on his mind to do that tonight… He’s still thinking of the loving way Shen Yuan protected that small helpless demon, going as far as defying a peak lord for its sake.

Shen Yuan is… someone with shockingly good character. Despite being surrounded by cultivators, meeting people who are good is surprisingly rare. He doesn’t want his sweet disciple to have that lovely sense of justice stolen away from him by… gross perverts like Liu Qingge lusting after him! 

(He’s not projecting!)

He’s already neglected Shen Yuan as a shizun for so many years. Now he has to step and make up for all that time! He’s decided what he has to do. 

First thing in the morning, he knocks on Shen Yuan’s door. He hears a sweet ‘Come in!’ from inside and for some reason he feels… really nervous. Inside, Shen Yuan is sitting on his bed, brushing his hair, and he smiles when he looks up and sees Luo Binghe. “Good morning, shizun.”

Good morning??? How can he say something so casually, without a hint of shame, looking like that?? He’s wearing nothing but one layer that’s not even thick enough to hide his body! He can see Shen Yuan’s milky thighs and small chest!!!! What the fuck!?

(Is this how he walks around the shared dorms on Qing Jing? Do all the other disciples see the outline of his body through his thin layer every morning?? The longer he stares, the more he tells himself he’s making the right decision by doing this.)

He cuts right to the chase. “Once we return, Shen Yuan shall move his belongings into the bamboo house. This lord will teach him all there is to know about being Qing Jing’s head disciple.” He makes it clear that this is a statement, not a request – he’s not giving Shen Yuan a choice. 

Shen Yuan gawks at him, and Luo Binghe says they’ll discuss things more in detail once they return to Qing Jing, but from this moment on, he represents himself as Luo Binghe’s head disciple. It takes Shen Yuan a few minutes to really comprehend what’s going on, but eventually he bows in thanks and throws on another, thicker layer. Shen Yuan moves for the door and says, “I better tell Liu-shidi-”

Luo Binghe’s hand moves before he can stop himself, and they’re both surprised by the deathly tight grip he has on Shen Yuan’s wrist. 

Luo Binghe clears his throat and lets go. “You should let him be. Sometimes if you spend too much time with a person, it can become off-putting.” There, surely that will keep Shen Yuan away from that brute, right?

Shen Yuan says, “Ohhh,” and then smiles. “Don't worry shizun,” he says gently, “This disciple understands what you're saying. Once I move into the bamboo house, I'll make sure to give shizun his space.” 

Then Shen Yuan walks away and closes the door behind him. Luo Binghe can hear Shen Yuan telling Liu Qingge the good news, “I don’t know if shizun is joking or not, but wouldn’t it be nice for us to do our head disciple work together?” 

Luo Binghe realizes that Shen Yuan is going to RUIN him, and he’ll do it without even realizing. 

[calthinez]

Pink, Sweet smelling dust

Paring: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: While on a witch hunt, you and Dean get some sort of dust thrown on you. After Dean ganks her, you two high-tail it to the bunker thinking the worst. Turns out that witch got her dusts mixed up and hit you guys with an aphrodisiac.

A/N: I heart Dean Winchester. The relationship between the two of you is unspecified and its implied that this is the first time you guys are having sex. I love the sex pollen au :P

Warnings: NSFW(18+) car sex, rough sex, unprotected sex

Your heart was beating so fast. You could figure out if it was from the fear of what was to come from that dust, or if it was from the dust. Looking up at Dean, he seems to be taking this a lot better than you, or he was at least pretending to.

The two of you were fast-paced walking to the Impala, not even caring to clean up the mess that was made. "Your heart beating fast, too?" You asked, voice laced with worry.

"Yeah, but don't worry about it. We'll be fine." Dean said as he fished his car keys out of his pockets. You couldn't tell if he actually believed that, though, or if he was just trying to make you feel better. The hunt was going fine right up until she blew pink, sweet smelling dust into your faces. "What the fuck was that?" Dean had yelled at her. She only gave him a dry laugh in response with a suspenseful "You'll see"

Dean had no hesitation when he shot her in the chest, only checking to make sure she was actually dead before grabbing you and high- tailing to the car.

Once the two of you got in the car Dean wasted no time putting the key in the ignition. You barely had time to buckle your seat belt before he sped off, causing the dirt on the road to fly into the air. Even with Dean going thirty over the speed limit, the car ride is at least half an hour long. You have no idea how your going to survive that, especially with the growing ache between your legs.

The only thing you can think about is your doomed fate. There was no time-limit on how long this would take before it ends the both of you. For all you know it would take only a minute.

Dean notices the anxiousness spread all across your face. He reaches his hand over the comfortingly pats your knee. You realize hes trying to make you feel less scared but you suddenly become hyper-aware of your body and how hot you feel.

Its just his hand on my knee. You think to yourself. There's no reason to get all excited from that.

He leaves his hand on your knee, and all you can think about now is where else he could put his hands. On your thighs? On your chest? In your mouth? Inside of you- You shudder and close your eyes tightly at that thought.

Its not that you haven't thought about Dean like that, you were sure just about everyone who met him has. You just never had it take such a big effect on you especially when you're right next to him.

Dean takes your shudder as a shudder of anxiety, so he trails his hand up ever so slightly and presses his fingers into the skin of your thigh.

The only sound in the car is the humming from the engine, none of Deans usual songs playing. At a time like this, you wish the radio was on to distract you.

You stick out your tongue to wet your dry lips. Deans hand that isn't on your thigh is gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are turning white. His movements are stiff and his eyes are locked on the road, not sparing you a glance. You wonder if he has the same problem as you, if he also has an ache between his legs. You quickly glance down to his pants and see that, yes, he does have the same problem, the large tent in his pants being painfully obvious.

Dean turns his head immediately to you when you let out a little whimper at the sight of his bulge. You avoid eye contact, desperately staring out of the car window.

"You okay?" he asks you, his gruff voice adding to the fire in your belly.

"Yup," you squeak out. What is this man doing to you? You can hardly think straight.

Dean doesn't believe you, not in the slightest. It takes a minute for the gears in his head to turn before he realizes; you feel the same way he does. He originally chocked it up to you being scared, but he knows that is not the case. Dean slides his hand up higher on your thigh, you suck in a quick breath at the feeling.

"You sure?" He asks you with an underlying tone of arousal. You look back to him as you angle your leg to lean towards his body. "Mhm." You mumble out.

The fingers on your upper thigh slowly creep to the junction of your hip and thigh, there Dean rubs small circles into your flesh. His touch is lighting you on fire. Your breathing picks up and the ache between your legs rapidly intensifies.

On the old dirt roads Dean pulls off to the side, stopping close to the trees that line the road. He puts the car in park and turns off the vehicle. There was no cars on the road this late at night, It was just you two.

"You feel it too?" He asks you, just incase this is actually just one big coincidence and he read into it too much.

You nod your head yes and unbuckle your seat belt, Dean does the same. There is a pregnant pause where the both of you just look at each other, unsure of what to do. You cannot take this feeling anymore, though. You almost pounce on Dean. You crash your lips against his as his hand come up to hold your jaw in place. The kiss is messy, unsynchronized with teeth bumping against teeth and tongues sloppily licking at each other's mouth.

Dean uses his free hand to push you back onto the flat seat of the car. It's a good thing that the car has the big bench seats or else this would be a lot more uncomfortable. You're now laying down under Dean, his hand roughly grabbing at your boobs. You moan into the kiss.

Dean roughly pulls down your pants, leaving you in just your panties. All embarrassment you might have had has been overshadowed by your need to be fucked by Dean. You bring your hand down to grip Deans hard cock through his pants, he lets out a hoarse moan at the friction. You make work on unbuttoning his pants and also pulling them down.

Skipping all foreplay it seems you both feel like you'll explode if you aren't fucking as soon as possible, hell, you actually might. You pull down Deans boxers just low enough for you to free his cock. You jerk him a few times before he breaks the kiss. "Can I fuck you?" He says, you're literally jerking him off but he just wants to make sure. Ever the gentleman.

You enthusiastically nod your head up and down, giving him the go-ahead.

He takes his cock in his own hand and uses his other hand to push your panties to the side, allowing him access to your wet pussy. He pushed into you, both of you releasing pent up moans. His cock is big, and you barely have anytime to adjust to his size before he roughly grabs your hips with both of his hands and starts thrusting into you.

Dean leans down to your neck to kiss and suck on your pulse point as you're moaning sweet praises to him, urging him to keep going. The windows start to fog up from both of your heavy breaths being released. Its an erotic scene, thats for sure. The both of you in the front seat fucking like you're depraved.

There's definitely going to be bruises on your hips, you think to yourself. You lock your legs around Deans torso. Deans moans are like music to your ears, going straight to your impending orgasm. Your nails scratch at his back.

"Fuck- I'm close." You moan out into Deans ear.

"Yeah me too, sweetheart." His pace never relents, though, even with his orgasm quickly approaching. If anything it speeds up.

You can feel the coil in your belly tighten like no other time before. Your hands are grasping and clawing at Deans shoulders as your back arches, pushing your chest to his.

The coil in your belly snaps hard. Harder than any time before. You screw your eyes shut and loudly cry out as you cum around Deans cock.

It takes Dean no time to be cumming, as well. He cums inside of you, not that you care you're too fucked out to be thinking about anything other than your orgasm.

You slowly release your legs' hold on Deans waist. The both of you trying to catch your breath from your climax. He slowly pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his pants. Dean sits back up-right on the seat and you follow suit. You fix your panties and pull your pants up.

The both of you just sit in silence for a moment, collecting your thoughts. You notice that you no longer feel anxious or ill, like the sex completly cured you... Oh. You think you figured it out. You open your mouth to say someting to the man next to you but he beats you to it.

"I think it was a sex powder."

[ooooo-mcyt]

The scene where Martyn and Ren kill Scott actually plays on my mind so much.

Well, first they killed Joel, and Scott lunged at them in retribution, so they kill him too, put him down to his red life. Scott tries to come back, to see if he can get any of his things, and he's spotted. Scott doesn't come close, but Martyn and Ren see him watching nearby, and they know he can't do anything, they already took his stuff, he can't fight them off, and he can't run. "Should we take him out of the series?" Ren asks, because it's not a matter of if they can. They know Scott is an easy kill. So they chase him, into the forest.

Martyn taunting Scott, "I wanna cuddle before you die", which is a terrifying thing to say. And then he brings up Jimmy, says he didn't want him to die? Whether this is a sincere sentiment is up for debate, but regardless, is such a thing to say while hunting Jimmy's grieving widow like prey. And something about the imagery of how Martyn just hovered around Scott and joked while waiting for Ren to kill him really felt like a mockery. And they slaughter Scott like an animal while he had no real means to fight back, because he would never have won and he would never have gotten away from them.

And Martyn doesn't sound remorseful. He doesn't sound as happy as he could, but he continues on with business and makes a joking comment about how Ren's "working". Ren, on the other hand, has a bit of a breakdown; "The blood is dripping into these eyes! I can't see, I've been blinded by my violence! ...We've become stone cold killers!". Martyn comforts him, briefly, but is quick to distance himself with "Well, you have (become a killer), I haven't really done that much. So, should we burn this stuff?" and then it's back to business.

And it gnaws at me how little Scott's death was about Scott. He was hunted and slaughtered for just being there, just because he was an easy mark. Martyn is pretty much remorseless. Ren shows remorse, but it's important to note that his guilt seems less focused around the actual person they just killed but rather is more for himself and the fact that he's "a killer" now. And then back to business. They burn Scott's stuff and don't think about him anymore.

Now, obviously, Ren and Martyn weren't obligated to feel bad for killing someone in a death game (although i think each final death meant more in a lot of ways in third life than any other series), I'm not saying it reflects poorly on them per say. But it is chilling to me how much of a non entity Scott was in this, how (other than martyn's personalized taunting while he was chasing scott which were just kinda cruel on their own) they barely seemed to think about the human person they were killing at all.

Scott easily could have been switched out for a literal actual deer in that scene and very little about the scene would need to be changed.

And I feel like that probably has something to do with Scott's fixation on personal agency (especially over how he dies), right?

[cherrydbear]

Since y'all seemed to like this I'll keep rambling on the subject, I can do this all day. Here are some of those examples where I think their friendship really shines through:

From Sanji's perspective, this guy just showed up outside his restaurant one day, dueled the legendary swordsman who slashed Don Krieg's fleet to pieces, willingly got cut almost in two, nearly bled to death, was tied up by his own crew and then captured by the Arlong pirates, still singlehandedly escaped and came back to join the fight and defeated one of Arlong's best fighters, then nearly bled to death again and woke up just in time to drink himself silly at the afterparty. I've heard people say they "match each other's freak" and that's the truth. Sanji watches this absolute wackadoodle of a man and knows he's found someone who matches his freak. From Zoro's point of view, some cook at a floating restaurant just fed all of their enemies out of principle before kicking their butts. How could he not respect that sort of unconditional adherence to a sense of honor and justice? Especially considering he himself experienced starvation not too long ago in Shells Town. Now this cook, the newest stray in Luffy's collection, immediately proves himself to be immensely capable both in the kitchen and on the battlefield, incurs injury to himself without complaint to protect these people he barely knows, and still is the only person to come sit by Zoro and check up on him. So Zoro knows that Sanji has a heart of pure gold, and I think that's a big part of why he gets frustrated when Sanji tries to cover it up with bravado and perviness.

This scene was really interesting to me because usually when someone demands that Zoro does something, he grouches and grumbles about it, so in this case it seems he just spontaneously started helping out himself. And if there was ever a man whose love language is acts of service, it's Roronoa Zoro. He seems to be more of a "companionable silence" kind of guy, while Sanji's a talker and will say anything to keep feeling connected. Now, I don't know if this is just a me thing, but I like to say my friends' names a lot, even just because the association with them brings me joy, but I rarely use the names of people I'm not close with except to refer to them in third person or to get their attention. In this scene, it seems to me that Sanji keeps repeating Zoro's name as a way to show he's thinking about him and appreciates him being there, though I might just be projecting.

Now, I know shippers go crazy over this one, but I think it's honestly really solid platonic evidence and I'll tell you why (not to dissuade shipping, I think you have to be friends before you can be more than friends so all of this can be fuel for the ship too if you want it to be). Firstly, they're comfortable enough to sleep this close together. Sanji's resting his sleepy head right on Zoro's shoulder (it should have been me, not him) and Zoro just lets him. Also note real quick, only a short distance away Luffy is using Usopp as a pillow, so they're all a cuddly cozy little family. When Zoro notices Sanji mistakenly trying to kiss him, he doesn't even move away, he just makes a face and waits for Sanji to wake up so he can make fun of him. Sanji, for his part, doesn't act embarrassed or disgusted that it turned out to be Zoro there, only playfully mad about his expression. They squabble for a few moments before Luffy pushes past them and they turn their attention to the next thing, argument forgotten, proving that neither was actually angry about anything and they were merely enjoying the opportunity to bicker.

This is from the hunting competition in Little Garden that I mentioned before. I just wanted to point out that both of them are grinning and clearly having a grand time.

(I love how Sanji's hands are just massive sometimes.) They have the entire forest clearing, and Sanji chooses to sit his little booty down right next to Zoro and toss his food at him. They're just like those kids in elementary who had beef over who has a more impressive Pokémon collection and would always sit next to each other at lunch to compare cards and play together at recess but claim they're archnemeses. And for as much as Sanji implied to Usopp (though oblivious) that the heart shaped vegetables were just for the ladies, he did choose to make it and serve it to the whole crew. Speaking of the ladies, Sanji is always adamant about protecting them, but he was perfectly fine with leaving Nami and Robin in Zoro's care, just as Zoro trusted Sanji to take care of Luffy and Usopp.

I also loved how Sanji packed Zoro a cute little lunchbox for exploring and he was NOT going to let no stupid south bird take it from him.

Alright that's all for today folks I gotta wake up in like 5 hours for work lol

Continuation from this post

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 7 - Something I Can See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Big chapter for fans of yapping and Dean overthinking things.

Chapter title from Something to Believe by Weyes Blood

Word Count: 16.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Sam and Dean drive you home. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, big angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 6 - Chapter 8

Read on A03!

She was going to be okay. They’d managed to get the knife out of her gut, and Sammy had stitched Her up, so She’d be fine. 

She was still knocked out, but Her breathing was even. The blade had been so hot Dean had needed to use a towel to hold it, but it was out of Her body. Her wound kept bubbling and blistering, but it wasn’t an infection. 

She’d be fine. Dean was going to kill Her, but she’d be fine.

He looked down at Her, spread out across Baby’s backseat and curled into her body. She’d barely made a sound since She’d passed out. Only soft moans and whimpers as they worked on the injury, and a few grunts as they’d moved Her into the car, adjusted Her body in the seat, and set off on the road. 

They’d done everything. All Her shit was in the trunk, Sam was sitting with her to make sure she didn’t fall over or get worse, and Dean was breaking every traffic law he could think of to get there faster. 

To South Dakota.

To Bobby’s.

It had taken Dean too long, in the parking lot, to actually call Bobby. He’d waited until She was settled, until they’d loaded almost everything into the car, and until Sammy was dealing with the front desk so Dean was alone.

He hadn’t been alone. He’d been sitting in the back of the Impala, Her head on his knee and his hand unable to stop tracing over her face.

It was wrong. Looking at Her like this. Features sunken and hollow, lips drained of blood, breathing shallow in a way Dean could feel. It made his own breath labored, his whole body tensed as She relaxed against him, and he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve the trust of Her vulnerability, the way Her beautiful face was half buried in his thigh, the way She’d let out a weak, sad sound whenever he tried to pull away.

He’d hurt Her. He’d spent the entire night after their fight ripping apart the club grounds and roaring Her name, giving Sam daring looks to say a single thing. He’d beaten himself into the mud in fear that he’d lose Her twice. Once with spat words and a cold look of hatred, then again with a shredded body and dulled eyes. 

He’d wanted to strangle Her. He’d wanted to apologize, and shout that he had nothing to apologize for. She’d lied. 

Not about what Dean thought She’d been lying about, but She’d still lied.

Although, admittedly, the truth was far more confusing. 

Because Dean had stared at the small, robot-print letters on Her phone screen—pixilated and fuzzy and flipping his world upside—and not known how to process them.

Bobby Singer.

There could be other Bobby Singers that weren’t Dean’s Bobby Singer. That weren’t the guy who was practically his uncle, who he’d played catch with, who’d made him food and given Sammy run-down toys to play with.

It didn’t make sense for this to be Dean’s Bobby. Dean had half grown up in that house. He’d stayed there for weeks on end when Dad had been on a really bad hunt—hunts where he’d come back with hooded eyes and fisted hands, snapping short orders because they didn’t have time to waste on sentimentality—and Bobby had never once had a daughter. Especially not a hot, annoying, impossible one. 

Dean would’ve remembered meeting Her before. There’s no shot he would’ve ever forgotten Her. He couldn’t. He’d tried. Dean was pretty sure that, even if he’d only laid eyes on Her once in passing, he would’ve been drawn down into Her and never climbed back out.

That was simply what She did. Who She was. A walking, breathing song that Dean couldn’t figure out how to touch but still wanted to try to learn. She got stuck in his head and played there on loop, and if he’d ever seen Her before that moroi hunt, he was damn sure he would’ve remembered.

And Bobby would’ve told him. If Bobby had a kid that was around Sam and Dean’s age, they would’ve known. Dad would’ve known.

Dad should’ve known. And he obviously hadn’t. Whenever Dean had brought Her up, Dad had called Her that little girl.

Hell, Dad had told Bobby about Her. Dad had said Her name and Bobby hadn’t gone Fuckin’ Jesus, John, that’s my daughter. The hell is She doin’ huntin’ a poltergeist.

Bobby had reacted strangely, though. Dean remember him hanging up right after Dad mentioned Her.

And She had mentioned her dad was a gruff, smart hunter. Which described Bobby, and explained why She knew so much random shit about hunting, and that was Bobby’s number in Her phone, and-

She’d lied. She’d said She didn’t know a Bobby. She’d asked Dean what he thought of Bobby.

Like She was curious what he’d think.

Son of a bitch.

Because when Dean squinted, he could see Bobby on Her face. Not physically, but in small divets and shadows on Her face and body and voice.

They rolled their eyes the same way. Like they were done with everyone’s shit, and knew that they were the most competent and reliable person in the room. 

She had the same laugh Bobby had. Dean had only heard Bobby laugh—really, fully laugh with his whole chest—three or four times, but it was the exact same laugh. Loud and powerful and almost cartoonish.

They didn’t walk the same way, but they fought in similar movements. Brutal and effective, with no more or less than necessary. 

And if Dean really thought about it, there were smaller things he could draw together. How She turned a page, how She held a pencil, how She drank her coffee.

Small mannerisms She would’ve picked up from being raised by someone, the same way Dean would spin his keys and Sammy always flipped his wallet in his hands before opening it. 

Like Dad did.

Part of Dean hadn’t wanted to call the number. His thumb hovered far too long as he’d debated if he even wanted to know. If this was really what it seemed to be, and he’d have to piece together a puzzle he hadn’t known existed a fucking hour ago.

She could never know that he’d looked down at Her, and that had been what finally got him. That Her scrunched face had made his heart feel like it was being wrenched and pounded, that he’d run his thumb over Her nose, she’d relaxed, and let out a song-like sigh that had been it.

He’d pressed call, held the phone to his ear, and still not fully believed it until the line picked up after two rings.

“Hey, kiddo, I wasn’t expectin’ you to call until you had that Kelpie down. You alright?”

Dean had frozen, his voice caught in his throat, staring at Her face as static sounded in his ear. 

That was Bobby. Bobby clearing his throat, Bobby grunting Her name-

“Is everythin’-“

“Bobby?” Dean’s voice had been hushed, and he’d watched Her carefully to make sure she wasn’t disturbed. 

There had been a long moment of silence, this time from Bobby’s end, and then-

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s-“

“Where the hell did you find this phone, boy?”

Dean had said Her name, his hand tracing over Her brow, still checking she was real. “She gave it to me.”

“She fuckin’- where is she?”

“She’s right here-“

“Put her on, I need to talk to her.”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean had swallowed, and She’d shifted slightly, pressing further into his lap. “I can’t.”

“Dean Winchester, I ain’t lookin’ to kill you, but if you don’t-“

“No, I- I literally fucking can’t, Bobby.”

“Why in hells balls can’t ya’ pass a phone-“

Dean said Her name again, something like lead coating his throat. “Uh, she’s- She’s knocked out.”

There was a brief second of silence, and Dean had winced when Bobby spoke again. 

“What the hell typa’ shit have you two gotten into that she’s knocked out?!”

“A demon attacked her, and we- Bobby, we tried to fight it off but it got a knife into her gut, and Sammy patched her up but-“

“Sam’s there?”

Dean had frowned. “Yeah, uh, who else-“

“Never mind, I thought-“ Bobby had sighed through the phone, something tense growing in his voice. “She stable?”

“Yeah, but she told us to call you.”

“Alright, bring her up here and I’ll be ready. And Dean?”

Dean had nodded, staring at Her gorgeous, almost peaceful face, and there had been a long stretch of silence before he remembered Bobby couldn’t see him.

“Dean-“

“Shit, sorry, what’s-“

“I don’t want you lettin’ a single fuckin’ thing near her but you and Sam, got it?”

“Yes, sir-“

“Don’t yes, sir me, boy. Promise me you’ll keep her in your sight.”

“I will. Promise.”

It had been an easy thing to say. The thought of leaving Her alone had—even as his head spun, and his chest started to mold with the question of why the hell she’d lied—made Dean feel taut and sick.

And Bobby had hung up the phone, and Dean had kept his promise. He’d never left Her alone, not for a second. Sam had sat with Her because Dean didn’t trust himself to care for her properly—didn’t deserve to have Her half slump over his body and sigh against his skin—and Dean’d had to force his eyes to stay on the road, and not drift to check on Her

It was bad enough that his mind had been wandering. Coming up with more and more reasons this didn’t make any fucking sense, and far too many reasons why it did. 

She’d called going to Bobby’s home, and Dean felt something like bile in his throat at the thought that whenever She’d said home before, she’d been talking about Bobby. And lying. And letting Dean think She was living in a fancy gated palace, when she’d just been at Bobby’s. But now, when Dean pictured Bobby’s table, he could see Her at it. She slotted into the scene perfectly, just as She fit so well in every other part of Dean’s life.

And he still couldn’t hate Her. He had far too many questions—where the hell She’d been whenever they’d stayed with Bobby, why had She never corrected Dean, why had Bobby lied about knowing Her—and he didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he just couldn’t fucking hate Her.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam had asked a few hours ago, watching Dean carefully from the backseat. “What happened, last night? You just, you called me and said she’d stormed off, but-“

“Don’t.” Dean had muttered, his grip tightening on the wheel, and Sam had sighed.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, I just want to know why she’d just fucked off, it doesn’t seem like her-“

“You don’t know her, Sam-“

“But you do-“

“Do I?” Dean had snapped, his eyes flicking back to Her in the rearview mirrors. Always close, and untouchable, and a mystery Dean could never seem to get close to solving. “I’m not sure anyone knows her, and I certainly fucking don’t.”

“Yeah, you do, Dean.” Sam had leaned forward, his tone far too careful and gentle. “Whatever fight you guys had, however pissed she got, I can’t be that bad-“

“Yeah, it can be.” Dean had scowled at the road, his voice lowering to a grunt. “Drop it, Sam. I fucking serious.”

Sam had sighed, and nodded. “Alright, what about the demon? Do you think we need to be keeping an eye out?”

“Eye out-“

“For another one.” Sam had glanced down to Her, she’d made a small noise of distress, and the sound had ached in Dean’s chest. “Dude, it- It knew who you were. And it seemed to know her-“

“There’s- How the hell would a demon know her-“

“I don’t know, that’s what I’m asking.” Sam had swallowed, and Dean could see the nerves written over his face in the mirror. “You think Bobby will have an idea?”

Dean didn’t know. He’d snapped at Sam that when they got to Bobby’s they’d have plenty of time to figure out what the fuck was happening, but the question was still echoing around his head.

Why would a demon have gone after Her. She was just a year older than Sammy, so she couldn’t have made that many enemies. She wasn’t some kind of target. There was nothing about her that could-

There was everything about Her. If Dean thought about it for too long—which is all he had time to do—She wasn’t just an enigma to Dean. Her family was still her family, no matter how she knew Bobby. Dad had said She’d stolen something, all those years ago. Maybe the demons would want it.

Maybe others felt that pull. Maybe there was something deeper Dean didn’t know how to see. 

Maybe there was nothing at all, and the demon had been hunting Her because of her proximity to Dean.

That thought made him feel sore and ill. Dad said that it was a demon who had gotten Mom. A demon who had gotten Jess. 

And She wasn’t Dean’s. She’d made that perfectly fucking clear.

But he couldn’t stop looking at Her. Couldn’t stop how the air didn’t feel clean in his lungs because Her breathing was shallow, how his hands kept itching on the wheel to brush over Her cheek and soothe the small wrinkle in Her brow. He could tell himself he just wanted to check for a fever, but he also wanted to move the hair from Her face. Sam was just letting is lie there, and Dean knew she hated people touching it, but she always let Dean touch her. She never slapped his hand away when he touched Her. She leaned into him, and sometimes She smile, and sometimes Dean could pretend she was his-

She wasn’t. She wouldn’t be. Dad had known Mom. Sam had known Jess.

Dean didn’t know anything. He didn’t know why the demon had been after Her, or what She been thinking just stomping off, or why Bobby was her home. 

All he really knew was that this still looked wrong. That the sight of Her in pain was making his heart shred itself in his chest, and that he wanted to reach around the seats and touch Her. Pull Her into him until nothing else could hurt Her, until he could get her somewhere safer than him.

She’d be safer anywhere but with Dean. Bobby had said to keep an eye on Her, but Dean didn’t trust his eyes. All week they’d kept seeing things that didn’t really make sense. Every moment they just made Her more beautiful, even as Dean silently cursed himself for still looking. 

He couldn’t stop looking. He fucking hated Her for lying, but every single sharp and blunted piece of wrath in Dean’s chest felt more searing when it carved on his own ribs. She was a liar, but Dean was a piece of shit. He’d bitten Her too hard. He didn’t have a damn clue about Her life, but he’d still aimed to kill and then been a whiny son of a bitch when his shot had landed.

She may bring out the most of him, but it was still Dean who was made of all those foul, uncontrolled pieces. 

Dad knew how to control himself. Dad wasn’t perfect, but at least he kept himself in line, and he’d tried to teach Dean how to do the same but Dean was just weaker. Pathetic and useless. 

He didn’t deserve to be around Her. No matter how much it pissed Dean off that She was better than he was, it didn’t change the fact. Dean wasn’t worthy of being around Her. 

And he still couldn’t stop looking. She was dangerous, and awesome, and looked so perfect in Dean’s car—fit so well with everything that was Dean, everything that belonged to him—but she also was impossible. And insufferable. And seemed to be trying to break Dean into pieces, because Her eyes fluttered, her breath hitched, and She arched her back.

All while mumbling Dean. 

Her eyes drifted open, a small frown on Her face, and the first thing she said was Dean.

She was trying to kill him.

“Dean.“ Her voice was soft, and weak, and rooted right into the cavity of Dean’s chest. Washing it in silver light with only Her voice, saying his name as Her fingers flexed and she reached mindlessly out into the air.

There’s a brief second where Dean wondered if She was looking for him. Reaching out to see if he’d take Her hand, if he’d reassure her with just his touch.

He needed to get it together.

He didn’t know how.

“I- Dean, what’s- I don’t-“ Her voice was growing distressed, Her slightly gazed as they dragged open. Her fingers seemed to be digging into Her skin as she shrank into the bench, Her breathing speeding up and becoming short and shit- 

It looked wrong. It felt wrong. Dean had no right to touch Her, no reason to tense and balk at the sight of Her in pain—small and panicked and almost feral in his backseat, ducking Her head and hugging her body as if she could shield herself—but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting hold Her until she was calm, to wrap himself around her like a barrier from everything else that could hurt Her in the world.

It was selfish as hell. Dean could hurt Her. Dean had hurt Her. He was the asshole who got them here in the first place, all by not knowing how to just control himself.

He didn’t want to control himself right now. Not as Her face twisted in pain. 

Not as She kept saying his name.

“Where are we- I- Dean-“

“I’m here,” He muttered Her name, gripping the back of his seat to stop himself from reaching for her. “We’re in the car.”

She went silent, Her body stilling completely, and cold seized over Dean’s body. Why was She just lying there. Why wasn’t She speaking, or shouting, or sneering. Asking questions or spitting venom about their fight, trying to get up or curl further into Herself, why was she so fucking still-

Dean was about to damn it, reach further back, and touch Her—just to feel the warmth of Her body, just to get something of a reaction—when She finally spoke.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and Dean would’ve never bet on that being what She’d say. On Her seeming to mean it, her face twisted slightly, Her head bowed, and her voice soft. “I- I didn’t mean to.”

He frowned. “Mean to what.”

“Anything.” 

Her eyes drifted open. Bright and seeming to glow on Dean’s, looking at him like She always had. If Dean didn’t know better, he would’ve thought their fight had never happened. There was no possible way it could’ve when She was still looking at him. Right into him, into the deep pit in his body that felt smaller under Her attention. Felt lined or coated in warmth and light, because that was what She did to him. 

And She still looked vulnerable. Just watching him, something more nervous on her face than Dean usually saw, something almost afraid. 

He hated it. She shouldn’t fear Dean, She should trust him. She didn’t, but he needed Her to. At least enough to know that, even if Dean—for some sick, fucked reason—tried to, he couldn’t lay a hand on Her. He could hiss and mock and poison Her with his mouth or presence, but he was pretty damn certain that his body would turn itself to ash before it hurt Her.

Which didn’t make sense. It wasn’t rational, or reasonable, or understandable. But Dean’s hand flexed on the seat, and She practically fucking flinched, and Dean had never felt lower in his life. Any ideas he’d been holding about demanding answers and shouting about everything—their fight, Her lies, his brimming and spilling desire and how She needed to stop doing this to him so he could control himself—began to vanish into thin air. It was impossible to be really, truly angry at Her when she looked like that. Beautiful and fragile and critical to the blood in Dean’s body. 

He’d find that anger later, and they’d fight later. For now he just let out a long breath, and shrugged. 

“’S fine.” It wasn’t. But it was the only good thing to say here, because Dean might rather stab himself than tell Her about how fucking furious he was, and make Her fold further down. He’d wounded Her enough for a while. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m-“ She paused, hands padding over Her stomach. “Did you-“

“Sammy gave you some stitches.” Dean said, watching her carefully. “He’s not great that them, though, so don’t move.”

Her mouth twitched slightly. Dean wished he could touch it. “Where is Sam?”

“Getting gas. We got a few hours left until we hit Sioux Falls.”

“Oh.”

Dean didn’t miss the flash of something over Her face. He didn’t know what. He just knew it was wired, and taut, and brittle. That he wanted to ease it, but didn’t know how. Wasn’t really worthy of trying to learn.

But Sam was taking a while. 

And Dean couldn’t fucking stand how fearful She looked.

“If you press on the stitches, does it hurt?”

She raised her brows. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to press on them, Winchester.”

“Nah, I know, I’m just trying to figure out how shit a job Sammy did.”

She didn’t look like She believed him, and Dean really wished he’d come up with a better excuse to talk to Her, because now she was lifting up her shirt. 

Her skin looked a little raw and torn around the wound, but everywhere else was soft. Smooth. He’d noticed it while patching Her up, that she barely had any pale, raised patches of skin where other hunters did.

No scars was so fucking rare. 

But so was She.

And Dean needed to pull it together.

“It’ll hold,” She looked back to Dean, and he had to blink at her. Pretend he hadn’t just been gaping at Her bare skin. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He muttered, scanning over Her features. She was awake, but there still wasn’t enough color in Her face. Too little fury behind Her eyes, nothing dancing and shining like it usually did. She looked exhausted. Weakened. The little furrow of Her brow tighter than usual. 

They had hours to go, and Dean knew how to fix that. He knew how to poke at Her until she snapped and everything bent with Her—all Her force making the world clearer, Dean’s body stronger—and how to walk right up to the invisible line, touch Her just as much as he was allowed, and make Her relax. Sam didn’t. But Dean did. 

“I’m coming back there.” He grunted, starting to shift in his seat, and She frowned.

“What?”

“Sammy’s gonna drive the rest of the way, I’ll sit with you-“

“No, you don’t-“

He shook his head. He didn’t want to hear Her say he didn’t have to, because it just reminded him that she didn’t feel this. That there was nothing that called Her to Dean’s side, because if there was she’d be fucking begging him to sit with Her. 

He knew that, because he was seconds away from dropping to a new low and begging Her. 

“We had Sammy back there all day,” he held Her gaze, trying to make his voice stern. “Only fair you get saddled with me too.”

“I’m not-“ She cut herself off with a shake of Her head. “I don’t need Sam to sit with me either, De. I’m fine.”

De. She said De, and it was maybe the only thing more powerful than Her calling him Dean. Even if She didn’t mean it, the word felt like a command over his body, and that was only another thing Dean didn’t understand. 

“You’re- you look like shit, Princess.“ He couldn’t stop the nickname from slipping out of his mouth. No matter how screwed things were, the way Her body loosened slightly at the sound of it was always a small high, and Dean couldn’t figure out how to stop chasing it.

She scowled. “Hey-“

“You just got stabbed, and you haven’t woken up in six hours-“

“I’m awake now-“

“And I’d like to keep it like that.” Dean snapped. “I- you just gotta-“ He ran a hand over his face, because She didn’t want him there, but every time Her eyes drooped or Her body twitched with pain it made Dean’s gut contract. “At least keep Sammy. So you’re not alone.”

She rolled Her eyes. It really did fucking look like Bobby. “I’m not alone, dummy, you’re like two feet away.”

“What if you pass out again? Am I just supposed to pull over?”

“Yeah? I mean, I’m not gonna pass out-“

“You can’t know that, sweetheart-“

“I can guess.” She glowered at him, raising Her chin slightly, and even lying down She looked like royalty.  “It’s my body, Winchester, and I feel fine.”

“For now.” Dean muttered, and She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Shut up-“ She cut herself off with a yawn, and Dean’s jaw clenched. 

She couldn’t see Her. Every single second that passed no light returned to Her eyes, and everything just grew duller. She’d just yawned. But Dean was pretty certain that—if She hissed at Sam to get in the front seat and not bother worrying about her—the giant baby would listen.

Dean needed to work around this. She needed to be okay.

“You’ll need to keep talking.” He grunted, holding her gaze. “I hear one second of silence, and we’re pulling over so I can move back there. Understood?”

She gave him a flat look. “Are you serious-“

“Deadly, Princess. Understood?”

Dean might be imagining it, but a little color returned to Her face. The flush. And the breath. And the-

“Understood.” She muttered. “You’re such a fucking dick.”

“You’ve told me.” Dean turned back to face ahead, and she let out a long breath behind him. 

This silence was short, but maybe the heaviest Dean had ever experienced. It weighed on the top of his chest, and he didn’t know how to push it off, and he wanted to look at Her again, but he couldn’t bear it if She didn’t look at him-

“Dean,” She whispered, and his whole body went alert at the sound of her voice. Softer than usual, but still calling him down. “I’m-“

Whatever She was, Dean didn’t get to know. Sam knocked on his window, waving to Her in the backseat, and Dean had to turn and roll down the window so they could hear each other.

“Dude, why are you hunching down like that, just get in the freaking car-“

Sam rolled his eyes, not moving to from the window. “I still need to get coffee, Dean. And,” He said Her name with a grin, completely ignoring Dean’s glower. “You’re up!”

“Yep.” She returned Sam’s smile, and Dean scowled. She hadn’t smiled at him. “Thanks for the stitches.”

Sam shrugged, leaning a little further through the window. “No problem. They feel okay? Because I was rushing a little to get you on the road, and-“

“They feel fine, Sam. I feel fine.”

Those last words were shot at Dean, and he rolled his eyes. “You won the argument, Princess, don’t get all bitchy with me.”

“I am not being bitchy-“

“You’re being dramatic-“

“I just got fucking stabbed, Winchester, I can be as dramatic as I want.”

Dean scoffed, twisting in his seat. “I’m the one who had to watch you get stabbed-“

“How fucking harrowing for you-“

“What the hell does harrowing mean-“

“Hey!” Sam slapped Dean’s arm, shooting both of them a stern look. “You guys can fight all you want when we’re on the road, but we actually need to get on the road. Tell me what you want from the gas station, and kill each other after.”

She let out a long breath. “Sorry, Sam.”

“Thank you,” Sam said Her name, gave Dean a pointed glare, and Dean scowled. 

“I didn’t fucking do anything-“

She scoffed, the sound a rough cough that almost made Dean leap over the bench to pick Her up and hold her to his chest. “Oh, fuck off, Winchester-“

“Wouldn’t you love that, Princess-“

“Dean!” Sam snapped. “Don’t- Just tell me what you want, please.”

Dean opened his mouth, and She cut him off with sharp, short words.

“Don’t say pie. You’re driving.”

Dean was either going to smother Her with his hands around her neck, or with his mouth slammed to Her’s. She was so fucking hot, and annoying, and Dean wouldn’t strangle her because he knew his dumb body wouldn’t allow him, but Jesus, She needed to shut the hell up before Dean made her and then lost her forever-

“Dean?” Sam was raising his brows. Waiting for a response.

“Gimme some coffee.” He muttered, gripping the wheel like it could save him from Her glare, and how it made his skin feel sore. “And jerky.”

Sam nodded, glancing over to Her, and when she spoke her voice was too quiet. He watched to jump over the bench again. 

“Coffee and candy?”

“Sure, you want anything specific-“

“Whatever’s cheap.” She said, and Dean was going to break the wheel. 

His head was churning and spiraling again. She said that like Bobby said it. The same dismissive cheaper is easier, boy, and I ain’t an idiot to fall for fancy fuckin’ packagin’ tone.

“Snickers?” Sam offered, and She must have nodded because a second later, he was gone.

It was silent. So silent that Dean had a brief, stabbing moment of worry that She was passed out again. His eyes flicked up to the mirror again, and Her eyes were open—pretty and glaring at Dean like She wanted to stab him—but they looked lidded. And the little furrow was becoming more prominent, and Her breathing was a little too shallow, and-

“You’re supposed to be talking.” Dean snapped, and She rolled Her eyes. And it was still exactly like Bobby did, but, son of a bitch it was so much hotter-

He needed to get a grip. He needed to figure out how—when they eventually did get to Sioux Falls—he was ever going to be able to look at Her and not wonder how he hadn’t seen it before. He was a little fucking worried he’d look at Bobby and start to feel that gravitational pull. That Dean would start to orbit around Bobby, and smell him all the time, and hear his voice in dreams-

If that happened, Dean would need to give himself a concussion and pray it erased his memory. He already didn’t love how he wanted nothing more than to crawl over Her and make her smile, and if he started to crave Bobby’s attention too, he’d lose his mind. Crashing into Her was usually good, when she wasn’t trying to give him a heart attack or being the most impossible person Dean had ever met. Crashing into Bobby would be gross. If Dean had to start fantasizing about Bobby under him when he fucked someone, he might just have to kill himself-

“Dean!” She was shouting, Her voice slightly strained, and he turned to frown at Her.

“What’s-“

“What am I supposed to be talking about?”

He frowned. “I don’t fucking care-“

“Alright, then I won’t-“

“No.” Dean pointed a stern finger at Her, narrowing his eyes. “You gotta talk. That was the deal.”

“I didn’t make a deal, you just ordered me to talk-“

“I did not order you, Princess, I’m trying to goddamn keep you alive after you went and got stabbed-“

“Oh, suck my fucking dick-“

The car door opened, and they both turned to see Sam leaning into the car, coffees in hand and snacks under his arms.

“Oh, good, you didn’t murder each other.” Sam passed out their coffees and snacks, his voice a dry mutter that was gonna get him punched. “Actually,” he frowned between them. “If you’re going to fight for the rest of the ride, can Dean  sit in the back so I can tune it out-“

“Neither of you are sitting in the back.” She pushed Herself upright with a small, weak sound, and Her hands were shaking. Dean was going to tackle Her.

“Maybe, uh,” Sam glanced at Dean as he said Her name, like he could see the rough tension over his heart at Her insistence to be as difficult as possible. “I mean, I really don’t mind if I do have to sit with you-“

“I’ll be alright without a babysitter-“

“Because you’re going to keep talking.” Dean muttered, drumming his hands on the wheel. “Sammy, apparently her majesty can’t come up with a topic, so that’s on you, but I don’t want a single second of silence, sweetheart, or-“

“You’ll pull over and be a massive fucking baby.” She snapped, and Dean wished She wasn’t so hot when she was pissed. “He threatened me, Sam.”

Dean scowled. “I did not threaten you-“

“Fine. It was blackmail.”

“It was- I-“ Dean whipped around to glower at her. “You’re such a fucking-“

“Bitch?” She sneered, holding his gaze. “Am I a bitch? Am I a spoiled little bitch?”

“That’s- You know I wasn’t-“

“Trying to hurt my little bratty girl feelings-“

“I never fucking said-“

She scoffed, and Dean could swear something hot and wired was fueling all his anger. Maybe it was how the air in the car seemed to be waving, or how every word was venomous and cold and making something inside of him wither, or how breathing was so fucking painful when She was furious and sneering-

“That I’m a bitch? That I’m a controlling fucking bitch-“

“Shut up! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Dean slammed his hand on the bench, and She flinched. Visibly flinched. Recoiled. 

“I- I didn’t-“ She swallowed, staring at Her cup in her hands. “Sorry.”

Dean was a piece of fucking shit. He’d done it again. He’d pushed it too far because he was an asshole.

He muttered Her name, his voice low. “I didn’t- I’m-“

“Don’t.” She mumbled, and She wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll keep talking.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and all he could do was nod. She looked sick. He fucking felt sick. He kept slamming his fist between them, making everything worse, hurting Her in a way he’d never seemed to be able to hurt anyone before-

Sam cleared his throat. Dean had forgotten he was there.

“So, uh, we’re talking.”

Dean opened his mouth to say no, they needed to fucking patch whatever the hell was wrong with him with glue, so he could shove himself into her hands as a pathetic, useless apology, but She was faster. Better. Still a liar, still in pain, but also still beautiful. Still so far away from Dean.

“Yeah. Get in the car.”

Sam nodded, shooting Dean one last look, and leaned out of the car. Dean started the engine—biting his tongue not to vomit a million apologies he knew wouldn’t come out right—and they were back on the road.

Four hours until they hit Bobby’s.

Four hours of beating himself bloody in silence, and listening to Her speak.

Normally Dean would’ve thought there was no better way to spend his time than being drowned in Her voice, and hearing her say anything at all. But normally She wasn’t in this pain, where She’d gesture too broadly and hiss, or Baby would hit a bump and She’d whine. Normally he didn’t have to force himself not to look at Her—and whenever he lost control and his eyes slipped to Her in the mirror, she didn’t look so colorless and drained—and normally Dean allowed himself to speak to Her in more than grunts. 

She was acting like everything was fine. Sometimes he’d look back and She’d be smiling, and it didn’t reach Her eyes, and Dean had done that. That wasn’t the injury. 

That was just Dean. Ruining everything because She’d fallen from the sky into his hands and he’d bashed Her into the mud.

“There’s…” Sam was said Her name, his voice filled with disbelief. “You don’t actually think that, right?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t think it-“

“But it’s Star Wars! I mean, it’s not perfect, but you can’t seriously believe it’s bad.”

“It is bad, Sam. It’s objectively poorly written, but it has iconic imagery, music, and actors-“

“Because it’s not bad!”

It had been thirty minutes of this. Sam hadn’t needed to look that hard to find a topic, and the moment he’d said the words Uh, you like movies? Dean had known it was over. He’d had this exact conversation with Her before, and it had involved a lot more yelling and shoving than Sam was getting.

It had also involved Her giggling and smiling and leaning so close that Dean could see even the smallest features on her face—tiny bumps and scars, little divets that somehow made Her more beautiful—and smell that strange fruit until it intoxicated him, and he’d thrown his hands up in surrender. 

Her eyes had sparkled then. She still wouldn’t look at him now. Even when Sam would echo a point Dean had made before, She shot it down with ease—and a careful, detailed argument that made Dean think She’s been freaking practicing—and Sam would let out a sigh that sounded a little like a whine.

“I don’t think it’s useless, you know. I’m saying it’s not-“

“You just called it the most overhyped movie ever made!”

“And it is, but that’s why it’s not useless. It was the primary cause of science fiction being popularized-“

“Because people liked it!” Sam looked to Dean with wide eyes—as if Dean could fucking do something about this—and then back to Her with a shaking head. “I- They’re maybe the most popular movies of all time-“

“Popularity doesn’t equate quality, Sam.” She said, and Dean hoped She couldn’t see him mouthing along with her every word, knowing exactly what she’d say. “It can, but it doesn’t have to. Star Wars being popular is its greatest strength, because that mean it was able to serve as inspiration for many, better things.”

Sam scoffed. “Like what?”

That was a mistake. If Dean was allowing himself to participate in the conversation, he would’ve been able to tell Sammy that saying that—especially in a doubtful tone—was never a good idea. She’d have examples, and if She didn’t, she’d come up with some right here in the car.

Dean had fallen for that trap before. And he was too fucking tired and bitter to save Sam from it.

“I’m so glad you asked, Samuel.” Dean glanced in the mirror, and that was a wide, blinding, almost manic grin that appeared when She was about to hand Dean’s ass to him on a platter.

He almost felt bad for Sam.

“I- Samuel?”

She hummed, completely ignoring Sam’s indigence. “Almost all science-fiction movies are somewhat inspired by Star Wars, or owe Star Wars the popularity of the genre. And, Star Wars significantly popularized the use of Monomyth in film-“

Dean didn’t remember what Monomyth was. Sam didn’t seem to either, because She cut herself off with a sigh.

“The Hero’s Journey. In movies.”

“Oh.” Sam frowned. “Dean said you didn’t go to college.”

Dean cringed slightly, feeling Her glare through the mirror. 

“Did he.”

“Yeah, it’s just surprising, you’re smart-“

“I don’t have to go to college to be smart.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, you just- You don’t sound like you didn’t-“

“I’ve read a lot.” She said, and a vision of Bobby’s library flashed through Dean’s head.

There were a shit ton of books in there. Even Sam hadn’t read them all, and Dean was pretty sure Bobby hadn’t either, but he also remembered Bobby saying that they’d all been read.

By Her.

“And,” She was still talking. Of course She was. “I’ve watched a lot of TV, which is how I know I’m right. Star Wars is terrible-“

In the corner of his eye, Dean watched Sam open his mouth, and then make his first good choice of the day and close it.

“But it’s also the only reason we have Indiana Jones-“

“You like Indiana Jones?”

Dean rolled his eyes. Another mistake from Kid Genius in shotgun-

“Shut up, Winchester.”

Dean blinked, scowling at the road. “I didn’t say anything-“

“You were going to.” She snapped, and when Dean glanced back, she was glaring at him. “So shut up.”

Sam frowned between them. “Why would Dean-“

“Her majesty loves Indiana Jones.” Dean grunted. “Good luck, Sammy.”

“Don’t wish him luck, I’m not going to try to kill him-“

“Sure, Princess.”

She kicked the back of Dean’s seat, and he didn’t even grunt. The hit was weaker than usual, and it wasn’t because She wasn’t trying.

She was just weaker. She was still coughing and taking breaths that were far too long. Her eyes were still a little hollowed, and lips in too tight a line, and brow drawn in pain. Dean couldn’t fucking stand it. He wanted to pull over, grab Her and demand that they forgive each other now—or at least try to pretend nothing had happened in the first place—because she was hurt and needed Dean’s help-

“I’m not going to kill you, Sam.” She said, and Sam didn’t look all that reassured. “And I do love Indiana Jones. I think it’s fun.”

Sam frowned. “Star Wars is fun.”

“Star Wars parodies are fun. There’s an episode of the Muppet Show with the Star Wars cast, and it’s better than all the actual Star Wars movies combined.”

She and Sam kept talking—Sam refused to believe one single episode of television could be greater than a film trilogy, and Dean didn’t think She was capable of just surrendering any sort of argument—and Dean’s head started to wander again. Back to Bobby’s house, and every single sign of Her he’d never noticed. Never had reason to notice, or dwell on, or observe, but now he couldn’t stop remembering all the grenadine in Bobby’s fridge that the man himself never seemed to touch, but always seemed to be in use. All the normal books that weren’t for hunting, and didn’t seem like things Bobby would read.

If Dean squinted in his head, he could see the VHS tapes stacked near the TV. There had been a lot of movies he’d stayed up late to watch—action movies and westerns and some fancy art films he hadn’t action movies and TV shows-really understood—but also some he’d never touched. Comedy films and chick flicks and-

“Bobby had that show.” Dean muttered, and She and Sam fell silent. “The Muppet Show. He had a freakin’ VHS tape.”

They hadn’t mentioned it since She woke up. The looming axe over all their heads, that they were heading to Bobby’s, and She’d fucking lied about knowing him. 

But Dean hadn’t been able to stop himself. He was never able to stop himself with Her. It was fucking amazing, how he kept managing to make this whole thing worse.

“Yeah.” She muttered. She’d tucked Her knees to her chest. “He does.”

Sam cleared his throat, his voice gentle. “I, uh, you don’t have to answer, but can I ask how you know Bobby? Dean said he raised you-“

“He did.”

“Oh.” Sam looked between Her and Dean with a frown. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Her voice becoming taut, and it squeezed around Dean’s throat. “I’ve told you my dad is a hunter-“

“So Bobby’s your dad?”

“No, it’s-“ She sighed. “I- It’s easier to say father than man who raised me. We’re not related.”

Sam nodded slowly, and Dean stayed perfectly fucking still in his seat. If he moved or breathed wrong, She might remember he was here and stop sharing things. 

“If you- How have we never met before?” Sam’s voice was cautious. Dean understood that. “It’s just, Dean and I have known Bobby our whole lives, we’ve spent weeks at his house-“

“I was…” She swallowed, Dean didn’t have to look back to know Her head would be bowed, and she’d be picking Her skin bloody. “Really sick. I had to be kept separated from other people.”

It wasn’t a lie. Dean could fucking hear it, could feel the sinking ache into his bones at Her tired, heavy voice. And it didn’t matter how vague and useless an answer that was—how it just left him with more questions about how sick She’d been, what type of sickness, if She was alright now when she didn’t really seem to be—because it was the truth. 

And She looked sad. She wouldn’t look up, and She was tucked into Herself, and there was hair blocking all Her features from view, and Dean wanted to move it and touch Her, trace his hands over Her face until she smiled and her body went loose-

She wouldn’t let him touch Her. If he tried, he’d probably get punched in the gut, and it would leave a gash in his intestine he didn’t know how to prevent or heal.

He was still pathetic though. Still feeling an itch on his skin the longer She looked like she was trying to hide from something invisible, the longer Her brow pressed to Her knees and the acidic silence stretched on.

He couldn’t just stop.

“Keep talking, Princess.” He grunted, and he could feel Her glare sear through his head. It was better than nothing. 

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was too gentle. He didn’t get it. How She was too quiet and too bendable and it was making Dean feel sunken and empty. “Maybe we can just listen to music or something-“

“No. Talk.” 

Sam’s eyes widened, and if he kept gaping like that, Dean was going to kick and punch him. 

“Well, Deano,” She was still glaring at him from the backseat. “What the fuck should I be talking about?“

“Anything, just-“

“Anything isn’t helpful-“

“Tell Sammy what food he is.” Dean snapped, and Sam blinked. 

“Tell me what?”

“I’m pie,” Dean muttered, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Because the smartass back there is a little genius.”

“I am a genius.” Her voice was harsher than before. Stronger. “And I didn’t just say you were a pie, I said you were pecan pie, you asshole-“

“Same thing-“

“It’s not. The specification is important-“

“It’s damn pie, sweetheart. Pie is pie-“

“Why pecan?” Sam asked. “I mean, why not apple, or cherry-“

“Because I don’t pander.” She said, and Dean had to bite down a snort. “And he’s not nearly sweet enough to be cherry-“

Dean frowned. “Hey-“

“And,” She pushed on, ignoring Dean entirely. “The chewiness of pecan is very Dean.”

He didn’t know how to protest that. He didn’t know what to say to that. Not when he glanced back in the mirror and Her face was so unreadable.

She didn’t sound as pissed anymore. Dean didn’t know what to do with that.

“Okay.” Sam was nodding, looking between Her and Dean with another unreadable expression. Everyone needed to start saying what they were thinking soon, or Dean was gonna lose it. “I- Yeah. I can see that. What food am I, then?”

“Bubblegum.” 

Her answer was quick, and if Dean didn't have to drive and brood, he would've laughed at the look on Sammy's face.

"I- Why?"

“You’re sweet. And flexible but still kinda stiff.” 

Dean frowned, lowering his voice to speak under his breath. “I’m sweet.”

She hummed. “Yeah, but you’re an acquired taste, Deano. Like pecan.”

She kept talking, but the word bounced and echoed around Dean’s head. Deano. She only called him Deano when he’d said or done something stupid, but She wasn’t really that pissed about it. Deano had an underlying tone of affection to it. A higher sound on the De and a long moment on the O.

She might not hate him.

“Okay.” Sam was nodding slowly, still twisted in his seat. “I can be bubblegum. Is- Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Uh, sort people, I guess? Like, what type of drink would you say I am?”

“She doesn’t drink, Sammy.” Dean muttered, and his seat got kicked again.

“I still know what drinks are-““Could you tell us what each one is like?” =

There was a brief pause—Dean could imagine the small, pouting frown on Her face—and then- “No.”

Dean shot Her a wink in the mirror before he could think better, and it was a mistake. She was glowering at him. She was really hot when She glowered at him—Dean could easily imagine smoke rising off Her body and small, silver spark flying over his skin when he touched Her—but her easy, high beauty wasn’t nearly enough to distract Dean from how shitty she looked. There was more gray in Her face than before, She was curled more into her own body, and, son of a bitch, Her eyes were fluttering slightly-

“What about music genres?” Dean said, just to keep Her talking, and She blinked at him. “What?”

“Music genres, Princess. You know hip-hop, pop, the blues-“

“I know what music genres are, asshole, why are you-“

“Which are we.” Dean gave a vague, one-handed wave between himself and Sammy. “Do your thing.”

“I don’t have a thing-“

“Yeah, you do. Give it a shot, sweetheart. Music genres.”

Sam gave Dean an unwelcome, amused look. “You know, it kind of feels like one of us-“

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean looked back in the mirror, raising his brows at Her. “And you’re supposed to be talking.”

She wrinkled Her nose him, but she also started talking, so Dean didn’t really care all that much. He was rock—but She was annoying, said Latin pop first, and giggled for five straight minutes after—and Sammy was jazz. Fancy bar Jazz. 

Dean didn’t know what that meant.

But he really liked the sound of Her voice, and the way She said most everything. She could’ve probably called Sam country music and he’d agree, just because of how She’d say. With a smooth, passive authority that told something in Dean’s brain She’s right. All the freaking time, even when She’s obviously wrong, she’s still right.

Sam was starbursts, and Dean was a KitKat. Dean was dusk, and Sam was noon. Sam was a Lily of the Valley, and Dean was a rose.

Dean had no interest in being a flower. He did like Her telling him what he was. He liked the idea that She’d been looking at him. That She’d thought about him enough to think he’d be a car if he was on object—which was a cheap shot, but still made Dean feel fuzzy—or a tree if he was a plant, or a seal if he lived in the ocean.

He frowned, waiting for Her to elaborate—he still wasn’t allowing himself to speak all that much, because this felt delicate and still slightly fractured—and decided he wouldn’t kick Sam’s ass for being a butthead the whole car ride when the kid took the bullet for him. 

“Why am I an octopus?”

She yawned. It made Dean’s stomach clench. “You’re productive and floppy.”

Dean snorted, and Sam shot him a glare.

“Well then, why’s Dean a seal-“

“Cause he’s all big and toothy.”

Dean scowled. He wasn’t nearly as big and toothy as Sammy was, but fighting with Her on reasoning almost always ended up being a dead end. Just as how asking Her what she was only ever resulted in a hum and shrug. Dean’s goal was to keep Her talking, so he had to move on. 

“Whatever, Princess. What about out of the ocean animals?”

She shifted a little in Her seat—letting out a small noise that hurt Dean’s whole body—but kept talking. Sam was this, and Dean was that. Dean was that, and Sam was this.

And every time she spoke, Dean could imagine the tilt of Her head, the way she was probably rubbing Her skin at she examined them and thought of an answer with far too much sincerity. He wanted to rub Her skin. To trace his hands up Her legs, watch Her look at him with nothing but softness in her eyes, feel nothing but molten light fill him up from the inside-

He needed to figure out how the hell She always did that. How all of Dean’s fury was now smothered and coated Her, how all the way in his soft tissue he just really wanted to touch Her. To stop giving Her reasons to sneer at him, to stop pushing Her until she fell away forever, for everything to just be alright. 

For this conversation to be not edged with the knowledge that She probably didn’t want him around now. Even if She didn’t hate him, he must have snapped everything too much to fix it. 

But Dean was pathetic, so he still wanted to care for and protect and follow Her.

He wanted to fix this. To salvage it. 

He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just drop this, just sit with the fact that everything was ruined and over. Why something to the right of his heart seemed to pound and roar at the idea of never touching Her again. Not ever a hand on Her back or brief high-five. 

Worse was imagining never hearing Her voice again. Only hearing it call him on the wind.

He couldn’t really hear Her voice now. 

She’d slumped forward, Her brow resting near Dean’s shoulder and her eyes turned towards the floor. 

“Dean.” She mumbled, and his whole body tensed. “Can we be done with the talking game?”

“No,” Dean grunted Her name. “It’s not a game, you gotta keep talking-“

“I’m good.” She let out a long breath. It was too ragged. “I- I think I’m just a little tired.”

“Well, I need you to keep fucking talking-“

She shook Her head, her temple pressing right into Dean’s arm. “I don’t- it hurts, Dean.” She made a high, weak noise, and Dean was going to break the wheel with only his hands. “Can I have five minutes, please?”

Fuck. She was saying please. 

“Princess, just- shit- for an hour, keep talking for an hour- Sammy-“

“Got it. Hey,” Sam said Her name, and his voice was too gentle. She needed it to be shouted, She needed to hear that she had to stay awake, that it wasn’t a damn option for Her to sleep. “Can you tell me more about, uh, movies? What’s your favorite movie?”

She didn’t have a favorite movie. She had about fifty, and they were all dumb, and She was always adorable when She told Dean about them, and why wasn’t She talking-

“Sammy.” She mumbled, grabbing Sam’s arm and turning Her head to him. Away from Dean. “Why does Dean call you that?”

“It was, uh, it was my nickname growing up.” Sam swallowed, giving Dean a desperate look as he continued. “Did you have a nickname, when you were a kid?”

“No.” She mumbled. “People don’t give smart little whores nicknames. But,” Her voice got softer, dropping like She was telling a secret. “Dean calls me Princess sometimes.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve heard it. He said it like five seconds ago-“

“I like it.” She said, and Dean was going to grind his teeth to dust. “I like him. He’s an asshole, Sammy, but I like him.”

Sam had no right to look like he’d been punched. Dean was the one who had to keep driving and acting like he couldn’t hear.

Sam said Her name, his tone slow and careful. “I think-“

“There’s something wrong with me.” She said, and there was nothing angry in Her voice. She really just sounded sad. Sad and tired. “It really hurts.”

“I know, but Dean’s right, you need to stay awake until we get to Bobby’s-“

She groaned, and leaned further into Dean’s arm. “He’s gonna kill me-“

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll kill you-“

“He will. He’s gonna tell me I’ve been dumb and reckless, that I was supposed to-“ She paused, then sighed. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

Sam frowned, looking back to Dean. He needed to stop doing that. Dean didn’t have a clue what was going on. “Why?”

“You’ll tell Dean. Then Dean will kill me. I like him, I don’t want him to kill me.”

“I’m pretty sure Dean’s not gonna kill you-“

“He is.” She let out another sad, little sigh. “He already hates me, Sam-“

“He doesn’t-“

“I don’t…” She yawned, shifting Her head just enough for Dean to see her eyes were closed. “I don’t hate him. I think he’s…”

She yawned again. And She didn’t finish her sentence, and Dean could swear their bodies were going to be glued together. She didn’t seem to remember he was there, but She was still moving closer into him, and he was going to go fucking insane.

Because She was asleep, and they still had an hour to go.

Dean swerved over from the far-hand lane, stopped Baby on the side of the highway, and got out of the car. Sam was smart and understood what was happening—scooting into the driver’s seat without a word—and She just kept fucking sleeping. 

She barely stirred when Dean pulled Her backwards, letting Her head rest on his chest and her body slump in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to allow himself to touch Her like this. She might stab Dean if she found out he was hugging Her, holding Her like she was fragile and vital to everything around him. She would stab him again when he’d tell Her that’s because she was. 

Everything was easier when he stroked his thumb down Her nose, and She let out a soft, breathy sound before curling fully into his body. The same way She’d tuck into herself, or sink into the mattress or couch after an episode. Like She was trying to shield herself from something. 

But now, Dean was Her shield.

And he was so goddamn confused.

They had an hour until Bobby’s—more like fifty minutes now—and Dean still couldn’t wrap his head around what was becoming more and more obviously the truth. 

If it was, She wouldn’t be spoiled. And that would make sense—She’d never really seemed spoiled, mostly just smart and confident—if that didn’t really mean that She’d been raised by Bobby. That the girl who’d painted Her nails on Dean’s motel table, who always smelled like sugar and fruit and kind of looked like She was forged deep in a star, had been raised by freaking Bobby. Beer and books and cars and no need to give me extra attention Bobby. The Bobby who was practical, and sharp, and didn’t take any shit-

Son of a bitch. 

It still didn’t make sense. There was no reason for Her to lie about knowing Bobby. Dean had even told Her he liked Bobby. That Bobby was the best hunter he knew, after Dad. 

He’d probably yell at Her about it, if he could. Shout and sneer and bite—he didn’t know how to just be moderate with Her, how to hold himself the hell together—until She gave him answers. And that never seemed to work. 

But Dean also never seemed to learn. Not when it came to Her.

Because even as the confusion and anger bubbled in his chest, it wasn’t nearly as powerful as how goddamn sick he felt. Yelling at Her had gotten them here, and Dean never learned. If he hadn’t pushed and snapped Her, she never would’ve gone off alone, and the demon never would’ve seen her. It had probably realized that She was a hunter and stuck to her trail.

She wouldn’t be in all this mumbled, whined pain if it wasn’t for Dean. She wouldn’t be in danger. She’d probably just be sitting with him and Sam at a diner, laughing and talking until they parted, then found their way back to each other’s paths a few weeks later. 

This time, Dean didn’t think She’d come back. One way or another, She’d be gone. There was the way that made the pit in his chest turn into a chasm—the way he outright refused to entertain—but there was also the second, slower way. Where She didn’t hate him, and She wasn’t gone, but Dean still lost Her. She left, and he was alone.

Dean wouldn’t allow the first way to happen. Every time Her breathing was too shallow, he’d snap at Sam to hurry up and try to soothe Her until it was even again. He could give CPR, if he had to. He didn’t know how to do CPR—he should probably learn—but he’d seen Sammy do it, and it didn’t look that hard. Dean could sing Stayin’ Alive. He could press his lips to Her’s and give her his fucking lungs out of his chest to fix this. He could peel off his skin and patch it over Her wound if he needed to. 

Stab wounds aren’t supposed to be this bad. And Dean had never been stabbed by a demon, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be any different. The knife that the son of a bitch had lodged in Her gut hadn’t even been all that special. Just a smooth, iron blade that was knocking Her—Her—down for the count. 

She had to hang on. Dean would want it to be for him, but he knew better, so he’d settle for it being for Bobby. 

Because Sam finally parked the car in Bobby’s yard, and Bobby was already outside. Hunched on the step, shooting to his feet before the engine was even off. 

Dean suddenly felt like he really shouldn’t be touching Her, or holding her tight against his chest, or trying to smell Her like a creep every few minutes. She smelled good. Like wet dirt—but in a sharp, earthy way that mostly made Dean feel comfortable—chlorine, something vanilla that was cheap and strong, and there was the fucking fruit-

Bobby probably wouldn’t care that She smelled like an odd, unplaceable fruit. He also didn’t have to know why She smelled like chlorine. Dean wasn’t looking to get shot and—based on the way Bobby was glowering at him through the window—explaining what they’d been doing last night didn’t feel like it would be welcome information. 

Because Bobby had never looked at him like that. Really fucking angry, with a drawn brow and deep scowl. Dean couldn’t tell if the glare was at him, or for Her, but he knew Bobby was pissed. If his expression wasn’t a give away, the gruff, low tone of his voice was.

Dean was barely out of the car—Her body cradled carefully in his arms, an apologetic grimace already on his face—when Bobby started snapping.

“Fuckin’- balls- Bring ‘er inside Dean, and Sam, grab the stitch kit. My stitch kit, I don’t wanna be usin’ that fuckin’ weak one in the trunk of your car.”

Sam nodded, walking into the house with a tight, nervous expression at Dean over his shoulder. Dean would’ve shrugged in return, but he didn’t want to shake Her in his arms, or make Bobby think he wasn’t taking this seriously. He was. He couldn’t not, because it was Her. And Her breathing was weak, and Her features were so washed over and Her lips were pale and she kept clinging to Dean’s arm-

“Dean.” Bobby grunted, jerking his head to the door. “Inside, now.”

“Yes, si-“ Dean cut himself off, changing himself to only a nod as he moved her into the house.

It was exactly as he remembered it. Nothing ever really changed at Bobby’s house, and every piece of furniture and color was exactly in place with how it had been in Dean’s head, but there more now.

Things Dean had seen but never really given deeper thought, like a mug that was a soft pastel color in the side-table—slightly stained with coffee, and looking long-empty but never moved—and chapstick near the TV, and-

“That’s her jacket.” Dean said, a little stupidly, and Bobby shot him an odd look.

“What’re you talkin’ about-“

Dean said Her name, nodding to the leather jacket that was hooked over a chair. It was a woman’s jacket, not really Bobby’s style, and Her’s. Dean knew it was Her’s. She about ten different jackets—all in different styles and cuts and materials—but Dean also knew all of them. That was the one She’d been wearing on the onryu hunt, that had ended stained in her own blood and the spirit’s ash. She’d shoved it into her trunk before She left the next day, and told Dean she’d clean it later when he’d offered, because he was pathetic and hadn’t known how to not offer. 

He’d asked if She even knew how to clean it. She’d flipped him off, told him She did, and said that she’d do it when She got home.

A small part of Dean had gotten toxic at the idea of Her being home. That maybe She’d just pass the jacket off to a servant she didn’t know the name of—She’d probably have known the name, but it served Dean’s anger better to imagine she was worse than she was—and let them touch a piece of Her instead of Dean.

But She’d been here. Cleaned the jacket here, at Her home. 

And there really wasn’t any evidence to prove that She didn’t belong here. So Dean was fucked.

“That’s… It’s her jacket.”

Bobby sighed, rolling his eyes. “Believe it or not, Dean, I’m aware. Put ‘er down on the table.”

Dean nodded, tearing his gaze away from Her jacket and setting her flat on the dining room table. She tried to hold onto him. Dean pulled back, and She tried to hold onto him, and he was going to go insane.

Bobby didn’t wait for Dean to fully step away before he was moving. Adjusting Her on the table so She wasn’t trying to sink into the wood, scanning over her with a tight, unreadable expression.

“Knife got in her gut?”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, his hands fisting at his side. “Sammy did stitches, but they were quick, and-“

“I’ll fix ‘em.” Bobby grunted, hiking Her shirt up her stomach and-

Fuck. 

The wound was worse. The stitches looked frayed in Her body, and her skin was definitely blistering, and there was something yellow and sticky that smelled horrible-

“Dean,” Bobby’s voice was tight, his eyes never leaving the wound. “This ain’t lookin’ like a stab wound-“

“It was, Bobby, I saw it-“

“You still got the weapon?”

Dean nodded, and Bobby let out a long breath.

“Alright, go get it while I deal with ‘er.”

Dean didn’t want to go get the weapon. He didn’t want to leave Her side. She was in pain, and She’d tried to hang onto Dean and he didn’t want to leave Her-

“What’re you just standin’ here for-“

“You can-“ Dean swallowed, his attention trapped on Her dulled, beautiful face. “Bobby, you can fix this, right? She’ll- She’s gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be alright. Gonna have some explain’ to do when she gets up, but she’ll live.”

“Explaining-“

“How the hell she ended up with you boys and a knife in her damn gut. Matter of fact, you and your brother better start gettin’ your story straight, cause I ain’t just gonna let you drop my kid off bleedin’ on my doorstep then drive away.”

Dean tensed, and finally managed to really look at Bobby. His expression was still flat, still neutral, but there was something in his eyes Dean hadn’t seen before. Not glazed, but not sharp, just… heavy. Bobby looked heavy. He was staring at Her body with a painfully neutral face that had slightly lines of tension on the edges. He was standing taller than usual, his whole body rigid and wound up, and Dean could really, truly see it. 

It had been the truth. If the way Bobby stood and spoke—in tight, clipped words like he didn’t have room to be anything but short—wasn’t a giveaway, it was those last words.

My kid. 

Bobby’s kid.

She was Bobby’s fucking kid. 

Dean forced himself to move away, his head ducked down and his steps quick as he passed Sam with only a grunt of acknowledgment and returned to the Impala trunk. Sam hadn’t been careful about how he’d grabbed Her things. They were smushed and scattered, pressed against each other and all looking like Her things. Those were things she owned, that they’d grabbed from Her car and motel room. Clothing that wasn’t covered in blood and dirt, a lot of notebooks Dean really had to fight himself not to read, and fewer personal possessions than he would’ve thought. 

There was that small, colorful bag that had all Her girl stuff in it, and Her knife, and a backpack that—when Dean zipped it open—was filled with more notebooks, and… plants and rocks. A lot of plants and rocks.

He didn’t have time to try and work out why the hell She was keeping plants and rocks in her bag. He didn’t have time to overstep and push it like he always did, and let himself comb through those notebooks. One did fall open, but nothing Dean saw in it made sense—he didn’t speak that language, he didn’t even recognize it, and there was a weird drawing that he didn’t even know how to start interpreting—so he had to move on. To grab the demon’s knife from when he’d tucked it in the back and close the trunk, because all of this could wait until She was better.

She’d have to get better. 

Sam and Bobby were working in silence when Dean returned. Sam holding Her arms to the side as Bobby cleaned the wound and re-did the stitches, a bottle of water at his side that he kept pouring over her skin.

Dean set the knife on the kitchen counter, walking over to stand by Her head. That little wrinkle was back, and Her lips were pressed together, and She was in pain-

He had to restrain his hands to stop them from moving to touch Her. To sooth the wrinkle and brush sweat and hair from Her face. Sammy wasn’t holding Her right. His grip was too tight, and Her arm didn’t look like it was at a good angle, and Dean could hold Her better-

She took a slow, ragged breath, eyes fluttering, and Bobby glanced up to where Dean was standing over Her.

“You get the knife?”

“On the counter,” Dean muttered. “She’s…”

He trailed off, and Bobby let out a long breath. “She’s alright. Almost done with these, and I’m gonna have to fight with her about restin’ when she gets up, but you get ‘er here quick enough. Nothin’ that can’t be patched up.”

Dean glanced down to the wound, and that seemed true. Bobby’s stitches were cleaner than Sam’s, and the pus was half-gone. He didn’t really know how that was possible. Infections didn’t usually just… vanish. But Bobby splashed more of the water over Her stomach, made another stitch, and Her breathing grew steadier. 

There were too many questions. What was with the water. Why had one stab wound managed to infect and maul Her skin like that. How the actual fuck was She Bobby’s kid, and why had Bobby never mentioned Her, and why had She lied about something so dumb, and did Bobby know about Her family? About the shit Dad had found, about Her past, about all those weird episodes and how She always hunted alone, except when She was hinting with Dean-

Dean didn’t think Bobby had known they were hunting together. Which offered another question about why. Why hadn’t She told him. Why did She think Bobby would kill her for this, when it wasn’t Her fault, it was Dean’s.

Bobby might kill him. Dean had never seen Bobby so pissed with him. Every time he grunted for Dean to pass him something, his eyes were harsh and focused. It wasn’t hateful, but it was angry.

But Dean had gotten Her hurt. He deserved it. 

If She stopped talking to him after, he’d deserve that too. If Dad snapped at him for being an idiot when Bobby told him they’d been hunting together, Dean would deserve it-

“You say a demon attacked her?” Bobby’s question was quiet, and Dean almost didn’t hear it. 

He nodded, and Bobby’s jaw clenched.

“You see the assholes eyes?”

“His eyes?” Sam frowned. “You mean the demon-blink thing? Where their eyes go all black?”

Bobby looked up, frown deepening. “They were black?”

“I- I think so?” Sam looked for Dean for help, and Dean just shrugged. He hadn’t really been looking into the demon’s eyes, more focused on beating the shit out of it, and helping Her. 

“I dunno, Sammy-“

“Did you see them?” Bobby interrupted, glaring between Sam and Dean as he cut another stitch. “See the bastard go all black?”

Sam shook his head. “I didn’t, but demons have black eyes-“

“Not all demons.” Bobby muttered, glancing up to Her still pained face. “I’ve seen black eyes, orange eyes, and red eyes. If you boys saw anythin’-“

“We didn’t.” Dean looked over Her, then back to the wound. “It attacked, stabbed her, and Sammy exorcized it. Son of a bitch got away-“

“It give you a name?”

Dean frowned. “We didn’t exactly have time to introduce ourselves and shake hands, Bobby-“

“No, ya’ idjit, if we have a name we can know what we’re lookin’ for.”

“Looking for?” Sam leaned forward, looking between Her and Bobby with a frown. “Has- Have you needed to look for a demon before? Like dad?”

“No, Sam, I ain’t-“ Bobby cut himself off, his head shooting up to glare between Sam and Dean. “Did John know you boys have been huntin’ with her?” 

“That’s uh…” Sam cleared his throat. “That’s a question for Dean, I think.”

Bobby raised his brows, and Dean scowled. Sam was back on the getting punched list.

“Never got a chance to mention it.” He muttered. “Haven’t seen Dad in months.”

Sam rolled his eyes—punched and kicked—and Bobby’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Dean wanted to ask what the hell that was about—Dad was a good man, even if Dean never really wanted Her around him—but Bobby was already moving on.

“How long you been huntin’ together?”

“A few years.” Sam said, and Dean shot him a glare.

“How’d- You weren’t even fucking there, Sammy-“

“She told me on the onryu hunt.” Sam shrugged, looking back to Bobby. “They’ve been hunting together for years.”

Bobby’s jaw tightened. “That true, Dean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dean, you call me sir again and I’m makin’ you wait outside-“

“Sorry, I-“ Dean let out a long breath, his gaze trapping back on Her. In so much fucking pain. “It’s true. And she, uh, she never mentioned she knew you, Bobby.”

Bobby huffed something that might have been a laugh. “Wish I could say I was surprised by that.”

“You aren’t?” Sam blinked. “I mean, I- I’m still not understanding-

“Questions later, Sam.” Bobby grunted, cutting the last stitch. “Right now I need your hands brinin’ her shit inside.”

Sam frowned. “Can’t Dean-“

“Dean’s stayin’ here.” Bobby shot him a glare, and Dean swallowed. “No fuckin’ funny business while I’m gone, boy-“

“She’s passed out, Bobby-“

“And if she wakes up, you’re askin’ her how she feels, callin’ me, and droppin’ it there.” Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “No fuckin’ interrogations. You can ask me questions when we get ‘er settled. Understood?”

Dean scowled, but nodded, and Bobby let out a long breath.

“Good. Sam-“

“Coming.” Sam threw Dean a what the fuck is happening look over his shoulder, followed Bobby out of the kitchen, and Dean was left alone with Her.

She didn’t wake up. In the long moments where it was only Her and Dean in the whole world once more, She didn’t stir for even a second. Her breathing grew more and more even with every passing moment, but She didn’t open those brilliant eyes and look at Dean.

Dean didn’t know if She would ever really look at him again. 

She didn’t hate him.

She’d been keeping secrets—so many fucking secrets—but She didn’t hate Dean, and when he allowed his hand to trace over Her cheekbone, she leaned into the touch.

Maybe She would leaned into anyone’s touch, but she wasn’t. Right now, She was leaning into Dean’s. 

He let his hand linger there as long as he could. She was warm, too warm, almost burning, but it was better than Her being cold. Color was returning to Her face, and there was a heavy flush over her pretty cheeks, but it was better than nothing. No color. No slightly uneven breaths or dried sweat on her brow.

Dean finally got to brush the hair away, and he wasn’t sure how She only got prettier. She was pretty in a way Dean never really cared for before her. She looked like a bird. Untouchable and free and delicate. Breakable, but not because She was weak. Because She wasn’t supposed to be on the earth like this, just how Dean wouldn’t be free or light enough to go where she went. 

Because even if this was Her life—even if she wasn’t spoiled and born from comfort Dean would never know—he still couldn’t have Her. If anything this just made that more certain. That She was so good and unnaturally better, that She’d been living down in the mud with Dean this whole time and he’d still been blinded. If She ever managed to crawl out of here, She might become ethereal. Glorious. Brighter than the sun and more heavenly than a paradise Dean didn’t believe in.

And if Bobby really raised Her, everything Dean tried to loathe about Her would probably vanish into the air. Bobby was smart. And good. And didn’t like pointless shit, so there was no way he’d let Her become spoiled or entitled. She wasn’t spoiled or entitled. 

She was just awesome. 

And Dean didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to live with that now. That he’d bitten Her, and the mark was festering in him.

She let out a soft breath when Dean thumb stroked down Her nose, the movement subconscious, almost automatic. 

He had to yank his hand away the floor creaked, and Bobby turned the corner only a second later.

They didn’t speak at Bobby hauled Her up and carried Her away. Dean wanted to go with Her. He needed to go with Her. He needed to have Her look at him one last time, and he needed to work out how to apologize in a way that didn’t make him sound like a little bitch, and-

“Dean.” Sam leaned into the kitchen, tilting his head back to the living room. “C’mon, dude, Bobby said we could get three questions.”

“Three?” Dean frowned, glancing past Sam to where they’d vanished up the stairs. “We only get three-“

“Between us.” Sam sighed. “And he, uh, I think he might be pissed at us.”

A door slammed upstairs, and Dean raised his brows. “You think?”

“You two.” Bobby appeared behind Sam—for a fairly big dude, he could move faster than thought he had any real right to—and pointed between them with a glower. “Sit. Now.”

Sam shot Dean a worried look and shuffled to the table, tugging Dean into a seat as Bobby stood before them, arms cross and eyes narrowed. 

“What the hell did you idjit’s say to her?”

Sam blinked. “We didn’t- I mean, I didn’t say anything-“

“Hey!” Dean shot him a glare. “Dude, what the hell-“

“I can’t speak for you, Dean! I mean, you guys are a lot closer-“

Bobby’s glare turned to Dean—the feeling of it searing through his skin—and Sam was now getting punched, kicked, and body slammed.

“Sammy.” He hissed, bracing a fist on the table. “Shut your fuckin’ face-“

“How close would you say you two are, Dean?” 

Bobby’s question didn’t need to have that silent, underlying threat for Dean to flinch. It was already a question he didn’t know the answer to. She lied and he sucked ass, but She also liked him—enough that he’d been allowed to hunt with Her at all, enough for her to slur it to Sammy in the car—and he couldn’t stop thinking about Her if he tired. 

And he had tried.

And he’d never really seen Her interact with people except for Sam and Dad. And She and Dad clashed, but She and Sam got along, and Bobby obviously cared for her so maybe her liking Dean wasn’t all that special-

“Dean.” Bobby snapped. “Answer my question.”

“I, uh, I don’t-“

“Sam?”

“They’re just friends.” Sam shrugged, saying Her name in a voice that wasn’t nearly reverent enough. “From the hunting.”

Sam was back down to being kicked and punched, because the little shit could’ve easily laughed and said that Dean had a crush on Her—he didn’t, She was just his best friend and the only person he liked to hang out with—but that would’ve probably made everything worse. Especially given Bobby didn’t seem all that happy with the just friends answer either.

“How many years you two been huntin’, exactly

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s been like two- But that,” Dean pointed up the stairs. “Hasn’t happened before, Bobby, I swear-“

“I don’t give a shit about that.” Bobby snapped, jerking his head back. “You boys did the smart thing, for once in your damn lives, and listened to her. Brought her here.”

“If you don’t-“ Sam frowned, his face returned to pure confusion. “If you don’t care that she got stabbed-“

“No, Sam, I care that she got stabbed.” Bobby let out a long, breath, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit that it happened with you two. If she’s gotta get stabbed, I’m happy she ain’t alone to try and stitch herself up, cause that girl ain’t good at takin’ care of herself in way that matters.”

It was Dean turn to frown, sitting a little straighter in his chair. “What do you mean, she can take care of herself-“

Bobby scoffed. “She can do her hair, Dean. She ain’t gonna do stitches.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Has she never done stitches on herself?”

“Not good ones-“ Bobby cut himself off with a glare between them. “This ain’t the point. What’d you do, Dean.”

Bobby and Sam were both looking at Dean, and he groaned. 

“I didn’t do anything, Bobby, and if you’re not pissed about her getting hurt-“

“Some injuries ain’t on the surface, boy. I could give a flyin’ fuck about what danger she puts herself in, I know she can handle it better than you two dumbasses, but if you hurt that girl, I ain’t gonna stop her hurtin’ you.” Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face, and Sam cleared his throat.

“Bobby, how, um-“ He glanced to Dean, expression nervous. “You said she’s- I still don’t understand-“

“Sam, if you got somethin’ to say-“

“How do you know her?” Sam’s words were quick and frantic. “That’s- you said we get three questions, and that’s our first.”

They hadn’t actually discussed the questions, but Dean could live with that one. Shit, he’d spent the whole day trying to work that one out himself, and Bobby seemed to know it had been coming, because he dropped in a seat across the table with a long sigh. 

“It ain’t my place to tell you everythin’,” he muttered. “All I can tell you two is that I met her when she was a kid-“

Sam opened his mouth, and promptly shut it as Bobby shot him a glare.

“You ask that question, Sam, I’m countin’ it. She was eight, I found her wanderin’, I took her in. Kept her from killing herself, raised her like the daughter I didn’t get before. Which,” Bobby turned to Dean, and it wasn’t fair that he was being singled out. Sammy was here too, hell, he’d asked the question- “She may not be my blood, but she’s the closest thing I got. Understood?”

Sam mumbled an agreement, but those words weren’t for Sam.

So Dean nodded, and hoped Bobby could see all over his face that he really just wanted to go upstairs and check on her. He’d do that after, if he could get away with it. And She was probably fine—Bobby wouldn’t have left her if she wasn’t—but Dean needed to see it. With his own freakin’ eyes, making sure she was comfortable, and relaxed, and peacefully asleep-

“What’s up with those, uh- the-“ Sam swallowed. “Those weird episodes?”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “Episodes?”

“When she likes, freaks out and shit. I mean, is it like a really bad panic attack?”

Sam was back to getting punched, kicked, and body slammed. That wasn’t their thing to tell Bobby about. Bobby might know more about Her past, but he obviously hadn’t known that they’d been hunting together, which meant there might be other shit She didn’t want to tell him. Other shit She’d trusted them—trusted Dean—to see, that Sam had just fucking told Bobby-

“Those aren’t panic attacks.”

Sam frowned. “Then what-“

“Not my place.” Bobby said, his tone making it clear that was final. “I know what they are, so does she, and if- It’s up to her what you know. She’ll tell you if she wants, but she’s had a rough time, Sam. So don’t go pushin’ her about it.”

Sam nodded, even as the nervous expression remained on his face, and Dean cleared his throat. He had to ask. Even if all he got from Bobby was a not my place, Dean just needed to spit it out and ask.

“Why’d you… I mean, how did we never know, Bobby?” Dean held Bobby’s gaze, every word slow and careful. “You said she was eight, Sammy would’ve been seven, so we knew you by then. Shit, we were here all the time but never even heard her name. I don’t- Why?”

Bobby let out a long breath, shaking his head slowly. “It’s complicated.”

Dean scowled. He was really starting to fucking hate that word.

“But,” Bobby pushed on, giving Dean a firm, solemn look. “I wasn’t ‘cause of you boys. I said it already, I ain’t gonna tell you what’s not mine to tell, but I never liked keepin’ you apart.”

“But you did.” Dean grunted, and Bobby sighed.

“Yeah, I did. And I’m not gonna tell you I had reasons, cause that’s fuckin’ bullshit help and we know it, but I will say it was all I could do. Not for the best, but the only damn option.” 

Dean was pretty sure he was telling the truth. It wasn’t the same alarm he’d learned to set off with her, but it was close. That seemed to be the truth. 

Dean wished it wasn’t. 

“She said she was sick.” Sam muttered. “When she was a kid. And that’s why we couldn’t know each other.”

Bobby let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Course she did. Sick is one way of puttin’ it. I-“ Bobby looked between Sam and Dean, something weighted behind his eyes. “There were times when she could’ve used you two. Glad she seems to have you now. And I don’t know where your Daddy is, but-“

“He’s hunting a demon.” Sam said, and Dean was out of ways to kick his ass for saying stuff. “The one that killed our mom.”

Bobby’s eyes widened, and the conversation moved on. Bobby asked if She and Dad had crossed paths, Dean told him not for years, and Bobby and Sam started to talk demon. Bobby had books Sam could read. Sam had questions about what Bobby had run into, with his own wife. 

She’d told Dean Her dad’s wife died.

Fucking hell.

Eventually, Bobby went out. They’d stayed at the table as Sam and Bobby descended into nerd talk—mostly just Sammy being a little dweeb, Bobby was just smart—and Dean had spent the hours stealing glances up the stairs and wondering how he could get up there. How he could see Her, check on her, without Bobby getting on his ass and shouting about Dean being careful with Her, because he always was-

Except when he wasn’t. Expect when he poison and ruined and wrecked Her in a way he’d never wanted to. When he made Her sad or hollow, put Her in danger, showed her exactly why Dad had been right, that they shouldn’t be close to each other. 

Dad had just gotten the wrong reason. Dean shouldn’t be near Her. She was annoying, and stubborn, and reckless, and a know-it-all, and kinda mean, but in a hot way. She was bossy, but it was adorable. She’d snap and taunt Dean, but she never did it in a way that left a mark. Dean always left a mark. And invisible bruise or scar that Bobby must have seen somehow. It must have been why he was so automatically pissed, why he’d accused Dean of hurting Her.

And he had.

So he didn’t deserve to go up those stairs and see Her.

But he was still selfish. And he still didn’t know when to stop.

Bobby muttered that he was going off to get food. The he hadn’t been expecting Her back for a while, let alone Sam and Dean with her, so all he had was canned food that tasted like pig-shit and a half-eaten chocolate cake in the fridge. 

Sam grabbed the tiniest, most bitch-baby piece of chocolate cake with a mutter of long week, and moved to settle in library. 

Dean started to snoop.

It was so plainly obvious She belonged here. Just like with Her mannerisms—seeing Bobby all over them once Dean squinted—all it took was one quick scan of the kitchen to see more places She’d probably been before. Not just grenadine, but a box of cheesy kids snacks in the back of the pantry. Dean had always assumed Bobby had gotten them for him and Sammy, then never thrown them out. But he’d seen Her buy those exact snacks countless times, and a few of the boxes looked practically unopened. 

In the living room there were all those books and movies, and a blanket that was far too fuzzy for Bobby to like. A pair of women’s sneakers and boots near the door. A glittery toothbrush on the bathroom sink, some of that sugar-smelling shit Dean knew she used under the skin, and fancy shampoo in the cabinets.

Dean had seen some of this stuff before, but he’d always assumed Bobby just had a lady-friend. A weird, sparkly lady friend who wrote notes on the margins of some of the lore books in that same language from before. From Her notebook. In Her handwriting. 

Lady friends didn’t use a towel—carefully tucked and folded in a closet—that had a little princess stitched onto the corner. Lady friends didn’t watching animated children’s movies so much that, when Dean open the case, the tape looked well-worn and used.

And lady friends didn’t draw with crayon. 

But in Dean’s defense, he’d never seen the drawings before. That was part of the snooping. Shifting casually through Bobby’s desk for more evidence, and coming out clutching old, well-worn drawings of colors. A lot of colors. Most of the drawings seemed to be odd shapes and patterns, all in bright colors.

There were a few more, where the drawings were red and black and yellow, with sharp lines and jagged symbols that resembled Her strange writing. Those symbols were repetitive. 

Briefly, Dean had an image in his head of a smaller Her, holding a crayon and sitting on the floor of Bobby’s living room, scrawling those symbols over and over until Bobby took the paper from Her. She had braids in that vision. Oddly complex braids that Her small, swollen fingers couldn’t have done. 

But Bobby could’ve. And now Dean could see that same small version of Her on the couch, humming to herself as she read a book that looked far too big in tiny hands, while Bobby braided her hair with a scowl. 

Dean blinked, and returned the papers back to the drawer. He was about to close it when something shifted in the very back, and a last drawing caught his eye. 

It had been separated from the others, and drawn on black construction paper. Tucked into a book and folded carefully. And it was the only one where Dean could tell what the hell it was.

A stick drawing—round body and tiny arms and legs—of a man with a thick blue line on his head and scratches of brown on his face, holding the hand of a girl. Same eyes and hair as Her.

She’d drawn this one too. Of Her and Bobby. 

She’d used a light green for Bobby’s skin, though. And a metallic silver for Her own. And the grass was golden and the clouds were red and the sun was white. It was really fucking weird. 

Dean chalked it up to the creative liberties of an eight-year-old, and carefully returned the drawing to its place before sneaking up the stairs. 

He needed to see Her. 

It took him a minute to find Her room, because up until yesterday, he’d thought he knew all the rooms in Bobby’s house. Kitchen, library, living room, bathrooms, and guest rooms. The only room he’d never been in was on the third floor, because Bobby said that room was off limits, and-

Son of a bitch. 

He’d always assumed that was Bobby’s room. That Bobby just didn’t want to little boys snooping around and finding his private shit. Dean had imagined that the room would have a wooden-poster bed, dresser, chairs, and simple decorations. Not all that lived in, because Bobby was practical, and knew that in this life getting attached to a lot of personal possessions was pointless. 

This room was lived in.

By Her.

Those were books Dean had seen Her grab from public libraries, or exact copies that She’d pulled from her bag. CDs of albums he’d known She liked, plus a few he hadn’t. A few Dean liked, scattered on the dresser next to a book he’d seen Her read, sunglasses he’d seen Her use, and a shirt that he’d never seen Her wear.

It was monotone black, and not Her style or size, and looked like a men’s shirt. 

The was a bitter, hot pang in Dean’s intestine and along his heart chamber, because why would She have a men’s shirt. If the overflowing dresser was any indication, She certainly didn’t need more shirts, and it certainly wasn’t Bobby’s, so it all together meant that was the shirt of someone who had given it to her. And she’d kept it, because it looked clean, and Bobby had said he hadn’t expected her back, so it had been there for a while, and who the fuck was giving Her a shirt-

She shifted on the bed, and Dean’s head turned without his permission to look at Her. He’d been trying not to. Gun pressed to his temple, he’d swear he’d tried so fucking hard not to watch Her sleep like a pervert creep. But Her siren-like voice made a small sound, and this room was drowning in that fruit smell, and Dean couldn’t fucking help himself. 

It took him a second to find Her. She’d burrowed herself under the covers, the only parts of Her that were visible being a single hand falling over the mattress and Her gorgeous face smushed against the pillows.

Her bed was shockingly normal. This whole bedroom was shockingly normal. She had curtains and a nice carpet, a desk and chair, a large amount of blankets and a hamper and a cork board on the wall. Pinned with notes that were in English—Dean could read those, and they mostly seemed to list new monsters and reminders for hunts—and a few more in that odd language. The walls were painted a dark color, and it made the room feel smaller. Safer. Like this was the only place in the world.

It might as well be.

Dean dragged a chair to sit at the side of the bed, because that felt less creepy than standing over Her as she slept. For a long while he only watched Her sleep peacefully. Softly.

Then Her brow wrinkled, and Dean’s hand moved without thought. Petting over Her nose until she relaxed, and made a soft noise that kicked him right in the heart and reverberated over his ribs.

He let out a long breath, and started speaking in his lowest, quietest voice. Before he could think better.

“You… you got a lot of explaining to do, Princess.” He muttered. “Bobby handled some of it, but he also won’t tell Sammy and I jackshit that matters until you give the go ahead. So you gotta wake up and do that. Plus, I want to call you a fucking idiot for hiding something so freakin’ dumb from me, and I can’t do that while you’re knocked out. So… Wake up. Soon. Get better and wake up soon and I’ll be waiting, because I- I’m just gonna stay a while. ‘Least until you give me some god damn answers. And,” he let out a long breath. She couldn’t hear him. He was allowed to say it, when no one at all could hear him. “I don’t want to leave. I like you, Princess, and if you really don’t hate me, I’ll stick around.”

He had more to say.

But She hummed like she could hear him, rolled a little closer to the edge of the bed, and none of it really seemed that important anymore.

Her fingers flexed. She didn’t hate him. 

Dean took Her hand, and he fell asleep at Her side because he never learned, and really didn’t want to.

And when Sammy woke him up, saying Dad needed them for something back in Colorado. That he’d called Dean but he hadn’t picked up—his phone was in his jacket downstairs—so he’d called Sam instead. 

Sam had said they were on their way, and told Bobby they were heading out. That they’d let Bobby know how it went, and hopefully be back with good news about the son of a bitch who killed Mom rotting in whatever was lower than hell. Sam hadn’t mentioned Her.

And Dean had to go, but She was still asleep. He needed to go, because Dad wanted him there, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay here, in Her small room that was he could sink down into if he tried.

But he had to go. 

He wanted to leave Her something. To promise in silent words that could be right to not hate him. That he’d really like Her to keep not hating him. But he didn’t have much. He had his car, and his jacket, and ring-

He set his ring on Her dresser. He’d come back. He didn’t know how not to come back, and hopefully when he did, She’d still like him. At the very least, She wouldn’t have started to hate him. 

Because Dean knew at this point that there was no way in hell She felt the pull. He also knew that he’d still follow Her all the way down, and up, and just here. 

Dean might just like being with Her anywhere.

And She didn’t hate him.

So he’d press a soft, dangerous kiss to Her brow because he couldn’t help himself, and look back because he had to, and come back because he wanted to. 

He’d come back. 

End Note: One of the glorious things about nearing the end of the season 1 arc is all of us knowing what happens at the end of the season 1 arc.

Also, as we hit 100k words, I'm unspeakably grateful for the support of the story!!! I can't say it enough, thank you so so much for reading!! I hope y'all continue to enjoy the story!

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[shanastoryteller]

Not a prompt, I just keep thinking about the classic spn plot of "boys transported into au where they're happy" with the au being See Something, Say Something and the boy being Sam at his most depressed, and then sighing gleefully at the thought of how much angst he'd feel over everything. Beautiful fantasy.

See Something Say Something

Dean hears Sam shout and goes running.

Nothing should be able to get to them in their impenetrable dead guy bunker, but they’ve barely explored the place, who knows what kind of weird shit Sam could be getting into when Dean’s looking.

Except when he turns into the library, he sees Sam standing there looking perfectly fine. In fact, he looks great, something Dean’s long practiced at not noticing, but there’s something just a little off. Does he have less wrinkles? Did Sam sneak out and get botox when he wasn’t looking?

“Dean,” he says with obvious relief, completely unabashed, and it hits him hard. They’re not fighting, exactly, at the moment, but that’s more because they’ve made a mutual, silent decisions to stop talking about Amelia and Benny and purgatory than anything else. “Man, what happened?” He looks around. “What the hell are we doing at the bunker?”

“What?” he says blankly. Where else would we be. “Did you hit your head?”

He scrunches his nose and Dean almost smiles. “I don’t think so? Am I missing time?”

How would Dean know that?

Before he can say that, Sam turns the corner, head buried in a book. “Hey, Dean, I found–” He looks up and blinks. “Um.”

Dean reaches for his gun, but isn’t sure where to aim it.

“Oh.” Sam blinks. “Well, I guess I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

“Actually,” Dean hears himself saying, “we are in Kansas.”

Both Sams roll their eyes.

~

Other Sam is apparently from a parallel universe and he mostly seems unbothered by the whole thing, although the first thing he does is text a witch named Rowena for help. “This is probably her fault in my world,” he explains. “She’s always doing shit like this on accident. That’s the real problem with witches that are on her level, they just start fucking with the fabric of space and time for something to do.”

“Right,” Dean says. He needs a drink.

“Your hand,” his Sam says, a strange look on his face.

Dean follows his gaze and sees what must have upset him. The other Sam is wearing a wedding ring.

He’s spent his life trying and failing not to covet Sam in ways he shouldn’t. He’s done a lot of fucked up shit, hell, he’s fucked up in ways that put him about equal with the things they hunt, and this is something he should have gone over. Right, like his little snit over Amanda or whatever her name is hadn’t proved he hasn’t had a handle on it for a long time. He was better at ignoring it before hell. After, it was like all his careful self control had been ripped away from him, in all things. At least when he’s mad at Sam he’s not thinking of – things he shouldn’t.

Other Sam looks at his hand then at Sam’s and he becomes visibly upset, emotions so close to the surface in the way they haven’t been on Sam for a long time. Since before Dean sold his soul. “You’re not married?”

Sam shakes his head, hesitates, then asks, “What’s her name?”

“Jess,” he says, love and fondness clear in his voice.

Oh, fuck.

“Jessica Moore?” Sam whispers.

Other Sam lights up. “Yeah! You know her?”

“I did,” he says.

Other Sam isn’t stupid and his face crumples. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“The demon,” Dean says so Sam doesn’t have to. “Yellow eyes.”

For some reason, the other Sam seems surprised, but he says, “Oh. Well,” he looks between them and forces an encouraging smile. “I mean, at least you still have each other, right?”

The bitterness is close enough to the surface that neither of them say anything.

Other Sam raises an eyebrow. “Lover’s spat? You know, me and Dean have found that fucking it out first really helps.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head like it’s a joke but the other Sam just looks confused by his reaction.

Dean feels his stomach bottom out. “Sam, I need to talk to you.”

His Sam starts to rise, but he grabs other Sam’s arm and drags him down the hall. He sees hurt briefly flash over his Sam’s face, but he doesn’t have time to do something about that right now. Other Sam follows him pliantly enough, even when Dean shoves them both into a random storage room. He just crosses his arms and waits.

Dean doesn’t know how to ask this. Even the idea of saying out loud this thing he’s been trying to will out of existence for most of his life terrifies him, because it can’t be, but if it is he needs to make sure that this Sam doesn’t say anything in front of his Sam.

“Are we,” he licks his lips. “Have we. I mean. When you said, before, did you.”

Sam blinks and then scowls. “Seriously? Jess is dead and we’re not sleeping together? What the hell have I been up to here?”

“What,” he says blankly. Holy shit. Really? No way.

Now Sam looks concerned. “Dean. You have told me, right?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” he spits. As if Sam isn’t always looking for reasons to leave him anyway and this would just be perfect. It’s not like he’d be able to blame him. Of course he wouldn’t want to be around Dean if he found out that he was in love with him.

Sam opens his mouth then closes it. “No, okay, I mean I was the one who – and I haven’t figured it out? Really? I mean, I did.”

Dean’s suddenly terrified. Could Sam know? But no, it’s not possible, if he knew he wouldn’t be here, if he knew then it would have come up in one of their many fights recently.

“You should tell me,” Sam says. “Or just, I don’t know, plant one on me and then go from there, I’ll figure it out pretty quick that way.”

Okay, not only is this Sam from a different universe, but he’s insane. “You don’t – you’re not – it’s just me. You’re not like me. You’re normal.”

Not normal in a lot of ways, but in this one. It’s not like he’s unaware of the irony of those times he’s called Sam a freak when he’s the one that wants to fuck his brother.

Except Sam gives him a dry look. “Dean, I’m pretty sure loving you is as fundamental to my DNA as nucleic acids. You’re probably just overthinking it.”

Overthinking it? He’s overthinking it?

“You can kiss me first for practice if you want,” he says.

Dean’s mouth goes dry. He wants it so badly he has to clench his hands into fists. “That’s a bad idea. I just – don’t say anything, alright? Don’t tell Sam.”

He rolls his eyes, like he finds Dean exasperating and unreasonable for not wanting the brother who he’s barely managing to hold onto to know his deepest, darkest, worst secret. “Fine, but you’re making a mistake.”

He’s not.

Making sure the worst part of him doesn’t ever touch Sam is one of the few things he’s done right.

[v-eee]

── jungkook x you

scenario: you and Jungkook used to be best friend until new female staff came into his workplace, Jieun. He has introduced you to her. Jungkook starts getting busy with his work and often cancel the usual food hunting night with you because he needs to work overtime with Jieun. You know Jieun doesn't like you because she has come to your cafe a few times and told you to stop texting Jungkook during his work hour. when you told him about that, he didn't believe you. Starting that day your friendship is not like it used to be.

(ix)

After dinner, you and Jungkook sat on the small balcony of your Airbnb, sipping soda as the city lights flickered in the distance. The cool night air brushed against your skin, and for the first time in a while, things felt… peaceful.

Jungkook stretched his legs out, turning to you with a smug grin. "Alright, be honest. What would you rate the ramen I made for dinner?"

You snorted, taking another sip of your drink. "Three stars."

He gasped. "Three?! That’s barely passing!"

"The noodles were soggy."

Jungkook clutched his chest like you just stabbed him. "I worked hard on that, you know."

"You boiled water and dumped instant ramen into a pot. That’s not exactly Michelin-star level cooking."

"Rude." He clutched his chest dramatically. "You invite me to stay, let me wear a stolen hoodie, forced me to cook dinner and now you’re giving me a mid rating?"

"You chose to stay."

"Because you pouted at me."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, just listening to the faint sounds of the city. It was nice—almost like how things used to be.

Then Jungkook spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Hey, Y/N…”

You hummed, taking a sip of your drink.

"…Did you ever hate me?"

You blinked, caught off guard. Turning your head, you found Jungkook staring at his can, his fingers absentmindedly peeling the label.

The question lingered between you, heavier than you expected.

You took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to answer. "No," you admitted. "I never hated you."

Jungkook let out a breath, but before he could feel relieved, you added, "But I did feel like I didn’t matter to you anymore."

He flinched slightly, eyes flickering to you.

"I get it, you were busy. But it felt like…" You paused, choosing your words carefully. "Like I was just… there. A backup friend."

Jungkook winced. "That’s not true."

"Maybe not to you. But that’s how it felt to me." You forced a small smile. "And it hurt. A lot."

Jungkook was quiet for a long time, staring at the railing. His usual playful smirk was nowhere to be found, and you could tell he was actually thinking about what you said.

"…I was an idiot," he muttered.

"You still are."

"Hey." He nudged your arm lightly. "I mean it. I didn’t realize how bad I messed up until you started drifting away. And by the time I did, it felt like…" He let out a humorless chuckle. "Like karma."

You tilted your head. "So you do believe in karma."

"Oh, 100%," Jungkook said, shaking his head. "I ignored you for work and believed Jieun...then after I realized my mistake, you got busy, I suddenly hated it. That’s some cosmic-level punishment right there."

You laughed softly. "Sounds like it."

Another comfortable silence settled between you two.

This time, Jungkook was the one who spoke first. "…Do you think we can ever go back to how we were before?"

You glanced at him, meeting his gaze. His usual cockiness was gone, replaced by something much more raw—hopeful, but afraid of the answer.

You smiled, bumping your shoulder against his. "We’ll see."

Jungkook exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. "That’s not a yes."

"It’s not a no either," You said.

Jungkook groaned, dramatically leaning against your side. "Ugh, you’re making me work for it."

You nudged his arm. "Of course, you can’t force things to be how they used to be."

Jungkook stared at you for a second before letting out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. "You really don’t make things easy, huh?"

"I’m a high-maintenance friend," you teased.

Jungkook smirked. "I like a challenge."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push him away.

"One more thing." He leaned forward slightly.

"What?"

"Promise me something."

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes. "After tonight, you need to let me know if you’re going out of town for work, okay? I’m sick of showing up at the café only to be told you’re not there. Do you know how embarrassing that is?"

You snickered and slapped his arm. "Oh, so this is about your pride?"

"Yes, obviously," he said dramatically. Then, in a softer tone, "Actually because I just want to know where you are."

Your smile faltered slightly, but you quickly recovered. "Fine, fine. I’ll text you next time. Happy?"

"Very." Jungkook grinned, holding out his pinky. "Seal it with a pinky promise?"

You laughed but hooked your pinky with his. "You’re such a kid."

"And yet, you still put up with me."

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right.

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #40

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 17k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

Jungkook wakes up to an empty bed. Yesterday's events hunted him in his dreams as he kept dreaming about it, causing him to wake up with a sour mood. He takes his time to get ready for the day, not really sure how everyone is feeling after yesterday's drama. To be honest, that's not what is truly bugging him. It's you.

He doesn't see you downstairs when he joins the others for breakfast. He makes sure to look around the table but he doesn't see you anywhere. Maybe you're in the kitchen or will come downstairs in a bit. But by the time Jungkook finishes the last bite of his sandwich, you haven't come and that's when he realizes you are not coming any time soon.

Everyone seems to be fine, there's no awkwardness lingering in the air as everyone chats as nothing happened. The only person he finds quiet is Kiko who is sitting next to him, barely eating her bowl of fruit as she keeps nudging it with a fork. They haven't talked since yesterday and since he woke up to an already empty bed, they haven't had the chance to.

But what's there to talk about? Jungkook said everything he wanted and can see yesterday's events aren't indifferent to her as well. He believes her when she said it was a mistake and it probably slipped, but he can't help but feel pissed at that. How can he not when all he can think about is your tears running down your cheeks? He has never seen you in such a state when you were hurt, angry and ready to physically attack his girlfriend.

It bothers him that Kiko didn't even consider that your asshole boyfriend doesn't know about the whole fake dating thing. Oh fuck, and what he said to you yesterday... he thought he'd punch him even more. How dare he assume you slept with Jimin and Taehyung too? He gets it, you and him are close and any boyfriend wouldn't be pleased knowing his girlfriend and her best friend slept together. A lot of times, actually. It's a lot to take and swallow, he gets that.

Your friendship is often misunderstood by others, it's what you and him got used to after such a long time of being so close and friends. But him assuming such a thing and most importantly talking to you like that, is completely out of place and it makes his blood boil. Every time he thinks about it, he regrets not punching him until his nose would break. He disrespected you. In front of everyone which made you embarrassed for sure and even more hurt. But Jungkook is glad he has done it in front of everyone.

If Haneul talked to you in private, who knows if you'd ever tell him he treated you like this. This way Jungkook got to punch him and show him you're not someone to get messed with.

As Jungkook sips on his coffee and lets his eyes travel around the room, always looking around in case he sees you. As he stays leaning against the wall, he makes it quite obvious that he's clearly searching for you and it's something Jimin notices as soon as he comes out of the dining room with Taehyung by his side.

"She's not coming," Jimin says, answering Jungkook's silent question that has never been spoken but it's very clear in his eyes and to his friends.

Jungkook looks at Jimin, eyes glinting with sadness as Jimin has a very similar look on his face meanwhile Taehyung's lips are crooked in displeased pout.

"Why?" Is simple and Jungkook's question, even though he probably knows why. But he still hoped he'd get to see you today and of course, he's worried about you.

"I think we all know why," Jimin answers softly, brows curving in sadness. "We wanted her to at least come downstairs but she refused. She wants to be left alone."

"I feel so sorry for her," Taehyung admits, pouting. "Even today is supposed to be fun for her. Imagine celebrating New Year's Eve with a heartbreak."

Taehyung is definitely not making it better, making Jungkook feel even worse because he can barely imagine what you're going through. Even though the idiot isn't worth it and you barely know him for a month. But he's in no way questioning you being sad, it's understandable you're sad and hurt.

Jungkook frowns, glancing at his cup of coffee in a thought. "I should check on her."

"Yeah, about that..." Jimin scratches his neck sheepishly. "She said she wants to be left alone."

"Yeah, you said that," Jungkook frowns again, "But I want to check on her. I'll be beside her for a whole day if it helps."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jungkook. I know you guys are best friends but she said she doesn't want anyone to bother her."

He still keeps frowning, determined to check on you no matter what Jimin is saying. He's not just anyone, is he? 

"But I'm not just--"

"Jesus, Kook. She specifically told us to tell you she wants to be alone." Taehyung lets out, raising his voice a little.

Jungkook's mouth hangs open in disbelief as Jimin sighs and glares at Taehyung who just shrugs. "What? You're awful at being straightforward." Taehyung mumbles, glancing pitifully at Jungkook.

"She said that?" Jungkook whispers, placing his cup of coffee on a nearby console table beside him. "Why?"

He really tries to sound unbothered, but it's clear how quickly saddened he grows at what Taehyung just revealed.

"Listen, I don't think it's something personal. She told Taehyung to fuck off once he tried to get her out of bed and then almost suffocated her by cuddling her."

Jungkook would've laughed at that, because it definitely sounds like you being moody, but he can't because all he thinks about is you saying you want to be left alone while mentioning Jungkook. Somehow, he'd have thought it doesn't apply to him. According to Taehyung, it definitely applies to him the most. As if you knew you're going to be on his mind and him wanting to check on you.

"Yeah, she gets very vocal when she's annoyed," Taehyung tries to lighten up the mood with a light chuckle. "Look, she's gonna be fine. She knows we're here for her whenever she needs us. But she needs space right now. We've been with her the whole night and would stay there if she didn't kick us, literally."

Jimin nods, looking at Taehyung. "This is so far the smartest thing you've said on this trip."

"Yo, fuck you." Taehyung shoots right back, frowning at Jimin.

"Fuck you, you're the one spitting bullshit all the time." Jimin says back, earning a dramatic gasp from Taehyung but before they can bicker, Jungkook opens his mouth ignoring the two.

"Alright," Jungkook sighs, straightening himself. "If she doesn't want to see me, I'm not gonna force myself where I'm not welcomed."

He grabs the cup of coffee, spilling the remaining liquid in the sink as soon as he comes to the kitchen. He spends a few minutes there, cleaning the cup before he joins the others in the living room where Hoseok calls for him to join them in a video game. So he does, maybe this way he'll keep being distracted from disobeying your wishes and from pounding on your door to check on you.

No messages. No calls.

It's not like you expected him to reach out to you first, especially not after the way he was acting yesterday and earned a painful punch from Jungkook. Still, you at least had a hope he'd let you know if he made it safely to Seoul since he said he's not breaking up with you.

Do you even want to be with him? The thing he said yesterday was the last drop that you barely were able to hold and you felt like you're being the one punched in the face. You had so much hope in your relationship and now you're completely clueless what will happen from now on. If only he kept his mouth shut, maybe you'll feel even more guilty and wouldn't feel so much anger at his disrespect aimed towards you. Not only did he make you embarrassed, he verbally slapped you in your face when he assumed you slept with Jimin and Taehyung. That was so low and immature of him. Maybe it hurts this much because you've never thought he'd be capable of saying such a thing.

So as the sun keeps peeking through the window, you stay in bed while trying to keep yourself busy while watching random YouTube videos on your phone. The last thing you think about is getting out of this room. Not yet. You still have a couple of hours before you've to get ready. Ready to dress up for New Year's Eve, one of the main reasons why you came here. But also to get ready to face everyone because you just know they'll stare pitifully at you.

You don't want to give them reason to, though. You don't need their pity. Someone else will need it.

It's twenty-eight minutes to three when your phone chimes with a new message and your breath gets stuck in your throat, wondering who's texting you. Jimin and Taehyung must've told him you want to be alone, considering he hasn't been knocking on your door today. But apparently he can't hold himself back any longer.

You see the message on your locked screen, staring right back at you.

Kook: tell me if you're okay

Your heart cracks at his thoughtfulness, wondering if he's going to hate you for no longer wanting to play decently with his girlfriend. But this is not about him, not even when you can hurt him in the process. This is between you and her. However, you know Jungkook and you know he'll take it personally.

You don't reply to him, letting your thoughts distract you until your phone chimes in with another message.

Kook: at least text me back or I'm coming upstairs

Kook: I've no problem with kicking the door down 

Of course he has no problem with that. And for the first time today, you find yourself breathing out a very light chuckle.

"I'm not sure if jin would appreciate that" You text him back, not having to wait long for a reply.

Kook: good thing I don't care what Jin thinks 

Kook: I care about you right now 

Your eyes water, not really sure if it's because you're emotional about his straightforward words or the fact you're still pretty much sensitive. You cuddle up to your duvet, wiping your tears.

"I'm okay just want some time alone"

He doesn't text back, giving you the space you're asking for.

Good. You still have a few hours to brace yourself, you think as you stare in the distance at the closet.

Jungkook stares at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his black suit which is decorated with tiny silver stripes on it. It's not too eye-catching but not boring. His other option is just to wear a turtleneck minus the suit, but he figured he'll get hot either way considering he's about to drink and stay indoors. So he chose a casual black button-up, leaving a few buttons unbuttoned just for the right measure. He hasn't done anything special to his hair, just left it parted in the middle as the ends stay somehow curled from the shower he took after his work-out and before he was about to get ready for tonight.

The room he shares with his girlfriend is quiet other than the R&B music playing quietly from the speaker he brought with himself. He thought it's a nice way to fill the awkward silence in the room while they both get ready for tonight.

Kiko hasn't been talking to him that much, he probably thinks it has something to do with him snapping at her yesterday night when he joined her to the bed. He does feel slightly guilty from doing it, but doesn't put too much effort in saying anything. He's not sure what to say.

"Jungkook?"

His arms fall down off his suit, eyes searching for Kiko in the reflection as he finds her already looking at him. Her make-up is done, it's light as usual but her features are more defined and eyes bigger thanks to the eyeliner decorating her eyelids. She looks beautiful and even though her features remain soft, she looks a little tense while looking at him.

She's wearing a light blue sleeveless dress, turtleneck dress to be exact which adds more modesty to her cleavage. The skirt of the dress is flared and flowy, creating a beautiful but cute look at the same time. It's not too revealing, but mesmerizing enough to make you look at it and compliment it and her. Just by the one look Jungkook can tell this is her style, but still is quite surprised to see how beautiful she looks in it. Maybe surprised is not the right word for it, he definitely knows she's beautiful, with or without her make-up and dress.

He turns around, eyes cutely looking at her in question as she turns around to him with exposed back. "Can you please help with the zip?" she asks, gently pulling her curled hair over her shoulder as he nods, clearing his throat when he realizes she can't see him now.

"Yeah," he lets out lightly, taking a few steps towards her until he reaches for the zip. In one swift movement, he zips up her dress and she turns around, thanking him gracefully.

Her brown eyes search his face for a moment, hand hesitantly reaching for his button-up as she straightens up the little crease.

"You look beautiful." he mumbles softly, speaking out his thoughts as he watches her with softness in his eyes.

"Thank you," she smiles, "You look great too."

He chuckles, shaking his head at her compliment, somehow growing sheepish when she compliments him. She lets her hand stay on his chest for a while, before she drops it and stares at her feet.

"I know I said it already... but I'm sorry. I really am. I wish I could do something to fix this." she says, forcing herself to stare him in the eyes when she says it.

Sadness and honesty. Those two emotions are very easy to detect for Jungkook. He knows it was just a matter of time before she brings this topic up again. And he doesn't mind it because he definitely doesn't want to spend this trip, or ever, not voicing out the elephant in the room. They should talk about it, he knows. But just knowing you're on the other side of this hallway, god knows doing what because you haven't even stepped out of that fucking room today, it makes him crazy.

He's worried and you clearly don't want anyone there. He's still hesitating if he should listen to you and stay away, or just ignore you and knock on those doors until you open. Or knock them down. If it means he's selfish, then so be it. If he sees you're okay with his own eyes, he doesn't care what that makes him.

Unfortunately, Kiko is not the only person who wishes there could be a way to fix this. Because there isn't. Haneul is gone, most likely back in Seoul and getting drunk with his young and immature friends, crying that he got his heart broken and god knows what he's saying about you behind your back.

It makes Jungkook clench his jaw, wanting nothing else than to shake these thoughts away because he's just making himself even more angry. He still tries not to think about Haneul's awful words of accusation. You don't deserve that. You're not a bad person.

"You can't," Jungkook simply says, not wanting to think about his thoughts all over again. "But I appreciate that you're acknowledging your mistake." he tells her honestly, seeing her nod as she swallows dryly.

"I knew I made a mistake the moment I said it and looked at his face. I'm so sorry, I knew I shouldn't have assumed. And Y/N deserves my apology, I'd do anything to let her know how sorry I am."

She sounds desperate, sad and broken, truly disappointed with herself and it breaks Jungkook even more. He has realized a long time ago it's her fault, she shouldn't have said it. Period. But seeing you and her being so sad just settles an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He doesn't like any of you being sad and this whole situation is bizarre enough as it is.

"Yeah, just don't talk to her if she decides to join us," Jungkook mutters, tongue pressing against his front teeth. "I know you want to apologize to her, I just think it's better to leave her alone for now."

"Thank you," she speaks up, causing Jungkook to look down at her with furrowed brows in confusion. "For you know... being there for her. If you weren't there, she'd probably... I got scared there for a second, I really thought she's about to attack me."

"Because she was," Jungkook deadpans, "I haven't seen her so angry before, but she's not a violent person,"

He knows it must sound stupid, considering you were literally fuming and about to fight his girlfriend. And you definitely have more strength in you than he expected. You were trashing in his arms so much, thankfully he just had to hold you tighter to keep you from attacking Kiko. But he hasn't done it just because of her. But he knows you'd regret it later. Like he said, you're not a violent person but then, you never really had any reason to be. He knows even if you say something that seems cold and heartless, you always mean well and most of the time you regret it after some time.

"She's hurt. You had no right to assume anything about their relationship, and you definitely had no right to say anything that involved our deal. I told you because I could trust you. It was Y/N's decision to make if she wanted to tell him or not. She respected me and didn't tell you, she even supported it when I asked her if I should tell you,"

Kiko seems a little surprised, nodding nevertheless to his words in agreement.

"I know you know that, I know you regret it. But it doesn't make it okay,"

She nods, agreeing with him in a heartbeat.

"I'm just like this because... things were getting so good and yesterday ruined everything. But most importantly, Y/N is hurting right now and there's nothing we can do to help. She probably hates your guts right now." he points out.

"I hate myself too." Kiko says, shrugging as she tries to chuckle to easen the mood but he notices the way her lips curl into a saddened smile.

"Hey," Jungkook says softly, placing his hands on her shoulders as he makes her look at him. "I don't want to hear this. You don't have to hate yourself. You made a mistake, yes. And things are too fresh to let everything be okay. But I really appreciate you acknowledging you made a mistake. And I think Y/N would appreciate it too if she wasn't so hurt and angry. You've to understand there are a lot of emotions she's dealing with right now."

"We all know why she truly hates me, Kookie," Kiko offers softly, "And what happened yesterday just added fuel into the fire."

"But she was okay until yesterday happened," Jungkook protests. He obviously knows you haven't been fond of Kiko ever since the news of her cheating came out, actually ever since she broke up with him for no reason. But after the two of you talked, he could see you trying and it made him feel so much at ease.

But yesterday changed everything and now it's even worse, because it directly involves you right now.

"What's done is done. Don't beat yourself for it too much. You made a mistake, but you don't have to hate yourself now, Kik." he tells her, thumb rubbing her cheek as she smiles gratefully at him but he can see there's a lot of hesitance in her eyes.

A knock resounds in their room, both of them turning to the door before Jungkook calls out 'Yeah?' to whoever is there.

"Party is starting, come downstairs when you're ready." Hoseok calls out, both of them yelling 'Alright' at the same time before he hears him doing the same to the next door, hearing Taehyung yelling something in excitement.

"Let's go, I could use a drink." Jungkook mumbles, straightening his suit for the last time and turning off the music before he outstretches his hand to Kiko.

She smiles, taking his hand gracefully as they both make it out of their room.

It's some time past seven. Almost five hours till midnight. And still no sight of you joining the others downstairs. The various styles of songs, thanks to the built-in speakers in the entire cabin, play downstairs and set the party to a comfortable and fun environment. However, it doesn't help too much for Jungkook considering he's been clutching his can of beer for the past hour, eyeing the stairs just in case you were about to come out. Not even talking to Jimin and Taehyung, or more like just standing beside them while listening to them talking, hasn't been that much of a distraction.

They're both on the edge but unlike Jungkook, they actually try to hide their worries and distract themselves with each other's presence, and alcohol. Which to Jungkook, doesn't help too much and if he wasn't already having his third can of beer, he'd most likely reach for hard liquor. Vodka, whiskey... anything stronger than a beer.

But of course, he doesn't want to be overly dramatic. If you don't want to come to the party and feel like celebrating, he totally understands that. But he doesn't want you to be alone, especially when the cabin is full of people and well, he's here. How can he celebrate and have fun when you're upstairs obviously not feeling well? Right, five more minutes and he's going upstairs. This is unacceptable--

"Kook, don't worry," Jimin speaks up, cutting off Jungkook's thoughts of worries. "She said she'll come."

Yeah, that's right. Apparently, you spoke to Jimin and said you'll come downstairs. But the party has been going on for two hours and there's no sight of you.

All Jungkook can muster is a mere nod, not even denying that yes, all he can think about is whether you'll make it downstairs or not. He just wants to know.

"We all want her to join," Taehyung says, offering Jungkook a slight smile looking at him with sincere eyes. "But staring at those stairs every few seconds won't help."

"Taehyungie," Jimin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose at his friend's bluntness.

"What? I'm just sayin'." he shrugs.

"You're always just sayin'." Jimin retorts, snorting underneath his breath, causing Taehyung's brows to frown as he opens his mouth to say something back, but before he can do that Jungkook is mindlessly throwing another glance at the stairs.

"It's okay if she doesn't want to come downstairs. I'm just worried how she is and if she's about to spend tonight upstairs all alone, I think we should be there for her." Jungkook speaks up, ignoring the little quarrel the two of them have.

"We are all worried, Kook," Jimin offers softly, "Just give her time."

Jungkook sighs. Time. That's all he's been hearing the whole day. Apparently, you need a lot of time. And that's okay. He just wants to see you because somehow, he doesn't believe no one and anything. Not until he sees you with his own eyes.

However, he's completely oblivious to your inner battle and you standing upstairs, just right in front of your already closed room. All glammed up with a fire of irritation and anger inside you. You've spent an hour to make yourself look amazing, hide your puffy eyes and distress with make-up. Even though it helped your puffy eyes that are no longer puffy, you could still see your reflection that lacked any emotion. You looked empty.

And maybe you still do.

But you're not going to be a crybaby about this. You're going to show you're not someone that gets to mess around with. It's not like you're plotting some kind of revenge, no. You're just not going to hold yourself back.

With a last sight in the empty hallway, you start walking towards the loud upbeat music. And for the first time today, you actually chuckle even though it's a bitter one. Someone up there is certainly mocking you as you listen to the lyrics of the song that gets more clear with each step you take.

"I ain't lookin' for enemies but I ain't playin' nice" is what the singer sings. Relatable, you think as a sly grin makes its way on your lips and your steps grow more confident with every step and second.

Downstairs, Jungkook allows himself to relax slightly. Not that the conversation with the guys helped too much, but deep down he knows they're right. He's being just overly worried like always. He joins the conversation, uttering a few words every now and then. This lasts a couple of minutes, not that he's counting but it definitely felt like a long time, until he mindlessly goes for a chug from his beer, eyes moving automatically towards the stairs even though he doesn't put that much thought to it. At least this time, it's not completely conscious and planned.

And the exact moment he sees you, not believing his eyes because you stand there walking down the stairs. The lyrics "what the fuck" sums up his thoughts perfectly and he chokes up on the beer, the bubbles scratching the back of his throat uncomfortably as his widened eyes stay at you.

He's not the only one because Taehyung and Jimin are already looking at you too, the view of you is right in front of them considering they're standing nearby the staircase. Jungkook doesn't pry his eyes off you, too shocked to see you and especially like this, but if he could he'd be able to see his friends' jaws on the floor as Jimin whistles.

You make it downstairs, glancing at your three friends as they look as if you've grown two heads. Jungkook goes to wipe his chin with the back of his hand, while Taehyung mutters something underneath his breath that you don't catch but makes him clear his throat while Jimin eyes you up and down shamelessly.

"You made it!"

"What the fuck."

Jimin and Jungkook speak at the same time, and even though Jimin's words were more exclamations of happiness, Jungkook's words were uttered confusingly. The four of you stay silent, your eyes narrowing at Jungkook as he stares right back at you with an unreadable gaze. Taehyung pokes him with his elbow, clearing his throat again as he smiles at you with a boxy smile.

"He meant that you look absolutely amazing." Taehyung tries to cover for Jungkook and you go along with him, giving the two of them a stiff nod.

You definitely look absolutely amazing.

There's no point of denying that. The three men know it, you literally made them stop talking and just stare at you the moment they've noticed you.

The nocturnal slip dress, satin and very thin dress to be exact, is tight and loose in all the right places. It's hard to describe but it definitely suits your body and shows your curves just right. It's sexy, mature but the neckline is not too deep, so it doesn't show the top of your breasts. But the dress definitely wraps around them perfectly, making you even sexier. The pink color, champagne pink compliments your skin tone and you look like a freaking goddess herself with big wavy hair. The dress is short, showing off your legs as well and the goddamn heels you're wearing makes them look even longer.

There is also a thin diamond choker wrapped around your neck, bringing more attention to that area and especially your exposed collarbones.

It's been a while since any of them have seen you wearing something like this. But to be fair, they've never seen you wearing these kinds of dresses. It's definitely different from your usual jeans, sweatpants and leggings kind of outfits.

"You do look amazing." Jungkook decides to speak, offering you a gentle glance but all he's met is you glancing at him unbothered, saying a simple and kind of dry 'thanks'.

He's not sure how to react or what to think about your odd reaction, even though you just thanked him back. Jungkook has always been the first one to detect when there's something weird going on with you and he's definitely more observant now. He knows you've been through a lot, basically locked yourself in a room alone not wanting to speak to neither of them that much. He doesn't know what to think right now, but he's cautious and Jimin and Taehyung seem to be the same.

Taehyung widens his eyes and raises his brows, deciding gulping down his beer is the best option for him. Jimin smiles at you, the smile looking careful and nervous but still honest.

"I'm glad you came, we've been waiting for you." he says, chuckling a little when you seem to lack any kind of reaction as you just stare at him.

"Why do you look so surprised, though? I told you I'd come." you mutter, glancing at Jungkook whose brows seem slightly narrowed as he stares at you with a baffled look.

You clear your throat, taking the can of beer from his hands as he gapes at you while you take a huge gulp of it. "Enough of staying by myself. Let's just have fun, right?" you smile, patting Jungkook's chest as he gapes at you all over again, slowly looking down at your hands on his half exposed chest.

You remain unbothered, the touch lasting just around two seconds before you're pulling away and brushing past him, still holding his beer. He's not getting it back for sure, he's certain of that.

The three men gape at you as you make it to the living room, catching Maya's attention as she's already rushing towards you and pulling you into a hug. Namjoon notices you too, joining the two of you as he beams at you with a friendly smile, opening his mouth to say something.

"Jungkook already said it but... what the fuck." Taehyung mutters, still staring at you as you laugh at something Maya said.

"Let's just... leave her be. She's probably just trying to distract herself. What could we expect, am I right? She's not magically going to be the old happy Y/N." Jimin tells them, offering a positive option and speech as always, meanwhile Jungkook is watching you with furrowed brows.

He's speechless. He can't bring himself to say anything. All he knows is that for some reason, he doesn't like this. But at least you're here now and it settles a tiny feeling of relief in his chest. But it's barely recognizable with the uncomfortable twist in the pit of his stomach.

"... you should join us next time Y/N." Namjoon says, turning to you as he takes a decent sip from his wine.

The silver watch on his wrist glimmers underneath the dim lightning, catching your attention for a brief second before you meet his eyes looking at you while drinking wine. He's been talking about his plans with Maya in spring, when the weather will be warmer and suitable for some hiking.

There's a glint of amusement in his tone as he ends his talk with proposing you joining them the next time, the memories of your last hiking with him causes you to let out a breathy chuckle. Maybe you were whining a little while hiking up the hill but you definitely enjoyed being away from the city, surrounded by the green nature. Now, the idea sounds even better.

"Joonie, the true hiking with you, I mean when you're in charge of the route, is like asking for death," Maya says, squeezing her boyfriend's shoulder as you snicker underneath your breath when Namjoon opens his mouth, gasping. She looks back at you, noticing you holding back your laugh. "No, I'm serious. He'd walk to the end of the world if it was possible. He has no empathy for slackers or someone who's walking a little behind him,"

You haven't had the true honor to experience 'Namjoon hike' as Maya called it a few minutes ago when her boyfriend started talking about this particular topic. Namjoon was a great partner for hiking back when you were on a camping trip, his presence overall was very calming. But there might be some truth to her words. Back then, everyone went on a hike together and there wasn't exactly someone in charge. If Kiko didn't fall and injure her ankle, you get the feeling Namjoon would go way further than you actually went.

"Besides, I could use the whole physical work-out some other way." She winks shamelessly at her boyfriend, Namjoon's cheeks flashing red as he exclaims her name dramatically as you giggle at the two of them.

"Oh my god," Namjoon breathes out, flashing you a nervous chuckle as he tries to play it off meanwhile you and Maya cackle at his reaction. "You know what? You're free to join us, Y/N."

"Oh, is she?"

You snort, Namjoon choking over his words as he furiously shakes his head before glaring at his girlfriend. "For hiking, you're free to join us on our hike in the future. I'm gonna grab some wine now, oh my god." He keeps mumbling something, frustratedly leaving the two of you to keep laughing.

You see him entering the kitchen, pouring himself the promised wine as Maya starts laughing with you even more. Your laugh dies down slowly as you both keep snickering. Maya glances at you, smiling before she looks behind you, her eyes lingering there for a while which causes your curiosity to win over and you look over your shoulder.

Clearly, her attention snatched none other than Jungkook who's casually chatting to Seokjin and his wife. If you looked harder, you could notice Kiko standing beside him but from your point of view, Jungkook is covering her body for the most part. He better be, you think – even if he's not doing that intentionally.

You can't blame Maya for staring at him, considering his great sense of style and well, him and his face. But that's probably not the main reason why she stares at him. There's no doubt she heard what Haneul said yesterday, everyone heard that. Those who didn't know you and Jungkook hooked up surely know that now. Even though you kind of think everyone at least had an idea or just didn't care. And you didn't care that much too, after all, it's your and Jungkook's privacy and it's no one's business but yours.

Part of you doesn't care about what anyone has to say or think. The other part, the smaller one, wonders if Maya thinks of you differently. It'd be a shame, you really like her and her presence.

So you turn around, catching her attention this time as she gives you an apologetic look almost as if apologizing for letting her curiosity take over.

"Just ask," you sigh, "Everyone knows at this point, right? There's nothing to hide." you mutter dryly, taking a gulp of your beer.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I was just... I'm not judging you or anything, I hope you don't think that." she assures you, causing you to shake your head.

"Honestly, I don't care if someone judges me or not."

She nods, shifting on her heels slightly. "I mean... I can't blame you." she mutters, causing you to look at her in confusion.

"What?"

"No, it's nothing, ignore me." she starts laughing, growing suddenly nervous which is very rare for her.

It causes you to narrow your eyes. "You started, just spill it."

She sighs and starts chuckling at herself for a moment while you stare at her with confused eyes. "I can't blame you, that you've slept with Jungkook, I mean... just look at him," You widen your eyes, opening your mouth in shock as she quickly jumps to clarify. "I know I've a boyfriend, I love Joonie! I wouldn't change him, but clearly... I've got eyes and wow. If I was single and--"

"Okay, okay, I get it," you stop her, looking at her with furrowed brows before you burst giggling at the look she's giving you. She looks nervous, shy but amused at the same time. "God, don't let Namjoon hear."

"What? He knows he's hot. I told him when he first showed me some pictures from the camping trip."

You almost choke on your spit, chuckling at her as you shake your head. "I'm sure he liked to hear that." you muse, causing her to snicker.

"Well, he knows he's the only man in my life," she says giggling, but there's nothing but honesty in her voice. She glances around, finding Namjoon as her eyes soften immediately and you can see the love in them.

You stand there for a moment, nibbling on the inside of your cheek before Maya looks back at you and her features soften in a friendly worry. "I'm glad you joined us tonight, I know what you're going through right now is not easy but I'm here for you. I know we don't know each other for long, but I'm here if you need a friend."

"Thanks, that's nice to hear." you tell her, forcing yourself to smile her way. You appreciate her saying it, you just feel that stab in your chest every few minutes and you realize that no, you're not having fun like you promised yourself. You just wish people would stop bringing it up.

"I know you've Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin, but me and Joon are always here if you need someone else," she says and god, she's very sweet and attentive but you don't like that she keeps talking about this topic. It just reminds you how mad and hurt you're feeling.

Although, you stay quiet and smile her way.

"The man was so weird the whole day. It's clear he was very worried about you."

"Who? Jungkook?" you ask, knowing exactly what he's talking about and when she nods, you get your confirmation.

"Yeah, his head just wasn't in the right place. Honestly, fuck whatever anyone thinks."

"Couldn't say it better," you breathe out, sighing a little as you empty the can of beer by drinking the rest of it. "What do you say? One more?"

Maya takes the hint, afterall it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're not very open to talk about this topic. She understands that and she grins at you.

"Girl, count me in!"

One more has turned into many more that quickly turned you into being tipsy but for the first time, you kind of feel free even though the same hurtful feelings are still very fresh. And you came to a conclusion they're not going to leave just like that – not until you figure this whole thing out with Haneul.

You excuse yourself from Maya and Taehyung, the two loyal partners that almost made it their mission to drink just as much as you do. Even Jimin joined for a few shots (yes, you started drinking shots instead of beer). It's a decision you'll probably regret tomorrow morning but you'd do anything to have fun and not ponder on those thoughts too much. You're aware of them, but at least this way you get to laugh and actually have fun with your friends.

Your heels are starting to be a pain in your ass but your walk is somehow stable to the kitchen, where you take a whole bottle of vodka. This will do, you think before you hear someone make their way into the kitchen as well.

"Oh," Jungkook breathes out, surprised to see you as he sends you a faint smile while you just stare at him. "Are you having fun?"

It's clear it's his way of starting a conversation, not letting the obvious awkward tension take over. You nod, not really what to say. You notice he disposed himself of his jacket suit, chest on much bigger display now that he nears where you're standing.

Ever since you came downstairs, you haven't really spent time with him. You're not sure why, but you're glad about that considering whenever you see him, you're just reminded of what his girlfriend has done and it automatically makes you angry. So you've been kind of avoiding him, knowing his presence could evoke the build-up anger even more and you know yourself. You won't be holding back.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, standing beside you as you grip the bottle tighter, clenching your jaw slightly. You're slowly getting sick of that question.

Maybe part of you knows (and the reason why you've been avoiding him) is the fact that he knows you too well, he makes you vulnerable and you're trying really hard not to fall apart in front of him. Not again after yesterday. You've cried enough.

"Don't I look okay to you?" You decide to say instead, raising a brow at him as he sighs.

"You know what I mean." he tells you, voice careful as if he knew you're just seconds from bursting.

Fully turning to your best friend, you stare deep into his eyes. "My boyfriend left because of your lovely girlfriend and her big mouth. Although, he didn't break up with me, he still hasn't contacted me ever since yesterday and oh, he embarrassed me in front of everyone, assuming I slept with my other two friends because I slept with you,"

He stares at you, eyes big and doe and not surprised at all. He knows all of that, he knows about everything you said. And he knows you're in fact – not okay.

"But other than that, I'm okay."

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

It's something about that pitiful look that sets you off, causing you to grit your teeth. "I don't need your pity."

"I don't pity you," Okay, maybe he does but he's mostly worried. "I just want you to know I'm here for you."

Maybe it's how everyone seems to pity you that makes you not even angry, but embarrassed. They pity you and you don't like that feeling. You've noticed Seokjin's and Jia's glances at you, both of them looking at you almost the same way like Jungkook is looking at you right now. Taehyung might not be staring at you pitifully, but you know he does pity you and him drinking with you and joking around is his way of distracting you.

Jimin acts as if nothing happened, but you know him and Taehyung exchange glances whenever they're around.

As you glance at Jungkook, you find him nibbling on his bottom lip slightly as he peers at you with a soft look. But you're momentarily distracted when an increased fit of laughter gets your attention and you glance back to the main room, seeing Seokjin and Jia laughing about something. But that's not what turns your mood back to sour. The sight of Kiko does.

Although, she just stands there with a small smile on her face, it feels like a slap to your face. Jungkook follows your line of vision, cringing slightly as he opens his mouth to say something but before he can, you're faster.

"Well, now excuse me before I lose it all over again and mess up her pretty make-up." you give him a wide and tight smile which is nowhere near genuine.

"Y/N..." Jungkook sighs but you're already walking away, the bottle of vodka tightly gripped in your hands.

He stands there, sighing again before he rubs his face frustratedly. This whole night feels like a big failure.

Jungkook follows you shortly after, looking neutral as he looks around the room and notices Taehyung excitedly proposing to play hide-and-seek. The idea of hiding in this huge cabin excites mostly everyone, however Jungkook feels weird about your behavior and definitely feels that something isn't right. He stands close to you, noticing that you sense his presence because you tense a little which makes him frown slightly.

Just when he's sure that you will call it a stupid game, protesting and probably wanting to get drunk, you take a shot and grin at Taehyung. "Yeah, let's do it!" you yell excitedly, Maya joining you along with Hoseok and Seokjin who warns everyone not to break anything.

Everyone knows just because he says it, doesn't help that much. Everyone is mostly drunk and tipsy, so the chance of breaking something is very high-likely.

"Y/N..." Jungkook murmurs beside you, hands itching to reach towards you to make him look at him but before he can think whether it's a good idea or not, you look at him. "Can we just talk? I know you're--"

"Talk, right now? We're gonna play, Kook." you tell him, smiling at him before you brush past him and already join everyone in the circle they create, deciding who's going to be a seeker.

For god knows how many times, he sighs and joins everyone without a word, ignoring the pitiful look Jimin sends him because he's been witness to their interaction from a far.

It's close to midnight, maybe an hour or so, when everyone spreads around the entire cabin in a rush, trying to hide from Namjoon and Kiko (yes, the two of them deciding they'll be seekers for this game). Your heels slow you down a little but thanks to your tipsiness, you don't even feel the rush from trying to hide quickly.

Not knowing where you're even going, you open one of the doors at the end of the hall, walking in and slowly closing it. Sighing, you look around not really seeing much because the room is of course dark. It looks huge and from the look of it, it looks like a master bedroom. This has to be Seokjin's and Jia's room, you think.

You're too tipsy to hide underneath the bed, so you look around the room. There is a huge bathroom but unfortunately, there's no good hiding spot. Sighing, you walk into a walk-in closet that makes your mouth open. There aren't that many clothes, considering Seokjin's family doesn't spend too much time here but there are a few clothes which probably belong to Seokjin and Jia too.

Turning off the lights, you walk back into the bedroom. There is a huge balcony, placed at the back of the cabin with a view to snowy mountains. Of course, you can't hide there because it's freezing. Maybe it'd be a good spot, knowing they probably think no one would be stupid enough to hide there in this cold. You may be drunk, but you're not that drunk to risk your own health by some game.

You hear a little rustling in the room, your heart dropping for a second before you realize there must be someone already hiding. The sound has come from a tall closet in the corner of the room, so you slowly walk there cautiously. You reach for the knobs, suddenly snatching it open as you let out a surprised yelp when you see someone there.

"Oh my god," you whisper-yell, eyes wide as the person snorts and you realize it's Jungkook. Out of all places, he has to choose this room too, you almost want to laugh at the irony.

There's no time for any exchange of words because as you open your mouth again, Namjoon yelling they finished counting resounds and although it's faint because they're far away, you still hear him. Knowing there's no time to try and find another hiding spot, you quickly shove yourself there causing you to push Jungkook as he curses.

His back collides with the back of the closet, a thumping sound resounding loudly as you close the door, awkwardly pressed on Jungkook while an edge of hanger is pressing into the side of your face. You grunt, pushing it away as Jungkook shifts on his spot.

"Yah, go find another place. We can't both fit here." he protests, scolding you while more hangers are pressed in his back uncomfortably.

"Excuse me? I didn't know your annoying ass went here out of all places," you frown, and although it can't be seen in the dark, you know it's perfectly heard and recognizable in your voice.

Jungkook huffs just as Namjoon yells again that they're starting just in case someone didn't hear them.

"This is the most obvious spot." you grumble under your breath, turning around to face the front as Jungkook grunts when you accidentally elbow him in his stomach.

"Why did you go here then?" Jungkook mutters behind you.

"I ran out of time, it's hard to rush in heels," you point out bitterly, "We're going to be found here soon anyway, sixty seconds to hide? What am I? A spiderman?" you complain, hearing Jungkook shift trying to find a comfortable position but it's almost impossible. You're totally squeezed here and the closet looks like it's already full of Seokjin's and Jia's clothes.

That's why their walk-in closet is almost empty.

"Y/N, the point of hide-and-seek is for you to hide and shut up once you do hide." Jungkook retorts back at you.

"Shut up Jeon, nobody asked you."

"Just like nobody asked you to complain and bring spiderman into this."

"Oh god, you're such a child." you comment, rolling your eyes when you hear him huff behind you.

"Am I? Or are you?"

That makes you clench your jaw. It's obvious he's not just talking about your bickering, his bitter tone saying it all.

"I'm gonna ignore that." you grumble back.

"Good." He doesn't waste a second in replying back.

You straighten yourself, accidentally elbowing him again causing him to grunt in pain. Although, you don't apologize even though the apology is at the top of your tongue but your stubborn self remains quiet. You shouldn't talk too much either way, especially when you start hearing people knowing they must've found someone by now.

So you're quiet for a moment, just standing there in an awkward silence. Your feet hurt from wearing your heels and especially from standing in them in an uncomfortable position. You barely move, but you feel it perfectly and if you weren't so focused on your bickering, maybe you'd realize it hasn't been just Jungkook's chest that has been pressed against you from the moment you entered this closet and turned around with your back facing him.

You awkwardly bite your lower lip before you release it.

"Your dick is pressed against my ass." you comment, grumbling at Jungkook.

But as always, he reacts quickly to your accusation."What am I supposed to do? It's not like I do it on purpose." His voice is a silent exclamation of annoyance.

"Then scoot back!" you exclaim while whispering.

"Where? You shoved yourself in here when I told you there's no space!" he exclaims back.

You ignore him, knowing he's right but you won't admit it and the only thing that is left for you to do, is to stay quiet.

But Jungkook's dick is obviously not going anywhere and you feel it pressed against your lower back, almost touching your ass which makes you frustrated. It's been a while since you were this close to him and of course, there wasn't any reason to be this close to him. You haven't touched his dick ever since he fucked you in his apartment while you were draped over his couch. Thinking about those times again makes you frustrated and you feel your heart quicking up the pace.

"Oh my god..." you grumble, sounding annoyed, to which Jungkook quickly understands the reason behind it.

"It's right there! It's not my fault!" He quickly defends himself.

You open your mouth, wanting to tell him to put away his big dick but you're quickly stopped when the door from this bedroom opens and you shut your mouth immediately.

"Let me check here,"

You roll your eyes at the sound of Kiko's voice, hearing Namjoon give her a reply, saying he'll check the next room. The rule of this hide-and-seek was not to light up any lights which makes it more fun to play. Maybe that's why Hoseok refused to be a seeker the last minute this rule had been spoken.

"You idiots will scare the crap out of me for sure, no thanks. I'm hiding." He said which made everyone cackle devilishly, knowing he was right about that. So Namjoon took his place instead.

You don't see anything but you do hear her walking around the room, probably looking under the bed before she checks the bathroom and the walk-in closet as well. She's close, you think when you hear her heels clicking against the wooden floor. It seems as if she was just a few meters away from you and you press your hand over your mouth, automatically scooting back. Obviously, there's no space and you're left pressing against Jungkook and unfortunately, his dick too as you feel it now against your ass, pressed tightly.

And then it happens. He actually grunts at the contact, tensing right away as he closes his eyes in a failure.

You swear your heart stopped beating for a few seconds, your eyes widening at the sound he made knowing you're the reason why he made it because your stupid self just pressed against him like that. It wasn't done on purpose but it surely feels awkward, making you embarrassed.

Your cheeks feel hot and your breath is caught in your throat. There's silence, no one makes any noise and you almost think Kiko left even though you've never heard her closing the door. And just as this thought crosses your mind, the door from the closet where you're hiding snatches open and you almost stumble forward in surprise but Jungkook holds you.

Hands on your hips grips you tightly and he helps you stabilize on your heels, so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

"You good?" he asks behind you which you just nod to. He must've recognized the gesture in the darkness.

"Yeah, thanks." You decide to answer, getting out of the closet carefully.

Kiko must've noticed there's someone else there with you and as soon as she heard Jungkook's voice, at least she thought she did, her assumption turns out to be right when she clearly notices Jungkook stumbling out of your hiding spot too.

"Kookie?" she asks, your eyes automatically rolling and for the first time, you're not glad about the darkness because you'd gladly let her see you.

"Hi," he lets out almost nervously, scratching the back of his head. "You found us."

For some reason, you don't find this as funny as you'd expect to and you almost feel bad for Jungkook who looks nervous. Maybe he's scared Kiko will think of this differently and you notice how tense she seems to be, but that could easily be done by your presence.

She hasn't talked to you ever since yesterday happened, she's been avoiding you and you get the feeling Jungkook must've advised her to do so. Something tells you, her apologetic ass would crawl back to you and apologize for telling Haneul.

Oh, fuck... you're just getting angry all over again.

"You were hiding there?" she asks slowly and softly, almost insecure as she points towards the closet.

You see Jungkook clearing his throat, opening his mouth but you just step closer to Jungkook so she could see you. She turns her head towards you and you give her a tight smile which you're not sure if she catches. At least there's a slight moonlight coming through the windows, so she probably can tell your features have changed.

"Don't worry, it's not like he'd cheat on you." you tell her, patting Jungkook's chest as he tenses.

"Y/N," he warns you, you know you're pushing his buttons but the look on her face tells you it was worth it.

"Oh sorry, that must've slipped my mouth," you shrug innocently, grinning at him before you start walking out of the door. "It's no secret anyways."

And you're out of room, finally releasing a breath of relief as you make it downstairs where others found are already there.

You're quickly accompanied by Jimin, Maya and Taehyung as they share their hiding spots. Their laughter is the only thing that makes you slightly distracted to the point you don't notice Jungkook and Kiko coming downstairs shortly after, hands intertwined together.

The midnight comes quickly after that, or maybe it's just you because once you started doing shots with Taehyung and Maya again, time has seemed to quicken up. Soon after, you found yourself outside, everyone wearing jackets to slightly ease up the cold while doing the countdown. Your legs shiver even though they're wrapped in a blanket that you're holding closer to yourself.

Seokjin told you about the fireworks, so that's the main reason everyone is doing countdown outside. And just like he promised, it's beautiful and colorful and even though everyone cheers and you're squeezed into a hug with Jimin and Taehyung, you just can't find yourself to be happy.

The main reason is that you imagined this trip differently. And it's the saddening feeling that Haneul should've been here with you and he's not, so you're naturally just reminded of everything that happened and everything he said to you again.

However, you find yourself smiling and hugging your friends. You get a glimpse of Jungkook and Kiko kissing, causing your smile to drop as you quickly look away and ignore the feeling of jealousy. If it weren't for her and things wouldn't turn out the way they did, you could've had your own kiss with your boyfriend.

You're jealous, angry and hurt because Jungkook gets to kiss her as if nothing happened, meanwhile you're standing here hurt and without your boyfriend's presence. They're both selfish, although you don't expect them to act differently or not have a New Year's kiss just because of you. You know it's stupid to think of it that way but you can't help it. You're petty and all the emotions are still fresh. One day won't solve anything.

Shortly after, Jungkook comes to join your circle and hugs everyone, wishing them the same old "Happy New Year". He does the same to you, his eyes softening as soon as he looks you in the eyes noticing you look kind of sad. He doesn't mention it though, knowing that's not what you wanted. The hug he gives you is longer and probably stronger than the one he shared with the others, Jimin and Taehyung included.

You hold your blanket, so you don't exactly hug him back or put your hands around him, but you lay your face and you seek a comfort that you know only Jungkook can give you. He has a special talent for that and for a few seconds you find yourself relaxing slightly and enjoying him being so close to you.

You haven't been acting towards him well and it makes you feel like crap. But you've to put yourself and your well-being first. You know your remark that had been aimed at Kiko when she found you and Jungkook hurt him, you know it and yet you're nowhere near done.

Maybe you're selfish too. Or maybe this is just a very fucked up situation but unfortunately, you're not going to pretend to act a certain way for someone else's sake.

When you pull away, you give him an awkward smile which he undoubtedly notices but doesn't call you out for it, offering you a soft smile. You're both snatched by Taehyung and Jimin who ushers everyone inside and you can't complain, shaking once you make it inside and you're welcomed by the warmth of the cabin.

The night doesn't end there, the exact opposite actually. The music turns even louder and Seokjin turns on disco lights they brought over, making it look like a club instead of a simple living room.

You're having fun, drinking too much but luckily there's no one stopping you. Somehow, you find yourself sitting on one of the couches, legs crossed and finally warmed up, when you notice there's also Kiko.

She's talking to Jungkook about something and you catch her giggle at something he says. The way he smiles back at her pains you even more, feeling betrayed and before you know it, you're already gulping the next shot Taehyung prepared for you.

Distracting yourself, you listen to Namjoon who suggests going camping in June or July which everyone agrees immediately. Seokjin doesn't forget to mention that he wants to go too, but he's not sure if he'll be able to go before the baby arrives. If a camping trip takes place in June, Jia will already be nine months pregnant so technically he could come but isn't sure if he wants to risk it.

With that topic, Taehyung gushes about how much fun he had the last time and you automatically agree when he asks you if you had fun.

"Of course, I had fun," you ponder, noticing Kiko looking at you and surprisingly, she doesn't look away like you expect her to. "That camping trip was amazing, right Jungkook?" you ask loudly, catching Jungkook's eyes as he looks at you and frowns in confusion for a moment.

Where are you going with this?

"Exciting even," you muse, smirking when you see Jungkook clearing his throat and shifting on his spot. "Wouldn't you say?"

He already knows what you're talking about, it's not hard to know.

"Yeah," he lets out through clenched teeth, voice sounding strained.

Everyone else must've picked up on it and you notice Taehyung glancing between you and him, knowing there's a missing piece to your conversation meanwhile Jimin looks worried about whatever you're about to say.

Namjoon and Maya look clueless, confused even while Hoseok just drinks from his champagne and Seokjin cuddles to his wife, too occupied to even properly think about your conversation.

"Am I missing something?" Taehyung asks, earning a warning glare from Jimin but the poor guy just shrugs innocently and almost looks amused when you purse your lips and smirk at him.

"Why? Do you get the feeling as if you were?" you ask innocently, even a completely drunk person would be able to tell the mischief in your tone.

"Hmm, you know I do," Taehyung muses, smirking at you as you giggle. "I get the feeling there's something more to this exciting part. So tell us, what was so exciting about this trip?"

Jimin sighs beside you, rubbing his forehead while he holds a glass of whiskey on his knee. It's more than clear that Taehyung is all here for juicy stuff and it's like the two of you are speaking without words, eyes amusingly dancing between each other.

"Why don't you tell us, Jungkook? What else was exciting... or excited?" you ask, biting your lower lip to prevent yourself from grinning but you do as Taehyung gasps, his drunk head already getting the clue of what you're hinting at as his jaw falls on the floor.

Jungkook stands up abruptly, tossing his glass on the table with a loud clunk as you just raise your brow at him as he makes his way over to you.

"I'm just saying, the tents were very comfortable--"

"Can I talk to you?" Jungkook asks through clenched teeth, eyes momentarily glaring at Taehyung who cackles while Jimin sighs again.

Maya snorts somewhere in the background while Namjoon silently scolds her. You're not sure what others do, but some of them probably ignore this interaction because you hear Seokjin talking about something to someone.

"I was actually in the middle of talking. I thought we're all sharing our memories from the trip."

"Stop it," he snaps silently, glaring at you. "Come on."

"I'm not done--what the fuck!" you exclaim as you're hoisted up, Jungkook's hand wrapped around your forearm as he drags you out of the living room.

He's going too fast and you curse at him, trying to pry his hands off you but he holds you tightly. You're too busy looking at your feet, trying not to stumble in those goddamn heels, so you don't look at the reactions of others.

Jungkook drags you upstairs, letting you go when you make it to the middle.

"What the fuck was that?" he asks you straight away, hands going into his hair for a moment.

You cross your arms over your chest. "What? I was just sharing with others."

"Sharing what exactly? That I fucked you in a tent on that camping trip?" he snaps back.

"Actually yeah," you straighten yourself, glaring at him. "I wasn't done though. I forgot to tell them how you almost fucked me in a forest on that trip too."

Jungkook grunts, looking away as he tries to calm himself down by breathing sharply and slowly. "Why are you doing this?"

You just stare at him blankly, although you do poke your tongue into your cheek.

"I know you're hurt and angry, but I don't get why you are pulling a stunt like this."

He probably does have a clue but decides to talk about it, wanting to make you feel guilty. At least you think so, because the way he looks at you is a mix of anger and disappointment. Unfortunately, you don't care.

"A stunt? It's true, Jungkook. Suddenly I can't be open about what we've done? Stop making a big deal out of this... I mean, everyone already knows!" you yell while laughing bitterly, throwing your arms in the air.

"Stop," he murmurs. "This isn't you. You're just hurt."

"Oh, fuck off," you scoff, "This isn't me? How would you know? You think you know me all perfectly and can talk me out of everything. You know what? No, fuck you too. Go back to your so perfect girlfriend because why wouldn't you? She just ruined your best friend's relationship but who cares, right? At least you got her back."

"I don't know what you want from me, Y/N. You want me to break-up with her because she made a mistake? You know how selfish that sounds? And reminding her of our deal--I know you're doing this to hurt her."

"No shit, Sherlock," you scoff, "She hurt me and nobody cares!"

"I care!" he yells suddenly, releasing a breath as he frustratedly pinches the bridge of his nose. "This is not healthy, Y/N. You're hurt and--"

"Fuck off, seriously," you tell him, wanting to brush past him but he catches your wrists. "Let me go, Jeon. I didn't finish talking about how you fucked me while she was just a few meters away from us."

And then Jungkook growls, he freaking growls, before he backs you to the wall and presses you into it.

"What the fuck," you curse at him, pushing him in his chest but he doesn't budge and presses his hands against the wall beside your head, caging you in. "Did I get you mad?" you coo, touching his chest lightly.

"Stop," he warns you, "Stop acting like this."

You scoff, "I can act however I want," you look away for a second. "And who the fuck are you to tell me what's healthy and what's not? You're the one who faked a relationship just to get back a cheater."

"And you're hurting over some asshole that slut-shamed you in front of everyone."

You open your mouth, genuinely taken aback by the sudden outburst coming from him as you grow mad and hurt at the same time.

Jungkook's eyes widen for a moment, as if he just realized what he said but he keeps his mouth shut and you don't give the satisfaction of reacting to that. So you purposely ignore it.

"I should get back," you tell him through clenched teeth, "Maybe Kiko would be interested knowing you also fucked me in your--"

"Fucking stop!"

You jump when Jungkook slaps the wall harshly beside your head, breath turning heavy as he glares at you. He's so close, his own harsh breaths warming your face as you breathe heavily too, your heart racing from his sudden reaction.

You can't blame him though, you purposely provoked him knowing you're pushing his buttons way too much.

Jungkook sighs, head hanging low before he slowly looks up, meeting your suddenly soft eyes. He leans his forehead against yours, noses brushing against each other as you both breathe heavily, breaths mingling together.

"What are you doing to me," he whispers, closing his time for a moment.

You almost want to cry, growing more vulnerable each second by his close proximity and all you can do is stare at him, eyes dropping down to his half-opened mouth. He stares at you, his own eyes dropping to your lips once he slightly detaches his forehead from yours. You both share a look, something you can't explain because you just stare at each other, acknowledging the close proximity.

"What the hell are you guys doing?"

You and Jungkook snap your head towards the end of the hall, finding a frowning Jimin who harshly whispers at the two of you.

"Seokjin is about to cut the cake." he explains, eyeing you and Jungkook. You completely forgot about that NYE cake Seokjin ordered.

You clear your throat as Jungkook suddenly takes a large step back, taking a long breath as you quickly rush past him. You ignore the look Jimin gives you, quickly going downstairs.

And Jungkook does the same, looking at Jimin as if the older one isn't giving him a strange look and glare mixed together, brushing past him.

Jimin just sighs, following you downstairs. He needs another shot. Pronto. 

The party is in a full swing, still going wild and maybe even wilder since everyone seems to be drunk and having fun. Well, maybe except Jungkook who has distanced himself from the crowd of his friends, needing that little space after your conversation.

Oh fuck, you got him so mad. He still replays your interaction no matter how many times he's trying to tell himself to let it go. You were tipsy, were the key word because now you look completely drunk.

But at least there's a smile on your face while you're dancing with Taehyung who seems to be just as drunk. Is that smile of yours fake? Are you really just having fun or is it your way of pretending to have fun? He can't tell because you're drunk.

Your words that you so bluntly told him have affected him more than he'd admitted. He knows they still affect him, even though he knows it was just a pure act of your anger and pain at the same time. You're probably more hurt than angry, but you wouldn't admit it but he knows you.

It feels twisted – you trying to hurt Kiko just because she hurt you by opening her mouth about something she obviously shouldn't have the right to do. He gets that, he still gets annoyed and just genuinely exhausted when he thinks about it. It hurts him because this is what he was so scared of.

He's already standing between you two and he just can't do nothing, letting you hurt each other. Intentionally or unintentionally. He can't blame you for your reaction, he knew from the moment you appeared downstairs that you've a certain facade going on. But you trying to hurt Kiko, even though he understands that you're mad at her, by bringing up your deal just makes him feel betrayed.

It's clear it would do no good and just hurt more feelings, not saying you'd probably feel embarrassed the next day after you'd realize you so openly talked about you and him in front of everyone. He's not stupid, everyone probably knows you hooked up. But still, bringing everyone into it would never end well and would just end up in a huge disaster of embarrassment.

So fucking exhausted, Jungkook thinks and sighs as he tooks another swing of his tequila. He has long forgo a beer, knowing he needs something stronger to ease his nerves and the exhaustion of this trip.

"So, what was that upstairs?"

He doesn't flinch but is surprised to see Jimin, stopping beside him and giving him a glance that he can't quite identify what it means. But something tells him Jimin thinks about it more than it is in reality.

"What exactly?" Jungkook mutters, forcing himself to look away from his friend and his almost judging eyes. Now that he thinks about it, he does feel a little uncomfortable by that. Especially because he knows Jimin seeing you two like that raises a weird suspicion. Shortly said, he realizes how bad it must've looked.

Jungkook listens to Jimin as he sighs, but still keeps his eyes elsewhere. He's tense, he can feel his back muscles flexing but decides to stay silent by brushing his tongue against his back teeth.

"If someone else saw you like that, you know what they'd think." Jimin decides to say, frowning a little.

That causes Jungkook to finally glance at him, mirroring his own frowned expression as he notices Jimin's face slightly red but despite that, he doesn't look drunk but it's easily recognizable that he must've had a few shots.

"It seems like you're thinking the same thing." Jungkook scoffs a little, taking another gulp of his tequila.

It burns the back of his throat but it's nothing he can't handle. He almost craves it now.

"I'm not... well, sorry but to see you guys standing so close to each other like--" Jimin stops, sighing again. "Look, I'm just saying it looked weird. There would be rumors going around if someone else saw you."

"I wouldn't cheat on my girlfriend if that's what you're insinuating," Jungkook points out with a hard tone. Jimin widens his eyes, realizing how that must've sounded and he's about to apologize when Jungkook doesn't let him by easily continuing after a moment. "And as much as Y/N hates Kiko right now and maybe is plotting some kind of sick revenge, she wouldn't use me to hurt her like that."

"Of course not," Jimin agrees silently, "I don't think you guys would go behind her back and do something like that. You're friends, right?" he asks unsurely and Jungkook catches on to it but decides not to comment on it.

Instead, he just nods.

"You just came at the wrong time, it wasn't like that Jimin-ah," Jungkook sighs, rubbing his eyes with his free hand before he sighs. "She was purposely trying to piss me off. She was about to tell Kiko about--" He stops, almost cringing when he realizes he was about to confess what you were doing on that camping trip.

"Well... about us, like a more detailed version and I could've seen how much pain she's hiding behind that anger. She said some hurtful stuff to be honest... I don't find it very pleasing and comfortable to hear. She knows me so well, so she knows exactly where to dig to hurt me, even though I think she wasn't trying to purposely hurt me."

"Yeah, I understand that. Arguing with people close to you is the hardest because they know you the best."

Jungkook silently agrees by nodding.

"I just got frustrated, she was trying to go downstairs and I stopped her before she could say something that she might regret tomorrow. I know she's mad but I also know she's not the type to hurt people in that way,"

It's clear your emotions have been controlling you ever since yesterday.

"I mean... sometimes she does say hurtful things but it's not because she wants to hurt someone but because she's honest. This was different, tonight was different. She wasn't about to say those things because she wanted to be honest, but because she wanted to hurt Kiko."

"I understand why she wanted to do that. Not because it's right but because she's been hurt a lot since Haneul left and overall, yesterday was very overwhelming even for me, so I can't possibly imagine how overwhelmed she felt among other things," Jimin says softly, causing the younger to perk his eyes in interest but mostly he nods because he agrees with him.

"But I also think she should've considered your feelings more. Especially in what position she's putting you in. This is mainly between her and Kiko, but also she's your girlfriend and that makes it even more complicated. To say it this way... every side has its own truth and reason why it's acting like this."

Jimin watches his younger friend nibbling on his bottom lip almost self-consciously, eyes focused on the floor as he doesn't even blink while processing his words. Jungkook is in a very bad position right now and just like Jimin said, it makes it even more complicated.

Jimin always knows what to say and even when Jungkook doesn't say it, he appreciates him saying all these things and even for coming up to talk to him. Maybe the main purpose of this conversation was about what happened upstairs, which Jungkook explained. The truth is, it was a little bit of both. Jimin wanted to know what's going on but mainly, he saw Jungkook standing alone and he quickly realized there's something wrong with his younger friend.

Jungkook is that kind of friend and person that doesn't usually talk about his own struggles. If he does, you're the person he comes up to and opens to. But considering you're the reason, or more like the situation that involves you is, makes you unavailable. Plus, it seems like you've other important things to deal with than Jungkook's hurt feelings and frustrating thoughts that are caused by this particular situation.

"Thank you hyung..." Jungkook mutters, glancing at Jimin before quickly averting his eyes elsewhere. Still, he catches the little grin that spreads on Jimin's lips.

"Aw, did you just call me hyung?" Jimin coos, gripping Jungkook's shoulders as he shakes with him a little causing the younger one to roll his eyes but there's a little smile playing on his lips. "Don't go soft on me now," Jimin teases, laughing at Jungkook's expression of annoyance and amusement at the same time.

With one swift movement, Jungkook pokes him in his stomach which causes Jimin yelp as he laughs and lets him go, knowing Jungkook is stronger and would easily put him back in place.

"Don't worry about it too much, Jungkook-ah," Jimin says softly, catching his eyes. "She just has to get drunk and get over it on her own. We all tried to help as much as we could, we still do but look," Jimin points towards you, Jungkook's eyes widening when he sees you on a freaking table dancing with Taehyung. That looks very dangerous.

Jungkook is really to stroll over and Jimin probably expects it, quickly catching his wrist to stop him.

"Let her have fun. She needs this. I think Taehyung does a great job at distracting her."

Jungkook tenses but stays glued to his spot, his eyes eyeing you and Taehyung to make sure Jimin is right. You're laughing at Taehyung, both singing or more like yelling the song's lyrics.

"She's wearing freaking heels and is dancing on a table," Jungkook points out, voice slightly raising as if Jimin couldn't see it.

He doesn't get it. Jimin is usually the one that would get worried first and then plead you to come down from there.

"What if she falls? Or Taehyung? They're both drunk." he mutters, eyeing his friends worriedly as Jimin slightly smiles at Jungkook's little pout.

"Taehyung is holding her. They're just standing there, they're not even dancing that much."

Jungkook stares skeptically at you and Taehyung. Jimin is right, Taehyung has a tight grip on you but that doesn't mean you both can't fall. And Jungkook speaks out his thoughts causing Jimin to snort as he shakes his head.

"Just let them be. Don't ruin their fun."

Lastly, Jungkook wants to argue and point out that if they'll have to call an ambulance there is no going back and somebody can get hurt. He doesn't understand why everyone around you doesn't do something, they just seem to cheer you on.

But he decides not to get involved for now, your smile and laugh is very rare these days so he drops it. However, he still allows himself to huff loudly as he takes another gulp from his tequila because – what else he can do now, right? 

A half an hour later, you and Taehyung have become more reckless with each passing minute and song. You even take shots on the table, not getting off it while doing so and Jungkook sees you stumbling a little, his heart dropping at the sight.

He might've decided he's not going to get involved, but he surely is about to.

You're dancing, your dress is hiking up as everyone probably gets a perfect view of your lacy white panties because even from the distance where Jungkook is standing, he notices the white fabric almost immediately. Jimin must've noticed it too because he looks at Jungkook with widened eyes.

"Alright, that's it. I'm stopping this right now." Jungkook says, putting down his glass with a loud thud as he strolls back to the living room, aiming towards you and Taehyung.

He fails to hear Jimin sigh as he follows him. He has to admit, Jungkook is right. It's starting to get out of hand and you still wearing those heels look even more dangerous. You're more the careful type even when drunk, but right now you're so reckless and you definitely don't need to break your leg or something.

You're in the middle of singing with Taehyung when you hear your voice being called, causing you to look down. Immediately, you're met with Jungkook's disapproval frown and if you weren't so drunk, maybe you'd notice how serious he looks. Jimin stands behind him, eyeing the scene worriedly.

"Come down, you're gonna hurt yourself." Jungkook tells you, almost pleading with you before he sends a glare Taehyung's way when he notices him twerking all of a sudden.

"Yeah, it's dangerous. You're wearing heels." Jimin tries behind Jungkook, but you barely pay them any attention as you start giggling at Taehyung's twerking as you slap his ass.

Taehyung starts giggling, wiggling his eyebrows at you as Jungkook groans and looks desperately at Jimin. He just shrugs but decides to make his way to Taehyung, scolding him too.

"Y/N, come on, come down from there." Jungkook tries again but all he's met with is...

"You want me, I want you baby,My sugarboo, I'm levitating,"

Jungkook groans loudly, glaring at the way you lean towards him while still standing on that freaking table and singing at him unbothered. At least that table looks stable and massive.

"Stop it."

"You stop it!" you exclaim childishly. "Come up here!"

"Y/N, I don't think--"

"I got you, moonlight, you're my starlight,I need you all night, come on dance with me,I'm levitating,"

It's the way you kind of jump while dancing and singing that makes Jungkook's eyes grow big, your legs slightly unstable as you stumble a little and yelp surprisingly, but you start giggling as if you didn't just almost fall.

In the background, Jimin is trying to tug down drunk Taehyung and yells at Namjoon for help. All of that interaction goes almost unnoticed by Jungkook because he can feel the way his stomach clenched when you almost fell.

"That's it," He snaps, catching your arms as you start to wiggle from his hold but he holds you even tighter, too scared to let go in case you'd fall. "You're coming down, right now."

"Let me go, Jeon," you yell drunkenly, alcohol making you protest way less than you'd if you were sober. But you wouldn't be dancing on a table while sober, so there's that.

Jungkook doesn't beat around the bush, tugging you closer to him before he wraps his arms around your frame. He hoists you up as if you gained nothing, throwing you over his shoulder and quickly pulling your dress down to cover your thighs and to save some of your dignity, before he starts walking out of the room. On the way out there he catches Kiko's eyes but doesn't stop because you start thrashing around.

"What the hell," He hears you complain, "Let me go!" you yell at him, trying to move your legs but Jungkook holds you tightly just below your butt, keeping a tight grip on your thighs while the other arm holds your calves.

He starts walking up the stairs and you grow even more frustrated at the lack of attention he's giving you. You can't believe he just picked you up like a freaking bag of potatoes. Your stomach clenches uncomfortably from being head down, all the alcohol swimming in your stomach.

Met with his butt (not your fault that it's currently in the line of your vision and thanks to the position you're in), you start smacking repeatedly his lower back and butt, yelling for him to let you go. Or at least you think you're yelling but in reality, you're drunkenly blabbering and screeching with an awkward high-pitched voice.

Jungkook clenches his jaw when he feels you smacking his backside, your hands showing no mercy.

"I swear to god, you fucking let me down right now!" you yell, still smacking him. "I'm serious, Jeon. How dare you to just pick me up like I'm--"

You're immediately shut down when Jungkook's palm meets your ass, your jaw dropping as you halt all your movements. Did he just spank you? Well, it worked because you're too shocked to react in any way as the sting from his hand slowly fades away. You look almost like a doll, tossed limpily over his wide shoulder as if you weigh nothing.

And then it hits you.

"Did you just spank me?" You voice your thoughts, scolding him with a stern yet shocked voice.

You realize you've made it upstairs, Jungkook's steps confident and stable as he makes it into your room, shutting down the door with his leg as he gently kicks into it causing it to shut with a loud thud.

All you see is the back of his legs and soon after you're being tossed onto your bed. Your body bounces for a few seconds until it stops and you just lay there with a prominent scowl.

"You act like brat, you get treated like one." he says simply, frowning at you as he stands at the end of your bed, glancing down at you as you glare at him.

"Excuse me?" you exclaim, trying to sit up.

He raises a brow when he sees you slightly struggling and does nothing to help you. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest as his button-up strains around his biceps.

Sitting up, you huff as you open your mouth, but instead of something getting out of it you just stare at Jungkook. He raises his brow again at you, knowing you're about to throw another set of insults and threats.

"I forgot what I was about to say." you murmur, snort leaving your lips as you start giggling at yourself.

Jungkook's corner of mouth twitches as he breathes out a chuckle. "You'll thank me tomorrow, trust me. You're already too drunk, you'd feel sick if you kept drinking more."

You both know you weren't about to stop, which is very irresponsible of you. You've always been the responsible one when it comes to partying and drinking. You knew your limit and even know, being drunk and getting tired, you can tell you've crossed that limit a long time ago. Your stomach feels weird, yet you don't feel like throwing up. But you know trying to eat something would just make you throw up for sure. Just the idea of food makes you want to gag.

"I was having fun," you pout, suddenly letting your body relax as your back hits the soft mattress. Arms above your head, you stare at the plain ceiling that you've grown so familiar with.

"I know," Jungkook gently says, crouching down as he starts taking off your heels. You let him, feeling his fingers brush against your skin every now and then while taking them off. Your ankles are free from the pressure and you sigh in relief as Jungkook stands up, causing you to glance at him with hooded eyes. "You're gonna be fine? I think you should sleep it off."

You just stare at him, his words not really dawning on you, at least not until he just gives you a nod (or more like to himself) as he turns around and you realize he's leaving.

"Kook, wait," you call out, rubbing your eyes and smudging your eye make-up without you realizing. But you do think about your make-up. "I need to take my make-up off."

Jungkook snorts but stays in his spot, not leaving. "You can just take it off tomorrow."

You let out a dramatic gasp. "You know I can't do that," you scold him, "My skin will look like hell tomorrow."

"I'm sure you'll feel like it too," he hums, but it goes unheard by you as you just sigh before trying to sit up all over again. Jungkook sees you struggling, sighing in frustration. "For fucks sake."

But two long strides towards you and he's back in front of you, reaching towards you to help you stand up. You stumble but he quickly catches you.

"Whoops," you grin stupidly before trying to brush past him.

You do eventually, not forgetting to bump into him in the process as you make it out of your room. Jungkook groans, rubbing his forehead frustratedly before he quickly goes to catch up with you. He almost sighs in relief when you're walking the opposite way of the party downstairs and actually walking towards the bathroom.

Jungkook follows you, urging you to sit up on the toilet but not before he quickly closes the lid. You listen to him, sitting there and watching him through hooded eyes as he's searching for make-up removal wipes. He finds them, not really sure who it belongs to but he doesn't care, opening it up.

He walks towards you, gently telling you to close your eyes as you do and he starts wiping off your make-up. He's gentle, too scared to hurt you and it probably takes him way more than it'd if you did it yourself, but unfortunately you're in no state to do that. You should probably take a shower to sober up but he's too scared to leave you alone in there, in case you slip up.

Surprisingly, you just sit there soundlessly, occasionally humming as he makes sure your face is make-up free. You should probably use some cleanser to make sure it's extra clean, but you seem too drunk and the last thing Jungkook wants is to bother you with not so important tasks. But he still leads you to a bathroom sink and washes your face with a slightly cold water which you start whining about, but he just shushes you and continues rubbing your face with his big palm.

Once he's done, he dries off your face with a soft small towel. You open your eyes, drunkenly staring at Jungkook before you start giggling out of nowhere. He doesn't question you, but he does find you amusing as he chuckles and tosses the towel away.

"Come on, let's sleep it off." He tries to take your hands but you pry them off.

"I need to take a shower." you point out, trying to reach for the hem of your dress to slip it off while Jungkook's eyes widen in panic. Out of all situations, now you decide to be responsible? He knows you wouldn't go to bed without washing yourself but he kind of hoped you're too drunk to even think about something like a shower.

"No, no, no," He tries to stop you, grabbing your hands. "You'll take a shower tomorrow."

You frown at that. "Huh? You expect me to go to bed without a shower?" you exclaim drunkenly, trying to reach for the hem again but Jungkook stops you once again.

"Listen, you're too drunk. You could easily slip up there, I'm not risking that."

Why is he even trying to reason with you? You're stubborn as hell, plus you're drunk which is not a good combination.

"You could just take one with me," you propose, bursting into a fit of giggles when you see Jungkook's not impressed look, his doe eyes widening. "Oh my god, I'm kidding. Loosen up!" you laugh, hiccuping a little before you push his firm chest.

"I took care of you when you were drunk," you tell him sassily, eyes hooded and hiccups making their way past your lips every few seconds. "I watched over you when you were taking a shower."

Yeah, the memory feels still fresh. Jungkook insisted you be there in case he'll slip up. It's funny how this situation is familiar but roles reversed.

"We were single back then," And fucking, "I've a girlfriend and you've a boyfriend."

"Do I?" you scoff bitterly, your grin falling just like that and it makes Jungkook curse at himself for mentioning it.

He wants to argue, tell you that he didn't break-up with you and there's nothing final yet. He doesn't want you to worry and be sad, but you're drunk and emotional. However, you just sigh and grab your toothbrush.

Jungkook stands there, watching you how you messily brush your teeth but he does help you with a toothpaste once he sees you almost using all of it and most of it falling into the sink. Once you're done, he uses that time to take you by your wrist and quickly lead you out of there.

On the way to your room, you start complaining about being dirty. God, you're so dramatic, Jungkook thinks as he listens to your drunken whines as he keeps tugging you to your room while you stumble every few seconds behind him.

"You're not dirty, Y/N." Jungkook grumbles, opening the door from your room.

"I am! I didn't take a shower!" you whine dramatically, pouting once you're in your room as Jungkook closes the door and turns to you.

He helps you take off your choker and earrings, putting them on your nightstand carefully.

"Y/N!" he screeches once he sees you slipping off your dress, revealing your exposed thighs and the hem of your lacy panties. "You can't just--"

He turns around, growing frustrated by you.

"Oh, come on, it's not like you haven't seen it all." He hears you snickering, rustling can be heard in the meantime.

"Now it's different," he complains, murmuring as he keeps his eyes on the wall. "Just tell me when you're done."

You don't reply, but he hears occasional grunts of annoyance and more rustling. His hands itching to help you but he knows it's for the best if he just stays standing here with his back turned to you. It's more about respect he has for you than anything else.

"Done." he hears you mumble.

He waits a few seconds before he cautiously turns around, not really sure if you're dressed up. For all he knows, you could be standing there star naked. Luckily, he's met with a sight of you in your pyjamas with your dress laying next to your feet.

You reach for it, wanting to fold it properly because you know you'd curse at yourself tomorrow morning if you wouldn't.

"I got it," he tells you, already reaching for the dress while trying to fold them neatly. "Go to bed." he tells you softly and surprisingly, you comply and you crawl on the bed until you make it to your pillows.

Jungkook snorts at the sight, "Such a baby." he mutters, placing your dress on top of a dresser.

He's about to turn off the lights, glancing at you to check on you, just to see you already laying underneath the duvet with head on the soft pillows. Your eyes are open though and you blink at the staring in thought.

You look cute but for some reason Jungkook feels sad. It's something about you just laying there with the cutest pout and unrecognizable look in your eyes.

But he turns off the lights, immediately hearing your protests.

"Kook," you whine, "I can't sleep."

That makes Jungkook chuckle as he makes his way towards the bed, sitting on the edge of it just beside you. The mattress dips underneath his weight and the scent of him invades your senses.

"You're already falling asleep." he chuckles silently, moonlight peeking from your unclosed blinds as he sees your features.

He brushes a few hair off your face, pushing the urge to poke your nose just to annoy you but he knows it's not the right time.

"No," you whine with closed eyes. "My stomach is so full. I don't feel good." you complain silently.

"Do you want me to get you a bucket just in case? Think you're gonna throw up?"

Even in your state you recognize the worry in his voice and how alarmed he seems to be. That makes you smile but even the littlest movement of your lips make you feel as if you're running a marathon. Jungkook is right, you're already falling asleep but there's something keeping you away from it, and that's the amount of alcohol in your stomach.

"No," you answer. "Can you rub my back?"

Jungkook chuckles, nose scrunched cutely at your request.

The muted sounds of bass and music can be heard, but to be honest, Jungkook doesn't really feel like joining there even though he knows he'll have to go downstairs at some point.

Okay, he'll stay until you fall asleep so he can be sure you're alright.

"Alright, turn over." he tells you and you happily giggle, turning your back towards him.

He snorts and starts rubbing your back gently.

"Mmm, that feels good." He hears you muffle into your pillow, muscles relaxing almost instantly.

"Kook," you whisper just when he thinks you already fell asleep. He hums in return, waiting for you to continue which takes a moment. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He knows, he freaking knows but for some reason he asks and wants to hear you say it.

"I acted like a bitch," you tell him, suddenly plopping on your back as you look at him with half-closed eyes. "I was angry."

"I know," Jungkook murmurs, features softening as he places his hands on his lap while staring at you.

"I'm sad," you inform him with a whisper and he swears he feels like his heart has just cracked.

"I know that too," he offers softly, surprised when you messily try to reach for one of his hands.

Once you do, you squeeze his hand as you bring it to your stomach where you hold it with your both hands.

"And I'm hurt." This time Jungkook squeezes your hand.

"I know," he whispers, "But I'm here."

"I know," you smile, "I love you, Kook," you murmur sleepily.

"Say it back." you demand childishly which makes him snort.

"I love you too, you little brat." he says, amusement and a grin still heard in his voice.

You hum in content, suddenly turning the way you were before – with your back turned back to him. "Rub my back, please."

He laughs silently, front teeth peeking through his lips as he complies and continues to rub your back gently.

He's sure it's not even a minute after when you still stay in the same position not moving. He stops rubbing your back, waiting for you to scold him and tell him to continue but all he's met with is your soft breaths leaving your mouth. Once he leans towards you to check on you, he sees your eyes closed already dreaming.

He chuckles, brushing some of those restless waves off your face before he stands up – ready to go back downstairs to call it a night. But not before he makes sure there's a bucket beside your bed which he brings from the bathroom just in case. And he doesn't leave before checking on you one last time, assuring everyone you're okay, already taken care of and sleeping when he makes it downstairs and Jimin almost jumps on him to ask about you.

And Taehyung would do the same, if he wasn't passed out on the couch. But the night doesn't end for Jungkook there, especially when Jimin asks him to help him to get Taehyung to their room.But he does it with no complaints because... what wouldn't he do for his friends?

[cheapshrimpysheep]

hi, is it okay if I request a comfort(?) scenario/headcanons where Leona, vil and rook(separately) has a s/o who starts randomly wearing gloves and hiding their hands from them due to getting really bad contact dermatitis from their work and not really able to do anything about it work wise

COMMENTS: Coincidentally, I myself have problems with dermatitis on my hands. So, perhaps what I wrote comes a lot from my own experience. Especially the thing about using an ointment that worked once and for some reason no longer works. 😅 And having some trouble sleeping because of the itching.

I hope you and all enjoy it ❤️‍🩹

CHARACTERS: Leona Kingscholar / Vil Schoenheit / Rook Hunt

TAGS: Comfort; Fluff; GN Reader

WORD COUNT: An average of 610 words per character

Contact dermatitis is an itchy, inflamed rash that develops when your skin comes into contact with an irritant or allergen. There are two main types: Irritant contact dermatitis and Allergic contact dermatitis.

I decided to go with the first one since Irritant contact dermatitis is the most common type. It's caused by a substance that irritates the skin, such as soaps, detergents, solvents, or harsh chemicals.

CONTEXT: You got dermatitis after cleaning Ramshackle Dorm. It's not the first time, you already had it before, so you think you know how to treat it. Nobody needs to know. So you will take care of your hands at home and whenever you go out you will wear gloves to try to protect them. You'll be fine in no time... Right...?

Leona knew something was wrong the moment he saw you wearing gloves. Nobody starts wearing gloves out of nowhere just because. But he didn't need to ask anything because he saw you moving your hands as if those gloves were uncomfortable. And once or twice he saw you scratching your hands through your gloves and stopping immediately as if you had remembered that you shouldn't do it.

He wasn't going to get involved. At least not if it looked like you were getting better. But on the second day, you still itched. And on the third day, you had bigger dark circles than usual and the itching seemed the same or worse.

You had just returned to Ramshackle Dorm and the first thing you did was take off your gloves and run to the bathroom to treat your hands. Why didn't that get better? You were using the same ointment as last time.

“You should go to the infirmary.” Grim said “Hench-humans should take better care of themselves so they are always ready.” He teases you before showing actual concern. “You're not even sleeping well. I wake up to you scratching yourself every five minutes.”

You won't admit it, but he's right. You should go to the infirmary. Maybe tomorrow. That's what you're thinking when you hear someone knocking on the door. But you can't cover your hands now, the ointment is still working. So you open the door with one hand, using the door hide this one and place the other behind your back.

“Show me your hands.” Leona demands calmly. You look surprised and confused. “Show me your hands.” he reiterates, crossing his arms but still patient.

“Why?” you ask.

“Why are you hiding them?” he asks back. “If everything is normal, why don't you show me?” and smiles smugly.

I mean, he's right. Who opens the door with one hand behind their back. This is very suspicious. You hesitate, but end up stretching your arms in front of you to show your red hands and unhealthy skin.

But Leona isn’t surprised. He barely even reacts. As if you had just confirmed his suspicions. He takes off one of his own gloves and puts it in his pocket, holding one of your hands with his gloved hand while he runs the other carefully over your broken skin, to feel it. Does he know it's not contagious?

“The ointment isn't working, is it?” He sais. You had just put it in your hand, so he definitely felt the moist. He puts the glove back on. “Do you have your keys?”

You say they are on the entrance table.

“So grab them and let's go. Unless you want to be locked out of the dorm.”

“Let’s go where?”

“To the herbivores club party. To the infirmary. Where else? If you don't go there alone, someone has to take you. Don't tell me you forgot where it is?” he smiles smugly again. “And don't make me pick you up. You know I would.”

Vil saw your new gloves. Were you trying to change your style a little? No. That's not it. You were uncomfortable with those gloves. He knows about fashion, the same way he knows when a person is using a piece to hide some part of their body.

After classes you went back to Ramshackle Dorm, took off your gloves and applied the ointment. It had worked last time, but this time it didn't seem to be having any effect. You had just come out of the bathroom, with your hands smeared with pumice, when someone knocked on the door. Damn it.

You can't cover your hands now, so you open the door with one hand, using the door hide this one and place the other behind your back.

“Hello (Y/N)” Vil greets you. “I apologize for the sudden appearance, but can I come in to talk to you about something?”

You think for a second, you can keep hiding your hands behind your back, so you tell him he can come in. He enters and you close the door behind you, always hiding your hands.

“You've never used gloves before. It's not your style.” It didn't sound like he was criticizing you, like he tends to do with a lot of people. In fact, he sounded quite calm and neutral, almost understanding. “If there's one thing I know how to distinguish when someone starts using a new accessory, it's whether they're using it to try to improve their appearance or to hide themselves. And this second one tends to be a sensitive subject. That's why I thought it would be best to ask you in private. Did something happen to your hands? Are you injured?”

You tell him no, that you're not injured. Well, not exactly in that sense of the word at least. You end up telling him the truth about your skin and how it has reacted to cleansing products.

“Dermatitis? Let me see. I want to know how bad it is.” He now has that judgmental look on his eyes. Which makes you hesitate a little, but you are now also at the point of no return.

You take your hands from behind your back and show Vil your red hands and unhealthy skin, without being able to look him directly in the eyes.

“For the Great Seven! And you let your skin reach this point?” he scolds you. “When did this happen? Have you gone to the infirmary already?”

You say you went there the last time this happened and they gave you an ointment, which was what you were applying.

“And is it having any effect?” He asks. You say that, compared to last time, not really. “Then get ready to go to the infirmary.” He thinks for a second if you should protect your hands from the sun, which reminds him of the gloves he saw you wearing that day. “Let me see the gloves you were wearing.”

You go get the gloves and give them to him. He looks at you disapprovingly as soon as he picks them up.

“These cheap gloves? This material is horrendous! It's probably making your situation even worse.” He throws the gloves onto the entrance table. If there had been a rubbish bin there he would have thrown it in there. He takes off his own gloves and hands them to you. “Here, use mine. They are cotton inside.” You hesitate. His gloves? And they must be expensive. “You can keep them. I have many more like these.”

As you put on his gloves, he details his new plans with you.

“We will go to the infirmary and you will hear everything they told you to do and use. After that, we will review all your cleaning products and materials you use that come into contact with your hands and can create this reaction again. If we have to get rid of everything and buy new products we will do so.” You look at him and show your concern about the price of these possible new products. “If they are truly that expensive, I'll buy them for you. Your hands won't go back to this state on my watch. And then you come with me to Pomefiore to analyze your skin and find products to protect and care for your hands. Did you understood?”

Que Adorable! Rook thinks. Trickster really thought they could hide something from me? That really entertain him. Seeing you wearing gloves and trying to hide how uncomfortable you were wearing them and trying not to scratch your hands too much. You reminded him of an animal that tries to hide the fact that it is seriously injured.

Even though it was funny at first, he couldn't see you like this. He assumed what it was from the symptoms you show, but he didn't want to talk to you in front of others. After all, if you were trying to hide it, it's because he didn't want others to know.

He sneakily followed you to Ramshackle Dorm. You opened the door, letting Grim enter first to run to the kitchen for some snacks. You pass the door jamb and it's when you go to close the door that you hear

“Bonjour, Trickster!” Rook’s head pops from the side. He lets out a little muffled laugh at how startled you were. “I spotted yor new pair of glove on your hands. Are you perhaps trying a new look? Merveilleux! It's exciting to try out new accessories to express another side of ourselves, isn't it? However...” His friendly look now changes to that hunter look of his. And the smile of someone who cannot be deceived. “I don't believe that's the real motive you're wearing those gloves. Am I mistaken?”

You don't even know how to answer him. He already knows the truth and you know there's nothing you can do about it. His expression returns to normal, he now has that characteristic resting smile on his face.

“There's no need to be shy with me. I purposely came to talk to you here because I knew it wasn't something you wanted to discuss in public.” And now his smile has faded into that slightly more serious look that he only tends to have when something worries him a little, or when he feels that the situation is not so light. “I saw how you itched your hands, how uncomfortable you were with the gloves. It's a skin problem, isn't it? Maybe dermatitis?”

You don't say anything. It's not necessary. He knows the answer just by looking at you, your face, your posture. And your hands were starting to itch again.

“Please, you can take off your gloves. They are clearly only making your situation worse.” You hesitate. “It really hurts me to see you suffering like this. No matter how damaged your skin is, I know that your hands are as beautiful as the rest of you and that they just need treatment to become très belles again. And if you allow me to help with your recovery, I will do so with the greatest love and care.” He smiles charmingly at you, the type of smile that makes you feel safe.

You take off your gloves, showing him your red hands and unhealthy skin.

“Sacrebleu! What did this to your hands?”

You tell him it was your cleaning products and about the ointment you were using since the last time that happened to you. And, unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be having much effect this time.

“We must go to the infirmary if it's not working anymore.” He proclaims, embodying his dramatic self. “Ooh, your poor, beautiful hands, threatened by something that should assist you caring for your home and yourself. They must be replaced. I will happily help you with it and get you gloves that will protect you in the future. Fear not, my dear Trickster. Shall your hands be healthy once again.”

If you dropped in here out of the blue and want to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX