#I’ve been wanting to draw Bobby for MONTHS

[allyallyorange]

Full DaSH

(This is super rough but I had fun drawing more loosely yknow)

[ask-the-critters-survival-au]

So anybody feeling rather nosy today?

Well I finished Kickin’s entire diary a few weeks ago, and since Hoppy never really got the chance to read the entire thing, I thought I’d share it here!

Please note, on the following dates

November 4, 1997

March 10, 1998

September 4, 1998

Kickin does write down some s*icidal thoughts, that may be triggering to some people. I’d advise you to skip past those if they are triggering for you. I’ll mark them with bold text so you know.

Diary is under the cut! Have fun snooping!

August 26, 1995

I found this notebook by one of the kids’ beds. He didn’t use it at all so I figured it was alright to take it! Not that he is here to stop me anyways. I decided to start writing stuff in here! Just whatever I’m thinking, whenever I feel like it, I guess. Whenever I feel like it. God, that is a WEIRD sentence to say. Or write. But it’s true! It’s my life now! Whenever I feel like it! No more stupid employees here! Haha, get wrecked! Losers. Oh, Hoppy’s calling me. I’m gonna go! I’ll write in you again later! I promise! Wait, why am I promising a notebook that I’ll do something?

October 2, 1995

Okay so I kinda forgot about this thing. Oops! Anyways, I’m getting bored. The soccer ball is starting to deflate and we can’t find the pump. This SUCKS dude. Like, I get the prototype is busy doing whatever, but if he’s all powerful like he says can’t he give us some entertainment around here? Like sheesh! There’s nothing to do. I’m so bored.

October 16, 1995

I’m thinking of growing my hair out. I mean, Crafty is doing it! And it’s getting annoying constantly cutting it. It grows back really fast. Maybe I’ll go for a mullet type look! Just maybe though.

October 29, 1995

DogDay’s missing. We don’t know where he went. We tried searching for him but CatNap told us not to. It’s always what CatNap says. Stupid. I’m going to keep looking anyways. I’m gonna find him.

October 30, 1995

Never mind.

January 1, 1996

Hey, new year! It kinda sucks though. We did absolutely nothing to celebrate. Also, big problem. Bobby found out about my secret crush. Oh I hope nobody ever reads this thing. Don’t tell anybody, but I think I like-like Hoppy. She’s just so cute and pretty and funny and spunky and cool and I love it when she talks about outer space it’s so interesting!!! She’s so fast too, like crazy fast! I think she’s too fast though. She beats me at literally EVERYTHING. That’s okay though! I’m gonna keep getting better until I can win! But yeah. Bobby found out. I’m terrified for my life.

January 23 1996

So we’re starting to run out of food. Catnap said to trust in the prototype and that he’s gonna save us and stuff. I call bull. We need food, not a savior! But he said the prototype has a plan, so I guess we’ll be fine. Still though, I’m getting tired of eating moldy salami.

February 6, 1996

Crafty’s starting to lose it. She started nagging me nonstop because she keeps running out of red marker. I’m gonna avoid her from now on. Her drawings are getting weird. Really weird. Like borderline creepy stuff. She’s going bonkers man, I’m telling you.

May 16, 1996

We ran out of food. Woke up this morning to Picky scoring through the rest of our god damn supply. I swear I am going to SCREAM DUDE!! So what if she’s always hungry?! She’s not the only one who needs food to survive! Unbelievable. What the hell are we going to do now?

May 17, 1996

So that was CatNap’s back up plan. Oh my god. I don’t want to even think about what I’ve done today. I recognized him. Who I ate. He was there when I first woke up. Taking notes in the corner of the room on his clipboard. I feel sick to my stomach. How long are we going to have to do this for?

June 2, 1996

Today feels special. I don’t know why. It just does. Also I’m sorry I haven’t been writing in you as much. I’m just scared of getting caught writing in this thing. What if someone reads it? What if CatNap reads it? Will he get mad at me for what I wrote a few months ago about the prototype? Maybe I should erase it. No I can’t do that, I wrote it in marker. I’m going to keep this thing hidden inside my zipper pocket for now, until I find a better spot.

July 22, 1996

There was a freaking execution today. I’m so disturbed right now. It was one of the tiny DogDays. I’m not really sure what he did, but CatNap made us all watch as he ripped the poor guy apart. He said that’s what happens if you are a heretic. That’s what happens if you speak out even the slightest against the prototype. Bubba told me that he thought one of the other minis had tattled to CatNap about what that tiny DogDay did. That’s insane. I can’t imagine any of my friends doing that to me. Would they do that to me? No, I’m being an idiot. They’d never do that. Regardless I can’t let him find this thing. I don’t want to end up like that mini.

August 8, 1996

It’s officially been a full year since the Hour of Joy. It’s weird to think about. How many full humans have I eaten by now? Maybe eight? Ten? Twelve? Twenty? I lose count. I don’t feel anything when I eat them anymore. It’s easier to imagine them without faces. I always cut off the head so I don’t have to see it. On the bright side, we finally found the pump for the soccer ball. Hoppy and I can finally start playing again. I don’t really think either of us want to though. At least not right now.

September 12, 1996

Hoppy and I had another fight today. I’m writing in this thing because Bobby made us separate. I don’t like being mad at her. I want to apologize but I’m scared to approach her right now. I miss DogDay. I don’t write about him much but I miss him. His name is kind of forbidden to even speak nowadays. Picky thinks he abandoned us. I don’t think he did. He’d never do that. But if he did I want him to come back. Everything’s falling apart without him.

January 12, 1997

I’m sorry it’s been awhile. I don’t really know what to write about today though so I’m gonna end it off here.

February 7, 1997

Sometimes I wonder if I should name this journal something. But I’m not very creative when it comes to names. Crafty is though. She’s been really different lately though. She’s gotten really cheerful for some reason. But say the wrong thing and suddenly you’re on the ground. I’m scared of her. I don’t know what’s going on with her but if she doesn’t get that fixed soon she’s going to get herself killed. Or kill someone else. Either of the two. Maybe even both.

April 25, 1997

Nothing to write about today. I’m just not going to. I don’t feel like it. My hand hurts. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.

June 2, 1997

It’s the weird day again. The one that feels like it should be special. I don’t know what that feeling is. I asked Bubba about it. He knows a lot, I thought he’d probably know that too. He didn’t though. He said he got that feeling too, sometimes. But neither of us knew why.

June 19, 1997

We ran out of food. I didn’t even know that was possible. There were so many humans working in this factory, how did we run out of them? The entire Playcare was in panic today. CatNap calmed us all down. He said not to worry, because the prototype always has a plan. Okay. If the prototype always has a plan, what is it? Because I’m tired of this whole stupid mess! I want to know what it is! Why can’t I know what it is? This is so dumb! The prototype is so dumb! It makes me want to tear all my feathers out!!!!

September 19, 1997

IM SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY I DONT KNOW WHAT TO EAT THERES NOTHING I HAVENT EATEN IN SO LONG I NEED FOOD I NEED FOOD. IM HAVING THESE SCARY THOUGHTS NOW I WANT THEM GONE! I DONT WANT TO HURT ANYONE BUT I NEED TO EAT I NEED TO EAT I NEED TO

September 19, 1997

I did it. I needed to eat. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Picky told us how to find food. There’s plenty of it in the Playhouse. Like livestock, just waiting to be slaughtered. CatNap was so mad. But we have food now. And we all know he’s been eating them too. I feel like a monster. They were like us. But Bubba told me it was necessary. We were all going to die if we didn’t. I’m still sorry though.

November 4, 1997

Bubba got gassed. Badly. I’m so worried about him. We don’t even know why, we just walked in the room and there he was, laying on the ground with scratch marks all over him. How could CatNap have done such a thing? He’s sick. Just sick. I’ve been taking care of him now. I don’t want to leave his side. I’m worried that if I leave for a moment that something will happen to him. Hoppy’s been making me stay active. Sometimes she’s the only reason I keep going on. It’d be so easy just to end it all. She’s there for me though. I love her. God, I love her. I never want anything to happen to her. But I know something’s going to happen to her. That something’s going to happen to all of us eventually. When it happens to her though, it’s gonna happen to me next. I promise it will.

November 14, 1997

I found a boombox today. It’s really cool. I’ve been playing it for Bubba recently. He’s still asleep. I hope he wakes up soon. Did I ever mention in here that I like to dance? It’s really fun. It makes me forget about everything that happened. I lose myself in the movements. I don’t really even know how I know how to dance. I never learned it as a toy. I think I’m gonna go do it now though.

December 3, 1997

THAT JERK! THAT HORRIBLE STUPID DISGUSTING DUMB JERK! I HATE HER! I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER! HOW DARE SHE DO THAT TO BUBBA?? WHEN HAS HE EVER BEEN ANYTHING BUT NICE TO HER???? BUT NOOOOO, I GUESS KINDNESS MEANS NOTHING IN THE EYES OF PICKY PIGGY! ALL SHE CARES ABOUT IS HERSELF AND HER APPETITE! I WOULDVE RIPPED OFF SOOO MUCH MORE THAN HER EAR IF I COULD! BUT THEN HOPPY AND BOBBY HAD TO COME IN AND RESTRAIN ME! STUPID! STUPID STUPID STUPID! IM GOING TO KILL HER WHEN I GET THE CHANCE! AND ITS GOING TO BE SLOW AND BRUTAL AND ITS GOING TO HURT!

January 1, 1998

Yay. New year. Yippee.

March 4, 1998

Something bad happened today. I knew it would happen eventually. I think we all did. Crafty finally lost it on the wrong person. She attacked CatNap and then he ripped off her hands as punishment. I could hear every. Single. Agonizing second of her screams. I thought I was used to screaming by now. I guess I was just telling myself that. I hope she survives. That was a lot of blood.

March 6, 1998

What do I do. What do I do. What do I do. Hoppy’s leaving. She just told me she is. Hoppy, Bobby and Crafty are leaving Playcare in a week. They can’t leave. They can’t. CatNap’s going to kill them. He’s going to kill them brutally. And even if he doesn’t, who knows what’s outside of Playcare? Plenty of toys who would be willing to hurt them for food. Hoppy told me to come with them. I can’t go with them. I don’t want to die. But I don’t want them to die. They can’t leave. I don’t want them to leave. But I can’t change Hoppy’s mind. She’s leaving with or without me. How could she do that to me? Just leave me here, all alone with Picky? Bubba’s still asleep. She’s the only one I’ll have to talk to. I don’t want to talk to her. I’m scared. I need to stop them.

March 8, 1998

what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done

March 9, 1998

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so sorry. I messed up I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry please forgive me. I keep seeing her. She talks to me in my head now, telling me she won’t ever forgive me, no matter how much I grovel and beg. Sometimes I don’t even think it’s in my head. Am I going insane? You don’t deserve to stay sane. You’re right. I don’t. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

March 10, 1998

The blood won’t come off. It stained my hands. Maybe I deserve that. You do deserve that. You’re right. You’re always right. I deserve it. I haven’t moved from my bed since it happened. I’m hungry but I don’t want to eat. I don’t deserve to eat. Bubba needs me though. At least if Picky tries eating him again there’s nobody to stop me from making her pay this time. I don’t know why I don’t just give up. I should. I made a promise that I would once Hoppy went. Maybe it’s Bubba. Or maybe I’m just making excuses. Maybe I’m just too scared. I’ve never felt so alone before. I deserve to feel alone.

March 24, 1998

I’ve been seeing her a lot lately in my dreams. Always the screaming and then the ear. And then she tells me it’s my fault. I know it’s my fault. But I still don’t understand. Am I selfish for not understanding? Yeah. Probably. But all I ever wanted to do was protect her. I don’t understand why this happened. I don’t understand. Picky’s been avoiding me. That’s fine. I don’t want to see her either.

April 12, 1998

You know what? No. I’m done. I don’t care if CatNap catches me going into the Playhouse. I need to see what’s inside. Maybe she’s inside, and that’s why we aren’t allowed in. I’m going to find her. I’m going to make things right with her. I refuse to believe she’s gone.

July 16, 1998

July. It’s already July. I took that long to recover? Seriously? That was three whole months. Well, I guess loosing an eye will do that to you. I’m still surprised that Picky took care of me while I was hurt. I tried to ask her why but she didn’t respond, so I guess that was that. That doesn’t matter though. He’s alive. He’s alive. DogDay’s alive! He’s been here this entire time, sitting right below our noses and we had no clue! If I can just figure out a way to get him out then he can save us all from this mess! I know he can! I just need to find a way.

July 20, 1998

Bubba woke up. He finally woke up! Oh my god, he finally woke up! It’s been how long, eight months? I’m so thankful. He’s really scared though. He must’ve been through hell. I know from experience the nightmares that stuff gives you aren’t pleasant. I can’t imagine going through that for a whole year. Poor guy.

July 21, 1998

Bubba’s been having trouble walking lately. His legs give out whenever he tries. I guess that makes sense. He hasn’t used his legs in a while. I wish I knew how to give him the proper treatment he needs. Actually, there’s an idea. I should check inside of the school. I’m sure there is something in there about comas.

July 22, 1998

OKAY SO THAT WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA. Not only did I find absolutely NOTHING, but I almost got my head bashed in with a freaking mace! That biology teacher has gone wack. Completely wack. Then again, she’s not the only one. I still hear Hoppy. She still visits me. I’ll be in the middle of something and then I’ll just see her. I think I’m starting to hallucinate. I know that’s really bad. But I enjoy seeing her. Even if all she does is cuss me out. It gives me hope. Hope that she’s not Never mind. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. Bury that nice and deep along with the other scary thoughts. She’s not dead. She’s not dead she’s not dead she’s not dead she’s not dead.

August 8, 1998

Third year anniversary. Or is it the fourth? I don’t feel like doing the math. Bubba can walk again now, but all he does is sit against a wall. It feels like my effort was wasted, if I’m honest. He doesn’t like eating. Or sleeping. He hates sleeping. I tried to give him some books to read that I stole from the councilors office, but he ignored them. Some days he refuses to sleep so badly to the point where I have to knock him out for him to get a little shut eye. I feel bad for him. He doesn’t deserve this. If I could take his place I would in a heartbeat. Maybe if it was me instead of him I wouldn’t have messed up so horribly.

September 4, 1998

It’s one of those days where the hallucinations are bad again. Sometimes I wonder if it even is a hallucination. Am I actually seeing her? She’s looking over my shoulder right now. Watching me write. She looks so real. And the stuff she says feels so real. I want her to be real. I want to hold her in my arms. She just told me if I ever try to do that she’s going to push me off the cloud I’m on. I think she knows I wouldn’t save myself.

September 18, 1998

Bubba’s been getting better. He’s started talking again. Only sometimes though. And he never says much. It’s a start though.

November 10, 1998

I think I just saw Picky chasing Hoppy away from the councilors office. I must’ve just been hallucinating again. She was carrying something though. It looked like a computer? I’ve never seen that before. Probably just another hallucination.

[studioahead]

Barbara Stauffacher Solomon: Northern California Legacy Spotlight

Last April, just before her death at 95, we had the privilege to interview Barbara Stauffacher Solomon, the trailblazing landscape architect and artist best known for her supergraphics inside Sea Ranch. Solomon, or “Bobbie” as everyone called her, was much more than her famous graphics, as her daughter Nellie, who helped parlay our questions to Bobbie, emphasizes.

Nellie King Solomon is an artist in her own right, whose gorgeous abstract paintings almost match the vibrancy of Nellie herself. We spoke with the two of them about memory and landscape, about love and what each has learned from the other, and about looking back on a life well-lived. Nellie’s daughter Fia joined in.

A few months after Bobbie's death, we revisited Nellie to ask what her mom’s legacy might be. 

Studio AHEAD: Did California’s landscape influence your work once you returned from Switzerland?

Bobbie: It was the freedom of being a California woman that influenced you more than the landscape. Being in California as a woman was very different than being in Switzerland as a woman. I could do anything I wanted.

Nellie: I feel you, too, about the California woman thing and the freedom here having worked and lived in Europe and New York. I’ve come back to California multiple times as a result. There are hard-to-describe unspoken freedoms that are unheard of elsewhere. Even in New York. I would do things and be dismissed as “Californian”: make a drawing a certain way, have a different relationship to abstraction. At Cooper Union I would jump on top of my drafting table just so I could get a good look at my drawing from a distance. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world! Definitely a California move.

I would spend the weekends at Martha’s Vineyard looking at a seashell, stoned, and come back Tuesday morning with clear ideas about what I was going to draw for afternoon critique—that was a very different way of going about it. Slaving all weekend and sleeping under your desk was the East Coast Cooper way. Not for me. Go jump in some water and look at seashell instead.

Bobbie: About architecture, I see the corners of buildings and how they relate to each other. Supergraphics is all about relating everything to the corners. It never works having to do a computer printout ahead of time. It doesn’t work because it’s all about tying the graphics to the corners, which is on site. The architecture tells you what to do.

Studio AHEAD: The contrast between the colorful, geometric quality of Sea Ranch’s Supergraphics and the rolling hills and waves of Sonoma is very striking. Was this on purpose?

Bobbie: I didn’t want it to stick out. I didn’t want it to be more visible than the landscape itself. Well, it is but it’s indoors.

Nellie: You were doing the Supergraphics indoors so that it wouldn’t stand out against the land and look obnoxious. That’s why there’s all those rules up there at Sea Ranch—that whole dictatorial handbook that comes with the property that says don’t plant a rose or do Supergraphics outdoors. Your stuff is brazen but it’s inside.

Bobbie: Like once I was teaching at Sitka, Alaska and a woman wanted me to paint the main street with Supergraphics—this little town. I said “No!” with vengeance.

Nellie: I remember the walk through the forest and the ancient weathered totem poles and you would let the students paint inside the ugly fluorescent lit hallways. You wouldn’t let them paint outside in the beautiful quiet forest.

Studio AHEAD: What is one of your works that you’d wish had gotten more attention?

Bobbie: Graphics at the San Francisco Museum. It’s the biggest artwork in the museum that a woman has ever been allowed to make. And what does that mean? There really hasn’t been any press.

Nellie: And you’ve been annoyed about that. It’s bigger than a football field, and stronger in a way.

Studio AHEAD: Nellie, you help your mom with these large installations. What have you learned from her?

Nellie: Be big, bold, and beautiful. Be brazen. Think of the whole space and really go for it. These are all things that come in the territory of helping my mom do what she does. They definitely have rubbed off on me. To think of things from the perspective of the negative space, as opposed to the positive space, that’s a more formal quality. I think of the principles that she learned from Armin Hoffman. What I absorbed in watching her put together and draw Green Architecture and the Agrarian Garden when I was in fifth grade. So many gardens Bobbie and I snuck into all over the world. That there’s a certain irreverence and physical relationship to space and making that I’ve adopted from working with her.

I learned a lot of stuff from her and that would be very hard to figure out. It’s like untangling pantyhose that has been in a drawer forever. It’s all tangled up. And then some stuff I learned from Cooper Union and then some stuff I learned from Hoffman. I mean where does one education start and another education begin? What stuff did you learn from which grandmother or which parent? These influences are all different voices mixed together and yet when you get in your studio—there’s a great quote—when you close the door to your studio, you have to kick out all the voices and then begin.

Studio AHEAD: Bobbie, what has Nellie taught you?

Bobbie: What has Nellie taught me when you have a kid you love? You just learn how to try and make them happy.

Studio AHEAD: Fia, what’s going to be your medium of choice?

Fia: I'm a singer-songwriter, writer, and aspiring actress. I have an idea. I think that the youngest one should ask a question to the oldest one. I want to ask Bobbie, Why is your imagination at the end of life so opposite to your work?

Bobbie: You smart little thing!

* * *

Nellie: At the end Bobbie saw all of these romantic, fanciful, green, growing vines all over the ceilings and over the whole house. At one point the house turned into a hot-fudge sundae with different shades of light, dark, and milk chocolate for all the shadows. All these romantic and wild, elaborate visions would appear over the white walls of the clean, modernist house where she lived. Entirely opposite to the stark hard-edged graphics she was known for. That’s why Fia asked her question and why Bobbie knew it was wise.

Bobbie always loved the “schmaltzy” as she would call it. The romantic gardens, the formal gardens, the Tuileries, France, Turner Classic movies, Hollywood plots. When we wheeled her up to the entrance of SFMoMA to see her Strips of Stripes exhibition from the revolving doors, there was, flanking her work, two large Julie Mehretu works: “Ah, those are real art. The kind of stuff I would’ve made if I didn’t have to make money.”

As she lay dying in a magical space, her imagination ran wild on the stark white ceiling. She was enveloped in a romantic fantasy, ever-changing, constantly urgent to describe it to me, or anyone who would listen, as she slipped between worlds.

* * *

Studio AHEAD: What do you think your mom's legacy will be?

Nellie: There’s a chance that Bobbie’s Northern California legacy continues to be Sea Ranch. Bobbie does not see herself as defined by Sea Ranch at all. She is much more interested in her books and her continual evolution. Bobbie has a much more complex legacy than that one early project. She has multiple voices: hard-edge Supergraphics, complex books like Good Mourning California, the Green Architecture and the Agrarian Garden landscape drawings in the 80s.

She continually reinvented herself. Which made it tricky to pigeonhole her into a discipline or a style for a final summation, but it’s also her brilliance. In a 1968 Vogue issue, Bobbie (and her friend, the film critic Pauline Kael) were named “two of the 20 (?) women most in touch with her times.�� Bobbie continually stayed “in touch with her times” by evolving with the times.

Studio AHEAD: What has been the reaction since her passing?

Nellie: People’s reaction is with a certain sense that Bobbie is immortal. It’s a funny thing. A dealer she worked with said “it seemed like she would never die. She couldn’t.” Even as she got old, she said “who you calling old?” Fia and I have decided not to refer to Bobbie in the past tense. We refer to her in the present tense. “Bobbie is” as opposed to “Bobbie was.”

There’s an outpouring of caring. It makes me want to invite everyone to be together in her honor, and onward. Bobbie lives in us. Bobbie is not at all gone.

“To be is not to know what to be”—this is one of my favorite things she wrote. If she is not being, then she now IS. Perhaps this is why galleries prefer to represent estate artists. Quantifiable only after death.

Photos: Ekaterina Izmestieva

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Secrets That Bind Us

Bobby Waterhouse x Reader/OFC

Chapter 5

Over the next month, Esther worked hard to come up with a solid plan for Bobby to follow, he clearly needed more guidance than she’d counted on, but it could work out. She was so sure that Bobby’s need to maintain his social status would help him get through the more difficult aspects of the pretend relationship they were having.

Esther made sure to make eye contact with Bobby slightly more when they were in public, like the office and any meetings they were in together. Bobby was actually very good at not over doing it, coming around to the fact that less was more.

Finally, the moment that had been building was upon them. Esther had seen the way people were talking about her and Bobby, mostly it was disbelief, unsure if Bobby was simply pretending to like her and if she was being polite. The people around them were still uncertain and it needed to be solidified.

‘Miss Fox.’ Bobby said, cheerfully as she entered the staff room to make a cup of tea. ‘How’s the France project coming along?’ He asked, making sure to keep his voice at a lower volume and his focus squarely on Esther.

‘Well.’ Esther nodded with a small smile, and she reached for her usual mug. ‘I’ve sent the initial findings to Sarah, and she should be able to update you soon.’

‘Good.’ He nodded, still not looking away from her. ‘That’s good.’ Bobby cleared his throat, his nervousness was evident. Esther had told him to use it to his advantage, everyone feels nervous talking to someone they like. He took half a step closer to her, carefully pouring the boiling water into the mug for her. ‘I wondered if… if you were free tomorrow night?’ He was doing well. ‘Around seven?’

‘I am free tomorrow, yes.’ She answered, turning her body towards him and gently biting her bottom lip to indicate her interest.

‘Fantastic, so, you’ll be free to have dinner with me then?’ Bobby was actually rather good at being bold.

‘I will.’ Esther genuinely couldn’t contain her smile, she was so proud of his efforts and everything they had done together was about to pay off.

‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening then.’ Bobby smiled. ‘Miss fox.’ He nodded and stirred her tea, sliding the mug towards her, before leaving the staff room.

Esther watched him leave and held his gaze for just a moment as he reached the door and disappeared. Step one complete.

Esther picked up a biscuit, dipping it in her mug as she went back to her desk. The next step was to act as if neither of them wanted to talk about it. The less attention they attempted to draw, the more plausible it would look.

For the most part it was working. The news had creeped into the office that Bobby had been seen standing quite close to Esther in the staff room and she didn’t seem to mind, in fact, she seemed to enjoy it.

Esther was asked quietly about Bobby a couple of times, but both times she refused to speak about her personal life, indicating it was none of their business. She’d seen Bobby walking away from a conversation with Sarah with the same air of frustration, clearly he’d been asked a similar question.

This was all falling into place.

Bobby found himself strangely excited about dinner with Esther. Over the time they had spent together, he realised that she was actually quite a wonderful person. Intelligent, quick-witted and shared the same vulnerability that he did.

He saw her leave the office slightly earlier than usual, presumably to go home and get ready for their dinner date, but as instructed, he only gave her a brief look and a smile before continuing with his work for the remainder of the day.

Bobby knew one thing, Esther knew how to put on a show. She kept her look elegant, subtle, but her red lipstick pointed to a night of anticipation. She was very good. Bobby had done the same and left the office wearing a sleek suit he reserved for special occasions only. From the look on her face, she approved.

‘Very nice, Bobby.’ She said as she stepped into the car.

He felt an inner pride that he’d been able to get that response from her, and soon they were on their first dinner date together.

Bobby was understandably nervous, but Esther found ways to keep him engaged in conversation and keep his focus between them. There was no need to involve anyone else in their business.

‘Well, I have to say,’ Esther grinned as she sipped the last of her wine. ‘We certainly are attracting the right attention.’

Bobby smiled, gently wiping the corner of his mouth out of habit. ‘That’s a good thing, I take it?’ He didn’t dare look around to find out who was watching, but he desperately wanted to.

‘Absolutely. Keep your eyes on me for a moment.’ She told him, lowly. He’d gotten well used to those big brown eyes smiling at him and it had begun to calm him somewhat. Esther half laughed and looked away. ‘I think we should leave soon.’

‘Of course.’ Bobby nodded. ‘May I ask, what my response should be? On the off chance anyone asks about this?’

Esther inhaled deeply, folding her arms in front of her. ‘I’ve been thinking about that actually. There are two options, one you can deny it and behave as if it’s some big secret you want to share but can’t, or we can go a different route.’ Esther finished her wine as the waiter came over to clear their plates. Bobby kept his gaze on Esther, almost afraid to look elsewhere and risk ruining all the work they’d put in.

‘What’s the other option?’ He asked once the waiter was out of earshot.

‘You can reluctantly admit to it and give some half-hearted response about how you’re unsure of if it’ll come to anything.’

Bobby nodded. ‘What are the benefits of that?’

‘Well, it will confirm the rumours for a start.’

‘Why do I feel as if there is a significant downside?’ Bobby leaned forward and watched Esther’s almost surprised reaction to his boldness, but she smirked anyway.

‘It runs the risk of going the other way, confirming that I’m simply being polite to your advances, but ultimately won’t take things any further.’

‘I see.’ Bobby nodded again and the waiter brought the bill.

Bobby wasn’t stupid and had already told Esther that he would pay for dinner, he wanted to appear to be like the other men who courted women and she allowed him to build that image for himself.

‘What do you think?’ She suddenly asked.

‘Well, you know my feelings on exposing our true motives,’ he thought out loud. ‘My instinct would be denial, but perhaps it depends on who I am speaking to.’

Esther smiled, nodding slowly. ‘I suppose it does. You’ll let me know your reaction so I can co-ordinate accordingly.’

‘Of course.’

Esther was purposely moving one step behind Bobby, giving him every opportunity to act accordingly. He held her coat for her, opened the doors to the restaurant and the car and made sure she could always slip her hand around his arm at any given time.

Bobby liked this persona, this man he was creating for himself, he felt different, but no less himself. It was nice. He could have gotten used to this.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!  

[hauntingmothgirl]

Jealousy, Jealousy - Part 4

Hi, IM BACK!!! I hope yall missed me. Sorry, I was gone for so long, I had a medical emergency, will be getting surgery soon so wish me good luck on that! I hope yall are still interested in this story. A lot of people seemed to like the To Hell and Back series, so thank you for the support, it really makes me smile. This is kind of a filler chapter so I hope that’s okay. This was an original idea thought up by @shelikesloki. So thank you so much for the recommendation. If you have any suggestions/requests or want me to write a specific idea then feel free to ask, my dms and asks are open, but for now here’s part 4! Part 5 will be up tomorrow. PLEASE give me some suggestions of what you want to see! This series spans across the beginning of season 8.

Concept from @shelikesloki: After overhearing Morgan and Reid speaking about Maeve, Y/n has trouble with the idea that she’s missed her chance with Spencer. But after the team helps save Maeve, will Reid and Maeve even work out?

☾

The stalker was a woman JJ had decided when she’d noticed black eyeliner had been used to draw the crosses through Maeve’s face. That’d been why she’d masked her voice on the phone, why Maeve had been so willing to open her home to her. The only question left had been how the stalker had known about Maeve and spencer's… relationship. When Spencer had noticed that Maeve’s ex fiancé, Bobby Putnam’s (a former suspect in her disappearance), current girlfriend had identified Spencer upon first meeting without being introduced to him. 

Standing in Bobby’s apartment wasn’t as upsetting, glass from what looked to be a bottle littered the dining room floor, a small pool of blood left in the middle of it. Compared to the state of Maeve’s apartment, it seemed that the unsub had had a normal conversation which abruptly turned violent again, a running trait it seemed. 

Diane Huntington had appeared to be a fake name, her entire identity had been preplanned, she’d listed a fake address and used a burner phone to contact Bobby. With no trails to lead off of now, we’d had to work off of Spencer’s mind, details he’d subconsciously remembered throughout their interactions that could point us in the direction of the unsub, 

☾

We’d just started talking about the possibilities of the stalker being a former lover of Maeve’s when my phone had buzzed for the fifteenth time that day. Gritting my teeth and setting my jaw, I removed myself from my chair, offering a quick apology, before making my way out into the hallway before flipping my phone open. 

“What, Tony?!” I’d whisper screamed as I made my way for the stairwell. 

“Been bugging you that much, has he?” The familiar voice on the other end of the phone chuckled. 

“Gibbs,” I breathed, “Sorry, I’ve been busy.” 

“Too busy to pick up a call for the past three months?” My former boss mumbled. The door to the stairwell groaned as I closed it behind me and inhaled deeply. 

“Things have been… hectic lately.”

“Well, I’ll say,” his tone came out rough, annoyed. 

“Is this about the case Tony mentioned, cause I really can't get in the middle of that right now, I’m swamped and-”

“No, no, we got that fixed up,” he reassured, “That’s actually what I was calling about, Tony mentioned your case.” I suppressed a bitter comment as I listened, of course Tony had mentioned it, I’d expect nothing less. “Is there anything we can do?” He asked.

“I don't even know if there’s anything WE can do. We’ve got no leads right now, I’m worried she won't make it, Gibbs,” I started. Gibbs had always been a father figure to me and my old coworkers. That’d been part of the reason I’d been hesitant to speak to him, once you started talking, it was hard to stop. He had that effect on people, it’s what made him so good at his job. “I’ve never seen him like this over a girl… over anyone really.” Bitterness seeped through my body once again. 

“Really, y/n, we can be there in the morning, say the word and we’ll consult,” Gibbs tried. 

“You don't understand, “ I tried to explain. “The section chief doesn't even want us on the case. It was hard enough to convince Strauss to keep us on, considering we’re too close to the victim. It’s a conflict of interest. Getting the okay to have you consult would be impossible, you're not a current profiler, you're not in the unit.” I finished. 

We sat there for a moment before he broke the silence, “I understand.” I paced the stairwell platform nervously as I waited for his next words, the team already noticed my absence, making it any longer would be a problem. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” He asked. I didn’t know how to respond for a moment, Gibbs didn't indulge in conversations about feelings often, or hardly ever. But if Penelope had noticed how I felt for Spencer, surely Gibbs had too. My voice broke as I tried to keep my composure, “I don't know what to do, this will ruin him. I don’t know how to watch that, to watch him break, Gibbs.” My throat felt like it was closing. “How do I sit by when we know the probabilities of how this will end? And even if it doesn't end badly,” my mind raced as I struggled to put my thoughts into words. “How do I sit across from him day after day knowing how I feel?” I knew I was being selfish, this wasn’t about me, I needed to stay present to stay focused. Thinking of the future was a bad idea currently. Heat flooded my cheeks as I struggled to regain my composure. 

“Kid,” Gibbs’ voice came out softer, “You can’t think like that, you have a job to do. You can't worry about those things while remaining helpful to your team.” 

“I know…” I struggled to find the right words, “I just can't think of anything else.”

“Listen, if it really becomes too much, you can take some time off, or- or you can come work for us again. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that actually,” His voice trailed off towards the end, my head cocked as I registered his words. 

“Gibbs, I-” He cut me off before I could finish. 

“I don't need an answer now, we just-” He was struggling as much as I was, that must’ve been the reason he’d asked Tony to call, so he wouldn’t have to be the one to ask. “We want you back, kid.”

I was silent as I thought it over. Could I really leave him like that, after going through one of the worst things imaginable? As his best friend, could I really leave in his time of need, just to avoid watching him suffer? I didn’t think I could, in general, saying no to Spencer was hard, let alone when he was in pain. But if she survived, could I really face that either? The past few weeks had been hard enough, and I’d known nothing about her. Now I knew what she looked like, I knew her history, I knew her achievements, I knew what they’d talked about. He deserved his best friend, but would I be able to be the friend he needed? To be able to focus on my work everyday with a picture of her sat atop his desk? To lay it all aside? To potentially meet her one day? To attend their wedding? My stomach turned once more.  

“It’s just an option,” He muttered in response to my silence. 

“Yeah, I’ll think about it, Gibbs. Thank you,” I said, checking my watch for the time. “I’ve gotta go, I’m sorry.” I said as I opened the staircase door. 

“Stay safe, okay?” 

“Always.” She promised, “Tell Abby I said hi,” I smiled as I imagined the perky forensic scientist’s reaction. 

“Will do,” he chuckled. 

okay, that’s part 4, and like always, i hope it didn’t disappoint. and if it did then, again, that’s chill too. sorry it took so long. and again if you have any suggestions or recommendations just ask, and if you want to be tagged in part 5, let me know! part 5 will be up tomorrow. have a beautiful day loves :)

Thanks again @shelikesloki

tags for those who asked, if you want to be tagged or untagged just lmk. <3

@phatcrackdad

@venomsvl

@instabull

@everythingbutnormal

@roserfz27

@ariscardigan

@geeksareunique

@reidsgubbler

@cat-loves-music

@measure-in-pain

@wittlewowa

Masterlist

Part 3

[buckleyblueyes]

ahh that's amazing! thank you in advance. I got this idea into my head: what if there is this one time they're all on a call, and maybe it's something that hits a little too close to home for Buck, maybe it's playing on his fears and insecurities, but the moment Buck sees what they're dealing with he gets SCARED, and freezes, and subconsciously grabs Eddie's hand, because Eddie makes him feel safe. He is his best friend (who he's in love with, ofc) after all. Eddie is well. Surprised. Very much.

Anon! Thank you so much for your patience with this one! I know it's been ages since you sent it in. I hope it's worth the wait and that I did justice to your prompt! (CW: drowning)

Eddie feels Buck tense up beside him as soon as Bobby tells them where they're going: Splash Zone Water Park. They have calls to pools fairly often, and Buck always gets a little bit tense going into it, no matter how long it’s been since the tsunami. Eddie presses his knee against Buck’s in the truck, offering a silent comfort to his friend. Buck seems to push down his fears by the time they pull up to the scene, forcing himself to shift into Firefighter Buckley mode as they make their way through the park. Eddie lets himself be relieved, until they arrive in front of the wave pool.

Of course it’s the goddamn wave pool. Even worse, there’s a nine year old boy laid out on the stone patio next to the pool, dripping wet, brown hair plastered to his forehead. He’s unconscious, bleeding from the side of his head, and his chest isn't rising and falling like it should be. Buck freezes immediately at the sight, reaching out for Eddie with his right hand, and wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s left wrist. It takes Eddie a moment to realize that Buck is feeling for his pulse, grounding himself.

Eddie does his best to steady his breathing and heart rate once he realizes what Buck is doing. The sight in front of them is upsetting to him, of course it is, but he knows it’s worse for Buck. He’s not the one who walked around for hours not knowing if Christopher was dead or alive. He’s not the one who almost died himself (at least, not that day.) “It’s okay,” he murmurs quietly, so only Buck can hear. “I’m here, I’m alive. That’s not Christopher.” It’s purely a medical call at this point, so he makes no attempt to move away from Buck as Hen and Chimney begin administering CPR to the boy. His mother is crying, wailing, begging them to save him. His lips are turning blue. Buck’s grip on Eddie’s wrist is like a vice.

“We got a pulse!” Hen finally calls out.

Buck’s grip doesn’t loosen, but Eddie does hear him let out of a heavy breath. He twists his hand out of Buck’s grip just enough that he can slide his arm up, so Buck is no longer holding his wrist, but is holding his hand. He gives Buck’s hand a firm squeeze and finally hazards a glance up at the man in question. Buck is staring at their intertwined hands now, confused. At least, Eddie decides, he’s distracted from the drowning boy. He runs his thumb along the back of Buck’s hand, in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

He knows they’re crossing some kind of line here, that hand holding in the middle of an emergency scene (even one where their presence turned out not to be strictly necessary) is not something that he’ll be able to brush off as strictly platonic. It doesn’t scare him like it used to, though. Maybe it’s because he watched Buck date Taylor, so he knows how much worse it would be to not have Buck, or maybe it’s all the therapy he’s been in since the shooting. Either way, Eddie’s not afraid anymore. He and Buck have been on the edge of something--or maybe everything--for months, so if holding Buck’s hand will help ground him, keep his mind from thrusting him back in time, then it’s a risk Eddie is willing to take.

Hen and Chimney are loading the boy into the ambulance--he is breathing again, still unconscious and probably severely concussed, but alive--when Bobby finally makes his way over to them. He takes in the haunted look in Buck’s eyes, and the fact that their hands are still tightly clasped together, and frowns.

“You boys alright?” He asks, but he’s looking at Buck.

Buck nods slowly. “I--Yeah. Just...Brought up some bad memories.”

“This was a rough one,” Bobby agrees. “I’m gonna take us off rotation for a while when we get back to the station.”

“Thanks, Cap,” Eddie says. Buck doesn’t say anything.

Bobby smiles in that warm, fatherly way of his, looking between them. “Take care of each other.”

As if there’s any universe where they wouldn’t.

Eddie doesn’t let go of Buck’s hand until they get back to the station, and only because he needs two hands to cook.

“I’m not hungry,” Buck says, still hovering in Eddie’s space.

“You were about to eat before the call came in,” Eddie insists gently. “You need to eat.”

“And you’re gonna cook for me?” Buck shakes his head. “I think I’ll take my chances with starvation.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, pulling out a griddle and a clean spatula. “I think I can handle grilled cheese, Buck.”

Buck’s mouth opens and closes in surprise. “Grilled cheese?”

“Maddie may have mentioned making it for you a lot growing up.” Eddie flushes slightly at having to admit he’s talked to Maddie about Buck. “I thought it would be comforting.”

Buck stares at him, eyes wide and mouth turning up into a tentative smile. “Yeah, it is.”

“Good,” Eddie smiles back. “Now, go sit down.”

Eddie bustles about the kitchen, pulling out the good buttermilk bread that Chimney always buys instead of the whole wheat bread that Bobby puts on the list, the pre-sliced cheddar cheese, and the butter. “After we eat, how about we video call Christopher?” It’s late in the afternoon, he’ll be home from school by now.

Buck lets out a long exhale. “Yes, please.”

Eddie flips the bread slices on the griddle and places the cheese slices on the toasted side. “Great.”

“I--” Buck starts. “I didn’t know how to ask.”

Eddie looks up from the sandwiches. “How to ask for what?”

“To talk to Christopher,” Buck draws patterns on the tabletop with his index finger. “I know I’m not--He’s not mine.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything at first, just plates up the sandwiches, brings them over to the table, and sits down next to Buck, who takes a small, tentative bite.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“What?”

“You said Christopher isn’t yours,” Eddie picks up his sandwich, but doesn’t bite into it. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Buck is staring at him again, confused.

“Look, I don’t know what we are anymore, Buck,” Eddie admits. “Things are different between us now, and I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know that you love Christopher, and that he loves you just as much. If that doesn’t give you a right to call him, to reassure yourself that he’s okay, then I don’t know what does.”

“I…” Buck’s eyes fill with tears.

"It's okay, Buck." Eddie reaches over to wipe Buck's tears with his thumb. “Just eat your grilled cheese."

Buck does as he’s told, making it halfway through the sandwich in three bites. “You know, there’s no law that says we have to wait until we finish eating to call Christopher.”

Eddie raises a skeptical eyebrow, looking up from his own half-eaten lunch. “Will you actually finish eating if we call now?”

“Absolutely.” Buck takes a big bite to prove his point. “See?” He says, through a mouthful of food. Something so childish shouldn’t be so endearing, and yet, somehow it is.

Helpless, Eddie pulls out his phone. Carla answers on the second ring. “You better have a good reason for interrupting math homework.”

“I do.” Eddie assures her. “Can you put Chris on?”

Carla gives him a look, but does as he asks. Christopher is grinning--probably excited to have his math homework interrupted “Hi, Dad!”

“Hey, kid.” Eddie can’t help but return his son’s smile. “How’s the math homework going?”

Christopher’s smile falters slightly. “Oh, it’s good.”

Somehow Eddie doesn’t totally believe that, but it’s not important now. “Listen, I’ve got somebody here who wants to say ‘hi’, is that okay?”

The boy’s smile comes back even wider than before. “Is it Buck?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, loud enough that the phone can catch it. “It’s me.”

“Hand the phone to Buck, Dad!” Christopher is bouncing with excitement. “Hand the phone to Buck!”

He does, scooching his chair closer so he can still see the screen himself, and before Buck can even greet Christopher, the kid is launching into a monologue.

“Buck! Dr. Lassiter assigned us a big, semester-long project for science class, can you pleeeaaase help me with it? I want to build a model of the solar system, but it has to be totally accurate.”

The tension Buck's body has been holding onto since the phrase “water park” fell from Bobby’s lips is finally starting to fade.

“Absolutely. Do we want it to move?”

Christopher’s eyes widen on screen. “Yes!”

Buck laughs. “Well then, we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Eddie smiles softly, as Buck and Christopher begin planning their project. He knows he must look like a lovesick fool, but to be fair, that’s what he is. He rests one hand over the crook of Buck’s elbow, and doesn’t miss the pink that appears across his cheeks.

“Alright, you three,” that’s Carla’s voice, “Somebody still has math homework to finish, and I’m sure you boys will have to get back to work soon.”

Eddie sighs. Carla is right, unfortunately. But Buck looks lighter than he has all day. “We better do what Carla says.”

“Will you come over after work?” Christopher asks. They won't get off until after Christopher will already be at school, so Buck will probably go to his loft after work. But Eddie doesn’t doubt now that Christopher has asked, Buck will manage to make it over to their house by the time Christopher is home from school. He wonders if it's too soon to ask Buck to sleep in his bed, instead of going to his loft at all. It's yet another line to cross, but at this point Eddie's lost track of all the lines they've crossed.

“You bet,” is Buck’s answer. “Now get back to your math!”

“Okay, dad,” Christopher says, rolling his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. It’s meant to be a joke at Buck’s expense, but Eddie can see the breath catching in Buck’s throat all the same, so he pulls the phone from his hand and takes over.

“Good-bye, Christopher! We love you!”

“Bye Dad! Bye Buck! I love you guys, too.”

Buck finds his voice again. “Bye Superman!”

“So,” Eddie says, putting the phone down. “Do you feel better now?”

“Eddie…” Buck hesitates, dropping his hand down so it rests over Eddie’s. His skin is warm and rough and unlike earlier Eddie can actually enjoy the feeling. “Thank you.” He’s thanking Eddie for more than just the grilled cheese and the phone call, and Eddie knows it.

His answer is simple. He turns his hand over, and interlocks their fingers. “Always, Buck.”

[sickofthistoxicshit]

In continuation to 9-1-1 4x01, I spot a potential new buddie paralleled to bathena:

1. When Bobby speaks to May when she starts to work at the dispatch center. It was the same day Athena got back to work. 

Bobby: Don't be scared. MAY: But she's out there, Right where they're saying there could be a landslide. Bobby: She's probably just helping out with evacuations. May: Aren't you worried? It's too soon. Bobby: Hey, your mom is doing her job. And I'm sure she'd want you to be doing the same. Actually, that's a lie. She still wants you to quit. Now in S5b, Eddie is not in danger anymore, but Buck is still very much out there, and no, he is not Christopher’s father, but we all know he may as well be. 

And Oliver did say, he has a scene with Christopher in 5x11, and we also know that Buck is going back to working on his own, and back to his fun S1 Buck rescues. I can see Christopher, now no longer worried for Eddie, being scared for Buck. And both Eddie and Buck will have to find a way to allay Chris’s fears. Also I do hope Eddie is smart enough to send the kid back to therapy. 2. This is Athena’s speech to Silvia, when she tries to convince her to evacuate her house, and that is also the first day when Athena is back at work after she was injured in 3x17.

Athena: “You know, today was my first day back on the job. Six months since I last put on this uniform.” “I was injured, Line of duty. Took some time to heal. Silvia: “Not everything heals in six months.”  Athena: “You're right about that. My arm's fixed, but the rest of me? I even lied to my husband this morning. Told him that I would be all right, didn't mention that it took everything in my being to get out of that bed this morning and pick up this badge. Then I lied to my captain. Hell, maybe I've been lying to myself.”

Athena is admitting to not being healed, mentally. And we can assume, that Eddie wasn’t healed either.  Him leaving in my opinion, is more because he wasn’t sure of his own mental shields/strength anymore. Athena has been through therapy, has probably been injured and hospitalized before, May even seemed well adjusted when visiting her in the hospital, but you could see it was Harry’s first time.  With both her kids worrying about her constantly, she never left the job. She thought about it, was close to retire as she told Bobby later on, but she never did, because she is sure that this is who she is, that this is her place, and she draws strength from the people she loves. Eddie, was in the same position as Athena after 4x14, but we don’t see him meeting with a therapist, I’m guessing he had a psych eval before returning to work, but at this point he knows what he needs to say to get the seal of approval, and was probably back to firefighting as soon as he was cleared.

Buck like Bobby did with Athena, did try to check with Eddie, (as we can see in 5x03 and 5x08) but Eddie seemed to be reluctant to touch on the shooting subject. The panic attacks are merely a symptom to the problem. But where Athena worked through her problem, and leaned on her family, Eddie tried to carry everything alone until that house of cards came crumbling down. An unsettled parent makes for an unsettled child, and I’m betting leaving the 118 won’t solve any of the problems Eddie is facing. Because even if leaving was a knee jerk reaction to Christopher’s fear, it was merely an easy way out for Eddie, who’s probably still living in that moment where a sniper’s bullet shattered his hard earned comforting reality.

I was listening to Athena talking and all I could think about was “hell, that’s probably what Eddie’s has been thinking when he got back to work and was still living that awful moment because he never really dealt with it.”

***

These two scenes seemed to stand out to me as possible parallels for the S5b buddie progression, My mind is buzzing with thoughts!! Share yours with me too!!

[nerdyfangirl67]

All of Hell (Pt 1) - Supernatural Reader Insert

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: language, talk of drinking and nightmares, talk of hell and torture

Word count: 2525

Summary: Dean returns from hell alive, after four months of the reader believing he is dead. It all sounds like a dream come true, until the reader realizes that Dean is grappling with far more than just a readjustment period.

A/N: This one was influenced by the Nickelback song “Far Away”, as well as Supernatural season 4 episode 1 (Lazarus Rising). I’ve had the idea for this fic in my head for months and I’ve finally written it! Some things differ from Dean’s hell storyline from the show to better fit the storyline for this fic.  I decided to break it up into a couple of parts because I didn’t want to cram everything into a one-shot. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Next chapter

A knock sounds on the door, drawing your attention away from the lore book you’d been scouring for the last hour in a hopeless attempt to find information. You let out a small sigh, unfolding your stiff legs from underneath you, giving a small stretch as you stand before you make your way towards the door. You get to the door just as Bobby does.

“Expecting anyone?” He asks and you shake your head, wondering who it was on the other side of that grimy wood door if it wasn’t someone either of you were expecting. Bobby pulls the door open and a small gasp leaves you.

Standing there, just under the threshold of the door, looking worn out and a little worse for wear, is Dean. You couldn’t move, could hardly think, standing there taking him in. It felt like a nightmare disguised as a dream because the rational part of you knew it couldn’t be him, be your Dean. 

You’d watched him get torn apart by hellhounds, the life slowly leaving his body as Sam held him close, you kneeling beside him, tears racing down your face. You’d helped Sam clean him up for burial, long after he’d faded away from his body. You’d sobbed as his simple pine box had gotten covered with fresh dirt. You’d mourned the loss of this man, suffering through each day of the last four months, fighting against that irrational part of you that waited for him to walk through the door and give you shit for leaving him behind.

“Surprise.” He says, his voice, albeit a bit tentative, is just as rough and sexy as you remember. As if they have a mind of their own, your feet carry you swiftly towards him, your heart racing and your vision becoming blurry. You’re stopped short just feet from him though, Bobby’s arm forcefully holding you back.

“Bobby, please. I-I need…” You trail off, trying to push your way around Bobby to get to him, although Bobby doesn’t budge. “Please, Bobby. It’s Dean.” You whisper out, the emotions welling up in your chest making your words come out broken.

“Girl, we don’t know what that is.” Bobby says gruffly, pushing you back from the man you so desperately wanted to hold in your arms, to feel, to know isn’t just a figment of your imagination.

In a move so quick you almost miss it, Bobby grabs a large silver knife off the table behind him and lunges at Dean. Dean sidesteps, narrowly avoiding getting slashed with the knife, pushing Bobby back as he does. Bobby lands a solid punch on Dean, causing Dean to stumble backwards a few steps. 

“Fuck Bobby.” Dean curses, trying to keep something between him and the knife-wielding older man. The two stay crouched in their defensive positions, watching each other and waiting for the other to make a move. You pull your handgun out from where you keep it wedged a bit haphazardly in the waistband of your pants. You decide it’s time to take matters into your own hands.

“Hey you idiots!” You yell, alternating between pointing the gun at Bobby and Dean to get their attention. Your gun wasn’t actually loaded, you’d taken the bullets out only a few hours earlier to clean it and hadn’t reloaded it, but neither of them needed to know that. Once you are sure both of them are looking at you and not each other, you slowly step to Bobby’s side, grabbing the knife from his hand, while still keeping an eye on Dean. 

“We are going to do this like adults.” You say calmly as you bend down and slide Bobby’s knife across the scuffed up wood floor to Dean, ignoring Bobby’s sound of protest.

You straighten up, your gaze meeting Dean’s fully for the first time. You suddenly feel breathless, his green eyes like the first sighting of land after months at sea, a reprieve from the relentless waves of grief and pain you’d been fighting through for months. 

You will yourself to focus on the task at hand, not on the man in front of you. “Pick up the knife, slowly.” You pause as you wait for him to do so. “Alright, to prove to Bobby that you are who you say you are, I’m going to need you to cut yourself with that.” 

He doesn’t hesitate, making a small gash in his forearm about three or four inches long, letting out a low grunt of pain as he does but his eyes never leave yours. You watch spellbound, unable to look away, the fear of this possibly being a dream or that the person in front of you isn’t actually Dean, pulsating under your skin as you wait for something to happen.

Nothing happens and you slowly lower the gun from where you’d half-heartedly been pointing it, your brain finally accepting what your heart so badly wanted to believe. You let out a choked sob, the reality hitting you all at once as you run straight towards him, your empty gun skittering across the floor when you drop it to throw your arms around his neck.

You hold him close as you bury your face in his chest. You feel his arms wrap around your lower back, his grip solid and strong. “Dean,” You choke out, your voice barely audible. “You’re here, you’re real.”

“It’s me, Y/N.” He whispers softly, his arms tightening around you. You feel, for the first time in four months, like you’re finally home, protected from the darkness, the pain, and the hurt that existed outside of his arms. 

You pull back just enough to see his face. His green eyes meet yours and you are suddenly swept up by the all-consuming love you have for this man. You don’t hesitate then, reaching up to press your lips to his. Your fingers find their way to his hair, one hand coming to rest on his chest as you press the length of your body infinitesimally closer to him, kissing him again and again, as if at any moment he’ll disappear.

He chuckles, deep vibrations humming through his chest, underneath your fingertips, as he pulls back enough to catch his breath. “Fuck, I missed you too.” His voice is breathy and light as he presses one more heavy kiss to your lips before lacing one of his hands with yours, turning his attention to Bobby.

Bobby takes a step closer to the two of you, a sly smile on his face but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls Dean in for a tight hug, causing Dean to drop your hand as he hugs Bobby back.

“It’s good to see ya kid.” Bobby’s voice is thick with emotion as he steps back, a hand coming up to give Dean a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Any idea how you returned to the land of the living?”

Dean rubs a hand across his forehead before shaking his head. “None. I woke up in a box, buried in the ground. Dug myself out, found a car and made my way here.” He pulls off his flannel, lifting up the sleeve of his plain T-shirt to reveal an angry, red welt in the shape of a hand and you let out a gasp. “Woke up with this though. Probably has something to do with why I’m here.” 

“What the hell is that from?” Bobby asks, although neither you or Dean have an answer. 

Dean looks around the room before addressing the two of you. “Where’s Sammy?” He questions as if noticing for the first time that the taller Winchester brother was missing.

A heavy feeling settles in your chest at his words. How do you tell Dean that Sam took off months ago, hell bent on doing everything he could to bring back his brother, and you did nothing to stop, or help, him. 

“Sam, please don’t go.” You cry out, the tears falling down your face as you grab onto his flannel-covered arm. “You can’t do this. Please...don’t.” You plead, clinging to the desperate hope that he’ll listen to you.

He places a hand over yours, giving it a soft squeeze before removing it from his arm. “This is something I have to do Y/N.” He says, his green eyes shining with unshed tears. 

“Then I’m coming with you.” You state firmly, harshly brushing away the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“No.” His tone doesn’t leave any room for argument. “This is something I have to do alone. You can’t come.”

A flash of anger flares up inside of you. “Dammit Sam. I lost him too. But he wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want you to spend your life chasing some pipe dream.”

His eyes harden almost instantly. “It is not some pipe dream. I will get him back, whatever it takes, which is more than you’re willing to try apparently.” He snarls, staring at you a moment longer before striding out the door. You let him, not having it in you to force your last solid connections with Dean to stay.

“Sam’s, uh, not here. He left a few months ago and hasn’t been back or returned any phone calls.” You say quietly, unable to look him in the eyes knowing that you’d let him down. 

“I need you to promise me something, Y/N.” Dean says roughly, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before returning to the road. His hands are loose on the wheel of the Impala, but his shoulders are tense, betraying the casual and unworried façade he had up. “Promise me that you’ll look after Sam. I need you to stop him from doing anything stupid. He’s going to try everything he can to get me back, may even try to make a deal with a crossroad demon. Make sure he moves on and lives life.”

You force back the sob rising in your chest as you nod. “I will, Dean, I will.” You whisper, lifting a hand to run through his hair in an attempt to comfort him, to soothe him from the fear you knew was starting to consume him and to distract yourself from the pit of despair rising in your chest.

“You need to move on too, Y/N.” He mutters, leaning slightly into your touch, his eyes still trained on the empty two lane highway. “Don’t spend the rest of your life trying to find some obscure spell that might bring me back. Don’t waste the rest of your life on me. You don’t deserve that.” He lets out a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. “Hell, you deserve far more than I’ve ever been able to give you.”

Your hand slowly moves down his face, stopping to caress his cheek. “I can't promise you that Dean.” You say softly as your fingers start to trace the fine lines in his face. “Because you-you’re everything to me. And I could never, will never, even try to move on from you.”

“I’ve been keeping track of him.” You add, trying in some way to make up for letting him down. You look up Sam’s location on your phone. “He’s in Pontiac, Illinois.” You say. Dean gives you and Bobby an odd look. “The same place I just crawled out of.” He says matter of factly. 

“Well, shit.” Bobby says, rubbing a hand over his face. You walk over to the key rack in the kitchen, where you grab a random set of keys and toss them to Bobby before heading to your room to pack a duffel. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Dean, to see the disappointment you knew was written in his face.

Fifteen minutes later and the three of you are on the road, quickly packed duffels thrown in the trunk alongside the plethora of hunting gear. Bobby slides into the driver’s seat, while you climb in the back. The other backseat door opens and you look up, mildly surprised. Dean gives you a crooked smile as he gets in beside you. You hadn’t expected him to want to be near you after what happened earlier.

“Hi.” You whisper softly, the heat of his body radiating towards you as you close the distance between the two of you.

His viridescent eyes bore into yours and you get so lost in those pools of shimmering green that you don’t even see him lift a hand to your face until you feel it tenderly cup your cheek. You lean into his touch, relishing in the feel of his skin against yours, while you place a hand on his chest, the steady thump of his heart reminding you that it isn’t a dream.

“Hi sweetheart.” He speaks low, his rough voice sending slight shivers down your spine, especially when you hear him call you ‘sweetheart’ for the first time in months.

“I’m sorry Dean.” You murmur, angling yourself closer to him so he is the only one hearing your words. He surprises you again when he shakes his head, stopping you from continuing. 

“Don’t. Bobby told me everything you did to try to get him to stay.” He murmurs as his thumb softly traces the line of your cheekbone. “And to find him after he left.”

You let out a frustrated groan, slamming your hands against the wheel of your car as yet another lead goes dead. You had been trying to catch up with Sam for the last month, afraid he’d do something stupid and risky to get Dean back. Several times you’d thought you’d had him, but he always managed to leave town before you got ahold of him.

You pull out your cell phone, quickly dialing Bobby’s number before holding it to your ear. It rings a few times before Bobby answers with a slightly slurred, “Hello?”

“Bobby, it’s me, Y/N. The lead was another bust.” You say, heaving out a sigh of defeat. “Can you pull up the GPS of his cell phone? I think I’m following a smokescreen here.”

“Girl,” Bobby rumbles on the other end of the line. “He doesn’t want you to find him. You’re running yourself ragged. You haven’t slept anywhere decent in weeks and I don’t even know the last time you stopped for a break. You’re tracking his cell, so you know where he is.” He’s quiet for a moment before gently saying, “You’ve got to let it go. Dean isn’t coming back, kid.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back the flood of pain brought on by hearing his name. A flare of irrational anger rises inside of you. “Dean made me promise to make sure Sam wouldn’t do anything stupid. And I’m going to keep that promise, even if it isn’t easy, because I promised him - dammit!” You say loudly, taking a shaky breath in before continuing. “I’ve got to go Bobby.” You end the call before tossing your phone onto the passenger seat in frustration. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs before he closes the little bit of space between the two of you, his lips falling on yours in a gentle, reassuring kiss.

Tagging: @holylulusworld @siospinsdeanjensenficsart​ @fae-sedai @winchest09 @deanwanddamons @thisiscalm-andits-doctor

[lubdubsworld]

City Lights . ( Namjoon x OC)

Pairing : OC x Kim Namjoon.

Genre : Angst. Romance.

Rating 18 + 

Word Count : 2900

Warnings :  Mature Themes , Explicit Sexual Content . Slow burn. Like slower than a snail.

Summary :

Widowed and destitute, Son Yang Mi leaves the comfort of her small , secluded  fishing village and travels to the intimidating city of Seoul with her young son. She has a plan, one that involves finding a job, getting her son into a good school and building a life for herself.

Now, three years later she has a job , working as a live in house keeper for the Kim family, specifically for the son,  Kim Namjoon, a famous rapper and producer. 

Its a job that puts a roof over her head and she’ll do anything to keep it. 

But fate has other plans.

Chapter 1 ~

Akogare (ah-koh-ga-reh)Often translated directly as a sort of frustrated “yearning”, “desire”, or “longing” .

Seoul in summer was a sight to behold. I blinked back against the bright sunlight, staring out into the stunning skyline of the city as the sun rose over it , and although it was just a little past seven in the morning, the air was warm and invigorating. The mid July sun shone down with no mercy, and there was no trace of the rain that had lashed city just the previous night.

It had been three whole years but the relief that came from breathing fresh air, untainted by the damp musk of fishing trowels and sweaty men, was still unrivalled.

I shook off the feather duster in my hand, moving to carefully clean the wicker woven chairs on the artificial lawn in the balcony. Dusting the entire condo down was a mind numbing exercise in patience, so i tried to get it out of the way, early in the morning when my son was still asleep.

At six years old, Junsu was a bright , happy child. Summer vacation meant days sleeping in and evenings spent frolicking with the other kids in the building and he was content with being alone in our small shared room, reading or playing with his toys while I went about the day’s work.

I glanced at the clock, grimacing.

It was almost eight . And although Mr. Kim wasn’t due back home for another twelve hours, I felt a little jittery and nervous.

Kim Namjoon , renowned rapper, producer, writer , poet and what not. The apartment was his but he was usually on tour, traveling all over the world to promote his book and to perform in sold out stadiums. For an A list celebrity, he was surprisingly humble.

For the past three years, him and his model fiancée  Lee Mina had spent a total of maybe seven months in the condo. They were a sweet couple, or so I’d always thought , a bit formal with each other but clearly in love . Mr. Kim was a kind, soft spoken young man and I’d never heard him raise his voice unless he was in the company of his very dear friends.

Just a little over a week ago , both of them  had left Korea for the States , the tabloids screaming about a luxurious destination wedding in the Caribbean and I had been asked to take a few weeks off . The newly weds wouldn’t be back for quite a while and they would let me know when I had to come back to the condo.

I’d been toying with the idea of visiting my in laws in Gwangyog, maybe even dropping by to see some old friends there but yesterday , Mr. Kim’s mother had given me a call letting me know her son was coming home. 

[ 

The conversation went something like this :

Yang Mi, I hope you haven’t left yet?

No, Ma'am, I haven’t.

Joon-ah is going to be back tomorrow.

Oh, is Ms Lee arriving as well?

No, Just him He’s going to be alone.

Yes, Ma'am.

Please don’t mention anything about Mina or the wedding.

No ma'am of course not.

I’ll drop by later . Cook him something warm and filling. And make sure the house is cleaned well.

Yes, Ma’ am.

]

And that was that.

~~~~~~

It took the better part of the day to finish cleaning and setting up the house . I washed the window slats, changed the sheets, arranged the books that had been left scattered all over his bedroom. The walk-in closet was littered with a bunch of his clothes and I made sure his gym bag was stocked with fresh towels, spare clothes and his favorite head and wrist bands. 

For someone so careful and calculated, he was really quite a messy man. 

i did his laundry, making sure he had ample clothes at least for another two weeks, creasing the handkerchiefs and carefully removing lint from his jackets. 

I also carefully sorted out the feminine clothing from the laundry and from the cupboard, folding them neatly and placing them in the lowest shelf of the closet, where he wouldn’t find them. It wasn’t hard, hiding traces of his fiancee from the condo, because it had never really been her home. other than a few spare pieces of underwear and a couple of t shirts and skirts, there weren’t many articles of clothing belonging to Ms. Lee. 

But I still got rid of the bobby pins and hair ties, the spare lip gloss and mascara.

Junsu spent the entire day in our room, reading and drawing, only venturing out every few hours to grab a snack. I left him with his drawing tab ( a gift from Mr. Kim for his 5th birthday )  and his favorite book, asking the security guard at the end of the hallway to keep an eye on the door, while i went out to buy groceries.

Lots of meat, no sea food, healthy snacks and high protein fiber bars. I stocked up on sauces and bought a fresh batch of eggs, oranges and grapes . Mrs. Kim had sent a large amount of kimchi a few weeks ago and that was still in the pantry.

i stopped for a second, staring around at the almost deserted store. Most of the other housekeepers shopped at the bigger, more exclusive store on the other side of the residential complex. But Mr. Kim had a very selective palette, which meant that I had to be very particular about the brands i bought.

When i came back home at around six, Junsu was on the floor in the living space and i felt my heart jump in panic.

“Baby!! I’ve told you not to come out here when I’m not home!” I protested bleakly and he pouted.

“I need to show you my gift for Mr. Kim!!” He said softly. I smiled moving to put away the groceries and glancing at the clock. It was a little past six. I had to call Yungyu.

“Did you draw him something ? “ I asked curiously, checking to see if the beer shelf was stocked. probably should have done that before going out for the groceries, I thought regretfully.

“Yeah! Look!!” Junsu held his tab out and my heart dropped.

For a six year old, Junsu drew very well. And there was really no mistaking the very obvious wedding scene on the screen.

Oh, Good God.

“ That looks amazing honey.” I said gently. “ But, I heard that Ms Lee isn’t coming over this time..”

Junsu frowned.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure. But remember how we spoke about saying the right things? When something upsets someone, we do not bring it up.” I reminded him gently. My son hesitated but nodded.

“Okay. I’m sorry. “ He said softly.

“No baby, its not your fault. It’s just that we want Mr. Kim to be happy right? We don’t wanna upset him...”

He smiled at that.

“When he’s happy, his dimples come out.” He said with a giggle. I laughed.

“yes they do... So let’s try and get those dimples out as often as we can alright? Why don’t you show him that picture you drew of yeontan the other day? He’ll really like that....”

“Okay...but i need to go color it!” Junsu yelled, already running back into our room. I watched him go before reaching for the phone and dialing, Yungyu, the chauffeur.

“Are you on the way here? ” i said briskly.

“Just starting from home...” Yungyu muttered, “ I’m supposed to be on vacation now! Why is he coming back so soon?” 

“Just hurry up !! We can’t keep him waiting!!” I said sharply, before hanging up. 

I made a quick check of all the rooms, filling up water bottles for his gym routine in the morning and stashing them in the fridge before moving to get dinner started. 

i set the water on boil for the stew, before moving to peel cucumbers for the salad. I chopped the cucumber , along with some fresh cherry tomatoes . I watched the water boil, thinly slicing an onion and adding it to the bowl as well. The dressing was pretty simple,  soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey and sesame oil . I sprinkled some sesame seeds on the bowl, used the salad tongs to give the whole thing a nice toss and set it aside. 

I braised the chicken first , peeling and chopping potatoes and carrots to add to the stew . In a few minutes, the rich smell of lightly spiced chicken and garlic and perilla  leaves began filling the kitchen and I turned on the rice cooker as well. 

The door bell rang at six forty and i opened the door to reveal Yungyu. 

I grabbed the keys to the Palisade, handing them over to him.

“Did you hear?” He whispered urgently.

I frowned.

“What?”

“They say Mr. Kim called off the wedding!” He whispered, wide eyed. 

I glared at him.

“Who told you that?” i demanded...

“Seojoon from the gate said-”

“Why don’t you ask Seojoon from the gate to mind his own damn business?” I snapped. 

Yungyu looked suitably chastised. i felt a little bad. Yungyu was still young and curiosity was hardly a sin. 

“His flight lands at eight exactly. Hurry okay?” I said with a smile, ruffling his hair.

He brightened, peering over my shoulder into the house.

“Where’s the little one?” He asked curiously.

“ Painting something for Mr. Kim... Go ahead, hurry up.” I shooed him away, locking the door behind him. I fixed a plate of food for Junsu and sent him to eat, before moving to check on the stew. +

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~` 

By the time eight thirty rolled around I had the table set and ready. I washed my face quickly in the small bath attached to our room , making sure I was dressed well. Junsu wasn’t allowed in the main house unless Mr. Kim specifically asked for him and my son usually stayed in. 

Junsu and I stayed in a bedroom , not large by any means but big enough for a queen sized bed, a table and chair for Junsu and small dresser where I kept a comb and a tube of night cream. I stared at my face, licking my lips as I smoothed my hair out. 

I glanced at the bed. 

Junsu was asleep , having dozed off while coloring his picture and I carefully extracted the tab from under his fingers, moving him around to lay on the soft pillows. I tucked him in gently, brushing the hair off his face. 

“In peace , I will lie down to sleep, for You alone will let me rest in safety.” I whispered gently against his forehead, kissing the soft skin. I felt my lips wobble , a debilitating wave of affection flooding me as the sweet scent of my baby, filled my senses.

 I would die for you, I thought fiercely, kissing him again. 

The sound of the front door opening made me jump. 

Swearing, i smoothed the fabric of my skirt, running to the kitchen. 

“Thank you for picking me up Yungyu, I’m sorry you had to cut short on your vacation.” Mr. Kim’s deep voice filled the hallway and I quickly grabbed a glass, filling it with water and placing it on the dinner tray.

“Not a problem, Sir. “ Yungyu’s cheerful voice responded.

“How are you going home?” Mr. Kim asked. 

“I’ll take the bus.”

A pause and then, 

“Here’s some cash. Get a cab.” 

I could hear the relief in Yungyu’s voice as he let out a , “ Thank you sir.” 

I fixed his plate carefully, the bowl of rice, the bowl of chicken stew, and the salad neatly arranged next to the napkin and the chopsticks. I heard him move across the condo, the sound of his suitcases as he wrestled them towards his bedroom and I frowned. Yungyu should’ve have brought those in for him. 

I finished reheating all of the food and carefully carried the dinner tray to the bedroom. 

Mr. Kim’s bedroom was right at the end of the hallway and the door was open. The full length mirror on the opposite wall showed him sitting on the small couch in his room, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

I raised my hand, ready to knock on the wood. 

“Fuck!” He shouted, kicking out at the coffee table with enough force to send the furniture skidding half way across the room. 

I froze in the hallways stunned. 

“You’re such a fucking fool , Namjoon !!” He muttered angrily and I swallowed, turning on my heel and quickly walking back to the kitchen. 

Maybe I ought to wait till he asked for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t ask for dinner. 

I stayed sitting on the floor of the kitchen, waiting and lightly dozing as I heard him talk to his parents on the phone. I heard him open the liquor cabinet in his room, the sound of ice sloshing against glass, the sound of whiskey being poured carefully and i sighed. 

I had to get to bed. It was already a little past eleven. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometime in the night, I woke up sweating.... 

Wondering what woke me up, I blinked groggily, glancing at Junsu. He was still sound asleep. 

Sighing, I climbed out of the bed, carefully making my way to Mr. Kim’s room, peering in carefully. 

He was asleep on the sofa.

I stared at the way his long legs stretched over the armrest, his lean hips twisted to accommodate his broad shoulders on the couch and I winced. He was definitely going to regret that in the morning. 

I stared at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table and sighed, moving to take off his shoes carefully. He didn’t stir. 

I grabbed a pillow from the bed, carefully lifting his head and slipping it under. I placed a comforter over his shoulders, pulling it down to cover his legs. 

Force of habit almost made me brush his hair off his forehead but I stopped myself. 

The clock on the wall read three fifty am. God, I was going to feel terrible tomorrow. I carefully tip toed out, shutting the door behind me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I picked the comforter from the floor, carefully folding it and placing it on the bed, before grabbing the empty bottle of whiskey and glass . i could hear the shower running. The curtains were still drawn in and I tugged on the strings to get them to open. Sunlight spilled in through the floor length windows. The bed wasn’t slept in, so I opened the closet to grab a couple of towels, laying them on the bed for him. 

The bathroom door opened and i quickly straightened, wanting to race out of the room but it was too late. Thankfully he was dressed,  a pair of loose sweats and a loose t shirt . He was running a towel through his hair and his face brightened at the sight of me. 

“Yang Mi! You’re here....” He said cheerfully. 

“Good morning sir.” I said softly, offering him a small smile. 

He smiled brightly, hair damp and dimples deep. The white t shirt he had on was almost fully soaked through and he shook his head, sending stray water droplets all over the place, a few landing on my cheeks. 

“I didn’t see you last night...” He said casually, moving to drop the wet towel in the hamper, grabbing one of the fresh ones I’d laid on the bed. 

“I thought you would like your privacy sir, you looked exhausted.” 

He smiled.

“ Thank you for the blanket and the pillow by the way. And the shoes.” 

I bowed quickly.

“I’ll get your breakfast done, sir.” I bowed again before quickly getting out. 

I moved to the kitchen grabbing the oranges I’d got the previous day . Mr. Kim wasn’t fond of traditional korean dishes in the morning. He preferred freshly squeezed juice and toast, sometimes with an omelet perhaps. 

I fixed his breakfast quickly, setting it all in the tray . He was still moving around in the bedroom and I heard him drag his worktable to the windows, which meant he was going to stay in the bedroom. 

Pouring his coffee into a cup, I carefully picked up the breakfast tray , moving to his room slowly. 

I used my foot to knock on the door.

After a pause of a few seconds, 

“Come in Yang Mi!”

I carefully moved to the small table in front of the couch, placing the tray right in front of him. The scent of his body wash, green apple and strawberries, hit me hard. 

“Where’s Junsu?” He asked casually.

“Still asleep sir. It’s Summer so school’s out.” I smiled, grabbing his phone from the table to make space for his tray. 

The phone buzzed just as I was about to place it back down and I blinked.

 Mina calling.......

 I swallowed, not sure what to do, placing the phone down quickly.

“Uh..you have ...” I waved vaguely at the device before bowing again and moving back. 

“close the door on your way out, Yang Mi...” He said gently and I quickly obeyed. 

I moved to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for myself. I stayed leaning over the counter and even through the locked door, I could hear him . 

“Just don’t call me Mina...i don’t want to talk about this!!!” 

I swallowed, glancing out of the window again. It was a bright, clear morning. 

A second later, the door to his bedroom slammed open and he stormed out. I watched him from my spot in the kitchen, his fists clenched as he rushed out to the front door.

The door shut behind him and I exhaled. 

Once I as done with my coffee, I moved to his room to clear the breakfast tray. His phone was still on the table.

It began ringing again just as I left the room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mrs. Kim.” i said respectfully, bowing . She gave me a short smile.

“Where’s Namjoon? I’ve been calling him for the past hour.” She pushed past me into the house and I bit my lips.

“He went out about an hour ago. He left his phone behind.” I explained.

She stopped, sighing. 

“Fine, I’ll wait for him. “ She moved to sit on the couch, glancing around the room. 

“Should I get you something ma'am?” I asked softly and she smiled.

“Get me a glass of lemonade, Yangmi.” She said brusquely and i nodded, running to the kitchen. 

“Did Mina come over?” She called out as I got the lemons out of the cooler.

“No ma'am.” i replied.

“Did she call?” 

  I remembered the phone ringing, how upset it had made Namjoon, how he had stormed out.

“I don’t know ma'am!” I said softly. 

She nodded.

“Okay. You can leave.” She said quietly. i bowed and went back into the kitchen. 

I peered out of the window as I fixed her a glass , and my eyes fell on a familiar figure, coming back in through the front gate. Even from this distance there was no mistaking the long legs and messy blonde hair. 

I bit my lips, mind racing.

 Mrs Kim and her son had a volatile relationship, to say the least. 

And something told me that Mr. Kim was probably not in the right frame of mind to argue with his mother, now. The man was upset but apparently, neither his mother nor his ex fiancée understood that. instead of giving him space they were hounding him. 

I hesitated for a second  before making a quick decision. 

I grabbed the tray with her lemonade and moved to her quickly.

“Thank you.” She said sharply. “ Turn on the Air Conditioner for me, will you?” 

I fumbled with the remote, grabbing his phone from the table , turning it on before moving to the front door and rushing out. 

I almost ran into him as he came out of the elevator , and i jerked back stumbling a bit to stop myself from crashing into his chest. He let out a , ‘ Whoa, “  his hands reaching out to grip my elbows. 

“Careful. What’s wrong?” He asked gently and I swallowed.

“Your mother’s here.” I said quickly, “ Sir.” 

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned. I swallowed.

“You can leave.” I blurted out. “It’s Tuesday. She has her charity work meeting at ten. Its almost nine. She won’t stay long....” 

His eyes met mine, lips parting in surprise. 

“I really can’t meet her now.” He said apologetically.

I nodded.

“Of course, I understand , sir. Just be back in an hour , she’ll be go-”

The elevator buzzed , the doors nearly closing over my shoulders and I flinched. He swore and stuck his arm out to keep it open. 

I stared at him before holding his phone out.

“Here you go sir. “ 

He chuckled taking it from me and shaking his head.

“i feel like a kid, sneaking away from my mom.” His eyes reached mine, twinkling, “ Who would’ve thought the quiet, timid Yang Mi would be my partner in crime. “ 

I didn’t reply, just smiled. 

And then he hesitated. “ Is Junsu awake?”

I blinked.

“Uh...yes sir,...he’s playing in the park downstairs with the other kids.”

“Great... Would you mind if i take him out for ice cream?”

I stared at him. 

“Oh..uh...of course not. Sure.. I mean.. he’ll love that... Sir. Thank you.. You don’t have to -”

“Consider it thank you for helping me with my mother.” He smiled again and i found myself staring at his dimples again. i swallowed. 

“in that case, he loves butter scotch.” I smiled. 

The dimples appeared and i bit my lips. 

“Thank you Yang Mi.” He said slowly. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Finally a hyungline fic !!! ugh... I’ve been wanting to write a Namjoon fic for ages and I really hope you guys will like this one :’( Feedback is much appreciated. 

[sunjaesol]

and all i've seen is green eyes and freckles and your smile

juke | childhood friends to lovers | title: everything has changed // taylor swift

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"Hey! Can I make pies with you?" A voice chirps.

Luke looks up from his serious work, sweat building on his forehead, and meets the eyes of a girl from his classroom. She's Julie, he thinks, though it could also be Flynn or Thea or Penny. They all sit together.

"It's chocolate," he explains, digging his fingers in the mud. "Do you like chocolate?"

"I love chocolate!" she yells, collapsing in the sandbox beside him and tucking her cloud of curls behind her ears.

Their jeans are stained and their elbows are scratched, but by the end of recess, they've baked about a dozen different cakes and have 'tried' a few as well.

"My mom makes the best cakes," she babbles as the bell rings, the two sauntering to the spot Miss Bloom would be waiting. "Like, real cakes, and I help her."

"That's cool." He stuffs his tiny hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I like cake too. My mom doesn't make it though."

"Then how do you know you like cake?"

"We buy it from the store, duh!" he laughs. "My favourite's confetti cake."

She hums in agreement. "I like peanut butter cherry a lot."

He gawks. "Whoa! That sounds crazy!"

"Do you wanna try a slice sometime?"

They go to stand in line with the other kids of their class, Miss Bloom counting their heads.

"Sure!"

—

The class goes to the zoo the next week, and Luke and Julie stick together as newly formed best friends. She holds his hand when he's scared of the zebras, and he helps her stand a little higher on the gate to get a better look at the llamas.

She, Flynn and Luke make the biggest collage of pictures and drawings the class had ever seen.

She feigns reading his hand and tells him his future is bright, a word that sticks with him and starts using for the rest of year.

She also tells him they'll be best friends forever and it gains her the biggest hug in the world.

Second grade ends and all of her friends go to her house to eat peanut butter cherry pie and listen to music in the garden as they play games.

She links pinkies with Luke at the end of night. "Friends forever?"

He grins, missing a front tooth. "Forever and more!"

—

"Reggie's parents are fighting," Luke quips, both of them upside down on the monkey bars.

Julie looks at him. His face is turning red. She wonders if she looks the same right now. "Fighting? Like, yelling ?"

"I don't know." He tries to shrug but his arms just flop around. "He just says they're fighting. Maybe they'll get a DJ."

Her nose curls up. "A DJ?"

"A DJ... like when moms and dads aren't together anymore."

She giggles. "A divorce, silly!"

Alex and Reggie trudge to their spot on the playground and mount themselves on the monkey bars.

"What are we taking about?" Reggie asks.

Alex pouts. "I don't wanna go upside down. What if I fall?"

"I've fallen and I'm still alive," Luke counters.

Alex shrugs and sits on the bars, but doesn't drop upside down. He can still listen like this.

"About your parents," Julie says, "about fighting."

Reggie makes a face. "I just don't like it. Like, I'm loud, but they're loud!"

Luke makes a noise of excitement, not unlike a strangled animal. He puffs, hoisting himself up. The rest follows and suddenly Alex isn't alone.

"Let's do a sleepover!" he exclaims. "My house!"

Everyone hollers and agrees. Julie raises her hand. "Can Flynn come too?"

"Why?"

"Because Flynn is fun and my best friend too!"

Alex smiles. "I like her too."

Reggie wiggles his brows. "Like like?"

"Ew, no!"

"So?" Julie stresses, looking at Luke.

He shrugs. "Sure. She can come too."

—

They're ten when Luke yells, "Ew, no, I don't like Julie!"

The girl in question who had been making their way to the group of boys, ready to ask Luke, Alex and Reg to play, balks at his exclaim. He doesn't like her? But they're best friends!

Hurt and offended, she stomps the last few meters and yells his name.

"Luke!"

He turns around in surprise. "Jules!"

"What do you mean you don't like me?!"

All the boys start laughing and snickering, muffling their mouths or blatantly pointing at her. She crosses her arms. Boys are so stupid!

"I don't!" he rushes.

"WHAT?!"

"I don't like like you," he clarifies, annoyed by the boys.

She stops for a moment. "Well, duh."

"Ya see," Luke grins, "Julie and I are just tight, okay?"

Bobby shrugs. "Whatever. You're still a sissy for being best friends with a girl!"

Anger floods her senses once more and she makes a consecutive decision right then and there. Pounding forward, she takes a resolute turn to Bobby and then slams her foot on his.

He yelps in agony, grabbing his foot and falling on the ground.

"That's what you get!" she yells.

"Yeah!" Luke and Reggie exclaim.

"Uh, guys—" Alex stutters.

They turn around to an angry mister Trent. Great, she thinks, now she's getting the blame for what Bobby started!

At least Luke doesn't like like her. That would've been a disaster.

(She gets detention, but it's worth it. Bobby stops bothering her.)

—

(But then Luke steals her first kiss that summer when they're by the pool playing truth or dare because Kayla wants to be adventurous. She's been obsessed with the idea of kissing and pushes Luke and Julie to do it.

It's brief, light as a feather and kind of weird, but she doesn't hate it.

His face turns bright as a cherry and she's kind of embarrassed for a day, but then they're cool and just don't talk about it.)

—

Reggie's parents divorce when they're in the sixth grade and they hold many more sleepovers. 

—

"Don't move," Julie orders, carefully putting toothpaste on his pimple, "it's gonna work, I promise."

Luke groans. "You promise? It's HUGE!"

"It really isn't," she lies, because it's probably as big as the Kilimanjaro.

"I wanted to be cool on the first day of middle school and now I have a pimple," he whines, falling back on her bed when she's done.

Capping her toothpaste, she shrugs. "You're cool... just with a pimple. We're still biking together, right?"

"Of course!"

—

She feels the first prick of jealousy when Luke is dubbed 'the cutest boy of seventh grade' and all the girls start swarming him or asking her what he likes.

Well, he likes rock music and poking snails and her mom's pies. Does that help them make Luke their boyfriend? She doesn't think so!

"They're stealing my friend!" Julie grumbles to Flynn as they're both watching Thea make a move, or whatever that means.

"Luke isn't gonna stop being your friend," Flynn reassures. "But boys are dumb. So, I don't know."

Luke feels his first hit of jealousy at the eighth grade spring fling dance when he sees Nick asking Julie to dance during some sappy Ed Sheeran song. He thinks she'll say no, but to his baffled surprise, she says yes! To Nick! Why would anyone want to dance with Nick?! Luke swears the kid eats his own boogers.

"Why is she dancing with Nick and not with me?" he nags, standing beside Alex and Reggie as they're hoarding food.

Reggie grins. "Jealous?"

"Uh, no!"

"Sure."

—

It kind of gets awkward after that.

In the summer between eighth and ninth — aka, the start of freaking high school! — they both undergo major bouts of puberty.

Luke gets a growth spurt and constantly has aching knees, Julie graduates from a training bra to an actual bra because she suddenly has boobs and she's scared it'll change things.

Now, she also looks different from the guys. They'll still like her, right?

Julie swaps her glasses for contact lenses since it's easier and Luke buys his first guitar from mowing lawns all summer long.

Because of that, he lost a lot of his baby fat.

Suddenly, her best friend is kind of… attractive.

—

Luke gets his first girlfriend in freshman year and it isn't Julie and she hates how it comes as a surprise to her that… well… it isn't her. It's Thea, of all people. Guess that one move she made in seventh grade paid off.

According to Luke, they go on dates to the movies sometimes, or hang out at the skatepark, and kiss when no one's looking.

"I've kissed plenty of girls," Reggie boasts, noting his Bible summer camp experience. "Catch up, Luke."

"Me and Thea kiss a ton!" he exclaims, but it doesn't sound convincing. "Like, a lot!"

Alex and Julie share a disgusted look from across the cafeteria table. He came out as gay this year to them and Julie doesn't like girls, so these conversations are useless to them.

"Can we talk about something else?" she whines. "This is boring!"

Luke shrugs. "Pearl Jam brought out a new album."

The one statement diverts the conversation completely, much to her enjoyment, until Thea walks to their table and steals Luke from them.

Julie sees red.

Alex asks her if she likes Luke during a quiet moment.

"No," she mutters. "Not like that."

"Okay."

"You don't believe me?"

"No... not really."

—

They break up after three months and right then, Julie and Nick get together. He's sweet and kind and smart and cute and when he kisses her, he's soft and careful. She likes it. She feels safe around Nick.

He teaches her a bit of lacrosse, she teaches him how to make empanadas.

It's clear Luke doesn't like him though.

"He's so boring, Julie," he says. "I don't know what you see in him."

"What did you see in Thea?" she challenges him.

"She was cute," he shrugs, "and nice. And she's a good kisser."

She smiles, victorious, and crosses her arms. "There you go. Your explanation."

His face sours. "I don't believe he's a good kisser."

"Want to try for yourself?"

He rolls his eyes. "No. Whatever. Have fun on that date of yours," he mutters the last, grabbing his shoes and walking out her bedroom.

She's angry and distracted during the entire date and she hates herself for realising weeks later that Luke was right. Nick is boring.

Sweet, but boring.

She breaks up with him after three months — as long as Luke and Thea were together — and suddenly she understands why Luke behaved the way he did.

Why she behaved the way she did.

They're playing truth or dare in someone's basement at a birthday party, all carefully drinking from a can of cheap beer, when Carrie dares Luke to kiss Julie.

He kisses her… and then they keep kissing.

The group hollers when they don't separate after three seconds and go insane when his hand slips up her cheek and it prolongs to ten.

Their faces are red and awed when they pull back and the others in the circle look like they've won the Olympics.

"Talk?" Luke rasps.

"Yes."

He grabs her hand and pulls her out the circle, everyone ooh-ing and ah-ing, thinking they're gonna do something scandalous. They find themselves in an empty hallway. Luke lets go of her hand and starts nervously scratching at his neck.

"So, uh, that kiss, uh—"

"I liked it," she blurts. It's the biggest risk of her life, but she takes it anyway. "What, uh, did you think?"

"Yeah!" He rushes forward, sudden surge of excitement. "Yeah, I liked— I really liked it. I- I wanna kiss you again."

She smiles. "You do?"

He blushes. "Yeah."

"Okay," she giggles.

And then he's right there, cradling her cheeks while she's holding onto the hem of his t-shirt and it's sweet and warm and way different than when she kissed Nick. It's more.

She really likes him. She really really really likes Luke to an insane degree.

They talk and share little kisses on the couch for the entire night, giddy and dopey. Her heart is bursting! It may be one of the best moments of her young life.

—

"Hey," he grins, kissing her square on the lips as he meets her by her locker. 

It's the start of senior year. Only a few more months until freedom and the beginning and end of milestones, but Luke's a constant. 

To her, he'll be a constant forever. 

"Hey," she smiles, grabbing his hand. "Ready to go?" 

"Ready when you are."

//////////////////////////////////////////////////

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @unsaid-emily​ @willexx​ @pink-flame​ @constantly-singing​ @ourstarscollided​

[thedeathdeelers]

in your starlight (AO3)

“I had a dream about you once,” he said quietly into the dark room, the sleeping girl in his arms stirring awake.

“Mmfmm,” was the only reply he got.

“Yes, very much, mhm.” His lips twitched, eyes twinkling with the amusement and affection he felt for the girl.

A weak hand lightly swatted at his chest, then remained there, fingers curling into and bunching up his t-shirt. He smiled, entirely content with the way she was clutching onto him.

It was quiet again for a while, lying on Julie’s bed with her warm body draped haphazardly over his, the sound of her gentle breaths coming in and out extremely calming to Luke. If he really strained his ears, he could even hear her heartbeat - which was admittedly his favourite sound in the world.

“I thought ghosts didn’t sleep,” came the muffled answer a few minutes later, her face soundly pressed into his chest.

“Mm, you’re right. Ghosts don’t sleep.”

“Then how did you dream of me?” He’s not sure how, but Luke could just feel her brows furrowing as her sleep muddled brain tried to work through his words. He chuckled, the vibrations lulling Julie into a deeper sense of contentment.

“I dreamt of you back when I was still alive, back in the 90s.”

“That’s not possible. I wasn’t even alive back then.” She giggled, going quiet for a second. “Old man.” She continued laughing at her own joke, shaking slightly with the mirth escaping her body.

Luke couldn’t help but feel his chest warm up, his smile stretching even further across his face at the joy radiating off of Julie.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny, Julie-bean.” He pulled her closer against him once, her giggles intensifying before his arms slackened once again, still wrapped loosely around her. He waited for her giggles to subside, before continuing. “I’m not really sure how it’s possible, but I know for a fact that you were the girl in my dream.”

“Oh? How so?” She turned her head facing him, her face no longer pressed against his chest.

He shrugged, not seeming too worried about the improbability of his statement. “I just do.” Luke lifted an arm off her waist, reaching over to move a few curls blocking Julie’s face from his gaze. “Remember that night the other week, when we spent it lying on your terrace, stargazing?”

“The night we finally figured out our ‘interesting little relationship’.”

He hummed in reply, the arm still wrapped around her tightening its hold on the girl with his heart.

“Yeah.” Even in the dark he could still see the incredible depths to her eyes, staring back at him. He could even convince himself that he sometimes got glimpses of her soul, a pure shining light guiding him out of the darkness.

“I had a dream the summer before we- well, the summer before the Orpheum. It’s the only dream I’ve ever managed to vaguely remember. In it I remember lying down on a blanket, next to this beautiful girl as we stargazed on that same roof terrace. Back then I was confused, it felt like it was Bobby’s house, but at the same time I knew it wasn’t.”

He paused for a few seconds, remembering the feelings that washed over him in his dream. His hand, still wrapped in her curls, let go so he could trace the soft curve of her cheek, his eyes intent on hers.

“Turns out I was right - it was Bobby’s house, but also wasn’t. It was Bobby’s house 26 years into the future.”

She sat up a little, shifting and coming to rest on her elbow so she could look at him better, still careful not to move away from their embrace.

“Wait, hold on - What do you mean? As in you had a dream about the future? The future where you are a ghost?”

He shrugged again, a soft smile on his lips as his eyes roamed her face.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. I was somehow lucky enough to get a sneak peek at what was waiting for me.” His hand lightly trailed her jaw line before coming to rest against her cheek.

“Death? Living life in limbo as a ghost?” Her voice quiet, a sad tinge to it. Her head tilted, snuggling her cheek against his palm.

“No. You.”

“But...”

“No, none of the rest matters. I have you, and that’s the only thing that matters to me.”

Julie lifted the hand that rested against his chest, placing it over the hand that still held her face. “But how are you so sure?”

“When you, dream you, future you, turned around to look at me, your eyes - I don’t know if I can explain it but I- it really felt like I finally found my way home.”

Luke shook his head slightly, still in awe of the feelings Julie pulled out of him.

“It’s hard to explain but yeah. Everything about that dream felt natural, and everything I did or say was just guided by instinct.”

“But that doesn’t mean it was me. Just a dream girl your mind conjured up for you.” She flopped back down, her cheek coming to rest on his shoulder. His hand followed suit, still cradling her other cheek.

“I mean sure, but I’ve only ever had one dream girl, and that’s you. Plus I’d like to think I’d recognise those eyes and that smile anywhere, even before knowing who you were.” Luke paused for a second, eyeing Julie’s skeptical look, before trying again.

“Alright, you know how I’ve told you that you make me a better writer?”

“We make each other better,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“Yes, sure. But I really meant it - these last few months, writing with you has made me feel like I’m invincible. Every song I try to tackle I somehow manage to finish, because you’re there with just the right word, or the perfect melody.” He stopped to make sure she was still following, her gaze unwavering.

“I remember waking up from that dream, being the most inspired I’d ever been in my entire life. It was like I couldn’t write fast enough, the words and the chords and the melodies just...flowing out of me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything...”

“It would if you’d let me finish.” He stuck his tongue out at her, and she returned the favour barely a second later.

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I couldn’t stop writing. And the minute I took a break and just pictured your eyes staring at me in the dark, another wave of inspiration would hit and I’d be scribbling away like my life depended on it. By the end of it I had like 4 pages full to the brim with ideas, which lead to the first song on the EP.”

It was quiet for a while, Julie seemingly processing his words, while Luke was happy just to watch her, his own personal muse. His hand shifted, letting go of her cheek so that his fingers could trace down her jawline.

He broke the silence, wanting to make sure she fully understood what he was saying.

“You’ve been my inspiration from the very beginning Jules. Way before you were even born.” He bopped her on the nose, for good measure.

“You wrote a song about me?” Her voice was small, almost shy. He laughed.

“I’ve written many songs about you. But yeah, In Your Starlight was one of the 5 songs included in Sunset Curve’s first official EP. I know Alex said I wasn’t a romantic, and I’m not, or at least wasn’t - but that song’s the closest thing I’ve ever gotten to writing a love song.”

“I’d like to hear it.” A yawn made its way out, her hand quickly smacking itself against her mouth.

“We’ve got all the time in the world, Jules. But I think for now it’s time for the human to go to sleep.”

“But I don’t wanna go to sleep,” came her automatic reply. And although Julie was very obviously tired, she still managed to inject a little whine into her voice, ending her sentence with an adorable little pout.

Luke had to try very hard to restrain himself from kissing away her pout, knowing full well that she needed her sleep, first and foremost. He could pepper her face with kisses as much as he wanted to the moment it was time for her to wake up. For now though, he had to make sure she got enough sleep.

So he did the one thing he knew was a sure way to nudge her into unconsciousness: he slowly started rubbing circles on her back, sometimes switching and drawing little stars with his finger, constantly keeping up with the repetitive movements.

Not even five minutes later, the girl of his dreams was asleep, her hands back to gripping onto the front of his shirt, her head snuggled onto his chest.

He may not understand the way of the universe, but he knew one thing for certain: he had somehow managed to dream up his dream girl, and have her waiting for him on the other side.

——

you were like a shooting star,

blazing across my darkened sky,

i closed my eyes and made a wish,

now here you are in front of me,

please let me stay close by your side,

forever basking in your starlight

——

taglist: @moreflowersthanweeds , @thesunsetcurvephantom , @fanfics-she-wrote , @pink-flame , @molinashimbos , @ourstarscollided , @ace-bookworm , @williexmercer , @star-astro , @phantomsandsunsets , @heademptynothoughts , @i-thought-i-knew-what-love-was , @candycornmgg , @blush-and-books , @radioactive-rosh, @tmp-jatp

[yourfangirlfriend]

It’s Nothing Serious - Chapter Six

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Five and a Half

A/N: idk if this is good but I’ve been putting off writing it and perfect is the enemy of done so here you go, I had fun

It’s not not serious.

At least, this seems to be the mutual conclusion you have both silently reached after that weirdly intimate night you never talked about, either.

And yes, you’re aware of how childish that is.

For two people voluntarily living in one of the more dangerous cities on the continent, it turns out you’re both pretty cowardly. But why put yourselves through the agony of all that when you could both instead play a game of emotional chicken to test where the boundaries are?

You go first the morning the two of you wake up in your bed. You both woke up in a tangle of limbs and slid out of bed after the second snooze alarm went off. He had just pulled on his jeans when he reached for the shirt you had folded the night before.

“Wait,” you said. You walked to the closet and pulled a crisp black shirt off its hanger, continuing to brush your teeth and you walked up and deposited it in his hand. “I washed this after you let me wear it home.”

That night we made pasta and I spilled sauce on my shirt and you took it off and fucked me in your kitchen until the chicken burnt-

He looks up at you, his eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head before pulling it over his shoulders. “Thank you.”

You give him a look before dipping into the bathroom to spit.

After a quick cup of coffee, you’re both striding towards your door when you stop short. He turns and looks at you, waiting for you to take another step and flick the deadbolt. Instead, you ask

“Are you going to be okay? Today, I mean. With...”

His face falls a little, like he was expecting to get out of this without you mentioning it. It makes your heart hurt.

“I’m fine,” he says, curtly. He drops his head to look at his shoes. You swallow.

“So...drinks tonight? Still?” You reach out and bop his hand with yours.

“Not if you don’t open the door.”

You roll your eyes, walking forward and flicking the bolt. You pull the door open and he catches it, holding it back for you as you take the first step out.

“...yeah. I’ll be back around 6,” he says as you finish locking the door. You drop the keys in your purse, straightening up as the two of you walk towards and out the doors.

“Bar or your place?”

“Mine.”

“You sure? It’s my turn to buy,” you say.

“No, it’s not,” he says as he opens the passenger door for you, gesturing that you climb in. You do and watch as he walks around the front to his side. “Besides, mines quieter.”

You nod, staring forward as he starts the car and pulls into the street. Like every morning, his hand falls to your knee and you feel content with his answer.

You can’t help yourself, though, when he pulls up in front of the school and parks, waiting for you to climb out. Usually, it’s a pretty quick, platonic affair- a quick “thanks, Javi” before you open the door and swing your legs out. This morning, though,

“You know,” he says when you reach for the handle. “You...you don’t have to take care of me.”

You drop your hand before turning back to face him. And maybe it’s the coffee you drank took quickly, or maybe it’s the way last night is still lingering in your head, but

“I like taking care of you.”

You reach out and pull his face to yours, letting the kiss linger before pulling away.

“See you tonight,” you said, flashing him a quick smile. If you’re not mistaken, you see the corner of his mouth twitch up before he remembers himself, and gives you a cool masculine nod. You climb out and watch as he drives away before you hear behind you:

“¿Es tu novio?”

You turn around and see three little girls from your class huddled together and giggling that they just caught the teacher doing something naughty. Despite yourself, you smile through your teacher's voice.

“Entrad, niñas. La clase está a punto de empezar.”

He makes the next move when he shows up outside the school, waiting against his car when you walk out that afternoon and he flags you down.

“Hey,” he says when you approach his car.

“Hey,” you say. “What’s up?”

“Was told to go home early,” he says. “Figured...” he waves his hand up, gesturing to you. “You got plans?”

“Was just going to swing by the liquor store. For tonight.”

“It’s not your turn to buy,” he says, moving out of the way so you can open the door. You send him a look.

“It’s the 90s. Let a girl buy you a drink, Javi.”

He smiles, and over his shoulder, you see one of the girls from this morning- Cara - sending you a shit-eating grin.

Despite yourself, you give her a little wave as Javi drives the two of you out of the parking lot.

--------------

It becomes a game after that. He picks you up from school. You ask him to stay the night again, and he does. The next morning, he kisses you goodbye in front of Steve, whose eyebrows you see pop up from the corner of your eye. That night, you stay over at his and leave the spare toothbrush you brought next to his in the bathroom. The next day, he comes to your house with take-out and a tape and the two of you fall asleep on the couch, drunk and full. Soon, you don’t remember a night where you aren’t sleeping in the same bed or whose turn it is to initiate a sleepover. You just meet at your smoking spot and then, inevitably, one of you will lead the other to their door for the night, and inevitably, the other one will stay.

The small reminders of each other begin to pile up in your respective apartments. A mystery toothbrush appears in your bathroom. Then there’s a jacket and two of his shirts hanging in your closet. A drawer in his bathroom slowly begins to fill with evidence of your presence- hair ties, bobby pins, the odd bit of makeup. During one of your drunk nights, when you are once again lamenting the lack of decoration, you draw a stick-figure portrait of the apartment - you, Javi, Steve, and the creepy silent man who you only ever see leave his place to buy fish - and tape it to his fridge. He tells you you hang around kids too much, but every time you come back, it’s still up.

Then the bigger things happen. You go to dinner with him and Steve. You bring him on a double date with Alessa and Frankie. He kisses you goodbye in front of the school every morning, and you reach out and hold his hand whenever the two of you walk outside- which you do now, by the way. You walk to the grocery store, you walk to the liquor store, you walk to the corner store to buy pre and post-coital smokes, and every time his hand finds yours. You’re still having sex, you still fuck, but now, sometimes, to what would once be your disgust, it’s slower. Softer. There’s eye contact and prolonged kisses and caressing and very little hair pulling.

And god. Now there’s cuddling.

You no longer sit across the sofa to hanger a drink. No, now your legs are in his lap or his arm is around your shoulder or some other horribly intimate design the two of you just naturally find yourself falling into whenever you’re in proximity. Now, after sex, he’s pulling you to him or you’re pulling him to you or you just both mutually descend towards each other. And when you’re all wrapped around each other, the worst thing of all happens. He talks.

It’s not like you hadn’t talked before. You were friends, after all. He already knew about your kids you taught, your parents, and some random, funny stories about your life. In turn, he had told you some stories about his mom, about the ranch, and about the people in his life. But now it’s different. Now, whenever you two are alone in the dark, bodies pressed against each other under the sheet with such softness it’s grotesque, the walls come down. He tells you about his mom's death, and how he didn’t cry for months. He tells you how afraid he is of himself, and how he worries she would hate the person he is. He tells you he doesn’t think he’s a good person, because of the women he’s hurt ( -“The DAY of?” “I’m not proud of it”-) and the people he failed (“-supposed to get her out, keep her safe, and I couldn’t-“) and how, though he won’t go into detail about it, he’s worried how numb he’s become to things, and that he’s only going to get number (“-you see so many people die, there’s got to be a point you just stop feeling that, like self-preservation, and that’s fucking scary-“). You listen. You think you may be the first person who has listened in a while. When he tries to apologize, that he shouldn’t have said that or that he’s a mopey sad sack or you don’t want to hear this, you kiss his hands.

“Javi,” you tell him. “I like listening to you. Anything you have to say.”

Looking back, you think the look he gives you the first time you said that was when you really knew. But now, you’re still playing dumb. You both are.

What’d he call it? Self-preservation?

To pay him back, you tell him about you. You try to match his scars, telling him about growing up in a loud, weird house you’d only learn at the age of fifteen was a commune. You tell him about all the times you caught your parents tripping out naked on drugs and having to drag them to bed, or how you had to watch your sister for days on end as a kid whenever they decided to go out on ‘spirit walks’, and how you eventually enrolled yourself in school after your mothers homeschooling attempts fell to the wayside. That one time when you were six and accidentally took a tab of acid your mother and father’s sometime lover, Sunshine, left on top of your peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  You try and tell him the good things, too- how you speak five languages (“what?” “English, Spanish, German, Russian, and some Chinese.” “...what?” “My parents were communists!”), how you used to be really good at gymnastics (“is that why you can’t do a handstand?” “I can do a handstand-“ ), and the things in yourself that you’re afraid of- your denial, your anxiety, your bad habit of never calling your sister back and how that actually reveals you’re a sociopath. And in turn, he listens. He squeezes your hand. He asks you questions when you know he wants to and lets it be silent when you can’t bring yourself to answer.

About three months into this, you find yourself lying on your side one night, staring at his beautiful, stupid, snoring face as he drools against your pillow, and for the first time, you finally, finally, finally let yourself admit it.

It is serious.

---

“Well no shit.”

You scowl at Lisa over your glass.

“What? Like we all didn’t already know? For months?”

“Leave her alone,” Alessa elbows her. “I think it’s sweet.”

“You think everything’s sweet.” Lisa rolls her eyes. “You tell him yet?”

You bite the inside of your lip and look down at your drink. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Timing?”

“You spend all your time together.”

You shake your head, taking a swig.

“Coward.”

“What!”

“I said you’re a coward,” Lisa says as Maritza deposits the tray of shots between the two of you.

“Who’s a coward?” she asks sweetly.

“Eloise.”

“Yeah, I am,” you reach forward and take two of the shot glasses, snatching the one in front of Lisa before downing it.

“Hey!” She yelps.

You flip her off and down the second.

She huffs. “Bitch.”

You shake your head and march towards the bar to order another tray.

----------

To be fair, he knew it would be like this.

He had to. It’s you. It’s both of you. Two weirdly cagey people who don’t like having their guard down and never, ever want to be the one person who sticks themselves out for ridicule. The little dares over the past few months have been one thing, like you’re placing pebbles on a scale, seeing how long it takes until it collapses under the weight. Nightly sleepovers? Pebble. Toothbrushes? Pebbles. Sharing childhood trauma after a round of particularly kinky sex where you had your hands tied to the headboard and it inadvertently reminded you of the time you got your hands stuck in some old handcuffs your sister and you had found and you had to spend three hours with your hands looped around a bed frame because Tanya was seven and when she found your mom they were high on peyote and it turns out it takes five drugged-out hippies to find a tiny pair of keys to free a small girl in the woods after it’s already gotten dark and then he told you about the time his uncle had drunk too much shiner and tried to shoot an apple off his cousins head with a BB gun but missed and now the cousin has one eye kind of like Lorenzo and then you both chain-smoked cigarettes and wondered what a glass eye feels like - alright. Maybe five pebbles.

But...actually saying it?

Stones. Big, ugly stones. The kind that fall on cars.

No wonder you got shit-faced.

“Javvvvvvvi,” you sang through his door. You pounded out the melody that only made sense in your head. “Heyyyyy,”

You hear footsteps approaching from the other side and you stand up straight, ready to drunkenly seduce him with your pose when the door swings open and-

“Can I help you?” She asks, annoyed.

You take the woman in front of you in. She’s tall, with long honey blonde hair that falls across her shoulders. Her waist is bared under the halter top she wears, and you’re only a little jealous of the toned plane of her stomach and the long legs that stretch out from her short shorts.

“I...” you start.

“What are you doing? Get away from the door!” Javi appears from behind her, reaching out to take her arm and pull her back. His eyes fall on you, though, and he drops his hand.

“El- hey- I thought you were-?”

“I was...what uh,” you raise your hand to the woman. “What the fuck?”

“Who the fuck are you?” The woman hisses back. Javi reaches up and takes her arm, pulling her back gently.

“I told you not to answer the door-“

“No, I think I’ll leave-“ you toss your hands up. “Enjoy your night.”

“She’s not- it’s not like that-”

“OH PLEASE, I wasn’t born yester-“

The door behind you opens, and the two or you swivel you hear to see Steve enter holding two bags of food. He looks between you and Javier, then to the door.

“Hey,” he says finally.

You give him a pathetic wave. He waves back before turning to Javi.

“Is she-“

“Yeah,” Javier says. He points to his apartment “Could you actually-?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods a bit too quickly, moving behind him and disappearing into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Javier turns back to you.

“She needs a place to stay before we move her. I was going to tell you when you got back.”

“Ohhhhhhh,” you draw out. You grimace, before looking back to him. “...Sorry.”

“You really think I’d do that?”

You open your mouth to answer before he cuts in again.

“Are you drunk?”

“I-“ you start before huffing. Fucking cop. “Yes! Of course I’m drunk! It’s tequila night! I even, kindly, I might add,” you reach in your bag and pull out the bottle you picked up on the way home. “Got some for you, too!”

“Who did you think she was?”

“Javi-“ you groan, squeezing your eyes shut. This wasn’t supposed to be your night. Tonight was supposed to be about getting drunk with your friends, then getting drunk with Javi, then having drunk sex on your couch loud enough the upstairs fish guy would have to bury his head in what you only assumed was a pile of rotting fish carcasses in his trash to drown out your moans.

Now it’s this.

You shake your head and nod to your door, beckoning him to follow. It’s tense, and he watches over your shoulder as your hands shake trying to pull the right key. Once you manage to unlock the door, you hurry inside and deposit your things on the table, before turning back and facing him.

You open your mouth to say something-

-and then shut it again. You sigh.

“You thought I was sleeping with her.”

You snap your head back up to see him, cross-armed in front of you. You shake your head.

“This isn’t fair, I’m drunk. You’re not.”

He walks over to the bag you threw on the couch and unscrews the bottle you brought home. He takes a swig, holding eye contact as he gulps a third of the small bottle down, all while you watch flabbergasted.

“Say it,” he says, screwing the cap back on.

“You’re going to be sick-“

“Eloise.”

“Well, it’s not like we’ve talked about it!” You snap. “We never- said! What we’re doing!” You drop your hands to your side and turn, walking to the kitchen and leaning forward onto the counter. Javi follows you up, eying you.

“You thought I was, though?”

“Yes! No? I don’t know!” You bring a hand to your face. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just got scared. I guess...I’ve been scared? Lisa thinks so, the bitch-“

“Scared of what? Me sleeping with someone else?”

“No! Not- necessarily-“

“You really think- Jesus, it’s like we never-“

“Hey, don’t!” You spin to face him. “Don’t turn this around on me. You never brought this up. We haven’t talked about this. We talked about everything else and are doing everything else like dinner dates and sweet sex and fucking movie nights but we haven’t...said anything! Saying things matters!”

He stares at you.

“I didn’t think it did! I thought I was fine with just...letting...ugh!” You bring the heels of your palms to your eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that last shot.”

“Eloise, what are you-“

“I’m not a coward!” You point at him. “I’m not! I’m just- it’s just-“

“No one said you were!”

“Lisa did!”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t...Ugh! They really make strong drinks at that bar! Because I haven’t said-“

“Jesus Christ, WHAT.”

Ooh, you wish you could just fall apart and have him see what’s running through your mind right now. You feel the anger in your stomach bubble. He’s really annoyed with you for thinking the worst of him, and maybe he has a right, but you two haven’t talked about it. You had just assumed- assumed he felt the same way, assumed the little intimacies have built up in such a way that you had something real and concrete, and especially that you both weren’t fucking other people. But the second she opened the door it felt like your worst fear had come true: you were the idiot who had let their guard down first and got hurt, because they were too stupid to realize what this was, and you couldn’t even be mad. Because you hadn’t talked about it. Because he never technically said he was with you.

But now he’s looking like he’s feeling the exact same way, only he’s the idiot. He’s the idiot for confiding in you and crying on your tits and telling you all those fears and worries and believing you when you kissed his hands and told him you thought he was a good man. He’s worried that you’ve always seen him this way- as the guy who would cut and run and betray you, and maybe if you think that, then it’s true. Maybe he was kidding himself into thinking someone like you could believe in his goodness, after all he’s done.

Fuck, you may be drunk but it does make you insightful.

It may be too late though. Because he’s dropped his hands from his hips, tired of waiting for an explanation. He’s making towards the door, murmuring something about having to work and it all just seems like it’s slipping out of your fingers like you can see he’s building up the wall again and this time you’re not going to be able to tear it down-

“Javi,” you say, your voice strained. He stops and turns to you, and you know you only have a few seconds to do it. You try and form the words, but your tongue isn’t working and maybe Lisa was right, maybe you are a coward, but you have to try.

“I like taking care of you.” You say, pathetically, dropping your hands to your sides.

A beat passes. He brings his hands to his hips, waiting for a further explanation. You sigh and walk down to stand in front of him. “I like having you take care of me...and...I haven’t wanted to tell you, because I don’t want to scare you but maybe that’s just me ‘projecting’ or whatever Alessa said. She’s really annoying now that she’s doing that psychology class-“

“El.” He says, not without softness. You feel his fingers come under your chin, gesturing for you to look up at him.

This wasn’t the plan. This was supposed to be a hookup. Then a friendship. You don’t want to lose that.

But now he’s staring down at you like that, and your drunk brain is turning over itself as you think maybe that train has already left. Maybe it left a long fucking time ago, and the two of you have just been hanging onto the back, waiting for the other person to let go first.

But you don’t want to let go. You never really did. You were just waiting for him to give you a sign so you could make it look like you were jumping off together instead of you pathetically holding on as he disappears behind you.

But from the way his thumb traces your jaw and his other hand reaches forward to take your hand in his, you think maybe he’s been utilizing the same strategy, and he’s been just as scared as you.

Well, now you can either let go or try to pull yourself up.

So.

Are you a coward or not?

He wets his lips before his eyes drop. He looks defeated. And at that moment you decide – fuck it.

Between the gymnastics and dragging your high parents to bed and all this fucking holding you’ve been doing inside of you, you’ve got strong enough arms.

So.

Fuck it.

“El, I don’t-“

“I love you,” you say without thinking. “And yes I’m tequila drunk, but I don’t think that takes away from-“

You’re stopped as he leans forward and presses his lips to yours, cutting you off. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss. You feel him pulling at your top and you shimmy it off and over your head, tossing it to the side before dipping your hands down and unbuckling his belt as he unbuttons his shirt before you. You drop your hand down the front of his pants, jerking him softly as he moans into your mouth. You feel him guiding you to the couch, and when the back of your knees hit the arm you drop down and begin to pull his pants down for him as he rids himself of his shirt. You’re about to take him in your mouth when he pushes you down, your back hitting the cheap leather as he crawls over you, pulling your skirt up to your hips. He pauses.

“You always skip the underwear in girls' night?”

“Only when I’m coming back to you.”

That gets him, because a second later he’s between your legs, thrusting inside of you. You let out a cry and drop your head back, exposing your neck to him as he continues to pump into, his hands reaching behind and you and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

“Say it again,” he says.

“I don’t wear underwear-“

“No,” he growls, dropping his hand down between your legs to play with you. You let out another little cry.

“I love you,” you say. “I-I’ve loved you for a long time- ahhh!” The next thrust hits a little too well. “Ah, fuck, Javi- right there-“

“Keep going-“

“YOU keep going- fuck, has your dick gotten bigger?”

“El-“ he lets out a moan. Taking advantage of the moment, you slip out from under him and switch positions, pressing him back onto the couch and climbing atop of him. His hands settle on your hips as you ride him, pulling sounds from him that echo around your living room. When you cum he’s not long after, and the two of you collapse onto each other, breathing heavily as you come down with his hand holding the back of your neck.

“Hey,” he says finally. You lift your head and sit up, looking down at him. His eyes are glassy, and the look on his face makes you giggle.

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes,” he says. “But a wise woman once said that doesn’t take away from what I have to say.”

“She sounds smart, you should fuck her,” you say, moving to stand. He catches your wrist, pulling you back down onto his lap with a bounce.

“Give a girl a few minutes before round two-“

He cuts you off with a kiss. It’s slow and soft and you melt into it. The way you always melt into him.

When he pulls away, you chase after his grinning lips. He brings a hand to the side of your face, tracing his fingers down the side of your cheek.

“I love you, too.” He says. “I don’t know what that’s worth…but I do.”

You lean in, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.

"Baby," you say "It's worth everything."

In the morning, you’ll have to contend with the knowing look Steve gives the two of you before asking “Good night?”, a joke that earns him a look from Javi and a deep blush and muttered apology from you. You’ll have to put up with the squeals from Maritza, Lisa, and Alessa when you tell them in the staff room during lunch. You’ll even get a look from your upstairs neighbor when you pass him and his fresh fish that next afternoon.  Most of all, you’ll have to consider what the fuck this means for you and Javi and this scary, exhilarating little life you’re leading.  

But.

Right now, you’re naked and smoking a cigarette on the couch with the man you love who loves you back, and you’re both laughing, and that's more than enough.

taglist: @fuckoffbard

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 11

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 11

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2616

Summary: Another dream makes things more clear for the reader and less clear for Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

           The booths are those plastic-coated pressboard swoops that are so easy to clean, one row down either side of the long room once you walk past the counter to order. Like other pizza places, there are red pepper flakes and grated parmesan on the table, but they also keep ranch dressing in a minifridge behind the counter as a concession to Midwestern sensibilities. You know you’re just outside Dayton just like you know the pizza shop is run by a family, father and two older teenage daughters deftly throwing dough and scattering cheese evenly over it in a way that shows their years of practice. Dean sits across the table with his elbows on it, one forefinger and thumb picking through a plate of nachos between you. His black t-shirt, amulet, and lack of flannel make you notice the hum of the air conditioner in the background, straining over the 90’s alternative radio and reminding you that you’d been here in a heat stroke the summer after you and Dean had gotten together, his golden freckles and lightened tips of his slightly messy hair underlining the memory.

           “They don’t serve nachos here.” It’s half statement and half question.

           “Babe, it’s your dream. They’ll serve whatever you want. Does the pizza suck in Wisconsin or something?”

           The two sisters are whispering to each other as they look over at your table, an almost-argument that ends with who you suspect is the older sister poofing a pinch of flour into the other’s face. They’re both cute girls but she’s adorable, soft cherubic cheeks and messy bun piling impossibly glossy hair on her head as she walks over to the table with a gigantic pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks in a perfect welcoming cheerleader pitch.

           “I think we’re good for now, sweetheart,” Dean purrs with a wink. That you remember; you’d playfully chastised Dean for dazzling the teens, laughing in his face when he’d said it wasn’t on purpose, that he couldn’t help it if chicks dug him. The wink had proved your point then and now it makes the girl’s cheeks flush red.

           She catches herself remarkably well, the stammer almost slipping under the radar as she assures you that you can “holler if you need anything!”

           Dean brushes his fingers free of nacho debris and loosens a piece of pizza from the melting cheese of the ones next to it. “Last time you had all kinds of sweet nothings and questions for me and now you’re Silent Cal?”

           “I don’t think this is real, but I’m pretty sure if I push it you’ll either die in this dream or I’ll wake up, so my plan is to stay here as long as we can.”

           He drops the pizza back into the box and wipes off his fingers on a napkin before slouching into the booth, arm stretched across its length. “So test me then. Gimme a question only I would know or something.”

           “Well if I ask you something that I know the answer to, my brain will just project you knowing it. See the problem?”

           Dean squints and pouts in consideration, touch of a smile dancing across his face and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen may you be struck dead right now. “Then ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”

           You think about explaining how that too could just be some part of your subconscious recreation of Dean but you don’t want to keep pulling at loose strings in the event that it wakes you up. It’s too hard to keep from smiling, seeing Dean charming and relaxed like this, and when you grin it makes Dean bite his lip. “What’s something I don’t know the answer to?”

           “Ah, ah—I thought I’m just a hologram, how would I know?”

           “Projection, but okay,” you stall. “Wait, here’s one. Sam said when I first started going on jobs with you guys that you had to have a conversation about staying focused. What was that all about?”

           He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Man, why would he tell you that?” he says under his breath, smirking mostly to himself before leaning forward to meet your eyes. “Fine. I’m not even sure that you’re going to remember this. There was a vengeful spirit in Indiana, some like homesteader guy, ring a bell?”

           You have only the vaguest sense of recollection and sort of waggle your head to show it.

           “It was way at the beginning of when you started coming on jobs with us. You and Bobby got into it because he wanted you to bring your own car so you could ditch us if we were ‘acting like cretins’ or some shit like that?”

           That fits the last puzzle piece in for you and makes you chuckle. “He ended up giving me like $250 of mad money in case I needed a new room or a bus ticket, yeah. I remember.”

           “I didn’t know that part but that’s gotta be the same trip. The whole thing was really stupid. Basically we were supposed to have your six but both me and Sammy wanted to carry a shotgun instead of doing that protection spell because it looked cooler. We were arguing about it when the spirit whipped a chunk of the barn’s scaffolding at you and we didn’t catch it in time. You heard it coming and ducked so nothing ended up happening, but it fucking demolished the wall behind you. It was a huge fuckup—thing could’ve taken your head clean off, you know? Sam was so broken up about it he was wasted for like a week solid after we dropped you back off at Bobby’s.”

           “Really? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

           “I know, usually he does some kind of pouty baby bullshit. But I mean both of us felt really guilty that bitching at each other could’ve taken you out.”

           Dean’s eyes rake over your face, seeming to linger over every inch like he’s going to draw a topographical map of it later by memory. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something but you can’t think of anything other than tracing each of his freckles where they dust across his nose.

           A hand reaches over the table to run his fingertips along the back of yours, and that certainly feels real enough to send an ache into your gut. “What if you ask Sam? If he says that’s not what happened then you can keep saying I’m not real and you don’t have to listen to me.”

           “But he already basically told me that. The only thing I probably wouldn’t have guessed about that is Sam getting drunk about it—these could’ve been just well-informed guesses about when it probably was or the kinds of things it seemed like he was implying.”

           His lips press into a firm line and the barest touch of pink rises in his cheeks. “We, um, we pinky swore on it.”

           The adorableness of his embarrassment makes you grin teasingly as much as the divulgence does. “A pinky promise? You guys must’ve been pretty serious to take such a sacred oath.”

           He rolls his eyes at your ribbing and throws his hands back in his lap with a defeated smirk. “Laugh it up. Would that be good enough proof for you?”

           It seems like Dean has figured out a loophole in the system, but you’re sure the light of day and Sam’s scrutiny will figure out why it isn’t actual evidence of communication with Dean beyond death, and you tell him that.

           A curtain of suspicious confusion falls over Dean’s face. “Sam being weird about it is what’s keeping you from trusting this? Kid, I’ve been talking to Sa—”

           And you woke up.

           The bed was empty next to you but you could smell something sweet in the air and hear the light clinking of pots or pans Sam was trying his best to keep quiet. You blinked back a few tears of frustration—who even cared if it was real or not? Reliving a great memory with Dean was more than enough and instead of enjoying it you’d wasted a chance at some small respite from your constant ache of grief. And even then, you hadn’t used any of your time to figure out how the whole thing worked, how you could see him again.

           But the most pressing issue was what you thought Dean had been trying to say before disappearing; that he had gotten through to Sam. Sam, of course, deserved to have secrets, but if he had been sitting on the resolution to all the angst you’d been struggling through in the last weeks (months?), you couldn’t imagine a reason why that wouldn’t hurt. Nothing would be solved by laying in your bed to sulk about it, though, so you threw on some clothes and went to brush your teeth.

           When you came out, Sam was hunched slightly, the standard stove highlighting his decidedly non-standard height as he shuffled a pan’s handle. He had a dishtowel over his t-shirt clad shoulder, a habit from the bar that sometimes held over when he was in the kitchen at home, and bare feet under old jeans. They were wearing through at the knees, and you knew they were absolutely pajama-soft from having periodically thrown them in with your own laundry. Through the kitchen window, enough snow-brightened sunlight came into the room to cast him in a halo glow that gleamed off of his hair. As long as it had gotten, chunks still swept into his face as he looked down at the stove, and he tucked one behind his ear as he looked up, half-singing a Buddy Guy song that was playing softly. It was stunning—he was stunning, statuesque and strong and right there in front of you. Cooking you breakfast while you slept in, of all things, chocolate chip pancakes he had to have remembered were your favorite from ages ago. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had them and right now, nothing in the world sounded better. He beamed and tilted the pan toward you. “Morning! I made pancakes, you want some?”

           And you should’ve just let the moment rest, sat in the rare bright winter morning and eaten chocolate chip pancakes and relished how well the boiler was working, maybe later in the day read a predictable murder mystery or taped off the living room to be painted and listened to REM until your shoulders were sore from running rollers up the walls all afternoon. Instead, about as stupid and weird a flop as if a toad had come out of your mouth, you said, “Have you been talking to Dean too?”

           Sam’s face fell but not in the right way. There was too much angle in his brow and that confirmed it. “What?” he asked, but it didn’t land.

           “How long have you been talking to Dean?”

           He kept that curious smile for a second, like maybe he could push through by playing dumb and you would forget, but finally his lips flattened and his jaw clenched as he stacked a finished pancake on top of its predecessors. “Just because I’m having dreams about him doesn’t mean it’s really him,” he finally answered, softly and as though he was telling the bubbling pancake batter in front of him, unable to meet your eyes.

           You felt the lump forming in your throat and tried to get the words out ahead of its solidifying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

           “For what?” He let go of the pan and turned toward you, supporting his weight on the countertop. “So we can both—”

           “Both what? Be delusional? Is that what you were going to say?”

           Sam didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was firm and he kept his eyes locked on yours.

           “He told me you were drunk for a week after the hunt you were talking about.” You watched as Sam’s pupils widened a touch. “And that you didn’t just promise each other to buckle down, you pinky swore.” Sam’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “It’s true, isn’t it? I can see in your face that it is. Did you already know it’s really him?”

           He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I was pretty sure. Or at least I really hoped I was pretty sure.”

           You felt more than consciously allowed your mouth’s falling open. “How? How long?”

           “It just—I don’t know, it just felt different. I—uh, the first time was after we made those cupcakes; he asked about the cupcakes.”

           You slumped against the countertop opposite him, speechless. He shoved the pan off the hot burner a little too hard, put a palm on either side of the stove to brace himself. The two of you stood like that for a long minute, the smell of chocolate not matching the stiff heaviness in the air at all.

           “I don’t—what if it’s not real?” His throat sounded bound even though you couldn’t see his face, hulking mass of him spread across the tiny kitchen.

           He seemed so defeated, so young, and then you couldn’t believe how selfish you’d been, not putting two and two together that something challenging Sam’s grip on or understanding of reality must shove him back to the brain melting torture he’d endured in the cage and the months—years, maybe, he was always so tight-lipped about it—afterward. What the fuck were you thinking, not seeing it before, how this could seem like a perfectly laid trap for Sam, the most poetic way to whip his mind into stiff peaks of meringue. It made so much sense why he would need time to really suss it out, see the situation from all angles and investigate, check and re-check. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away. This was not about you or your complicated need for him, it was about Sam, what he’d been through, what he was likely putting himself through even now.

           “The, um, the pancakes smell really good.”

           “Yeah?” There was half a laugh behind his words, humorless as it was. “I hope they’re okay, I know they’re your, uh, your favorite.”

           “I’m surprised you remembered.”

           Sam leaned on one arm to rub his face with his other hand. “Yeah, well.”

           “Can I help?”

           After a beat, he stood up and offered some space next to him on the stove. You worked hip to hip, sprinkling the chocolate chips while Sam flipped. He was scraping the last of the batter into a last little runt pancake with a spatula when you couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist. He seemed surprised, if sad, before setting down the bowl and covering as much of you as he could, folding over you like a protective shell. It reminded you of that dirty motel room, months and months ago, when Sam held you together as you cracked in his arms. All he could do then was be steadfast in reminding you he was still there, if nothing else was, and you hoped you were able to give him the same now.

           You silently laid two place settings on the kitchen counter while Sam set the food out. He sat next to you and had picked up his fork when you touched his wrist to still him. “If it’s not real for you then I’m losing it too.”

           Sam thought for a second, then raised his forearm and kissed the back of your hand where you held onto him before cutting into his pancakes.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 12

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And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

[upsidedownism]

[ freddy carter | non-binary | he/they | twenty-six ] —— it’s just another typical week in hawkins i guess — isn’t that right, jonathan byers? huh, guess they can’t hear me over should i stay or should i go? by the clash playing on their walkman, but it looks like they’re photographer for hawkins press. did you know jonathan has been in hawkins for their whole life? yeah, they’ve been described as a bit gloomy, but i suppose them also being loyal to a fault outweighs the negative. i’ve also heard people say they remind them of never running out of a film, a camera always strapped to your person to photograph memories before they’re gone, willing to do whatever it takes to protect your family, not knowing who you are anymore, trying to figure out what your purpose in a town that feels like a ghost, however, that could just be this weeks newest rumor.

character inspos:  fox mulder (x-files), marianne sheridan (normal people), jo march (little women), rue bennett (euphoria), charlie kelmeckis (perks of being a wallflower), lip gallagher (shameless), amy antsler (booksmart), bonnie bennett (the vampire diaries), bobby drake (x-men), willow rosenberg (buffy the vampire slayer)

full name — jonathan byers nickname(s) — honestly none but probably doesn’t mind going by j  name meaning — god has given age — twenty-six date of birth — november 3rd place of birth — hawkins, indiana current location — hawkins, indiana gender — non-binary pronouns — he/they sexual orientation — bisexual religion — atheist occupation — previously at bradleys / currently photographer for hawkin’s press education level — high school , some college family — lonnie byers (father, estranged) joyce byers (mother), will byers (brother), el hopper (step-sister), jim hopper (sees him as a father figure) finances — poor spoken languages — english, spanish  faceclaim — freddy carter

tw: lonnie being the pos that he is (nothing too descriptive in terms of his verbal abuse), blink and there’s a gender crisis (non descriptive), implications of bullying, they have an anxiety disorder but they don’t wanna talk abt it smh but it’s implied 

jonathan was born into this world on a cold november 3rd at 6:31pm, a month and a minute late than their due date. his mother used to say that he just wanted to be safe just for a little while longer. the world, as she predicated, would be cruel. 

his father doesn’t know how to love him, and he has to watch the way that lonnie treats his mom before he starts to get that verbal abuse from his father. jonathan used to cry a lot as a child, but eventually he stopped crying, his heart hardened at a young age. 

when will is born it’s like the house suddenly feels warmer, jonathan holding his sibling in his arms and smiling up at their mom as if to say thank you for giving me my best friend. 

eventually the marriage between lonnie and joyce would disintegrate like everything else in their family and it would just be joyce, will, and jonathan. a family of three, but stronger together. 

school isn’t easy for a kid like jonathan who’s naturally quiet and doesn’t care for most things like boys his age should. most lunches are spent in the bathroom stall or with one of his favourite teachers who take pity on the byers boy because kids can be cruel, jonathan with his hand me downs that don’t quite fit right on his body with a haircut that’s too long. 

( jonathan doesn’t know how to say even now that he still doesn’t feel like he fits just right in their clothing , or their body or mind- doesn’t know how to say that sometimes he feels like he takes up too much space in this world for someone who feels so small all the time. )

when he gets hold of a camera things get easier, he can find beauty in things that no one else can. a surprisingly warm winter day, your mom standing in the kitchen making cookies for a bake sale, and your brother is sitting at the table drawing something–you don’t know what but it doesn’t matter, you take the picture anyway, preserving the moments as much as you can. 

when his mom would go to protests jonathan would bring his camera, it’s good to preserve those, and he’d send a clipping to the press even if they wouldn’t use them. 

they want to go nyu, but they also know they can’t leave their mom and sibling behind. jonathan would choose community college and getting his degree in photo journalism. 

but then will goes missing, and then will gets possessed by the mindflayer and no matter what jonathan seems to do he can’t seem to protect his brother no matter how hard he tries. 

people still make rumours about their family, and while jonathan elects to ignore it, it’s hard when they start talking about will. jonathan has been in their fare share of fights with people who have said something unkind about will to their face. 

he thought that maybe when they moved to california it could be the fresh start that they needed but he was wrong.

with the town split in half he can’t seem to care about his future or even photography anymore. 

other stuff: 

gayer than usual 

lowkey stayed a stoner 

trauma that is never brought up or discussed they’re gonna hold it in until they die probably

became a photographer for the paper even though they don’t really know why they’re doing it… it’s been a long time since photography brought him any sort of joy. feels more like an obligation now. 

literally doesn’t know how to exist in this town anymore everything seems very foreign to him. 

wants to punch mike wheeler in the face <3 

literally he has so much he wants to say but he doesn’t know where to start and honestly he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop once he does. 

very bisexual , has had a crush on every male ever but has only ever loved one woman ! ( nancy ) 

nancy and jonathan have broken up about a month ago so they’re struggling with that right now pls look away ! alskjf;asds

protective as ever over will but trying not to be like their mom and keeping them too close but also ? they worry ! they wanna be there if will ever calls but knows that they’re not a kid and need to make mistakes 

[kybee1497]

Happy 1st anniversary to Julie and the Phantoms! This show has been such a huge part of my life for the last year and it feels a little weird to be so attached to a show but it’s literally gotten me through so much and opened so many doors.

Jatp was the first show I ever wrote fanfic for. I posted my first fic in early January and in the last eight or so months I’ve written and posted 39 Fics with a total of 159,534 words, with a bunch more in progress.

Jatp got me into making fanart. I bought an iPad this year because I had this image in my head I wanted to draw and I’ve had so much fun. I’ve also made 111 Moodboards for jatp and that’s way more than I expected.

I found a new comfort show. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve seen this show and it’s my go to when I need to tune out the world and just relax for a while. Same for the soundtrack. It’s what I put on when I’m really happy or when I just need to breathe for a moment.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly are all the people I’ve meet through the fandom. Firstly, thank you to the holy trinity server. I can genuinely say you’re all on my list of favorite people and I love you all so much. Thank you for listening to all my crazy theories and fic ideas (even when I say “okay I’ve had a thought” and it’s something I’ve already mentioned multiple times). Thank you for encouraging me and supporting me, for making me feel safe and valued, I love you assholes so fucking much. @a-tomb-with-a-view @itsthebooks @on-irratia @williexmercer @the-anxious-gay-drummer @wadewaits @sunnylemonss @afoldintime @sunset-bobby

Thank you to the @jatpfs server. I love having a place to talk about fic and even just life stuff. I’m so glad I have this server as a community and that I got to know all of you. Thank you especially to Kay @sunsetcurbed for creating the server and being an overall wonderful human being. Thank you to angie @angelofarts for creating aurora and all of her dragon friends and being one of the most supportive and kind people I’ve met.

Thank you jatp and every fantom for making this year so much better. Here’s to hoping we get many more seasons to come, but no matter what I’ll always be grateful for this last year.

[loveinterestcastiel]

sursum corda

Part one of a new canon divergent series, “A Sacrament to Be Taken Kneeling”

Summary: the opening dialogue to the eucharistic prayer, or anaphora, translated to english means “lift up your hearts”, and is the beginning of a devout worshipper’s holy communion with god

Canon divergent from 6x22, this one is rated M for religious blasphemy, power dynamics, and mature subject matter (later installments will be rated E for violence, sexual content, and graphic depictions of blood). Honestly this is just a fucked up exploration of the catholicnatural that could have been if the spn writers hadn’t been cowards and had instead really leaned into the whole Godstiel thing, and his dynamic with Dean. I’m going to hell for this and you know what? That’s just fine with me.

It can be read here or in AO3! Enjoy <3

Castiel was brighter than the sun, and he was beautiful. He was the most terrifying thing Dean had ever seen, because somewhere in there, he could still see Cas, the old Cas. He let Crowley go. Dean was going to kill that demon, but- later. Later, when they got out of here and got Sammy put back together.

Then Castiel blew Raphael up with nothing more than a snap of his fingers, and their most formidable adversary, after all these months, was suddenly just a bloody smear on the wall. The last Apocalyptic threat, gone, just like that, leaving Dean and Bobby alone with a Cas-gone-nuclear.

They were so, so fucked.

Cas looked over to Dean, his face softening incrementally but still distinctly smug.

"So you see," he said, turning away from Dean and moving as if to inspect his explosive handiwork, "I saved you."

Dean Winchester is saved.

“You sure did, Cas,” Dean said faintly, drifting further into Cas’s orbit as if somehow compelled. Castiel didn’t acknowledge him, keeping his back turned, his spine ramrod straight. Damage control. Holy fucking shit, damage control right now. “Thank you.”

“You doubted me. Fought against me.” He slowly turned to face Dean, a mockery of their first meeting in that rundown barn years ago, tilting his head the same way, his blue eyes the same limitless color and just as mesmerizing, but somehow about a million times more unsettling. “But I was right all along.”

Dean’s stomach swooped. “Okay, Cas, you were. We’re sorry,” he added quickly, his breath shallow and shaky. “Now let’s just defuse you, okay?” he suggested, the words cumbersome and heavy in his mouth.

Cas narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly before relaxing again. “What do you mean?” he asked icily.

Dean forged on desperately. “You’re full of nuke. It’s not safe, so before the eclipse ends, let’s get them souls back to where they belong.” Oh, he felt like he was going to be sick. Please, Cas, please just listen to me…

“Oh, no, they belong with me,” Cas countered, his tone almost patronizing, like he was speaking to a child.

“No, Cas,” Dean interrupted before his brain or his fear could catch up to him. “It’s- it’s scrambling your brain.”

“No, I’m not finished yet,” he said firmly, with the ghost of a cold smile tugging on his features. “Raphael had many followers, and I must-” Cas paused, choosing his words, “punish them all severely,” he finished deliberately.

Bobby’s eyes darted over to Dean. He was visibly horrified.

Okay. One last effort. Okay.

Dean shoved down his fear and tried again. “Listen to me.” He stepped closer to Cas, swallowing hard as his voice fought to stick in his throat and looking steadily into his eyes. “Listen- I know there’s a lot of bad water under the bridge. But we were family, once,” he pleaded. “I’d have died for you. I almost did a few times.” Castiel’s face remained impassive but Dean continued. “So if that means anything to you- please,” he begged, abandoning his pride. “I’ve lost Lisa, I’ve lost Ben, and now I’ve lost Sam. Don’t make me lose you too.”

Castiel wrenched his eyes away from Dean’s and cast his gaze down to the floor between them. Was he considering it?

“You don’t need this kind of juice anymore, Cas,” he tried to reason. “Get rid of it before it kills us all.”

A beat.

“You’re just saying that because I won,” Cas mused, raising his gaze back up to look at Dean again, pinning him there like a specimen under a microscope. “Because you’re afraid . You’re not my family, Dean,” he said, closing the remaining distance between them until he stood less than an arm’s reach away, positively radiating power, the air vibrating with it. “You’re just… human.”

His eyes lingered on Dean’s face, tracing his freckles, his eyelashes. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. Castiel’s face hardened into stone, his next words iron. “I have no family.”

The words rang in Dean’s ears, banging about his brain and battering it into despair. It felt like a small death, his heart pulling on his ribs as he floundered for a new angle to pursue.

And then Sam was there, behind Castiel, and he just stabbed him with an angel blade, and Cas was swaying just a bit with the blade still stuck in his back as Sam gasped for air behind him, clearly distressed and stumbling backwards.

Dean froze, horrified.

What the FUCK were you thinking, Sam?

But- oh. Oh god.

Cas wasn’t dead. It didn’t work. His brain buzzed blankly with a static-y sensation of bewilderment as Cas reached around himself and pulled out the blade- shiny, clean, utterly free of blood- with an alarming squelching noise.

"I'm glad you made it, Sam," Cas said in a distressingly level voice, placing the newly-extricated angel blade on the table in front of him before turning to glance at Sam. “But the angel blade won’t work, because I’m not an angel anymore,” he said, matter-of-fact as could be, as if he hadn’t just dropped yet another massive bomb on their lives. Sam looked to Bobby, his eyes wide, and Bobby shrugged back minutely, similarly floored.

Look at me, Cas, leave Sammy alone, you’ve done enough-

As if he heard Dean’s thoughts- fuck, was he praying?- Castiel turned back to Dean and met his eyes. “I’m your new God,” he said, with an air of authority and immense self-satisfaction permeating his words. “A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you.”

Bobby’s eyes widened in the periphery of Dean’s vision as time seemed to swirl and slow down to a crawl- clearly, he hadn’t expected this either.

Sammy was strung out and swaying on his feet behind Cas, his eyes darting and rolling over the room as he rode out the hellish things that tormented him in his head, seemingly incapable of reacting to the gravity of the situation as what Cas had done put him out of his mind with fear.

In the span of a heartbeat, Dean made his choice. He had no choice.

He fell to his knees.

The crack of bone on hard tile was near agony. His gun clattered uselessly to the ground beside him as he shifted his gaze to land somewhere around the hem of Castiel’s coat. He couldn’t look at his face. Couldn’t meet his eyes. It was almost impossible to believe the terrifying figure before him was once his closest friend, and had saved him from Heaven and Hell alike before he had turned into whatever this was.

His throat was dry. He forced himself to swallow, drawing his tongue over his bottom lip as he tried to find the right words.

Bobby started to kneel, too. Survival instincts, probably. He’d have never gotten this old without them, anyway.

“My lord,” he began hesitantly.

The new God waved his hand dismissively at the title. “Castiel.”

“Castiel,” Dean corrected himself. Great start, you fuck up. “Cas, I swore my obedience to Heaven, once. To God, and his angels. To you,” his voice cracked as he risked a glance at the former angel. His eyes were like fire. Glowing. Unreal.

Bobby interrupted: “Dean, no-”

But Castiel snapped up a hand, palm out, and Bobby’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. “You will be silent,” Castiel ordered, his eyes never leaving Dean. He looked intrigued by Dean’s sudden compliance and admission. “I’d like to hear what you have to say, Dean. What can you possibly say to justify your lack of faith in me up until now? I could have cast you back into the pit, and Sam, too, had I not done this, all of it, for you.”

“I know you did, Cas,” Dean said. “Thank you. I- thank you. You were right, about everything, and I should have listened to you. I was wrong. I should have trusted you.” The words tasted like poison in his mouth. A part of him meant it. A part of him was just desperate enough to say anything. The rest of him wanted to see the cold monster in front of him dead. But how could he turn back now, without sentencing them all to death? If he played his cards right, he might even be able to save Castiel. Surely if he could get him to let go of those souls, he’d start to see reason, would be Cas again. But he was getting ahead of himself. Gotta think a little more short-term, right now. Band-aids and duct tape, not trauma surgery.

“I was blind,” Dean said, “and proud. I took you for granted, and I can do better. Be better. For- for you.”

He had never felt so weak. Groveling to his dad was different. He was his dad’s son, sure, but there was no love there. It was all survival, clinical, even his rage and his fists when Dean didn’t do enough to earn his mercy were detached. Duty and discipline and disappointment. This was different. It was hot with near-tears, messy and filled with grief for a man who wasn’t even dead. He wasn’t lying earlier when he told Cas he was like a brother to him. It was the closest comparison he had for what the angel was to his heart. He had never needed anyone like he needed Castiel- because he wasn’t Sammy, or Bobby, or Lisa, or Ben, or Cassie, or any other category of need. He was just Cas. And Dean wanted him in his life. Or he used to, anyway.

“I don’t know what I can do to make it right between us, Cas,” he said, his throat tightening slightly. “But I want to,” Dean offered, looking down in shame. “I want to be-” he choked out.

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel asked, taking another step forward, the very picture of authority and control. One more step and Dean could reach out and touch him. The air was electric, heady with power as it positively radiated from his body.

He lifted his head to meet Castiel’s eyes in a pose of supplication, his knees aching, his eyes burning with tears as the situation started to overwhelm him. “I want to be forgiven,” he gasped out. “Cas, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive us.”

“And Sam’s betrayal?” Castiel inquired, casting new fear into Dean’s heart. “He stabbed me in the back. And he has not knelt as you have. Why should I offer him mercy?” he mused.

“Look at him, Cas,” Dean said quietly. Sam was hunched over on the floor in the corner, holding his head in his hands, rocking slightly into the wall and pushing off of it again in a strange repetitive motion. “He can’t follow any of this. I don’t think he even knows where we are. It’s been getting worse as time passes. He was slightly more coherent an hour ago, but-” Dean shook his head. “I think he was just trying to protect me. I don’t think he even knew who you were, just- saw a threat and tried to take it out.”

Cas made a noncommittal little noise, glancing over to where Sam had retreated.

“Cas,” Dean said, drawing his attention back to himself. “He didn’t know what he was doing. Can you try to forgive him that?” he pleaded as the first tear escaped and ran down his cheek.

“And in return?”

“Anything,” Dean swore. “Just- Cas, please. I’ll do anything. I will, I swear it. Just please help Sammy.”

“It won’t be as easy as you think,” Castiel warned. “I want your trust, Dean. I want the bond we once had, and your submission to my better judgement, untainted by your... fear.” His voice turned hungry, reminiscent of when they worked that killer Cupid case last year and it turned out to be Famine. To be on the receiving end of desire of that magnitude was by turns exhilarating and horrifying. “I want your love.”

“Cas,” Dean said faintly, unable to tear his eyes away from his friend’s face even as Bobby attempted to fight his holy gag order from his place next to him. “I… I’ll try. For you,” he added, trying to add a note or resolve to his voice as his thoughts roared in fear and grappled with the idea, stuck on the precipice of this terrible new unknown he had run up against. But he truly had no choice. Sink or swim.

“I swear, Cas,” he said, raising his hand to his heart, “I’ll try.”

Castiel’s eyes softened. They stopped glowing.

Suddenly, for a moment, he looked just like himself. More than that, he looked heartbreakingly human.

He moved suddenly, sending Dean’s heart sprinting again for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

But he didn’t hurt him. He didn’t hurt Sam, or smite Bobby, or engage in any sort of holy wrath. He just kneeled, in front of Dean, and clasped his clammy hands briefly in his own warm, dry ones before shifting them both to his right hand and raising his right palm to Dean’s cheek, his eyes darting over his features with an air of disbelieving gratitude. It was so...

Castiel had lovely hands, Dean noticed. Strong, soft, and broad, with a gentle grip and long, agile fingers. So different from Dean’s own hands, already scarred from the last few years of wear and tear since his resurrection. Of course, he’d noticed before. Noticed that sort of thing about Castiel, how he used his hands to fight, to pray, to eat and to comfort, how they looked drenched in blood and how they looked at rest. How they looked striking a blow to his own face, and how they looked when he healed him. They were one of a million things Dean knew about him better than he knew himself.

“Oh, Dean,” he said softly, “That’s all I ask of you. Just try. Lift up your heart to me, and I will give you everything.”

Dean inhaled sharply, his chest tight as he leaned into the touch. "It's yours," he breathed out, "It's all yours, Cas."

Castiel smiled, and the world fell away.

Tagging in some people who I think might be interested, just dm me to be added or removed: @castieljew @dependsupon @autisticandroids @sunforgrace @heller-jensen @lateral-org @cactuscas @adhdeancas @icaruscastiel @holmesemrys @evermorecastiel @yana125 @faithcastiel @good-things-do-happen-dean @i-sing-for-me @whatevr-4evr @sonder-stars @jeanne-de-valois