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uncouth-the-fifth · 3 years

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Pythia - A Supernatural Rewrite. W*ndigo, p1.

read it on ao3. masterlist.

words: 12, 113

notes: I tried to alternate my Sam-focussed episodes and my Dean-focussed episodes, with little moments with the other brother thrown in bc I want to lol. since the pilot is one of my even split chapters, enjoy our first Sam one >:) I have no idea how much i'm going to stick to that, but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it.

also I did NOT want to divide these episodes into parts, but they are so long that it'd be cruel (i was at 18k at 3/4ths of the way thru) to make you sit and read it all in one sitting/wait a century for me to finish one whole ep. or maybe you're all masochists, what do i know? there's just so much I want to indulge in each episode, and i'm assuming you guys would actually enjoy me talking about teen reader and teen Sam shoving frogs down teen Dean's shirt for a paragraph or two... anyhoo.

and even though this is a silly little fanfiction, the spirit shown in this episode is sacred to Anishinaabe and Algonquin people, and i want to do the best i can to respect the culture and identities of those people. I've replaced the name of the spirit in this episode with a couple different things to help that, and if there's anything else I can do, please let me know! it's no one's job but my own to educate me on this subject, but there will be things that I won't know as a non-native person. thanks for understanding! fuck eric kripke and enjoy ♥

Wendigo! Enjoy!

P.S - rain and wind sounds are rlllllllllly good for this chapter. next part: wendigo, p.2

PALO ALTO - NOV. 9th, midday.

Dean had only texted you the address of the Self Storage place, so a woman at the front desk had to point out to which unit they’d rented. Oh, you’re looking for the two supermodels that wandered in here? She’d teased, and you would’ve snarked back something cute, had you not been saving every ounce of your good attitude for Sam.

You found them easily. Among the rows and rows of rattling metal storage units, you could hear Dean’s music bouncing off the asphalt and echoing strangely in the alien place. He was humming without the usual heat. Other than the bustle of the city beyond, it seemed you and the boys were the only ones making noise. The weather was perfect, which was strange after the bone-clinging cold of that night—the cold that none of you could shake. You’d fallen asleep in the bathroom of your motel two times this week, because Sam’s post-nightmare shivers were medical enough to warrant a hot bath in jeans and layers.

And yet today, the sun was white in the sky, blazing enough to urge everyone into the shade but too sudden to spoil. Car tires whisked and motorcycles rumbled over the baking asphalt. If you stayed in one spot long enough you could feel your skin soaking in the sun, and after the week of thunderstorms and chill you’d had… It was too sudden not to be a gift. Jessica had always seemed—sounded like a sunny girl.

The Impala and Sam’s car were facing a storage lockup trunk-first, which was just far enough away from the adjacent buildings to be outside the shade. When you were close enough to make out Sam wiping the ash off a coffee table, you took your own exhaustion and choked it down where no one, not even you, could find it. Only Dean lifted his head when your shoes scuffed closer, squinting against the light.

“Hey.” He deposited a box labeled Kitchen inside the lockup, then dropped his shoulder against the outer wall to pant in his own shade. Sweat was beading under the aviators on his forehead, but the week Dean had spent on autopilot hadn’t ended yet. After a breath, he was up and searching for another box to carry again.

“There’s my boys,” you sighed, and greeted Dean with a cold soda. His smile was tired, but worrying, so you leaned into the rub he gave your arm and wandered over to study what they’d accomplished so far. “Man, you guys got a lot done.”

Once it was out of your mouth, you were unsure if you should’ve said it. Was it better to get all of this pain out of the way? Or did Sam want one last look at what remained of his normal life? Either way, he didn’t react when you appeared, and turned instead to the pile of ash-crusted belongings he still needed to clean. The broad back of his shirt was baking in the sun like a solar panel, so you pressed another cold soda against his neck and hummed a hello.

Sam stopped furiously grinding ash out of the seams of the table to lean into the sudden cold relief, blinking slow. His hands remained floating over his work, but for a moment he stilled, submitting to the knots in his back and the heat and his exhaustion. You were afraid to meet his eye. The disappointment was probably waiting for you there already.

“Anything?” Sam asked.

“...No. I-I’m sorry, Sam. No visions.” The stress in his shoulders expanded again. “But I did call my mom, and not only did she say that she’ll come get your car so you can keep it at the store, but she said she’d glance over the apartment too. She’s a lot better at it than I am. I-I tried, Sam, I really did, I meditated for two hours where it happened, I-I—”

He ran a ragged, ash-streaked palm down his face. You couldn’t see how crushed he looked. “S’ okay. ____. Really.”

All week you’d stared at the hole in Sam’s apartment from the sidewalk below, like if you planted your feet and waited long enough something might occur to you. Maybe the residual energies… or God, or whatever gave you the visions… maybe something would trigger something else and you could help Sam. You waited. You endured odd looks and the weather. You meditated. It wasn’t often that you were able to force a vision—the one time you’d tried to describe it to Dean, the best you could do was “throwing up on purpose.”

Sam accepted the soda, but immediately set it down and to the side. He squeezed his shaking hands together until they were a blistering white, then started back on the table again. You reminded yourself that Jessica’s funeral had been only yesterday, no matter how many muddy, grainy years seemed to loom between then and now. At the same time, it felt like it’d been just minutes since you and Dean had rescued Sam from the fire, even if it’d been an entire week prior.

(Even just seeing his back, taut and broken in, made the grotesque process of shoveling up visions endurable for you. You’d do it over and over and over again, if it meant Sam would have even a minute without his grief).

Unsure what to say, you cleared your throat, kissed the side of Sam’s hair and retreated over to Dean. He seemed to have a system in place. If he was a master of anything, it was the exhaustive ability to throw himself into hours of labor to avoid a single emotional thought, and come out with his smile shipped and assembled. The two cars had come in bearing three-quarters of an apartment’s weight in furniture, up to the windows in kitchen chairs and books from the living room. The fire had spared everything except what was inside the square boundary of the bedroom—and Sam.

In the few hours you’d been gone, the boys had bit a good chunk out of what was in Sam’s car and completely unloaded Baby. The only evidence that remained in the Impala were the towels Dean had laid down, streaked black and chalky gray with ash. The backseat of Sam’s Prius was probably ruined. He didn’t seem to care.

Before you could offer your help, Dean accepted it: “Get those out of the back n’ the trunk, n’ shake them out over the concrete. Or throw them away. I’m guessing Sam doesn’t want those towels.”

Sam didn’t speak up. You glanced back, to find that Sam had finally given up on the coffee table. With his foot he slid it into Dean’s loading pile, then braced his hands on his knees, took in a shuddering breath, and readied his cleaning rag to start on the next thing. It was a picture frame.

He turned it over to view its face, which had picked up and flattened a layer of ash into it like a filled mold. The debris on it was so thick that flat, papery scraps fluttered free as it was moved. A whole cloud whirled to the pavement when Sam fortified himself enough to clean the glass plate on the cover.

Sam caught a single glimpse at the picture of Jess, and that was all it took. The photo clattered onto the pavement, face-down, and Sam sank with it, resuming the oncoming tears he’d been fighting for days. A back-cresting, choking sob punched out of him. You were scooping him up before your mind could catch up with you, before you could even wonder why he was crying, and then your arms were squeezing him against your ribs and letting him weep there.

The first time this happened, you'd been struck dumb by just how young Sam looked. It didn't help how much he closed in when he cried, hiding his head in his knees and covering his face like he would when he was little. The mannerisms were a strange reflection of a younger boy, who cried about broken toys or being on the road too long—not dead loved-ones.

You fell into your old routine. With that deep, rumbling voice of his, Dean spoke quiet reassurances, and together you ran your fingers through Sam's unwashed hair like you had every night this week. Not a single stage direction had changed since you were kids. Just the lines. Dean said things like we'll get this done and we'll stop it together, but the words floated over your head as you comforted Sam. You'd prayed that things would go back to how they'd been when you were kids, but you hadn't meant this—you and Dean on either side of Sam, promising things you didn't know you could keep. When you glanced at Dean, you almost expected to see his younger, greener-eyed self there. A panic pressed down on your chest as Sam's hands fisted in the back of your shirt. Your heart plummeted with the urge to find someone, to call your mom, like you'd run away from home and gotten lost along the journey.

From over his brother's head, you watched Dean scoop up the picture and the rag.

“N-no, no,” Sam jerked up. Under your hand, you could feel his breath catch in his ribs, “I want to… want to… keep it.” His voice found itself again with strained clarity: “I don't want to forget what she looks like.”

You wilted. It was impossible not to hold tighter to him then, so you pushed into his touch and were gratefully received. He choked for breath into your belly, coating the front of your shirt with tears. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Sam's grip was starting to hurt, but your senses were too far away to feel it.

“Alright, Sammy, we will. We will, s’ okay.”

Dean carefully delatched the back of the frame, and as gently as he could, removed the photo. It looked like a picture Sam had taken of her at the beach. You caught a glimpse of it—and Jess with her curls and those bright eyes—for the first time, and realized that you’d never seen her in person before. That you never would. She reminded you of the girls you drove past on hunts, the ones that grouped together on the sidewalk and giggled so freely, being happy without worrying when it would end. You’d always wanted to be one of them.

Something in your gut told you to look away, but you followed the picture as Dean offered it to his brother. Sam’s grip on you was so white-knuckled you worried he’d crumple Jess’s photo, but instead he shook his head.

“Can you—can you put it in the car for me?” Sam asked, his voice hollow and throaty. He sat there shaking, watching the tears on his chin hit the concrete.

It was the first time you'd seen his face all day. Sam had a habit of hiding it when he cried, in his arms or someone else's (he would even pull the fronts of his shirts over his head in middle school), so you knew better than to try and meet his eye. If you thought about it too long you'd start getting ideas about slashing John's tires, and then that rage would bottle for so long that the boys would need a corkscrew to get you to open up again. But Sam's poor face—his red-rimmed eyes were ruddy from the pressure of tears and his hands, while the rest of his skin was uncolored and sickly. He'd been struck so harshly by grief that his body itself was a bruise.

Dean disappeared to find a good place for Jessica’s picture. To compensate, you laid your cheek on top of Sam’s hair and cooed, soaking up every wound in him like you could take them on yourself. The sun’s light was beginning to burn.

“Let's get you into the shade, Sammy,” you murmured, “your tan’s perfect as-is, and neither of you idiots has sunscreen on.”

Sam pitied you with a wet, choked laugh. “…Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

You wondered if you were being overbearing until he stood, wiped his face with his wrist, and gave you the signature Winchester manly nod of silent gratitude. That was worth more money and time than you’d ever have, so the clamps bearing down on your chest unlatched. He took a break in the Impala’s A/C and obliged your warning about sunscreen. Thank god.

On autopilot, you hauled the ashy towels out of Baby—and sure enough, when you passed Dean, there it was again. Manly nod of silent gratitude.

At the bubbly laugh that burst out of you, Dean frowned. “What?”

“Nothin’, Dean,” you sighed, resigned to being driven crazy, “just…”

You were glad. Blinded by rage, hurt, fear and guilt, but swimming with gladness too. It was clear now that your selfish wish had been granted. Like all gifts, it’d come with a price: you’d prayed for Sam to stay, you’d prayed for the three of you to be together again, but doing so had killed Jessica and brought this… thing to you. Whatever had murdered Mary. If Dean knew, he’d snarl and shake his head and insist that wasn’t a fair trade, and you knew it was awful, but a part of you was just thankful to be here. It was selfish. Unbelievably selfish. But you’d take them over anything.

“…nothin’.”

After the day’s labor, Dean made the executive decision to keep the three of you in Palo Alto for one more night. Every hotel in the city seemed full to bursting, and every room in the one Dean fought to set you up in itched with energy, like the walls would explode into splinters at any second. The people above you were having a noisy, bottle-smashing party with ear bleeding music. Every car took the corner turn on the street with tire-squealing gusto. Your neighbors on either side had their TVs as loud as they could go, in an effort to anger you personally. The boys tuned it out easily, while you tried not to twitch at Sam’s bedside.

He was more numb than neutral, so any comments about wanting to get a headstart on the road—and in turn the mission—were kept to himself. Needless to say, he put a pillow over his head and failed to stay awake past dinner.

You waited for his breathing to even out before you whispered, “He’s asleep. If we’re lucky, he might get more than an hour or two.”

Dean propped himself in the open bathroom doorway, casting a long blue shadow over where you were hunched over Sam and John’s journal. The last entry was splayed open on your lap, so you could keep busy while listening for the telling hitch in Sam’s breath. This week had forced you to find a sixth sense for nightmares. You hoped that Dean slept through his brother’s breakdowns, but most of the time he was hovering in the dark, waiting to see if he was needed. Something about that made your chest tight.

“Alright,” Dean murmured. He plunked his toothbrush back in his bag and floated over to you, voice so soft that he sounded hoarse, and pat your knee. “Whaddya wanna do, then? You need some Zs, a walk, some food?”

You glanced at Sam. He was nothing but a big arm and a bed of messy hair under the blankets, breathing deep. A sigh bowed out of you, and you lifted both wrists to Dean. “Walk, please.”

Dean smiled. With his help, you escaped the bed without waking up Sam (a miracle!), and filled the dark motel room with the soft rustle of beaten fabric. The main jacket you’d taken with you was an ancient one of Dean’s, so it looked stylish in a vintage sort of way. The smell of him in the collar had faded years ago, but studying the curve of his arm as he wrote Sam a note brought it back in full swing, like a gust of wind had bowled you over. You missed Dean. It’d been an eternity since you’d just… talked.

The door shut quietly behind you, but the neighbors weren’t as considerate. A bottle smashed upstairs, followed by uproarious, probably drunken laughter.

“Fuckin’ dicks,” Dean said, just to have something to say.

“I wonder what they’re celebrating,” you hummed. Together, you and Dean left the static-charged bubble of the motel and punctured the parking lot, too exhausted to make anything but idle conversation.

“Bottle Smashing Day?” He guessed, and you snickered. The silence you sunk into was pensive, but you were fine with that. It was easier to think leaning against the Impala with him than alone in front of Sam’s apartment.

You took your spot on the trunk, making a show of patting down your back pockets to avoid scratching the finish. Sam had nicked one of the doors with a jean button once, and now Dean never let either of you forget how pointy and sharp you were. That was what you wanted—to endure Dean’s nagging about the Impala with Sam, like the hundreds of times you had in the past. Why did a wish so simple have to cost so much?

“I’m worried,” you sighed, “that this is going to take longer than either of us thinks it will.”

Dean appeared around the side of the car, beer and bottle opener in hand. He snapped the cap off and sunk onto the trunk next to you, his gaze choosing a car down one end of the street and following it until it was out of view again. The cool fall air fluttered through his hair, compelling you to admire him as he admired the street. You thought you saw the ragged shape of fear or anxiety in his face. But it was gone just as fast, smoothed under the death shroud of Dean’s humor, and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it. Any support you could offer him with your Gift would be rejected—and helping Sam by connecting was off the table. Without looking he offered you the first sip of his drink, and knowing Dean’s taste in beer was awful, you tried it anyway.

“Yeah.” Gradually, Dean hiked himself up a little and opened his coat, “I’ve been starting to think that, too.”

“...It’s going to suck. Already, this is…this is…” you swallowed, then met his eye. “But not every part of it has to be bad. You and me and Sam—I keep thinking, at least we’re together again. At least we’ve got each other. Is that… do you think that’s bad?”

Dean was already shaking his head. The trance he’d been wading into all day dragged him out to sea, and for a long breath he stared at you, then through you, deep in thought. “I guess we’ve been having a lot of the same ideas lately.” His brooding turned into a teasing squint, “You readin’ my mind again, girl?”

You stopped worrying the beer’s label with your thumb and passed it back to him. Something rotten crept into your mouth at the thought. “Never. Never without your permission.”

Dean tipped back his head, shook it, and did his best to goad a smile out of you with one of his own. “Oh, c’mon. You know I’m kidding with you. Cheer up, sweetheart—we’ll…” He must’ve realized what a ridiculous request that was at a time like this, because he melted down to a simmer. “Just. Take a breather with me, for a minute.”

“After you give me the gift you’ve been hiding.”

Dean almost looked charmed, if he wasn't pretending to be annoyed. “Maybe if you stop using your cheating powers to cheat. Cheater.”

With a coy, fluttery blink, you hooked your arm through his and prettily laid your head on Dean’s shoulder, because you were a fantastic cheater and you knew it. Dean’s life would only improve once he realized how little he could get past you. The Gift told you plenty, but so did the soft upturn of Dean’s lip.

From the inner pocket of his jacket, Dean shook loose a book. At first glance you would’ve called it a grimoire or a lore tome. The cover was a handsome olive color, with a thready touch and an elaborate gold design that didn’t immediately catch the eye, like any other spine stacked on a coffee table. You realized that must’ve been the point. It showed a queen fairy (the graceful long-legged kind) in the boughs of a tree, offering an olive branch to two tiny fairymen riding a bat. Simple but elegant. Two words that had no correlation to him whatsoever.

“No way!” You gaped. But before you could get your hands on it, Dean jerked it up and out of your reach.

“Don’t get all sappy about this, okay?” Dean groaned, hanging the book over your head, “I-I just saw it, and I knew you need somethin’ to do when me and Sam are off doing whatever, so… yeah. You can write down all your girly stuff n’—”

Years of having tall Dean and taller Sam wiggle your things just out of reach had trained you for this moment. “Ha!”

The second he started to dissolve into his flushed explanation, you lurched for the book and shielded it against your chest, where it was safe under your jacket. Dean seemed too tired to start any wrestling matches over the journal, so the coast was deemed clear and you brought it out to gape. The mental image of Dean slouched in some bookstore aisle was so precious that it must’ve shown in your face, because he immediately defaulted to a glare. Cute.

“You are so good to me, Dean,” you said, knowing full-well it’d crack him. Right on cue, Dean’s collar hiked up to his blushing ears and half his face disappeared behind it. “How’d you even know I needed a new journal?”

“W-we all do,” he replied lamely.

Dean looked like he wanted to be absorbed into the concrete. Among the racing glee of poking at him like this, you felt a touch of pity for your captive, so you moved your glowing grin from his face to the first page of the journal. Losing your attention both relieved him and disappointed him, so he stewed in his confusion there as you started to pace.

It was hard to feel happy or even pleased about anything right now, with Jess dead and John gone and the white whale resurfacing. Being delighted by a small gift from Dean or making a little joke at him felt pathetic, and prickled hot, stifling guilt under your shirt. But it was all you had to hold onto, so you uselessly clung to the last strands of your optimism; they were about to be stressed very, very thin.

“Well…” you flipped through the pages, from start to finish, and breathed in the intoxicating smell of a fresh book. It was a pretty sizable journal. From experience, you knew it’d take more than a year to fill on your own.

The book was in your hands, then it was in Sam’s, then Dean’s, then yours again, exchanged a thousand different times over the next few years. You could almost see the way it would be then: aged, beloved, and filled to the brim with entries and pictures and memories. This journal would transform into any hunter’s journal, its cover dyed lighter by the sun, its spine bent-in and well-used. Images flashed through your mind almost too quick to catch, but the gist was there. Dean’s drawings. Sam’s handwriting. This wasn’t—this wouldn’t belong to you alone.

Words flowed from your mouth like something greater was speaking for you.

“I pretty much never go on my own hunts. I don’t know about Sam, but you and me—maybe we could share this one. Or all three of us.”

Dean’s brows raised to points. “Like how?”

“Here. You gotta pen?” You made your typical grabby-hand gesture, and Dean dug around his pockets for one of the hotel’s monogrammed ballpoints.

Instead of leaning on the Impala, you got comfy on the trunk and propped up your knees. Dean inched in to get a look over your shoulder, maneuvering in a way where he wasn’t blocking the streetlight too much, and curiously pressed his lips together when you cracked open the cover. The face of the first page stared up at you. Already, you knew what would go there.

In spotty ink and bubbly handwriting, you printed your initials on the inside cover. The moment you were done, you turned the journal in your lap, put the pen in Dean’s hand, and prompted him with glittering eyes: “Write your name, then draw me something.”

GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO - NOV. 10th, day.

The drive to Colorado was spent mostly on your laptop, catching up on work from there. Being constantly dragged on hunts by Dean made online work pretty much your only option. Your mother had dropped hints about you picking up more than just the occasional shift at her antique’s place, but that would mean giving readings, and that would mean… Well. For now, your lame excuse was that Sam and Dean had reserved you, and she was better at the whole psychic thing anyway.

Maybe one day you could convince her to just let you work the counter. Anything that didn’t involve opening up your Gift to some stranger.

You knew you were close to John’s coordinates when houses were replaced by forest. A mailbox would jut out of the trees every once in a while, but those winding path-mouths were the only evidence of life out here. Dean had mentioned something about there being a town on the other side of the dizzying rows of trees. It was so vast and so encompassing that you couldn’t imagine anything else but the pines, the road, and the Impala driving on it—which only made you more anxious for what lay ahead. DEAN. 35-111. That was all John had given you.

“Here’s something to start with,” Dean spoke up. In the front seat, Sam barely lifted his head, and all three of you tilted with the car as it crackled into the gravel lot of a ranger station.

After almost a whole day in the car, you hadn’t entirely left your daydream yet and floated around as a result. The woods were dead quiet. While the boys unloaded, you listened, standing on the cusp of the trail like a mite on the back of a massive creature. There was no purr of car motors or traffic. Maybe some sort of rustling, like the whisper of leaves in the wind, but if you listened to it too long you began to feel paranoid. For how quiet everything was, you still felt like you were intruding on something living. Something that was watching. Coupled with the lifeless sadness that’d lived in the Impala for the last week, you were rooted to the spot.

Baby’s trunk slammed shut. You startled back to life at the sound, and whipped around at attention. Good timing too, because Dean flashed a ranger ID at you, “Head’s up, sweetie.”

He tossed it into your hands. Dean was fucking with you only a little bit, so it went a little wide—and you were too bogged down by the roadtrip to jump for it. The ID flopped into a skirt of leaves just outside the safe barrier of the ranger’s station, then skittered down the muddy hill and into the undergrowth. You stared pathetically at it. He was definitely getting revenge for you eating the last of the Impala’s M&Ms supply.

“Come on,” you groaned, “Dean.”

Dean winced, but he was smiling a little too much to mean it. “Sorry. Guess I’m a bad shot.”

“You bet your ass you’re a bad shot,” you started to grumble, and resigned yourself to getting your boots dirty. And maybe being murdered in the creepy forest.

“Don’t worry, I got it.”

Right before you’d take the first step inside the invisible portal of the woods, Sam slid past you, the broad warmth of his palm glimpsing your back. Your breath hitched. At ease, he stepped toward the hill’s bottom with twice the mobility your awkward struggle down would’ve had. Sam plucked up your ID and flourished it overhead. At any other time you would’ve giggled at him, but something in your gut pressed you to get him out of there, like the air on the other side of the tree’s divide was poison and he’d breathed too much.

Sam’s next steps back up seemed to drag on. In reality, he probably hadn’t even lifted his leg before you were extending both hands and awkwardly urging, “Thank you, Sam. C’mere. Quickly.”

Knowing full well you couldn’t haul him up on your own, Sam indulged you anyway and took the closest of your hands in his bigger one. He managed not to slip and faceplant on the way back up, and with his boots slick with mud but on solid ground, you let out the breath you were holding.

When you turned back, Dean was staring.

The tension of the woods was suddenly up in the parking lot. Scrambling to explain your strangeness, you gave Sam’s back a good thump. “Brother of the day,” you awarded him, which immediately replaced the concern in Dean’s stare with shock.

“What! Sam picks up a thing for you and suddenly he’s getting brownie points?” Dean whined. He waited until you’d passed him to properly fish for said points, slouching at the shoulders and pouting. “What about me driving your ass around for 20 hours? What about me getting—hey! ____, Sam’s sticking his tongue out at me! ____!”

The temptation to knock him on the back of the head was too sweet to pass up. You gave Dean a good one, then threw a grin at Sam; he tried and failed to smile realistically for you. Something about it made the barbed wire wrapped around your heart squeeze tighter.

Where neither of them could see, you shoved the hand Sam had touched into your pocket, rolling your tingling fingers against each other.

The only people you passed on the way into the ranger station was a single family, probably here for a camping trip. One of the sons, in tandem with his father, shared an impressed look over Dean’s car, and by proxy it made you feel better. All you had to do was pretend this was any other hunt. You’d investigate the thing, catch the thing, and then kill the thing, so sweet families could enter the woods without fear.

The ranger station was a squat, old cabin at the beginning of the trail, with a fat stone chimney and a front room filled to the brim with hiking and hunting (the normal kind) memorabilia. What was familiar about the station was its tourism aspect; though you and Dean rarely stopped to admire the scenery these days, roadside museums and American landmarks were staples of your decade-long road trip.

Sam and Dean walked shoulder-to-shoulder in front of you. You saw the 3D tabletop map on one side of the room and the wall of hunting trophies on the other, and predicted, correctly, where the boys would go to gawk.

“So, Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote,” Sam said. He quirked his head, honed in on the table and leaned over it with glittering interest, because of course he did. At least it kept him distracted. “It's cut off by these canyons here—rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.”

“Cool,” you hummed. On the dusty, ancient display, the ridge was about the size of your palm. You traced the mountain-tops with a finger, and the spot was weathered from years of the same touch. “Sounds like a place to really camp… or film a horror movie.”

That felt like something Dean would tack a joke onto, so you turned to him. He was blinking at a colorless photo on the wall, jaw slack, brows furrowed. “Dude. Check out the size of this fuckin’ bear.”

You did, shuffling up behind him. A half-dozen mounted trophies loomed overhead, necks pointed straight, but eyes pointed down, like their bodies couldn’t move but their souls wanted to. If the spirits of men could be attached to their corpses when they died, then what about hunted deer… or wild boar… even cougars? You cooly pretended you weren’t hiding from their watching eyes behind Dean, and glanced over the picture. It was a big ass bear.

“And,” Sam closed in on your other side, arms crossed, “a dozen or more grizzlies in the area. S’ no nature hike, that’s for sure.”

Dean caught your eye with his, then nodded up to the massive buck above your heads. The crown of bone it wore curved elaborately around its face, which was soft and sweet-looking, had it not been for the missing eyes. In unison, you shared a shiver and mouthed to each other: no thanks.

“You boys aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?”

Sam and Dean whipped around, hands snapping into fists in their sleeves. Just the flutter of their clothes brought your hand to the dagger grip in your waistband.

A ranger, Ranger Wilkinson (according to his nametag), appeared from the back room. He cocked a fist on his hip and blew the steam off his coffee. “Ah,” he noticed your head poking out over Sam’s shoulder, “boys and lady.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond with a lie, but Sam was already halfway through one, a polite and gentle lilt to his voice. The ease of his voice was what usually made you relax. This time, it stirred your gut. “Oh no, sir,” Sam said, and you dropped your dagger back into its sheath, “we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper.”

You put on your sweetest grin and slid in front of the boys, bumping Dean’s hip on the way. “You bet. Reduce—”

Dean flicked up two happy thumbs, grinning also, “—reuse, recycle.”

Ranger Wilkinson pitied you with a dry stare, and not for the first time in your life, you were seized with panic at the knowing look on his face. His stink eye passed over Dean then you then Sam, and you wondered what he saw there. A couple of college students? Hardly. You could play the part well, but nothing could remove the ease you entered each other’s space with and the precaution you saved for everyone else. Or the tragedy stringing you all together. Maybe it was just because you’d known the boys so long, but you couldn’t look at them without sucking up every little detail. Hopefully, that was just a you-thing.

He sipped his coffee. “Bull.”

The three of you stiffened all over, a single muscle reacting to stress. You felt Sam peer sideways at you, but like Dean, you strained not to move in case that was what made the trap snap shut.

“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?” Wilkinson asked.

“Um,” Dean said, which put the ranger’s eyes on him.

Your stomach peculiarly dropped. It felt like a sign to go along with it. There was only a split second for any of you to reply and not get caught in an awkward explanation, and no time to explain what was compelling you to the boys. On instinct, you stepped in front of Dean to save him from further blubbering.

You cleared your throat, expression shifting from red-handed to neutral. “...Yes. We are, um, Ranger Wilkinson.”

“Well, I will tell you exactly what we told her.” The ranger moved behind the counter, and in tandem the three of you drew closer to meet him. “Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?”

Dean shook his head like he had any idea what he was talking about. The ranger filled in, “You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

And then the lingering strangeness shook itself out of Dean’s frame, replaced instead by the casual authority you were used to. Either sibling conflict was something he knew well, or he’d been clued in enough to respond, because Dean propped himself against the counter and playfully raised his brows. “We will. That Haley girl’s quite a pistol, huh?”

Ranger Wilkinson snorted, which hid your eye-roll from the conversation. “That is putting it mildly.”

“Actually… you know what would help?” Dean straightened like a business-man, that dazzling smile toned with something that could pry anything out of anybody. “If I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date…”

The woods were still eerily quiet when you left the station. You could tell that your human perceptions were mixing with your psychic ones, which made for an annoying pot to sort through for the sake of the hunt. The boys were snapping back and forth at each other about this Haley girl, but you were too perturbed to follow it very closely, rattled by the pressure in the air. The whole forest was holding its breath. The taxidermy was watching you. Something was definitely up here.

For every two steps you took, Sam took one, his boots crunching noisily on the gravel. He was making very cutting gestures with his hands and frowning into his dimples as he spoke to Dean, which you took as some of the deep-seated frustration he never showed. He was getting angrier. He rarely yelled during serious arguments, but now he was full-on snarling. You wished there was more you could do about it.

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad,” Sam grit. “I mean, why even talk to this girl?”

When you started to drag behind, an internal ____-sensor went off in Dean’s brain, triggering his proximity alarm. He paused on the gravel until you safely back in his bubble, and before you could dazedly walk right right past them, Dean dropped a hand on your head, stopping you short. You blinked up into his face. It was flat with concern, then covered with humor.

Dean pointed to you. “That’s why.”

A moment later, you were struggling to lift your head in the backseat of the Impala. When you managed to pull your face out of your hands, and your hands away from your knees, two faces swam in your vision. The air felt a dozen times colder. A big, coarse hand was resting on the back of your neck. Baby’s door was open, and two people were crouched down in front of you.

“Are you okay?” A voice asked, and the timbre of it could’ve been Sam’s. Everything was muddy.

“Ughhh,” you groaned in answer. “Bad. Bad. Not good.”

You blearily reached above you for the hand on your neck, found it by the wrist, and dragged it onto your forehead instead. The angle of the touch was strange, but the cold—the numbing, venomous cold—was worse. An icy metal bracelet glimpsed your cheek and made you hiss. Whoever it was bunched the bracelets higher up his wrist, then brushed his thumb against your brow, knowing, after more than ten years of this, how the Gift leeched all the heat out of you. The warm touch melted you all the way down to your toes. Definitely Dean.

“Let er’ breathe,” he ordered Sam, calmly. “You gonna puke again, ___?”

You swung your head back and forth, cursing, “...Th’ was only one damn time, Dean…”

Dean chuckled, and from where he’d migrated to give you more room, Sam went silent. He was probably giving Dean a funny look. “...Since when can you tell when she’s got a vision coming on?”

“You can’t?” Dean said. Had you not been too dizzy to stand, you would’ve frowned at him for the detached condescension floating in his voice. It wasn’t Sam’s fault he hadn’t been around—well, in a small way it was, but he had every reason to go to school. Still, Dean added, “She gets all dazed n’ everything, then she gets this dorky look on her face… You seriously can’t tell?”

You tilted into Dean’s palm, staring past him to Sam. “C-can I borrow a jacket?”

Sam softened all over, and the change in body language threw an abrupt realization in your face: they were waiting for a vision about John. Both boys exchanged a look. They’d been hinged on bracing legs, like at any moment you were going to spit out some vision of their father dying or being tortured. The rising conviction in Sam’s face was flushed away by disappointment, and you couldn’t help but feel that you’d caused it.

“Of course,” he murmured, tone buttery. While Dean got the heater in the front seat going, Sam unzipped his jacket and helped you get into it. Just getting some extra body heat did wonders on your dizziness, which prompted Sam to ask, “What’d you see, ___?”

As he pulled the collar around your shoulders, you stared into his face in thought, “There was this girl, in some kind of dark place... A cave, maybe? I didn’t see much. She was hanging by her wrists from the ceiling… You were there, and so was this kid. He was calling her Haley.”

From the front seat, Dean’s smirk broadened into a grin.

“Bingo.”

Visions of other people were easy for you to handle. But something about one of the boys—in this case, Sam—getting roped up in one made you anxious. And in your Gift’s case, feverish.

While they interviewed Haley Collins about her missing-not-missing brother, your Gift kept you confined to the car. It could be touchy for hours after episodes like these. Twice you were working on an entry for the journal when the images came over you again, and when you resurfaced from them, ten whole minutes had disappeared. You were grateful the boys had a lead to run off to: when your Gift felt more like a disease than a helpful tool, it was better for you to be alone with it.

You pressed your fingers into your nose bridge until it hurt. The journal stared up at you, open and waiting for you to write something.

Dean had drawn a picture of the Impala with a crappy motel pen. Sam had written about anything but Jess, his sentences short and totally empty of the surgeon-critical details of his old school essays. You wanted to put something meaningful.

When you were little, there was nothing more heroic, more exciting, more fascinating, than being a seer. It was the magical secret your mother kept behind the parlor room curtain. You would sit in the antique shop’s stairwell for hours while she took readings, talking to the portraits of the women in your family like they were your imaginary friends. One day I’ll be just like you. They had to hear you, right? They could see the future and the past, could speak to the other side—so of course they could speak to you, right? Tell you all about the secret? They could do anything. You were one of them, so that meant the same for you. You weren’t just any little girl: you were special and different and brilliant. You could do anything.

But that had been then, before you’d received the Gift. Now, the irony of just what little you were capable of pressed upon you. You could see the future and the past, could even speak to the other side—but only now could you hear them telling you it was too late to escape. You used to stare at the pictures and paintings and the pretty tattoos they had on their palms, counting the days until it was your turn to wear your family symbol. This used to be something you wanted; this used to be a gift, an honor. But the Gift took your health and time and choice away from you.

(When you’d crossed that line between child and adult, between non-seer and seer, you’d laid in the dark with Dean and pretended everything was fine. He’d squeezed your hand and murmured, You do have a choice. And if you don’t, we’ll run away and drive until nobody’ll find us. It’ll be you and me and Sam on the road, n’ everything will be okay. You’d clutched his hand until it’d hurt and said, please. Even if you knew you were lying. Even if you knew that damn symbol on your hand would drag you from him kicking and screaming.)

You passed your pen into your unoccupied hand. Alone, in the backseat of the Impala, you turned over your wrist and stared at the mark there. In the middle of your palm was a simple eye in black ink, stretched and blurred with age. To think, your twelve-year-old self had been squeamish about the pain of the tattoo. The non-physical pain was much worse.

Maybe Dean was right. Maybe there was still a way to run away.

I feel like shit, you wrote, and closed the book.

The uneasy feeling of your Gift and the woods ebbed out by the time Dean drove the three of you into town. Knowing there was something to hunt here settled you some, so the boys’ concerned glances appeared less and less as the night went on. You found yourself in familiar territory: sitting with Sam and Dean at a small town’s only bar, illuminated by neon-lights and anonymous below the clattering talk of strangers.

“...and Haley said that her brother had gone out to the Ridge with a couple’a friends, and kept contact with her with a satellite phone. Emailed them pictures, videos, stuff like that,” Dean explained, leaning across Sam to speak to you. “His last update was three days’ ago, and we’re pretty sure his camera caught something in the background.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What kind of something?”

Sam nodded to John’s journal. “Let’s find out.”

The three of you were squished together on the bar, closed in a circle around Sam and his computer. Dean was laying back with an ankle on his knee, surveying the bar crowd with an idle eye, both relaxed and tense with a job on his mind. Sam had rolled up his sleeves to work, and you watched a scar move on his forearm as he typed. He hadn’t been able to save any of his clothes from the fire, so his flannels, shirts, and jeans had all been bought within the last week—at the very least, he looked freshly minted. But a keen eye could make out the old seams of his stress fractures shredded open again.

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” Sam starts. There was a rhythm to his voice that reminds you of when you were a kid, going through the motions of hunting with nothing else to cling to.

He picks up John’s journal like it’s made of glass, and splays it open on the bartop with the same gentleness.

“How about before then?” You asked.

“Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936.” Sam raised his brows, enunciating, “Authorities always said it was a grizzly attack.”

Dean snorted. “Sure. Grizzlies with a grudge. Every… what’s that, 23 years?”

“Look at you, Dean,” you cooed, cheeks propped on your hands, “doing big boy math.”

The glare he sent you was positively precious. Dean flipped you off for good measure, but you were protected behind Sam, who would get snappish if any scuffling happened around his million-dollar laptop. You waved back evilly… and suppressed the urge to slam your hand flat to the bar when Dean’s eyes darted for the symbol in the middle of your palm.

Unlike you, Dean was fond of your family sigil. You’d wanted him more than anyone to be there when you’d been marked, but he and Sam were already gone for the weekend. The preceding days were rampant with anxious excitement and fear, so your mom had gone all out, spending the week’s paycheck on your favorite activities, gifts, and dinner out. All you had to do was endure the pain of the needle. The itch grew to a sting which grew to white-hot, excruciating pain, and the only thing that helped was Dean a few days later.

You’d sat on Bobby’s porch swing, just out of the reach of the rain. He’d set your palm on his knee and stared at it in wonder, flattening your fingers with his grime-stained ones. Dean was only two years older than you at fourteen, but his hands had seemed so big in comparison, big enough to bend the tops of his fingers over yours. You could still remember cringing if he pressed too hard—could still vividly recall Dean kissing the iris of the mark.

(There, now you can stop whining. My cooties will cure you. Or maybe you’re immune to em’ now, seein’ as you’re tough enough to take a needle. I’ve never done anything like that before.)

You closed your fist under the bar, which tingled with the phantom kiss from that day. Case. John. Missing hikers. In the messy, untouched attic that made up your life, the trunk you locked the corpse of your Gift in could be buried in the very back for now. Or forever.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Quit it and read this.”

He unfolded an article from the journal, and when it was splayed flat, you read it loud enough for the boys and no one else to hear: “Grizzly Bear Attacks… Up to eight hikers vanish in lost creek area… hikers' disappearance baffle authorities. Well, no surprise there. These poor suckers have no idea what they’re looking at.”

“Then again, neither do we,” Sam said. He switched tabs on his laptop, “I downloaded that guy Tommy's video and—I mean, just look at this.”

Sam opened the video. Tommy’s face was obscured by the night’s darkness, so all you could make out of him was a few touches of lantern light flickering in his eyes and splaying against the wall of the tent. He reminded you of the types you saw heading out of the ranger station. Tommy was just any other adventurous guy enjoying the trails. Your heart ached, and the imaginary sting in your palm faded for good.

With a few taps, Sam jumped through three frames of the video. It appeared to be nothing but a flicker of the lantern light when the video played at normal speed, but on pause you could make out the black shape of something living. Something hunting. You glanced at Sam, impressed—he’d caught something the human eye could barely trace. If Stanford couldn’t make him rusty, then nothing could.

Dean leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Do it again.”

Sam played the three frames over again. It was quick, but the way the shapes beyond the tent moved almost mimicked a wolf shifting from hindlegs to forelegs. Or a human mid-run. Sam went to the frame the creature was the clearest in. “That's three frames. A fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

You thought about the taxidermied buck, the picture of the downed bear. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t the kind of creature you mounted on a wall—it had room above its mantle for your head, too.

“What do you think, Mean Swing?” Dean lifted his head in your direction, scratching his chin. “This feel familiar? Like what you saw earlier?”

You stared at the image until all you saw was the pixels that made its figure behind Tommy. The watching eyes of the woods felt sticky on your skin, and you twisted your carnelian ring on reflex.

“Somethin’ in the woods has been bothering me all day. Whatever it is that John sent us here for… I get this feeling that it’s there. And when the ranger brought up Haley, there was this push telling me to pursue it. S’ definitely got something to do with her… and this creature.”

Dean waved to you in a there ya go sort of gesture, and between you Sam sighed in defeat. “Yeah. Maybe this is what Dad was leading us to… But why?”

“Well, our woman in white,” you were careful to mention the events of last week, “that was a case he couldn’t finish. Maybe this is another one? Something he found but couldn’t check out himself?”

Dean frowned into his beer. If that was true, then John had a reason for putting this hunt on the boys instead of one of the other hunting connections he had. He kept Dean—and by extension, you—on a short leash these days, employing you both for bigger, more research-intensive hunts and then pointing the two of you toward a smaller fish when he was busy. This felt like a big hunt to you—the kind of three-person job John would keep you around for.

And there was only one thing, one white whale, that could make something like this into a little fish. A white whale that you had your own reasons for hunting, now.

“Maybe,” Sam murmured, talking to fill the sudden gap your suggestion had left. “But, uh, I got one more thing.” He shut the laptop, producing yet another article. Again, that selfish hole burned into your chest gushed with affection—Sam had always loved the research aspect of the job, so of course he’d looked into everything already. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

Reading the article over his shoulder, you spoke at the same time as Dean: “Is there a name?”

Sam tapped a surname on the page. Shaw. Satisfied, Dean dropped his beer on the bartop, stood, and stretched, purposefully giving half the room a good look at the freckles on his midriff. “I say we check into the area a bit more n’ then go bother the guy,” Dean chuckled. With new-found cheer, he threw the two of you a grin, “See you in a minute. M’ gonna go take a leak.”

“Have fun,” you snorted.

Dean bounced his eyebrows at you over his shoulder, said, “Watch my beer,” and dissolved into the crowd.

Per his request, you spun on your stool to steal sips of his bottle. Sam started unloading his laptop bag between you, dropping maps, articles, and obituaries where they wouldn’t get wet by drink stains. He pat a napkin and a pen down in front of you, and without further prompting you slid the closest obit in front of you to continue the cross-comparisons he’d made between the victims. At least, you were going to, until Sam went stiff.

“Oh god,” he hushed through his teeth.

You started writing. “Yeah, Sammy?”

“Those girls,” he paled, “I think they’re gonna come over here…”

You lifted your head: first, to Sam’s flushed, panicked expression, gluing him to his seat like a buck in headlights, and then the trio of giggling girls throwing looks at him. The most assertive of the three was really fishing for a returned glance across the bar. Given enough time and sips of strawberry daiquiri, she’d definitely slide on over. You envied her confidence, but cursed it in the moment.

Sam ducked his head, hiding behind his bangs. “I can’t—not, n-not yet… God, what should I do?”

This was yet another case of you being discounted as a third Winchester sibling. Not for the first time, you wished the opposite was assumed. You spun your stool so you were between him and his admirers, trying to calculate a way to shoo them off without being rude, or broadcasting that Sam was… That Sam was mourning.

“Here. Can I hold your arm?”

Sam’s face flared with confusion in the most interesting way. Thinking quickly, you put on a mushy smile and spun again in your chair, giggling for the whole bar to hear, and folded both hands in the crook of Sam’s bicep. For additional effect, you squished your cheek into his shoulder and kicked your legs under your stool, girly and pleased. Peculiarly, Sam relaxed.

“Oh,” he said, daring to take a glance at the rowdy women again. They looked disappointed; their token of interest appeared to be taken. “Smart.”

“We can add it to my business card,” you reassured him with a teasing pat. Freeing a hand, you began to count your titles: “Eye-candy, team morale, psychic, and fake girlfriend for hire. This girl does it all.”

A ghost of his dimpley smile flashed in your peripherals, and with arduous effort, Sam unfolded an article about Blackwater Ridge and pretended to read it. After a moment of simmering in your touch as you melted in his, Sam choked from the air the first thing he could think to say. He sounded genuinely close to tears.

“...I’m sorry.”

You wanted to tell him that everything would be fine—but nothing was right now, so the only life-raft any of you had was, ironically, the hunt. You’d all fallen victim to its desensitizing routine one way or another. Dean had learned it from his father, and you and Sam had learned it from Dean, because everything in the hunt was generational and cyclical. It would be useless and hypocritical to tell him that he didn’t have to hide his feelings under the pretense of this job. But a part of you had hoped that this transition wouldn’t be so easy for him, because the easier it was the harder it would be to escape again. Sam had been loading shotguns and memorizing hexbag ingredients since he was eight. But compared to psychic powers that didn’t scrub off your skin… shotguns and hexbags were something you could run from.

And god, it killed you, it gutted you, but you want Sam to run. You want him to be happy. You want to kill the white whale, and forget these selfish feelings.

“There’s nothing you’ve got to apologize for, Sammy,” you whispered into his sleeve. “Let’s get to tracking this thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs.

You slide the napkin in front of you. Sam unfolds a map. Together, you lose yourself in the names and dates and locations until it’s 1997. You’re sixteen, John and Dean are off hunting; you’re huddled at the bar, wet from the rain and dizzy from researching; you’re sixteen and duty-bound, but all you have to your name is a fake ID and Sam Winchester. Sam’s leg is bouncing under the table because his Dad won’t pick up the phone, and you’re all he has and he’s all you have and you both want out of the hunt.

But Sam’s the only one with the legs to run, and it’s been a long time since 1997.

“Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—”

“Grizzly?” Sam smoothly leads the way into Mr. Shaw’s apartment, casting another long shadow across the dark kitchen with his height. His voice had this base innocence to it, so maybe it was your imagination overlaying it with a note of significance. “That’s what attacked them?”

Shaw’s silhouette paused halfway to the closest lamp. He took a slow draw of his cigarette, ignored the lamp, and padded over to open one of his windows, like he was comfortable in the dark. After what he’d witnessed, he probably felt like he’d seen the worst of what was in it. He was an old man, far older than the boy he’d been in 59’, but something told you that nothing could make him forget that night. Dean had only been four, and you knew he remembered every frame of his mother’s death. Both of Shaw’s parents had died.

Dean dropped his hands into his pockets. “The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?”

Shaw paused. You winced, wishing there was a better way to approach this. Interviewing victims never felt right, but this time it was worse: all of you knew about the threat you were dealing with.

Again, Dean pushed. “What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”

Shaw remained silent, blowing smoke out of his kitchen window.

“Mr. Shaw,” you spoke up, twisting a ring on one finger, “If you can help us understand what it is, we may be able to kill it.”

Shaw pulled his cigarette from his mouth, and despite the roughness of his already coarse voice, the flicker you got of his expression in the moonlight was pained and earnest. “I seriously doubt that.” He sunk down at his kitchen table, one wrist pointed out the window. “Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” Shaw cupped the mug waiting on the tabletop for him and stared into it. “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

The little space behind your ribs where you stored that pain—the kind of pain Shaw was talking about—cracked open along a seam, and you almost opened your mouth to utter the forbidden words: I understand. I understand so much it makes it hard to breathe. There was no way to describe it. Knowing the truth about this world was simple on paper, but knowing that you were lying to everyone you ever met was not. It was like you lived in a world where fire was fictional, and yet you knew it was real, had put it in your crosshairs, been charred to the bone by it. But still. You could do nothing to stop the whole world from putting its hand on the stove.

A vision fluttered behind your eyelids, flashing so fast between frames of memory that it barely showed in your face that anything had changed. You saw Shaw standing at the cusp of the trail to the Ridge, hands trembling, begging a family he’d never met to go home go home please go home you haven’t seen it you can’t see it—s’ real, oh god, s’ real, please…

You moved past Dean and Sam to take the other seat at Shaw’s kitchen table. Some of the raw emotion rolling around in your chest must’ve made it to your eyes, because he finally lifted his head. You tried to bolster some honesty into your voice. “I believe you. Just, please—tell me what you saw.”

“...Nothing,” Shaw said. Before you could deflate, he continued: “It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like… no man or animal I ever heard.”

Sam and Dean hovered closer, and stood behind your chair like twin doberman hounds, so still and soundless that you hadn’t known they’d moved until Sam spoke. “It came at night?”

Shaw nodded. You tried to marry his story to the creature caught in Tommy’s video, and didn’t like the mental image you ended up with. “This thing got into your tent?”

“Our cabin,” Shaw corrected. “I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It… It didn't smash a window or break the door.” He leaned forward, struggling to croak around a trembling lip. “It unlocked it. Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.”

You sat back, an uncomfortable pang clawing into the meat of your legs. Feeling Dean’s stare, you exchanged a silent look with him: this just got a lot harder.

“Your parents,” Sam gently probed, “it killed them?”

Shaw closed his eyes. “Dragged them off into the night.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, shakily, “I know words aren’t worth much, but…”

Shaw shook his head. He seemed to stare right through you, beyond you, to where he’d been in the woods that night. “Why it left me alive… been asking myself that ever since.” Giving the three of you his last skeptical stare, he brought his hand to his t-shirt collar, “Did leave me this, though.”

Shaw opened his shirt collar. The moonlight cut oddly against his collarbone, and then in the shadow of his neck you saw it: four long, shredded scars, raised and gnarled into his flesh. After forty years the mark had softened and healed, but just looking at it told you exactly what it’d looked like the night he’d been given it.

Sam and Dean exhaled slow, in shock or understanding, and your hands pressed flat to your mouth on instinct.

“There’s somethin’ evil in those woods,” Shaw warned. “It was some sort of demon…”

As far as hunting went, the few twenty-four-year-olds that had passed through your mother’s parlor swung one way or the other. Either they were stupid enough to be joining in fresh out of some terrible circumstance, or purebred into it like you and the boys—and the only thing that evolved greenhorns was luck. You hadn’t made it here on luck.

Still, for all the skill that nine years of hunting had possessed you, you hadn’t yet pinned down what Shaw’s “demon” was. On the walk from his apartment back to the Impala, you summoned the list of forest creatures that experience had branded into one wall of your mind. Skinwalkers, black dogs, ozark howlers, even certain forest spirits could act like this. You opened the journal without much thought and started cross-comparing traits to your mystery creature: bear-like, intelligent, dark cold habitat(?), west US forest region, 23 year cycle. But nothing stuck. After staring at it for a little while longer, you got the impression there was a gaping hole in your profile.

A step or two in front of you, Dean and Sam were wearing the same pensive shoulders, performing similar examinations in their own minds. The clouds of their breath floated skyward. Being on the edge of town, the only light on the side-road you walked was from the half-mast eye of the moon. The loud jostle of Dean’s boots was comforting; especially since being the caboose made you all-too aware of the void of dark street behind you, which clung to your back with a sentient silence.

“Maybe one of our points is wrong, or this is an unusual hangout for the thing we’re dealing with… Either way, we have to figure this out soon.” You closed the journal with a snap. “Haley is going out to the woods tomorrow. How are we supposed to protect that poor girl if we have no idea what this thing is?”

“We unload the whole trunk, that’s how,” Dean spoke. “Like Sam said—thing’s corporeal. That means we can kill it,” he dipped his head in your direction with a teasing smile, “likely with something pointy.”

Your eyes jumped to Sam in the dark, tongue in your cheek. “Corporeal? You’ve never failed a vocab test, have you?”

Sam’s growing anxiousness loosened enough to give you a dry half-smile. He didn’t spit back one of his own jokes or give you a teasing push like usual, but anything was better than nothing. He hadn’t spoken much today. He hadn’t spoken much this week.

Either Dean got tired of turning his head or he preferred you next to him, because he lent you some room to walk between him and Sam. It was a small gesture, but one that the boys did often. They could barely fit shoulder-to-shoulder on a sidewalk alone, and yet they made room for you every time, like two halves of a bascule bridge letting a little boat through.

Dean had parked the car further down the road, so Baby was a glossy white highlight against the spider-webbing of tree branches covering the night sky. The night was blue and foggy. You absently laid your hand on the metal when you came close, just to have something to touch that wasn’t groundless air.

Before he opened the trunk, Dean deferred naturally to you for the all clear signal. The separation between your senses and your Gift was thin today, so you drew closer to the Impala, blinking at the shapes your eyes were imagining in the fog. Eventually, you murmured, “We’re good.”

Dean tilted his head with a dangerous readiness, because even a second’s pause was enough to clue him in to your exhaustion. “Are we?”

“Sorry,” you sighed, “We’re good. I’m still a little bogged down from earlier. There’s no one around, don’t worry. My Gift—my thing is just a little tired today.”

“Haven’t slept much,” Sam commented.

Dean yanked open the trunk with its usual friendly creak, punctuating the sound with an unspoken order in his eyes. He quickly made it spoken: “Well, ‘soon as we get back to the motel, you’re going to, girly.”

“We’ve still got to figure out what this thing is,” you reminded. Considering you hadn’t yet found a way around Dean’s elder-sibling authority, it was a little foolish of you to think today would be the day. You put a drop of sweetened nonchalance into your voice anyway. “I’ll be alright, Dean—I’ll sleep on the drive to the ridge tomorrow. A little overnight research won’t kill me.”

Dean’s smile pinched into his cheek. He sucked in a breath like he was about to say something funny—and though Dean wasn’t exactly gentle, he never pierced you. Just prodded. “I think you’re forgetting it’s not just you n’ me anymore.”

That stopped you in your tracks.

You hadn’t forgotten. For two years, a tear in your life had grown into an absence, in the Impala’s backseat, in the empty air guarding your six on hunts. But the worst part was that sometimes the absence called you or mailed you pictures. Sometimes it would write you letters with his half-cursive handwriting, or ramble about Stanford and pre-law until you fell asleep with your head between the pillow and the phone. Sam had left an unfillable space in your life when he’d escaped, and without him in the middle you and Dean had tried everything to close the gap.

From the moment you’d picked up Sam, there was not one breath where you weren’t aware he was back. You could sense him like a limb, without looking, like you were connected to him by a million nerves.

But you and Dean had made a life together. For two years, there had been nothing but you and him and the rain-slick road. There were days driving between states where neither of you said a word, because hearing you breathe and feeling him drive was enough for the two of you. You sang your way through whole albums, Dean on drums and you on lead guitar; you fell asleep beside him; you wept over Dean, fingers hot with his blood; you fed him and poked fun at him and lived him, while Dean did the same for you.

“Hey.” Dean’s hands were suddenly there, settling warm on your shoulders. The night was blue but his eyes were still so green. “Sam’s here to help out now, okay? Me n’ him will do our damndest to figure out what this thing is, and you’ll do me a favor, n’ rest up for tomorrow. If we can’t figure it out, I’m not all that worried—”

A pleasant, charming smile gleamed on his face. “...We’ve got our secret weapon right,” he poked your forehead, “here.”

You let indecision play dramatically across your features. Then, with the air of a tradesman, stuck out your hand to him to shake.

“Only…if you hug me.”

“Why?” Dean squawked.

You shot him an evil little smile. “I enjoy watching your fragile masculinity squirm.”

Dean considered, humming. “...You’ll go to bed? As soon as we get back?”

“I’ll even sleep in,” you added loftily, just to sweeten the pot.

He stared at you for a moment longer, the rounded lines of his face briefly drawn hard with conviction. An unspoken clause was added to your contract. I’ll watch out for Sammy, too. That was all that mattered to you.

Promptly, Dean opened his palm, spat into it, and stuck it out to you.

“Fine. Deal.”

Per tradition, you spat as well. With a gross smack, you slapped your hands together, and using his grip you dragged him into a tight hug. Because Dean was a fair player, he squirmed and flustered in the same way that laughed you into stitches as a kid. Sam was witness to all of this, so it surprised you when Dean dropped the act halfway through and squeezed you around the middle; he gave excellent, cozy, leather-scented hugs, which of course were only shared at the grave cost of his masculinity. After the week the three of you’d had, it was high time you fulfilled your role as the mushy one.

(But then again, Dean was the one rubbing your back).

“Aw,” Sam said, being a very loyal minion.

Dean broke out into a hoarse coughing fit, scuttling away to safety and glaring at his brother. You wiped your hand on the sleeve of his jacket, which sent him into further hysterics, and somewhere under the yelling and raving about real leather, ___! Sam covered his mouth and giggled boyishly. Whatever argument he’d been revving up for had lost its power over him awhile ago.

That was all that mattered to you.

taglist: @seraphimluxe @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @williamstop @duchessoftheheart

NEXT PART: w*ndigo, p.2

#uncouthspn #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #dean winchester #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #sam winchester #supernatural rewrite

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

Miller Morales Mechanic Shop (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Part One of Miller Morales Mechanic Shop

Summary: Something is wrong with your car. What, exactly? You have no clue. So you bring it in to some professionals- who also have a toddler running around the shop.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: language, Frankie is a dad, brief mention of divorce and trauma bc poor Frankie, there is a child heavily involved in this so if you don’t like kids this isn’t for you :)

A/N: WELCOME TO PART ONE EVERYONE! This is such a cute AU and I’m BEYOND excited to start sharing it with you all! I don’t know how many parts this will be or anything but I can’t wait to take it and run with it.

Marisol Morales behaves for very few people. One of those is Ben Miller. Unfortunately, she has decided to break her own rules today.

Frankie loves summer. He loves his little girl playing outside in her baby pool, taking her for walks around the neighborhood with their three-legged dog, all of the fun parts. The hard part is when the nanny goes on a vacation and Mari has to come to work with him.

Benny and Frankie, ever since the chaos that was the Lorea mission, run a small mechanic shop together. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop isn’t necessarily the busiest place in town, but they make enough to get by and have some disposable income too. Mari loves to hang around the shop with her daddy and uncle. She’s there more than Frankie would like, but he supposes it’s not the worst thing in the world. When Frankie and Jules split and Frankie won full custody, he’d hoped a nanny would take care of most everything when Mari is home all day in summer. Sadly, he was in for a rude awakening when no Mary Poppins showed up on his doorstep.

It’s normally not too bad; Benny hung the moon in Mari’s eyes. If she won’t do something for her daddy, which is still somewhat rare, she’ll always do it for her Uncle Benny. That makes the day run much smoother. Mari has a whole host of quiet-time activities and toys to play with, and the men generally trade off periods of either working on the cars or being with the little girl.

Her favorite activities at the shop include drawing on the concrete with thick sticks of chalk and playing with her toy helicopters and planes. Benny insists tanks are cooler, but Mari prefers flying her Polly Pockets in the chopper, running through the garage and making flight noises. She’s a smart little thing; for her age, she’s picked up big words and can make sentences out of three words, which is quite a stretch for a baby just over two years of age. She calls for Benny and Daddy and knows the names of his tools: wench, scu-dwive, and her favorite, win-seeled wipe fwuid. She loves to babble at customers while they get their oil changed.

Being shit with cars is no fun. It only increases the anxiety when some light flashes on your dashboard. The lights can mean so many things that you find it ridiculous; “check engine”? Check it for what? To save yourself the anxiety, you find your nearest mechanic and pay them to deal with it.

Today, as you pull over into a gas station, you check your phone and find that the nearest shop is a place you haven’t heard of. It must be new. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop, 0.6 miles away. The name implies something more local and homegrown. You’re more than willing to support a place like that, so you start up the engine, pray you don’t explode, and make your way over to the shop.

It’s nearby, like the map indicated. The outside is a quaint little place, tucked in a strip mall next to a coffee shop, a dentist, and an insurance agency. The three car bays are empty, and knowing next to nothing about how these shops work, you pull inside and park your car, letting it run as you wait for an employee. The bell dinged to let them know you were here, so you stay patient and listen idly to the hum of the talk radio show from your car’s speakers.

After a minute or two pass, you realize that maybe this wasn’t the right place to be. Maybe you were supposed to go in the front or something. Concluding that you probably aren’t where you’re supposed to be, you turn off the car and get out only to be greeted by the sound of buzzing lips.

You can hear a baby’s voice, mimicking some kind of vehicle’s sound, and for a second you’re worried this place must have you hearing things. Then, from a swinging door to the front comes a little girl, running and babbling to herself about her toy helicopter.

She has a head full of dark brown curls, tied back into two puffs with pink scrunchies, and matching pink leggings and a t-shirt far too big for her, the back emblazoned with the shop’s logo. She’s barefoot, tiny feet slapping against the cold cement.

“I told you I had to piss, Fish!” A man’s voice shouts from one end of the garage.

“No you didn’t, dipshit!” Another man shouts back. Being caught in the middle of their argument is quite comical, if you’re being honest with yourself. “She’s fucking two! You can’t leave her alone like that, man!”

The first voice is matched to a person as a tall blonde man emerges from the customer service side of the shop. “Marisol Morales, come here,” he insists sternly as he rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit. “Come on, you’re gonna trip.” Ben is embroidered on a patch over his heart.

She pouts at him before stumbling forward and continuing to run, stopping as she sees you and looking up in confusion. Her lower lip sticks out in a pout as her eyes scan your face, as if she’s trying to remember if she knows who you are. “Hi,” she finally concedes as you bend to her level.

“Hi there,” you smile and hold out a hand. “What’s your name?” You pick her up, holding her on your hip so that she doesn’t trip, like Ben so desperately feared.

The second, unknown voice shouts for the little girl again before boots clunk on concrete up to you, rounding your car and stopping. This must be the girl’s father, you realize, as you rake your eyes up his body. He wears the same navy blue jumpsuit as the other man, though it’s unsnapped over his chest, exposing the white t-shirt beneath. The patch on his chest reads Catfish. He wears a ball cap and warm brown curls peek out from under it. He has scruff and a hooked nose that perfectly matches the one on the little girl. “I Mari,” she introduces herself proudly.

“Hey, leave her alone, Mar,” the man shakes his head as he hoists her up to hold her on his hip. “I’m so sorry about that,” he says with an embarrassed smile, showing a dimple beneath the scruff on his chin.

“No, it’s not a problem,” you laugh then set her down and tell the little girl your name. “Aren’t you just the cutest?” You chuckle as she looks at you. She blushes and buries her face in the man’s chest, giggling shyly.

He looks down at the little girl then up at you again. “Well, uh, hi. I’m Frankie, and you’ve met Mari already.”

“Your daughter?” you ask as you look at the pudgy little girl, who now stares at you in awe.

Frankie nods and adjusts his ball cap, pushing his hair back with it. “Yep. Our nanny is on vacation, so she gets to hang out around here,” he chuckles and kisses her head, setting her down. “Go see Benny, yeah?” He asks her. She happily waddles off towards the blonde man, who gives you a wave then heads into the back. “What brings you in?”

“Would you laugh if I told you I don’t really know?” You admit with a shy smile. “My check engine light came on while I was on the highway. I don’t know the first thing about cars, so I was hoping you’d figure out what that meant.”

“Nah, no laughing here,” he nods and gives you a genuine smile before looking over at your car. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ll have you pop the hood for me and I’ll give it a look?” He asks.

“That would be great. Thank you,” you tell him, the desperation for his help in your voice. Now that you get the chance to really look at him, he’s quite attractive. His eyes are deep set and a beautiful brown, and they crinkle when he smiles. Facial expressions only accentuate the lines in his face, but he’s certainly not old. His eyes still hold his youth.

“No problem.” He leads you to the car and you pop the hood open before getting out. “Could I take your keys?” he asks you. “Just so I can turn it on and off and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod frantically and hand them over to him. “I’ll… be in the waiting room?”

“That’s how we usually do it,” he chuckles as he takes the keys from you. “Just shout for Benny if Mari annoys you again.”

That makes you frown. “She’s not annoying at all. She’s adorable,” you smile as you look over your shoulder and see her and the blonde man playing together.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he laughs and points his wrench at you as he walks to the hood of the car.

Shaking your head, you can’t help but laugh as you head back to the waiting room. You walk in and Mari perks up, turning to look at you. “Hi! Playing helicopter,” she tells you in her stunted speech as she holds up the toy.

“You sure are,” you nod and sit next to her. “Can I play?” You ask, looking up at Benny, silently asking him the question too.

He nods and Mari squeals happily. “Friend!” She shrieks and hands you another helicopter. “Go pew pew, okay?” She drags them across the toy mat like they’re cars, and you follow suit.

“Okay,” you laugh. Looking up at the blonde man, you extend a smile his way and introduce yourself. He’s busy repairing a Barbie dollhouse with a screwdriver.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ben, Benny, whatever you wanna call me.”

Driving your helicopter around the ground, following Mari’s lead, you chuckle. “No preference?”

“Fish calls me Benny.”

“Fish?” You ask and tip your head.

“Frankie, whatever. We’re buddies from the service. His code name was Catfish,” the man explains with a shrug, testing the hinges of the plastic door.

That makes you smile down at Frankie’s daughter. “Really, just buddies? Could’ve sworn you’d be brothers,” you tease the blonde, blue-eyed man. “Does Frankie know how to do his daughter’s hair?” You ask and fiddle with her two pigtails.

“Yes, he does,” Frankie insists as he walks out to the front, cleaning a wrench. “But just barely.”

You look up at him, embarrassed. “Her pigtails just look a little messy. Then again, she was running around like crazy,” you laugh and watch her rush over to Frankie, insisting he pick her up.

Bending down to grab her, Frankie groans at the ache in his joints. “She was. I could use some pointers, if you’ve got ‘em.”

“Of course,” you nod and stand too, brushing the dust from the concrete floor off on your pants. “What’s the verdict on the car?” You ask.

Frankie turned, watching as Benny walks out to the shop, but he turns back to face you. “Oh, right. The engine was misfiring, and unburned fuel was being put into the exhaust system, and that damaged the catalytic converter.”

You nod as you listen to him, really staring at his face more than anything. He’s just so damn pretty, you note as you admire the curve of his nose, his slightly sunken and dark eyes. His lips look beautiful and soft, even though they seem a little chapped. When he stops talking, it takes you a second to process it. “I don’t know what that means,” you admit with a shy smile. “I told you. I don’t know shit about cars,” you laugh, playing it off like you were lost when you were really lost in his eyes.

He shakes his head and laughs, bouncing Mari on his hip. “Your car is gonna need some work. Couple hours,” he shrugs. “If Benny and I get to working on it together, an hour and a half, maybe?” He admits.

“Yeah, that’s great. I can watch Mari,” you offer.

Frankie would never be this trusting normally. You’re a straight-up stranger, but your demeanor is good enough for him. Besides, you’re right here. He can check on the two of you every so often, and Mari seems to love you. “That would be great,” he smiles. “You really don’t have to.”

“No, I have nothing better to do,” you chuckle and look at the little girl. “You wanna play?”

Mari nods excitedly and Frankie sets her down. She rushes back to her toy mat and you watch her go. “Thank you, again, for fixing all this.”

“Just doing my job,” he nods. This time, it’s his turn to admire you. He stares at your face, examining the curves and angles that make you up. Your eyes are kind and warm as they follow the little girl, and he can see that he’s making a good choice here.

When you sit down, Mari comes and sits cross-legged across from you. “What are we gonna play?” You ask her, looking at her wide variety of toys. Her pile includes dinosaurs, Matchbox cars, lots of toy helicopters and planes, Barbie dolls, and a plastic tea set.

“Tea party!” She says and hands you a tiny plastic cup and a felt muffin.

“Oh my goodness,” you gasp in a fake accent. “How delightful!”

Frankie peeks over his shoulder at the two of you. He could really get used to that sight.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @deltadebelleza @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal @wintermuteway @maievdenoir @dobbyjen @beskarboobs

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kpostedsum · 3 years

Text

daddy issues; D.M

summary: you and draco bond over issues in 6th year

word count: 2.4k

warnings: err angst, comfort, illusions to sex

song: daddy issues (the remix) - the neighbourhood

a/n: i tried not to make it stereotypical bc i didn’t wanna make it seem all “i like older men lol”, probably my fav fic i’ve written, also arent these anime gifs so cute

masterlist | taglist

Take you like a drug

I taste you on my tongue

Tongues battling for dominance, bodies rubbing against each other searching for a feeling. It’s become routine now, a different person in your dorm swallowing a new pill, entangling limbs with someone just to feel something.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

It was a constant cycle, putting yourself out there seeking the male attention you crave, seeking validation, constant reassurance and trusting too easily. That’s how you ended up with a different guy who always in the end leaves. You trusted too easily and people took advantage of how trusting and naive you are just for a quick shag.

You wished it wasn’t like this but that’s all you knew, wanting to be the best version of yourself for someone just to feel needed, no matter if the person was good or bad for you. You didn’t care, you wanted love from anyone you could get it from even if it just hurt you more.

You’re familiar with the absence, something stable made you feel a bit wary. It wasn’t something you were used to. Your father wasn’t the most present in your life, and even though he's there, he's never really there.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

You always wondered where you went wrong, he preferred your siblings over you and doesn't pay you a piece of his mind. Constantly going out of your way to get his attention whether it was academically or acting a certain way just to get some sort of reaction. But he was too preoccupied with his other children, even if they were from your mom or his affairs.

That’s how you found yourself right now sitting in the astronomy tower past curfew watching the rain fall, trying to clear your head while humming softly to yourself to keep yourself distracted.

You hear distant chattering from below and quickly get up from where you were sitting and make your way to your dorm unnoticed by anyone.

Except one person, Draco Malfoy.

I tried to write your name in the rain

But the rain never came

So I made with the sun

The shade

Always comes at the worst time

He’s seen you before, you’re known around Hogwarts for how you put yourself out there and how ‘desperate’ you are for some affection. He almost feels bad for you, but he’s in no place to judge. With his dad in Azkaban Draco had so much more to worry about, like his task and how he can succeed. But there was something about you that intrigued him that he couldn't ignore.

He saw you again in transfiguration the next day and noticed a few hickeys littering your neck that you had tried to cover but it didn’t work. He wondered why you gave yourself up to so many people, but once again he was in no place to judge. He noticed the way your tongue would stick out when you focused extra hard, the way your hands would tighten around your quill when you got a question wrong and your face.

The same face that many boys including the older years would fawn over, the face that entranced and attracted many, the face of someone who would do anything for someone for some affection and the face of someone who seeked out all the wrong things.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

You walk out of transfiguration on your way to the owlery to send a letter to your parents and feel eyes watching you everywhere. You like it, the attention, it’s something that you thrived in, but you couldn’t help but feel a new set of eyes on you.

Once you reached the owlery you realized you weren't the only one there, Draco Malfoy was also there sending a letter to who you assumed was his mother.

“y/n, right?” he asked, trying to spark a conversation.

“Yea, listen i’m sorry about what happened with your father i know you really looked up--”

“Dont worry about it, he wasn’t as good an influence as I made him out to be,” he sighed, looking away.

“My dad isn’t the best either if i’m being honest, i guess we’re in the same boat” you let out a light chuckle.

And that’s how you found yourself hanging out with draco malfoy bonding over your shared issues.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues

It’s been weeks since you two started hanging out since the interaction in the owlery and have been getting closer ever since. You both sat down together in the astronomy tower, backed against the wall as the cool wind blew against your faces. The aura between you two was calm, a comfortable silence.

“So tell me about your dad, how is it with him in Azkaban?” you asked, tilting your head towards him.

“Mother’s not taking it well” he frowned. “I can’t even say potter’s wrong for getting him locked up because he deserves it. All my life he praised the dark lord and taught me to be selfish and always defend my blood, but he was never there for me when I needed him. I would have done everything just to hear ‘i’m proud of you’ but it never came. It’s worse now because mother’s all alone. I wish I could have stayed with her” he sighed looking out the tower watching the stars twinkle.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been much quieter this year as well, you stopped making fun of people. It’s not that nice on the receiving end huh?” you said with a teasing look on your face.

He shook his head at you scooting closer to you, it’s like the demeanor between you two have changed over the past few weeks. You found yourself pining over him rather than being in someone's bed. But this is how the cycle always goes, you get attached and they leave, you couldn’t help but hope this wasn’t the situation this time.

“Tell me about your father”

Daddy stuck around but he wasn't present

Cheated on your mom but she never left him

First I didn't get it, now I understand

He broke her heart, left money in her hand

So everything got paid for

She made sure you and your brother had way more

Than she ever had growing up

And when you told me the whole story I felt like throwing up

“ I don't know if i’d even call him my father at this point, he doesn't want me.” you sighed. “He's been cheating on my mum for years now and she still won't leave him because she thinks they can work it out. He’s had affairs with different pureblood women and has children with them. But what hurts the most is how he treats them as his own children and treats me as if I don't exist” you said, looking down as tears pooled your eyes.

Draco moved closer to you and brought his arm around your shoulders for a sense of comfort and waited for you to catch your breath so you can continue.

“I just want him to love me” you cried. “I go out my way to try and get his attention with my school work but it never works. That's why I get along with so many guys. I seek the validation, the comfort and the reassurance that I can get from him from others and I am so tired of it. I just want him to want me draco.” tears slipping out your eyes as you looked up at him, you’ve never confessed this to anyone before.

“Everyone always leaves, please don't leave me” you cried

“I’m not going anywhere” he turned his face towards you, leaning forward cautiously as if you were made of glass.

You leaned forward, wanting the exact same thing. Both very hesitant he gently pressed his soft lips against yours and they moved together in sequence, only taking a break to go back to his dorm and to breathe, limbs tangled together for the rest of the night until the sun rose.

I can see it on your face it was rough left a bad taste on your tongue

And she didn't even take any drug

She would rain all day

Couldn't wait for her son to shine

And you made it shine

There when she cried, you saved her life

It's been a week since that night in the astronomy tower and draco had already been avoiding you. It’s humiliating, but you should have known. You thought the ‘bond’ you had with him would last, it felt so genuine this time. So real.

You’d see him around the halls snogging pansy on your way back to the ravenclaw tower, lowering your head down so he wouldn’t be able to see you so you could get by quickly and unnoticed.

But he saw you.

He stared you right down in your teary eyes as he made out with pansy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal, for someone who promised he wouldn’t leave you like everyone else, he did the exact same.

You did the only thing you knew of, you ran.

I keep on trying to let you go

I'm dying to let you know

How I'm getting on

I didn't cry when you left at first

But now that you're dead it hurts

This time I gotta know

Where did my daddy go?

I'm not entirely here

Half of me has disappeared

Draco followed you to the girls lavatory, hearing your shallow cries coming from one of the stalls. He approached the stall you were in trying not to make too much noise so he doesn't startle you.

He felt awful.

He promised he would never leave you, after you both poured your hearts out to each other but he still left. He had too, he was putting you in danger just by being with him. If Voldemort ever found out about you and hurt you he wouldn't be able to live with himself, that's why he took it upon himself to hurt you first.

“y/n are you in here?” he called out even though he knew the answer.

You recognized that familiar voice anywhere. “What do you want draco?” you said, trying to make it seem as if you weren’t just crying.

“I want to talk to you, please”

“No,” you said getting up and pushing yourself out of the stall. “You don't get to just throw me away after I told you everything and just come back into my life like nothing ever happened. Just go away, that's all you guys are good for” you spat.

“Just listen to me, it was to keep you safe. I didn;t want to but i couldn't bear seeing you hurt” he tried to explain.

“Safe?” you laughed. “ and what exactly do i need saving from, malfoy.”

“From me” he said as he pulled up his sleeve revealing his dark mark to you. Your body instantly tensed, you knew he was having problems and his family was involved with the dark lord but you never knew it was like this.

“Draco i-” you tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat. He stood there looking at you desperately like he was waiting for you to tell him everything was okay, you wanted to be there for him but you didn’t know what to do. You trusted him with everything but he couldn't trust you with this? You thought the bond you had made would have made him trust you in the slightest, but clearly it's always you who’s more trusting.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you managed to say, your voice hoarse.

“I thought you’d leave me, you were the only good thing i had. Please don't leave me” he begged, salty tears escaping his eyes and running down his cheeks as he looked at you with desperation.

“So you thought pushing me away by snogging pansy was better?” you yelled, as he continued to look at you slightly taken aback by your lashing out.

“You know what, go ahead and cry little boy. You know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through. You gotta let it out soon, just let it out” you taunted walking closer to him looking straight into his teary eyes.

“This time I'll be the one that leaves.” and with that you were gone.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

It’s been months since that night in the girls lavatory, and you missed him. You wanted to visit him in the hospital wing once you heard what happened with Harry Potter, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. He left you, and you were tired of always going back to people who just hurt you.

Now here you were at the battle of Hogwarts, standing with everyone while Voldemort and his death eaters stood across from you all.

“Draco, draco come here” you heard narcissa call from across the scene. He looked hesitant, as if he was waiting for someone to stop him but no one did. So he started walking over to his parents.

But you grabbed his hand.

“Stay please” you whispered looking up into his eyes.

He looked back at his parents and back at you like he was contemplating his answer.

“I’ll stay”

If you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

—————-

tagging fun ppl nd ppl who interacted (so srry if u don’t wanna be tagged)

@hellohellook @astoria-malfcy @justfangirlthingies @sfdlm @falling-loki @notvasi @gwlvr @malfoytookmyheart

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zzzzzzzzzzoom · 3 years

Text

Encanto Headcanons 2

before canon comes out to get me, here's my hc on how pepa and felix became friends

(spoilers: mild angst. this is more like an au fic than a headcanon but eh. enjoy!)

since it's canon that felix was well accepted in the madrigal fam even before he got married, I feel like pepa used to hate him. for no reason. idk thats just the vibes i'm getting from her

enemies to lovers amirite

felix probably got acquainted with the madrigals purely bc of his charisma (like Mariano?) he got alma and julieta to dance with him during fiestas, and he even held long conversations with bruno that don't revolve around his (disastrous) predictions

and pepa appreciates all that (especially with bruno, lord knows that man needs friends) but she just despises felix, maybe because he's too good at everything

he does try to include her in conversations, but she acts rude and refuses to get along with him. and so felix begins to dislike her too. they argue more often than not and he drops by the Casa Madrigal less, if only to save the town from thunderstorms

basically the whole town is aware of this drama lmao. (everyone wonders why Felix still visits when his mere presence is enough to start a hurricane)

alma reprimands pepa for being so disrespectful. julieta tries to find out why pepa dislikes him, but she never gets a straight answer. bruno, on the other hand, asks felix what he thinks of pepa to try to see both sides of the argument

"I don't hate your sister," Felix admits, briefly glancing at the Casa Madrigal before turning to Bruno. "I know Pepa's not a bad person, and I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but... well, to start, I would like to be friends with her."

"I'm glad," Bruno says, relief in his eyes. "People tend to keep their distance because of her weather gift. And while Juli and I are always there for her, I know she gets lonely. You're the first to genuinely make an effort to know her, and stick around. I think she's just unsure of how to react."

Felix feels much better after that encounter, and Bruno doesn't need to use his gift to see that everything will be alright.

...except it doesn't, not really. felix drops by a week after his talk with bruno and looks for pepa so he can talk to her. julieta is worried, but directs him to the orchard, where pepa is helping with the crops.

He finds her in the barn, cleaning the buckets. She scowls upon seeing him, a storm cloud brewing above her head. He tries to talk, not letting his own emotions get to him, and casually asks her questions about her interests, hobbies, favorite color...

And she does answer, though she's getting increasingly annoyed if the growing storm cloud means anything. It eventually erupts into a harsh rain, where Pepa finally breaks down and asks why he's trying so hard when she's like this... emotional, dangerous and a walking disaster.

"O-Oh no, it's hailing," Pepa says, wiping her tears away to no avail. The most a raincloud can do is get you sick, but falling ice can cause actual injury (she remembers Mama drilling that into her head). She sniffles, muttering "clear skies, clear skies" to try to calm down. Her gift doesn't listen and it keeps hailing and she suddenly feels 5 years old again, unable to control her powers.

"You should– you should go. You might get hurt," she says, because she might dislike Felix but she doesn't want to harm him.

And that's when Felix realizes. Pepa is naturally emotional, so much that even the smallest things could summon a storm, and most people wouldn't be able to handle constantly walking on eggshells around her. But she cares, so she does her best to keep her emotions perfectly positive so that they don't have to.

(he wonders how he noticed all of that, when no one else did)

"I'm not going to leave you here," he says, firm but clearly not angry. Pepa tries to argue but he shushes her gently. "Don't force yourself to be happy either. I'd rather get pelted by the hail if it means you won't bottle up your emotions anymore."

And something in Pepa breaks. Because that's it, isn't it? Everyone else likes the girl who can control the weather, until she can't control her emotions, and then they leave, like always. Until Felix, who's charming and open and tells her she doesn't have to pretend everything's all sunshine and rainbows, literally.

And so she sobs, letting out all the negativity she's been hiding for years, barely noticing how the hail's turning into a snowstorm. She doesn't know how, but when she can finally breathe properly, she is being held in Felix's arms almost protectively. She doesn't move away. The barn is quiet. Cold, but calm, at last.

"Are you okay?" she whispers, too tired to speak properly.

"I'm alright," Felix replies, though his teeth are chattering. "How about you? Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

She smiles, and lifts and arm to lightly hug him back. "I feel great." And because she's petty, she adds, "Screw off."

Felix laughs, and she joins in. No one asks what happened in the barn, and he walks her home simce she's too drained to do anything else. Pepa relishes in the relieved hugs her siblings give her when she returns.

"Is everything good now?" Julieta asks, and Pepa nods, almost embarrassed.

"Sorry for worrying you," she says, and Julieta laughs before pulling her into a hug again. Bruno simply bumps his shoulder with Felix in thanks.

the town is greatly relieved when felix visits the casa madrigal and the skies stay clear and bright 🌤

they still argue, because it's pepa and felix, but it's more like playful banter, really. one day felix comes in, dressed head to toe in yellow ("Your favorite color, you told me!") and she laughs until her sides start to hurt. she even begins to look forward to felix dropping by. someone she could confidently call... her best friend.

BONUS:

until bruno looked into the future and saw the vision of the two of them getting married 💃

#encanto #disney encanto #encanto headcanons #pepa madrigal #felix madrigal #bruno madrigal #julieta madrigal #(tho the last two are barely in the story)#all of the madrigal couples are goals tbh #this movie has me in a chokehold send help

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rendevousz · 4 years

Text

mum?

mother figure!nat x fem!teen!reader

avengers x reader

req by @teenwonder ; i absolutely love the entire teams adoration for reader skfksngnsf its so cute! could i please request one a little more nat based? maybe r treats and loves nat like a mom but nat hadn’t noticed that before, and the whole team is like listing examples of how and why 🥺🥺🥺

summary: the four times you needed nat and the one time she admits that she needed you too.

warnings: blood, a random attack out of nowhere because i'm not creative, inaccurate writing of medical situations because i have no idea how those things work, also let's just pretend bruce was around during iron man 2 when tony still had palladium in his arc reactor, also inaccurate descriptions of palladium effects bcs i just...don't know much about palladium pls forgive me thanks, and idk any hospitals in new york/manhattan or even the states LMAO so uh bear with this, and last but not least, my inability to write good endings

word count: 5426

notes: that's a long ass warning nevertheless pls do enjoy this fic <3

"i'm going now, bye!" you bid the team who were having breakfast together, walking out of the common area.

"bye, cupcake! don't get into trouble, don't do what i'd do and definitely don't do what i wouldn't do." tony advised and you rolled your eyes because tony says that to you every morning before you leave for school.

"wait, don't forget your lunch!" nat stands up from her seat and grabs your lunch that she had packed, from the kitchen island, bringing it over to you. "thanks, nat!" you grabbed it, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before leaving.

nat smiles at the action, turning around to walk back to her spot on the table, only to find the team staring back at her with knowing looks.

"what?"

"you know, you only need to sign a couple papers and the kid's all yours." tony states matter-of-factly. nat snaps her head towards the man, an incredulous look on her face. "what are you talking about?"

"we all see the longing looks on both your faces. she's dying for you to call her your daughter and you, her mother." clint explains and the others nodded in agreement.

"that's nonsense. she has wanda too," nat reasons, sitting back down. "i'm pretty sure she sees wanda as a sister considering how much she drags wanda with her whenever she's causing trouble around the tower." steve raises his brows at the redhead who was in denial.

"she sees you as her mother, nat. just accept it," wanda tells her, taking a sip from her glass. "really? name me one time she showed it." nat challenges them, not knowing that they've been watching your interactions with her for the longest time.

"you have no idea what you just got yourself into, romanoff," clint chuckles, cracking his neck and knuckles as if preparing for a fight.

"remember new mexico?" he smirks and nat only frowns, trying to remember.

"no!" you screamed, dropping down to the ground. you didn't care that you scraped your knees doing that, the only thing that mattered was the overwhelming feeling of grief engulfing your whole being. tears streamed down your face as you looked at the debris on the ground, the remainder of what used to be standing in front of you; a building. blown up, now in ruins.

clint, bucky and steve watched you break down in front of them, their hearts breaking at the sight in front of them as well as the fact that their teammate had been caught up in the middle of the explosion.

"y/n/n? come on, tony's team called for back up. we gotta go," steve tried to get you to stand up, failing when you kept your ground. you screamed when he tried again and their hearts clenched at the heartbreaking sound.

"we can't just leave her! please, we have to find her," you cried, clinging onto steve's body as he ran his hand up and down your suit-cladded back to soothe you. "y/n/n, we can't. the whole place is in ruins now," he didn't want to say it but he had to. he had to in order to get you to leave. "she's gone."

"she can't be gone! she can't just leave us! we need her! i need her, stevie.." you cried into his chest and he had to control himself so he didn't cry right then and there too.

he looked up to see bucky looking at the two of you guiltily, tapping his wrist to indicate that they were running out of time. steve had no choice but to carry you in his arms, getting you to leave the site against your will. but you were too weak to fight back now. "what am i gonna do without her now, stevie?" you asked quietly.

"we're gonna be okay, y/n/n," he tells you, sitting you down on a chair and settling down next to you as clint flew the jet to your next location. the atmosphere was tense and you could tell everyone, too, was sad about this.

"what if we're not? what if we're not gonna be okay, stevie? i know i won't be." you wiped the tears streaming down your face despite the fact that your face still wasn't drying up any time soon.

"because nat wouldn't want to see us like this. she'll be angry if she sees that we're risking people's lives just because of her." he says truthfully.

"we're landing, guys." clint announces and the team prepared for another round of fighting. steve turns to you, wiping the tears on your face as he made you look up at him. "now let's save some people and make nat proud, yeah?"

you nod at him sadly, preparing your weapons. all of you got out the jet and the second battle of the day begun. boy, were these people unlucky because they were on the receiving end of your fury.

you were busy taking down a group of guards alone when you heard a familiar voice. "y/n, behind you!" and you turned just in time to take down a guard who was aiming at you.

you didn't even have time to register your shock of seeing the redhead because more guards came at you two. you guys fought alongside each other until all the men were taken down.

"nat?" you breathed out. "yes, bub?" she answers as you both carefully walked over the knocked out men. she was taken aback when you slammed into her, hugging her the tightest you ever did since you met her.

"please don't ever do that again." you mumbled into her chest. she was about to ask you what you meant when she heard you sniffling. figuring out it wasn't the appropriate moment to ask, she continued to just hug and comfort you in silence.

"wait, that was why she cried that day? because she thought i was in that building when it blew up?" nat asks after steve finished the story. "i never found out why because she never told me."

"yeah, you should've seen her when the building exploded. completely shattered my heart, dude." clint states, remembering the broken down state you were in that day.

"wait, did you guys not grief over my supposed death then?" nat glares at clint, bucky and steve. "in our defense, they were about to blow up about a hundred people, we didn't have much time to process the whole situation." clint tries to convince his best friend, only to receive a glare again from her.

"alright but just because she cried when she thought i was dead, doesn't mean she sees me as her mum. i'd cry too if any one of you guys died," she states, still in denial.

she did love you like how a mother would love her child. but she didn't want you to feel that she was forcing the title onto you. after all, you had so many other adults around you, who's to say that you saw someone else as a parent figure instead of her? she didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"woman, are you serious?" sam exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. "need i remind you that the girl sacrificed her life for you?"

ii.

"nat, watch out!" you stood right behind her where the man was about to attack her. you gave him a harsh kick to the head and that was all it took for the man to go unconscious.

the redhead turned around, not having enough time to comprehend what had happened before you dropped into her arms. you two were lucky the last of the men had already been taken out.

"bub? what's wrong?"

at this point, you were fully leaning against her. she was holding up your whole weight, hands wrapped around your middle to support you. that was when she felt it. the familiar thick substance on her fingers, leaking from the back of your suit.

her eyes widened, pulling one hand away from you to look at it. red. her breathing picked up as one of her hands felt around your back, finally feeling the handle of a knife sticking out from your back.

your eyes were already drooping by now and she lightly shook you awake, careful to not hurt you. she lowered you down and you were both sat on the floor now.

she presses a finger to her ear and you could hear her voice echo in your ear from your own comms. "can someone come please," she paused, exhaling shakily. "y/n's down."

if it had been any other person, she probably would be bringing them to the jet by now but it was you. she didn't know what came over her but when she saw that you were injured, it was like her whole body shut down. her knees felt weak and she couldn't bring herself to move.

"hey, hey, keep your eyes open. can you do that?" she asked gently and you nodded weakly. "bub, why did you do that?" she cried softly, moving your hair away from your face as you leaned sideways against her. the action caused your face to be smudged by your own blood from her hands but she didn't care as she caressed your cheek.

"he–he was gonna hurt you. i–i couldn't..." you paused a while, the pain getting too much for you to bear. "y/n, don't strain yourself. you need to stay awake," she tells you as tears streamed down her face.

"rather me than you," you whispered. nat's eyes widened at this. "don't say that, bub." she scolds gently.

you smiled weakly at her. "i've grown too dependent on you, nat. it's to the point that i," you coughed and nat worried that you were straining yourself but you continued. "that i'd rather die than live without you. you probably can go on with life without me but i can't without you. i need you, nat." your eyes closed and nat panics, shaking your body.

"y/n?! bub?! stay awake, please, they're coming!" nat cries out loud, holding onto your limp body.

"did we not agree to not mention that to me anymore?" nat glares at sam for bringing that up.

the night of that incident had been one of the worst nights for nat. she sat by your bed all night after you had been treated. she had been the first one you saw after you woke up. she had been the one you broke down in front of after you admitted the full reasoning behind your actions. she had been the one who opened her arms for you to make yourself at home in.

"i'm sorry but you must be blind if you can't see how really she sees you for the past years," bucky states. nat turns to him with a glare. "you don't know what you're talking about."

"oh really? who does she call whenever she has a really bad nightmare?" bucky questions rhetorically with his eyebrows raised.

iii.

"no, please, don't!" you begged, asleep and thrashing around in your bed. quiet whimpers turned into heavy breathing as you plead for your life in your nightmare. "please," you whispered, inhaling and exhaling harshly.

FRIDAY, noticing the amount of distress you were in, alerted the closest person to your room, that being bucky who was returning from a late night trip to the kitchen for some water.

he quickly went into your room, only to see you shivering and thrashing around in your bed. "doll?" he approaches slowly, finding you still asleep, though sweating a lot. nightmare, he realised.

"doll? wake up," he gently shakes you and you immediately jolt awake, breathing heavily as you register what was going on. "it's okay, it was just a nightmare," he soothes you, holding you close as one hand rubbed up and down your back while the other held your head to his chest.

none of that helped as you were still in the same state as you were when you woke up. "are you okay?" he asks, worried. "nat... i need nat.. please i need her," you whimpered, shaking in his hold. you were having trouble breathing.

"FRIDAY, get romanoff."

within minutes, nat arrived, looking panicked and disheveled like she had just woken up, which she just did. "what's wrong?" she asks bucky, approaching you two.

"she was having a nightmare and woke up and i think she's having a panic attack. she asked for you," he informs her and immediately moves away when she approaches, so that she could take his place.

"bub? it's me," you look up to meet natasha's pretty green eyes. "you're okay, bub. can you tell me five thing you can see?"

you looked away from her eyes, looking around your room. "i–i see my book on my nightstand, my lamp, my jacket on the chair, my laptop and the painting on the wall." you told her after some difficulties.

"good, that's good. four things you can feel?"

"i feel the socks on my feet, my fluffy blanket, the pillow i'm leaning on and your hands around me."

she smiles softly at you. "three things you can hear?"

"i hear your voice. a–and the faint noise from the ac and i can also hear bucky's breathing." you look up at the man and he smiles sheepishly at you, standing around awkwardly. you gave him a small smile back.

"two things you can smell?"

"i can smell my own shampoo..and my room's air freshener." you told her more calmly now, feeling the panic attack already going away.

"one thing you want to taste?"

"i wanna taste wanda's blueberry pancakes." you pout and the two adults couldn't help but chuckle. "you can have them in the morning. right now you need to sleep so you can have the energy to devour them tomorrow, okay?" you nod at the woman as she tucks you in.

not long after, you fell asleep. she then presses a kiss to your forehead before leaving with a less worried bucky now. and sure enough, the next morning, wanda made you blueberry pancakes.

"okay, so what? we all need someone to help us through panic attacks?" nat rolls her eyes. "did you miss the part where i came in and tried to help but she specifically asked for you? she needed you, nat."

"guys, i... i love her with my whole heart but she has all of us. i don't wanna make her feel like she's restricted to only one of us. you all love her too," nat reasons.

"yes but she doesn't have anyone to call her mum and frankly, i think you'd be perfect for it." wanda encourages the older woman.

"i—" before she could continue, her phone rang loudly and she thanked whoever it was that called her because now she didn't have to make up excuses about her doubt of becoming your official mother.

iv.

she looks down at the caller id, sighing when it was you, meaning the team had more against her now. of course she didn't mind you calling her, you could call her when she'd be asleep after a mission and she'd still pick up with a smile on her face. but it was the fact that the whole team could see how she softened when she realised it was you who called that bothered her. she really didn't want them to let her have hopes that you'd accept her as your mother.

"bub?" she said into the phone and half the team smirked at her while the other half gave her knowing smiles. "aren't you supposed to be on your way to school?"

"yeah but uh are you busy right now? i um, i need you."

nat immediately stands up, worry etched onto her face and the team frowned at this. "what happened? are you okay?"

"you know how i told happy i wanted to walk to school today? yeah, i just remembered why i don't walk to school anymore."

"what do you mean? what happened? are you hurt? did someone hurt you?" she bombards you with questions out of worry. at this point, the team had also stopped their chatter and teasing looks, equally worried for your well-being.

"yeah, i am. wait, maybe not. i mean, i was just being dramatic but uh, i tripped on who-knows-what and now i have a sprained ankle. i can't walk now so i'm standing in an alley right now so i'm not in the way of people. can you come get me?"

nat sighs in relief, thankful that it wasn't anything that she was thinking of. "you are unbelievable, y/n." she chuckles in disbelief at your clumsiness. "can you tell me where you are? i'll come get you now. i'll have the school know you're not coming today." you told her your location and she immediately leaves after telling the team what happened to you.

you were expecting nat to call again, to tell you she was around the corner but instead you heard a whoosh of air beside your head, followed by a crack sound. your head followed the sound, eyes widening when you saw that a dart had struck the wall beside your head. you looked ahead, trying to see where that came from.

if it hadn't been for your fast reflexes being an avenger for the past few years, you probably wouldn't have ducked in time when another dart came flying right for your head. "what the hell?" you grunted, staying low but still looking around for the source. you squinted when you looked up, the sun blazing but you managed to catch a glimpse of a man on a rooftop nearby. he had blonde hair and was dressed in all black, donning a same coloured mask that covered the bottom half of his face.

"you had one job! how could you miss her twice?!" the blonde hears his colleague hiss in his ear through the earpiece. "i'm sorry! i'm no hawkeye, how was i supposed to get her in one try?!" he scolds back.

"you didn't even get her in two!"

"shut up and just let me work! you're distracting me!"

"hurry because i see the redheaded one nearing the alley. boss'll kill us if he finds out we didn't get her in her vulnerable state."

"i'm trying, i'm trying!" the blonde closes one eye, his sight now locked on your crouched state. he saw you move once you saw him and he cursed under his breath, his weapon following your movements. "she's moving!"

"just take the shot and be done with it! you have to go now!"

and shoot he did. after he shot the dart gun, he immediately fled but it wasn't like you were going to be able to chase him down or anything. a scream left your lips as a dart pierced through your skin, right under your shoulder.

you dropped down to the ground, right in the middle of the alleyway. you cried when you felt the burn in your flesh. you had been stabbed multiple times before with much bigger objects so why did this feel different?

"y/n?! is that you?!" you heard nat's voice yell from a small distance away. "i'm here," you croaked out, feeling your body grow weaker at an alarming rate.

"oh my god, bub, why are you on the ground? it's dirty, c'mon let's get you up. which foot did you sprain?" she places both her hands under your arms, pulling you up on your feet before accidentally dropping you back when you let out a shriek, crying out in pain.

"oh my god, did i hit your ankle? are you okay?" nat assumed that your tear-stained face was because of your sprained ankle but then you wheezed, your eyes drooping the longer she stood there.

your right hand slowly reached across your left shoulder, the butt of the dart sticking out of your skin now in between your shaking fingers. nat's eyes followed your hand movement's, a gasp leaving her lips.

"y/n, what happened?!" she panicked but before she could even get an answer from you, you had already blacked out. her eyes widened, knowing it was the dart because why else would you pass out that quick from a simple penetration in the shoulder. you had dealt with much worse than that and she knew your tolerance level.

she took off your bag, careful to not move the dart. she then placed her hands under your knees and behind your back, easily picking your unconscious body up and rushing back to the tower.

when she arrived, she was met with many confused yet concerned looks from the tower staff, seeing the black widow, rushing in with the youngest avenger unconscious in her arms. they had seen you leave the tower for school about half an hour ago so they knew something must've happened on the way.

"get bruce in the hospital wing. tell him it's urgent." she tells the woman working the front desk, hurrying into the elevator and telling FRIDAY to get her to the floor she so desperately wanted to arrive at quicker. black lines appeared on the left side of your neck, slowly spreading to the right side and she assumed it was from that damned dart in your left shoulder.

"natasha! what's wrong? they said it was an emergency," the doctor spoke in a panicked voice when nat entered, immediately going quiet when he saw you in her arms, neck lined with seemingly black veins.

nat laid you down on the surgery table, frown growing when black lines steadily spread to your arms now. though she was too worried to think, she managed to at least tell bruce what was outwardly wrong with you.

"dart. left shoulder." she blurted, incapable of forming proper sentences now that she had seen more of you. the black lining your skin got her speechless and anxious. bruce got ready with medical gloves, removing the dart from your flesh before analysing the pattern of your skin. it looked familiar.

"FRIDAY, get tony down here. it's urgent."

"bruce, please, what's wrong with her?" she cried, tears now freely streaming down her face. she didn't cry much in front of anyone but when it came to you, you always managed to get her to do just that.

"hey, what's going on? FRIDAY said there was an emergency here, who's hurt?" nat heard tony's panicked voice but she didn't make an effort to reply. her gaze was fixed on only you.

tony's jaw dropped, frowning when he saw you on the bed, upper body covered in black lines. "what the hell happened?!"

tony stepped beside bruce, taking a closer look at your skin. his frown deepened. "wait, it looks like.."

"yeah, looks exactly like when you had palladium instead of vibranium in your arc reactor."

"does that mean—"

"palladium's been running through her veins for about twenty minutes now. FRIDAY, how high is her blood toxicity level?" bruce asks, sampling a drop of your blood from when he took out the dart.

"53% and it is still steadily increasing."

"tony, at the rate it's going, if she's not treated in the next fifteen minutes or so, she'll.." bruce pauses, not wanting to say it out loud.

"no, she just needs lithium dioxide. that's how fury and i cured your palladium poisoning, tony." nat finally speaks.

"SHIELD probably has them but they're all the way in dc. they're not gonna reach here in time," tony states solemnly, reaching over to move your hair out of your face, looking down at you sadly.

but he was immediately pulled aside, nat grabbing his collar and looking him straight in the eyes. "you have your stupid iron suits that can probably travel faster than the speed of sound if you try. you can go down there yourself and get the damn thing. i swear to god, tony, i'm literally going to destroy those stupid suits myself if you don't put them to good use." nat threatens, glaring at the billionaire.

tony's eyes widened, the genius having not thought about nat's idea yet. "yeah, yeah, you're right, i'll go now."

he left immediately and nat approached your bed hesitantly, not wanting to see the black lines making home on the skin on your upper body. "do you think tony'll make it back in time?" she sniffles and bruce's worried frown on his face softened. "of course he will. he won't let anything happen to y/n. we won't let anything happen to y/n." he assured her.

there was nothing they could do now but wait for tony to come back with the lithium dioxide. nat sat beside your bed, hands gingerly grasping one of your own. despite the black staining it, nat held it to her face and her tears rolled past the back of your hand.

bruce decided to give her some privacy, opting to inform the whole team of the situation instead of standing around idly.

nat pulled your hand away from her face, rubbing her thumb over the back of it, crying even more at the sight in front of her. "y/n, please. i've never told you this but i need you." she pauses, breathing in shakily. "i've always needed you and i'll always need you. you can't leave me, please. you said i could go on with life without you but you're so wrong, y/n. you're the reason i'm still here and you're the reason i still want to be here. if you're not here then it's as if i have no reason, no purpose. i need you, y/n. so much more than i'd like to admit. heck, probably much more than you need me. so please, don't leave me. i can't do this without you." nat sobs out, watching the patterns on your skin spreading and growing bolder.

at this point, the whole team had now gathered outside of the room, watching nat cry over you. they wanted so bad to get a closer look at their beloved baby avenger but they respected nat and instead, waited for her to finish talking to you. once she stood up and looked around, bruce knew she was done so he entered, followed by the team.

"status, FRIDAY?" bruce asks, sampling a bit of your blood again. "blood toxicity at 96% now."

the team looked your unconscious body in apprehension, some crying and some worried out of their minds.

"goddamnit! where the hell is stark?!" nat growled. her eyes were now puffy after having spent the last half an hour crying. the team had never seen her lose her cool like this but they figured why.

as if on cue, tony's iron man suit crashed through the windows of the room but he couldn't care less. his main priority was to get to you quickly. in his hand was a silver briefcase that he passed to bruce.

bruce opened the case before wasting no time in plunging the syringe containing lithium dioxide, your supposed cure, into you. immediately, the black patterns on your skin started disappearing. it was slow but noticeable. it started from the tips of your fingers, going up towards your neck.

everyone sighed in relief, and to tony's surprise, nat hugged him tightly. "thank you. you have no idea how much this means to me." she whispers. tony pats her back gently. "hey, i care about her too, okay? of course i'd do this for her. any one of us would."

nat smiles at him when she let him go, turning back to you and almost crying out in joy when your skin had finally turned back to normal. she let the medical assistants set your bed up and handle your sprained ankle before going back to sit by you. the team left her alone with you once again.

it was only about an hour later did you wake up, squinting when bright lights shone down on you. you moved around but you felt hands around your left and you heard a familiar voice.

"and remember when you dragged wanda to pull that prank on me with you and after you did, i grounded you like i was your mum or something?" you hear her chuckle, still not noticing that you've woken up.

"i didn't mind, though. frankly, i don't think i would ever mind if you continued acting like my mother or something," you spoke and she immediately tore her gaze from your hands, looking at you, now wide awake.

"bub!" she hugs you so tightly you didn't think you could breathe. you still returned the hug though, laughing. "i was worried you might still have some palladium in your bloodstream."

"wait, palladium?" you asked her in shock. "yeah, the dart that got you in that alley, it contained palladium. it's highly toxic so we used lithium dioxide to counter it. speaking of the dart, i'm going to find out who did this to you and they're never going to see the light of day for putting us through all of this." nat says, disturbingly calm.

"yeah...you do that," you tell her, slightly scared. "but palladium? in my blood? how cool is that? i had literal metal in my blood! i could've become like tony but like...palladium woman or something." you said excitedly.

"you do know we already have metal in our blood, right bub?" nat questions in amusement. "oh." you say dumbly. "and palladium don't belong in our body and you literally almost died because of it." your mouth opened but no words came out.

"speaking of, can you please not do that again? i really thought i was gonna lose you." she whispers, stroking your hair. "oh yeah, of course. i'll just announce to the whole world to not target the youngest avenger," you joke, smile dropping when nat gave you a stern look.

"nat, being part of the avengers at my age undoubtedly means i'll be a target for the bad people out there, but i don't care because while i get to kick ass, i know all of you have my back when it's my ass that's kicked. and i think that's the best part of being an avenger; the sense of security i get having you amazing people as my teammates." you tell her honestly and she smiles softly.

"oh come here you," she pulls you in for another hug but this time it's better because you could still breathe. you make yourself comfortable, snuggling into her.

"did you mean it?" she asked and you look up at her in confusion. "mean what?"

"when you said you wouldn't mind me acting like your mother."

"of course i do, you're like the mother i never had. i wouldn't even mind you being my actual mother." you say without a second thought, eyes widening when you realised what you had said. you swore under your breath, knowing you've just made it awkward between you two.

"i– really?" despite the teams efforts to make her see the truth, it was much more meaningful when she heard you say it yourself. "y–yeah.." you admit sheepishly.

"then you wouldn't mind if i actually adopted you?" she asks carefully, gauging your reaction. your jaw dropped, eyes going wide once again. "are you serious?!"

"yeah." she smiles at you fondly. "no! of course i won't mind!" you hug her tightly, tears forming in your eyes. you had gone all your life without parents so this was a huge thing for you. not only were you going to finally have a mother, but the most amazing woman you knew was going to be your mother.

"mum?" you tested the title, smiling when she acknowledged it. you were now crying in joy.

"hey, don't cry." she soothes you, running a hand up and down your back. "no, no, i'm just so happy. this is the best day of my life." you tell her. "me too, bub."

you stayed in her arms until you fell back asleep, nat tucking you in before going back to sit down on the chair. she looked down at you fondly.

sure, she was scared of the big step she was about to take with you but she had you with her and she knew that was enough. "i love you, y/n." she whispers, planting a kiss on the side of your head.

taglist <3

@amourtentiaa @rqmanoff @abitofeverythinggg @andreasworlsboring101 @cay-writes-fan-fiction514 @teenwonder @sevenmorningstars @fleurlovesbucky

#marvel x teen!reader #avengers x teen!reader #avengers x reader #bruce banner x teen!reader #bucky barnes x teen!reader #clint barton x teen!reader #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #sam wilson x teen!reader #steve rogers x teen!reader #tony stark x teen!reader #avenger!reader

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01solarsmiles · 3 years

Text

synopsis: you’ve been at jaehyun’s “secret” flat for a while now. you’re not quite sure how long, he says time passes differently here. not that you mind. you’re healing and there’s nothing you have wrong with that. having been away form everything that was bad for you, you’re coming to realise that things really were better with jaehyun. and no matter how many times he tries to tell you, he knows you have to come to that conclusion yourself.

tl;dr: you heal under jaehyun’s caring gaze.

genre: fantasy!au, kind of domestic!au, magic!jaehyun, fluff, smut, fem!reader

warnings: smut in the forms of kissing, titplay, basically motorboats oc, brief nipple play, heavy petting/fondling, grinding (?), oral (male recieving), jaehyun can’t hold his load oops, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, brief cumplay lmao jaehyun is the teeniest bit kinky

other: jaehyun is my soft boi, wanna smooch and cuddle in his pastel coloured sweats, i’m british so he lives in a flat, soft smut… almost r*mantic,,, jaehyun is a boob man; do what you will with that B), jaehyun uses pet names bc i think it would be sickly sweet leaving his lips, time is relevant so i can do what i want with this thanks xox

wordcount: 8.5k

a/n: this is a continuation from the last chapter. i split it bc i needed inspo lmao so once again, not happy with how it ended previously so i had to write more. admittedly, it was origianlly one long piece but i realised i wanted to add more depth to when they’re living together (basically) so i split it therefore enabling me to write what i wanted about them being cute and stuff. yeah.

You had been given a wheelchair by the hospital but had refused to use it, wanting to prove that you were okay, to yourself and Jaehyun. He had convinced you to stay in it as you left the hospital to please the staff on your way out but you had point-blank refused when you made it to the small block of flats he said he lived in. After walking two steps from the car you let out a whimper and gave in to his incessant pleas to get you to sit in the wheelchair.

Oddly, there had been no one in the foyer and you hadn’t bumped into anyone in the hallway in front of the lift. He had helped you when you made it into the flat, moving you over to the sofa where you melted into the plush cushions of the seat.

On the way here, the two of you had already argued about where you were going to stay, him insisting on not leaving you alone and you insisting that you’d be okay at a friends place. In the end, he promised to contact your friends and family to tell them you were spending a little time away (you wouldn’t let him tell them you had been to the hospital). After all, he had saved you when you needed it most.

Your cracked lips remained tightly sealed as he folded the wheelchair away and tucked it behind a cupboard where it wasn’t in your direct line of sight.

You decide to look around, wanting to take up some time and to avoid looking him directly in the eye.

The flat was… cosy. It looked lived in, all the trinkets and small collages stuck up on the walls drawing your attention away from the shelves stacked with potted plants. Everything about the room seemed to tie together with another aspect of the flat. You couldn’t help but wonder why he had a place like this.

He notices your inquisitive look, “It’s supposed to be a secret. Though almost everyone important knows this is where they’ll find me if I disappear without an explanation.” Jaehyun moves towards the small kitchenette, fetching a glass of water befoer placing it on a coaster on the glass coffee table by your legs.

You wait for a second, acknolwedging the glass of iced water, then look up, meeting his hesitant gaze, “Everything’s green.”

It wasn’t a deep green either, more like a soft earthy green. Maybe a sage colour, but you were mostly going off of the presence of the plants and the colour of the sofa. Some of the counters in his one-person kitchen were a soft green, accented with wood countertops and a pastel fridge. It was soothing on your eyes, you had to admit.

He nods, unsure what you’re getting at, “Yeah…?”

“The first and second time I met you, you exclusively wore red. And it was glittery,” you point out, one wordlessly eyebrow raised.

He tilts his head, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he stuffs his hands in his jogging bottom pockets, rattling his keys in his pockets, “Just because I wear red doesn’t mean my whole life revolves around that primary colour.”

You roll your eyes and lean back into the sofa cushion, tenderly crossing your arms, “Well, no. I guess not,” you let your headrest on a pillow he slips behind your neck discreetly, “I suppose… I just assumed that you did,” you shrug your shoulders, “wasn’t something I gave much thought to.”

Jaehyun kicks off his trainers and throws his keys into a bowl on the kitchen counter. You could probably stick your arm over the back of the sofa and touch the pillar that separated the two areas if you tried hard enough adn weren’t brusied all over. He’s got a small smile on his face that brings his dimples out as he makes his way over to sit on the sofa with you, letting himself fall haphazardly onto the cushions. “So you thought about me, even a little.”

Ignoring his comment, you take in his flat to its fullest. You weren’t wrong, this man lived in a green, cottagecore aesthetic in his off-time. Admittedly you were a big fan of the wall of shelves stacked with different plants, mostly succulents and cactus -- the odd spine of a book eeking through -- and you even enjoyed the small desk that was home to a few depictions of watercolour flowers. Your eyes fall on the black figure, slinking under the legs of the glass coffee table pitched in front of you, making you flinch as you suppressed your reflex to jump; it was only a cat.

A cat man. Of course, he was.

Jaehyun’s eyes follow yours, “That’s Prim. She likes to keep to herself. Occasionally she curls up with me.”

“You made it sound like you rarely come here.”

“Mhm.”

“You have a cat.”

“I have a cat,” he affirms.

Prim disappears around the pillar into the kitchen. Jaehyun must’ve put down some food for her because you can hear her softly eating followed briefly by the sound of her lapping at a bowl of water.

“And plants.”

“Those too.” He’s not sure where you’re going with this, neither were you, but he was humouring it, seeing it through to the end if he got ot be in your presence longer.

Your eyes go back to wandering around the room, watching how the sun dips in between the curtains and cascades through the room. You had sat in the seat closest to the entrance, meaning Jaehyun’s back was to the window as he faced you while you were talking. He was still dressed in the outfit you assumed he slept in at the hospital. You were dressed in the same clothes you had gone in with, having had to change out of the gown they had provided when you left.

He looked so effortlessly pretty. It made you want to cry.

You suck in a breath and say, “I’m a little tired. Can I sleep… anywhere?”

He nods and jumpts to his feet before helping you to yours. Slowly, you make your way down the hall, almost all of your weight is beared on Jaehyun. He’s practically carrying you but neither of you mention it. It was only a small flat, something you couldn’t wrap your head around when he could probably have anything he liked, and so it only had one bedroom.

Initially, you had put up a fight but he simply said he wasn’t tired and there was a box room he could get a bed into if the sofa wasn’t comfortable enough (it was but you weren’t okay with the fact that he was giving up his bed). You lay on your side, a body pillow supporting your small frame. You were so tense, worried about Soobin and Dan-ah and Mina and your Mum and Dad and Hyejin as she was probably the only friend of yours who regularly checked in. There was so much running through your mind and you almost don’t notice Jaehyun’s soft palm gripping yours, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. Unbeknownst to you, he had seen the anxious look on your face and had guessed that you were psychoanalysing everything in your head, cogs turning. He wanted to subtly draw you out from your thoughts... so he let a little of his power surge through his fingertips and into your palm, hoping it was enough to make you woozy.

Without much thought to it, you rested your head on his pillow and fell asleep.

Jaehyun stays, for a minute or two, holding your hand until your grip weakens, your breathing becomes heavier and your chest goes into a steady rise and fall. He watches, as you lay, unbothered by the world outside. You looked at peace. At home.

Was this the first time you had been able to wind down like this?

He sighs, wriggling his hand from under yours and gets up to leave before he pulls a brown monochrome blanket over your frame. A slight frown etches itself on your forehead as your fingers twitch, looking for the hand Jaehyun had slipped away, before you subconsciously grip the blanket and curl into it instead, the frown erasing itself from your face, leaving you looking at peace once again.

You wake up to the sun going down outside, a blanket covering your body and pillows squished underneath to support your body.

You’re tender. That’s safe to say.

The room was airy; Jaehyun had left the window on the latch and the door cracked open so as to not make it stuffy. Glancing around, you notice the simplicity of it. Bed, side table, lamp and wardrobe. It differed massively from the rest of his flat. Maybe he hadn’t gotten around to decorating substantially in here.

You get up, perching yourself on the edge of the bed before making your way out of the room. Shuffling along, you cling to the wall as you know full well you shouldn’t be venturing around by yourself and make your way to the living room, “Jaehyun?” you call. The calling stops when you spot Jaehyun with an open book lying in his lap while he snores lightly, passed out on the sofa. The corners of your mouth twitch, curling into a smile at the sight of him so peaceful.

You hold out your arm, inspecting the bandage on it. You sigh, “I need a shower.”

You turn back, headed towards what you assumed was the bathroom. The door creaks open; thankfully, you were correct. There are fresh towels hanging on the rack and a laundry basket sits tucked into the corner. Stripping from your clothes gingerly, you turn on the shower. While it warms up you unwrap your bandages and softly poke the back of your head. You’re probably not supposed to submerge it yet so you work with what you can. The shower itself was a standalone that had frosted glass wrapped around it, hiding what was on the inside if anyone were to look in.

The whole ordeal was a show in itself, you carefully moving things about, trying not to knock anything all while trying to do your best with what you’ve got. It wasn’t the best situation in the world but it was the best out of the hand you were dealt. Having not been back to your flat to get anything, you didn’t have any of your usual hair products so you used the products that were already there and a lemon body wash that had been sitting patiently.

Eventually, you finish up with half-washed hair and a mostly clean body. Your fingers had pruned long ago and you took that as a sign to get out of the shower to stop using all the hot water.

You stepped out, and grabbed the towel off of the rack, wrapping yourself in them. They were so soft against your skin. Holding it tightly against your skin you move to stand in the middle of the bathroom. It wasn’t big but it had an oval mirror hanging above the sink. Staring at your reflection for a little, you internally pick apart everything you don’t like.

Staring with the obvious bruises. “I’ll heal,” you tell your reflection, “I won’t degrade myself like that again.” Your fingers brush against your towel-covered ribs, making you flinch. “He won’t do this to me again; I won’t let him,” you pause before whispering, “I’m not going back to him.”

By now, your eyes are watering a little so you sniffle and wipe the forming tears away before they’re given the chance to fall. You deserve better. You know this. “I deserve better. I am worth better.”

In the middle of this, Prim slinks through the crack of the door, making you jump a little. With your hand on your heart, you take deep breaths, watching as she jumps onto the closed toilet seat and sits down on a pile of clothes. A pile of clothes you don’t remember putting there. Your eyes widen at the thought of Jaehyun seeing you naked but then you whip your head to the shower walls, reminding yourself that they’re frosted and he would’ve only been able to see an outline at the most.

Prim purrs, drawing your attention back to her.

She blinks at you. She’s so calm. You reach the backside of your hand out so she can sniff it. After a quick sniff, she turns her head and rubs it into the palm of your hand. You gratefully accept her and let her continue to rub herself on you as you alternate between scratching the underside of her chin and the back of her head. She purrs in content and you let out a quiet giggle.

Jaehyun had been awake for the past ten minutes or so. He’d dug through his drawers, pulling out an old pair of jogging bottoms that he’d bulked out of but never gotten around to throwing out, a pair of clean underwear and a jumper that was currently his size but probably oversized on you. He’d slipped them onto the toilet seat (thank god it was so close to the door) without peeping past the sink and must’ve forgotten to pull the door up all the way on his way out.

He listens to Prim purring and you giggling softly from the safety of his sofa in the living room, a smile making its way onto his face. He had flicked on the table lamp on the end table by the sofa, continuing to read his book – A natural history of Dragons. Not as accurate as he remembers but a little light reading never did anyone any harm.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, you looked fresh. Swamped in his jumper and bare feet padding across the panelled flooring. He looks up from his book, noticing you gradually making your way over to him, he jumps up, trying to help you. You looked cute with your sweater paw leaned up against the wall.

He tucks a hand under your armpit for leverage, you turn, a little surprised and open your mouth to say something but can’t bring yourself to when you realise how close your faces are. Jaehyun either doesn’t notice or pretends to not know, making you feel more embarrassed than you thought possible. His musk engulfs you, overriding your senses and you hesitate in your step.

“Oh,” you say, face hot to which you can only pray he doesn’t sense how he caught you off-guard, “you don’t have to–”

“It’s okay,” he whispers softly, hands pulling you into him so he can use his body strength to help too. You feel goosebumps from his caring touch and you wonder about the last time someone treated you like this.

Since when did he become so domestic?

You brush it off and he helps lower you down to the sofa and Prim follows suit, helping herself to your lap as she curls into a ball, letting you run your fingers down her back in a soothing motion.

You could feel the heat rising up your neck at how close the two of you had been, your mind running to months before when you had been close to him. Before, you had been embarrassed about yourself as he was helping you out of the hospital but he had reassured you that you had nothing to worry about – the gentleman that he was – he didn’t want you to feel ashamed. So, you let yourself relax on his plush sofa cushions while he went about making something to eat for the both of you with a grin on his face, knowing all too well what he had inflicted upon you moments ago.

That’s how the next month or so went by. You pushed yourself to your limits, all of your minor injuries healed (somehow), and followed Jaehyun around while Prim followed you. As promised, Jaehyun brought home a bed for the box room to which you insisted on sleeping in since you were the one who was the guest but he had none of it. In the end, he dressed the room up nicely and it ended up looking like it had been there all along.

At first, Jaehyun hadn’t let you do any of the things you offered to do, especially the cooking. He had a large repertoire of recipes up his sleeve and wasn’t letting you do anything to strain yourself.

Your phone had briefly glitched the first time you turned it on, which was odd on a good day.

“Time passes differently here,” he had explained, “Einstein was right about that one; time is relevant. He almost caught us out one time with his research into it but Yuta turned him around and set him back on track again.”

To which he then had to explain to you who Yuta was. He sounded nice, harmless but what got you was the fact that there were more people like Jaehyun. You had yet to meet more than the man who stood in front of you as he explained that to you.

Weeks into your stay, he took you round to your place, helped you pick up your things and also helped you leave a thick layer of red glitter all over your now ex-boyfriend’s penthouse. He deserved it. According to Jaehyun, your ex was in the process of moving out, as per Jaehyun’s convincing argumentative skills.

You rang some of your family and friends, asking after them and telling them you were okay after it was established between you that you and Soobin were no longer together but the most heartbreaking one was between you and your niece. She had been there, she knew now, even if you didn’t want her too, she knew. You could only pray that it slowly faded from her memory, for her sake more than yours, as she grew older.

According to Hyejin (when she rambled to you on the phone as she bawled, bless her), Soobin had been given the sack and lost most of what he owned. He’d also been sporting a black eye for two weeks after you got out of the hospital. She had been the first person you rang but the small detail had slipped your mind until later that night. You tried not to outright weep tears of joy, knowing that he’d had even the tiniest bit of his own medicine fed back to him, followed suit by you quizzing Jaehyun to which he hid his knuckles behind his back as he walked in with a tray of sushi that had been delivered tonight as a treat before your anime marathon.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I haven’t seen him,” he throws his keys into the bowl on the kitchen counter after toeing off his shoes in the entrance of his flat.

Having had time to heal, you pull yourself to tuck your legs underneath you as you look over the back of the sofa. “Jaehyun,” you warn. Prim materialises from the depths of Jaehyun’s bedsheets, where you had left her earlier, to greet her beloved owner. She purrs against his leg and he leans down to scratch behind her ear.

“Y/n,” he says back, trying his best to match your tone.

Your eyes follow Prim, closely watching as she jumps onto the kitchen counter and paws at the key-bowl. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth you nibble until you can form a sentence that wouldn’t betray you when it left the corners of your mind.

Thinking about it, you decide against arguing with him on it. If he was lying it wasn’t something that was going to stop you from hanging around him, so why push it? Because you wanted to know why. “You were out a while after you texted me you’d finished food shopping the other day, where’d you go?”

Jaehyun glances at you, his hair stood slightly on end as if he’d been running his hand through it, possibly one too many times. It was shorter than when you had first come into his care – you’d helped him one day to trim it. You’d also insisted that he let you do it because you used to cut your hair in the bathroom mirror. ‘Not the same,’ he had said but he had handed you the scissors all the same. He was still dressing for comfort, something that you appreciated when the evening came and the tv turned on. It was a small flat which meant a small-ish sofa. He wasn’t against wrapping an arm around you and the two of you had been known to fall asleep to a movie or two in recent weeks.

“Went to work, briefly. Gotta make sure everything’s on schedule; they’d practically die without me to ditto everything they’re already sure of,” he flashes you a grin that his dimples can’t escape, “it’s nice to be home.”

You murmur a response.

Scattering away, Jaehyun has a shower after being out and gets dressed quickly to return to you. He walks over to the kitchen, deciding to grab some things for the evening.

His back is turned to you now, he’s grabbing a couple of drinks from the fridge, the glow of the light illuminating his face.

“I missed you.”

You… what?

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage was deafening. Had you just said that out loud? He turns to meet your frantic gaze, waiting for your response. He can barely breathe out the response, “I missed you too.”

He grins, sinking himself into the space next to you and slings his arm over the back, his hand resting close to your neck. “Awh, did you really?”

Your body practically recoils, turning back on itself, “No. I just wanted you to bring ice cream; I’ve been craving it all week.”

Instantly you regret your choice as he frowns slightly and turns away.

You’re forced to think about the countless nights you’d spent curled up in his bed, some of them the result of you weeping into one of his many pastel sweatshirts you adorned about your failed relationship with Soobin, others about how you had neglected to tell your family and friends about the situation you had been in for almost a year by the time Jaehyun had pulled you away from it. Most nights, Jaehyun heard you, upset and alone in the dark. In the beginning, he wasn’t sure what to do about it, part of him knowing that he should leave you to heal but the other part of him screaming that he shouldn’t let you suffer alone – shouldn’t let you think you’re in this alone when you’re most certainly not where he’s concerned.

The first time he had left you, not sure he had heard correct when he came back from work, groggy from the use of his powers and feeling like he needed to faceplant his pillow from the exhaustion. You had stopped, little sniffles being masked by the vibrations of Prim’s purring against your body where she had hopped up on the bed to comfort you, when you thought Jaehyun was listening, hoping that he would leave you to hurt for a short while longer.

He had sensed your hesitation and made his way to the shower, deciding he needed to be fresh for the next morning.

He was oddly caring. Not that it was odd for someone to care but it was odd for someone to care this much and for the person to be Jaehyun was the cherry on top.

Turning back to face you, he grins, “Wanna watch that anime you were telling me about? I googled it last night and read some forums; apparently it’s good.”

Your eyes light up, “Sword Art Online? Yes please.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, chuckling to himself at how eager you are. He loved when you showed interest in things like this. His auburn hair falls into his eyes as he skims through whatever application he had pulled up (Netflix; no chill) while you weren’t looking and he breathes softly through his nose, concentrating on the screen in front of him.

Once again, you were studying him. It had been a long time since you had arrived. Time is relevant, true, but how much time is too much time?

The sun had set an hour or so ago now and you had already eaten some of the takeaway earlier as neither of you had been interested in cooking. You wondered if he knew how the table lamp accentuated his face, the soft hue acting like his usual haze when he was in his suit – which you learned was the reason he practical glowed as he had since told you there was magic twined into the thread it was sewed together with – and made him look angelic. You wondered if he knew the camel sweats he was wearing made you want to cuddle him and nuzzle your nose into his side, somewhere that you felt more than safe to be. You wondered if he knew how much you liked it here and how you were apprehensive about going back to the real world full time.

You’d been out, of course, he couldn’t confine you to his flat even if he wanted to but he always made sure that there were the correct precautions in place. He was always here, anyway, choosing you over everything else so there was rarely a time where you could go out without him. Smiling to yourself, you remind yourself that you don’t think you’d want to go by yourself when there’s a perfectly good Jaehyun waiting for you.

His hair fell in soft waves on his forehead, and his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why he couldn’t find Sword Art Online for you two to watch. The two of you had fallen into a routine, he pats his leg, signalling for you to lay your head down on his lap as he pulls a pillow from behind him for you to rest your head on.

Shifting your body, careful of your ribs still, you lay down and wrap a hand under his leg for leverage, being sure to keep it closer to the back of his knee than his thigh as it was easier to curl your hand. He didn’t mind because when you sat and watched horror movies you would squeeze his leg in anticipation for a jump scare of sorts. He thought it was cute.

Eventually, he finds it, “Here we go,” he mumbles, clicking on the first episode. You settle in, pushing your face further into the cushion as Jaehyun lets his hand rest on your shoulder, somewhere safe for him to touch. His other hand plays with your hair absentmindedly as the episode begins, showing the people who had been waiting for the game to come out so that they could play it.

It remains like this, you making comments here and there, ooh’s and ah’s coming form both of you as you talk about the episode before it rolls over to the next one. At one point, he says something that makes you sit up completely, throwing him off as your warmth leaves his body.

“Did you just suggest that Kirito could be –”

His eyes widen, “I merely suggested that he –”

You scowl, pout and cross your arms, your cardigan falling off your shoulder at an angle, “No! You said what you said. It’s out there now, in the cosmos, for all to judge. You can’t take it back.”

He’s looking at you, first with shock but then with an expectant look. All you were doing was arguing over anime. You’re not sure you remember seeing him like this, eyes filled with something you cannot describe. Is this what being loved feels like? The flying thought catches you off guard and you hold your breath. He wonders if you know that’s how he’s feeling, how he’s seeing you. The rose-tinted filter settled in and he was determined to keep it that way for a long time.

Jaehyun had got dressed after his shower into a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and joined you on the sofa while you were watching the back end of a drama you had been meaning to watch for months before you had switched over to anime. It was your thing; watching anime together.

His hand reaches to rest on the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek and fingers splaying down to reach your neck and brings his face closer to yours, making your breath hitch. The last time you had been like this neither of you were thinking in coherent thoughts. At this point, you’d spent months with him, hiding from your family and friends – only partially as you had wanted to gain your confidence back again and go back with a real job.

His hair was still drying on the ends where he hadn’t bothered to towel dry it. It brushed against your forehead as he brought his forehead to rest on yours, savouring the moment.

Breathily, you manage to say his name.

He hums in response, eyes trained diligently on your lips, waiting for your response. He doesn’t notice how you watch him watching you, he’s enamoured. He loved when you looked like this. So carefree. So pure. So… pretty.

“Kiss me.”

He doesn’t wait any longer.

Lips centimetres form yours, he gives you the opportunity to change your mind but you bring your lips to his, not wanting to drag this out any longer. His fingers stay on your face while your hands have yet to find somewhere to be placed – something that Jaehyun notices – so he picks up your hand and curls it around the back of his neck before wrapping his own around the small of your back, a smirk finding its home on his face.

Feeling more confident, you bring your free hand to splay across his cheek, thumb mindlessly rubbing the dip where his dimple becomes prominent. His hair stands on end on the back of his neck, the sensation of your fingers brushing his face so calmly as he pulls your lower lip between his having caused goosebumps to form down his arms.

Secretly, he was glad he was wearing his sweatshirt so that you couldn’t see how sensitive he was to you.

Jaehyun leans gradually away and you chase his lips, not wanting to forget the feeling any time soon. All of the time you had spent with Soobin and yet none of the moments you had shared felt like this. It made your heart pound and the butterflies were making their way up, tickling your diaphragm as you struggle to breathe.

“Y/n,” he begins, lids heavy and forehead pressed to yours. He’s not really sure what he wants to say… how does one express the euphoria they feel from finally doing the right thing and knowing it’s the right thing? Because that’s how Jaehyun felt. You knew he wanted to say something so you lightly prompt him.

“Jae… what are you thinking?”

His lids close and he bumps his nose with yours, lips parted, “I want to kiss you like that more often.”

You giggle, which throws him off, “Do you?” He looks up to meet your wandering gaze through his lashes, “because I want to kiss you like that more often, too.”

He grins, tightening his grip around your waist, pulling you in until you’re straddling his lap. “Oh yeah? How about I do just that, then.” His lips return to yours. You noticed that Jaehyun’s lips tasted of cherry chapstick, and you loved that, deciding to part the seal of his mouth with your tongue to devour the taste further.

The subtle curve of his lips was something you didn’t want to forget – that was for sure. You work on memorising this feature and lightly tug at the tufts of hair at the back of his head, making him moan into your mouth ever so slightly.

“That was adorable,” you mumble against his lips, lowering yourself so your bum is resting on the heels of your feet either side of his thighs.

His face flushes but he pretends to not notice and instead lets his hands roam until they’re palming the globes of your ass.

This shocks you into action a little, the squeezing fingers forcing you to lift and lean on your knees, breasts pushed up against his chin as you continue to kiss him.

As you slipped your tongue to mingle with his, you decided then and there that you were absolutely in love with kissing him. Possibly smitten, just a tiny bit.

You had worn a tank top and a light cardigan for comfort around the flat, not wanting to pull jeans on and a blouse every morning and instead opting for leggings and light-tees regularly. You weren’t sure what kind of man Jaehyun was, an ass or boob man but something igniting inside you and hardening in his sweatpants told you that you were going to find out pretty damn soon.

Pulling away you offer a small smile at him, he grins, like he knows he’s about to get a present he’s been waiting for ages for. Ironic, considering his job profession.

You bite your lip and let your hands fall down to his arms, running your palms up and down his biceps. By now the episode had rolled over and was about 10 minutes into the next but you and Jaehyun were far too distracted, you figured it would have to wait. It would still be there tomorrow when you could rewatch it and continue your marathon.

His own hands rest below the curve or your breasts, thumbing at the swell.

You dip your head, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting your tongue peak out and swirl its way down to his neck. Peppering kisses against his tan skin you pick a spot where he makes the most fuss when you reach it and bruise it with your lips. He groans at the feeling of your lips tainting his skin so skillfully and thinks about how you went to waste on someone like your ex before him. His breathing grows heavy and his fingers run up and down your back in a soothing manner, toying with the hem of your tank top every time his fingers brush the bottom.

“Oh my God,” he breathes out when you’re finished.

You giggle, “What?”

You had slipped your cardigan off, letting it fall in a heap on the floor and hooked your fingers under your shirt before throwing it across the room.

Gazing up at you, you can practically see the hearts spinning around his head. You knew that if this was a Looney Toon cartoon, his eyes would’ve been pounding hearts right about now.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs as you press a closed mouth kiss to his jaw, “…pretty girl.”

You were left in a dark pair of leggings and your t-shirt bra. It wasn’t anything fancy (you were here for comfort, for god’s sake) but Jaehyun looked at you like you had put all the stars in the sky yourself, something you were unfamiliar with. Pride swells in your chest and lust swells in your core.

“Are you going to keep staring or are you going to do something?” You tease. He merely smirks, enjoying what he hasn’t even done yet, and buries his head between your breasts.

You let out a small “Oof” noise and steady yourself on his shoulders. Leaning on your feet normally would’ve been enough but when he stuck his head between your boobs it had knocked you slightly off balance. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blades, pressing crescetn moons into his skin, but Jaehyun takes no notice as he noses his way to a fleshy spot and attaches his lips.

“Smell so good,” he’s referring to the perfume you had brought with you when you cleaned out your apartment. “Wanna taste,” he mumbles into your boobs. Your panties dampen at the confession, not knowing completely how to respond without crying out a moan.

Unshockingly so, this was one of the few tinmes you had felt like the only girl in the world, not to quote Rihanna, but it was truly a moment you had no desire to forget any time soon.

Instinctively, your hands retire to the back of his head, pulling him closer whilst he goes to town on a hickey he’s suckling into your skin.

Pulling back, he grins, “Perfect.” He’s admiring his handiwork but it still sends the stupid butterflies contained in your abdomemn stir crazy when his gaze meets yours, filled with lust, love, adoration – whatever you want to call it, his eyes contained it. Lids low and mind focused, his hand snakes behind your body to unhook your bra but you stop him.

In fear of pushing you too far he drops his hand and waits, eyes wide for what had stopped you.

“I-I haven’t – no – I don’t…” you struggle to find the correct words in front of Jaehyun, the cool breeze making you shiver in the slightest.

“What is it, angel?” He brings his hands to your waist, rubbing slow circles to calm you.

“Soobin,” you exhale. It was all Jaehyun needed to know so he took a deep breath.

He’s watching you as he says, “I don’t care. That was then… this is now.”

You nod. His features twist into a smile, images of that night coming back to him, “Plus I already fucked you against the –”

Your hand finds itself pressed across his mouth in the blink of an eye, praying he doesn’t finish that sentence, “I know,” you squeak before emphasising, “I was there.”

He tilts his head and offers a mischievous glint, “I thought you didn’t think I was real, simply a figment of your imagination, if I do remember correctly.”

Groaning, you roll your eyes, “Stop with that! You showed up, dressed in red and in the middle of the night after I’d written a letter that only I could know the contents of. Who’s to say you weren’t an incubus, huh?”

A single eyebrow is raised on his part.

“And you were gone before I woke up,” you mumble against his neck, now enticed by his scent again, “I never told anyone because it sounds wild, right? You have to admit that part at the very least.”

That made him take a second to process, “I never thought of it like that,” he mumbles, pressing feather-light kisses up your arm.

“It was something I thought about for a while,” you meekly replied to his unasked question.

“Well,” he begins, “you don’t have to worry any longer,” and presses his lips to your clavicle, fingers unclasping your bra behind you, this time you let him, sighing into his golden touch, boobs pressed against his chest. He groans at the feeling or your unclothed, hardened nipples cutting in on his pecs. You sling your bra across the room, not giving much thought or care towards where it ended up as there were more pressing matters you cared about.

Your neck is tipped back as his tongue dips to the valley of your breasts, he places an endearing kiss to your sternum and sets his sights onto your nipples.

Hand resting on the nape of his neck, you arch into the feeling of his wet mouth latching onto your nipple, peak caught between his tongue and teeth as he teases you, and tug on his hair.

He savours this, moaning before switching to your other nipple, not wanting to leave one without the same amount of attention. At this point, your panties are embarrassingly soaked from all of the stimulation.

“You’re so good to me,” you whine, not talking about just this very moment. You’re reminiscing about the past couple of months you’ve spent in his care too and something tells you that he knows that too.

He releases your nipple from his lips and glances up at you, “Is that so, angel?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, not sure what he wants you to say or what you should say to keep the mood going, “all the time. Miss you so much because of it,” you pout slightly, not wanting to draw too much from the conversation in case things went sideways.

You bring your hands to his cheeks, resting either side and pinch lightly, toying with him. “Keep me happy,” you state before leaning down to kiss him again. His eyes flutter close and you trail your hands down his abdomen, pressing harder with your nails as you slide them down to the hem of his jumper.

“Off,” you mutter against his lips. He gladly complies, you were topless and it was only fair he comes level with your nakedness. When you part momentarily to lift it over his head, your hungry eyes zone in on how constricted his hardened dick was within the confines of his sweatpants.

Jaehyun notices this, ruffled hair askew and mind now clear from the fog you had bestowed upon him when you had kissed him. He knew what he wanted, did you want it too?

Without hesitation, you palm the outline of his dick over the sweatpants, wanting to see his reaction. You were best pleased when he fights the urge to roll his eyes but bites his lip to stop himself from thrusting into your silky touch. Not that he’d felt that today, just yet.

You stifle a giggle, “Eager, pretty boy.”

One kiss is placed to his lips before you slip off of his lap, knees thudding as they land on the floor. You hook your index fingers around the waistband of his sweats and underpants, the tell-tale Tommy band staring back at you, knowing he would comply but you only pull them down just enough to free his weeping cock.

It springs up, slapping against his abdomen, veins prominent from the grining you had been doing earlier. Your mouth waters at the sight and you lick your lips, praying that it lives up to your expectations.

You give him a few slow strokes of your nails up him and one of his hands reaching up to push a few stray strands of hair form your face.

He groans when you finally wrap your slender fingers around his shaft, thumb wiping the leaking tip of his swollen mushroom head. It throbbed a pretty shade of pink, much like his lips, after you pressed a delicate kiss to the top.

“So, so good to me, angel,” are the words that leave his lips when you lick your own before dipping your head to lick up the underside. You offered a devilish smile and lowered your hot mouth onto his throbbing length slowly, wanting to savour every second and push Jaehyun to his limit.

You hum in agreeance to his statement, sending a shiver up his spine and eliciting a moan from him, his hands quickly tangling themselves in your loose hair as he makes a make-shift ponytail to keep your hair out of your face.

Once your jaw has adjusted to the burn of his girth, he helps you bob your head up and down, curling the ponytail around one hand and using that as leverage. Flattening your tongue, you press it to the underneath of his length. You experiment with seeing how much you can take as it’s been a long time since you’ve been intimate with someone like this. One of your manicured hands reaches down to tickle his balls – a trick Hyejin had taught you the last time you were having one of those conversations – and he all but thrusts up into your throat, making you clench your legs and rub them together for some friction as your eyes close tight, forcing tears to run down your face.

“Oh fuck, I don’t think I can ah-” he lifts you off of his dick and brings your mouth to his, pressing hard against your own.

You’re flushed from his abrupt actions but that doesn’t stop you from stripping yourself of your leggings when he practically begs you to. Unsure what he wants next, you fiddle until he instructs you, “Those too,” he gestures to your panties. They weren’t grand but, had you not been about to get it on with possibly the hottest and most caring man you’ve come across, you would’ve been embarrassed about him seeing them in any normal situation.

Once they’re discarded, he stands, shimmys out of his sweats and pants and brings you close to him and guides a leg to wrap around his waist, rock hard dick pressed between your two sweaty bodies.

He kisses you hard, a clash on tongue and teeth; it’s one of the messiest kisses you had ever been on the receiving end of but ultimately still one of the best you’ve been able to experience, and lowers the two of you onto the sofa.

Again, you’re perched on your heels. He breaks the kiss, looking between your bodies to align himself with your entrance. “I’m sorry, angel,” he mutters against the column of your throat.

“Wha-”

He waits no longer before slipping himself into your core impossibly easily, as he sets a killer pace.

Squealing, you let your head fall onto his shoulder as you try your best to thrust down as much as he thrusts up into you but it was proving difficult as he suckled sweetly on the juncture where your neck and shoulder met – sending your senses into overdrive.

“S-so tight,” he breathes out, trickles of sweat forming in his hairline. One of the few brain cells you have working tells you the clench on his next thrust, only making him moan louder than before. In response, he ups the pace, setting his sights on destroying your sweet pussy.

Knowing full-well that he hadn’t tasted your arousal like he had originally intended, he brings his finger to dance across your clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves until you were whining, hips stuttering as your vision hazes, unsure of how to control yourself. Still unable to match his deadly pace, you settle on tensing your legs and hovering above him where he pounds upwards, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing around the room.

You knew that by the time he was going to be finished, your ass was going to be tainted red from where his balls were slapping your underside as he pounds into you.

“Jaehyun,” you barely manage to breathe out, “fu… fuck.” Not what you were going for so you give it another try, “Jae… kiss.”

His eyes linger on your disheveled features. You open your eyes and look down at him, worried that he hadn’t heard you. His eyes meet yours; you pout, “Kiss me, p-ah–” one particularly strong thrust ignites inside you, the tell-tale sign of your orgasm about to snap through you; halts your half-hearted attempt at riding him.

He captures your lips with his, nibbling on your lip before licking it as if to heal it. His fingers are still rubbing tiny circles in your clit that send you over the edge and into complete euphoria, spine arching.

Within milliseconds, your vision is blurring and eyes unfocus, switching for white dots across your line of sight to pair with the white hot pleasure ripping through your core. “Ah,” you whine, “oh... Jae-Jaehyun,” your voice breaks, not being able to comprehend the possibility of more thanone thing happening at once.

As you clamp down on him unintentionally, he groans, unable to hold back any longer and empties his load inside your trembling pussy, cursing as he does.

Moments pass before he can bring himself to say anything, “You’re so perfect, angel. So pretty and perfect.”

You lift your head to look at him. At his fucked-out face you melt into him, swety bodies gradually becoming one and sliding off of his softening cock so you can wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle closer to him. He brings his arms around your waist, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and breathing sharply through his nose.

“You’re so good to me. Can’t remember the last time someone fucked me that good,” you whisper against the shell of his ear. You have one hand raking your fingers through his hair. You breathe out a laugh as he shivers at the feeling.

Knowing that was probably an ego boost enough, you press a languid kiss to the side of his mouth, not really paying much attention to where your lips landed. Continuing to pepper him with kisses, he stirs slightly, not wanting all of this attention to go to waste.

“Hey, c’mere,” he says, holding you from your waist before slowly lowering you onto the sofa beside him so your back is flat.

You’re barely holding it together, Jaehyun’s cum trickling down the side of your leg from your sore hole. He pushes your legs apart, one falls haphazardly off of the sofa and the other is pressed between his side and the back of the sofa. He doesn’t care, though, bringing two fingers up to meet your quivering core.

“What are you doi – ah!”

A lazy grin spreads across Jaehyun’s face, his fingers now covered in yours and his essence as he stuffs it back into you. The overstimulation makes you quiver but he was determined about making you suffer. “So pretty with my cum stuffed inside you, angel, so pretty.”

By now, you’re convinced he’s drunk but you don’t put it past yourself to consider yourself just as drunk on him as he is on you. You squirm, not wanting him to continue as his fingers repeat their actions. “O-oh, too much,” you whimper, “sore, so fucking sore baby.”

You knew you probably could’ve handled a little more but he obliges, not wanting to scare you away (as if that was even possible) and finishes by pushing his fingers past your lips, coaxing you to lick them clean.

Gladly, you do as he was silently suggesting.

He groans, his dick twitching but he ignores it, knowing you’re still healing and by the state of you currently, you probably weren’t up for another round. Instead, he picks you up bridal style and takes you to the bathroom, feet wobbling a few times on the way before getting to the bathroom.

“Gotta clean up, angel.”

You mumble, putting your legs to use and absently moving to switch the shower head on, soaking both of you in the stall. The water is freezing but you make no complaints, wanting to settle the heat radiating from your body. Jaehyun says nothing too. He just helps you clean yourself as you’re making a half-hearted effort – this makes him chuckle.

Twenty minutes later, the both of you are laying on his bed (the one he gave up for you), snuggled into each other.

For the first time in a long time, you slept in the crook on an arm where you felt safe, possibly loved (that would have to be addressed another time).

While you lay, breathing slowly as you listen to his heartbeat, Jaehyun has his head propped up with one arm and his other arm rests on your side, t-shirt that he had lent you riding up on the side, fingers running up and down as he takes in the feel of your smooth skin under his fingertips.

Jaehyun was smitten.

a/n: hi hello. how, uh, how was it? feel free to leave me some feedback or pop in my ask box. you’re all my angels. i just like posting to post sometimes but interaction is p darn cool too. lyl <3

i follow from @00solarsmiles

net: @neowritingsnet

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