#she is always so dead set on no one talking about anyone else or complaining ever

[gideonisms]

need to impart upon my boss the wisdom that it will be okay if not everyone acts happy all of the time at our warehouse job that pays $35k a year. we will survive if we gripe amongst ourselves when we see more mail come in. Complaining is a human right it's simply not that serious

[allur1ngs]

✮ succumb (to me) ✮

TW: small angst to fluff, smut (dom & top!bada, sub & bottom !reader, kinda rough & angry sex, strap usage–r!receiving, oral–r!receiving, reader sucks on bada’s strap bcs i say so, teasing, strap referred to as a cock, bada is the giver in this scenario, doesn’t rlly receive, sorry…) + aftercare, delulu bada, once again LOTS of protective!bada, cold!bada, frustrated!bada, jealous!bada, petty!bada, bada having SERIOUS beef w your bodyguard, lusher being an instigator, reader being oblivious once again but its okay because we love her, jealous!reader, hyo being stuck in the middle of it all… justice for her fr, ngl the descriptions in this one are more spicy so… beware ? allusions to homophobia if you squint, the picture to the farthest right is purely for aesthetics and not meant to represent reader’s skin tone or body type!! and a surprise character that you may know~

SUMMARY: jealousy is man’s most evil, and easiest sin to yield to. bada struggles to keep herself from falling into its clutches, and succumbing to her greatest temptation, you.

WC: 14.5k… i promised myself this one would be shorter but i’m weak

A/N: find more information about this au on my masterlist! once again, i’m sure there are MANY mistakes throughout this fic, so please ignore them as best as you can--i'll edit this asap. also this isn't the first kiss or first i love you, consider this fic as a "what if" like slightly canon divergent. i want to make a separate fic about the official first kiss and first i love you!!

DISCLAIMER: all characteristics portrayed are purely speculation and fiction, they are not meant to reflect bada, team bebe, or anyone else’s actual character, values, or attitudes. please keep this in mind!!

Orange sunlight pours through the black-tinted windows in Bada’s office, casting a warm glow onto words that blur into blots of ink against white paper. Bada's tired eyes squint, attempting to make out the last sentence of the form in front of her. But no matter how hard she glares and huffs, the blots don’t unify into words.

“Ugh,” she groans, pushing away the form out of frustration. “I need a break.”

“You think so?” Lusher pops up behind the office door, having quietly opened it while Bada was focused on her paperwork.

“Yes, Lusher, I need a break,” Bada pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing out of her nose. “But I have a feeling I won’t be able to, now that you’re here.”

“Those are some harsh words for someone who brought you a gift,” Lusher says cheekily. She approaches Bada, opening her once-closed fist to reveal a pair of black-framed glasses. “Tada!”

Bada lets out a breath, muttering a thank you before grabbing her glasses and putting them on. Immediately, she feels the world come into focus, and the words on the form she pushed away are now crisp and uniform. “Much better.”

“What would you do without me?” Lusher jokes.

“I’d probably be much more productive.” Bada takes ahold of her gold-trimmed fountain pen and sets another stack of papers in front of her.

“What happened to taking a break?” Lusher pouts. “You’re going to go blind if you continue to push your eyes this much.”

“Well, thanks to you, I have my glasses, so I won’t go blind,” Bada says without looking up from the paper she’s signing.

“That’s not how it works,” Lusher huffs.

Bada stops writing, placing her fountain pen down and lifting her gaze up to stare at Lusher dead in the eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you.” Lusher plops down on the couch in the corner of the room. “We never get to talk like friends anymore.”

“I’m busy,” Bada says gruffly.

“You’re always busy,” Lusher complains. Bada doesn’t respond, instead, she picks up her pen again and starts reading the paper in front of her. “Fine,” Lusher folds her arms across her chest, “I’ll just talk aloud.”

Again, Bada ignores her subordinate, shuffling to the next paper and beginning to scan the words.

Lusher takes no offense, already used to her friend’s cold and serious behavior; in fact, it’s something she admires in her. And, she also knows that despite how her boss outwardly acts, Bada does care about her and listens to what she has to say.

“Minah and I took care of that job yesterday.” She comments, her eyes moving to the tinted window in Bada’s office. “It was very easy. U-Ram is getting sloppy.” Lusher waits to see if Bada will respond, but she doesn’t, so the second-in-command continues. “His branch of Seoul should be easy to take over. And if he doesn’t want to give it up, Tatter, Minah, and I can visit him.”

Silence fills the room, making Lusher pout again. She wants to get at least some sort of reaction out of Bada, but she remains steadfast in focusing on her work. Lusher thinks to herself, for a moment, wondering what else she could bring up to her boss that might spark up some form of conversation.

Suddenly, a lightbulb goes off in her mind, making her eyes light up and her lips curve upward in a mischievous smile. There’s one thing she can use. One thing–or more like one person–that always breaks through Bada’s icy attitude.

“So, how have things between you and unnie been going?” Lusher asks innocently.

Bada’s writing pauses, “We’re doing fine.” She mumbles before continuing to scribble furiously.

Bingo, Lusher thinks, trying to hide how her smile grows. “That’s good, I’m glad. I was worried after the incident with Seong, your relationship would be on the rocks. But it seems like it brought you two closer together.”

Bada keeps her eyes fixed on the document below her, “Yes. Our friendship has become much stronger.”

“Friendship.” Lusher snorts.

“What’s so funny?” Bada cuts in, tone hard.

“You and unnie aren’t friends.”

“We are.” Bada insists. “I enjoy her company, and she enjoys my company. We’re friends.”

“Bada, you and unnie have done everything in a traditional relationship other than have sex.” Lusher deadpans.

Bada’s hand fumbles with her fountain pen out of shock, her eyes snapping up to meet Lusher’s figure casually lounging on the couch. “Lee Seoyoung,” She says firmly. “remember your place, and don’t speak about my fiancée in such a way.”

“I don’t mean it in an offensive way.” Lusher shrugs, not affected by Bada using her full name. “I’m just pointing out that you two aren’t friends. Or if you are, you’re incredibly touchy friends.”

Bada scoffs, removing her gaze from Lusher. “We’re just friends. End of story.”

“If you say so,” Lusher concedes, resting her head against the headrest of the couch. “But now that I think about it, I wonder how unnie keeps herself satisfied.”

Bada looks up once again, her expression showing clear confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Lusher smirks to herself, sitting up. “Well, unnie’s been with you for about two and a half months now, right? Don’t you think she’d begin to feel…” she trails off, trying to find a less brash way of expressing her thoughts. “lonely for companionship? For some… skinship?”

Bada’s eyes widen only a fraction, the wheels in her mind slowly turning. “I greet her in the morning with hugs and a peck on the cheek.”

“Boss, you have to realize that not all of us are as composed and able to be abstinent for long periods of time like you are.”

“What are you implying?” Bada says incredulously. “That she’s–” she cuts herself off, becoming physically sick at the thought of someone else touching you, caressing you, giving you pleasure, and seeing you in ways she hasn’t.

“I’m not implying anything.” Lusher holds her hands up in defense.

Bada glares at Lusher, countless thoughts running through her mind as her heart races in her chest. “And if she were to be… engaging in such activities, who do you think she’d find company in?”

Lusher looks up, thinking deeply and seriously about Bada’s question. “I would have to say… Hyo. They’ve become quite close.” She answers honestly. “But don’t take this too seriously, Boss. Unnie isn’t that type of woman.”

But it’s much too late. Internally, Bada’s already beginning to spiral, remembering every interaction between you and Hyo she’s witnessed. There’s no way you’re interested in her… right? She may follow you around every minute of every day, but that’s not enough to make you fall in love with her, right? It’s not enough to make you yearn for her touch while Bada remains shut in her office, reviewing documents and signing papers…

“Bada…” Lusher trails off, noticing how her friend’s eyes become cloudy in thought. “I’m serious, don’t read too much into it. I was just joking around.”

“I’m not reading into it,” Bada responds after a beat. “My fiancée is her own woman, and what she does in her free time is none of my business. As long as she’s safe and happy, I’m content.”

Lusher frowns deeply, shaking her head. “But—”

“Don’t worry about it; I’m fine.” Bada holds up a hand to stop Lusher from continuing. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to finish this pile of papers before nightfall.”

Lusher looks between Bada and her work, unsure if she’s convinced that her friend wasn’t overthinking her joking comment. Eventually, she decides not to disturb Bada anymore, taking her leave and remaining oblivious to the chain of events she would unwittingly cause.

Like an unrelenting plague, Lusher’s words echo in Bada’s mind for the rest of the day, night, and the next day that follows. She tries to stay on task and finish her paperwork, but no matter how hard she tries, her mind will play cruel tricks on her, showing her images of your sweaty body sliding against Hyo’s, a smirk painted across her face as she services you with unrivaled pleasure.

Bada bangs her fist against her desk, dragging her chair back violently as she groans, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. If she can’t focus on her work, she might as well see what you’re up to and maybe spend some time with you. Not because she wants to observe your interactions with Hyo—no, not at all. She misses you, is all. In a friendly way, of course.

Leaving her office looking tired and disgruntled, Bada bumps into Soweon in her search for you. She asks her youngest subordinate if she knows where you are, to which she says yes, pointing in the direction of the terrace where the infinity pool lies. Bada says a quick thank you before fast walking in your direction, a prickle of nervousness building in her stomach, something she isn’t used to.

Stepping onto the terrace, Bada’s right hand busies itself by loosening her tie, noticing how tight it suddenly felt when her eyes find a sight that makes the nervousness in her stomach wash away, and instead, be replaced by a burning heat.

Your lower half is submerged in water while your upper half is arched into the warm afternoon air, water droplets falling from your throat and dipping down between your breasts as you hoist yourself out of the pool. In front of you, Hyo is holding out a white towel with one hand and grabbing onto yours in the other, helping you out of the pool.

There’s nothing particularly abnormal or intimate about the interaction, but it’s your bathing suit that makes Bada’s breath hitch, and the simmering fire burning within her spread. It’s a black ensemble, elegant, and compliments your figure to implausible lengths, that Bada wonders if it was handmade to make you look as divine as possible.

But your beautiful visage is overridden by Lusher’s words once again ringing in her mind.

Bada’s legs move before she can even think, rushing her over to where Hyo’s holding out the towel for you. She grabs it from her without a second thought, standing directly in front of her and taking your hand in hers, so Hyo’s unable to see you fully emerge from the pool.

“Bada?” You say, your eyes lighting up at the sight of her. “What are you doing here?”

“I decided to take a break.” She lies through her teeth, briefly checking behind her to see Hyo giving her a slightly confused look before she steps back, allowing her boss to take care of you instead. “Here,” Bada mumbles, wrapping the warm towel around your figure with haste and pulling you into her side.

The action makes butterflies flutter in your belly, and a shy smile overtake your lips. “Thank you.” You say softly, taking the chance to discreetly snuggle into Bada’s warmth.

“You’re welcome.” Bada nods, glancing at Hyo from the corner of her eye every few seconds. “So, is this where you’ve been all day?”

“Mostly,” you admit. “I haven’t swum much recently, and the sun was warm today, so I thought I’d cool off a bit in the water.”

“I see.” Bada nods. “And your bathing suit…” she trails off.

“What? Do you like it?” You ask innocently, unraveling the towel to give her another look at the piece.

Bada's eyes widen as she quickly wraps you in the towel again, feeling her body warm at the sight of yours. "Yes, yes, it looks very good on you," she hurries out. "But isn't it a little... inappropriate for Hyo to see you like this?"

"What do you mean?" You give Bada a confused look. "She sees me like this all the time."

Bada struggles to keep her composure as her thoughts start to race, and her hands instinctively curl into fists. "She does?"

"Yeah, I go swimming pretty often," you say casually, starting to walk toward the terrace exit. Bada follows, keeping you tucked into her side, and sending glares Hyo's way. You glance at your fiancée, noticing the black frames on her nose. "You're wearing your glasses again." Reaching up, you gently touch the side of them.

"Oh, yes," she mumbles. "I forgot I had them on."

"Bada, you need to stop pushing yourself so much." You pout.

Your fiancée smiles lightly, "You know, Lusher said the same thing."

"Because we're right." You insist. "You're lucky you don't have to wear those glasses every day."

"I won't let it get that bad."

You give her an unconvinced look, crossing your arms. "I'm holding you to that, you know."

"Oh?" Bada smirks. "And what will you do if I slip up?"

"I'll start visiting you every other hour to bother you until you take a break." You say playfully.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" Bada banters back.

"Hmm, I don't know, I think you'd enjoy it." You mimic a thoughtful expression, making Bada laugh.

"I'd more than enjoy it." She admits, disguising her sincerity with a joking tone.

Slowing your pace, you find the door to your bedroom right ahead, which surprises you. You must have been so enraptured in your conversation with Bada that you didn't realize your legs were taking you back to your bedroom out of instinct.

Parting from Bada reluctantly, you stare at her with glittering eyes as you shift on your feet. "Thank you for coming to see me. I like spending time with you, even if it's only for a little."

Bada swears you’re trying to kill her, because why are you so sweet and lovely? All her life, Bada's dealt with ruthless businessmen, deceitful allies, and those who used her for personal gain. But you... you get genuine satisfaction out of simply seeing her. And she can't deny that she feels the same way.

"You're welcome," Bada says softly, rubbing her hand up and down your arm out of instinct. She doesn't realize the effect her touch has on you, but she sees the way you smile down at the floor. "You can visit me anytime, by the way. I wasn't lying before when I said I would enjoy you coming to see me." She admits brazenly.

"Okay then, I will." A brief pause of silence envelops you two before you turn to look back at your bedroom door. "I'm going to go take a shower. I'll see you later?"

"Of course," Bada nods. She steps forward to open the door for you, watching you head in before closing it behind you with one last small goodbye. She stays still for a moment, staring at the spot where you’d just been, lost in thought. When she finally recollects herself, she pushes her glasses farther up her nose and turns on her feet, about to head in the direction of her office. But upon beginning her stride, she is met with Hyo’s figure standing a few feet away. 

“Have a good afternoon, Boss,” she says calmly.

Bada’s mood plummets in an instant, her expression souring at Hyo’s flippant demeanor. She gives a low hum in response before continuing down the hall toward her office. 

That instance was only the mildest out of three that led up to Bada’s eventual break.

Instance number two occurred while Bada was hard at work. She’d been on a call, about to seal the deal on an important partnership between her and one of the lead car manufacturers in Seoul.

“I’m sure there are ways we can both benefit from this endeavor.” Bada’s voice projects into her work phone.

“There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re correct,” Nam-Su answers on the other line. “But I feel there are some logistical points that still need to be addressed.”

“By all means, ask me anything.” Bada walks around her office, making sure to remain attentive while Nam-Su speaks. If she manages to close this deal, her entire facility will have a steady supply of fortified and modified cars, perfect for jobs.

“Very well, my main issue stems from…” Nam-Su begins to rant, leaving Bada to simply hum in the background while considering his deal. Surprisingly, he had many valid and insightful questions–though she should have expected that from him. Nam-Su was always described as a cunning businessman–when he wasn’t telling jokes in the workplace. Still, Bada manages to reel Nam-Su in with her impeccable rhetoric, and persuasive offers. 

It seems like she’s just about to close the deal when a noise causes her to pause her pacing. She looks up from the floor, squinting with a confused expression to her right, where she thought she heard the noise come from. Her eyes find the window that oversees the large garden right outside her office, locking on the fountain immediately. Assuming that to be the origin of the noise, she turns away, tuning back into her conversation with Nam-Su, who’s now ranting about his breakfast for some reason.

“That’s quite interesting, Mr. Im, but going back to the deal, how often and at what speed are you normally able to create heavily modified cars?”

“Ah yes, usually it takes around–”

The noise cuts in again, making Bada’s head whip toward the window again, this time sure that she heard it. She steps closer to the window, once again squinting in hopes of finding the source. But this time, she does. And she almost wishes she didn’t.

Bada sees you first, twirling into view in a beautiful and elegant sundress, looking like a goddess among the flowers in the garden. You’re laughing boisterously–which Bada realizes was the noise she heard, the sound muffled because of the glass barrier–at something just out of her view. You move to sit on the edge of the fountain, kicking your feet up a bit and revealing the creamy skin of your leg. Bada’s lips curl into a soft smile out of instinct, the sight of you so happy and carefree so pure that she can’t focus on a word Nam-Su is saying.

But just like always, Bada’s never able to fully admire you in peace, because another figure emerges, a black blob disturbing the color and sanctity of the garden. It’s Hyo, of course, dressed in her usual black suit and dark sunglasses. However, one thing stands out to Bada.

Hyo’s smiling.

And not just a simple, small smile, no–she’s smiling widely, borderline laughing with you as she stands in front of you, saying something that makes you give her a cheeky look.

Then she sees it.

Atop Hyo’s head is a ring of baby’s breath flowers woven together to make a crown. And similarly, sitting on yours is a colorful combination of peonies.

Bada's left hand tightens into a fist as she stares at you both, laughing and giggling like schoolgirls with crushes on each other. What was going on between you two? Where did this sudden air of intimacy come from? Has it always been there? Had Bada just been too wrapped up in her work to realize you and Hyo were becoming suspiciously close?

Either way it doesn’t matter, because all Bada can think about is how badly she wants to be standing there in Hyo’s place, admiring you up close, and laughing alongside you without a care in the world. She so badly yearns to be the only one you allow to hear your melodious giggles or share intimate moments with. (So caught up in her own jealousy, Bada doesn’t even realize her thoughts are continuing to stray away from friendship, and farther into romance.)

Bada’s eyes narrow to slits, glaring at Hyo’s every micromovement and scrutinizing it. She briefly considers leaving the office to interrupt, but before she can, she notices you freeze in your spot. A second passes before your eyes meet Hyo’s and become wide. Tiny droplets of water begin to rain down from the sky in steady streams, dotting your dress and deepening its color. You stand up in a hurry, your smile remaining on your lips as you hold your hands above your head, trying to shield yourself from the rain.

Hyo looks up at the sky and says something Bada’s unable to hear, but she sees you motion towards entering the mansion again and feels a wave of relief flood through her body. The world must be on her side. Clearly, it despised the sight of you and Hyo together as well, if the heavy downpour was any indication.

And yet… Hyo takes a step to the side, grabbing something out of Bada’s view before she walks closer to you, revealing an umbrella. Your smile only widens, unheard words falling from your mouth as you sit down on the edge of the fountain again, this time with Hyo sitting next to you. Bada’s eyes switch to cold in an instant, and she bites her lip in frustration. But of course, it seems the universe wants to torture her more, because you start to shiver, the dewy rain on your dress most likely giving you a chill. Because of that you unconsciously lean heavier into Hyo’s side, until you give in and press yourself against her arm, shaking like a leaf.

The simple action makes Bada’s entire body light on fire, a deep-seated jealousy rearing its ugly head as her teeth dig further into her lips, the force so strong that if she didn’t stop, she’d end up breaking the skin of her lip.

In the garden, it seems Hyo has finally noticed your shivering, because she breaks away for a brief moment to tug off her suit jacket before draping it around your shoulders, and bringing you into her side again, nodding when you mutter something to her.

Bada’s hand tightens around her work phone with impossible force, a droplet of blood falling from her lip as she stares at you both through the tinted window of her office while you speak to each other, completely oblivious to Bada’s gaze, or her anger. 

“...Ms. Lee, are you alright?” Nam-Su’s voice breaks through the ringing in Bada’s ear, his tone a mesh between mild worry and genuine confusion at her prolonged silence.

“I’m great, Mr. Im,” she lies through her teeth, the glass screen of her phone cracking under the pressure of her hands.

The last instance, and the one that managed to finally break through Bada’s facade comes the night of Nam-Su’s ball. 

Having successfully sealed the partnership between them despite her distraction, the cheerful man sent Bada an invitation the day after, proposing to throw a celebratory ball. He not only invited her, but Bebe too, and made sure to include a plus one ticket–having heard the rumors of you through the grapevine.

Although Bada doesn’t normally enjoy social events, she realizes it’s an opportunity to spend more intimate time with you, and jumps at the chance. She asks you to go as her plus one, to which you immediately accept.

Now, on the night of the ball, Bada looks at herself in the floor-length mirror in her room. Her eyes run down her figure multiple times, looking closely for any imperfections; wrinkles in her dress shirt, the position of her tie, or a stain on her customized suit. She finds none, but does one last check before leaving her bedroom in search of you.

You–much like Bada had once been–are picking over your appearance nervously while endless thoughts pass through your mind. 

Tonight is a very important milestone in your relationship with Bada. Not only will you be making your public debut as her fiancée, as well as meeting multiple of her allied gangs, but this is also your first time attending a ball with incredibly high-profile socialites from all over South Korea. Disappointing their expectations of you or embarrassing yourself is not an option. Everything must be perfect for both your sake, and Bada’s. 

As if hearing your thoughts, a light rapping against your door alerts you of Bada’s presence. “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” You answer hurriedly, gathering your bag and rushing to exit. You step out of your bedroom with a nervous smile, turning to face Bada once you’ve closed the door behind you. 

Upon making eye contact with her, you immediately notice that she’s not in her usual black suit. Instead, she’s wearing an overall–looking suit jacket, one that somehow makes her even more attractive. She’s also wearing a ring on the middle finger of her right hand, as well as another on the knuckle of her thumb, which makes you swoon. Bada Lee is the most attractive woman you’ve ever seen.

While you appraise Bada’s appearance, your fiancée takes the chance to appraise you, but is struck with a bolt of shock at your choice of clothing. A ravishing, floor-length black dress with boning along the top adorns your figure, and pushes up the tops of your smooth breasts, displaying them, while a large slit begins along the side of it. It allows Bada to see the garter that holds up your mesh nylons–she feels herself gulp every moment her eyes instinctively dip down to look at your breasts or thigh.

 The dress is paired with lace gloves, and the necklace Bada had given you.

Each element paired together decorates your body like beautiful embellishments, creating the vision of perfection in Bada’s eyes.

Her jaw drops out of surprise and astonishment, but once her mind catches up, various thoughts start to form. They start relatively innocent, “She’s so beautiful.” But then they start to stray, “Everyone at the ball will see her.” Until slowly, apprehension builds in her stomach. “I don’t want others to see her like this.”

“Bada?” Your voice brings your fiancée out of her spiraling thoughts. “Should we get going?”

“Oh, yes.” She clears her throat awkwardly, trying to fight the heat that she feels forming in her cheeks. “Sorry, I was–” She stutters. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You laugh bashfully to yourself. “Thank you. You look amazing as well.”

Bada simply smiles back at you, still recovering from your radiance as she holds out her arm. You take it without hesitating, falling in line with her as you both start walking away from your bedroom and toward the stairs to the first level of the mansion. Hyo follows after you as always, keeping her footsteps light while you and Bada engage in conversation.

“When did you buy this dress?”

“I ordered it a few days ago.” You respond. “I wanted to have a more appropriate dress for the occasion.”

“Well, nobody will be able to keep their eyes off of you,” Bada says confidently, beginning the descent down the stairs, holding onto you tight and making sure to help you balance on your heels.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Bada takes the last step down the stairs first, turning to hold onto your waist as she guides you off the stairs.

“Are we the last to leave?” You ask, noticing the lack of Bebe members.

“Lusher and the rest of the girls left earlier.” Bada nods. “I had them scope out the venue to ensure it’s safe for you.”

“But aren’t all the attendees allies?”

“Yes, so they say.” Bada moves toward the entrance of the mansion, pushing the doors open to reveal her sports car already parked in the cobble-stone driveway. “But after everything you’ve experienced recently, I don’t want to take any risks.”

Bada’s words take you back to the Seong incident, and how terrified you’d been, trapped in her hideout. Your lips curl downwards in a frown, your eyes falling to the floor in thought.

Bada notices the shift in your demeanor, and immediately pauses, turning to face you with a gentle and determined expression. “You don’t have to worry about that happening again. All of Bebe will be paying close attention to you the whole night, and I as well. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

You shake your head, “I’m not scared. I trust you.”

Trust. A bond Bada never thought she’d be able to make again since her mother died. And yet, with you, everything comes naturally and easily.

The car ride to Nam-Su’s is relatively long. You find yourself cycling through many conversations with Bada, ranging from what you did this week, to what she did. Eventually, the conversation strays back to the ball.

“So just how influential are the socialites attending?” You ask.

“Hmm, well in terms of power and connections,” Bada begins, “I outrank all of them.” 

“Really?” You awe. 

“Yes,” Bada nods. “But it’s still very important to make a good impression. They may not have as much influence on me, but making enemies out of them could be detrimental.”

“Right, of course.” You clasp your hands together tightly, hoping the pressure will alleviate some of the nerves building in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s on your mind?” Bada questions softly.

You glance at her and sigh, “I guess I’m just a little worried I’ll say or do something wrong. I’m not used to being around extremely important men and women.”

“You don’t need to be nervous.” Bada grabs your hands and parts them, weaving your fingers together. “You’ll do great.”

“I don’t know–”

“Hey,” She tugs gently on your woven hands, making you turn to face her. “just be yourself. If you do that, they’ll all love you.”

The car comes to a stop just as Bada’s words fade into the open air, driving your focus away from her briefly and to the window instead. Outside, there are already a few paparazzi gathered around the car, their cameras positioned upward, as they wait with baited breath for you to exit.

“Paparazzi.” You breathe.

“They don’t usually show up like this.” Bada frowns, taking her phone out and typing quickly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it handled.”

Right as she finishes her sentence, all of Bebe walks out of Nam-Su’s mansion onto the driveway. Lusher and Tatter take the lead pushing the paparazzi away from your car, while the rest of the girls focus on creating a walkway for you both to use.

“Hyo,” Bada says firmly.

“Yes, Boss,” your bodyguard answers quickly, fully parking the car and exiting it. She moves to stand next to your side of the car, but doesn’t open your door, because Bada has already left the car and circled around toward you, opening the door for you.

She holds her hand out for you to take as you slide your exposed thigh out of the car, holding onto her as you move to stand up. Immediately, flashes from the paparazzi’s cameras start to bombard you, but thankfully Bada quickly adjusts her position so she’s standing directly in front of you, blocking the lights from blinding you.

Bebe also jumps into action, hollering at the paparazzi who become overeager and start yelling at you to show your face, or for Bada to move out of the way.

“Hey, who do you think you’re talking to?” Lusher asks loudly, her face scrunched up in disgust.

“Have some respect!” Minah adds, stepping closer to a paparazzo and making him back away. 

Bada remains unbothered by the yelling behind her, already used to the demanding nature of having a public life. “Are you okay?”

You take in a deep breath as you stare at Bada, before putting on a confident expression. “Yes.”

“Remember, just be yourself.” She whispers, linking her fingers with yours again. You from your joint hands to Bada, your eyes going wide as you glance at the paparazzi a few feet away, worried they’d see the display of affection. “Don’t worry,” Bada assures you, “they already know. They can’t do anything about it.”

Reinvigorating yourself, you nod firmly, signaling to her that you’re finally ready. Bada nods back, stepping aside so that you’re now shoulder to shoulder as you begin your stride toward the entrance to Nam-Su’s mansion. The paparazzi start to go crazy, snapping photo after photo of you two, but through the noise and the chaos you hold your head high, wanting to make Bada proud.

Behind you both, Hyo and Bebe do crowd control, surprised at the amount of paparazzi that have begun to slowly trickle in, solely focused on snatching an exclusive photo of you to plaster on headlines tomorrow. “Influential Socialite Bada Lee has found her partner?”

You try to dispel all negative thoughts as you stop in front of the entrance, Bada reaching into her left pocket to retrieve her invitation, and handing it to the man standing by the door. He barely takes a look at it before giving you both a bright smile, and motioning for you both to enter.

You look at Bada from the corner of your eye with an amused expression, which she mirrors. “Famous, are we?”

“What could have given you that impression?” Bada says playfully, guiding you further into the main hall.

You have to admit, Nam-Su really had taken no prisoners when it came to decorating his home. A large chandelier dangles low in the center of the room, glittering diamonds falling from the prongs like teardrops, and casting a low, beige light across the room. Tables hug the sides of the walls, with flowers tumbling out of their boxes atop of them, and adjacent to trays of small, Michelin star foods. Everything is beautiful, including the guests.

“Look who it is!” An excited voice reaches your ears, making you turn in that direction out of instinct. A woman with blonde hair, a bright smile, and a mature look heads in your direction. She’s wearing a low cut dusty pink dress that compliments her curves excellently. 

“Ohh, Kirsten!” Bada says excitedly, switching to English to greet her friend. She meets her halfway and gives her a friendly hug, before pulling away. “I didn’t know you were back in Korea."

“I have some business to oversee here before we’re back to Australia and the States.” The woman, Kirsten replies. Her eyes drift away from Bada for a split second, finding yours instead. Her smile immediately widens, noticing how your arm is looped with Bada. “And who is this pretty lady? I love your dress, by the way.”

“Oh, yes,” Bada turns to look at you, showing a genuine enthusiasm at the thought of introducing you to her friend. “Kirsten, this is my fiancée,” she mutters your name while you step forward, a friendly smile adorning your lips as you shake hands with the older woman. 

“Hello,” you greet her in perfect English, watching as her smile doubles in size. “Thank you, I love your dress as well.”

Bada speaks up again, gesturing to her friend, “This is Kirsten, she handles foreign affairs and runs her own group in Australia. We’ve been business partners and friends for a while now.”

“Hold on,” Kirsten cuts in, mimicking an offended expression. “I’m still surprised by the fiancée comment. Why didn’t you tell me you got engaged, Bada?” She acts like a mother scolding her younger daughter, making your smile widen and a small laugh fall from your lips.

“I was trying to keep it under wraps.” Bada says sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“You can make up for it by inviting me and the girls to the wedding as honored guests.” Kirsten remarks proudly.

“Ah, of course.” Bada nods, smiling widely. “Where are Audrey and Latrice, by the way?”

“Oh, it’s just me this time.” Kirsten clarifies. “They’re both still in Australia, handling things there while I’m here.”

“How often do you come to visit Korea?” You cut in, interested to learn more about her.

“I only really come when I’m needed.” She answers. “No offense, I love it here, but I get homesick very easily.”

“Oh, I would too.” You agree.

“Australia is my favorite place to be.” Kirsten says while making a heart shape with her hand, mimicking a thoughtful expression. Her youthful attitude makes your nerves slowly edd away as you laugh along with her. “Also, can I just say, your English is amazing.”

“Thank you so much.” You place a hand on your chest, the compliment making you smile.

“Of course, of course.” Kirsten takes hold of your hands, swaying them in a playful manner. “Bada, I think you really struck gold here.” She winks in your direction while looking at Bada.

“Yes, I really did.” Your finacée answers earnestly. All the while you and Kirsten were speaking, she’d been watching you silently, admiring the way you interacted with one of her close friends so naturally. If anything, she felt this proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were meant to be a part of her life.

“Ah, Ms. Lee!” Nam-Su’s voice interjects into the conversation. He stands a few feet away, his wife on his arm as he waves you and Bada over.

“Well,” Kirsten starts, “I’ll let you two go. It was wonderful meeting you!” She steps forward to give you a hug, surprising you, but you immediately reciprocate, already feeling comfortable around her.

“Thank you, I enjoyed meeting you as well!” You respond. Kirsten breaks away from the hug, muttering a goodbye to Bada as well before leaving to speak to another guest. You watch her leave for a second, then turn to face Bada. “She’s very sweet.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Your finacée takes your hand again, guiding you in Nam-Su’s direction.

“When did you two meet?”

Bada hums lightly, thinking. “I believe she’d just turned twenty, and I was around my mid twenties.”

“She’s younger than you?” You stare at her with wide, and shocked irises.

“Yes, she’s closer to your age than mine.” Bada nods. “Are you surprised?”

You nod, “She has a very mature look.”

“She does. But don’t feel bad, a lot of people think Kirsten is older than she really is.” Bada slows her pace as you both near Nam-Su, and switches to a more professional demeanor.

“Ms. Lee,” Nam-Su greets Bada again. He then turns to you, “and…”

“This is my finacée,” Bada introduces you to her business partner.

“Ah, I believe I’ve met your parents.” Nam-Su nods. “I see they’ve done well, you are a beautiful young woman.”

“Thank you so much.” You say politely, slightly bowing your head out of respect.

You, Bada, Nam-Su, and occasionally his wife, all engage in a comfortable, and friendly conversation. From this, you learn Nam-Su is a surprisingly carefree man, cutting into the conversation with random anecdotes and jokes. You end up enjoying yourself more than you expected to, but somewhere down the line, the conversation strays to Nam-Su and Bada’s deal, leaving you and the man’s wife out of the loop.

You tap on Bada’s arm lightly, diverting her attention away from Nam-Su to you. “I think I’m going to get a drink from the refreshment table.”

“Oh, sure.” She nods, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

“If you’ll excuse me.” You say to Nam-Su and his wife, gesturing toward the table across the room with champagne flutes and appetizers.

“Be my guest.” Nam-Su smiles.

You break away from the group, walking  toward the refreshments while letting out a deep breath. Although everything’s been going well so far, you still feel mildly stressed, constantly checking your posture and making sure to remember proper etiquette. Reaching the table, you grab a champagne flute, holding it up to your lips and taking a small sip. The bubbly alcohol runs down your throat with a mild burn, the taste sharp, but also sweet.

“You’re looking a little bit tense over there.” A voice comes from beside you, making you turn away quickly and cover your mouth in surprise. “Oh come on, do I look that old to you?” Hyo raises an eyebrow at you, crossing her arms across her chest.

“No, no.” You answer quickly, turning to face Hyo with wide eyes. But when you finally stand face-to-face with her, you’re surprised to make eye contact with hazel eyes, the black sunglasses she wears nowhere to be seen. “You’re not wearing your sunglasses…”

“Did you really think I’d wear them at this kind of event?” Hyo scoffs lightheartedly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without them before.” You mutter, completely ignoring her question. “Oh, and about before, I don’t think you’re old, you just startled me.”

“Well at least you’re being careful.” Hyo shrugs. “Really sparing no expense on formality, huh?”

“This,” you gesture at the ballroom. “Is important to Bada.”

Hyo hums lightly, “It is for you as well.”

“Not as much as her.” You say softly. “Most of the people here have known her much longer than I have. I need to make a good impression.”

Hyo frowns at your words, placing her hand on your back and patting it lightly. “You need to loosen up, kid. Have some fun.”

“I’m trying.” You sigh. “But it’s hard to when all I can think about is the fact that I have to turn away from everyone to drink.”

Hyo laughs at your words, which makes a subtle smile form on your lips. “Well you don’t have to for Bebe, the Boss, or me.”

“You guys are the only exception.” You admit. Silence falls between you two for a few minutes while you continue to take small sips of your champagne, and Hyo turns to face the crowd of partygoers, watching them closely.

“Hey,” your bodyguard suddenly speaks up.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t I take some pictures of you?” She makes a camera gesture with her hands, a playful look on her face.

“Pictures?” You glance around you with a hesitant expression. “Isn’t that inappropriate?”

“Come on, it’ll just be a few. You look cute, don’t you want to post them to social media?” Hyo insists. When you still give her a worried look, she sighs. “I’ll be fast, just give me your phone.”

You reluctantly hand her your phone, which she quickly taps into the camera app, taking a step back so she gets your entire dress and body in the frame.

“Okay,” she drags out the y in the word, “give me a sexy pose.”

You let out a deep breath before positioning yourself comfortably, and switching to a more alluring expression.

Hyo gives a hum of approval. “That’s good, maybe just turn to the side more.”

You do as she asks, the pose accentuating your nylon-covered thigh. 

“Perfect, stay right there.” She holds up a hand before tapping on your phone, and taking the picture. “Okay, another pose.”

You shift around a bit, now growing more confident as you stare into the camera intensely.

“Ohh, that one’s nice.” Hyo mumbles under her breath. “And, last one. Make this one cute.”

You immediately smile, changing your posture to be more youthful and relaxed. Hyo taps one last time on your phone before passing it back to you, muttering compliments. You glance at the photos, surprised by how good they came out. Your figure stands out amidst the partygoers behind you, the low light highlighting your features and giving you a subtle glow.

Truthfully, you look amazing.

“Wow.” You mutter.

“My picture taking skills are out of this world.” Hyo banters. You roll your eyes at her playfully, nudging her shoulder. “I’m kidding kid, you look good.” She looks over your shoulder at the pictures again, nodding. “You should post them.”

You contemplate it for a second before doing as she says. Opening Instagram, you make a new post with all three pictures, simply captioning them with a champagne emoji.

Time passes by relatively fast after that, women and men from across the room approaching you to make conversation and introduce themselves. You greet them all timidly but politely, Hyo moving to stand off to the side, silently remaining vigilant as you slowly begin to loosen up further, even making some friends with the women who compliment your dress.

However, across the room, Bada leans against the wall while holding a glass of champagne in her right hand, alone. After you left, Nam-Su only spoke to her a bit longer before breaking off to speak to other guests. It was then that Bada realized you’d been gone for a while, and turned to look for you, only to see Hyo standing next to you, taking pictures of you.

Like clockwork, that venomous and sickening feeling of jealousy bubbles at the surface, making Bada’s expression immediately sour, and her gaze lock onto you both. She waited for Hyo to stop taking pictures of you so she could approach you, but just as soon as she did, other women started to gather around you, their voices just barely reaching Bada’s ears across the room, but she was able to make out every compliment they hurtled your way. And while Hyo fell back into her role as a bodyguard, that didn’t stop other women–and eventually men, from circling you and talking your ear off.

You stand in the center of it, looking shy and a bit reserved, but it seems that only makes them swoon even more. Like a new blooming flower amidst a garden of plain roses, you stand out like a beautiful jewel.

It makes Bada sick to her stomach. She has to watch from afar as their eyes stray from your eyes, dipping down to your breasts or your thigh, their gaze caressing every feature of yours like predators.

She only lasts a few minutes like that before she pushes off the wall, about to interrupt and make it clear to the crowd around you that you’re already spoke for–that you’re hers, and they will never be able to lay their hands on you like they desire to–when a loud voice stops her.

“Bada!” The voice says excitedly.

Bada turns to face the source, mentally cursing herself for not moving faster when she sees who it is. “Raong.” She says with a light sigh.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see you before! How long have you been here?” Raong attaches herself to Bada without a care in the world, missing how the older woman tries to avoid the touch.

Raong is the daughter of Dong-Geun, one of Bada’s oldest business partners. A while back, when he caught word of Bada being rumored to take over her deceased father’s gang, he’d offered one of his sons up as a potential suitor, trying to make her family. But of course, Bada immediately denied. Though she didn’t explain why at the time, Dong-Geun later found out it was because she wasn’t looking for male suitors.

Since then, he’d begun shoving his daughter at Bada, practically begging her to marry Raong. Bada refused once again, this time because she wasn’t looking for a spouse at the time–or ever. At least, that’s what she believed back then.

Eventually, after years of bothering her, Dong-Geun gave up, realizing it was better to keep Bada as a business partner rather than distance her from him by pushing his daughter onto her day after day.

But it seemed Raong never got the memo. Because although she only spoke to Bada a few times at most, she somehow managed to develop a puppy crush on the (much) older woman. She never left Bada alone at events, becoming a nuisance like no other and making Bada hesitant to make public appearances.

“I arrived about an hour ago.” Bada replies in a monotone voice.

“Really? That’s so long ago.” Raong says, making her eyes go wide in an attempt to look cute. Something that fails miserably.

Bada says nothing in response, instead lifting her glass of champagne up to her lips, about to take a sip of it when Raong suddenly grabs it.

“You really shouldn’t be drinking so much!” She pouts. “It’s bad for your health.”

“It’s champagne.” Bada deadpans, already feeling the soul being sucked out of her.

Raong smiles cheekily, glancing between the alcohol and Bada. “You’re right.” She lifts the glass up to her lips, placing them directly onto the spot Bada had hers on, and takes a big gulp of the drink. She pulls away with a proud look, holding the glass up for Bada to take. “Here.”

“No thank you.” Bada immediately answers, her face stone cold. “I’d rather get a new one.”

For some reason, her comment makes Raong laugh loudly–incredibly loud–to the point that other guests turn their heads in her direction, their expressions showing a mix between shock and disapproval.

“Bada, there’s no need to act so shy.” Raong says, completely oblivious to the negative attention she’s garnered. “We may be in public, but everyone knows that we’re the most attractive couple here.”

“Couple?” Bada scoffs. “Where did you get that from?” Out of instinct, her eyes move from Raong’s figure to search for yours. And when she does, a revelation like no other dawns upon her.

You’re standing in the middle of a circle of men and women like before, but instead of speaking to them, your eyes are solely focused on Bada–no, focused on Raong, who clings to her like a needy girlfriend. Your expression shows nothing but absolute discomfort and anger, a look Bada’s never seen you wear before.

You’re jealous. She realizes, the thought echoing in her head over and over again and making a strange, satisfied feeling build in her gut. You must be feeling like she’d been for the past few days while watching you and Hyo interact–full of resentment and annoyance at the woman touching her.

Then, another thought comes to mind. Will she act upon her jealousy if I push her more?

Bada knows she shouldn’t be this petty. As the older woman in the relationship, and the one more emotionally mature, she should put a stop to Raong’s advances, walk up to you, and whisk you away, ridding both of your sour feelings so you can enjoy the night together free from inhibition.

But the more sinful part of Bada wants you to fully understand how she’s felt the past few days–the turmoil and envy that comes from seeing someone you care about fall into the arms of someone else.

Unfortunately for you, Bada will almost always succumb to sin.

“Come on Bada, I know you feel something for me.” Raong pushes herself against the older woman’s arm, trying to make her breasts pop, and look enticing.

Although Bada feels nothing at the action, she plays along. “You’re right, I do.” She says in a low voice looking down to stare directly into Raong’s eyes.

Bada’s behavior even surprises her, the younger girl gapes for a bit before quickly switching back to her piss-poor attempt at being seductive. “I’m so glad you’ve finally realized we’re meant for each other.” Her voice pitches upwards, trying to do an aegyo voice.

The result only causes a nails-on chalkboard effect, almost making Bada wince and break her facade. But before she can, she quickly glances at you. You’re still staring at her, your expression now much further into the territory of anger, before you shift your gaze somewhere else hastily, trying to make it seem like you hadn’t been glaring at her and Raong.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long.” Bada turns back to Raong, playing the act up by tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

The action makes you gasp across the room, daggers physically puncturing your heart.

Bada hears the sound, and has to stop herself from smirking too widely. Yes, finally you understand how it feels.

Raong swoons at Bada’s display, turning away from her with blushing cheeks and giggling loudly.

“Hey, Boss!” Lusher suddenly appears on Bada’s other side, trying to look casual as she glances between Raong and her friend. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Bada says casually.

“I mean, why are you all over,” she lowers her voice to a whisper to say the next word, “the pest!”

“I’m not all over her, I’m simply being polite.” Bada mutters back, discreetly glancing at you yet again.

“Yeah, right. When have you ever been polite to her?” Lusher catches her straying gaze, finding you on the other side of it. Immediately, it all clicks in her mind. “If this is about what I said a few days ago–”

“Shouldn’t you be keeping a lookout right now?” Bada cuts her off sharply.

“Boss…” Lusher says in a disapproving tone. Her friend doesn’t budge, instead turning her back toward her and speaking to Raong again. Sensing the conversation is over, Lusher walks away with a pit of guilt burning in her stomach, seeing you struggle to hide your emotions as Bada pretends to fawn over the younger woman beside her.

“What’s going on?” Kirsten stops at Lusher’s side, her eyebrows dipping downward as she observes Bada’s strange behavior.

“I think I might have caused this.” Lusher admits, hanging her head in shame.

If someone were to ask you how you were feeling at the moment, the best word to describe it would be "out-of-body."

You truly feel like you’re watching the events in front of you unfold as an omnipotent being. Your eyes are able to take in every movement of both Bada and the girl on her arm to the finest detail, which proves to be a cruel form of torture.

Why is this happening? You find yourself questioning over and over again in your mind. Why is Bada acting this way? Why is she allowing that woman to touch her? And why does it look like she enjoys it?

You swear you feel bile form in your throat with every touch they exchange, and although there’s nothing more that you want to do than to run away in shame, you physically can’t. You’re rooted to the floor like a statue, cursed to watch your fiancée flirt with another woman.

Perhaps this is your fault for being so naive. Did you really think that Bada would remain loyal to you when your engagement had been a business deal from the start? When she so firmly stated that she’d never fall in love with you? How could you have believe that she felt something for you when she touched you so gently, smiled at you, and made you laugh?

Had Bada been secretly having affairs with women from the start? Had she touched them like she did, you? Did she mutter to them how beautiful they looked? Did she undress them with her eyes?

…How could you be so stupid–so young and stupid.

But the worst is yet to come.

You watch in slow motion as the woman beside Bada shifts on her feet, putting all her weight onto her tippy toes as she reaches up to place a kiss on your fiancée’s lips. They’re just about to touch–

“Alright kid, let’s go.” Hyo steps in front of you, blocking your view of Bada and the woman. She grabs onto your arm in a hurry, taking off her jacket and placing it on top of your head to shield you from any straying gazes as she fast-walks you out of the Nam-Su’s mansion, barely managing to tell Lusher that she’s taking you home before you’re out of the door, the only evidence of your attendance the droplets of small tears dotting the floor.

The entire car ride is dead silent, Hyo’s lips sealed tight into lines, and not a single sound coming from you in the backseat that she has to check every few minutes on you to make sure you’re still there.

You are, but your head is down, her suit jacket blocking her view of you as you fight back waves of tears building in your eyes.

“Bada, I have to tell you the truth, I’ve always been in love with you…” The second those words left Raong’s lips, and she began leaning upward in an attempt to kiss her, Bada knew she went too far.

She immediately breaks away from Raong’s hold, the disgusted face she’d been trying to hold back for so long surfacing in an instant. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?” Raong still keeps her voice artificially high, trying to get closer to Bada again. “Are you too shy to do it in public? Should we go somewhere private–”

“I will be going nowhere with you.” Bada interrupts in a stern voice, straightening out her suit. “I’m engaged.”

Raong’s smile finally drops, a sour look crossing her face. “So you really did propose to another woman.” She glances from the floor to Bada again, mustering up another embarrassing “sexy” look. “But it’s fine, she doesn’t have to know.”

Bada scowls at the younger woman. “I mean this in the most polite way possible,” she watches as Raong starts to frown, “I would never choose you, or any other woman over my fiancée. She is the only woman I will ever touch, or kiss.”

Raong stands in front of Bada, frozen and humiliated beyond belief.

“I suggest you stop making advances toward me, if you know what’s good for you.” Bada finally says the words she’s been wanting to for years now, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off of her shoulders. She leaves Raong standing there without a second thought, heading in your direction before she stops, realizing you’re not there anymore.

Her eyebrows furrow, an immediate spike of worry hitting her heart as she searches for Lusher through the crowd of partygoers. 

When she finds her friend, she walks as quickly as possible towards her. “Where did she go?” Bada says, looking from one side of the room to the other in a frenetic manner.

Lusher glances at Kirsten who stands next to her, hesitating before answering. “Hyo took her home…”

Bada’s eyes narrow to slits in milliseconds. “Lusher, I’m taking your car.”

The Lee mansion feels eerily quiet when Bada enters, the lights reflecting off the white marble flooring, casting an ominous glow as she ascends the stairs.

Although she knows the mess she’s caused is purely her own fault, a part of her wants to deny it. She wants to call it retribution for all the mental torment she’s experienced over the past few days.

She wants to call it that, but she knows she can’t.

Standing in front of your door, Bada’s eyes find Hyo’s figure with ease. Your bodyguard is wearing her classic sunglasses again, but this time she doesn’t greet her superior. She doesn’t even acknowledge her presence, simply stands there, her lips in a firm line with her arms crossed against her chest.

Bada briefly considers speaking with Hyo, but eventually decides against it, knowing she should check on you first, before anything else. Her hand reaches up to knock on the wood of your door, the sound echoing through the hallway as she retracts her fist.

She waits there for about three minutes with no response before pushing the door open and entering your bedroom.

Most of the lights have been turned off, just one raining down a small amount of light and illuminating the room. Bada closes the door behind her, the guilt that had already been brewing in her stomach doubling when she notices you’re not in bed, but sitting in front of your vanity with your dress still on, staring at your reflection with an emotionless expression.

Bada mutters your name, stopping a few feet away from you. “I knocked on your door, did you hear me?”

You don’t respond, only continue to stare at your reflection, completely disregarding her presence.

Bada frowns at you, clearly disappointed by your silence. “You shouldn’t have left so suddenly. I was worried about you.” This time, she sees something shift in your eyes, but still, you remain quiet and stock still. Bada huffs, becoming increasingly frustrated as she gets closer to you, stopping right by your side. “Is that Hyo’s jacket?” She gestures to your bodyguard’s suit that’s strewn across your shoulders.

This time when you don’t answer her, Bada finally snaps, releasing the tension that’d been brewing in her for so long.

“Would you say something to me?” She says, the words coming out much harsher than she intended them to.

Your lips stay stuck together for a minute before they finally part. “What do you want me to say, Bada?” Your voice sounds an equal mix of tired, and uncharacteristically cold. “You made yourself perfectly clear at the ball.”

Your fiancée stares at you from through the reflection of the mirror, trying to lock eyes with you. “Why are you acting this way?”

“Why am I acting this way?” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You shouldn’t ask such obvious questions.”

“I’m asking because I don’t know.” She lies through her teeth. She does know, and despite that she continues to push you, wanting to hear you say the words, “I’m jealous.”

“You know, if you wanted to fool around with other women, the least you could do was take it somewhere private where I wouldn’t have to see.” You shoot back, tone bordering on venomous.

“I wasn’t fooling around with her.” Bada denies firmly. “And you’re one to talk.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You finally look away from the mirror, turning to face Bada with a furious expression.

“Hyo took you home.” Your fiancée lists. “You’re wearing her jacket. She took photos of you while we were at a public event. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”

“Oh please, spare me, Bada Lee,” you interrupt, your voice rising. “She’s my bodyguard! And I don’t touch her like you touched that woman. I haven’t kissed her–”

“I didn’t kiss Raong,” Bada interjects.

“I spend so much time with her because all you do is work all day!” You continue ranting. “I have never once disrespected you like you just did to me thirty minutes ago.”

“It’s not like that–” Bada tries to explain herself, but now that you’re speaking, you can’t stop.

“I know you said that you would never fall in love with me, but what the fuck?” You exclaim. “How could you just kiss her in front of all of those people when you introduced me as your fiancée?”

“I didn’t kiss her.” Bada reiterates, feeling her patience wear thin.

“Some of the guests know my parents!” You’re bordering on tears once again. “Can you imagine what they’ll think when they hear that my future wife kissed another woman in front of the most influential people in South Korea?”

“God damn it–” Bada steps forward, her frustration finally getting the better of her as she grabs you by the waist, pulling you flush against her body, forcing you to look into her eyes. "I never kissed Raong," she says again, her voice full of force. "I would never kiss her. I would never kiss a woman that isn't you."

Silence falls heavily across the room, your expression shifting from anger, to confusion, then to surprise.

“If you believe there is another woman out there that I would rather press my lips against, you’re crazy.” She whispers.

You stare into Bada’s eyes, completely taken aback by the sudden turn of events before your eyes slip downwards, to where her lips are.

Bada does the same, although she takes it a step further, bringing her thumb up to press onto your bottom lip, watching the plush skin accommodate for the pressure she applies.

“I want you,” she mutters inches away from your lips. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you.”

As if an invisible string had been snapped, both you and Bada surge forward, placing your lips against each other with unrestrained passion. Bada’s right hand grabs onto the side of your face, tilting your head backward as you two move in synch, completely lost in the taste of each other. She pulls you in even closer to the point that your chests knock against each other with every labored breath, the desire between you two so strong that you can’t help but moan.

Bada hears the sound and feels a pulse go straight to her cunt, the build-up to this simple kiss being so long that she can’t help but revel in it. She bites down on your lip and the second you part your lips to gasp, she slips her tongue into your mouth.

Your teeth clash in a heated dance, your tongues caressing each others as Bada turns you around so your back is toward the direction of your bed, walking you backward quickly so that you fall onto it, your body laid out on the cushion like a fallen angel. She follows you onto the bed, keeping herself above you with a single hand as she continues to kiss you deeply, a small string of saliva falling from your lips because of your sloppiness.

Bada’s other hand busies itself by grabbing onto your exposed thigh and hiking it against her hip, pushing her thigh between the gap of yours. Finally she pulls away, both of you panting loudly into the open air of the room. “Fuck.” Bada curses. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”

Your arms wrap around her shoulders, wanting to kiss her again because of her confession.

“I bet you’ve wanted to too, huh?” She smirks, leaning down to just barely graze her lips against yours, not quite giving you what you want. “That’s why you got so jealous when you thought I kissed Raong, right?”

You huff at Bada’s words, hearing that woman’s name you frustrates you.

“Oh, are you mad?” She taunts you, laughing. “Yeah, you’re really mad aren’t you?” The hand that’d been stationed on your thigh moves under the fabric of your dress and inwards, towards your hot and sticky pussy. “You’re mad because you imagined me touching her like this, didn’t you?” Her fingers ghost against the material of your underwear, already finding a wet patch forming at the bottom of it.

Bada smirks widely. She’s got you right where she wants you.

“Did you imagine me touching her through her panties?” Bada’s fingers move up and down the wet patch, making it grow with every passing second.

You bite your lip, trying hard to suppress your moans at the feeling of your finacée’s long fingers touching you where you need her most.

“Did you imagine me playing with her pussy and making her moan like a whore?” Bada nudges her nose with yours, enjoying every second of your withering composure. “Huh? Are you going to say something?”

You shake your head, wanting to deny the fact that you indeed had imagined all those things in your blind fit of jealousy, which only made you spiral further.

“No?” Bada whispers in a higher-pitched voice, trying to mimic you.

You don’t respond.

“Say something.” She demands, her voice dropping and her eyes narrowing into a glare. It lacks any real hatred or heat but does burn with sexual desire. “Say something or I’ll leave you here wet and panting bitch in heat.”

You finally release your lip, completely believing that she’d leave you like this. “No, please,” you whimper quietly.

“Ah, she speaks.” Bada smiles, continuing to circle your clit with her fingers, now applying more pressure. “Now tell me, did you imagine any of those things I described to you?”

Again you grow quiet, embarrassment flooding your veins.

Bada’s smile drops in an instant. “What did I say?” She withdraws her hand from your clit, moving it back toward your thigh.

“Wait–” you cry out, looking completely in anguish. “I did! I did!”

Bada hums in approval, placing her fingers against your underwear again. “Which one?”

“I–” The words die on your tongue, the small pressure that Bada’s applying to you making your sensitive body go haywire.

“Which one?” She says again firmly.

“The–the last one!”

“Oh baby,” Bada pouts mockingly, “that’s not good enough. Tell me exactly which one.”

“I imagined you playing with her pussy.” You admit, feeling more shame in that moment than you ever had before.

“Good job, babe.” She praises you. “You finally got the words out. Should I give you a reward?”

“Yes, please,” you practically beg.

“Well since you asked so nicely,” Bada looks at you through hooded eyes, smirking. She pulls away the material of your panties and inserts her finger, your hot, wet walls sucking her in compliantly.

"Bada!" You all but scream, your legs jerking in pleasure.

"You're so wet," Your finacée whispers, hearing the sheer amount of slickness your body produces. "Is this all for me?"

"All for you, Bada." You immediately reply, tears beginning to build in your eyes.

"Good." Pumping her finger agonizingly slow, Bada flips the fabric of your dress up so she can watch your pussy open and close, beating against her finger in a fast rhythm.

"Bada–" You whine, closing your eyes and trying to move against her long, firm finger. "Touch me more, please."

"Yeah? You want more?" Bada says, continuing her slow pace.

"Yes." You cry.

"But do you think you deserve it?" She asks, glancing between your wrecked pussy to your face, which is beautifully expressive.

“I don’t kn–” you hesitate, “yes, I do.”

“I don’t know.” Bada cocks her head to the side, staring at you deeply. “You spoke to me very rudely just moments before.” She makes a thoughtful expression before looking down at you again. “I think you should apologize.”

“I’m sorry–” you begin, but she cuts you off immediately.

“You should apologize for wearing this dress to the ball.” Bada insists. “For looking so fucking sexy and letting everyone eye fuck you while I had to stand there and watch.”

“I’m s–”

“Apologize for making me think you and Hyo were fooling around behind my back.”

At this point you’re so far gone and dizzy, you don’t even fully register what she’s saying, only that you’re desperate for her to touch you more.

“I’m sorry for everything, Bada.” You say through heaving breaths.

Your fiancée gives you a satisfied smile. “I accept your apology, baby.”

Wasting no more time, Bada dives in with an almost inhumane speed, placing her mouth against you, and letting her tongue part your pussy lips as she drives it straight into you. She's rewarded with another loud, pornographic moan as she begins to slurp your juices up, volatile sounds coming from her mouth, and your slick pussy.

Bada’s nose presses against your clit in a dreadfully delicious way, stimulating it and making your legs shake around her head.

“Bada!” You chant her name like a prayer, feeling insane amounts of pleasure you never thought you’d experience in your lifetime.

She mumbles something back, the words lost against the skin of your pussy as she moves her tongue in and out of you faster, adjusting her grip around your thighs so she presses even more of your weight onto her.

Bada pulls away with a heaving breath, her chest rising and falling at a concerning speed. But she doesn't stop, she never does, and before you know it she's diving back in, licking and sucking on your pearly-shaped clit, giving you dizzying pleasure.

She flicks her tongue a few more times, dragging her lips and pressing them firmly down until she's driving her tongue back into your pussy, and moving her tongue around your walls, sucking up all the wetness you produce.

And there's tons of it—some of it is dripping down Bada’s chin in a nasty combination with her spit, the murky substance stickily beading down until it drops onto her clavicle.

"Oh fuck," you moan, your head being thrown back with your mounting pleasure. Although it felt like she’d just started, you already feel an orgasm building in the depths of your stomach. "I think I'm gonna cum!"

Briefly popping off your pussy, Bada's raspy voice speaks up. "Do it. Drench me baby, fucking cream all over my face."

Your world goes white for a long moment, your fiancée’s chants egging you on, telling you to just let the pleasure consume you. So you let it happen, you let your pussy throb and release its slick all over Bada’s face.

Quiteness follows your orgasm, but the buzzing in your ears doesn't leave you alone, nor does your bride-to-be.

“Oh baby,” Bada’s head backs away from your body, the lower half of her face absolutely drenched in your cum. She licks her lips, savoring every droplet of your essence, “you taste like a fucking dream.”

“Bada.” You whine, her words making your pussy go hot again. “Don’t say things like that.”

“What? You don’t want me to tell you how pretty your pussy is?” She leans over your face again, wiping your cum off her face with her fingers and licking it after. “Don’t want me to tell you that I could die a happy woman between your legs?”

You wrap your legs around Bada’s waist, pulling her in closer so you can give her a kiss. She lets you, thankfully, and on her tongue you can taste yourself, which makes you moan.

When she pulls away she’s wearing a much more tender look, like your kiss had brought her back from a trance. “I’m not done with you yet.” She whispers, bringing her hands down to grope your tits through the fabric of your dress.

Although it’s late and you’re already tired, you still nod at her, slipping into a submissive state yet again.

Bada smiles at you before completely getting off of the bed, making you stare up at the ceiling in confusion. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see what she’s doing, and what you see is nothing short of heavenly.

Bada’s stripped herself of her tie, her customized suit jacket, and is now only in a white dress shirt–but not for long. She chucks off the wrinkled shirt, revealing the black sports bra she was wearing under, and… a pair of muscled arms and abs?

You shouldn’t be surprised, really. Naturally, as the leader of a mafia group, she’s required to stay relatively lean and strong, yet every divot and curve of her muscles makes you want to jump her bones even more.

Bada doesn’t even realize you’re staring, she’s much too busy taking off her pants, now only in her sports bra and her boxers, with something else in her hand. She looks up then, finding you practically gaping at her, making her smirk.

“Already have you star-struck and I haven’t even started yet.” She chuckles, taking the thing in her hand and placing it closer to the ground so she can step through it.

It’s then your eyes focus in on it, realizing that–oh.

A long, girthy black strap sits across Bada’s pelvis. Your eyes widen, your heart racing a the monstrous length and girth of her strap, as well as the texture and ridges on it. You weren't just going to be fucked, you were going to be absolutely destroyed.

“When did you–” your voice dies out, completely lost for words.

“I made a stop to my bedroom before coming here,” Bada answers easily. “Call it wishful thinking, but I felt I’d need it.” She grabs a bottle of lube from the pocket of her dress pants, about to apply some to her cock when she sees movement out of her peripheral and stops.

Absolutely mesmerized, you crawl over to Bada, the material of your dress slightly pulled up so she can trace the curve of your plump ass.

Reaching out an excited hand, you grasp the base of her cock, and open your lips wide before placing them on the mushroom head of her strap.

Immediately Bada drops the lube, her head dropping down in awe to watch you lick and suck on her cock, her jaw falling open. "Fuck." She grabs your head softly, helping you move up and down, her eyes rolling shut. For a second Bada feels like the strap attached to her really is her cock, and that she can feel your plump lips move against it, bringing her unbridled pleasure.

Your slobber drips all the way down her strap and wets her grey boxers, the material turning a damp shade darker. Bada pulls you down her cock gently, trying to avoid gagging you too harshly, but she can't deny the jolt in her cunt when she hears you struggle to take the inches, a slight choking sound murmuring against the black plastic.

"You like that, don’t you?" Bada finally gathers her bearings enough to speak again.

Your eyes glisten with tears as you nod, moving off of her cock to gasp out a breath. "Please, can't wait any longer."

"Okay, baby." Bada nods, giving into your wants easily and moving on top of you again. "I’m going to make you feel so good, honey." Taking her slick cock, she gently guides it to your pussy. "Open wide."

You immediately comply and spread your legs as wide as you can, watching with parted and panting breaths how your fiancée finally nudges the head of her cock into your pussy.

Slick and wide, her cock splits your pussy open only with its mushroom head inserted, making you let out a debauched and loud moan, the sound reverberating against the walls and filling every pore in the room.

"Shit." Bada curses, feeling herself come to a stop with how hard you're clenching down on her strap. "You've gotta relax, pretty. You're very tight."

Huffing, you attempt to relax your muscles, and slowly but surely, she’s able to nudge in another inch or two before you start clenching down hard again. Her thumb comes up to your clit and rubs it gently, making your eyes close and another moan slip from your lips.

"C'mon babe, take a nice deep breath in and relax." Bada guides you, rubbing your clit with slightly more force, and at a faster speed.

"Okay." You choke out, taking in a long and shaky breath.

She feels you loosen a bit, and again she takes the chance to slide her cock further inside you, and she's finally able to slip it all in. She breathes out a long, drawn-out curse when all she's able to see of the black plastic is the small sliver of the base.

"There you go." Bada pulls her hand up to your thighs, squishing their flesh in her grip and rubbing soothing circles into them.

Your pussy clenches at your finacée’s raspy praise, a strangled whine leaving your lips. "Bada—"

"Shhh," Bada moves forward, even able to push slightly more of the strap into you as she reaches over to give you a sweet kiss, shushing your loud cries. "I've got you. Promised I was gonna make you feel good, remember?"

"Mhmm." You hum, your eyes sparkling.

"I'm not going to let my wife down." Bada keeps to her promise and begins moving, her strap slowly pulling out of your wet pussy, then firmly coming back in and making your back arch.

"Holy shit." You awe, your mouth falling open. She hadn't even started yet. Bada then begins to pick up her pace slowly, pulling and pushing through your pussy's walls, the base of her strap slapping against your lower lips and making loud sounds fill the room.

"Damn it," Bada curses, her eyes drinking in the sight of you. Plump lips parted open, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, your dress falling so that your tits are spilling out and bouncing in kind with her harsh thrusts.

Leaning forward, Bada takes a nipple into her mouth, her unoccupied hand grabbing and caressing the other, her eyes falling closed at the feeling of your tit in her mouth. Fuck, if she knew she could have had you like this long ago, she wouldn’t have waited so long.

But in a weird way, the wait made it even more satisfying, made the sounds of your pornographic moans even more sweet to Bada’s ears. 

"Bada!" There's not a single thought in your mind anymore, the space being occupied by the woman who is thrusting into your pussy at a dizzying speed, and covering your tits in her spit. The woman who swore she would never fall in love with you. The woman who’d risked her life to save you from kidnappers. Your fiancée.

Bada's mouth leaves your nipple with an obscene pop, the flesh around it slightly bruised a darker color from her sucking. "Does that feel good baby?"

"It feels so good." You almost scream, your eyes now opening to see Bada’s frantic thrusts, and how sweat is starting to form on the arches of her brows. "You're so good."

Bada closes her eyes, your words going straight to her cunt. "It's about to get a whole lot better." She leans forward again, this time grabbing your legs and folding them up, then pushing them as far as they can into your chest, giving her uninhibited access to your pussy.

You're seeing stars, you're sure of it. Bada's cock is lodged so deep in you, you swear you feel her in your stomach, your eyes widening to the size of saucers. She pounds into you at an incomparable speed, wet, sloshy sounds squirting from your pussy, making a beautiful melody with your moans, and Bada’s low groans.

A ring of cream begins to form around the base of her strap, the milky white substance catching her attention and making her teeth grit painfully against each other. "Are you close?"

"Yes, yes! Don't—don't stop!" You cry out,  your bedroom ceiling moving in your vision with every thrust of her strap.

Bada's breath catches, feeling the stimulation of her strap rubbing and pushing against her cunt build up into an orgasm. "Fuck, me too." She dips down to give you a purely tongue kiss before pulling away, panting. "Cum. Fucking cum, honey. Cum all over me."

And you do. Your mind goes blank and you let out your loudest, most obscene moan and cum on Bada's cock.

She follows close behind, letting out a low and drawn-out groan, cumming in her boxers.

Your body becomes liquid against your sheets, the only sound in the now quiet room being your staggered breath, and your fiancée’s panting.

Kissing your ankle, Bada gently unfolds your legs, making sure to be careful as she lays them back against her bedsheets and slowly pulls some of her strap out of you. You wince a bit and let out a choked whine, which she quickly silences with a sweet kiss and mumbled praises.

"It's alright, honey. You're good, you're with me." Eventually, Bada's able to fully usher her cock out of your still-tight walls and take off her harness, throwing her strap into some random, unimportant corner of the room. "Great job. You were so good, my love."

"Bada." You croak without thought.

"Yeah, honey?" Bada coos, caressing your cheek with her rough thumb.

"I'm tired."

“I know, sweet girl.” She mumbles, placing her forehead against your own. “Catch your breath, okay? I’ll clean you up. You don’t have to do anything.” Staying there for only a few more seconds, Bada sits up and walks to your bathroom, grabbing a towel and running it under some water before returning to you. She gently parts your legs, shushing any hisses of pain that leave your lips as she cleans you up, and helps you out of your tight dress.

Once you’re rid of your clothing, she moves to sit next to you.

“How are you feeling now?” She asks, staring down at you with nothing but love in her eyes.

“Sore.” You admit.

“Already?” Bada looks down at your legs, frowning. “Here,” She places her large hand on your thigh, slowly kneading your flesh in soothing circles, making you let out small, blissful sighs. “Does this help?”

“Yes.” You nod, smiling at her before closing your eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey.” A comfortable silence settles into the air between you two before your finacée breaks it. “About before,” she suddenly begins, her voice low and remorseful. “I’m sorry for what I did.”

You stare at her quietly, then speak up. “Why did you do it?”

Bada looks down at your body and sighs. “I wanted you to understand how I felt.”

“What do you mean?”

She shifts her gaze to your eyes. “I’ve been jealous of you and Hyo for days now.”

“Hyo?” You say incredulously. “Wait, is this about her taking me home? Because she only did that to stop me from seeing you and that woman kiss.”

“It’s not just because of that.” Bada shakes her head. “You two have gotten very close recently, and I didn’t know how to feel about it.” She closes her eyes, reaching deep within her to find the right words. “I guess I felt envious because she can spend all her day with you, while I’m constrained to my limited free time to see you.”

Slowly, the wheels in your cogs start to turn, and suddenly everything makes sense. “Bada, Hyo is like an older sister to me.” You tell her. “I don’t see her in that way.”

Your fiancée opens her eyes, staring at you with a mildly surprised look. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You nod.

“Oh, I see.” Bada moves her hands to your other thigh, starting to massage it. “I don’t see Raong in any romantic light either, by the way. I’ve been trying to get her off my back for years.”

“Well, clearly she doesn’t understand.” You huff.

The action is so cute, Bada can’t help but laugh. “Believe me, she understands now.” When you give her a confused look, she elaborates. “When she tried to kiss me, I told her I had a fiancée.”

Bada’s words make you smile shyly, butterflies dancing in your tummy.

“And…” She trails off, a soft smile also finding her lips. “I told her that I’m in love with my fiancée, and I would never so much as think about devoting myself to anyone other than her.”

The l word that falls from Bada’s lips makes your eyes grow impossibly wide, and your lips part in astonishment. She watches it all, never shifting her expression away from being loving.

“Bada…” you trail off, tears in your eyes. “I love you too.”

Gazing into the other’s eyes, you meet halfway in a sweet kiss, one that seals your love, and commitment to each other. 

“You are my everything,” Bada mumbles against your lips. “I will always succumb to you.”

taglist:

@aericrys, @somerandomtinyperson, @bluebada, @dallaji, @luvjanexx, @hyejuwu, @diana-rose-25, @jjlovesbada, @cephox, @prilux, @youknow1234, @fae-the-wanderer, @mightymyo, @aein-tings

(if your name is crossed out i wasn't able to to tag you)

want to join the taglist? send me a message or comment saying you'd like to be on it, and i'll add you!

[prentissluvr]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : angst ➖⟢ cw : canon typical violence, injuries, knives, non-sexual partial nudity, guilty sam, rejection, talk of death/dying, sort of a case fic at first, mentions of stitches, lots of feelings, poorly edited & my first(?) attempt at a full angst fic lol (no happy ending!), set in season 5, so some spoilers! ➖⟢ wc : 10.6K ➖⟢ listen to : my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift. requested ! summary : you get injured and sam realizes he's more scared of getting you hurt than he is of anything else, even losing you and your love.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

to be in love is the strangest experience. to be in love for a long time, for years on end with little to no reciprocation is even stranger.

somehow, you can watch him fall in love with someone else, kiss somebody new, romance another girl, and be blindsided by a fourth. jess you could never be mad at. she seemed too sweet and good for sam, for you to dislike. madison never did anything wrong either, but you did hate how much she unintentionally hurt him. sarah, too, was sweet and brave and helpful and she made him smile. that, of course, didn’t stop you from wanting to be that person instead, but you didn’t feel like you could complain.

ruby, you still feel rightfully angry with sometimes. for sam’s sake, you wanted her help to be real and true, but it felt clear to you from the beginning that not everything was right. now you’re dealing with the apocalypse and sam’s guilt that you alternate between wanting him to let go of and wanting him to feel it just a little bit longer.

besides, jess and madison are dead, so it’s unkind to be too jealous of them, and you’re sure that sam hasn’t spoken to sarah in years. and ruby’s dead too, so she doesn’t pose a threat any longer.

it’s all been so strange, because you’ve seen sam go through it all, kiss them all, love them all in some way or another, and you’re pretty sure all it’s done is make you love him more. at this point, you’re sure that you’ll never love anyone the way that you love sam. unceasingly, ardently, passionately, and for now, quietly.

but after the knowledge of the looming apocalypse has come the strangest part of it all. having loved sam since he was seventeen and secretly doing everything in his power to get away from this all, you know him and each of his mircroexpressions and tones of voice all too well. and these days, sam looks at you in ways that you’ve never noticed before. these days, sam looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in love with you.

it’s not as if you’d given up hope completely, because no one who’s as in love as you are ever will, but you’ve learned how to live with unrequited love. the pain can be stabbing and all-consuming sometimes, but it’s survivable so long as he doesn’t stop smiling at you or letting you rest in his lap or being the only one to call you a special nickname. even if you’re not the love of his life like he is yours, you’ll always mean something to him as his closest friend.

so now, it catches you off guard when sam looks at you as if he’s considering the possibility that you’re the one who hung the stars up in the sky or talks to you with this gentle joy that’s just somehow different from before. those moments are rare, but incredible to have when you consider the looming apocalypse that sam is blaming himself for. he’s battling the fact that he’s supposed to be the vessel to the devil himself, but he still finds the time to hold your pinky finger for a fleeting moment and not say a word about it. and now, sam does that thing where you say something and it makes him smile, and instead of casually holding your gaze like he used you, his gaze will falter and he’ll tilt his chin down and lick his lips as if he’s suddenly shy around you.

last night, dean was out and you and sam were researching for the case you’re working on. you ended up sitting side by side on your shared bed, trying to get comfy as the hours dragged on and the moon moved higher through the sky. completely unprompted, sam had lifted his arm up and around your shoulders, using his gentle hand to cup the side of your head and bring it to rest on his wide shoulder.

your heart soared and you did your best to keep researching, but the lull of his breathing and the clacking of the keyboard as he typed one handed sang you to sleep right then and there, tucked all cozy into his side.

you waking up in his arms certainly set the tone for today. this case is ugly and there was another victim last night, but sam has this sweet, touchy air about him. as you walk to the crime scene his hand lingers unprofessionally close to the small of your back, and from the tightness to his lips, you’re guessing that he’s holding back from saying something he knows will make you laugh.

you resist the urge to give him a secret smile, soft and loving because you’re selfish enough to try and get him to see that you want him like this. you want him to see that you already love him back, and all he has to do is let himself fall. but you don’t want to overwhelm him, so you go about assessing the crime scene and interviewing the witness like he’s your fbi partner and not the person you love most in this world.

the witness’s statement along with the security camera footage that dean saw at the police station confirms that you’re up against a shapeshifter. much like the first one the three of you hunted together in ‘05 it seems to be disguising itself as a loved one before killing its victims.

“this thing can shapeshift to look like literally anybody, but it can’t come up with something original?” dean jokes.

sam shrugs in his usual sam way. “well, it is an effective method,” sam reasons, despite knowing that dean’s just making fun. sam’s not even looking at dean; his eyes alternate from checking his computer screen where he scouts out city plumbing maps to find the best places in the sewer to look for the shifter, to letting his eyes roam over your features. you wonder if you’ll have to get used to sam staring at you as much as you do him. though, you can’t say that that’s a bad thing by any stretch. maybe he’ll finally notice the way that you look at him and maybe he’ll finally realize that it might be you who he’s been loving this whole time.

sam stands from his spot across from you, grabbing a map of the city from the bedside table. instead of returning to his original spot, he slots himself right next to you to lay the map out on the table. he runs a hand along the length of it, crossing your chest and brushing your nose with the fabric of his flannel before moving his hand back to rest right beside yours on the table top. he leans over the map and you tilt youu head to look up at him as he points out the most likely spots that the shifter could be hiding out at. you only pay half attention as he speaks, more able to take in the sight of his lips moving than the actual words that they’re forming. you’re not uncareful, you just know that sam will make sure you and dean remember the most important things when you get in the car.

—

“are you sure splitting up is a good idea?” sam stresses from the passenger seat of the impala.

“we know how to test for the shifter and we all can take care of ourselves,” dean says, repeating just about the same thing that he said before.

you lean forward in your seat. “we’ll be fine, sam. i agree, it’s not ideal, but there’s a lot of ground to cover and we can’t let the shifter get to anyone else,” you reason.

“i know,” he huffs, still unconvinced due to the possible dangers. but, there’s always danger, and if you’re siding with dean, he knows he doesn’t stand much of a chance of winning the argument anyway.

—

the sewers are dark, damp, and smell like shit. they grow even darker as the sun begins to set above ground and you’re grateful for the bright flashlight that you have on hand. you’ve been tramping through the dark and sewer waste for over an hour and heard nothing helpful from the boys.

you keep your silver knife at the ready, in case you run into anything or anyone. you all agreed that if you see each other, the very first order of business is to test yourself with your own knife to be sure. when you hear footsteps, you immediately press yourself against the wall, doing your best to stay hidden until you can see what’s heading your way. the second you see a person’s frame, you immediately recognize it as sam. he told you that you’d probably run into each other at some point, so you relax a touch. even so, you keep your knife in front of you as you step into the pathway.

“sam?” you call out, stopping a good length away from him.

“hey. yeah, it’s me,” he says, holding out his hand and knife to show you as he slices a thin line across his forearm. you sigh in relief, then quickly repeat the action to confirm to him that you’re you as well.

“you heard from dean?” you ask, closing the space between the two of you. sam meets you halfway, shaking his head.

“nothing,” he sighs, turning back where he came from.

“damn. an hour in the sewers and we’ve got jack,” you frown. “exactly how i like to spend my friday nights.”

“course it is, it’s the perfect date spot,” he jokes back, leading you left, down a new path you assume he skipped on his way over to you.

“mmm, does that mean we’re on a date, winchester?” you flirt. he takes the quip with composure as you step back into a main hallway, wide enough to walk side by side. he waits for you to be next to him before he continues. he didn’t even laugh a little awkwardly at your comment like he normally might. he must be in a flirty mood.

“if that’s what you want,” he flirts back, flashing you his gorgeous grin. the passage is still sort of tight, so his knuckles continually brush against the back of your hand, and the fabric of his jacket rustles against yours.

“being a flirt today, are we?” you tease, maybe pushing the limits a little.

“just for you,” he fires back, and that just about stuns you into silence. he’s in an awfully good mood for someone stuck hunting a killer in the sewers under an unfamiliar city. you nudge him playfully with your elbow, not even sure how to respond with words. so with that, you fall into a comfortable, familiar silence, the only sounds being the echo of your sloshing footsteps through the sewer.

out of boredom, sam teases you with his pinky finger, sticking it out and poking your hand with it. you push back gently, playing along. he escalates the game by poking your side. you giggle a little, swatting at his big hand. 

“stop that!” you whisper-shout. “what if the shapeshifter comes along and we’re too distracted because you’re tickling me?” his proximity, his flirting, and his goddamn smile are already distracting enough. 

“i wasn’t tickling you, just poking,” he teases, but doesn’t do it again since you’re right enough.

“yeah, you said that last week after you did that. it tickles, which means you’re tickling me,” you retort before letting the silence fall over you again.

you head down a narrow path, forcing sam to walk behind you. even then, you can feel his closeness. a minute later, you step out into a wider area where a grate lets in a stream of moonlight. sam comes out after you, stopping by your side. the moonlight casts a glow on his face and, like you always do, you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks, even after a long hour and counting of traipsing around in a sewer. continually, even in the more open space, he stays right by your side, close enough for your elbows to brush.

“think we should call dean?” he suggests, “regroup, maybe call it a night?”

you tilt your head to the side in acknowledgment. “tempting,” you respond, “i’m getting hungry. let’s at least call him, then go from there.” you step further into the space in fron of you, trying to escape the chilly draft coming from the narrow pathway you came in from. but the floor in here is slicker than you realize, and you slip embarrassingly hard, completely losing your footing and letting out a short gasp as you fall.

sam’s instincts are impeccable as always, and a strong arm wraps around your waist before you can fall too far. once you’re steady, sam doesn’t move to pull you all the way up and onto your own feet. he just keeps you dependant on his hold to stay off the slippery floor and brings his other hand to meet the one wrapped around your side. he looks down at you, half of his face illuminated by moonlight, the other half fallen into shadow. you stare right back up at him, flustered but too happy for any sort of such purposeful physical contact with him to care about that.

it feels like a movie with you in his arms like this, willingly stuck there by the both of you. then he leans down closer to you and your eyes widen. in the partial darkness, he looks at you like he’s no longer just wondering if he loves you, more like he knows it for sure. he looks at you with such unabashed love, so overwhelming in a way that you hadn’t expected from him for a long while, if ever. you think that for sure he’s going to kiss you, and you know even better that you’d let him without a second thought.

this certainly isn’t how you imagined it’d be at all. not this soon and not in the middle of a sewer system, surrounded by awful smells and an unpleasant humidity. you suppose that the moonlight filtering down is nice enough, and that you’d never expected anything grandiose or overly romantic with him anyway.

then you hear footsteps, and a split second later, your name being called in sam’s voice. only it wasn’t the sam holding you who said it, it was someone behind you. it only takes a millisecond for everything to click. this sam, the one holding you close, cut himself with a knife you recognized. that’s why you didn’t bat an eye, but you failed to remember that that particular knife of sam’s isn’t made of silver, just a weaker and ineffective metal alloy.

before you can process it, that exact knife is being plunged into your gut. you let out a strangled cry of pain.

sam, the real sam, shouts your name again and you think you hear his running footsteps until he stops dead in his tracks when the shifter yanks the knife from your stomach and puts it to your throat. you cry out again, choking a little on your own breath as you stretch your neck, trying to see your sam. 

but the shifter presses the knife down, drawing a line of blood on your neck and growls, “look at me. you’re going to watch your precious little sammy as he slices your throat.”

you can imagine sam putting his hands in the air, mouth open and ready to talk the shifter out of it when you hear two loud gunshots, and you’re dropped to the floor, too shaken up to break your own fall. your head hits the ground hard, and the next thing you can register is sam again. you get his voice and his hands, one sliding under your neck to cup the back of your head and the other pressing hard against your wound. he winces when you grunt in pain at that, but keeps his hand in place.

“hey, hey. stay with me. look at me, c’mon.” his words are followed by your name, said in a sweet and desperate sort of way. you’re still dazed, but your head begins to clear up a bit. above you, sam’s face is pinched in worry, so much more worry than you’d expect him to express because of something as easily fixed as a measly stab wound.

it’s not completely inconsequential and it’s bleeding a whole lot more than you’d like, but you’ve dealt with this sort of thing and worse before. sam will stitch you up and you’ll be as good as new in a few days. even better, cas might come around soon and he’ll fix it right up for you.

“‘m fine, sam,” you grumble as dean drops down by your other side.

“shifter’s dead. we should go,” he says, more to sam than you since he’s clearly the most worried out of you all. dean places his hands on your arm, ready to help you up, but sam just pulls you into his arms and up against his chest. he stands and you wince from the pain of the movement, but relax a little seconds later. you expected to limp out of this nasty place, one arm slung around each of the boys as they do the heavy lifting but keep you on your feet. it seems sam won’t risk even that; he needs you closer, more protected, and in less pain.

dean leads the way to an exit, climbing up the ladder first and opening the heavy grate. only when you urge him to does sam let you down. he knows that he can’t carry you up, but he sure would have liked to. instead, he has to settle for lifting you as best as he can, his strong hands never straying from you until they’re on your ankles and dean’s got you, pulling you up the rest of the way and letting you lean on him until sam reappears.

the fresh air is amazing to breathe in and to feel on your skin, but what you’d most like is to be laying in bed after a long, hot shower. and to not be in quite as much pain. you sigh into dean’s jacket, and just a second later he’s shifting you back into sam’s waiting arms. he doesn’t sweep you up this time, but he keeps you steady while dean jogs off to get the impala and bring it to you. with strong hands, sam eases you to the curb on the side of the road and wraps his arms around you, keeping a wide palm pressed against your wound to staunch the bleeding.

as you wait, sam is silent, and not in the soft and comfortable way he often is around you. you’re sure that he’s got a million things to say, not all of them 100% fair to you and all of them completely worried.

and there’s just so much to say that he can’t choose, and he thinks that, for your sake, he should hold back. sam knows he can get a little too angry sometimes, and you’re bleeding badly with your face smushed unattractively against his shoulder and he knows that this isn’t the time. he shouldn’t yet interrogate you about what happened or tell you aloud that he’s overly worried about you because suddenly he’s feeling things for you that he didn’t realize he was feeling before.

you let him brood in silence, and though this is just about the closest physically that you’ve been with him today, he feels sort of distant and unreachable. it pains you.

when dean arrives, sam loads you into the car, piling into the back seat after you to give you a shoulder to lean on. you can feel dean’s eyes on you as he glances back through the rearview mirror, and you’re sure that he too wants to ask what happened, how the shifter managed to trick you despite the rules you’d set.

“dean, we should head to the hospital,” sam says, his voice cutting into the tense silence of the car. you shake your head weakly.

“no, sam. i’m fine, seriously.”

“no,” he counters, “you’re bleeding a lot. we’re going to the hospital to get you some real stitches.

“your stitches work just fine,” you argue, your words half lost in the fabric of his coat.

“and what if you need more than just stitches? we can’t risk that,” he presses, and you know he’s not going to give up.

“sammy’s right,” dean piles on, and you sigh, then wince in pain. you don’t even grumble out an annoyed, “fine,” and instead just like the silence take over again as a begrudging relentment.

When all the doctors do is give you a few stitches and an iv and let you out just an hour later, you resist the urge to say “i told you so.” but really, you’re glad for the professional help, knowing that, though you still feel like shit, you’re far better off than you would’ve been if you’d gone straight back to the motel. the car ride is quiet, but you know that you’re due for a bit of an interrogation when you get back.

tonight, dean starts it, because sam is practically brooding in the corner.

“so, you gonna let us in on what the hell you were thinking back there?” he asks, sounding ready to just about throw his hands up in the air. “did you really not follow the single rule we set? it almost got you killed.”

“i know, and i did,” you sigh, “but it tricked me. it had one of sam’s knives and it cut itself and i wasn’t paying enough attention to realize it wasn’t one of sam’s silver knives. it was a damn good actor too,” you explain. dean clenches his jaw, probably looking for some other point to make. these winchesters never know when to stop arguing. “we’ve all been tricked by shifters before. it happens, i messed up, you saved my ass. that’s all.”

you guess dean’s not in as much of a fighting mood as you thought, because he just shrugs. “you’re damn right about the ass saving part.”

you crack a wry smile, “guess it’s my turn to save your ass then.”

“only thing i need saving from now is that sewer stench. so i will call first dibs on the shower.” he leaves no room for argument on that front as he disappears into the bathroom. only then do you glance at sam, wondering if he’ll say something. his expression has got so many emotions swirling around that it’s almost unreadable. but you’re you, and you know him and love him in a way that nobody else does, so you can decipher it all pretty well. there’s anger, like always, probably targeted at the shifter and a bit misplaced in you for getting yourself hurt. then there’s guilt, because, in classic sam fashion, he likely thinks that it’s his fault.

you’d put the pieces together a bit ago in the hospital. the red marks above sam’s eyebrow and around his wrists and the shifter having sam’s knife and appearance tells you that the shifter got the jump on sam. it probably hit him over the head, tied him up, and stole his knife after stealing his appearance and accessing his memories. and though you can know that it’s clearly not sam’s fault the shifter got to you, he’ll still think so.

he’s thinking that because the shifter got the drop on him, you got hurt. he’s thinking about how trusting you were because it looked like him, about the position he found you in, and though he couldn’t see it, he knows the look you were giving his lookalike. he’s sure that it was that syrup-sweet, honey-dripping-from-your-eyes look that he’s been all too aware of and all too fond of these days. and because of that, it must be his fault.

on top of that, he feels like he was the one to do it. you got hurt by something with his face. you were almost killed and the last thing you would have seen would have been a cold, dark smirk on his face as he killed you. that thought pained him more than anything he could express.

you, of course, don’t yet understand the full depth of his guilt, but it bothers you anyways. you wish that sam could stop blaming himself for everything bad that’s ever happened when all he’s ever done is try to be good. while in the midst of wondering if you should speak first, interrupt his self-destructive thoughts and tell him it’s not his fault, he beats you to it.

“you should’ve been more careful.” his voice is unexpectedly hard and cold, devoid of his usual guilt and gentleness. tonight, he’s more focused on his anger. and of course, you know it’s because of that guilt that he lashes out, but it hurts nonetheless. even so, you want to soften him and get him to open up, so you apply the opposite tactic as him.

when you speak, you let your voice be full of emotion, of sincerity and gentleness and understanding. “i know, sam. i’ll pay more attention next time, i promise. but i’m okay.”

this catches him off guard a bit. normally, when he targets misplaced anger at you, you fire back and tell him how stupid it is that he’s trying to blame you. he already knows it’s stupid, and your soft eyes make him even more guilty. it’s not as if he’s being just as silly this time, but your approach works, a little.

sam does soften a bit; you can see the slight change in the way that he holds his shoulders, but it’s not enough to get him to admit that he’s just worried and blaming himself. all you get is pursed lips and a tight brow. he just can’t get over the image of himself plunging a knife into you, can’t get over your cry of pain or the feel of your hot and sticky blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

sam’s realizing that, for all the countless times you’ve come close to death, this is the first time since he’s started to think that he’s most likely in love with you. and that, more than anything else in the world, not the literal devil or the apocalypse or whatever, is the scariest thing that sam’s had to realize and endure in a long time.

now, sam can’t run from being lucifer’s vessel. even if he never gives in, he has to confront it and fix it somehow. he certainly can’t run from the apocalypse, or the world will end. he can’t have that, not when the world is you. it’s his responsibility. sam can’t run from those things, but he sure as hell can run from the way he feels about you. and he’d do that because he can’t afford to be in love with you. you can’t afford for him to be in love with you or for you to be in love with him because it seems like that’s already gotten you stabbed by a hand that looks just like his own. and all that’s happened between the two of you is playful flirting, sidelong glances, and shared smiles, so he can’t imagine what might happen if things go an inch further than they already have.

he got jess killed, he hurt you bad with ruby, and though sarah’s still alive as far as he knows, he attributes that to the fact that she’s far, far away from him. not to mention the people he loved like family who are dead because of him too. that’s another horrifying thought because even if sam didn’t love you the way that he does, he’d surely still love you some other way.

so, sam’s going to run, sam’s not going to let you any closer, sam is going to keep you at an arm’s length. he’ll stop looking at you like he wants you, he’ll stop hovering so near, he’ll quit his goal of making you smile or laugh at least three times a day, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure you don’t love him too much. he can’t let you tell him you love him, he can’t let you confess because he’ll be too far gone if he hears that come out of your mouth. he’s gonna run because he’s decided with horror and glory all at once that yes, he does love you, and that’s the worst thing he could do to you other than slit your throat with his own two shaking hands.

from where you sit, just feet apart, you can see sam grow more and more distant by the second. you can’t figure out what’s going through his head, but you’re sure you wouldn’t like it if you heard him say it aloud. you open your mouth to say something to him, get him to say something back, but you can’t find the words. anything you come up with gets stuck in the back of your throat before you can even make a sound.

sam looks at you, just for a fleeting moment that’s too fast and slippery for you to grab hold of it. his eyes hold regret, like he’s done something that he can’t take back, and he doesn’t like what he’ll have to do next in order to keep the consequences at bay.

then his eyes are gone from yours, along with that strange look, and you’re suddenly at a loss of how to reach out to him. it hurts because you know that what it will really take is time and patience, maybe more than he deserves.

you barely notice the time passing, but you watch sam take dean’s place in the bathroom and you can feel dean’s eyes on your back. you’re sure he can feel the shift in the air. when sam returns from the shower, you realize just how badly you want to get clean. you walk to the bathroom and feel a little lucky when you find a small plastic tub to fill with soapy water. you can’t take a real shower for the sake of keeping your stitches dry, but you’ll be damned if you can’t get that sewer stench off of yourself. when you bend to place the tub at the bottom of the bathtub, you grunt audibly in pain due to the movement. you sort of expect sam to come running to help like he always does, already surprised that he didn’t offer from the start when you told the boys you were going to wash up.

apparently, dean had expected the same; while he’s more than happy to be the one to help you, sam almost always beats him to that sort of thing before he can even try. you glance through the open door and see dean looking from you to sam, back to you before he stands from his bed in a rush.

“hey, hey, whatcha doin’ all that by yourself for? can’t have you busting any stitches, we paid for those,” he jokes, already in the bathroom with you by the time he’s finishes talking.

“pfft, yeah with stolen credit cards,” you retort, without actually resisting his aid. he takes your place by the faucet, nudging the bucket under it and turning on the hot water. you’re lucky that the shower doubles as a small bath, meaning you can easily sit in it alongside the bucket and just wipe yourself down without getting the floor wet.

you sit on the closed toilet seat as dean fills up the bucket, adds some soap, and mixes it around a little.

“want me to help you in?” he offers.

“mm, are you trying to see me naked?” you poke fun.

“and if i said yes?” he jokes back.

“then you’d never see the light of day again,” you threaten, already moving to slide off your jeans, with a bit of a struggle. dean’s strong hand immediately finds your elbow, holding you steady. you’re not worried about either brother seeing you in just your underwear. with the life you live, stuck in motels, or getting hurt in less than ideal spots, they’ve seen you that way plenty. and while dean can’t hold back from a lewd comment or two, he completely respects you and views you like another sibling. he helps you with your shirt too, as lifting your arms up proves even more painful than you’d thought.

dean kindly sets a folded towel down on the bottom of the shower bed for you to sit more comfortably, then helps you ease in. then he’s grabbing two clean wash rags, dunking one in the water and handing the other to you.

“try and keep those stitches as dry as you can,” he instructs, and you oblige by placing the dry rag over your covered wound. “we’ll change the bandages when you’re done.”

“mhmm,” you nod, “thank you, dean.”

“‘course, kid. you want me to get your back? or i can send sammy in to help instead,” he offers, saying that last part loud enough for sam to hear. you glance out the open bathroom door only to catch sight of sam’s back as he heads for the outside door. he moves out of your line of sight, but you can hear the door being open and shut behind him. you sigh in disappointment and a bit of hurt. dean curses lightly under his breath and you suddenly feel awkward and ashamed for no practical reason. but dean knows that sam isn’t being as good to you as he should, so he’s being extra nice instead.

“if you– if you could do it that would be nice. thanks,” you frown, then try to fix it with a strained smile. when dean is done, he hands the damp cloth to you, and you thank him again quietly.

“just holler if you need anything else,” he reminds you before walking out, leaving the door open by just a sliver.

you carefully wipe down the rest of your body, relishing in the heat of the water and the feeling of being just a little cleaner. you’re slow about it, letting yourself savor the alone time and telling yourself that you won’t worry about the events of the day until tomorrow. during the time that you clean yourself, you hear the outside door open and close twice more, and you assume sam’s come back and left again. by the time you’re done with the soapy water, it’s gone lukewarm, but you’re successfully feeling much more relaxed.

“dean!” you call out, hoping he’ll come and change the water for you so that you can get rid of any extra soap suds still lingering on your skin. there’s no reply for a long moment. “dean?” you call again. “can you help me again?”

without a word in response, you hear footsteps, then the creak of the bathroom door. instead of dean, you find sam poking his head into the room.

he clears his throat awkwardly. “dean left to get some more food. i can, uh– i can help.”

“oh, okay,” you smile at him a little, then feel sort of pathetic because of the hope that rises in your chest. you force your voice into nuetrality. “thanks, sam. i, uh, i just need to dump this out and get some new water. it’s just sort of heavy.”

“right, yeah. of course.” sam enters the room fully, filling up the small space with his tall, broad frame. when he gets close, you extend a hand, silently asking him to help you stand first, despite the fact that you could do it yourself with the help of the wall. but sam can’t very well deny you, so he obliges by grabbing your hand and placing the other around your bicep to hoist you up. his strong hands and arms pull you up easily, and help you back onto the tile floor. you feel the tickle of a rivulet of water run down your right leg, then a few more on your left. sam dutifully pulls the towel you were sitting on out and hands it to you before he dumps out the soapy water and turns on the faucet, checking the temperature before letting it splash into the bucket

you stand there in silence, watching him work, watching him keep his eyes averted from your almost naked form, watching him struggle with being so close to you.

“there,” he says simply when he’s done, grabbing the towel from you and placing it back on the bottom of the tub. once he’s eased you back down to sitting in the shower, he straightens and takes a step backwards towards the door. but he can’t just leave, not like that. “is there anything else you need?”

you think you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, so you say yes. “uh, yeah. could you, uhm, could you just wipe down my back? i can’t tell if there’s still soap on it.” sam almost tells you that there isn’t and just walks away, but he caves to you and the look in your eyes.

he looks like he’s not sure if he wants to stiffen and close himself off and do it in silence, or soften and open himself up to being gentle with you. it seems he’s unable to treat you too coldly, no matter what sort of fear or silent commitments to staying clear of you he’s made.

“‘f course,” he agrees after a moment, getting down on his knees, pressed right up against the wall of the bathtub as he takes the wet rag from you and dips into the newly hot water. he keeps his eyes trained on the skin of your back, and you keep yours to the plain white surface of the tile wall in front of you. his hand is as gentle, warm, and encompassing as you know it to be. of course, he’s trying not to touch you directly, keeping most of his hand covered by up the cloth. but the motel rag isn’t a generous size, and his hands are, so the base of his palm or the pads of his fingertips keep brushing against your cool skin. he’s hot in comparison to you, as per usual.

the task doesn’t have to take long at all, but sam must be having trouble parting from you now that he’s back and so, so close. so, he takes the rag across the whole expanse of your back more than once, applying a gentle pressure that soothes and relaxes your still tense muscles. only once he’s heard a sigh of satisfaction leave your lips does he bring his hand away from you.

there’s a few more moments of quiet, only punctuated by the sounds of lightly sloshing water as he dips the rag back into the water, then squeezes it out so that it’s not too soaked for your next use. he hands it to you and asks, “anything else?” without getting up or even glancing at the door like he wants to escape. he lets himself look at your face for a moment, before tearing his gaze away once more.

you shake your head lightly. “that’s all. thanks.”

“mhmm,” he nods, “tell me if you need me.” that’s not how he meant to say things, but it’s how it came out anyways. and oh how you wish to tell him, i need you. he wants to hear you say it too, until he remembers himself and the fact that he’d cave if he did. and he can’t cave, not ever, not even if you told him that you need him. these days he feels like he needs you.

“okay.” you wait for him to leave before you put your attention back on yourself. when he closes the door behind himself, you heave out a deep sigh, then yawn, suddenly hit with a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. you make quick work of wiping off the rest of your body and brace yourself on the wall to stand. you’re not sure you can bear being stuck with sam in such close proximity again tonight, so you dress yourself with just a bit of trouble and leave the tub of water alone for one of the boys to take care of tomorrow.

when you leave the bathroom, dean’s still gone and sam’s laying on his bed. you almost tear up at the sight of him, tucked tightly into one half of the space and his back so purposefully facing your side of the bed. upset with this small cruelty, you climb into dean’s bed instead and fall asleep on your back before you can even change your bandages.

—

last night you caught sam reaching for your hand. he was motioning with the hand further from you, distracted as he complained about something dean said earlier. you glanced down for no particular reason and a movement caught your eye. his unoccupied hand had drifted closer to you, reaching out seemingly on instinct, as if walking next to you should mean holding hands with you. quickly, you looked away, and you never felt his hand even brush past yours. but you heard the rustle of his jacket as he moved, the pause in his words, and the shift in tone when he finally continued to speak. you don’t think he knows that you noticed.

and the day before that, he gave you this dazzling smile and didn’t even think twice about it. sometimes he’ll smile at you wide, and the pretty look on his face will be ripped away as if he’s had some horrible realization that smiling at you is somehow a sin. but this last time, the smile faded naturally, untouched by the overbearing hesitancy he seems to have kept clutched in his hands for the past few weeks since that night with the shapeshifter.

there’s this constant push and pull coming from him that you can’t quite wrap your head or heart around. many days, he’s distant and that’s it. all you get is talk of cases or how to stop the goddamn apolcalypse. other days he’s able to be decently normal; he’ll joke and chat a little and you’ll get a glimpse of your sam. and some days he just can’t stay away, like there’s this tug pulling him to you that’s too strong to resist. it calls his hand towards yours, his eyes all over your face, and his body to stand right by you. those days he can’t cover up any sort of longing gaze and he’s stuck staring right at you and missing you more than he ever imagined he’d have to.

you suppose you prefer the in between days, because they’re the closest to the sam that you’ve had by your side for so long. they’re closest to the sam that’s your best friend, the sam who didn’t know he loved you yet. those are the days you can most easily pretend that something isn’t wildly off about you and him, because dealing with unrequited love has sort of become your norm. and while the days he can’t hide that he feels more for you are a desirable confirmation that there’s some part of him that can’t resist you, they’re also a painful reminder that it’s not quite enough to keep him from distancing himself.

and lord, it just hurts so much when one of those sweet days turns sour. you’ll feel at ease, hopeful and glad for the day's luck, when suddenly the good day has turned too good or one of you has laughed too sweet and loud because of the other. at that, sam will instantly pull away as if it’s dangerous to be happy together. you can see his eyes change from content because of you to tortured because of you and all you want to do is take him by the shoulders and shake him hard. then mostly likely kiss him hard too, if you can get him to come to his senses.

of course, there’s that never ending love. you really don’t think you could stop loving him if you tried with all of your might. but there’s certainly anger. each day that passes by, you become angrier and angrier with him, so frustrated with him and his stupid decisions. with too much time to think about him and his odd behavior, you feel nearly sure that he’s just plain old afraid. of losing you or hurting you or some other classic, stupid reason and frankly, it’s completely unromantic. it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

so when sam takes today, a half-normal day where you don’t feel the weight of his hesitance bearing down on you, and he snatches that away with a simple, closed-off expression, you feel far too fed up to just let it go.

dean’s off at some bar and though his support in your argument might help—because you’re almost positive that dean is on your side and is getting nearly as frustrated as you—you need to confront sam alone first.

you let silence reign in the motel room until sam’s done showering and about to settle into doing a bit of extra research before heading to bed.

“sam,” you start, already cursing to yourself when he looks at you without any of his usual eagerness to hear you talk. you’re sure he can already tell that you’re displeased from the way you said his name. “we have to talk.” 

his jaw clenches and he glances down at the closed laptop in front of him. he contemplates how to answer for a moment. “i should really check for any signs of lucifer. we haven’t gotten anything new in weeks, we’re bound to catch wind of something soon.”

your anger flares, but you tamp it down in favor of keeping this conversation as civil as possible. an angry you plus an angry sam never ends well, and you’re determined to make yourself heard before either of you walk away in frustration.

“no, sam. don’t ignore me. i know that you checked during lunch today, so it can wait until tomorrow,” you counter.

“this is important, you know that.” his voice is so flat and emotionless and stubborn and so unlike him that it hurts.

“it is,” you agree, “but you already checked today, so i’m asking you not to make excuses and listen to me, sam. it’s not that hard.” you bite your tongue, almost wishing you hadn’t made that last biting comment because you know it’ll just antagonize him. but you also know that your anger is warranted.

you can see sam realizing he can’t get out of this conversation in the way that he purses his lips in frustration.

“i– y’know, i’ve really tried to give you time.” you don’t wait for him to really look at you to start. “we all need time sometimes, but it’s not fixing anything. you’re not… you’re not trying to fix anything, it feels like.”

he won’t even look at you when he talks. “what do you want me to fix?”

“the way you’re treating me!” you say, indignant and raising your voice a little, unable to hold back. “you– i don’t know, you’re acting so strange! like– like one second you’re normal. normal sam, my best friend sam. and then you act like you don’t want me around. like you’d rather be stuck in the car and motel rooms with anyone else in the world but me.” only once you start talking do you realize just how much you have to say. it’s not just stop acting this way, or let’s talk about it, it’s so much more. so much that you need him to hear and to understand.

your voice quiets again. “you know, once, you told me that i was a god-send. that, that you can put up with all this shit because we get to do it together. it’s always been you and me! of course, it’s always been you and dean, but sam! we’re best friends,” you say it more like a plea than a statement. “you used to say that. then it got to the point where it felt like we didn’t even have to say anything at all. we just were. it used to feel like you’d do anything for me, just like i’d do for you. i never even questioned that, not once until ruby came along. even then, i knew it wasn’t you. not an excuse, but i knew, once she was gone, you’d figure it out again. just like always. we always figure it out. so why, why for the love of god are you not even trying?” your own words hit you like a wall of bricks. when things happen, when things go wrong, or you don’t understand something, you’ve always figured it out together. what you’re supposed to do is voice your concerns to the other and usually without saying the words, ask for help. this time, sam won’t share the burden with you, won’t attempt to figure it out with you even when it so clearly involves you.

sam opens his mouth to speak, and at least he’s looking at you now, but you won’t let him say a word yet. he’ll shut you down, and you can’t have that.

“why do i suddenly feel so stuck? i feel like there’s nothing i can do, like you’re slipping away, right through my fingertips! and that’s just the strangest feeling when, for the longest time, i was convinced that you’d be the one constant in my life. i really, really thought that way, sam. and i get that i’m biased and blinded by my own feelings, i just never imagined that you’d do anything like this, pull away so suddenly and quickly and adamantly like it’s your life’s mission to put a bulletproof wall in between us. so, i guess at the very least, i’d like a bit of an explanation as to why you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

your question hangs in the air, heavier and more smothering than a water-soaked wool blanket. you suppose you could keep talking; you’re not anywhere near out of things to say, but you need him to respond. he’s the one letting the silence take over, not you. he takes a deep breath, like he’s known he’d have to explain eventually, but would never be the one to willingly bring it up.

he answers plainly, almost honest. “it’s safer this way. it’s dangerous for you to be close to me.” you want to scream because you were right. you would’ve loved to have been wrong, for him to have magically had some good reason for all this. but in the end, it has come down to the evils of the world pressing down on a good man and that good man caving to believe what the evils tell him he is. you want to scream because sam is wrong. being close to him feels like saving grace. 

he’s not cursed, he’s not the cause of all the pain and death that rains down on the people he loves. and what about him? what about all the pain and death that rains upon him? where does he get reprieve, an apology for being singled out and tossed through all of these horrors by unexplainable forces? why can’t he blame god? why can’t he see that it’s not his fault?

“that’s not true,” you beg, “and it’s not an excuse to treat me like shit.” he looks away, a physical manifestation of the fact that he doesn’t want to admit that you’re right about at least that.

“i’m not trying to… to hurt you.” sam face just falls. he looks devastated. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, in fact, he was trying to do just the opposite, but it happened anyway. “see?” he pleads, desperate for you to understand, “no matter what i do, being around me is hurting you. i can’t keep putting people through that.”

“so what? you’re gonna pretend to hate dean too?” you counter.

sam looks hurt. “i wasn’t pretending to hate you. i’d never even pretend to feel that way about you, i–” he stops himself before he can say the words and clears his throat, not trying to be subtle when he changes the subject. “dean’s different. he’s involved in all this shit too. he doesn’t have a choice but to be around me, but you? you could be safe somewhere else.”

“and you think i want that? you think i’d make the choice to leave you, just to be a little safer?” you want to keep going, but he interrupts you.

“no, that’s exactly it. you’d never leave us, and i know that. but if– if we stay at a distance, you might be safer.” he’s doing everything he can not to make it sound like he wants you to go. he just can’t explain that the issue is that he loves you, that he thinks the solution is to stop loving each other.

“that’s bullshit,” you shake your head. “sam, i know that you think you’re cursed or some shit like that, but it’s not true. none of this is your fault.”

“how? how is it not my fault? the people i love die because of me, and no other reason. how is that not my fault?” he argues, desperately believing himself.

“because you’re not the one who killed them! you didn’t make that choice. those things happened to you too, sam. how much grief and loss have you had to go through because of things you couldn’t control? it was never your fault, sam.”

“and yet, if they weren’t around me, they never would have died. it doesn’t matter what choices i made, it was the simple act of being close to me that’s gotten so many people killed. and i can’t lose you, too. i just can’t and it’s just too possible that it’ll be because of me. i can’t live with that. i can’t let you get hurt.” this is the most raw his voice has been in weeks, months maybe even. you can see just how completely, irrationally terrified he is that he’ll get you killed and you’re starting to think that he’s too far gone for you to reel back to reality, to hope and perseverance and closeness. but you can’t seem to give up, still full of things to say.

“that’s not how this works!” you refute. “this is my life, it’s your life, our life. and whether or not i’m around you or close to you, i’ll still get hurt! it’s not like i’m just going to quit hunting so you don’t have to worry. so sam, you could hurt me on purpose; pull away, refuse me when you have to know damn well how i feel about you. it’s not like i’ve ever really been that subtle, you were just never looking for it until now. or– or you could do your best and if i get hurt, it's an accident, right?” you practically beg for him to agree, for him to see that treating you this way is so much worse than anything else that could happen to you because of him.

he curses under his breath. you’re getting so close to saying the sort of words that will make his resolve snap, one way or another. he says nothing and you’re still waiting for him to understand you. so, you hit him with something even more solid and irrevocable than your logic: your love.

“you can’t seriously think that i’m going to just let things go on like this, can you? is this really your plan? to pretend we don’t care about each other? to throw over a decade of friendship out the window because you think somehow it’ll keep me safe?” you make sure that he’s looking you straight in the eyes as you continue, voice thick with emotion, “sam, there’s nothing, nothing that could keep me from loving you. i’ve loved you since you were seventeen, at least. i was watching you study, realizing that you really were gonna go to college. damn, i was so happy for you and i was ready to do anything to help you get there. then i started thinking about how much i was gonna miss you. wondering if maybe i could get away too. if we could get away together. the next week my dad dragged me away on another hunt and i didn’t see you for a year. we saw each other nearly right before you left and i considered asking if i could run away with you. but i didn’t want you to have to drag any remnants of the life with you, and i was exactly that. i wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.

“and you know, the saying that absence makes the heart go fonder, it’s not psychologically true. the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to love them. but i really felt like it was sort of true because i missed you so bad that it made me love you all the more. i tried to talk dean out of asking you to come back to look for your dad, but when i saw you again i gave up on that. i didn’t care that you had had jess or that you liked madison or sarah, and sure, ruby hurt a little more than them, but no matter what, i just liked being close to you. when i saw you again, i swore i couldn’t look away. and i was content loving you through looks and longing and letting you be. 

“but sam,” your voice cracks as you say his name and you try to swallow your tears, “this is just cruel. there’s not even anyone else, but you feel so much farther than you’ve ever been. you’d really refuse me after you dare to give me hope that you might actually love me back? i spend far too much time looking at you to miss the way you look at me. and i love listening to your voice so much that i could never miss the way your voice has changed when you talk to me as of late. you gave me hope for just a few weeks, and now you’re asking me to– to what?” you shake your head, not even sure what he’s trying to change or fix and how.

“you want me to let you go? and what, that’s it? do you want me to stick around but pretend i don’t love you? or– or do you want me to just stop loving you and you think that’ll somehow fix things? because that sure as hell isn’t possible,” you look at him so carefully, so deeply as you search for an answer in his eyes. “or do you just want me to go?”

you didn’t mean that question, but sam truly considers it. at first you desperately wish that you could take it back. you don’t want to go, you don’t think you can be apart from him like that.

but he goes and does the worst thing that he could and he tells you, “yes. you should go.” he can’t even look you in the eye when he says it and you know that you with certainty that you can’t stay. you can’t do that to yourself, to your pride, to your peace of mind. because with those four words he’s told you that he loves you, but not enough to try.

or too much, perhaps. he loves you too much to try, because it’s him who will really be worse off if something he does gets you killed. sure, you’d be dead, but sam… sam would be alive and stuck with far too much guilt and loneliness and loss and greif to deal with. but if you go, then sam can’t be responsible for you. he can’t curse you with his love that way, so sam may want you closer to him than he’s ever wanted anybody, but he wants even more for you to go.

you want to say something awful back. i hate you crosses your mind, but it’s so far from the truth that you couldn’t even say it out loud. if you did, it would still mean i love you.

you’re horrible, sam, is the next thing that falls into your mouth, but you clamp your jaw shut before those words can fall out. you don’t swallow though, you let the words sit on your tongue and you taste them and consider them. because in a way, they’re true. sam’s being horrible to you. but you’re naive, and, oh right, hopelessly in love with him, which means you want to spare him. it means that you don’t want to convince him further that he can never be good enough for you, because he is. he is when he isn’t being like this, and if he can figure it out, maybe he’ll beg on bended knee for you to come back, say he’ll do anything to make it up to you, tell you he still loves you so much and he can’t be apart from you if you’ll let him come close again.

but you’re so fucking angry at him. you’re almost blinded with love, but not quite because you already know that those hopes of yours are ridiculous moments after you think of them. he’s burned any possibility of you and him to the ground. you know this and you know that he knows it too. you hope it haunts him forever and you don’t care if that’s cruel.

“go ahead, sam,” you laugh humorlessly, bitterly. the sound makes him look up from the guilty hole he’s burning into the table top with his eyes. “add me to your list of ghosts before i’m even dead, and know, without a doubt, that this time it really was you who did it. you lit the match, sam. you pulled the trigger.” he looks at you, dumbfounded as if he finally understands what you’ve been trying to say this whole time but knows that he’s gone too far. once a trigger’s been pulled, it can’t be undone and he knows that. that knowledge is a sort of pain that rings in his ears and swirls violently in his stomach.

you grab your coat from the hanger on the wall beside you.

“wait,” he chokes out, tears shining in his eyes. you shoot him a harsh look and he shuts his mouth. he doesn’t get to say that word.

“i’ll call if i figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. otherwise, tell dean not to call, ‘cause i’m not coming back.” you grab your bag from the floor by the bed and walk past him to take all the cash from his wallet. you feel his eyes follow you until you reach the door.

hand on the door knob, you turn back to him and you stare him square in the eye to be sure he can see your tears, to show him he made you cry. you won’t tell him he’s horrible, so you’ll settle for a simple, “you’re wrong, sam. you’re wrong about this.”

then you walk out the door, cursing yourself for hating the sound of him crying more than anything in the world.

[sammyluvr]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, angst, canon typical violence, injuries, knives, non-sexual partial nudity, guilty sam, rejection, talk of death/dying, sort of a case fic at first, mentions of stitches, lots of feelings, poorly edited & my first(?) attempt at a full angst fic lol (no happy ending!), set in season 5, so some spoilers, 10.6K words. listen to my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift. requested !

summary : you get injured and sam realizes he’s more scared of getting you hurt than he is of anything else, even losing you and your love.

to be in love is the strangest experience. to be in love for a long time, for years on end with little to no reciprocation is even stranger.

somehow, you can watch him fall in love with someone else, kiss somebody new, romance another girl, and be blindsided by a fourth. jess you could never be mad at. she seemed too sweet and good for sam, for you to dislike. madison never did anything wrong either, but you did hate how much she unintentionally hurt him. sarah, too, was sweet and brave and helpful and she made him smile. that, of course, didn’t stop you from wanting to be that person instead, but you didn’t feel like you could complain.

ruby, you still feel rightfully angry with sometimes. for sam’s sake, you wanted her help to be real and true, but it felt clear to you from the beginning that not everything was right. now you’re dealing with the apocalypse and sam’s guilt that you alternate between wanting him to let go of and wanting him to feel it just a little bit longer.

besides, jess and madison are dead, so it’s unkind to be too jealous of them, and you’re sure that sam hasn’t spoken to sarah in years. and ruby’s dead too, so she doesn’t pose a threat any longer.

it’s all been so strange, because you’ve seen sam go through it all, kiss them all, love them all in some way or another, and you’re pretty sure all it’s done is make you love him more. at this point, you’re sure that you’ll never love anyone the way that you love sam. unceasingly, ardently, passionately, and for now, quietly.

but after the knowledge of the looming apocalypse has come the strangest part of it all. having loved sam since he was seventeen and secretly doing everything in his power to get away from this all, you know him and each of his mircroexpressions and tones of voice all too well. and these days, sam looks at you in ways that you’ve never noticed before. these days, sam looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in love with you.

it’s not as if you’d given up hope completely, because no one who’s as in love as you are ever will, but you’ve learned how to live with unrequited love. the pain can be stabbing and all-consuming sometimes, but it’s survivable so long as he doesn’t stop smiling at you or letting you rest in his lap or being the only one to call you a special nickname. even if you’re not the love of his life like he is yours, you’ll always mean something to him as his closest friend.

so now, it catches you off guard when sam looks at you as if he’s considering the possibility that you’re the one who hung the stars up in the sky or talks to you with this gentle joy that’s just somehow different from before. those moments are rare, but incredible to have when you consider the looming apocalypse that sam is blaming himself for. he’s battling the fact that he’s supposed to be the vessel to the devil himself, but he still finds the time to hold your pinky finger for a fleeting moment and not say a word about it. and now, sam does that thing where you say something and it makes him smile, and instead of casually holding your gaze like he used you, his gaze will falter and he’ll tilt his chin down and lick his lips as if he’s suddenly shy around you.

last night, dean was out and you and sam were researching for the case you’re working on. you ended up sitting side by side on your shared bed, trying to get comfy as the hours dragged on and the moon moved higher through the sky. completely unprompted, sam had lifted his arm up and around your shoulders, using his gentle hand to cup the side of your head and bring it to rest on his wide shoulder.

your heart soared and you did your best to keep researching, but the lull of his breathing and the clacking of the keyboard as he typed one handed sang you to sleep right then and there, tucked all cozy into his side.

you waking up in his arms certainly set the tone for today. this case is ugly and there was another victim last night, but sam has this sweet, touchy air about him. as you walk to the crime scene his hand lingers unprofessionally close to the small of your back, and from the tightness to his lips, you’re guessing that he’s holding back from saying something he knows will make you laugh.

you resist the urge to give him a secret smile, soft and loving because you’re selfish enough to try and get him to see that you want him like this. you want him to see that you already love him back, and all he has to do is let himself fall. but you don’t want to overwhelm him, so you go about assessing the crime scene and interviewing the witness like he’s your fbi partner and not the person you love most in this world.

the witness’s statement along with the security camera footage that dean saw at the police station confirms that you’re up against a shapeshifter. much like the first one the three of you hunted together in ‘05 it seems to be disguising itself as a loved one before killing its victims.

“this thing can shapeshift to look like literally anybody, but it can’t come up with something original?” dean jokes.

sam shrugs in his usual sam way. “well, it is an effective method,” sam reasons, despite knowing that dean’s just making fun. sam’s not even looking at dean; his eyes alternate from checking his computer screen where he scouts out city plumbing maps to find the best places in the sewer to look for the shifter, to letting his eyes roam over your features. you wonder if you’ll have to get used to sam staring at you as much as you do him. though, you can’t say that that’s a bad thing by any stretch. maybe he’ll finally notice the way that you look at him and maybe he’ll finally realize that it might be you who he’s been loving this whole time.

sam stands from his spot across from you, grabbing a map of the city from the bedside table. instead of returning to his original spot, he slots himself right next to you to lay the map out on the table. he runs a hand along the length of it, crossing your chest and brushing your nose with the fabric of his flannel before moving his hand back to rest right beside yours on the table top. he leans over the map and you tilt youu head to look up at him as he points out the most likely spots that the shifter could be hiding out at. you only pay half attention as he speaks, more able to take in the sight of his lips moving than the actual words that they’re forming. you’re not uncareful, you just know that sam will make sure you and dean remember the most important things when you get in the car.

—

“are you sure splitting up is a good idea?” sam stresses from the passenger seat of the impala.

“we know how to test for the shifter and we all can take care of ourselves,” dean says, repeating just about the same thing that he said before.

you lean forward in your seat. “we’ll be fine, sam. i agree, it’s not ideal, but there’s a lot of ground to cover and we can’t let the shifter get to anyone else,” you reason.

“i know,” he huffs, still unconvinced due to the possible dangers. but, there’s always danger, and if you’re siding with dean, he knows he doesn’t stand much of a chance of winning the argument anyway.

—

the sewers are dark, damp, and smell like shit. they grow even darker as the sun begins to set above ground and you’re grateful for the bright flashlight that you have on hand. you’ve been tramping through the dark and sewer waste for over an hour and heard nothing helpful from the boys.

you keep your silver knife at the ready, in case you run into anything or anyone. you all agreed that if you see each other, the very first order of business is to test yourself with your own knife to be sure. when you hear footsteps, you immediately press yourself against the wall, doing your best to stay hidden until you can see what’s heading your way. the second you see a person’s frame, you immediately recognize it as sam. he told you that you’d probably run into each other at some point, so you relax a touch. even so, you keep your knife in front of you as you step into the pathway.

“sam?” you call out, stopping a good length away from him.

“hey. yeah, it’s me,” he says, holding out his hand and knife to show you as he slices a thin line across his forearm. you sigh in relief, then quickly repeat the action to confirm to him that you’re you as well.

“you heard from dean?” you ask, closing the space between the two of you. sam meets you halfway, shaking his head.

“nothing,” he sighs, turning back where he came from.

“damn. an hour in the sewers and we’ve got jack,” you frown. “exactly how i like to spend my friday nights.”

“course it is, it’s the perfect date spot,” he jokes back, leading you left, down a new path you assume he skipped on his way over to you.

“mmm, does that mean we’re on a date, winchester?” you flirt. he takes the quip with composure as you step back into a main hallway, wide enough to walk side by side. he waits for you to be next to him before he continues. he didn’t even laugh a little awkwardly at your comment like he normally might. he must be in a flirty mood.

“if that’s what you want,” he flirts back, flashing you his gorgeous grin. the passage is still sort of tight, so his knuckles continually brush against the back of your hand, and the fabric of his jacket rustles against yours.

“being a flirt today, are we?” you tease, maybe pushing the limits a little.

“just for you,” he fires back, and that just about stuns you into silence. he’s in an awfully good mood for someone stuck hunting a killer in the sewers under an unfamiliar city. you nudge him playfully with your elbow, not even sure how to respond with words. so with that, you fall into a comfortable, familiar silence, the only sounds being the echo of your sloshing footsteps through the sewer.

out of boredom, sam teases you with his pinky finger, sticking it out and poking your hand with it. you push back gently, playing along. he escalates the game by poking your side. you giggle a little, swatting at his big hand. 

“stop that!” you whisper-shout. “what if the shapeshifter comes along and we’re too distracted because you’re tickling me?” his proximity, his flirting, and his goddamn smile are already distracting enough. 

“i wasn’t tickling you, just poking,” he teases, but doesn’t do it again since you’re right enough.

“yeah, you said that last week after you did that. it tickles, which means you’re tickling me,” you retort before letting the silence fall over you again.

you head down a narrow path, forcing sam to walk behind you. even then, you can feel his closeness. a minute later, you step out into a wider area where a grate lets in a stream of moonlight. sam comes out after you, stopping by your side. the moonlight casts a glow on his face and, like you always do, you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks, even after a long hour and counting of traipsing around in a sewer. continually, even in the more open space, he stays right by your side, close enough for your elbows to brush.

“think we should call dean?” he suggests, “regroup, maybe call it a night?”

you tilt your head to the side in acknowledgment. “tempting,” you respond, “i’m getting hungry. let’s at least call him, then go from there.” you step further into the space in fron of you, trying to escape the chilly draft coming from the narrow pathway you came in from. but the floor in here is slicker than you realize, and you slip embarrassingly hard, completely losing your footing and letting out a short gasp as you fall.

sam’s instincts are impeccable as always, and a strong arm wraps around your waist before you can fall too far. once you’re steady, sam doesn’t move to pull you all the way up and onto your own feet. he just keeps you dependant on his hold to stay off the slippery floor and brings his other hand to meet the one wrapped around your side. he looks down at you, half of his face illuminated by moonlight, the other half fallen into shadow. you stare right back up at him, flustered but too happy for any sort of such purposeful physical contact with him to care about that.

it feels like a movie with you in his arms like this, willingly stuck there by the both of you. then he leans down closer to you and your eyes widen. in the partial darkness, he looks at you like he’s no longer just wondering if he loves you, more like he knows it for sure. he looks at you with such unabashed love, so overwhelming in a way that you hadn’t expected from him for a long while, if ever. you think that for sure he’s going to kiss you, and you know even better that you’d let him without a second thought.

this certainly isn’t how you imagined it’d be at all. not this soon and not in the middle of a sewer system, surrounded by awful smells and an unpleasant humidity. you suppose that the moonlight filtering down is nice enough, and that you’d never expected anything grandiose or overly romantic with him anyway.

then you hear footsteps, and a split second later, your name being called in sam’s voice. only it wasn’t the sam holding you who said it, it was someone behind you. it only takes a millisecond for everything to click. this sam, the one holding you close, cut himself with a knife you recognized. that’s why you didn’t bat an eye, but you failed to remember that that particular knife of sam’s isn’t made of silver, just a weaker and ineffective metal alloy.

before you can process it, that exact knife is being plunged into your gut. you let out a strangled cry of pain.

sam, the real sam, shouts your name again and you think you hear his running footsteps until he stops dead in his tracks when the shifter yanks the knife from your stomach and puts it to your throat. you cry out again, choking a little on your own breath as you stretch your neck, trying to see your sam. 

but the shifter presses the knife down, drawing a line of blood on your neck and growls, “look at me. you’re going to watch your precious little sammy as he slices your throat.”

you can imagine sam putting his hands in the air, mouth open and ready to talk the shifter out of it when you hear two loud gunshots, and you’re dropped to the floor, too shaken up to break your own fall. your head hits the ground hard, and the next thing you can register is sam again. you get his voice and his hands, one sliding under your neck to cup the back of your head and the other pressing hard against your wound. he winces when you grunt in pain at that, but keeps his hand in place.

“hey, hey. stay with me. look at me, c’mon.” his words are followed by your name, said in a sweet and desperate sort of way. you’re still dazed, but your head begins to clear up a bit. above you, sam’s face is pinched in worry, so much more worry than you’d expect him to express because of something as easily fixed as a measly stab wound.

it’s not completely inconsequential and it’s bleeding a whole lot more than you’d like, but you’ve dealt with this sort of thing and worse before. sam will stitch you up and you’ll be as good as new in a few days. even better, cas might come around soon and he’ll fix it right up for you.

“‘m fine, sam,” you grumble as dean drops down by your other side.

“shifter’s dead. we should go,” he says, more to sam than you since he’s clearly the most worried out of you all. dean places his hands on your arm, ready to help you up, but sam just pulls you into his arms and up against his chest. he stands and you wince from the pain of the movement, but relax a little seconds later. you expected to limp out of this nasty place, one arm slung around each of the boys as they do the heavy lifting but keep you on your feet. it seems sam won’t risk even that; he needs you closer, more protected, and in less pain.

dean leads the way to an exit, climbing up the ladder first and opening the heavy grate. only when you urge him to does sam let you down. he knows that he can’t carry you up, but he sure would have liked to. instead, he has to settle for lifting you as best as he can, his strong hands never straying from you until they’re on your ankles and dean’s got you, pulling you up the rest of the way and letting you lean on him until sam reappears.

the fresh air is amazing to breathe in and to feel on your skin, but what you’d most like is to be laying in bed after a long, hot shower. and to not be in quite as much pain. you sigh into dean’s jacket, and just a second later he’s shifting you back into sam’s waiting arms. he doesn’t sweep you up this time, but he keeps you steady while dean jogs off to get the impala and bring it to you. with strong hands, sam eases you to the curb on the side of the road and wraps his arms around you, keeping a wide palm pressed against your wound to staunch the bleeding.

as you wait, sam is silent, and not in the soft and comfortable way he often is around you. you’re sure that he’s got a million things to say, not all of them 100% fair to you and all of them completely worried.

and there’s just so much to say that he can’t choose, and he thinks that, for your sake, he should hold back. sam knows he can get a little too angry sometimes, and you’re bleeding badly with your face smushed unattractively against his shoulder and he knows that this isn’t the time. he shouldn’t yet interrogate you about what happened or tell you aloud that he’s overly worried about you because suddenly he’s feeling things for you that he didn’t realize he was feeling before.

you let him brood in silence, and though this is just about the closest physically that you’ve been with him today, he feels sort of distant and unreachable. it pains you.

when dean arrives, sam loads you into the car, piling into the back seat after you to give you a shoulder to lean on. you can feel dean’s eyes on you as he glances back through the rearview mirror, and you’re sure that he too wants to ask what happened, how the shifter managed to trick you despite the rules you’d set.

“dean, we should head to the hospital,” sam says, his voice cutting into the tense silence of the car. you shake your head weakly.

“no, sam. i’m fine, seriously.”

“no,” he counters, “you’re bleeding a lot. we’re going to the hospital to get you some real stitches.

“your stitches work just fine,” you argue, your words half lost in the fabric of his coat.

“and what if you need more than just stitches? we can’t risk that,” he presses, and you know he’s not going to give up.

“sammy’s right,” dean piles on, and you sigh, then wince in pain. you don’t even grumble out an annoyed, “fine,” and instead just like the silence take over again as a begrudging relentment.

When all the doctors do is give you a few stitches and an iv and let you out just an hour later, you resist the urge to say “i told you so.” but really, you’re glad for the professional help, knowing that, though you still feel like shit, you’re far better off than you would’ve been if you’d gone straight back to the motel. the car ride is quiet, but you know that you’re due for a bit of an interrogation when you get back.

tonight, dean starts it, because sam is practically brooding in the corner.

“so, you gonna let us in on what the hell you were thinking back there?” he asks, sounding ready to just about throw his hands up in the air. “did you really not follow the single rule we set? it almost got you killed.”

“i know, and i did,” you sigh, “but it tricked me. it had one of sam’s knives and it cut itself and i wasn’t paying enough attention to realize it wasn’t one of sam’s silver knives. it was a damn good actor too,” you explain. dean clenches his jaw, probably looking for some other point to make. these winchesters never know when to stop arguing. “we’ve all been tricked by shifters before. it happens, i messed up, you saved my ass. that’s all.”

you guess dean’s not in as much of a fighting mood as you thought, because he just shrugs. “you’re damn right about the ass saving part.”

you crack a wry smile, “guess it’s my turn to save your ass then.”

“only thing i need saving from now is that sewer stench. so i will call first dibs on the shower.” he leaves no room for argument on that front as he disappears into the bathroom. only then do you glance at sam, wondering if he’ll say something. his expression has got so many emotions swirling around that it’s almost unreadable. but you’re you, and you know him and love him in a way that nobody else does, so you can decipher it all pretty well. there’s anger, like always, probably targeted at the shifter and a bit misplaced in you for getting yourself hurt. then there’s guilt, because, in classic sam fashion, he likely thinks that it’s his fault.

you’d put the pieces together a bit ago in the hospital. the red marks above sam’s eyebrow and around his wrists and the shifter having sam’s knife and appearance tells you that the shifter got the jump on sam. it probably hit him over the head, tied him up, and stole his knife after stealing his appearance and accessing his memories. and though you can know that it’s clearly not sam’s fault the shifter got to you, he’ll still think so.

he’s thinking that because the shifter got the drop on him, you got hurt. he’s thinking about how trusting you were because it looked like him, about the position he found you in, and though he couldn’t see it, he knows the look you were giving his lookalike. he’s sure that it was that syrup-sweet, honey-dripping-from-your-eyes look that he’s been all too aware of and all too fond of these days. and because of that, it must be his fault.

on top of that, he feels like he was the one to do it. you got hurt by something with his face. you were almost killed and the last thing you would have seen would have been a cold, dark smirk on his face as he killed you. that thought pained him more than anything he could express.

you, of course, don’t yet understand the full depth of his guilt, but it bothers you anyways. you wish that sam could stop blaming himself for everything bad that’s ever happened when all he’s ever done is try to be good. while in the midst of wondering if you should speak first, interrupt his self-destructive thoughts and tell him it’s not his fault, he beats you to it.

“you should’ve been more careful.” his voice is unexpectedly hard and cold, devoid of his usual guilt and gentleness. tonight, he’s more focused on his anger. and of course, you know it’s because of that guilt that he lashes out, but it hurts nonetheless. even so, you want to soften him and get him to open up, so you apply the opposite tactic as him.

when you speak, you let your voice be full of emotion, of sincerity and gentleness and understanding. “i know, sam. i’ll pay more attention next time, i promise. but i’m okay.”

this catches him off guard a bit. normally, when he targets misplaced anger at you, you fire back and tell him how stupid it is that he’s trying to blame you. he already knows it’s stupid, and your soft eyes make him even more guilty. it’s not as if he’s being just as silly this time, but your approach works, a little.

sam does soften a bit; you can see the slight change in the way that he holds his shoulders, but it’s not enough to get him to admit that he’s just worried and blaming himself. all you get is pursed lips and a tight brow. he just can’t get over the image of himself plunging a knife into you, can’t get over your cry of pain or the feel of your hot and sticky blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

sam’s realizing that, for all the countless times you’ve come close to death, this is the first time since he’s started to think that he’s most likely in love with you. and that, more than anything else in the world, not the literal devil or the apocalypse or whatever, is the scariest thing that sam’s had to realize and endure in a long time.

now, sam can’t run from being lucifer’s vessel. even if he never gives in, he has to confront it and fix it somehow. he certainly can’t run from the apocalypse, or the world will end. he can’t have that, not when the world is you. it’s his responsibility. sam can’t run from those things, but he sure as hell can run from the way he feels about you. and he’d do that because he can’t afford to be in love with you. you can’t afford for him to be in love with you or for you to be in love with him because it seems like that’s already gotten you stabbed by a hand that looks just like his own. and all that’s happened between the two of you is playful flirting, sidelong glances, and shared smiles, so he can’t imagine what might happen if things go an inch further than they already have.

he got jess killed, he hurt you bad with ruby, and though sarah’s still alive as far as he knows, he attributes that to the fact that she’s far, far away from him. not to mention the people he loved like family who are dead because of him too. that’s another horrifying thought because even if sam didn’t love you the way that he does, he’d surely still love you some other way.

so, sam’s going to run, sam’s not going to let you any closer, sam is going to keep you at an arm’s length. he’ll stop looking at you like he wants you, he’ll stop hovering so near, he’ll quit his goal of making you smile or laugh at least three times a day, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure you don’t love him too much. he can’t let you tell him you love him, he can’t let you confess because he’ll be too far gone if he hears that come out of your mouth. he’s gonna run because he’s decided with horror and glory all at once that yes, he does love you, and that’s the worst thing he could do to you other than slit your throat with his own two shaking hands.

from where you sit, just feet apart, you can see sam grow more and more distant by the second. you can’t figure out what’s going through his head, but you’re sure you wouldn’t like it if you heard him say it aloud. you open your mouth to say something to him, get him to say something back, but you can’t find the words. anything you come up with gets stuck in the back of your throat before you can even make a sound.

sam looks at you, just for a fleeting moment that’s too fast and slippery for you to grab hold of it. his eyes hold regret, like he’s done something that he can’t take back, and he doesn’t like what he’ll have to do next in order to keep the consequences at bay.

then his eyes are gone from yours, along with that strange look, and you’re suddenly at a loss of how to reach out to him. it hurts because you know that what it will really take is time and patience, maybe more than he deserves.

you barely notice the time passing, but you watch sam take dean’s place in the bathroom and you can feel dean’s eyes on your back. you’re sure he can feel the shift in the air. when sam returns from the shower, you realize just how badly you want to get clean. you walk to the bathroom and feel a little lucky when you find a small plastic tub to fill with soapy water. you can’t take a real shower for the sake of keeping your stitches dry, but you’ll be damned if you can’t get that sewer stench off of yourself. when you bend to place the tub at the bottom of the bathtub, you grunt audibly in pain due to the movement. you sort of expect sam to come running to help like he always does, already surprised that he didn’t offer from the start when you told the boys you were going to wash up.

apparently, dean had expected the same; while he’s more than happy to be the one to help you, sam almost always beats him to that sort of thing before he can even try. you glance through the open door and see dean looking from you to sam, back to you before he stands from his bed in a rush.

“hey, hey, whatcha doin’ all that by yourself for? can’t have you busting any stitches, we paid for those,” he jokes, already in the bathroom with you by the time he’s finishes talking.

“pfft, yeah with stolen credit cards,” you retort, without actually resisting his aid. he takes your place by the faucet, nudging the bucket under it and turning on the hot water. you’re lucky that the shower doubles as a small bath, meaning you can easily sit in it alongside the bucket and just wipe yourself down without getting the floor wet.

you sit on the closed toilet seat as dean fills up the bucket, adds some soap, and mixes it around a little.

“want me to help you in?” he offers.

“mm, are you trying to see me naked?” you poke fun.

“and if i said yes?” he jokes back.

“then you’d never see the light of day again,” you threaten, already moving to slide off your jeans, with a bit of a struggle. dean’s strong hand immediately finds your elbow, holding you steady. you’re not worried about either brother seeing you in just your underwear. with the life you live, stuck in motels, or getting hurt in less than ideal spots, they’ve seen you that way plenty. and while dean can’t hold back from a lewd comment or two, he completely respects you and views you like another sibling. he helps you with your shirt too, as lifting your arms up proves even more painful than you’d thought.

dean kindly sets a folded towel down on the bottom of the shower bed for you to sit more comfortably, then helps you ease in. then he’s grabbing two clean wash rags, dunking one in the water and handing the other to you.

“try and keep those stitches as dry as you can,” he instructs, and you oblige by placing the dry rag over your covered wound. “we’ll change the bandages when you’re done.”

“mhmm,” you nod, “thank you, dean.”

“‘course, kid. you want me to get your back? or i can send sammy in to help instead,” he offers, saying that last part loud enough for sam to hear. you glance out the open bathroom door only to catch sight of sam’s back as he heads for the outside door. he moves out of your line of sight, but you can hear the door being open and shut behind him. you sigh in disappointment and a bit of hurt. dean curses lightly under his breath and you suddenly feel awkward and ashamed for no practical reason. but dean knows that sam isn’t being as good to you as he should, so he’s being extra nice instead.

“if you– if you could do it that would be nice. thanks,” you frown, then try to fix it with a strained smile. when dean is done, he hands the damp cloth to you, and you thank him again quietly.

“just holler if you need anything else,” he reminds you before walking out, leaving the door open by just a sliver.

you carefully wipe down the rest of your body, relishing in the heat of the water and the feeling of being just a little cleaner. you’re slow about it, letting yourself savor the alone time and telling yourself that you won’t worry about the events of the day until tomorrow. during the time that you clean yourself, you hear the outside door open and close twice more, and you assume sam’s come back and left again. by the time you’re done with the soapy water, it’s gone lukewarm, but you’re successfully feeling much more relaxed.

“dean!” you call out, hoping he’ll come and change the water for you so that you can get rid of any extra soap suds still lingering on your skin. there’s no reply for a long moment. “dean?” you call again. “can you help me again?”

without a word in response, you hear footsteps, then the creak of the bathroom door. instead of dean, you find sam poking his head into the room.

he clears his throat awkwardly. “dean left to get some more food. i can, uh– i can help.”

“oh, okay,” you smile at him a little, then feel sort of pathetic because of the hope that rises in your chest. you force your voice into nuetrality. “thanks, sam. i, uh, i just need to dump this out and get some new water. it’s just sort of heavy.”

“right, yeah. of course.” sam enters the room fully, filling up the small space with his tall, broad frame. when he gets close, you extend a hand, silently asking him to help you stand first, despite the fact that you could do it yourself with the help of the wall. but sam can’t very well deny you, so he obliges by grabbing your hand and placing the other around your bicep to hoist you up. his strong hands and arms pull you up easily, and help you back onto the tile floor. you feel the tickle of a rivulet of water run down your right leg, then a few more on your left. sam dutifully pulls the towel you were sitting on out and hands it to you before he dumps out the soapy water and turns on the faucet, checking the temperature before letting it splash into the bucket

you stand there in silence, watching him work, watching him keep his eyes averted from your almost naked form, watching him struggle with being so close to you.

“there,” he says simply when he’s done, grabbing the towel from you and placing it back on the bottom of the tub. once he’s eased you back down to sitting in the shower, he straightens and takes a step backwards towards the door. but he can’t just leave, not like that. “is there anything else you need?”

you think you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, so you say yes. “uh, yeah. could you, uhm, could you just wipe down my back? i can’t tell if there’s still soap on it.” sam almost tells you that there isn’t and just walks away, but he caves to you and the look in your eyes.

he looks like he’s not sure if he wants to stiffen and close himself off and do it in silence, or soften and open himself up to being gentle with you. it seems he’s unable to treat you too coldly, no matter what sort of fear or silent commitments to staying clear of you he’s made.

“‘f course,” he agrees after a moment, getting down on his knees, pressed right up against the wall of the bathtub as he takes the wet rag from you and dips into the newly hot water. he keeps his eyes trained on the skin of your back, and you keep yours to the plain white surface of the tile wall in front of you. his hand is as gentle, warm, and encompassing as you know it to be. of course, he’s trying not to touch you directly, keeping most of his hand covered by up the cloth. but the motel rag isn’t a generous size, and his hands are, so the base of his palm or the pads of his fingertips keep brushing against your cool skin. he’s hot in comparison to you, as per usual.

the task doesn’t have to take long at all, but sam must be having trouble parting from you now that he’s back and so, so close. so, he takes the rag across the whole expanse of your back more than once, applying a gentle pressure that soothes and relaxes your still tense muscles. only once he’s heard a sigh of satisfaction leave your lips does he bring his hand away from you.

there’s a few more moments of quiet, only punctuated by the sounds of lightly sloshing water as he dips the rag back into the water, then squeezes it out so that it’s not too soaked for your next use. he hands it to you and asks, “anything else?” without getting up or even glancing at the door like he wants to escape. he lets himself look at your face for a moment, before tearing his gaze away once more.

you shake your head lightly. “that’s all. thanks.”

“mhmm,” he nods, “tell me if you need me.” that’s not how he meant to say things, but it’s how it came out anyways. and oh how you wish to tell him, i need you. he wants to hear you say it too, until he remembers himself and the fact that he’d cave if he did. and he can’t cave, not ever, not even if you told him that you need him. these days he feels like he needs you.

“okay.” you wait for him to leave before you put your attention back on yourself. when he closes the door behind himself, you heave out a deep sigh, then yawn, suddenly hit with a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. you make quick work of wiping off the rest of your body and brace yourself on the wall to stand. you’re not sure you can bear being stuck with sam in such close proximity again tonight, so you dress yourself with just a bit of trouble and leave the tub of water alone for one of the boys to take care of tomorrow.

when you leave the bathroom, dean’s still gone and sam’s laying on his bed. you almost tear up at the sight of him, tucked tightly into one half of the space and his back so purposefully facing your side of the bed. upset with this small cruelty, you climb into dean’s bed instead and fall asleep on your back before you can even change your bandages.

—

last night you caught sam reaching for your hand. he was motioning with the hand further from you, distracted as he complained about something dean said earlier. you glanced down for no particular reason and a movement caught your eye. his unoccupied hand had drifted closer to you, reaching out seemingly on instinct, as if walking next to you should mean holding hands with you. quickly, you looked away, and you never felt his hand even brush past yours. but you heard the rustle of his jacket as he moved, the pause in his words, and the shift in tone when he finally continued to speak. you don’t think he knows that you noticed.

and the day before that, he gave you this dazzling smile and didn’t even think twice about it. sometimes he’ll smile at you wide, and the pretty look on his face will be ripped away as if he’s had some horrible realization that smiling at you is somehow a sin. but this last time, the smile faded naturally, untouched by the overbearing hesitancy he seems to have kept clutched in his hands for the past few weeks since that night with the shapeshifter.

there’s this constant push and pull coming from him that you can’t quite wrap your head or heart around. many days, he’s distant and that’s it. all you get is talk of cases or how to stop the goddamn apolcalypse. other days he’s able to be decently normal; he’ll joke and chat a little and you’ll get a glimpse of your sam. and some days he just can’t stay away, like there’s this tug pulling him to you that’s too strong to resist. it calls his hand towards yours, his eyes all over your face, and his body to stand right by you. those days he can’t cover up any sort of longing gaze and he’s stuck staring right at you and missing you more than he ever imagined he’d have to.

you suppose you prefer the in between days, because they’re the closest to the sam that you’ve had by your side for so long. they’re closest to the sam that’s your best friend, the sam who didn’t know he loved you yet. those are the days you can most easily pretend that something isn’t wildly off about you and him, because dealing with unrequited love has sort of become your norm. and while the days he can’t hide that he feels more for you are a desirable confirmation that there’s some part of him that can’t resist you, they’re also a painful reminder that it’s not quite enough to keep him from distancing himself.

and lord, it just hurts so much when one of those sweet days turns sour. you’ll feel at ease, hopeful and glad for the day’s luck, when suddenly the good day has turned too good or one of you has laughed too sweet and loud because of the other. at that, sam will instantly pull away as if it’s dangerous to be happy together. you can see his eyes change from content because of you to tortured because of you and all you want to do is take him by the shoulders and shake him hard. then mostly likely kiss him hard too, if you can get him to come to his senses.

of course, there’s that never ending love. you really don’t think you could stop loving him if you tried with all of your might. but there’s certainly anger. each day that passes by, you become angrier and angrier with him, so frustrated with him and his stupid decisions. with too much time to think about him and his odd behavior, you feel nearly sure that he’s just plain old afraid. of losing you or hurting you or some other classic, stupid reason and frankly, it’s completely unromantic. it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

so when sam takes today, a half-normal day where you don’t feel the weight of his hesitance bearing down on you, and he snatches that away with a simple, closed-off expression, you feel far too fed up to just let it go.

dean’s off at some bar and though his support in your argument might help—because you’re almost positive that dean is on your side and is getting nearly as frustrated as you—you need to confront sam alone first.

you let silence reign in the motel room until sam’s done showering and about to settle into doing a bit of extra research before heading to bed.

“sam,” you start, already cursing to yourself when he looks at you without any of his usual eagerness to hear you talk. you’re sure he can already tell that you’re displeased from the way you said his name. “we have to talk.” 

his jaw clenches and he glances down at the closed laptop in front of him. he contemplates how to answer for a moment. “i should really check for any signs of lucifer. we haven’t gotten anything new in weeks, we’re bound to catch wind of something soon.”

your anger flares, but you tamp it down in favor of keeping this conversation as civil as possible. an angry you plus an angry sam never ends well, and you’re determined to make yourself heard before either of you walk away in frustration.

“no, sam. don’t ignore me. i know that you checked during lunch today, so it can wait until tomorrow,” you counter.

“this is important, you know that.” his voice is so flat and emotionless and stubborn and so unlike him that it hurts.

“it is,” you agree, “but you already checked today, so i’m asking you not to make excuses and listen to me, sam. it’s not that hard.” you bite your tongue, almost wishing you hadn’t made that last biting comment because you know it’ll just antagonize him. but you also know that your anger is warranted.

you can see sam realizing he can’t get out of this conversation in the way that he purses his lips in frustration.

“i– y’know, i’ve really tried to give you time.” you don’t wait for him to really look at you to start. “we all need time sometimes, but it’s not fixing anything. you’re not… you’re not trying to fix anything, it feels like.”

he won’t even look at you when he talks. “what do you want me to fix?”

“the way you’re treating me!” you say, indignant and raising your voice a little, unable to hold back. “you– i don’t know, you’re acting so strange! like– like one second you’re normal. normal sam, my best friend sam. and then you act like you don’t want me around. like you’d rather be stuck in the car and motel rooms with anyone else in the world but me.” only once you start talking do you realize just how much you have to say. it’s not just stop acting this way, or let’s talk about it, it’s so much more. so much that you need him to hear and to understand.

your voice quiets again. “you know, once, you told me that i was a god-send. that, that you can put up with all this shit because we get to do it together. it’s always been you and me! of course, it’s always been you and dean, but sam! we’re best friends,” you say it more like a plea than a statement. “you used to say that. then it got to the point where it felt like we didn’t even have to say anything at all. we just were. it used to feel like you’d do anything for me, just like i’d do for you. i never even questioned that, not once until ruby came along. even then, i knew it wasn’t you. not an excuse, but i knew, once she was gone, you’d figure it out again. just like always. we always figure it out. so why, why for the love of god are you not even trying?” your own words hit you like a wall of bricks. when things happen, when things go wrong, or you don’t understand something, you’ve always figured it out together. what you’re supposed to do is voice your concerns to the other and usually without saying the words, ask for help. this time, sam won’t share the burden with you, won’t attempt to figure it out with you even when it so clearly involves you.

sam opens his mouth to speak, and at least he’s looking at you now, but you won’t let him say a word yet. he’ll shut you down, and you can’t have that.

“why do i suddenly feel so stuck? i feel like there’s nothing i can do, like you’re slipping away, right through my fingertips! and that’s just the strangest feeling when, for the longest time, i was convinced that you’d be the one constant in my life. i really, really thought that way, sam. and i get that i’m biased and blinded by my own feelings, i just never imagined that you’d do anything like this, pull away so suddenly and quickly and adamantly like it’s your life’s mission to put a bulletproof wall in between us. so, i guess at the very least, i’d like a bit of an explanation as to why you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

your question hangs in the air, heavier and more smothering than a water-soaked wool blanket. you suppose you could keep talking; you’re not anywhere near out of things to say, but you need him to respond. he’s the one letting the silence take over, not you. he takes a deep breath, like he’s known he’d have to explain eventually, but would never be the one to willingly bring it up.

he answers plainly, almost honest. “it’s safer this way. it’s dangerous for you to be close to me.” you want to scream because you were right. you would’ve loved to have been wrong, for him to have magically had some good reason for all this. but in the end, it has come down to the evils of the world pressing down on a good man and that good man caving to believe what the evils tell him he is. you want to scream because sam is wrong. being close to him feels like saving grace. 

he’s not cursed, he’s not the cause of all the pain and death that rains down on the people he loves. and what about him? what about all the pain and death that rains upon him? where does he get reprieve, an apology for being singled out and tossed through all of these horrors by unexplainable forces? why can’t he blame god? why can’t he see that it’s not his fault?

“that’s not true,” you beg, “and it’s not an excuse to treat me like shit.” he looks away, a physical manifestation of the fact that he doesn’t want to admit that you’re right about at least that.

“i’m not trying to… to hurt you.” sam face just falls. he looks devastated. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, in fact, he was trying to do just the opposite, but it happened anyway. “see?” he pleads, desperate for you to understand, “no matter what i do, being around me is hurting you. i can’t keep putting people through that.”

“so what? you’re gonna pretend to hate dean too?” you counter.

sam looks hurt. “i wasn’t pretending to hate you. i’d never even pretend to feel that way about you, i–” he stops himself before he can say the words and clears his throat, not trying to be subtle when he changes the subject. “dean’s different. he’s involved in all this shit too. he doesn’t have a choice but to be around me, but you? you could be safe somewhere else.”

“and you think i want that? you think i’d make the choice to leave you, just to be a little safer?” you want to keep going, but he interrupts you.

“no, that’s exactly it. you’d never leave us, and i know that. but if– if we stay at a distance, you might be safer.” he’s doing everything he can not to make it sound like he wants you to go. he just can’t explain that the issue is that he loves you, that he thinks the solution is to stop loving each other.

“that’s bullshit,” you shake your head. “sam, i know that you think you’re cursed or some shit like that, but it’s not true. none of this is your fault.”

“how? how is it not my fault? the people i love die because of me, and no other reason. how is that not my fault?” he argues, desperately believing himself.

“because you’re not the one who killed them! you didn’t make that choice. those things happened to you too, sam. how much grief and loss have you had to go through because of things you couldn’t control? it was never your fault, sam.”

“and yet, if they weren’t around me, they never would have died. it doesn’t matter what choices i made, it was the simple act of being close to me that’s gotten so many people killed. and i can’t lose you, too. i just can’t and it’s just too possible that it’ll be because of me. i can’t live with that. i can’t let you get hurt.” this is the most raw his voice has been in weeks, months maybe even. you can see just how completely, irrationally terrified he is that he’ll get you killed and you’re starting to think that he’s too far gone for you to reel back to reality, to hope and perseverance and closeness. but you can’t seem to give up, still full of things to say.

“that’s not how this works!” you refute. “this is my life, it’s your life, our life. and whether or not i’m around you or close to you, i’ll still get hurt! it’s not like i’m just going to quit hunting so you don’t have to worry. so sam, you could hurt me on purpose; pull away, refuse me when you have to know damn well how i feel about you. it’s not like i’ve ever really been that subtle, you were just never looking for it until now. or– or you could do your best and if i get hurt, it’s an accident, right?” you practically beg for him to agree, for him to see that treating you this way is so much worse than anything else that could happen to you because of him.

he curses under his breath. you’re getting so close to saying the sort of words that will make his resolve snap, one way or another. he says nothing and you’re still waiting for him to understand you. so, you hit him with something even more solid and irrevocable than your logic: your love.

“you can’t seriously think that i’m going to just let things go on like this, can you? is this really your plan? to pretend we don’t care about each other? to throw over a decade of friendship out the window because you think somehow it’ll keep me safe?” you make sure that he’s looking you straight in the eyes as you continue, voice thick with emotion, “sam, there’s nothing, nothing that could keep me from loving you. i’ve loved you since you were seventeen, at least. i was watching you study, realizing that you really were gonna go to college. damn, i was so happy for you and i was ready to do anything to help you get there. then i started thinking about how much i was gonna miss you. wondering if maybe i could get away too. if we could get away together. the next week my dad dragged me away on another hunt and i didn’t see you for a year. we saw each other nearly right before you left and i considered asking if i could run away with you. but i didn’t want you to have to drag any remnants of the life with you, and i was exactly that. i wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.

“and you know, the saying that absence makes the heart go fonder, it’s not psychologically true. the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to love them. but i really felt like it was sort of true because i missed you so bad that it made me love you all the more. i tried to talk dean out of asking you to come back to look for your dad, but when i saw you again i gave up on that. i didn’t care that you had had jess or that you liked madison or sarah, and sure, ruby hurt a little more than them, but no matter what, i just liked being close to you. when i saw you again, i swore i couldn’t look away. and i was content loving you through looks and longing and letting you be. 

“but sam,” your voice cracks as you say his name and you try to swallow your tears, “this is just cruel. there’s not even anyone else, but you feel so much farther than you’ve ever been. you’d really refuse me after you dare to give me hope that you might actually love me back? i spend far too much time looking at you to miss the way you look at me. and i love listening to your voice so much that i could never miss the way your voice has changed when you talk to me as of late. you gave me hope for just a few weeks, and now you’re asking me to– to what?” you shake your head, not even sure what he’s trying to change or fix and how.

“you want me to let you go? and what, that’s it? do you want me to stick around but pretend i don’t love you? or– or do you want me to just stop loving you and you think that’ll somehow fix things? because that sure as hell isn’t possible,” you look at him so carefully, so deeply as you search for an answer in his eyes. “or do you just want me to go?”

you didn’t mean that question, but sam truly considers it. at first you desperately wish that you could take it back. you don’t want to go, you don’t think you can be apart from him like that.

but he goes and does the worst thing that he could and he tells you, “yes. you should go.” he can’t even look you in the eye when he says it and you know that you with certainty that you can’t stay. you can’t do that to yourself, to your pride, to your peace of mind. because with those four words he’s told you that he loves you, but not enough to try.

or too much, perhaps. he loves you too much to try, because it’s him who will really be worse off if something he does gets you killed. sure, you’d be dead, but sam… sam would be alive and stuck with far too much guilt and loneliness and loss and greif to deal with. but if you go, then sam can’t be responsible for you. he can’t curse you with his love that way, so sam may want you closer to him than he’s ever wanted anybody, but he wants even more for you to go.

you want to say something awful back. i hate you crosses your mind, but it’s so far from the truth that you couldn’t even say it out loud. if you did, it would still mean i love you.

you’re horrible, sam, is the next thing that falls into your mouth, but you clamp your jaw shut before those words can fall out. you don’t swallow though, you let the words sit on your tongue and you taste them and consider them. because in a way, they’re true. sam’s being horrible to you. but you’re naive, and, oh right, hopelessly in love with him, which means you want to spare him. it means that you don’t want to convince him further that he can never be good enough for you, because he is. he is when he isn’t being like this, and if he can figure it out, maybe he’ll beg on bended knee for you to come back, say he’ll do anything to make it up to you, tell you he still loves you so much and he can’t be apart from you if you’ll let him come close again.

but you’re so fucking angry at him. you’re almost blinded with love, but not quite because you already know that those hopes of yours are ridiculous moments after you think of them. he’s burned any possibility of you and him to the ground. you know this and you know that he knows it too. you hope it haunts him forever and you don’t care if that’s cruel.

“go ahead, sam,” you laugh humorlessly, bitterly. the sound makes him look up from the guilty hole he’s burning into the table top with his eyes. “add me to your list of ghosts before i’m even dead, and know, without a doubt, that this time it really was you who did it. you lit the match, sam. you pulled the trigger.” he looks at you, dumbfounded as if he finally understands what you’ve been trying to say this whole time but knows that he’s gone too far. once a trigger’s been pulled, it can’t be undone and he knows that. that knowledge is a sort of pain that rings in his ears and swirls violently in his stomach.

you grab your coat from the hanger on the wall beside you.

“wait,” he chokes out, tears shining in his eyes. you shoot him a harsh look and he shuts his mouth. he doesn’t get to say that word.

“i’ll call if i figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. otherwise, tell dean not to call, ‘cause i’m not coming back.” you grab your bag from the floor by the bed and walk past him to take all the cash from his wallet. you feel his eyes follow you until you reach the door.

hand on the door knob, you turn back to him and you stare him square in the eye to be sure he can see your tears, to show him he made you cry. you won’t tell him he’s horrible, so you’ll settle for a simple, “you’re wrong, sam. you’re wrong about this.”

then you walk out the door, cursing yourself for hating the sound of him crying more than anything in the world.

[forwntrx]

GIRLS LIKE GIRLS ┊͙˚. 14. TALK?

𑁍┊let's stop for now (written portion)

"jenn?" you had just gotten home. you kicked off your wet heels and slopped onto your living room's couch. the rain had gotten you good, soaking you, and making you run inside for dear life. the dorms were almost dead quiet, aside from a hum of pop music coming from the bedrooms'. most likely ning. jimin had said she wouldn't be back until later, something about a sleepover, and you had no idea where or what minjeong was doing. the thought of your bandmate caused the stress to comeback to your shoulders.

you hated this feeling.

usually, you could bounce back from anything.

thousands of hate comments, death threats, insensitive remarks about your weight and style. none of that mattered to you, not like how minjeong's absence did.

"yes?" yunjin's voice was far away. you glanced at your phone screen. she had set up her phone for you. it was a sweet thing she did whenever you two facetimed, so you could always see her no matter what she was doing.

for the past thirty minutes, she had been cooking in her kitchen, and you swore you could smell the spices through the screen. chaewon had popped her head in for a moment, waved, and stole a treat while yunjin wasn't looking. melodramatically, yunjin had complained, proceeded to chase after her, and you couldn't help but laugh.

yunjin's company was nice, but you couldn't help but feel wrong. until you figured out this minjeong stuff, this (whatever it was) couldn't happen.

"can i talk to you about something?"

"oh shit! yes! wait! fuck! is this serious?" yunjin cursed. she dropped both of the pans she was holding. the pans shrieked across the screen so loud that you had to recoil.

you grimaced. "sorry."

"no worries! i saved them!" yunjin showed you the unharmed dessert, an array of cinnamon-dripped rolls. you had to stop your mouth from overfilling with saliva. your stomach wanted to run across seoul and devour everything she had made. but you reminded yourself of what was important right now. cinnamon rolls could wait. hell, everything could.

you took a deep breath. yunjin wasn't a hard person to understand, for the most part what you saw was what you got. that's one of the things you loved about her. she was effortlessly herself. but because of that, you knew how she would respond.

"what's up? are you oaky?" yunjin interrupted your thoughts.

"i'm fine..i.." you took a deep breath. her smile was wide, and bright, and terrified you. you didn't want to be the one to take away her smile.

"listen, yunjin. i love our friendship and i would never want to do anything to harm it, y'know? i'm going through a lot with my bandmate right now and i don't want you to be in the middle of it.."

yunjin's smile fell. she tried her best to hide it. she wasn't stupid. you guys had mutual friends. it was a matter-of-time before you confirmed what she had already known.

"she kissed you, right?"

oh. you hadn't expected that from her. you swallowed. you remembered it well. the moment had been replaying in your head over and over. the softness of her lips. the longing. the sweetness. but also the need for something more. the fear, and then, everything sweet between you two that turned bitter.

"yeah." you're not a liar, and you won't cover your ass.

yunjin is quiet on the other side of the line. you can't tell if she's thinking, seething, or upset. you hoped it was something else entirely.

"do you...have feelings for her?"

you sighed.

"i don't know." you really didn't. everything was new. you had never really kissed anyone or thought about the idea of a relationship. you also knew that even if you liked someone that you were an idol first. you had a reputation to uphold.

"okay." yunjin nodded her head, "i'm not upset with you. i had heard about it from ryujin but i wasn't sure if it was true. and i'm glad you care about me enough to let me know what's going on, but right now i'm thinking you don't know me that well.."

you titled your head. "what?"

"mhm, if you knew me you would know i already told misi that we were meant to be." yunjin said.

you shook your head. "seriously?"

"when have i ever lied to you?"

you laughed. her stuffed animal. a bird. she was unbelievable.

yunjin continued. "in the end, it'll be me and you. you know how i know that?"

you couldn't help but grin. she was so unpredictable, but in the best way.

"how, jenn?"

"i went to a fucking psychic."

you rolled your eyes. "i was expecting an actual deep-ass answer, not bullshit."

yunjin shrugged. "it's true! the cards said it~ can't argue with fate!"

you want to laugh again, but you're distracted by the sound of the front door creaking open. you dart your head backwards expecting jimin or aeri, and almost jump.

minjeong is standing right there. you stared. she was completely drenched from the rain. her clothes stuck to her body, and she was shivering. her eyes weren't on you, but on the umbrella she was failing to close up.

you looked away quickly and back down onto your phone.

yunjin is still on the line. "yn? everything okay?"

"yeah, let me call you back. okay?'

"yeah. see you." yunjin was disappointed. you could hear it in her voice.

you ended the call quickly. at the same time, minjeong looked up to you. she regarded you with a blink before throwing her umbrella down and attempted to walk past you.

god, she could be so annoying sometimes. you were used to the lack of communication and the blank stares, but the passive aggressiveness was something you would not deal with.

you grabbed her hand before she could get away. she stopped and looked back at your hand in hers. you expect her to pull away. run away like she always did. but this time, she staid.

"you kiss me. avoid me. then act like an ass." you accused. you could hear the music playing stop. whoever was upstairs was trying to listen now.

minjeong's eyes sharpened on you. "what do you want to hear yn? that i've been in love with your for years, resigned to the fact you would never like me back, found out you actually did like someone and it just wasn't and would never be me, and now can't stand to see you with anyone else? well, there it is. are you happy?"

you don't even know what to say.

minjeong searched your eyes for any type of response.

"do you even know what the word communication means, minjeong?" you finally said.

minjeong took a long sigh. "no, and i'm working on it.. i'm sorry."

you shook your head. "give me time, okay?"

minjeong nodded her time. "as much as you need." she said softly.

you didn't even fully realize what was happening until now. minjeong was in love with you. yunjin was...yunjin. and you were clueless, hopeless, and had no idea what to do. where was jimin when you needed her?

𑁍┊masterlist －previous — next

ngl winter might be a little unlikeable rn, but it'll get better LMFAOO

her communication will be MUCH better from this point on

hii guysss

yunjin best girl of the chapter?!

𑁍┊ a/n: yeah,, the written portion is a little unedited other than my eyes. i have a brain frying migraine and i promised to get this out for the weekend so i'm sorry for any errors!!!

𑁍┊ taglist: open :) @runawaymazola @wintersgff @winieter @luvjanexx @justme-idle @sewiouslyz @lcv3lies @yerisdumbass @nasyu-kookies @kchwnsgf @jeindall777 @dr-wholehearted @thoughtfulqueenlady @yunalvrrr @juhyunsthirdwife @haerinfangs @awkwardtoafault @idk-idc-rn @unforgiven-000-hotline @dream-chasers-things @pandafuriosa60 @1r3n31ty @lazysmushi @multiliker

[the-haunted-office]

The mailroom is located on the first floor of the Haunted Office, the main level, through the lobby and the waiting room, the guest lounge with the vending machines and the little coffee station, the large bay windows overseeing the living dead outside world, down the weaving hallways past all the employee cubicles and offices, stuffed in the back with a sizeable portion of the company's customer records. It takes a fair few minutes to hike back there, even if you know precisely where you're going, and for those who don't you're likely to get lost amongst the cubicles and filing cabinets.

A body was found back there once - Henrietta Adams, apparently she'd had a heart attack while trying to deliver the pink letter of one David Lorentz while he had barely five minutes left on the clock. She had collapsed between two rows of customer files and went undiscovered for nearly two weeks, resulting in the department complaining about a terrible smell and poor David working unpaid for the entire duration.

The entire debacle was a terrible scandal, and more importantly, the point of such a tale is to illustrate the fact that nobody can hear you down there. Not very well, and not until they are right up on you. They can't hear your scampering, they can't hear your talking, they can't hear your cries for help, and they most certainly can't hear your blubbering.

Which is exactly what James Wolfe is doing back there, and is the sole reason he continues to go back there after initially discovering the area in the first place. He'd explored around back there back when he first arrived in the Haunted Office several months ago, and ever since then he's made the mailroom his private hangout spot whenever he needs some time alone.

Some time to cry.

Nobody can hear him back here, after all.

Just the old customer files, and they're all dead now, so who cares?

Not that anyone cares, anyway, and that's the problem.

James is feeling pretty rotten about... well, everything. It isn't just how everything with the kissing booth went to shit. It isn't just how every attempt with everyone has gone to shit. It's how... everything is shit. Everything... There isn't any escape from it. No matter what he does or how hard he tries, where he goes, how far he runs, how many Offices he goes to. It's all the same. Everybody is the same. It's just rejection. Rejection rejection rejection. Everywhere, from everybody, at every turn. He's never... good enough.

Down here that hole inside of him can yawn as big and loud as it needs to, but the important thing is nobody can hear it. Nobody can hear him. As long as nobody care see how much he hurts, because if they did? They'd just kick him while he's down. Why wouldn't they? That's what people do. Maybe they'd pull him back up for a minute, give him some empty reassurances, promise to check in on him some time, but after that? ...Nothing. Nothing more, nothing ever again, it'd be back to singlestown for him, back to the way things were before, back to the way things have always been, and nothing ever changes.

People never change, and maybe things never will for him either. So, here he is, in the mailroom, crying until there's nothing left, crying until that hole opens up just a bit wider and takes all of his tears for him so he can go back upstairs and die just a little bit more for the sake of everybody else. For their entertainment while he begs just for a scrap of their humanity, just a scrap of their love, just a moment that they see him as anything other than someone desperate to be a part of anything other than nothing.

James inhales a massive, shuddery breath of air, takes off his glasses, and is about to blow his nose into some more facial tissue with he hears a series of clicking noises coming from one of the machines in the room with him. It cuts him off short and takes him by such surprise that it actually causes him to swallow some air, setting him off into hiccups.

"...the fuck...?" he mutters to himself, puts his glasses back on, and gets up to go investigate.

Is someone really printing shit down here? Do they know he's down here after all and they're just fucking with him? If they do, that's going to actually make him mad. They've hurt him enough already, can't they just leave him alone now?

But it isn't one of the printers, although something is printing. It's coming out of the fax machine.

It takes a moment to finish printing before it drops into the tray, and then he goes over and picks it up to read it.

HELP

James blinks, his vision still blurry and mucusy from all the crying. HELP? What's that mean? Who sent this? He looks around, as if expecting to see someone. But he doesn't see anybody. Doesn't hear anybody. Although...

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he feels goosebumps on his arms as he suddenly no longer feels alone down here.

James goes to the log on the fax machine, fingers scrolling through the incoming history. Nothing. Outgoing. Nothing. No incoming, no outgoing, nothing to indicate who sent this fax or who it was received from, nothing.

He looks down at the paper again, utterly confused and feeling chilled and uncomfortable and like his favorite little cozy area has been sabotaged and like maybe he should be getting the fuck out of there.

HELP

"Help..." he breaths, eyebrows drawn together. "Help... What do they mean, 'Help'?"

The machine starts printing another message, and James just stands there, staring at it like it's some dead body that's just come back to life.

As the second message drops into the tray, he doesn't bother to pick it up. It feels cursed. But he can still see what it says.

PLEASE HELP ME I'M STUCK

Nope. Nope. Fuck that. James does not want anything to do with that.

He fucks right off after seeing that, leaving the other piece of paper fluttering to the floor in his wake. He can find another place to slowly decay in, he doesn't need some haunted fax machine hogging in on his soggy parade.

[unhingedbutpretty]

20 TAV/OC QUESTIONS

I made it as suggested by @thetavolution! I'm tagging @clandekariios because I'd love to see it for the family, @felynafae, @lanafofana, @certifieddragonenjoyer , @jellymellydraws (because I feel like Rose deserves it xD) and anyone else who wants to do it, feel yourself tagged! But please it's not a pressure tag! Totally optional.

Nyssala Baenre

I. what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice)

She loves floral perfumes like cloves and roses, with a touch of cinnamon.

II. what would their blood taste like to vampires?

I guess it would taste either like the drinks she consumes the most (cheap, dry, red, citric wine) or as barmy citric fruit brewed with too much sugar on it.

III. how would they kiss their LI?

She is very adaptive and can vary the way she kisses, adapting to the tastes of the LI (a skill she acquired in her years as a sex worker). If given the liberty, though, she's all into nibbles and sucklings, and she loves to bite and scratch. Although she pretends otherwise, she loves to leave red marks and nail trails.

IV. how do they sleep with their LI (what position, does one steal the blankets, is one too hot/cold, etc)?

She had learned to sleep (or trance) with one eye open, so she is a very light sleeper. She’s always cold, so she'll monopolize the blanket (or she'll hide under her LI for warmth).

V. what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

A total mess, but no one can tell this until they go inside. The exterior area is pristine, clean and organized with fluff pillows and a comfortable carpet around a narghile, but there are piles of junk hidden inside every crate or canva, and inside backpacks her belongings are in complete disarray since she just tosses it there and forgets that they exist — just like pretty much every other aspect of her life :’D

VI. if they had a set of dnd dice, what would they look like?

Pink and gold metallic dice (she'll never financially recover from that purchase)

VII. do they collect anything (gems, bottles, keys, etc)?

Do debts and abusive ex-lovers count?

VIII. if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)?

Completely into Wyll/Shadowheart book club, with the addition of her own erotic novels.

IX. if they had to be put in a “get along shirt” with a companion, who would it be?

Either Astarion or Jaheira. Astarion because they're always sassing over each other, resulting in long bickerings of mutual venom spilling. Jaheira because she is the “High Harper” and this group refused to help Nyssala flee from Menzoberranzan, so she's a bit sour against them. 

X. do they prefer speak with dead or speak with animals?

She likes speak with animals (like a disney princess), but uses speak with dead more often, for some reason.

XI. what are their thoughts on clowns?

A poor career choice (actually she wanted to become one, but was refused in every audition she made - it seems that Underdark humor is not very appreciated in the surface, so she became salty about clowns in general).

XII. their companions are gossiping about them behind their back! who is it and what are they saying?

She is the major gossipper of the party, but probably Astarion would talk shit about her “lower tastes” for foods and drinks (she's not very selective, and due to her financial problems she often consumes whatever is cheapest), or disclosing how much Nyssala would be an easy prey for vampires, given her former profession… Or a general gossip about how she managed to stay alive all this time (since disaster seems to follow her everywhere), complainings about how overall careless and financially irresponsible she is, the family name she never disclosed to anyone until Minthara came to camp, or why the hell she is dancing with a sword at the riverbank alone at night. She pretends it doesn't affect her, because she is somehow convinced that she doesn't deserve people's affection anyway.

XIII. what makes them laugh? what does their laugh sound like?

She has the silliest sense of humor, it's pretty easy to make her laugh, actually. As a child, she had a noble education, so she learned how to laugh “politely”. She also practiced charming and cute smiles to charm customers of Sharess’ Caress into buying another drink. But if left unchecked, the girl can cackle real LOUD, so she does whatever is possible to avoid that, since she learned the hard way that people often find it annoying.

XIV. do they have any inside jokes among their companions?

Probably she has some with Minthara, since they both hail from the same place and very likely know about the same people. I also headcanon them gossiping in their mother tongue about drow nobility and other companions.

XV. what’s the description of their camp clothes in the inventory menu?

“This is made of fine fabrics and delicate silvery details. Things like this are probably the source of half of her debts.”

XVI. what’s the description of their underwear in the inventory menu?

“The lace embroidery reads: free to stare, $40 to touch.”

XVII. how do they celebrate their birthday?

During the day, she buys herself a good birthday gift (one that most certainly further compromises her financial life). At night, she hangs out with her friends/coworkers to dance and get drunk on cheap alcohol.

XVIII. what modern day tv show would they binge over a weekend? do they get their LI to watch with them?

She'd be a sucker for doramas (romantic and comedy ones) or true crime series. Or both. But she'd watch whatever her LI is watching because she wants to please them so bad.

XIX. do you have a playlist for your tav? if so, what’s the title + description?

Amor de Quenga - Pablo Vittar (this is in Baldur's Gate, before the game, where she had given up on romance after several romantic disasters)

Baby Said - Måneskin (before the game)

How to Be a Heartbreaker - Marina and the Diamonds (also before the game)

Angry Too - Lola Blanc

Blues da Piedade - Cássia Eller (originally by Cazuza, but I like her version more)

I Miss the Misery - Halestorm

Hot Girl Bummer - Blackbear

Wasabi - Little Mix

Mad Hatter - Melanie Martinez

I'm a Mess - Bebe Rexha

911 - Lady Gaga

Panic Attacks in Paradise - Ashnikko 

Bad Girl - Avril Lavigne

Sweet but Psycho - Ava Max

Zitti e Buoni - Måneskin

Raise Hell - Dorothy

Kiss and Make Up - Dua Lipa & Blackpink

Beggin' - Måneskin (originally by Madcon)

Typa Girl - Blackpink (endgame, if she manages to pay off her debts)

Empire - (G)I-dle (endgame, if she manages to grow her ambitions)

XX. if you were to try pickpocketing them, what would they be carrying?

Make up, hair pins, and excerpts of dirty song lyrics and erotic novels written by herself.

[eviltiddyproductions]

on most days of my life I absolutely hate and will complain to anyone who listens about dramas releasing weekly (because I am an impatient monster) except the day my show releases!

it’s my demon fridays besties !!!

love the fact that it’s a Friday Saturday release schedule so that I can cry a bit more for my Sunday sadness moments

the intro cut from yoojung’s eye to song kang is so beautiful actually

LMAOOO I forgot how during the weekly release pattern you sometimes lose the rhythm of the show for a second because Do Dohee going with the tv tropes classic ‘everyone I love is dead’ 😔😞😭 made me just bust out laughing 😭

and you’ll die because of me too! 😔

‘i don’t care’ 👿🤷‍♂️

two gorgeous people kissing

the droplets suspended in the air looks so beautiful

aww they look adorable! wet little puppies 😭

medical undressing but with actual dressing time 🩹

oh they’re making out again, that’s actually pretty realist for kdrama standards 😂

most of them go designated kiss over, back to talking; here they’re actually making out again, like normal people do

song kang has a heart warming smile

lmfaoooo we went from fun time to eerily creepy clock room

we’re back in their room and i adore them !!!

my man went from ‘humans suck! losers!!! boooo 🍅🍅🍅 to they’re not that bad actually, love is kinda cool and i sorta get them and while we’re at it can i get a couples set dinner with my wife?!’

and let me just couple bike with my wife as well!

i will always be a sucker for anyone who’s down for cheesy things! #mypeople

wait woah my sister was going that in heels !!!

this fuckass quality…. giphy you will crumble !!!

they’re actually truly having the world’s most loveliest date. just having fun and taking walks and admiring the breeze !

same sister, if I saw someone that beautiful irl I’d also thank them 😭 [context : guwon says thankyou to the barista for his couple coffee set and she’s like no thank you 😻]

him saying do dohee always takes me out

they’re so cute y’all, they’re slow dancing

i’d be kinda surprised if there’s no criminal from the eldest son’s family like they rank a little higher on the possible murderer scale for me than everyone else. seems misleading rn because all shows tend to do this but y’all need to be in checked 😭

my short term memory is memorying because I was wondering why he was following her into her office and then remembered he’s her bodyguard 💀

I mean she didn’t have to give up everything but if it makes her happy!

two gorgeous people in one frame!

y’all are not subtle at allll with the wrist thing at all 😭 how many times has the seokhoon seen it already?

I adore the wolf gang lmaooo

lmaoooo they’re so dramatic, I love them!

the beautiful theatre dancer has a point and doesn’t have a point at the same time 😭 jin gayeong you’re beautiful, go live your life !!!

my sister said one shot while all she poured miss shin was foam 😭

miss shin I <3 u

doo hee the nut job 💀

lmaooo did he rush to her because he was happy to be called husband lmao, my man looks shook seeing them drunk 😂

he said my wife is embarrassing let me take her home and then she called him a blinding sun and he just glowed (he’s just like me fr)

all of the happiness and love he was uncomfortably bottling up inside in denial is coming out right now and I love it.

she could ask him for a toothbrush and he’d give her a loving smile and do it

cuties

poor boggy I omg 😭

your honour, this demon is whipped !!! 😭💞

the bag on his neck lol

it has taken me over an hour atp to finish this episode lmao maybe I could’ve written this later

miss shin is a mood

my wolf gang is back

the dad’s just laughing after choking someone ? 😭 this family…

it’s always fun to watch the murderers be hunted 🤷‍♂️

oh he killed his mom too, he was my first guess but the son was a strong case too

this cartoon villain ass laugh

my married lovebirds have a pretty strong knit game like his cardigan rn and hers during the sprinkler kiss scene

slay you found the bug

the wife seems normalish compared to her son and husband

damn did they vanish because of the card thing

woah

him knocking at the cardboard door 😭

did they fumble the continuity or something changed when they were walking at the bar because our homeless mystery queen’s teeth are back to normal rn

is she god

need that snapping finger power so bad like I also want a galaxy in my room thankyou

butterflies just follow song kang in tv shows

the second male lead kinda needs to let it go, bae it’s not that serious

why would the theatre girlie just tell that to him flat out 😭

honeymoon period over

[empressofmankind]

I'm gonna need to know something about or read some of what you have for That A Whole Margarita of a Man cause it sounds very, very appealing

I am so hyped for every last one of your stories so a little sneak peek at any of them would be magnificent !!

It's one of the newest on the list - and one of the few I don't actually have long-form prose (i.e. readable draft content that isn't my story beat steno) for yet. So, I'll tell you a bit about what it is about.

The whole thing arose from me mildly complaining to @tiredemomama about how long it'd been since doing body shots. Aaand we started spitballing about Croc and Shivs doing them? And then a few days later, having let the itch stew a little, I really went to plotting town with @feral-artistry regarding what that would all entail. But the crux of the matter is: it exists because I wanted an excuse to write about them downing body shots off of each other. That's it. That's the plot.

The title is courtesy of @feral-artistry, because as they said:

"That's a lot of ground to cover for a body shot. That's a whole margarita of a man."

I liked it a lot.

A logistic issue, too. Shivs would get drunk so much faster, simply by being lighter weight & downing a larger volume? So we have to just pour a whole bottle of the good whiskey down my girl at some point. To keep things fair. Obviously. No other reasons.

It's set around the same time as 'The House Always Wins' and 'On The First Day of Christmas', i.e. about a near decade before the canon, at Rain Dinners, in Rainbase, Alabaste, when Crocodile and Shivs were a combined force to reckon with.

She's dealing at the high limits lounge, as she did more often at that time, having made the unused table 13 in that pit an absolute hit. Despite the high bet and pot limits, those limits still exist. And the story starts with the fact that they manage to reach it. Shivs jokingly suggests that, instead of breaking the house rules, she can throw in a few body shots.

Croc is good at poker, and he likes it, but he's not necessarily intense about winning - he's not fragile about thát. However. The minute those words leave her mouth? He gets intense about winning. Not because he necessarily wants it. I mean, if he wanted it, he could just suggest it. She'd be down? No need to bank roll a whole table for it. The reason - of course - is that he doesn't want anyone else to gdamn win.

So naturally, the plot demands that he doesn't win.

Zip forward to whomever is unlucky enough to win (with a real chance of winding up both very rich and very dead) finding out that, actually, she meant her taking body shots off of them. Not the other way around. The funny part is that Shivs expected Croc to win too. This was her nefarious plan all along! Her plans are so amazing...

Anyway, now she's stuck doing this with someone else, and unfortunately, not all poker players are as hot as they are smooth? Croc is still mildly upset, but amused in that irritating way of his at her playing herself. After that, this happening leads to bar hanging banter, and body shots in all kinds of increasingly creative ways (I am having a lot of fun with it), and when Croc makes that horny reptile noise down the line, everyone else's flight response kicks in.

Time to clear the house.

The bartenders are drawing straws who has to stay behind, because if they make Croc get his own bottle, all of them are going to suffer. Someone's gotta take one for the team.

It goes all kinds of south from there.

I haven't quite figured out the ending

Thanks for the W.I.P. Round Up ask! This is a ton of fun. I love talking about my content.

[calkale]

Okay dead reckoning spoilers ahead ill put a cut just in case also if you like the movie maybe don’t read either 👀😬 but if you do please read the whole thing or at least the last paragraph because that in my opinion is the most important thing i have to say

Before i say anything i know im in the wrong here, i have a really personal issue with the movie that i dont feel comfortable sharing but its one of the names used A LOT in the movie, so that definitely plays a part in my opinion whether i like it or not. That being said, usually i can ignore stuff like that, ive done it with other movies but there was nothing else to grasp my attention so i got stuck on things like that.

Also wanna say this first because i feel like it explains why i hate a lot of the things i do. I could really be reaching here but i think they’re trying to set up hayley as the new face of these movies and dead reckoning part 2 is gonna be the end for tom. She was the main character, Ethan was not. She was a part of 2 stunts out of the 3 big ones in the movie and Toms solo stunt (the cliff jump) was maybe a minute of the movie and correct me if im wrong but thats never happened before, Toms always had a big stunt thats just him that takes up a good, MEMORABLE, chunk of the movie, and that just wasnt in this.

I didn’t like it at all. Up until the airport i loved the movie, i really liked the way it was shot, i liked the mi1 callbacks, i really liked ethan and ilsa and everything was good, i could ignore the AI plot (which i knew i wasnt gonna like going into it i hate AI villains) and just watch the movie but after the airport i started to not like the movie anymore. During the fiat car chase i realized i was gonna really not gonna like the movie. That was one of the three big stunts of the movie and i hated it, it just felt really rushed and there were so many characters who i didnt know and didnt know why they were there, WHICH IS OKAY i love not knowing things thats part of my brand im all about that but it just did not work here, sometimes not knowing anything about character works and other times it doesnt.

I dont remember a lot from the middle chunk of the movie, i wasnt enjoying it but trust me i was trying. Not even benji and luther made the movie enjoyable and to top it all off ilsa died and im getting mad again but that was one of the worst deaths i think ive seen. If shes not actually dead then thank god but also im sorry mcq but awful writing unless something got cut because she was free? She was dead? There was no bounty on her head anymore, that was why she “died” at the start of the movie and correct me if im wrong but she really didnt need to be in Venice with her face showing either. It really feels like she just died so hayley could be in the spotlight with ethan and there were too many characters so they had to get rid of her along with benji and luther who arent dead but may as well be with their 10 minutes of screen time.

But all of this i can look past, i dont like the plot? whatever, thats not why i, personally, watch mission impossible movies, i watch for the stunts, i wanna see tom cruise do some crazy shit but i didnt even get that. Im really mad about the lack of stunts in this movie i feel insane idk if anyone else is complaining about this but i didnt like a single one of them. Im so let down and i hate that im so upset over something like this but i am. Thats the promise thats being made when you go see these movies and in my opinion they didn’t deliver. All the fighting was really good i loved the fight in that tight alleyway with ethan and paris but i hated the car chase, the cliff jump could’ve been better? i dont even know what to say about that one tbh, and the train, ohhhhhh the train, i dont even wanna talk about the train, i was trying so hard to like it i wanted it to redeem the whole movie for me but it just didnt, i feel so bad but it didnt and im so disappointed.

[loderlied]

i am crawling into your inbox like a depraved creature from the depths of long abandoned fungal ridden sewers, holding to you the mycelia born from a long dead corpse in offering so that i may pick your grey matter about zeke's time before the temple of bhaal, im curious as fuck and the dynamic you have written for him and gortash is SO fun and interesting, also really fun to think about in comparison to my own durge and gortash, g-d your brain is huge, but i really want to know what experience he had outside of baldurs gate before mr butler extraordinaire walked into his life like hey! ur like. the chosen of bhaal lol :) i want to pick apart zeke as if he is a new and rare creature of the deep sea that i have to keep in a pressurized tank just so that his body does not melt and turn into mush from the depressurization

waughhh thank you sm!!!! framing this ask on my wall i feel like you understand™️ hi hi hi yes of course i will talk about my creature!!

so, i don’t know how others handle timeline stuff but i always imagined zeke being no older than 10 when being taken into the temple of bhaal, so most of his life was the temple, but there is some stuff that i can tell you because i am spending all of my braincells on him (and gortash) these days lol:

his adoptive parents were older, humble librarians who didn’t have much, but took in a few children without homes like him. about 6 other kids lived with him. i feel like due to their experience they could sort of tell that zeke was. different in a way? they loved him all the same.

didn’t learn how to speak at all before sceleritas taught him (he perfectly understood people, just didn’t like doing it/find it to be a necessary skill lol) he mostly wrote to people in a little notebook he carried around with him everywhere.

of course my uquiz declared dweeb spent most of his free time in the library with his parents.

was one of those kids who you can just tell is a genius from an early age—he could not only read books with an advanced reading level as soon as he could hold them in his hands, he could also comprehend a lot of these concepts.

he never had any friends or genuine connections. he tried to befriend others, which for him looked like stalking them around the street, learning every possible thing there is to know about them and never actually approaching anyone because he was too scared to.

his first “kill” was during one of those uh. watches? ig. a girl he liked was playing alone near a creek and started to pick a beautiful bouquet of flowers—wait, he’d read about those, they were highly dangerous to touch. before he could step in and warn her, she already fell over groaning in agony. he tries to take another step towards her, but then his entire body shudders and freezes at the sight of the light leaving her eyes. he doesn’t go over and finish the job or call any help—he just watches. watches until he is sure that she is beyond saving and cries. out of sorrow? fear? joy? this he doesn’t know or understand (yet), those pesky little nuisances called emotions always puzzled him way more than a book ever could—in himself or others.

while those “need to please father/parents above all else i’m worthless otherwise” tendencies of his were of course highly amplified by his life in the temple, they were already there before. he tried to be the “best child” of his parents, wanted to impress them at every turn. that there were so many of them certainly didn’t help either.

so, one day his father complains about one of the other children, they were all troublemakers/outcasts in their own way—one of them had accidentally smashed a window while playing. and zeke thinks to himself that he would never do such a stupid thing, how dumb could you be? and decides this is the perfect opportunity to test out a thing he read about.

later that evening, despite the quarrel from earlier, everyone is sitting around the dinner table, and zeke voluntarily and eagerly helps with setting the table today. a few minutes after starting to eat, the kid who broke the window starts coughing heavily, spitting blood, everyone starts panicking when zeke interrupts them by tugging at his father’s sleeve and excitedly showing him his notebook, his father thinks that zeke being the clever boy he is might know what’s going on or even how to help, so he leans down and reads. reads a detailed description of how zeke created a poisonous powder with the flowers from earlier and coated his sibling’s cutlery in it to not spoil the food they had. the last sentence of the page says something about a “perfect solution” to mom and dad’s problem.

his father is obviously starting to lose it, then his wife tells him that their child is beyond saving and already dead, which just makes him fully lose it—he just starts screaming and uncontrollably sobbing and shaking the confused to the hells and back zeke demanding why he did it. the others eventually start catching on what happened and understandably freak out as well.

zeke is just so confused man. wasn’t this a good thing? he certainly thought he felt good watching his own sibling die—his bloodshot eyes and fingertips turned black just like how the book described it would happen. he did it perfectly. so why were they acting like this? weren’t they proud? they were supposed to be.

next thing zeke remembers is standing in a pile of corpses and a ruined house in a pool of blood and tears streaming down his face, when a certain little butler approaches him.

[hydrojean]

One Act Play: Four Seasons

Theme: Love

Length: One Act Play

Mode: Romance

Medium: Television

Setting (Time and Place): England, 2018

Character/s: Alexis Marie Lopez

Tyler Frank Williams

What will be your name in the play?

Alexis Marie Lopez

What will you be like?

Main Character

Who else can be part of your dream role?

Anyone

What will he/she be like?

Leading man (Tyler)

NARRATOR:

Alexis and Tyler has been bestfriends since they were kids. They’ve been through everything with each other, they know everything about each other. Fast forward to the year 2018, the two are now 20 years old. Alexis has been dreaming of becoming a writer. Tyler, on the other hand, has been dreaming of marrying Alexis. Tyler had had feelings for Jo ever since the first day they met. But would Alexis, let their relationship be more platonic?

ALEXIS AND TYLER WALKING IN THE WOODS AS THEY’VE DONE FOR YEARS

ALEXIS:

My sisters got out of here. I guess I’ll be always living here until I finish up my novel

TYLER:

You don’t have to stay here, Alexis. You know that.

ALEXIS:

Why? You want to take me to run away with you?

TYLER EXHALES AND LOOKS AT HER, ABOUT TO TALK. ALEXIS SAW HIS FACE AND IMMEDIATELY KNOWS WHAT IT’S ABOUT

ALEXIS:

No, Ty—please don’t

TYLER:

It’s no use, Alexis; we’ve got to have it out!

ALEXIS:

No, we don’t. We shouldn’t, Ty

TYLER:

I have loved you ever since I’ve known you—I couldn’t help it and I tried to show, you wouldn’t let me which is fine but I must make you hear now and give me an answer because I cannot go on like this any longer.

ALEXIS:

Ty, no. You misinterpreted everythin—

TYLER:

(not listening to her)

I worked so hard to please you. I gave up everything that you didn’t like and I’m happy I did.

It’s fine and I waited and I never complained because I figured you loved me.

ALEXIS:

You didn’t have to do all of that, Ty.

TYLER (CONT’D):

(voice breaking)

And I figured I’m not half good enough and I’m not this great man everyone expects me to be.

ALEXIS:

Yes, you are and you are a great deal too—too good for me. And I’m so grateful to you and I’m so proud of you and I just don’t see why I can’t love you the way that you want me to. I don’t know why.

TYLER:

(in disbelief)

You can’t?

ALEXIS:

(helplessly)

I can’t change the feeling and it would be a lie to say I do when I don’t. I’m so sorry, Ty, so desperately sorry, but I can’t help it...

TYLER TURNS HIS BACK ON ALEXIS

TYLER:

I can’t love anyone else. I only love you

ALEXIS:

We’d be a disaster if we marry, Ty! We both have our own issues, you know that!

TYLER:

It wouldn’t be a disaster, Alexis. If we marry I’d be a perfect saint—

ALEXIS:

I can’t, Ty. I’ve tried it and I’ve failed.

TYLER:

Then why does everyone expect us to be together? Say yes and let’s be happy together, please

ALEXIS:

I can’t say yes truly so I’m not going to say it at all.

PAUSE

ALEXIS(CONT’D):

You’ll see that I’m right, eventually, and you’ll thank me for it.

TYLER:

I’d rather hang myself than realize that. I’d rather be dead

ALEXIS:

Ty, please don’t say that. Your world isn’t supposed to stop just because of me.

TYLER:

I’ve made you my world.

TYLER WALKS FURTHER AWAY FROM ALEXIS WHILE TALKING

ALEXIS:

You shouldn’t have done that, Ty.

ALEXIS FOLLOWS TYLER

ALEXIS(CONT’D):

Ty, listen, you’ll find some lovely accomplished girl who will love you and adore you and she’s gonna make a great wife for your great house but I wouldn’t, alright? I wouldn’t be this “accomplished” girl. I’m broken and I’m awkward, Ty

THE TWO OF THEM STOPPED WALKING

TYLER:

(not listening to what she’s saying)

I love you, Alexis.

ALEXIS(CONT’D):

I’m miserable, I haven’t accomplished anything in life and you’d be ashamed of me.

TYLER:

I love you, Alexis

ALEXIS:

Sooner or later, you’ll realize that this decision is wrong. Everything would be horrid, Ty.

TYLER:

(looking down)

Anything more?

ALEXIS:

No, nothing more.

TYLER:

Alright

TYLER ATTEMPTS TO LEAVE UNTIL

ALEXIS(CONT’D):

Except I— Ty, I don’t even believe I would ever marry. I’m happy as I am.

TYLER:

(now accepting his fate)

I think you’re wrong about that. I think you’ll marry. I think you’ll find someone to love and you’ll live with them and die for them because that’s your way and you will and I’ll watch.

TYLER THEN FINALLY WALKS AWAY FROM THE WOODS

ALEXIS JUST WATCHED HIM FLEE THE SCENE

Champagne Problem by Taylor Swift starts to play (Bridge Part)

Your midas touch on the chevy door, november flushed and your flannel cure

STILL FOCUSED ON ALEXIS BEING LEFT IN THE OPEN AREA

THEN

(DAYS PASSED)

SHOWS SCENE TYLER PACKING UP BECAUSE HE’S MOVING AWAY

This dorm was once a madhouse, I made that joke well it’s made for me

SHOWSH ALEXIS TRYING TO FINISH UP HER NOVEL

How evergreen, our group of friends. Don’t think we’ll say that words again

SHOWS ALEXIS GETTING OUT OF THE HOUSE WANTING TO SEE TYLER ONCE AGAIN

And soon they’ll have the nerve to deck the halls that we once walked through. One for the money, two for the show

THE TWO MEETS AGAIN, SMILING AT EACH OTHER

TYLER LEAVES

I never was ready so I watched you go

NARRATOR(V.O):

Tyler and Alexis are now entering a new chapter of their lives: Adulthood. Both of them are leaving their childhood which they both spent together. Alexis had just published her very first novel she’s been working on most of her teenage life. Tyler is now abroad trying to take over his father’s company. Tyler and Alexis leave childhood, and Tyler spent his childhood with Alexis, and he doesn’t want to leave it without her. Alexis is seen to not be regretting her decision. Tyler did marry a girl he met abroad while Alexis continued to write and never got married.

END

[spaceyflowerswriting]

pt 4/4: little changes (gun park x reader)

...except the main character is goo and reader only plays a role in little dialogue. hear me out.

( pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 )

details: fluffy oneshot, gender neutral reader written in 2nd pov, general canon au, you and gun have been dating for a while in secret

summary: goo starts to notice little changes in gun, influenced by you. the thing is, gun is keeping his relationship on the low, so here are goo's antics of being annoying and trying to find out who you are.

a/n: we're at the finale! thanks for reading <3

×

What better way to get information about Gun than from the people around him? That tight-lipped man wouldn't ever say anything to Goo anyways.

Their boss was his first choice.

"Why do you care?"

"Good question." Goo gestured animatedly as he spoke. "It's... simple curiosity. I just want to know what he's up to. So, has there been anyone he's been getting close to lately?"

"I do not know and I do not care because it has not affected his work life. He's as diligent as always--aside from being late sometimes to night meetings, but that has yet to cause trouble for me." Mr. Choi spun around in his chair to face the window behind him. "Find out yourself if you're that desperate."

"But siiir!" complained Goo in a singsong voice. "Has there really been no one around him that you've see be close to him? A friend or anything?"

"No. He just does his job."

"Does his job involve--"

"Do you want your paycheck to be lowered this month?"

"No, sir," Goo said stiffly, already turning around and placing his hand the doorknob to leave Mr. Choi's office. "Sorry for bothering you! Goodbye!"

He sighed as soon as he shut the door behind him and looked up. "I'm not sure what I expected, but it was something more than just, 'I don't care.' Stupid old man..." Goo grumbled, walking down the hallway and entering the elevator to head down. "Whatever, he's our boss who's mainly neutral. Fortunately I know someone else who knows Gun personally."

Goo pulled out his phone to call Crystal, someone's he's only contacted whenever Gun wouldn't pick up the phone (which was often, because Gun liked to ignore him).

"What do you want, Goo?"

Goo grinned. "Hey, girl, I'm bothering to ask you about Gun. Not because he's not picking up the phone but because I've got a question for you about him. At least, I'm hoping you can answer it."

"Make it quick."

"You in a rush?"

"No, I just don't want to talk to you."

Goo laughed as he exited the elevator, leaving the office building while continuing to talk loudly on the phone. "I know, I know, I'm a very pleasant person." He hummed. "Anyways, I wanted to know if you know any people who have gotten close to Gun recently, or in the past few months."

"Why...?"

"Well, do you?"

There was a pause for a bit, but Goo was willing to wait. He walked out through the streets, listening closely. Eventually, she responded very hesitatingly, "This sounds like a set up for blackmail material. You're not planning to kidnap someone he cares about to torture them to get him to do something you want, right?"

Huh, somehow Goo didn't think about that. Good idea, Crystal, Goo'll store that in the back of his head. Although he's known Gun for years--if Gun really was serious about this "someone special," Goo wasn't sure he could even touch this person before Gun killed him. Or at least, that's what he'd assume, considering he's never seen Gun view someone as special to him but knew the man was dead set on things when he was serious about it.

Either way, Goo laughed and said back, "I'm not that cruel! I just noticed that he's been talking about someone special and got curious about who it could be~"

"Yeahhh, okay. If he didn't tell you, I'd be willing to bet he wouldn't want me to tell you."

"Aw, c'mon! For a bestie! I'll give you something good in return!" pleaded Goo.

"Nope, goodbye, Goo. I value my life." Crystal hung up and Goo froze in place, even though he had just started crossing the crosswalk.

"Fucking hell... well, at least Crystal confirmed this person exists." Goo sighed, not quite ready to give up but feeling at a loss. He pocketed his phone and continued to stay still, holding his chin while humming in thought. He ignored the cars honking at him while he tried to come up with an idea of what to do next.

"Stalk Gun, I guess?"

But how...? He'd figure it out later. Still, he pondered about it some more as he whistled and began to walk, once again ignoring the yelling and honking people were sending his way.

~

Goo figured it out. He'd just hire a black market professional to tail Gun and see if he's with anyone that isn't affiliated with him in a professional way. Why do the work himself, right?

For poor Goo, that idea was short-lived because two days later the man he employed came back looking like he had his tail between his legs.

"He caught me."

The emotion of disappointment but not really surprise filled up Goo. What could he expect, even he himself didn't want to follow Gun in secret because he knew he would fail, so how could he expect some other guy to do it? He sighed anyway and said, "I thought you were a professional."

The man tilted his hat, hiding his eyes a bit. "Apologies. He threatened to kill my wife and children if I didn't return to you, Mr. Goo."

Goo snickered. "Classic Gun. Well, now he knows I attempted to stalk him so there goes my plan..."

"Why am I even bothering to do this? Gun certainly seems to mean it when he says he doesn't want me to find his special someone, so maybe I'll never find out no matter how hard I try."

Fuck it. Goo wasn't going to waste his time. He attempted once and didn't get his answer, so he might as well just end there. As curious as he was to find out who could've possibly stolen a freak like Gun's heart, it wasn't something he needed to know. And Mr. Choi was right. Gun was the same as always, he just now had a secret lover or something.

Goo tossed a much too small envelope of money at the man who caught it with surprise. "There you go, money for attempting anyways."

"T... thank you..." Goo waved him off and the man shuffled out of his office.

"Here's to hoping Gun just slips up one day!" The blonde wasn't religious, but he clapped his hands together anyway and made a half hearted prayer.

~

"I fucked up."

Goo had not heard a single thing from Gun about his special someone ever since the failed stalking. Not that he minded particularly, but it was always interesting to hear Gun make small vague comments about this special someone, but now he was just back to his boring ass, stoic self.

Currently they were sitting quietly in the back of a car, driven by someone Mr. Choi sent to pick them up.

Goo got bored of Candy Crush already. Maybe Gun was right, he should just keep driving. He didn't know what to do with himself for twenty minutes. Social media was only fun for so long, and there was only so much to do by staring out the window.

He couldn't talk to Gun either, who, first off, sucked at casual conversations, and secondly, was busy texting. Maybe he could talk to the driver but also no because the car was specially built so that they were in a soundproof room to ensure the driver would not hear any confidential information Gun and Goo might talk about.

But they weren't even talking about things like that or at all, and Goo was bored out of his mind. Nap, maybe...? Nah, that wasn't his style. He just looked around before his eyes landed on Gun's phone screen. It was barely visible from his point of view so he leaned in slightly, but just as he did that, Gun turned so his screen couldn't be seen.

Goo crossed his arms. "Hmph. Texting your 'special someone?'"

"Yeah."

Once again Gun was being surprisingly honest, but then again he was never the type to outright lie... which was why he was often vague and never denied or confirmed anything. Damn him.

Goo leaned in some more, and Gun turned away even more. Then Goo just stared at the reflection of his sunglasses, managing to catch a glimpse of Gun receiving a text that said, "Be safe, okay?" before Gun pulled off his sunglasses.

He glared at Goo silently, and it was like a puff of angry black smoke was coming off of him. Goo just smiled mischievously and finally backed off, going back to staring out the window.

If he could tell anything from that text, it certainly seemed like Gun indeed had a lover. A romantic partner, huh... just who would fall for Gun, and who could possibly grab the attention of a man obsessed with nothing but fighting?

More curiosity grew in Goo, but he tried to ignore it. Again, he was curious, but he didn't really care. And he knew he would probably never find out anyways unless Gun fucked up since he seemed to be actively making sure Goo would never meet this person.

Goo ended up praying again.

~

Three months passed.

And suddenly, Goo's prayers came true.

He was at Gun's place to drop something off, but without warning because that was just what he always did. He knocked twice and heard the knob turning. A smile naturally plastered itself on his face as he prepared to say something snarky to his coworker but when the door opened, his eyes widened at the unknown person standing before him.

"Hello?"

An unfamiliar voice entered Goo's ears as his eyes scanned this person wearing a shirt he recognized to be Gun's--it was a little oversized on them. His mind was slowly processing what was going on and if he interrupted one of Gun's one night stands or if--

"IS THIS HIS SPECIAL SOMEONE?!" The smile on Goo's face turned into a grin. "It has to be! Gun never sleeps with anyone at his place; always at a hotel!"

He ignored the look of nervousness growing on the person's face as he leaned down a bit to be on their eye level and said in an overly gleeful tone, "Hi! I'm Gun's friend."

"Um..." The person trailed off, before glancing behind them. "Sorry, I thought you were the guy here to deliver food. Do you want me to get Gun for you or something...?"

"Oh, he's home? Yes, please! I'm here to drop this off for him." He added with a closed eye smile, "And to talk to him about something."

"Sure, wait here." The person awkwardly shut the door before walking away.

Goo could barely contain himself. He bounced on his heels, holding the box of what he planned to drop off, but internally he was evilly rubbing his hands together. There was no way Gun could get himself out of this one--Goo was going to hear for himself about this special someone of his!!

This... this special someone who looked surprisingly... boring? Plain? And very weak and average? Was that... Gun's type...?

"What the fuck." Goo immediately stopped bouncing on his heels. He had only seen this person for less than a minute, but they looked far from what Goo imagined Gun would be into. Yeah, again, he didn't really know what Gun's type would be, but his one night stands were usually very charming and attractive people.

On second thought: of course sex workers were charming and attractive, that was their whole job.

So... romantically... Gun liked normal people? The guy who liked fighting?? Or maybe this person was stronger than they looked, but Goo doubted it just based off his quick interaction with them.

Before he could think more about it, Gun opened the door, looking pissed off. It pleased Goo to no end.

"Sooo--"

"Give me the box." Gun didn't hesitate to cut him off.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Goo held back the box, practically daring Gun to jump him with the shit eating grin he had on. "Who's the person that opened the door for me, huh?"

"Give. Me. The. Box."

"Just answer the question, man!" Gun lunged forward, attempting to grab the box but Goo was quick to react. "Just tell me if that person was your 'special someone' and I'll give you the box!" Gun practically growled at him. Goo continued to grin. "Promise!" he chimed.

A tense silence fell over them as they stared (well, Gun was glaring) at each other. Million of emotions flew through Gun's eyes and knitted brows, but the easiest to pick out was, "I'm going to kill you." No effect on Goo, of course, but still fun for him to point out.

"...Yes," Gun finally admitted through gritted teeth.

Goo immediately started whooping and cheering. "I fucking knew it!" He laughed in between his words. He handed the box over like promised and nearly fell over with the force Gun used to snatch it out of his hands. "Hey!" Next thing he knew, the door was being slammed into his face.

He frowned but shrugged it off. Tonight's victory belonged to him anyways. He whistled a tune he made up as he walked off, unable to keep a grin off his face.

Maybe there was hope, after all. Next plan: find out what exactly this special someone to Gun was like!

[theerrorofmylife]

Heyy, i really like your work and I would love to request something. Maybe some headcannons for a healer (fem) who is Gandalfs apprentice and thorin falling in love with her on the quest <3 she is really insecure and shy (maybe she could be a bit chubby) but very powerful and saves thorin from the dead? (if you like she could have curly brown hair like me if that's okay) i wish you a happy new year <3

Hey hey, I’m so glad you like my stuff, and I’d be more than happy to do this. I will admit a few things upfront 1- I got a tad (really) carried away and this is the shorter version 2- I meant to have this to you 2 days ago and that did it happen, sorry 3-I love this idea so much, especially since I relate waaay to much to it. Enjoy :) -Error

~~~

Being Gandalf’s apprentice in the art of healing is an adventure in and of itself.

He loves to teach, and you couldn’t be more happy to learn.

However, it’s not easy to talk to people, it’s not easy to do things on your own with a damned voice in the back of your head telling you you’re doing things wrong.

It’s a lot, to be fair, and being unsure is… completely natural… but it haunts you. It bothers you deeply, because you don’t know if your good, you don’t know if you’re truly doing the right thing, and that’s terrifying, ok?!

Gandalf is aware of this, and when the conversation arose he only smiled that kind smile of his and reassured you that he’d always be there to help.

That didn’t really work, but it was nice of him to try.

The day he set out to gather The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, he asked if you would like to join him. He said there would be dangers beyond imagine, great perils, and at the end a dragon that would most undoubtedly try to kill all of us.

You said yes, voicing only mild concerns and complaining very rarely about the prospect of death. You didn’t stop until you reached Hobbiton that night.

Meeting Thorin was… interesting.

You never felt more terrified in your life.

You weren’t by any means attractive in the dwarven aesthetic, which was to say your nose and ears weren’t out of proportion, and you certainly couldn’t grow a beard.

However, you weren’t thin either. It’s been said before that men love the skinny, quill-thin girls, and that always bothered you because… well who was quill-thin anyways?! But it bothered you nonetheless, and upon meeting Thorin, this became 10x worse.

Everything that ever bothered you about yourself felt they had a great big sign on them.

You were too large, your curls were brown, not red like the dwarves' preferred, you had no beard, and you felt you had no desirable features…

According to you, that is.

If I were to say the Thorin couldn’t look away from you, that would be a lie.

The moment Thorin saw you, he found you to be the most beautiful person in the hobbit hole, and immediately began assessing who else out of the unmarried dwarves was interested.

He decided fairly quickly that he had no competition, and made a quick plan with Balin in order to woo, court, and eventually, hopefully, marry you.

Yeah, he planned that far ahead. Mans smitten.

He spends hours speaking with you, succeeding only twice in making you laugh. You were shy, he could tell, and he refused to be disheartened by it. Every chance he got he’d try to very subtly and politely start conversation.

However, over the course of the beginning of their quest he began to notice things, like how you would dress to hide your curves, or how you would stutter out decisions before going back on them, changing you mind multiple times as if unsure. And you rarely spoke to anyone without having a very distinct reason to.

He took this into account, pulled Balin aside, and recreated his plan to be a bit more… direct.

First it was the flowers. Little ones he’d hand to you as you tracked through the forest. You at first thought it was sweet but it became more frequent, and your book was running out of room to press them.

Then it was the sword. Not an ideal gift but practical, all things considered. You could fight, technically speaking, but these weren’t minor tussles, and the road would only get more dangerous. So he picked out a beautiful blade from the troll cave, and presented it as a gift to you.

Let’s be honest here, you’re not dumb, you were well aware of most customs, so it was not without care that you accepted the gift.

This had its perks… and its difficulties.

On one hand, it was nice to know Thorin was not only attracted to you, but eager to court you; on the other, every single negative thought you’d ever had about yourself became like a plague.

You couldn’t figure it out: by dwarven standards you weren’t attractive. And you did feel good for much else besides healing.

These thoughts began so little but they grew and grew.

Rivendell was beautiful, if you had been paying attention. Turns out, it is very possible to make yourself dizzy with terrible thoughts.

It wouldn’t be till you were all sitting in a cave, having just dodged rock giants, when he would bring it up.

He’d gotten a little cut on his forehead from saving Bilbo, and you sat beside him, carefully cleaning it.

Asking was the hard part for Thorin, he truly had no idea how to approach his theory. Wording was key here and… he’ll admit that’s not his strong suit.

So when he finally asked, slowly, word by word, you kind of froze. You had hoped he wouldn’t notice, hoped it wasn’t too obvious that you were struggling.

There’s a lot of stuttering, trying to answer with honesty while also not… honesty…

When things finally become clear, Thorin is shocked and a little amused. He couldn’t believe it, how could you not see that out of everything that’s happened that you are the only thing on his mind.

He lists everything he loves about you. Your eyes, your hair, your figure, your drive, your sweetness, your love of learning, everything. He makes a point to mention that dwarven aesthetics be damned because he thought you were perfect.

I think he realized that just saying these things doesn’t do much without convincing.

And Thorin is definitely a go big or go home kind of guy.

Sitting together every night, different compliments every other day (not every day, Balin said that might overwhelm you), and he continued to give you little flowers every chance he got. And it helped, it really did.

Things became more difficult the closer you got to mountain. And you understood why; Azog was hot on your trail, and the idea of dealing with Smaug was beginning to bother everyone.

Kili was injured during the escape from Mirkwood and, even though you hated it, you stayed back to help him. You could tell Thorin hated it too but they were out of time.

When you finally arrived at the mountain, the man that greeted you… wasn’t Thorin. Not your Thorin, anyways. Balin called it Dragon Sickness… a sickness of the mind.

(Bit of a time skip cause I’m sick)

Somewhere during the battle you lost sight of him. When Gandalf points you to the towers… your heart drops. Of course that stubborn man would go up there without telling you.

You did in fact chase after him, but… you didn’t get there in time.

Azog was dead and Thorin was nearly the same.

Kneeling over him, you set you palms against the wound, hoping to every god that you weren’t too late. Focusing, you felt the tug against your hand, like gravity pulling harder. You were muttering old elvish, old maiar, anything and everything. The pull grew stronger, a heaviness spreading to your wrists, then forearms, then shoulders, the effort to remain upright becoming great.

But it was worth it when his breathing was normal and his wound was fully healed. Within the hour his eyes were open and he was walking and talking like normal. Gandalf called it a miracle. And when Bilbo told him of the wounds' severity… he was highly suspicious of your power. However, today was a victory and he would leave it at that. Never mind that you definitely should NOT have been able to heal that. And you definitely should NOT have been able to save Thorin’s nephews who were most definitely very dead. But he’d talk to you about that later.

[meanya]

If you missed any or all of the Unus Annus livestream, here's a summary of every hour:

~11 hours out: The channel name could've been Annus Singulos (they decided on Unus Annus at a Buffalo Wildwing)

They always planned on it ending on Friday the 13th NOT the 15th (@ MatPat)

The dude who interrupted the sex toys video was not a mailman, he was just some guy. He did not comment on the sex toy stuff.

~10 hours out: They look at memes. Mark "hook car batteries up to my nipples and I'll say yes every time" Fischbach is NOT a masochist, he just wants to know what it feels like to be hit by a car

Frank!!! Frank!!!!!!!

Ethan is going to marry the microphone clip on his shirt

Dollar Shave Club never got back to them about a sponsorship

The workers including the actress in the escape room actually enjoyed having Mark and Ethan doing their shtick there

~9 hours out: Vincent the editor made a best of his edits throughout the videos, it was beautiful, it was mostly just clips of dying

He also wrote them a WHOLE DAMN ORIGINAL SONG!!! IN A WEEK!! About stopping the clock!!! He rapped!

Marcus the editor did a funny edits-roll as well, it was brilliant

~8 hours out: Rachel shows her edits roll! Some of the funniest clips in the whole series!

A comment they read: Mark can do any of his edgy project ideas now and that's terrifying.

Mark: Just wait til you see my next project.

Their merch manager had to buy a 4th warehouse to produce all the merch that had been ordered

If anyone sees Unus Annus pictures or any reminiscence of it in the future and are asked where it's from we are supposed to respond with "You wouldn't get it 🙄"

~7 hours out: they complain more about enema water gun

They re-watch the Pepper spray video. Mark talked about how he thinks about the pain whenever he sees videos of riotors/protestors getting sprayed. Everyone in chat chanted “BLM” and “ACAB” for a few minutes.

Lixian the editor had his edit reel played (”They make em (the people) pretty in Portugal”)

Mark was salty at Youtube because they claimed they didn’t make billboards for YouTube shows and hence, wouldn’t make a billboard for A Heist With Markiplier, but then later made one for James Charles’ show

Mark presented Amy with a BRAND NEW BUG WATCH 😭

Amy: No nothing on their (Youtube’s) Twitter, they’re not talking about it (Unus Annus)

Mark: Guess it’s not important enough...

Amy: They’re too busy tweeting about “World Kindness Day”

Mark: Oh yeah Friday the 13th 2020 wOrLd KiNdNeSs DaY

~6 hours out: Ethan compares the channel dying to putting down a dog. Things get serious for a beat, people in chat start crying.

They look at fanart for a while, Mark criticizes it like an asshole

They watch Pink Trombone again.

Mark and Ethan guarantee that after the channel is gone they will not forget about it. Mark also permits people to make creations / art after Unus Annus is deleted.

~5 hours out: They re-watch Pee Sauna, dying inside all the way.

DJ Burt Blackarach surprises them with a cake and champagne.

Chat is flooded with “❤🧡💛💚💙💜” messages for a while

Looking at memes again, Mark confirms that the noises that the radio made in SCP Amy were 100% just the radios, not them, making the sounds. They still don’t know why they made those sounds.

Mark and Ethan beg for 1mil like in order to see what’s actually in the Unus Annus casket. They might even lay down in it.

~4 hours out: We find out that in the Children’s Games in Total Darkness video, the weird shot of them both in a trance staring into the phone screen was actually just them trying to adjust their eyes back to normal light and it wound up looking super cool.

Vincent’s highlight reel is played again while everyone takes a break, supposedly there is a “surprise” to be revealed soon.

A tattoo artist named Danielle comes on the set, Ethan says he’s going to get an Unus Annus tattoo live.

~3 hours out: More fanart. Mark admits that after this ends, he’s probably never going to wear his suit ever again, he might bury it. (There’s not much room left in his backyard)

Mark talks Danielle the tattoo artist’s ear off about how wholesome and educational and not cursed the channel was.

Mark and Ethan then do a full 180 and confess to Danielle all their sins; cooking with sex toys, pee sauna, pee life straws, the pee soda idea, drilldo, etc.

Amy: (while Eef’s getting tattooed) “Mark, he’s choosing to spend his last day in pain. And you’re not!”

Mark: (looking at a picture of a tattoo) How long do you think that tattoo would take?

Danielle: Probably 3 hours.

Mark: 3 HOURS?!?! That’s more time than we have to live!!

Alex, Mark’s trainer, made them a euology video. It was like a LORE-filled poem made of secret callbacks to the titles of past videos.

Ethan’s tattoo is done, it is a “ 00:00:00 “ on his left arm.

Stevie who runs the merch shop makes a guest appearance. He self descirbes as “tired and sad and a little tipsy.” He seems both grateful and dead inside. He says he’s going to do a matching tattoo with Ethan.

Mark admits he was planning on not doing merch originally, but he’s glad he changed his mind.

~2 hours out: They talk about behind the scenes of Hee hoo. The reason Mark’s still wearing high socks during this video is because of all the burs so he doesn’t scrape up his legs. Amy wrote the whole end credits story about Ethan meeting Michelle Obama and dying a tyrant.

Mark never got to watch Ethan kidnaps Mark, so they watch it.

They watch The Truth about Unus Annus, Amy surprises Mark with a white tophat. #Mark’sNewHat (it’s an extra large)

Mark and Eef make their last tweets as Unus and Annus

Mark got cool Unus Annus custom pocket watches for Ethan and Amy

~1 hour out: Things get serious. Mark and Ethan private the Unus Annus Instagram (so that no one else can take the Unus Annus handle) and delete all the posts.

Mark proposes that Amy be the one to hit the delete button at the end of the channel. They agree to do it together.

They hit 1 million likes. They open the coffin. There’s nothing in the coffin, but the inside is very pretty, split-colors silk. They take turns laying in it for the first time with the door shut. It’s comfy. Even Amy tries laying in it.

Mark says a short eulogy for Eef as Eef does for Mark. They both say a eulogy for Amy. They all get choked up. The coffin is now called the Cry Box.

They delete the Unus Annus Twitter. They set the Subreddit to private. Apparently there were no mods on that subreddit except Mark.

Mark finally confessed to Amy that he punched a hole in the wall. Amy was there when it was being patched up, but she forgives him anyway.

They play The Barrel and sing along. They thank their team. They thank the audience.

Amy comes down. They all put their hands on the computer. “Unus Annus."

Mark: "See you on the other side."

Ethan: "See you on the other side."

they click delete. The channel is gone forever. Memento mori.

[hotxcheeto]

Fluff alphabet with kate ?

━ 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Kate Marsh x G/N!Reader 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, Mentions of sadness, mentions of bad family

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - I hope this is the right template, took a while to find it. I've been so mentally drained lately, doing my best darling.

A = Activities (What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?)

Read, Kate loves to read to you. Especially on rainy days, just laying together. Listening to the sounds of thunder as she reads to you quietly, blushing every time she catches you staring at her. Or just showing off her drawings to you. Walks in the park or just in Arcadia along the road are her favorites as well. Seeing all the animals, her favorites are the bunnies or birds. B = Beauty (What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?)

Everything. You are so amazing in her mind, someone who is so gentle with her but can be so rough to everyone else. The way you hold yourself is her favorite, she admires and loathes your confidence and the way you'll tell anyone and their grandma to stick it where the sun doesn't shine. Kate adores everything about you, you're so... you. C = Comfort (How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?)

Very touchy, lovey. Whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Hold you and let you cry about it, or just complain until your throat hurts. Kate will listen to all of your tyrants about shitty people at work or your bad home life, whatever it is. She'll sit there patiently and listen, commenting here and there. D = Dreams (How do they picture their future with their s/o?)

Kate loves her drawings, imagining herself as a children's book author. You with whatever career you're pursuing, sitting in a little house, with an extra room because she adores children and she wants to make sure you'll both have room. A few cats as well, loves cats, drinking coffee and sitting in front of the fireplace together listening to whatever show is on. A dream, really. E = Equal (Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?)

Very passive, love Kate and she can get a little feisty but you easily shadow her into a corner. Kate likes you making decisions for her, talking to people for her, just stepping up in general. Makes her feel safe, that she always has someone to fall back on. She's a nervous wreck more than half the time. And you cannot resist those puppy dog eyes. F = Fight (Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?)

You two rarely fight, you're usually the more angry one when it happens. Kate doesn't really get angry, unless its dead, deep serious. But she's very forgiving, and very quickly. Guilt sets in, even if it isn't her fault, which is usually isn't. She forgives way too easily in your opinion, one of you main arguments. She just takes hits, and you hate it. You love her too much for her to take that pain. G = Gratitude (How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?)

VERY. Literally cherishes everything you do for her because she knows that sometimes her nervousness or submissive demeanor could get on other peoples nerves. Her people pleasing nature when it comes to most. She knows most of what you do for her, and she'll literally treat you so well for it. H = Honesty (Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?)

No, she tells you everything. Almost everything. Kate doesn't like to be trouble, or 'bother' you even thought you have told her a million times that she could never bother you. You love her to a million pieces. So you can usually get it out of her. You tell her everything though, she's like your diary. Will keep a secret till the day she dies. I = Inspiration (Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?)

Yes, you're the person that inspires her stories, just little jokes you to have gets her gears turning. You really help her come out of her shell aswell, you'd never push her to far, just slightly past the line, test the waters. You know when it's too much for Kate. Just like she knows when something is too much for you. J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?)

Not really, when it comes down to it. Sure she'll get a bit insecure at times. But a good talk is usually the best thing you could do for the both of you. K = Kiss (Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?)

Every kiss begins with K(ate). She's a shy kisser. Blushed like a tomato the first time you both kissed. Couldn't believe it, it was adorable. Kate prefers pecks, rather than deep kisses, but she's a pretty okay kisser. Just, new at it all. L = Love Confession (How would they confess to their s/o??)

Very random. Just spits it out if it comes down to it. Red in the face from something you'd said. Or you'd say it first, just because its very easily to tell when Kate has a crush. You knew, even if she denies it, you knew for sure. M = Marriage (Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?)

Yes, a thousand times yes. They do say every kiss begins with K. She'd want you to purpose, if she did, and that is a very big if, it would be small. Just a simple 'here please marry me? Love you.' Super sweet and shy about it. Best wife every, lovely lady that you could be with forever. Will make you breakfast every morning, and do know she will remember every single anniversary. N = Nicknames (What do they call their s/o?)

Honey, Love, Darling, Babe (rarely but very cute when she does) muffin (jokingly) O = On Cloud Nine (What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?)

Literally like a romcom. Kate is head over heels in love with you and nothing is pulling her out. And it is very obvious to other people. She's adorable, what can you say, like a puppy. Very sweet, very soft when talking to you. Likes to talk to you, just talk. P = PDA (Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?)

Very nervous like I said, doesn't like more than holding hands in public or little kisses on the cheek or forehead. They don't say much to other people, if they bring you up she'll definetely make sure to send a little compliment your way. But everyone can see it, you treat Kate amazingly and Kate loves you to the moon and back. Goes bright red when you kiss her in front of other people, not a big fan of it. Q = Quirk (Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.)

Very easily talks you out of doing something stupid/out of anger. She c calm a tiger down from a fight. R = Romance (How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?)

Very. Romcom, loves romance books. Does everything to please you even when you tell her time and time again that she's perfect. Very cliché, make you breakfast in bed, expects flowers. Loves those token couples in shows no matter who they are, strives to make your relationship as lovey dovey as you'll let her. She's your soft spot, of course you'll let her do whatever romantic stuff she wants. S = Support (Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?)

VERYYYY. Kate is your biggest fan, number one cheerleader no matter what. Kate will forever be there ready to cheer you on, pick you up, give you advice. No matter what. T = Thrill (Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?)

Loves her routines, like I said, takes a minute to inch her out to try other things. Go slow, test waters. Likes small, spread out changes to the routine, but very much likes your routine. U = Understanding (How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

Very, very empathetic and understanding. Can reach into your depths and tear out your soul if need be. Pulls at your heart strings, really. She knows you better then she knows the back of her hand. Always knows what's wrong when you're upset, and always knows how to calm you down out of it. V = Value (How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

Extremely important, you are part of the top of the pyramid. Her family and religion is a huge part as well though, but when it comes to certain aspects you usually have a say. W = Wild Card (A random Fluff Headcanon.)

Loves to bake with you. Like, loves it, especially finding new recipes to try. Staying up late in your kitchen laughing about how bad your cupcakes are while hers are perfectly frosted. If she didn't do kids books, she could be a baker. X = XOXO (Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?)

Yes, but in private. Doesn't like doing that out in public as I said. But loves to cuddle and kiss in private. Especially cuddling up on a rainy, thunderstorm filled day and just talk or read. Or even just hugging you as you cook or laying with you while you do homework or the other way around. Likes cuddling. Loves cuddling. Cuddling is needed. Y = Yearning (How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?)

Calls you all the time if she can. Loves to just hear your voice. Kate often will talk to her stuff animals, a council of great minds honestly. Just telling them about you like they hadn't heard it before. Cuddles with them and pretends its you. Z = Zeal (Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?)

Yes, she'd do a lot to protect you. Especially with her people pleaser tendencies. Its an argument you have a lot. Put you love her and she loves you. And that's enough to put up a fight for it.