#hello I haven’t been here in ages lol

[autumnalfelix]

So uh…did Twitter finally explode ???

#twitter #hello I haven’t been here in ages lol #I thought it was just a connection error

[asahicore]

gorgeous - lhs

"you should take it as a compliment that i'm talking to everyone here but you / and you should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in a darkened room" - gorgeous by taylor swift

series masterlist - part one - part two - part three

prompt 45 of the 100 kisses list, "we shouldn't do this" but they do so anyway

pairing. best friend's brother!heeseung x fem!reader synopsis. Heeseung comes back from his first year of university a new man - forget nervous, fidgety, dorky Heeseung and say hello to confident, teasing, flirty Heeseung. This change of attitude doesn't help your longstanding crush on your best friend's brother, and neither does the rising tension between the two of you - a tension that is bound to explode. genre. f2l, did i mention this was a best friend's brother au?, only fluff in this part but more to come, perhaps suggestive due to tension between reader and hee and makeout session lol word count. 8.1k (yes an asahicore fic under 10k thank u very much) a/n. hi loves i'm super happy to be posting this bc its the very first fic out of the 100 kisses event and its a project im really excited about !!! i know i said like 2 days ago it'd take me a while to write this but i got super motivated over the weekend and it turned out shorter than i thought and bestie @k-ingzo zo did a super amazing job at beta reading this so i was able to post it really quickly !! anyways hope you enjoy this, pls lmk,, and hope u look forward to the rest of the series as well !! ok bye

Nine years ago

“Y/N, honey, come meet your new friends!”

You rushed down the stairs at your mom’s call - at eight, you were always excited by the idea of new friends. She’d also called Naeun down, but lately, your sister had been acting like doing anything your parents asked her would cost her her life.

There in your living room were four unfamiliar faces, but your parents were smiling warmly, so you weren’t too nervous. Instinctively, you found your mother’s side and she rested her hand on your head, bending down to talk to you.

“Y/N, these are the Lees, they’ve just moved to the neighborhood.”

“Hi,” you greeted shyly, and were met with four hi’s in return.

“Heeseung and Seeun here started going to the same school as you,” she informs, nodding her head towards the young boy and girl. Now that she said it, the boy looked really familiar. You thought you recognized him from school that day - his glasses were definitely memorable. “And Seeun is the exact same age as you!” Your face lit up at that, and her expression mirrored yours as her lips curled into a smile. “Why don’t you show her your room?”

“Sure! Come on,” you said, holding out your hand for Seeun to take. She looked back at her parents who were nodding vigorously at her to follow you. You just played for half-an-hour, and Heeseung joined you quickly, saying he was bored with the adults downstairs. He didn’t talk much, instead found some of your toys to play with in his own corner. 

When the Lees left, you were thinking two things: one, you couldn’t wait to tell Chaeyeong about Seeun, and two, that boy with the big glasses was really, really cute.

-

Now

“Seeun, why the hell didn’t you tell us that your brother is a mega-hottie now?!”

This is what your friend Chaeyeong whisper-screams in lieu of a greeting as she barges in Seeun’s room, plopping down on her bed like it was her own. It might as well have been, considering how long the three of you had known each other.

“If you ever refer to my brother as a mega-hottie again, I’m terminating this friendship,” Seeun replies, not bothering to look up from the bead bracelet she was currently making.

“Oh please, just because you’re his sister doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed how attractive he’s gotten,” Chaeyeong insists, but it just makes Seeun scrunch her nose in disgust.

“Chaeyeong, please stop making it so obvious you’re an only child,” Seeun sighs. You let out a giggle at your friends’ conversation as you search for another color that could go well with the pink beads you’d chosen for your own bracelet. 

Stealthily, Chaeyeong leaves her spot on the bed and sneaks up to you. “Y/N!” she exclaims suddenly, wrapping her arms around your shoulders in a sneak-attack hug that makes you yelp. It makes you drop your half-finished bracelet, the beads falling all over the carpeted floor around you. You look up at Chaeyeong with a pout, but she just smiles at you and starts picking up the beads, gathering the tiny pink jewels in the palm of her hand.

“Y/N, you’re with me on this one, aren’t you?”

You ignore Seeun’s side-eye and give in to Chaeyeong’s encouraging expression. “I guess he does look very…” you pause to carefully consider your word choice. “Different,” you settle on.

“Different? That’s it? Y/N, you should really consider getting some glasses, seeing how you’re so blind to hot boys.” Cue a loud groan, Seeun’s courtesy. You just giggle again, slightly shaking your head at Chaeyeong’s antics. She rolled her eyes, disappointed that you didn’t back her up, but she drops the subject and switches to Seeun’s upcoming birthday party. Something great about being generally quiet? People don’t question it when you don’t partake much in a conversation. You listen and laugh as your friends bicker, but your mind is on something else.

Or rather, it’s on someone else.

Because Chaeyeong is absolutely right - Seeun’s brother has glowed up so much during his time away at university that you had a double-take when he opened the door for you earlier.

The sentence this is so unfair plays over and over in your head.

You’d heard of the freshman fifteen, of college first-years being so stressed over grades and having so little time that their diet consisted of instant ramen, quick cafeteria lunches, and an ungodly amount of coffee. And alcohol, on Friday nights, of course. After seeing how freshman year treated your older sister, you were dreading going to college, imagining it to be the complete opposite of what TV and movies had shown you.

So how the hell had Lee Heeseung gone from high school loser to campus hearthrob in the span of a mere nine months? (After some thinking, you realized that, well, if a woman can create a whole human being in nine months, maybe a regular guy can undergo great physical and mental change in that time, too.)

In September, when you’d last seen him, he wore the same glasses he had for all of high school - those slightly crooked ones that made his eyes look even bigger than they already were. He always had to push them back up his nose but he never bothered to get them fixed, even though all they needed was for the arms to be tightened. You remember his tic-like habit of readjusting his glasses, a habit so strong that he did it even when he wasn’t wearing them. Maybe they bothered him so much that he decided to get rid of them once and for all, you guess. 

Indeed, when he greeted you at his front door earlier (even after years of knowing Seeun and her family and no matter how much they reassure you that it’s okay, you’re unable to come in without knocking first, like Chaeyeong does), he wasn’t wearing his thick lenses you’d grown fond of. His eyes didn’t look unfocused like they usually would without glasses, so you assumed he’d switched to contact lenses - you knew it wasn’t Lasik surgery, because Seeun was always complaining that her parents wouldn’t pay for her or her brother to receive it. 

But it wasn’t just the glasses, of course not. There was an ease and confidence about him that he didn’t have before - no awkward giggles, no darting eyes, no weirdly positioned limbs. He held the door open for you and kept his eyes on you as you walked in, saying it was nice to see you again and asking if you were happy to be done with high school. You already weren’t expecting Heeseung to open the door in Seeun’s stead, so him actually looking at you while he spoke instead of mumbling a few words in your general direction and scratching the back of his neck rendered you completely flustered, cheeks heating up embarrassingly quickly.

His hair was different: it used to sit there atop Heeseung’s head, unsure what to do with itself, but now it was purposefully cut and slightly pushed back. When he turned his head, you saw something shiny dangling from his left ear.

Heeseung had a piercing. Shy, nervous, fidgety electronics club president Heeseung had a goddamn piercing, and it looked amazing. 

And then he laughed. He actually had the audacity to laugh, and then ruffle your hair. You could’ve died right then and there. “You’re still just as cute as before,” he mused, beaming down at you. Then he walked away towards the living room, saying Seeun was in her room upstairs. As if nothing happened. As if you weren’t on the verge of combusting, your saving grace being your friend’s voice calling out your name. You ran up the stairs, wanting to get as far away from Heeseung and his smile and his voice and his touch as possible. You busied yourself with the pearls and the small bracelet-making station Seeun had organized, trying not to think about the vein that ran down his forearm or about how his shoulders looked wider than before. And you’d managed to do that, until Chaeyeong brought him up.

It wasn’t unfair because he’d grown mysteriously hot - it was unfair because to you, Heeseung had always been the cutest boy around, but now other people had surely noticed too, Chaeyeong amongst them. Now, you were just one of the many girls that had a crush on Heeseung, even if yours dated back to the first time you’d met him when the Lees moved into the neighborhood. 

Their parents had been delighted that two girls of their daughter’s age - eight, to be precise - lived on their street. You were delighted that the cute boy you’d seen at school that day was her big brother, just one year older. Chaeyeong and you gladly welcomed Seeun into your friendship and you had each other’s back through the awkward phases of your early teenage years and the stressful times as high school seniors getting ready for college. You shared everything - clothes, jewelry, homework answers, gossip, tears, laughter. Secrets.

You liked to think there wasn’t a thing you didn’t know about them, but you couldn’t say the opposite was true - there was a secret you had to keep from them. A secret that grew bigger and bigger as time passed, but that you needed to keep locked in.

You had the biggest crush known to mankind on your best friend’s brother. It was either keep quiet or tell both of your friends; you trusted Chaeyeong, but you didn’t want her to carry that burden. You had no idea what Seeun’s reaction would be if you admitted you liked her brother, but you didn’t want to risk it. Every best friend’s brother (or brother’s best friend) romance you’d read had told you that the former was always against and deeply disgusted by the idea of their friend dating the latter. The last thing you wanted to do was make things weird, so you said nothing and suffered in silence, as one does. And so, for years, Heeseung was your little secret.

But not anymore, apparently. And it felt unfair. You didn’t have much of a chance to begin with, but now, getting with Heeseung was inimaginable. You’d just have to continue pining from far away, just as you’d gotten used to.

-

Four years ago

Your heart pounded as you made your way to the bus stop, steps heavy and head full of thoughts. Even though your older sister told you there’s nothing to worry about, you couldn’t help it. You were used to walking to school, not taking the bus. After three years of seeing the same people roaming the hallways, it was nerve-wracking to arrive at a place where most faces would be completely unfamiliar. You didn’t know what your teachers would be like, you were scared your classes would be a hundred times harder than before, you heard the cafeteria food was really bad. In short, you were absolutely dreading high school. And today was your first day.

The only thing that calmed you down was knowing that in a few minutes, you’d be with Seeun and Chaeyeong, and just seeing them would make you feel instantly better. You were meeting at the bus stop.

But when you reached it, neither of your friends were there. You shouldn’t have been surprised, since you’d come ten minutes early, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. That is, until you recognized someone else.

“Heeseung?” you called out before you could stop yourself. The boy snapped his head in your direction, and his eyes widened at the sight of you. Simple things like that made your heart burst with adoration for him.

“Oh, h-hi, Y/N.” He smiled the shy smile you loved so much and looked back at his feet, holding on tightly to the straps of his backpack. You stood next to him, close enough to have a conversation if he wanted to but not so close that it’d be weird.

Heeseung was the only person you felt awkward around. Even though you were on the quieter side and strangers weren’t your favorite people per se, being around people you didn’t know well wasn’t your definition of torture like it seemed to be for Heeseung and other kids from your school. But Heeseung’s awkwardness was contagious, and your crush on him didn’t help your ease of mind - so you imitated his posture, swaying back and forth on your feet as you held onto your backpack straps just to have something to hold onto. You smiled at the ground, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by looking at him, but that meant you missed the growing blush on his cheeks.

“So,” he started, “nervous?” He glanced quickly, just once, at you. You were so surprised at his breaking the silence, used to a quiet Heeseung, that you forgot to answer, simply staring at him. His panicked expression and mumblings were what jolted you out of your daze. “I-I mean, you know, cause it’s your first day and everything, and I was really nervous last year- I am today, too, actually- so I thought maybe, you know, you’re nervous too, but maybe you’re not, I don’t-”

He said all of this so quickly, you started laughing, slightly bending over. He let out a chuckle too, but as you continued laughing, a pout started to form on his lips. “What’s so funny…” you heard him grumble as he kicked a non-existent pebble.

“Sorry,” you said, regaining your breath. “I’m sorry, Heeseung.” The sound of his name made him glance at you again. You wished you could kiss the pout off his lips. “I was nervous, actually. But I feel better now.���

A quick smile appeared on his lips, but he willed it away. “I’m glad my embarrassment made you feel better,” he sighed.

You gently kicked his shoe with yours to make him look at you. “No, it’s because you made me laugh. I needed it. Thanks,” you corrected with a smile. Heeseung may have made you feel awkward, but the easiness with which he always got flustered made you love to tease him slightly.

His smile widened as he looked away once more, the blush having spread to his whole face by then. “Whatever,” he murmured. There was no time to say anything else because Seeun called out your name, practically skipping towards you. 

She gave you an excited hug as a greeting before turning towards her brother with a glare, punching him hard on the bicep, making him wince in pain and reach his hand to cover his arm where she hit him. “Thanks for waiting for me, loser.”

“You were gonna make us late!” he whined, rubbing his arm.

“Yeah, ‘cause I obviously missed the bus,” she tutted.

You watched the siblings with an amused smile, used to the exact same kind of banter at home. Your sister, who was in her last year of high school, had decided not to drive you for some reason only an older sister could make up and pretend was reasonable. Your parents had tried to convince her, but you didn’t mind taking the bus with your friends, so they didn’t push it, just glad they could somehow keep the both of you happy.

Heeseung didn’t say anything in return. Your eyes met for a moment, and his frown relaxed into a smile when he caught your expression. It lasted a second but it was enough to make your stomach twist. Seeun, oblivious, grabbed your arm and started telling you about all the things she was excited about for today. You were worried Chaeyeong wasn’t going to make it, but her footsteps were loud as she ran, reaching you just as the bus stopped in front of you. Heeseung took what you soon found out was his usual spot at the front of the bus while your friends dragged you towards the back of it. You tried not to let your thoughts drift towards the boy with the messy black hair and crooked glasses, but his shy smile replayed in your mind all day. For a year, you’d gotten used to not going to the same school as him - you didn’t know how you’d survive seeing him at least five days a week once again.

-

Now

You were really determined to not let Heeseung’s newfound confidence sway you, physically shaking your head every time a thought of him popped in your head (useless) and racking your brain for reasons you shouldn’t like him (not many of those). There was just one teeny, tiny problem.

He was making it impossible to pine for him at a distance. 

It seemed like everywhere you went, he was there. Maybe that was due to the fact that your most frequently visited place was literally his house, but still. It was frustrating. You didn’t need to be met with his stupid smile whenever he opened the door for you, you didn’t need to catch him cutely napping - how was that even possible?! - in the living room, a random sitcom still playing on the TV, you didn’t need to hear his laughter when his friends were over, and you definitely did not need to see him half-naked as he came out of the bathroom, hair wet from the shower and sticking to his forehead, towel wrapped low around his hips and his abs fully on display. Because of course, you had to be in the hallway, heading to the kitchen to get a glass of water, at the exact same time as him. 

You almost start to resent the fact that Seeun had the comfiest bedroom out of the three of you, as well as the most snack-filled house, which was why you had decided years ago to hang out there the most. Especially during school breaks, you were there almost every day, so you were bound to see Heeseung a lot. But for some reason, that didn’t seem to be enough, and over the course of June, you also ran into him while shoe-shopping with your mom, then another time as you entered the public library just when he left it, and another when your friends and his had decided to get ice cream at the same time. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The worst part? Every time he saw you, while you simultaneously wanted to run away from him and into his arms, his damnedly handsome face broke into a stupidly beautiful smile that looked far too genuine for your heart. “Y/N! Funny seeing you here!”

No, Heeseung, not funny.

You didn’t want to be that girl whose brain cells stopped working whenever she encountered an attractive male specimen, but that was apparently who you were meant to be, because all words left you when you saw Heeseung. Although you’d been somewhat flustered around him in the past, he was always much more so than you, which reassured you and gave you enough confidence to actually talk to him. But now that he had realized how handsome he was and was clearly using that newfound knowledge against you (or so you thought), you were unable to string a coherent sentence when his shiny eyes bore into yours.

You think he might’ve sensed your awkwardness, because he never lingered, never made useless small talk, just asked about your favorite ice cream flavor or the book he’d checked out, patted your head, then was on his way.

There were so many butterflies in your stomach, you were scared it might fly away.

One afternoon in the middle of July, you and your friends come back from the city pool completely exhausted after playing around for hours in the water. All bundled up and close together, you try to nap on Seeun’s bed. Keyword try, because even though your friends’ soft snores quickly start to fill the silence of the room, you can’t seem to fall asleep, no matter how heavy your eyes feel.

Quietly, you get out of bed and head downstairs to the kitchen, hoping a cold glass of water will help sleep come to you like it usually does. You shouldn’t be surprised to see Heeseung in the dining room/kitchen area, busy with a puzzle, the pieces of which he’s spread out all over the table, but your heart still does a flip. He must be really engrossed in it, because he doesn’t notice your presence in the room until you fill a glass with ice, the sudden sound making his head snap up at you. You hate that his face breaks into a grin as soon as he sees you.

“Oh, hey, Y/N! What are you doing?”

“Just getting some water,” you explain, raising your glass with a small smile. Your whole body tells you to run away, back to Seeun’s bedroom, but something in your gut tells you to stay, to get closer to Heeseung. So you do. “What about you?” you ask, slowly making your way towards the table and peering at the puzzle in progress.

“Just whipping up some brownies,” he retorts with a devilish smirk, big eyes looking up at you. 

You fight back a smile in vain. “Shut up,” you mumble, but take a seat next to him anyway. He seems slightly taken aback by the sudden proximity, and you are too, but you keep your gaze focused on the puzzle in front of you so that you can’t think too much about how close you’re sitting, and how your knees could touch if you angled them just so.

For a small while you sit in silence, watching as he puts pieces together and even finding a couple of your own. It’s a one-thousand piece jigsaw that he’s clearly only just started, but Heeseung doesn’t seem fazed by that. You like seeing how his eyebrows slightly furrow when he’s searching for a particular piece, and the pleased smirk that graces his lips when he finds it. You break the silence after a few minutes.

“So you still like puzzles, then?” you ask, voice low. You’ve always been told you speak quietly - even too quietly sometimes, but you can’t always help it. Especially in situations like this, when it’s silent around you anyways, you don’t see the point of raising your voice. When Heeseung replies, he speaks at the same volume as you, and there’s something comforting about it, about speaking quietly in such a spacious and sunlit room - the words you share are for you two, and you two only.

“Yep, ever since that day.” He glances quickly at you and smiles at the piece in his hand, and it’s like getting a glimpse of the Heeseung you had known all those years. Your heart warms at the sight.

“That day?”

This makes him look properly at you, his eyes darting back and forth between yours as if searching for something there. Your heart is now on fire. “Don’t you remember?”

You tilt your head in response and he turns his attention back to the puzzle. “It was at this table, too. I think your grandparents- your grandma, I think? Anyway, someone had gotten you a puzzle for your birthday.”

You ‘ah’ in realization. “Of course!”

Two years ago

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this, it’s so complicated,” Seeun pouted apologetically, looking at you sadly. “We’ve been here like an hour and we’ve barely gotten anywhere.” 

Chaeyeong, head on the table, groaned in agreement. You followed your friend’s gaze to the puzzle in front of you - she was right, you hadn’t made much progress. But you liked it. The picture was pretty and you’d like to see it completed, but more than that, you liked finding the right piece, figuring out strategies.

You hummed, mirroring Seeun’s pout. Chaeyeong snapped her head back up to look at you. You’d think she hadn’t slept in days, but that was just bored Chaeyeong. You loved your friend and her over-dramatic antics. “Can we just take a break?” she asked, tone like you’d kidnapped and forced her to do this.

“You guys go ahead.” You smiled. “I like it, I can just continue this for a while and you guys do whatever you want.” The three of you spent so much time together that you didn’t need to be doing an activity together to be happy - being in each other’s general vicinity was enough to be considered a hang-out.

“You sure?” Seeun asked.

“Yeah, ‘course.” You chuckled at the obvious relief on your friend’s faces. “Just don’t watch the next Extraordinary You episode without me, okay?”

They both gasped and clutched their hearts like you’d accused them of murder. “How could you even think that, Y/N?!” Chaeyeong exclaimed.

“We would never!” Seeun added.

You shook your head at your friends’ antics, laughing as you waved them off. “Just go, already.”

“Yes, ma’am!” And with that, they were off, running up the stairs to Seeun’s bedroom.

You were only on your own for around ten minutes - the front door opened and closed, and the quiet shuffle of shoes being taken off and replaced with slippers let you know Heeseung had just come home. Seeun always made a show of being exhausted after school, groaning as she threw her backpack to the ground, while Mr and Mrs Lee always announced their arrival with a sometimes cheery, sometimes tired ‘I’m home!’. But Heeseung, quiet as always, simply set his backpack next to the stairs, slipped into his slippers and made his way to the kitchen, fond of a quick snack after school. Even Chaeyeong made herself more known when she entered the Lee household.

Every day except for Fridays, he came home two hours later than his sister because of either magic or electronics club (yes, magic club. It was cute, okay?!). You always looked forward to the monthly meeting of the book club you were in, partly because it meant you could take the bus back with Heeseung afterwards. Even if the ride was usually mainly silent, just sitting next to him was enough for your heart to do all sorts of tricks worthy of an Olympic gymnast. 

“Oh, hey, Y/N,” he greeted softly, probably surprised at seeing you alone at the dinner table.

“Hi, Heeseung. How was the electronics club?” You wanted to make conversation, but you winced immediately at your words - was it normal for you to know what club he had on what days?

But Heeseung seemed to pay it no mind, just smiling shyly, a blush already creeping on his cheeks. “It was nice, thanks.” He opened the fridge, taking out a carton of milk. “Do you want a glass?” When you didn’t respond immediately, he was quick to add, “Of milk? O-or orange juice? Or I can make some tea, if you want-”

His hands were already busy with preparing whatever drink he thought you might want. You held back a chuckle and smiled as you answered, “Milk is fine, thanks.”

His blush spread all the way down his neck and you turned your attention back to the puzzle so he wouldn’t see your grin. “Right, milk. Milk,” he stammered, then got two glasses out of the cupboard.

You loved moments like these with Heeseung - flustered, light-hearted, slightly awkward, moments that made you want to giggle out of nerves and delight. Basically every moment with him was like this, so it’d be more accurate to say you loved every moment with him.

“I didn’t know you liked puzzles,” he said, an upward tilt to his voice, as he set your glass next to you and took a seat across from you. He peered down at the pieces spread out in front of you, fixed his glasses on his nose, and took a big gulp of milk.

“I didn’t either,” you said with a chuckle, and stammered out an explanation when he looked up at you questioningly. “My, um, my grandma gave this to me for my birthday last month. She’s got a lot of grandkids, you know, and I think she might’ve mixed up my other cousin who likes puzzles and me…” Heeseung nods slowly, the corners of his lips tugging up in amusement. “But I don’t mind it,” you add, “I’m having fun, actually. Seeun and Chaeyeong are of a different mind, though. It’s a bit hard doing it on my own but I like it anyway.”

“I can help you,” he suddenly blurted out, and he looked just as surprised at his words as you were. “If you want.”

You smiled at him, and Heeseung and you actually looked at each other, actually held eye contact for three seconds, until you felt your face burn and had to look away. “Sure, yeah, that’d be nice.”

Although it took some time to finish the puzzle - putting 500 pieces together was a lot trickier than you thought it’d be - Heeseung and you managed to do it, high fiving celebratorily after almost two hours of hard work.

Now

“I just had a lot of fun that day.” Heeseung shrugs. “Plus, I already liked things like Legos and Rubik’s cubes, so it made sense I’d like puzzles, too.” 

You nod in response, watching as he twirls a puzzle piece between his thumb and middle finger. “It’s funny that my grandma’s mistake is what made you discover your love for puzzles.”

Heeseung chuckles along with you, and you’re relieved the atmosphere is somewhat lighter than before until he looks straight into your eyes, locking your gaze in his own, and a breath gets trapped in your throat. “I’m glad she did that, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”

You’re still staring at him, dumbfounded, mouth agape, when he looks away with a smirk and turns his attention back to the puzzle, analyzing it seriously as if nothing happened. You come back to your senses after a few seconds, clearing your throat before imitating Heeseung and trying to focus on the puzzle once again. But that’s hard to do when your hands brush ever-so-slightly every time you fumble around the pile for a particular piece, or every time he hits your knee with his, inadvertently or to tease you, you’re not sure.

The first thing to do when starting a puzzle is looking for all the side pieces to build the frame. When Heeseung spots one in the pile next to you, he leans in to grab it, and he’s suddenly close enough for you to get a whiff of his cologne that had faded over the day. You think he’ll just take the piece and sit back in his seat, but instead, he turns his head towards you, and that’s when you realize just how close you are. Close enough that it wouldn’t be hard to close the gap and have your lips on his - just as the thought hits you, his eyes drift down to your parted lips. Is he thinking the same thing?

You take a sharp breath in, eyes fixed on Heeseung, mind racing with thoughts and assumptions of what might be going through his head right now. But your brain goes haywire when a smirk blooms on his lips, clearly enjoying your reaction. His gaze finds your eyes once more and he raises the piece between the two of you, in the small space that separates you. “Got it,” he says quietly, voice lower than usual. It makes your insides melt. He could be very well talking about you - he’s got you absolutely wrapped around his finger, and he seems to know it.

He turns back to the puzzle, smirk still on his lips, and you’re so embarrassed and confused that your flight instinct kicks in. The screech of your chair as you push it back and stand up makes Heeseung look up at you again, his smirk having dissolved in surprise and - disappointment?

No time to ponder, you need to get. out. of. here. 

“Right, well, that was fun, haha,” you breathe out, actually saying the word ‘haha’ and wanting to run away even more thereafter. “I should probably head back to the girls, now.” You’re already backing up and walking away when Heeseung calls out your name, but you just turn around and rush back upstairs, yelling out a small “bye, Heeseung!” on your way.

You’re already back in Seeun’s bedroom when Heeseung shakes his head at your sudden disappearance, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Cute,” he says under his breath.

-

To minimize any chances of running into Heeseung, over the next two weeks, you ask Chaeyeong and Seeun if you could hang out at your house more often, using the excuse that you want to spend as much time as possible there before leaving off to college. They don’t question it too much - next year, they’ll be able to come back fairly regularly to their parent’s houses, since the college they’re going to is less than an hour-long car ride away, but you’ll be further away, too far to come back home often.

It just so happens to be the university Heeseung is studying at, but you don’t need to worry about that right now. They had one of the best English Lit programs in your area and you’d been wanting to go there for all of your high school years - you used to think of Heeseung’s going there as a pro, but right now, it felt more like a con.

You manage to only run into him twice over the course of those two weeks, and both times, just in passing. But now it’s the night of Seeun’s birthday party and it’s impossible to pretend he isn’t there even when you’re in a crowded room together. Heeseung and Seeun’s parents have lended their house for their kids to have a party there, using it as an opportunity to have a date night, and Heeseung and his friends have graciously provided a big portion of the alcohol, saying it was their birthday gift.

You aren’t the biggest fan of alcohol, so you opt for the fruitier, lighter drinks, but still, two hours after the party starts, you can already feel your head start to spin, your voice is louder, everything makes you laugh. When a friend from school tells you they’re playing seven minutes in heaven in the hallway upstairs, you think that's the funniest thing you’ve ever heard and immediately agree to join.

The sight of Heeseung sitting in the circle, already looking at you with a lopsided smile, almost sobers you up completely.

You’d tried to avoid him as best as you could, but it was like you couldn’t escape him - maybe that was due to the fact that the heart of the party was kept to the kitchen and the living room, just a few people sitting on the stairs at the entrance to get away from the noise, but still, it annoyed you to no end that you had to keep seeing him everywhere. Maybe that was also what made the alcohol easier to down.

At some point, you were in the kitchen, doing a shot of God-knows-what with girls from school. You heard his voice before you saw him, and it made you roll your eyes but also your heart skip a beat. “Didn’t know you were such a drinker, Y/N.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, and when his face came into view, you wanted to slap it away. Or kiss it away, maybe.

“I’m not, I’m just trying to have fun,” you retorted, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you poured yourself another shot. I Gotta Feeling by Black Eyed Peas started playing in the next room and the girls shrieked before rushing to the made-up dancefloor. You wanted to join them, but something kept your feet firmly planted at the kitchen counter.

Before you could bring the shot glass to your lips, however, Heeseung stole it from you and downed it himself. “Hey!” you protested, but it was done, and he was scrunching his nose at the bitter taste, shaking his head. You wished he could stop being attractive for one damn second.

“You don’t need that to have fun.”

He placed his forearms on the kitchen counter and leaned on them, forcing him to look up at you. You had no idea what the hell he meant by that, nor did you want to try and figure it out - all you knew was that you couldn’t stay there with him when he looked at you so intently, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, hair perfectly disheveled and biceps apparent even under his t-shirt sleeves.

“You’re right, I don’t,” you made yourself say, and spun on your heels to join your friends on the dancefloor. 

And a few drinks later, here you are, sitting in a circle on the hallway floor, Heeseung right in front of you, leaning back on his palms and looking down at you with that same stupid smirk once again.

The game goes as such: one person spins the bottle twice, and the people it lands on have to go to a bedroom closet for seven minutes (timed carefully by Jake, Heeseung’s friend who is taking this game very seriously) to do whatever they want, while the others occupy themselves with other games. When the seven minutes are up, the doors burst open, and you have to leave the closet. 

And because it wouldn’t be any fun otherwise, after a few rounds, the bottle points straight at you, then straight at Heeseung, and before you know it, everyone except for Seeun is cheering, and Heeseung is holding out his hand for you to take, and you do, and he raises you up, and together, you head to his closet, as per the rules of this stupid middle-school game you should never have agreed to play in the first place. You can barely Seeun’s voice as she shouts, “Y/N, I trust you!”, which just makes Chaeyeong burst into laughter and whoop louder for you. You’d also barely registered Heeseung’s friends clapping each other’s backs, smiling like they were in on something.

The sound of the closet door shutting is what snaps you out of your daze. You hadn’t even realized Heeseung had kept your hand in his until he released it, leaning his back against one wall of the closet, facing you. All three bedrooms in the Lees’ house had built-in walk-in closets which meant you weren’t sandwiched between Heeseung and his clothes, but still, you wished you could put more distance between your two bodies - one step closer, and you were done for.

It wasn’t just Heeseung’s presence in the narrow space - it was his scent filling your nostrils, the combined smell of the cologne he was wearing, of the fabric softener on his clothes, and an unfamiliar scent you somehow recognized as unique to Heeseung, his skin, his hair, smells you’d wanted to discover for years but never got close enough to. Well, now you did. And it was intoxicating - you wanted more, wanted to bury your face in the crook of his neck and inhale. You wanted to know what his reaction would be, if he’d let you, if he’d push you away.

All those thoughts were running wild in your head. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Your stomach was in messy knots, your hands were sweaty and you had no idea where to place them, your eyes wouldn’t stop darting around the dark room. Everywhere but Heeseung. You could feel his eyes on you, but you were too nervous to meet them.

Your breathing must’ve gotten loud enough for him to hear, because all of a sudden, you feel his hand take yours, and he’s stood up from his position against the wall, his body too close to yours for your heart to handle. His thumb rubs what he must think are comforting semi-circles on the back of your hand, but the touch just destroys any capability of thinking straight you had left.

“Y/N,” he calls out, and the sound of his voice makes your eyes close shut. You cannot give in. You had seen Seeun’s disgusted expression when you and Heeseung were picked for the game - if just the idea of you and her brother kissing repulses her, what would she say if she knew it actually happened, or if you started dating? You may have the biggest crush ever on Heeseung, but no one was worth losing your friendship with Seeun.

“Calm down,” he says, and you wish you could be as steady as his voice. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”

This makes you scoff. “You touching me is not helping my nervousness.” The words are out before you can stop them, and in the darkness of the room, you have to concentrate to make out the tilt of Heeseung’s head. You don’t need to see it to know he’s smiling, the satisfied smirk that has been gracing his features for the past month and a half.

“Yeah? Why is that?”

You take your hand out of Heeseung’s and cross your arms over your chest. “You know why,” you say, not intending your voice to come out as weak as it does.

Heeseung takes another step closer to you, and the only ray of light that comes through the panels of the closet door hits his face, making it visible for you to see. “I do, but I want you to tell me.” Another step, making you back up until you hit the wall behind you.

You call out his name shakily. His lips are right in front of you at this point, and you can’t not look at them.

He places a hand delicately on your waist, as if not wanting to scare you off. “Yeah?” He’s so close now that you can feel his breath fanning on your lips.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you say, and finally, your voice is strong like you want it to - but Heeseung isn’t deterred by it.

“Do what?” he asks, pretending to be stupid. “We haven’t done anything. Not yet.” He adds the last part in a whisper, his eyes drifting down to your lips, and you can feel your resolve crumbling piece by piece, the opposite of completing a puzzle.

“You know what I’m talking about,” you whisper back, voice almost pleading with him. Stop this before it’s too late, you want to tell him, but for some reason, at this point, you’re more scared of nothing happening than something happening.

“I do, but I want you to tell me,” he repeats, and you can’t help but let out a chuckle. Laughing helps relieve the tension, but it’s back as quickly as it left when his hold on your waist gets tighter, bringing you closer to him. Your hands that had fallen to your side come up to grab the sides of his t-shirt, gathering the fabric in your fists. There’s no going back now, you can tell - you wait for Heeseung to make a move, both dreading it and craving the relief that will come with it.

Heeseung’s free hand comes up to your face, and he traces your jawline with a knuckle before taking your chin in two of his fingers, gently raising it so that your face is angled up towards him. His touch makes your skin burn and takes away your ability to breathe properly.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you repeat, voice barely audible, a weak and half-hearted attempt at stopping this now that you still can.

“No, we shouldn’t,” he agrees, and before you can say or do anything else, Heeseung presses his lips to yours, finally, finally.

His lips are just as soft as you’d expected them to be, and the kiss is light, slow, careful. You’re grateful for it, because you’re not a very experienced kisser - if Heeseung had plunged his tongue directly into your mouth, you wouldn’t have known what to do. It’s almost like he knows this, like he’s giving you time to figure it out, to get used to it. His hand snakes its way to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him, while the other cups your cheek with his palm. You, on the other hand, have completely forgotten about your hands, only able to focus on where your lips meet.

It’s easy to fall into Heeseung’s rhythm, to let him take control of the kiss. But maybe it’s too easy, because soon enough, you start to want more - as amazing as this is right now, a slow kiss like this is not enough to have dissolved the tension in your body. You remember your hands and inch them up to his hair, your fingers finding purchase there and slightly pulling as you open your mouth just a bit wider, hoping Heeseung will get the message.

For a second, you think you’ve got it all wrong - Heeseung pulls back an inch, peering down at you. You’re both breathing heavily, and you’re scared you might have gone too far. But then, he murmurs a small fuck under his breath, and just like that, his lips are back on yours, your back is pressed against the wall again, his body encaging your smaller one. The kiss now is nothing like it was seconds ago - it’s turned hungry, hot, messy. You love it.

You had no idea you would want to kiss Heeseung like this, but now that you were doing it, you couldn’t get enough. The intensity with which he held you, the feel of his tongue against yours, the small groans that escaped his lips every time you pulled on his hair, it was all making you more drunk than the alcohol had.

You swear you haven’t even been kissing for two minutes, but then, all of a sudden, the doors are snapped open, and light pours in the closet, and Heeseung’s lips aren’t on yours anymore. You hadn’t heard the timer go off, too engrossed in Heeseung to pay anything else any mind. When you turn your head, Chaeyeong and Jake are staring at you and Heeseung, mouths wide open and eyes darting back and forth between the two of you.

“Oh. My. God,” Chaeyeong says, while Jake starts laughing. A shy smile appears on Heeseung’s lips, even plumper and pinker than usual from your kiss. His hair is a mess, and you’re sure you don’t look too different. He scratches the back of his neck, and you can’t believe this sheepish boy is the same that was kissing you roughly not a minute ago.

“Chaeyeong,” you cry out, voice already pleading as you take a step out of the closet and take both of her hands in yours. “Seeun can’t know about this.” She raises her eyebrows in surprise but nods her head in agreement, and you’ve never been so thankful for your friend as now. 

“Would she really mind?” Jake asks, looking at you, then at his friend. You turn to look at Heeseung behind you, who purses his lips.

“I’m not sure, but I have a feeling she would… She’s always told me she didn't want me hanging out with her friends,” Heeseung says, and you and Chaeyeong exchange a look; this was news to both of you.

You have no further time to discuss it, however, because Seeun’s voice calling out your name and Heeseung’s make all four of you widen your eyes. Chaeyeong fixes your clothes and hair as best as she can, then smiles at you reassuringly and nods, prompting you to imitate her. She ushers Heeseung into his bathroom and tells him to “freshen up or whatever,” and you, Jake and Chaeyeong leave the room just as Seeun reaches the door.

“Where’s Heeseung?” she asks, not a trace of suspicion in her voice, peering behind you into her brother’s dark room.

“Just needed the toilet,” Jake answers quickly, and that seems to convince her. 

She turns to you, an amused expression on her face. “Hope that wasn’t too awkward.”

You’re so surprised at your friend’s quickness to assume that nothing could happen between you and her brother, as if the idea was truly unfathomable to her, but you figure it’s for the best. You all head back into the party, Heeseung appearing some five minutes later. He scans the room for you, and when you make eye contact from across the crowded living room, he smiles, his shy, genuine smile that you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. 

You already miss him, you realize, his lips, his touch, his scent. That’s how you know that you’re in deep, deep shit.

permanent taglist: @k-ingzo @bbujiikseu @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl (ask to be removed/added!)

© asahicore on tumblr, 2023. please do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works. reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!

#enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #enhypen fluff #heeseung fluff #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios #enhypen fanfiction #heeseung fanfiction #enhypen imagines #heeseung imagines

[deadlynavigation]

Hello, I really enjoyed your m! Wednesday x reader stories. Can you write about how his s/o gets shocked by the amount of gifts his gives and the expensive family vacations he takes them? Forgetting that he and his family are loaded lol.

Money Well Spent

Fandom: The Addams Family

Pairing: Male!Wednesday Addams x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, mentions of seduction, rich people being rich

Author's Note: Wednesday is aged up in this- same as previous fics

Navigation

Your boyfriend had money. Was money. And it was getting ridiculous.

There were a couple of times he had crossed the line, a couple of times when he put a bit too much pressure on the already thin ice.

After a while, you kept a mental list of these moments.

-1-

It’s been almost a week since you last saw your boyfriend. Wednesday had accepted an offer for his work, but there was a catch- a weeklong business trip in New York.

Not that you blame him. From what he told you about the offer, it’s an amazing opportunity for both his position and his company, one that would benefit him for years to come. However, that doesn’t mean you can’t miss his gloomy presence and warm embraces from time to time.

So imagine your despair when he calls your cell, on the day he’s supposed to arrive back, informing you of a last-minute change of plans.

“So you’re staying another day.”

“With a heavy heart, cara mia.”

You sigh quietly, and it carries to the other end of the line. “I do apologize, Y/n. I didn’t account for further negotiations regarding the business deal.”

“It’s fine, Wednesday. It’s not that big of a deal- I’ve survived this long without you, haven’t I?”

“If only I could say the same, darling.”

And so here you were on a Friday night, watching some generic TV program and mulling over your to-do list for next week. If Wednesday were here, he’d kiss you until you forgot about it, claiming that the weekend is for you and him, not work.

After a bit of sulking, you hear movement near your apartment’s entrance. Probably the building settling. But as the mysterious sounds grow louder, you rise from the sofa, mind on high alert. You creep near the entranceway, eyes scanning for a weapon of some sorts.

“Y/n, are you home?” Wednesday’s voice echoes throughout the apartment as you pick up a particularly heavy shoe. Dropping it quickly, you make your way to the door, where Wednesday is leaning against the frame.

“Babes?”

“Darling.” He breathes in relief.

“You’re- back. I thought you had until tomorrow morning?”

“I was reminded once more of a man’s desire for money.”

You rub your forehead. “You bribed an agent.”

“I satisfied his materialistic desires.”

You stare at him for a minute before giving up trying to understand your boyfriend. Sensing your disapproval, Wednesday drops his luggage and pulls a small package from his coat pocket. It almost looks like a ring box, all black and ready to be opened.

“I understand your anger with me, Y/n. It is completely justified. However, this may make up for my tardiness.” He offers the box to you, face dead serious with a hint of anticipation. You take the box from him, opening it with steady hands. Wednesday has given you gifts before- expensive gifts. This better not be a repeat.

As the lid pulls back, a watch is revealed- a Jaquet Droz, from the look of it. You’re in love with it the second you see the sleek design. And though you’re tempted, you pull back into reality, facing your lover once more. He’s adopted the stance of a sheepish partner, knowing you would never allow yourself to buy this (but would want it all the same).

“You’re not buying me out with this.” You insist.

“Of course not, darling. I’d be disappointed if this was all it took.”

“And I’m expecting an apology.”

“In the morning. I was gone for a week, cara mia. Let me enjoy you right now, instead of the reminder of your absence.”

And so you sigh and grumble, but in the end, Wednesday has won your heart over with his loving words and actions and watch.

-2-

“Mr. and Mrs. Addams, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You say, muting the excitement in your voice for fear of them despising your expressive voice.

“The pleasure is ours. We’ve been waiting for Wednesday to introduce us to you, Y/n.” Gomez Addams replies happily.

“We’ve heard all about you from our son. All good things, of course. Tell us, is it true you’ve lit a spider’s heart on fire?”

“Mother, Father.” Wednesday cuts in. “Please don’t overwhelm them. We’ve only just arrived, and you’re picking them apart like they’re a deceased relative.”

“No, it’s fine.” You say, then lean over to your boyfriend. “You’re telling me that story later.”

“Of course.” Wednesday whispers, then turns back to his parents. “Shall we?” He gestures to the sitting room.

“Ah, yes. But before we do, your father has something for Y/n.”

Your eyebrows furrow. You turn to Wednesday, who is avoiding your glare in favor of picking a conversation with his mother, catching up quickly as Gomez goes to grab whatever it is he has up his sleeve.

“Here we are!” You all startle at Gomez’s loud exclamation in the room over. Clattering noises are heard before the father rushes back to you, Wednesday, and Morticia, holding a long object draped in velvety red fabric.

“This has been passed down to Addams’ lovers for generations. I gifted it to Morticia, my mother bestowed it upon my father, and her father… It’s been in the family for decades, and now it’s your turn to hold it.” And with that, he pulls what is possibly the most expensive-looking sword you have ever seen from the fabric, holding it out to you. Your eyes go wide as you look from the sword to Wednesday and back to the sword.

“Wow- thank you,” you marvel. Words cannot describe how beautiful the weapon is- and as you think of that, you almost snort at the irony. But it’s true. The sword really is amazing, jewels trapped in its metal as it glints in the moonlight.

“I would have told you, beloved, but that would ruin the surprise,” Wednesday murmurs into your ears as you accept the sword with a delicate touch. “You are holding thousands of dollars worth of beauty in your hand, yet it pales in comparison to you.”

You almost drop the sword as Wednesday takes on a seductive tone. You want to yell at him, that he is in front of his parents and this sword is worth more than all your organs combined, but damn, his voice-

“It’s an honor, Mr. Addams, Mrs. Addams.” You turn back to your hosts.

“Please, call me Morticia, dear.” Morticia smiles.

“And feel free to call me Gomez. You are part of the family now- and family uses first names.”

With that, they stride into the sitting room, expecting their son and his lover to follow. And you do- after you glare at Wednesday, drag him down by his coat lapels to kiss him heatedly, and hiss at him that you will be getting gloves to handle this sword.

-3-

“Pack your bags, cara mia.” Wednesday strides into your shared room, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes.

Your head rises from your book, eyebrows raised. “...Why?” You ask hesitantly.

“We’re going on a trip.”

You place your book down, not mentally prepared for Wednesday’s antics. “Kay, I’m gonna need a little bit more than that. You’re not just whisking me away to god knows where without any explanation whatsoever.”

Wednesday sighs dramatically as you wait, not moving to pack as he hoped you would. It’s a tense couple seconds, breeze fluttering in from the open windows as your gazes lock and a silent argument occurs.

Wednesday, surprisingly, breaks first. “To Spain,” he starts. “My father has friends there, and he thought it was high time he visited them again. With the whole family this time.”

Only the Addams Family could schedule an impromptu trip to another country with a snap of their fingers.

“See? That wasn’t that hard.” You coo sarcastically. “Now- what? I’m not technically family…”

Wednesday stops for a moment, taking your words in before walking over to where you’re perched on the sofa.

“Cara mia.” He murmurs, dropping to his knees in front of you. His fingers draw a path from your cheek to chin, settling there as he talks. “Look at me. You are family. My parents, however bothersome they may be, consider you the daughter they never had- and Pugsley hasn’t tried to put an arrow through your heart yet. You are family, as far as any of us are concerned.”

You breathe deeply for a moment, bathing in the romantic words of your lover. “All right, then.” The words tumble out of your mouth.

“Excellent. Now go pack.” Wednesday stands back up and goes to grab your suitcase.

That man would be the death of you.

#male wednesday addams x reader #male!wednesday addams x reader #male wednesday addams #addams family x reader #oneshot #fluff #requests #x reader #Wednesday x reader #addams are loaded fr

[uncouth-the-fifth]

pythia, a supernatural rewrite. phantom traveler, p.3

read it on ao3.

words: 14k notes: hello!!! on the wings of an absolute ARMY of betas, here is a fresh new chapter for you!! since the last one was a little short i took the time to really flesh this one out. I'm a shy idiot who is SO bad at responding, but i see your comments and they mean the world to me. i literally have a folder on my computer full of the sweet words this fic has been given, and i think i've re-read the comments in that folder at least a million times over by now. ty so much for reading, and i hope you enjoy!! bloody mary is next! a very special thank you to my beta readers, bear, M, venice, feeb, and daff, who easily made this my best chapter yet. thank you specifically for keeping me coherent and sane lol <3

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 4th.

You don’t have to be psychic to know precisely what your mother is going to say when she answers the phone. She’ll pick up on the fourth ring with an occupied, scathing drawl and say, Look who finally has cell service.

Alright. So you’re not the best, most communicative daughter in the world. You call when you can, you honestly do, but there’s not exactly loads of emotional bandwidth to spare on the road. Peeling off all the layers of case anxiety and Winchester grief takes a while, dammit!

Maybe you’d feel less guilty if you vented to Sam or Dean, but it’s kind of lousy to bitch about Mom-stuff to, uh. Yeah. The boys. You could use a simple, uncomplicated statement like, talking to my Mom reminds me of how much of a disappointment I must be to her, and Dean would hear matricide instead. Sam’s blank, uncomprehending look wouldn’t be much better. Looks like you’re alone on this one.

When there’s a natural break in the day’s long research-fest the three of you are riding, you slip away, pace beside the Impala for a while, then finally bite the bullet and call her. Cars whisk through the slurry of snow on the road. Your phone charms rattle in the icy breeze. One ring, two rings… She knew you were going to call, she could sense it, but of course she has to torture you… three rings, four.

“I didn’t know cell service was so hard to come by in Pittsburg,” Beth greets you, sounding preoccupied. Damn, do you know her well or what?

“Hey, Mom,” you sigh. The wind is loud, so you pull your phone further down your face and try to come up with an excuse that is even halfway reasonable. “Sorry I haven’t called. It’s been ages since I’ve been around the boys, and I guess I get a little caught up with them sometimes.”

This is objectively true. She used to have a rule about you getting your homework done before they came over, purely because you forgot about everything and anything else the second Sam and Dean entered the house.

“Forget those losers. You’re my baby, I love you most,” Beth gushes, and you understand that this is her way of saying that you’re forgiven. Both of you have fallen victim to the Winchester spell before, so she can’t exactly blame you.

You’re a little embarrassed by her mushiness, but a relieved, bubbly laugh jumps out of you. “Alright, consider them forgotten. Now… I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m gonna ask you a question, and I need you not to freak out or overthink it, kay?”

Beth snorts. “You mean my two jobs as a mother? Go ahead, shoot.”

This is not the kind of question that you just “shoot,” though. It takes you a moment to string together how you’re going to ask this, and of course, you’re nothing but graceful and delicate about it. “...What do you know about demons?”

Your mother doesn’t say anything for a long, yawning second. Still, you can sense her rising swarm of questions and outrage all the way from Pennsylvania, and you try to stop her onslaught before it starts. “Hey! No questions! Just answers. I promise I would tell you if this was outrageously dangerous.”

“Then you’ve already broken your promise,” Beth utters, slipping into her Sage Grandmaster Psychic voice. Just hearing it makes you deflate. She predicts, “...Let me guess. You’ve felt nauseous. Suffocated. Hungry, but everything you eat comes right back up again.”

You toe a chunk of ice on the asphalt with your boot, grumbling, “...Yeah.”

“Then you’re lucky,” she reveals, her words still ringing with the same crystal ball clarity from your childhood. “That means you haven’t come into direct contact with it yet. I’d hope you never would, but… you are your father’s daughter…”

You know your mom. You know that’s just her way of warning you about the kind of danger you’re in, here, but all the comment does is bolster your resolve. Damn right. You are his motherfuckin’ daughter.

“Tell me,” you push.

Beth sighs through her nose. There’s a squeak on the other line, and you can imagine her at home, dropping heavily into the massive, millennia-old armchair she always took her readings in.

“Demons… well, I won’t explain to you what you can already guess. They’re unlike most legends we know of, because everything that’s written about them is utterly true. Most spirits that walk the natural earth are here to feed—vampires, werewolves—or to take care of unfinished business. But demons… they come to earth to steal, kill, and destroy.”

Welp. Your mother is truly a pillar of optimism. You’d been hoping she’d say something along the lines of, don’t worry, sweetheart, they’re just really messed up ghosts. Instead of, y’know. The most evil creatures man encountered in the bible. Bible, capital B. An uncomfortable, existential shiver rolls down your spine. Now this was something you could bitch to Dean and Sam about.

You’d grown up surrounded by the idea of demons. Even before you’d fully understood that monsters were real, sometimes you’d slip into your mother’s reading parlor while she was gone and play a game with the strange, segmented star pattern on the giant worn-smooth carpet. Don’t hop on any of the lines! Only step in the points of the star! Or, jump from sigil to sigil!

The one time you’d gotten carried away and played for too long, your mother had appeared through the beaded curtain with a stiff frown on her face. Don’t play on the devil’s trap. It’s not a toy.

There was the fraying devil’s trap in your mother’s parlor room, which was one of the hundreds of sigils burned into your mind at a young age. You’d shaken hands with demon hunters before. Most of the rituals your family practiced were in Latin; and the list went on and on into oblivion. You’d always known demons existed, but as you pace the parking lot and take in what Beth is telling you, the ramifications start to stack. Demons. Actual, literal demons. The thing that took down flight 2485—the suffocating, unimaginable presence from your vision—was a real-life demon. When you’d stood in the skeletal remains of the plane and reached out with your Gift, you’d been sensing the lingering presence of a fucking creation of Lucifer. What the actual fuck.

In a strange, backward way, you’re kind of relieved. Anyone would be fainting all over the place in the presence of an actual, real-life demon. Especially somebody like you, with all their senses turned up to 100. It makes sense that you were having such intense reactions before.

What the fucking fuck. You’re suddenly grateful to be on the phone with your mom.

You wandered toward the Impala, (checked first that you weren’t wearing the kind of jeans with the little studs that would scrape the paint), then leaned against it. “...Um. Okay. That’s just… awesome… How do they get… up here, then?”

“I’m not sure,” your mother hums, thinking. “Your great-great-aunt Miriam wrote in her records that they find their way top-side on their own. Bugs through cracks, that sort of thing. Apparently, there used to be a whole lot more of em’—in Miriam’s day it was a Proctor’s job to shove them back where they belonged, but… I dunno.” Beth helpfully jokes, “Maybe we got most of them.”

You huff out a laugh, but it’s not the most sincere. “Maybe we did,” you cough. “But, um, do we have any Proctor family secrets that could help me out here? Did great-great-aunt Miriam have a trunk somewhere full of demon-killing grenades or something?”

Beth smirks. “Great-great-aunt Miriam turned the house into a brothel and carved terrifying sigils in all the ceilings. That’s all we got from her.”

Of course. How could you possibly forget? “Oh, huh. I was wondering why we have old chains and whips in the basement. That fills in a lot more for me, thank you.”

Your mom barks out a laugh at your joke, which gets you laughing too. The sound trails off. There’s that funny pause where you both remember what you just said, then start giggling all over again—and man, does it feel good to just have a moment with your mom. The boys both have an unforgiving radar for “bonding,” and the second they realize that you love them and they’re your friends, they creep right back into their shells. Neither of them were very good at absorbing that sort of thing.

Your mom is just as skilled at spoiling the moment.

“But, seriously…” She stresses. “Please be careful. Avoid contact with these things at all costs, especially with your Gift. It’s made to find the truth, and demons are made of lies. Not a good mix. They’ll rip into your mind… take you apart if they have to. This is a lot more hands-on than you should ever be with your Gift, ____.”

“...Right,” you say through your teeth.

This is the part where you start awkwardly shoving in a goodbye without coming across as an asshole. You open your mouth, about to say something stiff and unsure, when you sense a spike of alarm ripple out from where the boys are still researching in your motel room.

Phone call forgotten, you jolt off the Impala and whip towards the door. Not a second later, Dean’s slipping out onto the stoop and sweeping the parking lot with a calm, guarded stare. He doesn’t look at you—just gestures you inside, holding the door open. Even from the parking lot, you can make out the insane amount of notes and papers Sam has coated your motel room with.

“Jerry just called,” Dean utters. “The surviving pilot from 2485? Chuck Lambert? …He just went down in a plane crash.”

You snap your phone shut and follow him inside.

-

The three of you head to the site of the next crash as fast as you can. But first, you have the pleasure of watching the boys play Winchester Telepathy when you insist on coming along. They’re still worried. You would be too, in their position. (In fact, if the roles were reversed, you’d probably chain Sam to a radiator and call it a day.) But Chuck went down in a twin plane, not a massive, two-hundred-person graveyard, so your Gift should have the legs to handle it.

…And knowing what you’re dealing with has steeled your confidence. You weren’t slashing at the dark anymore, even if what was in the dark was, um. Proof that hell exists. After days of being totally screwed over by this thing, you finally had even the slightest leg up on what was going on. You were going to take that win and run with it.

Chuck’s twin plane was hardly a twin anymore; both the engines had been shredded, the white body of the cockpit twisted like a wrung-out washcloth. The plane had dove so hard into the farmland that the snow around it had melted. You still kind of felt like tossing your lunch, but more out of sympathy than psychic backlash. People had been in that plane. The thought made you taste bile.

Sam and Dean only hover a little bit (a lot) while you open your Gift to the wreckage. You take your glove off with your teeth and touch your right hand to the ashen, snow-soaked remains of the pilot’s chair… and there it was again, the leeching, seeping, violating presence from the vision that’d brought all of you to Pittsburg. A demon.

Your Gift wrings out another scraggly, disconnected vision for you. Chuck was beyond anxious to get back in the saddle after 2485. The co-pilot, Lou, had pep-talked him like any good friend would, reassuring him that the flight would go smoothly. After that, everything—gassing up the engine, takeoff, and the brutal, horrific crash—was blotted with poison ink. Every time you tried to steer towards Chuck with your senses, it was as if the strip of film playing your vision had been burned away. His face had been scratched out of every frame. He had become something else; something terribly familiar.

The research Sam had compiled began to link with what you’re seeing. You could feel, even through the leftover wisp of the demon’s presence on the plane, that it had done this many times before.

You jolted to your feet, scrubbing the palm with the eye tattoo off on your slacks. Dean and Sam reeled back, since they’d both been looming an inch behind you as you worked.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Dean said, bracing himself.

You turn from the wreckage and bee-line straight for the road, eager to avoid a repeat of last time. The boys follow your lead. They fall into step on either side of you, and for once you feel like the specialist Sam always said you were, complete with stern-faced bodyguards.

“Full-on Pazuzu, just like last time,” you confirm, cursing. You shove your glove back on and stomp through the snow. “I-I get it now. God, it feels so fucking obvious. It’s—it’s playing. It finds these disasters, or it makes them, and then it picks off all the survivors one by one. Chuck Lambert, George Phelps. It possessed them. Like some sort of twisted cosmic-order thing.”

Sam pulls a face. “Final Destination style?”

“Minus the hot girls and the tanning beds, apparently,” Dean pouts.

“It’s trying to finish them off, boys,” you say, swallowing hard. “That’s something we can work with. If it’s only using disasters to do the job, then…”

“...then we need to see if any of the survivors are flying soon,” Sam realizes, finishing your thought.

The second the Impala’s on the road again, Sam is fishing out the passenger manifests from the first flight and chasing down any phone numbers he can find. There is a part of every hunt where your run is forced to become a sprint, and this is that turn-over moment, tensions ramping high. What once was seven people is now five.

As Dean hauls ass back to Pittsburg, you and Sam get to calling. You thank the Mother Goddess above for shitty, awful customer service, because posing as some lousy Delta Airlines representative has Dennis Holloway sitting in seat 21A and Kathleen Willard (seat 25E) swearing off flying for good. Sam uses a similar tactic on Blaine Sanderson (seat 14D). The two of you take the safe bet that the parents of Ava Struder (seat 1C), an unaccompanied minor, aren’t fucking idiots dumping their kid on another flight the second she survives one. That leaves you with Amanda Walker. A flight attendant on 2485… because of course, this job can never be easy.

Sam tries her phone. While it rings, you cross your fingers and hope that she has quit her job and started a new life as a dedicated couch potato. Sam’s forced to leave a message. He snaps his flip phone shut with a curse and throws it into the footwell, where it clatters against his boots.

You curl a cold hand around Sam’s shoulder, soothing, “Gimme the list, baby. I’ll try her emergency contact, at least find out where she is.”

Sam sulkily passes it to you, never once shifting under your hand. You do get a small, grateful look from him over his shoulder, and the urgency and anxiety there makes your gut twist. It would be more than easy to comfort him, to stroke your fingers through his hair, to rub his collar and tell him everything’s going to be fine.

But you’re a shit liar, so you open up your phone and make the next call. Sam’s lingering gaze ducks back down into his lap.

-

Of course, your luck continues to flourish. Amanda doesn’t answer her phone. But her sister does, and she informs you that Amanda, being a flight attendant, is in fucking Indianapolis for a flight. Indianapolis. As in, a good five-hour drive from Philly—and in the complete opposite direction of where you were going. Dean barely waits until the road is wide enough to turn the Impala around. The u-ey he hits sends you, and all your stuff, careening from the right end of the bench all the way to the left.

The drive is not fast. Staring ahead and silently revving yourself up can only waste so much time, so you pull out the mini sewing kit from under the seat and do your best to patch a rip in Dean’s jeans, struggling to thread the needle even more than usual. You feel a bit like a bad hunter distracting yourself from what’s ahead, but just one of you stuffing the car with anxious brooding is enough. Sam passes back a sudoku booklet for you and then goes straight back to his thousand-yard stare.

He used to be excellent when things came down to the wire like this. After years spent in empty motel rooms, counting pennies and waiting for John and Dean to come home, Sam’s patience was unimaginable. But losing Jess… had tilted his axis. These last few hunts, you’ve noticed how crazed he gets on the last couple steps to the finish line—when none of you are sure if there’ll be anybody to save. It happens. But you’re scared of what another round of it could do to Sam, even with a stranger like Amanda; he cared so much…

Dean isn’t happy, either, but he at least has something to do. He alternates between playing brain-melting Metallica or forgetting to reload the tape, so the drive is a strange mix of music you can feel in your eardrums and silence that’s just as loud. The first piece of levity you get is thirty straight minutes of Dean over-explaining the album to you. And, thank god you ask, because Dean rattling on about the “bass and drums feeding off each other” and the “musical integrity of a locked-in rhythms section” bring Sam out of his trance. He pries his eyes away from the rolling fields of snow, scrunches up his face, and sighs, “Can we at least listen to ‘...And Justice for All?’”

You’re an excellent tactician, so you use this opening to nudge them both toward the most surefire argument starter in the Winchester handbook: What’s the best album of all time? It would’ve been harder to lure flies into honey. Dean argues more with himself than he argues with the two of you, dancing indecisively between Zeppelin II, Dark Side of the Moon, and at least twenty other albums that you are vaguely aware exist. Sam outlines that there is a difference between someone’s favorite album (Californication in Sam’s case) and the best album objectively by sales (Thriller).

All three of you play into the argument more than usual. Guess you’re not the only one desperate to think about something other than the two hundred other people who might die tonight. By the time there’s enough of a break in the conversation for you to throw your hat into the distraction-ring, you’re thirty minutes from the Indianapolis International Airport.

“Both of you are wrong,” you decide. “There’s only one reasonable answer to that question, and it’s Rumours.”

Dean audibly grumbles, and when the Impala jams to a stop in front of a red light, he dramatically points at you in the rear-view mirrors and declares: “You are obligated by hippie, witchy-girl bullshit to love that album, Proctor. And it’s good, but it’s not the best. It’s mostly…” he flashes you a mean, big-brother smile, “girly music.”

You know you’re right, so his comment rolls right over you. Cooly, you remind him, “Nuh-uh. Sam loves Fleetwood Mac, too.”

You’d figured that was a good counter-point, since Sam was hardly girly. The hand he was using to keep his notepad on his knee was all kinds of veiny and calloused, and on top of being taller than Dean, he was a lot more comfortable with his masculinity. He didn’t have mile-long lashes or glazed donut cheekbones, either.

Sam hums in agreement, like you knew he would; the two of you listened to Go Your Own Way and The Chain endlessly before he left for school. Sometimes he’d even dance around the attic at home with you.

Dean side-eyes his brother, then barks out a hearty laugh. “Case in point.”

Sam elects to pretend he didn’t hear that, and instead turns around to talk straight to you: “I mean, the end of Silver Springs alone…”

…Maybe if Dean listened to more “girly music,” he’d have more women melting over him the way you melt when Sam says that. Even though you’ve gotten used to having him in front of you again, there are moments like these where you’re stunned by how similar the two of you still are. Dreams would play in your attic and Sam would already be offering you his hands, gangly and shy and bright red for you and only you…

You listened to Silver Springs a lot after Sam started dating Jessica.

INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 4th, night.

All three of you must’ve been hyper-planning what to do the second the Impala parked, because you fan out as soon as Dean jams the break.

Sam uncaps the travel-sized hand sanitizer from your purse and empties it out onto the pavement. You’re a little sad to say goodbye to pumpkin cupcake, but then he starts pouring as much holy water as he can into the teeny bottle, and you’re reminded how clever he is. When Dean gives him a weird look, Sam explains, “3.4 ounces or less per liquid item, dude.”

“Shit,” Dean curses. Right. Travel size restrictions. That cuts your only physical weapon against the demon in half—or into a fucking fifth, I guess. But it’s something. “At least he’ll fuckin’ smell good when we send him to hell. Great.”

You give Sam the marshmallow pumpkin latte sanitizer, too. You’re going to look painfully suspicious walking into an airport with nothing but hand sanitizer and an occult journal, but there’s nothing you can do. There’s no time to check bags or trudge through security lines. Hopefully you won’t have to board, but knowing your luck…

You’re about to go peeling out of the parking lot at top speed, when you turn your boot and feel the warm piece of metal pressed against your ankle. Shit. “God, this is stupid,” you curse, and drop onto a knee. You lose the pocket knife in your boot, then dig around for the loose rock salt shells rolling around in your pockets. There’s a visible pout on your face when you abandon your iron knuckles. Anything that’d be caught by security or picked up on a metal detector goes straight into the trunk.

When you pull your butterfly knife out of your bra, Sam is suddenly very interested in the color of the sky.

The boys follow suit. By the time you’re through the doors and among the harried, criss-crossing crowd of travelers, you’ve lost ten pounds in weapons each. Dean grumbles the whole way about feeling naked. Everything in the airport is overstimulating, even at this time of night. The long, endless squares of glass looking out over the runway reflect the too-bright lights in big glossy spots, and the air is flooded with a constant stream of intercom updates and civilian chatter. You duck and weave all the way to the departure schedule, which is just the right font size to make you anxious.

Sam scans the chart. “They’re boarding in thirty minutes.”

Shit. You wrack your mind for something that could coax Amanda off her flight. But the gears in your head are suddenly muddy, and Dean’s faster than you, anyway. His eyes dart around the floor of the airport. “Okay… we still got some cards to play. We need to find a phone.”

Sam and Dean dart off like twin bomb-sniffing dogs. You move to follow them, but something tethers you in place. The buzzing, bustling commotion in the air pitches up, and then your ears are ringing, and your whole body is stinging with the ugly leeching feelings from before. The demon. It’s close.

You blindly walk in the direction your internal Winchester compass gives you, and just when Dean’s about to take a courtesy phone off its hook, your body extracts the phone from his hand on autopilot. For a brief flickering moment, you’re not yourself. Your powers talk through you.

Your Gift foresees, “That won’t work. Your only option is to board the plane.”

The boys exchange an unsettled look. For a second you’re confused why they’re giving you their Freaked Out faces, then you feel the hollow plastic of the phone in your hand, and you realize you’re a whole twenty feet from where you started. Man… you hate the whole psychic-possession thing. Just for fun, your Gift loves to take over and course-correct you when it thinks you’re being stupid. You drop the phone back on its hook with a heavy click. It takes Dean a second to answer, and he’s still giving you that look. After a long pause, he knocks up his chin and not-so-happily mutters, “...Uh, okay.”

Sam, at least, has learned to roll with your weird psychic bullshit. His voice is soft with conviction. “Fine. Plan B, then. We gotta get on that plane.”

You run your palms down your face, then steel yourself. There’s no other way, and no time to second-guess. Even your Gift has decided it’s your best plan. “Okay. Fuck it.”

The usual authority in Dean’s voice hikes up with a note of panic. “Uh, woah. Let’s just hold on a second–”

“Dean,” you wince, and your hands drop heavily at your sides. “We gotta. I’m sorry.”

Sam, per usual, reads Dean’s hesitance as something else. “That plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board. And if we’re right, it’s gonna crash. We have to–”

You watch as they have their usual back and forth; Sam, eager to throw himself at this, and Dean gnawing on the inside of his cheek. It’s easy for you to sense the steam of real, nail-biting terror radiating off your best friend. You feel Dean’s fear all the time–and even then it’s hard for you to picture him being afraid of much of anything, much less planes. It’s even harder for Sam to look past his little brother glasses.

“...Flying?” Sam puts it together. His voice is understanding, but super confused. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dean flails. He fists his hands as he talks, swaying back and forth to try and work up the nerve. He glances at you, the only other witness to his weakness, just once. “Why do you think I fuckin’ drive everywhere, Sam?”

Sam is genuinely stunned. Slapped-in-the-face stunned. But he takes it in stride, and, also glancing at you only once, he blurts out: “Alright. Uh, I’ll go.”

The anticipation of boarding the flight is making your skin prickle with anxiety, and you can’t help but inch back toward the ticket counter as they talk. But when Sam says this, without question or complaint, you’re instantly stepping up to his side and demanding, “Then I’m going with you.”

You brace yourself to shut down the argument you know is coming, but this Sam continues to be different from the guy you knew four years ago. This answer is just as easy for him, too. “Okay.”

Not, you’re staying here, or even, I won’t let you risk yourself like this. Just a plain and simple, okay. It bugs you. You don’t even have time to dwell on it, though, because Sam’s blatant courage tugs Dean over his fear.

“Man…” Dean utters, face twisted with nervousness. He gives in with a helpless scrunch of his shoulders, and taking that as permission, Sam twists around to buy your tickets not two seconds later.

You both watch him rush off, neither of you over the moon about this situation. Dean’s so anxious that his hands are clammy, and you can tell because he clutches at the sleeve of your jacket like a little kid. He knocks his forehead down on your shoulder with a groan, and your palm automatically loops around to give his back a soothing rub.

“This is fucking… awesome,” Dean gripes. “No guns. Can’t even bring a damn bottle of holy water. Is there some kind of psychic Xanax you can give me?”

Maybe some of your Gift drains into your voice when you promise, “We won’t have to worry about that. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Dean doesn’t make his Freaked Out face this time. He does, however, bump his forehead against your shoulder again, and sink into your touch with a rough sigh.

FLIGHT 424 - Dec. 4th.

You’d felt bad for Dean the whole time he’d struggled to get on the plane. Now, you kind of felt like choking him with your bare hands.

So many people crammed into one space was enough to flatten your Gift with the weight. Adding Dean to the mix, shoved shoulder-to-shoulder against you with his jitters ramped up to eleven, made you feel like picking your brain out with a fork. Your Gift ping-ponged between Dean and Sam, making you bounce between chattering your teeth with fear and thinking things like, wow, I just love the Dewey decimal system.

Maybe it was a good thing. You’d much rather be in one of their heads than yours.

All day, you’d done a pretty good job not obsessing over the things your mom had said over the phone. It was hard with so much time to marinate in the car, but the massive weight of the existence of demons only slammed on top of you once or twice. Boarding had managed to keep you occupied, but then the colossal body of the plane had shuddered and heaved its weight off the tarmac, leaving all chances for escape behind on the ground.

A part of you was resigned to it; it is a simple fact of your life that evil things are real. So what’s one more, right? But at the same time, you thought about the cross Sam wore under his shirt… you thought about being one of those things, being “made of lies,” like Mom had said. That, too, had been gnawing at you—what had she seen to learn all that? How did she know that a demon would “tear into your mind?” The Vague Psychic Thing is fun, until you’re on the receiving end.

“Can you sense who it’s possessing?” Sam’s smooth, calculating voice interrupted your thoughts.

…Oh, right. You’d gotten so swept up in your own head, no doubt influenced by Dean’s incessant foot-tapping, that you’d totally forgotten to scan the plane. Tilting away from Dean and his panic, you subconsciously shifted toward eerily calm, level-headed Sam. Just catching a wisp of the clean cologne he wears cools you down a little bit. Okay. No more freaking out—it’s game time.

You’d hoped that the white noise of the flight would settle your nerves, but the air tasted painfully sterile, dry, and cottony against the back of your throat. Everything felt like cold metal touching an open nerve. If the demon’s influence wasn’t making your powers touchy, then the woman across the aisle definitely was, oozing with homesickness as she watched Indianapolis shrink far below—or maybe it was the guy two rows back, replaying an argument again and again in his head—or maybe the other two hundred fucking people stuffing the plane with their boredom and their tiredness.

You push your knee into Sam’s. He pushes back.

After a tense beat, you whisper to him over the chatter of passengers, “Too many people. There’s no way I can narrow it down to one person—not unless they’re right in front of me.” Sam’s gaze turns expectantly to Dean, who’s still in full-on dissociation mode. He’d spent the whole boarding process humming tracks from St. Anger, and you knew he was really going through it, purely because he’d stopped and restarted Some Kind of Monster three different times now. Poor guy.

One of the things that made the three of you such a natural team was your ability to rotate leadership. In moments like these, with Dean way too wigged out to take charge, you’d usually step into his shoes without much trouble. But Sam has fielded your fainting spells and panic attacks all week, so he’s already got a pep-talk prepared for the two of you.

“...Okay.” Sam checks his watch. His voice still has that touch of classic Sam softness, probably because he knows how hard this is going to sound: “Stay focused. We got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, figure out who it’s possessing, and perform a full-on exorcism.” You’re about to make a comment about how blissfully easy he makes things seem, but Dean beats you to it. He snipes, “Yeah, on a crowded plane. That’s gonna be easy.”

You snap one of your bracelets against your wrist a few times, thinking. “Who would it want to possess?”

This gets Dean’s head in the game. Easily, he recites: “It’s usually somebody with some sort’a weakness, y’know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or emotional distress.”

As he explains this, you unlatch Dean’s claws from their death-grip on your arm and give the top of his hand a little soothing pat. Your gaze remains fixed on the pattern of the seat in front of you. “For a regular demon, maybe. This thing might not even need a chink. It wants maximum damage here—so maybe it’d go for the pilot?”

This is not a soothing thought. Checking his watch again, Sam suggests, “Or Amanda… Surviving a crash like that? I’d be pretty messed up if I was her. We should check both.”

You’re happy to spend the little time you have left wisely, so you’re quick to push out of your seat and get moving. Dean puts on a brave face and follows your lead. There are only two ends of the plane to check—this thing can’t hide forever. Just when you start to do an awkward side-shuffle to nudge Dean out into the aisle with your hip, the whole plane thrashes top to bottom, and there he goes, dropping like a rock back into his seat. His spike of panic is so genuine that you end up dropping with him.

“Come on!” Dean hisses through his teeth. “That can’t be normal!”

You and Sam immediately get to shushing and soothing him, and suddenly you understand how married couples feel when their kid starts crying on a flight. Shifty eyes in other seats pretend they’re not glaring at you. Summoning as much strength as you can to share with him, you drop a hand on Dean’s shoulder and order: “Breathe, dude. You’re okay.”

“I’m not fuckin’ four,” Dean whisper-shouts, sulking flat back into his seat.

“She’s right,” Sam whispers back. Should it be worrying you how much he’s been agreeing with you lately? Stern, he says, “Listen—if you’re panicked, you’re wide open to possession. So you need to calm yourself down. Right now.”

A weird part of you is grateful that Dean is having a rough go of it, because it’s giving you something to focus on. You’re usually pretty good with planes. But for a minute there, when the turbulence had hit, your mind had defaulted to oh shit, this is real, we’re all going to die. A slideshow of the last crash had blitzed through your thoughts. Thoughts that had nothing to do with the anxiety you were picking up from Dean.

You know you despise it when Dean uses his Parent Voice on you, so you try not to use it on him when you urge, “C’mon. I think Amanda’s in the back of the plane. I’ll check up front.”

Dean gives an unconvinced, “I’ll go talk to her,” then makes grabby hands at Sam’s pockets, “pass me one of the hand-sanitizers. Fuckin’ uh, pumpkin latte—don’t gimme that face, _____, not all of us can tell with just a look. What if it’s in her?”

“It’s a bit more than a look—” you begin to clarify, but Sam stops your back and forth with a shake of his head. He pulls out the little orange plastic container of your pumpkin cupcake holy water and passes it to Dean.

“We should try to conserve what we got,” he warns, passing you the only other weapon against the demon (marshmallow pumpkin latte). “Go more subtle—if she’s possessed, she’ll flinch at the name of god.”

Now that you’re running out of both time and options, the second Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out into the aisle on coltish legs, you take the opening and bolt out of your cramped middle seat. Anything you can do to get closer to finding this thing will make you feel loads better.

You start down the aisle. As the chatter of the boys fades into the all-encompassing thrum of the plane behind you, you take slow unhurried steps past each row of seats, soaking up what you can get. A girl listens to music in her headphones. A businessman clicks away at his laptop. Each of them you comb over with your powers, and each pass feels like scooping your hand into a bowl of tacks and waiting to get stabbed.

They’ll rip into your mind… take you apart if they have to, Mom had said. You waited for that moment, steeling your nerves the closer you came to the cockpit. If the demon’s on this side of the plane, and it sensed you, would it immediately press into your mind? Would just being near you snap its presence to you like a magnet? You didn’t like the mental feeling that gave you; the stark secret-seeking white of your Gift clashing with the black choking smoke that’d been chasing you all week. When you spoke to a spirit through your Gift, it felt like you were touching fingertips through a curtain. Would it be like that? Would this demon press its claws through the veil and dig around for something to tear, to grab?

The other flight attendant on board pushes past you with her cart, leaving no barrier between you and the cockpit. Behind you, bobbing in a sea of blurry people, your Gift could distinctly make out Sam (practicing the exorcism) and Dean (talking to Amanda). You’re just a few paces from the front exit of the plane when a man emerges from the bathroom cabin, and—

He twists to meet eyes with you. Expecting you.

You’re flashed a clever, haunting smile, then—a set of glossy void-black eyes.

You wait for it. And in its own way, the presence of the demon does overpower you, bringing the heavy-as-the-sky, parasitic feeling from your visions into the real world. For a long ringing moment, you are blasted with dark leeching power hot enough to singe the entire front of your body—like a nuclear bomb had dropped down just a few steps from you. It is spidery and vicious and knowing and awful—

…but the conquering sensation never comes. Beth had said that it would root into your mind, that just feeling it with your Gift, as you are right now, would tear you to pieces. Yet all that really happens is you staring at it and it staring at you, before it shoulders its way through the cockpit door and disappears inside. The only thing you really experience is the shock of seeing it in somebody, puppeting around a person with dreams and thoughts and memories.

For a few moments, you suck down heaving breaths through your nose and stare at the closed door.

Something about it nagged at you. Besides the obvious—how different it felt compared to what your mother had described—you swear you felt something else, some ringing sense of strangeness that you just couldn’t put your finger on. Maybe it was the fact that you’d just made eye contact with a real creature of hell, an evil spirit, whatever. But you made eye contact with evil spirits all the time. This was… closer to home than that. Underneath the writhing mass of bloody, black ink that made up the demon, your Gift had recognized something unimaginably familiar.

Sensing the demon in person had reminded you of… of a sensory memory, almost. It smelled like… warm static. The old staticy TV in your house, the ancient one that sat square and unattractively on your Mom’s slanting sideboard in the living room. You remembered her crystal ashtray propped up on the top, the fizzy sound the TV made when you’d shut it off…

On the nights when it was just you and Sam home, and the house felt so big and empty that the silence throbbed in your ears, the two of you would set up a fort in front of that TV and watch old horror movies well past your bedtime. The silly effects and the dated acting were easy to tease together. You’d much rather watch movies on the newer screen in your Mom’s room, but for whatever reason, Sam insisted on the clunker in your living room.

Y’wanna know somethin’ cool? He’d asked you once, running a finger through the film of static bubbling on the surface of the glass. A little bit of the static in TVs is actually radiation leftover from the Big Bang. How weird is that? Something so old and powerful, picked up by this random piece of junk.

Sam always crashed first, leaving you alone with the white static the TV defaulted to when the movie ended. You could vividly remember how your shoulders bumped against the hard floor through the thin sleeping bag the two of you had shared—how Sam’s warmth had seeped into your shirt where he was curled up behind you, his soft sleepy breaths tickling your hair.

When you’d pulled his arm around your waist to snuggle, a spark of static had shocked you through his touch. When you’d closed your eyes and tried to go to sleep, you swore that the ancient, cosmic hum of the static in the TV ebbed and flowed at the same exact time as Sam’s breath.

In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh. Crackling as he breathed.

It wasn’t the demon you were scared of anymore. The ancient, ever-present sting of static you’d felt deep down inside it… that scared you a million, a billion times more, because—

You felt that static every time you felt Sam.

_

It’s like trying to describe the smell of your childhood home.

Logically, you know your house must smell like something. But when you’re in one place long enough your brain filters it out as background noise, and it becomes something you can only notice after a long time away.

You’d known Sam since you were in diapers. Back then, the meager threads of your Gift were already taking him in and absorbing him into your memory. Eventually, you felt him so often that all the pain and optimism in his core, all the stuff that made Sam himself, had smoothed out into warm, familiar background noise to your Gift.

Then he’d left for Stanford. Four years passed, and the only exposure your Gift had to him was the flimsy thread stretched two thousand miles down to California. Because it’d been so long since you’d sensed him in person, hugging him outside his apartment had been like stepping into your home after a long time away—for a brief moment, the filter over your psychic perceptions of him had lifted. You’d sensed for the first time what had always been there, buried deep. The Static.

At the time, you’d gotten so swept up in Sam, Dean, and the adventure of finding their Dad, that it was easy to get sidetracked. Things came up. You got used to Sam again, and his Static faded to background noise.

Until you’d felt that demon with your Gift.

A demon. A creation of Lucifer. You’d always remember what Sam felt like—you’d never forget the smell of home—but in one of them?

Your mind whirls with so many questions that it flat-out pops, failing you. Pulled along on a cloud of white noise, you somehow manage to turn away from the cockpit and start back down the aisle. The demon is possessing the pilot. You have forty minutes, less than, to exorcize it and save the two hundred people on this flight. These are all truths floating around in your head, but no matter how much you try to circle back to one, the static of the demon overcomes you again.

Static. You think of Sam, the crackle of his soft raspy voice through the phone. Your heart is pounding in your ears, thudding away in your chest like a piston. The static had burned in the demon, burned like busted speakers and smoking plane wreckage. Little pins all over your skin pressing in. The space you have until you make it to Sam’s seat seems to yawn, your footfalls sluggish and shivery. Why do they feel the same? Why does he feel the same? The static of the demon worms under your fizzing skin, bubbling, boiling—

You stop in front of Sam’s row, and he’s already looking at you when you get close. He asks you a question. You stare at him, the whole world filled with that awful roaring buzzing, the air tight and dessert dry in the back of your throat. Even though he’s right in front of you, you feel like you barely see him—just the vague burning outline of him in your powers.

Sam reaches out to grab your wrist, tugging it away from the long marks you’re viciously scratching into the flesh of your arm. The touch of his hand causes a literal static shock to jolt from his fingers to yours. You yelp in surprise, but it’s—

It’s different. There’s a similarity, definitely, between what you sensed in the demon and what’s always been in Sam… but his Static is hot chocolate warm and fuzzy and so good. Melt-in-your-mouth good. Your surroundings filter back in, and there are his soft, worried eyes looking up at you under his brow, and his big hand soothing over the irritated skin you’ve scratched raw. Sam. The same Sam he’s always been.

…Whatever it is, whatever weird connection you’ve just made, you’re sure there’s a lot more to it than Sam having something in common with a demon. Right?

Sam takes one look at you, your insane reaction, and your mysterious reappearance, then easily puts two and two together: “One of the pilots?”

“Co-pilot,” you tell him, and one of your absent-minded hands drifts up to scratch at your arm again.

And again, Sam fishes his fingers around your wrist and pulls it away. Now that you’ve noticed it, you can’t un-notice it. His touch makes your fingertips and the ends of your ears tingle, and not completely in the boy-crush way. In the psychic way.

He asks, “You gonna be okay? We got twenty-two minutes.”

That jolts you back to life. Twenty-two minutes until this plane is smoking ashes in a Pennsylvania cornfield. Though the last ten minutes have easily overcomplicated all twenty-four years of your life, you won’t have a life period if you don’t see this job through. When Dean returns from investigating a very un-possessed Amanda, he feels the exact same way.

Your resolve hardens, and you manage to give Sam an absent-minded smile. “I’ll be fine.”

There’s no time for arguing. Dean and Sam unanimously agree that the only possible place to exorcize the demon would be in the back, where Amanda is, since you can’t exactly jump the guy in the middle of economy. You don’t exactly like the idea of roping her into this, but Amanda’s the only one who could potentially lure that—thing to the rear of the plane. It is the world’s shittiest ambush. But by the time the three of you decide what to do, you’ve burned ten whole minutes on anxious chatter. A shitty ambush is the only plan you’ve got.

Dean starts down the aisle for the back of the plane. You stare at nothing for a beat, and only remember to get out of your seat when Sam nudges your elbow. He presses his lips together like he wants to ask you the million-dollar question (“Are you sure you’re okay?”), but there is literally no time. In a haze, you shuffle out of your seat after Dean and make a feeble attempt to get your head into gear. Sam does not make it easy. One of his broad hands brushes against the small of your back as you both squeeze out of the row, and you feel like you’ve just gone down one of those static-charged plastic playground slides.

Your Gift is exaggerating it. It has to be, right? Making big connections out of little things, picking at a fresh bruise. For weeks, you’ve been crammed into a little car with Sam, into teeny motel beds with him with no room between you. Why hadn’t you felt it? Why now? Not when you were four, napping in the same bed after playtime—not when you were twelve, and Sam was the first person outside your family that your Gift had connected with. Had it always been there, living inside him? Had you missed it?

You reach the back of the plane. Amanda is there, a pale, blonde flight attendant straight out of a commercial. You are dully aware that you have twelve minutes left before the demon makes its move, always on the forty-minute mark (...and you don’t like the line suddenly drawn between Sam and such an old, biblically evil thing).

The boys talk. A familiar conversation occurs over your head, which might be why it’s easy for you to tune out. Your mind returns again to thoughts of Sam, so intense and loud in your head that it all fizzles out to nothing, and you’re left standing there with the air pressure making your ears ring. Sam. The demon. It’s stupid and intangible and you’d have no fucking clue how to explain it out loud, but your Gift is made to find the truth. Something inside that demon exists in Sam, too. Something.

You try to reassure yourself that maybe, just this once, your Gift is wrong. Maybe this is the demon getting into your mind—learning your deepest fears and bringing them to life.

Sure enough, Dean’s charm and Sam’s earnest face must win Amanda over, because she flits out of the back room like a frightened bird. The boys peer through the curtain to watch her go, the two of them as still and sharp-eared as twin watchdogs. You’re slapped back to life by the sudden tension in the room, and quickly scuttle up behind them. Right. Amanda’s getting the co-pilot. These next ten minutes will determine the rest of your life.

In the same beat, you and Dean ready your holy water, and Sam gets the written exorcism from their dad’s journal out in front of him. There’s no need for the three of you to say a word. An understanding passes between each of you, hammered in from years of hunting as a team. Sam slides up next to you and Dean gives you a firm nod, squashing your last wisps of fear. You’re here to do a damn job.

A man’s voice floats toward the closed curtain to the back room, followed not-so-closely by Amanda’s. You’re glad she’s not the first one into the room—because Dean instantly slams a fist into their face.

The co-pilot—or really, the thing inside him—goes sprawling. You’ve got a strip of duct tape bridled over his mouth before he even fully collides with you, and for the blissful moment you have him pinned, Dean gets another fierce hit in.

While he’s still stunned, you whip the co-pilot to the grated metal floor. Dean clambers on top of him and keeps him there with a firm fist twisted in his rumpled button-up.

Amanda panics, “W-what are you doing? Y-you said you we-were gonna talk to him—!”

“We are gonna talk to him,” Dean grits.

Then, you’re hosing him down with holy water, splashing it brutally in the man’s pain-twisted face. Your gut clenches with empathy. Did the demon leave his body already? You’re terrified for a moment that you got the wrong guy… until you smell the smoke. It’s not just sulfur, but full-on dead body bloat, steaming up from the big black boils that spring up where the holy water hits skin. You get a mouth and noseful vile enough to make you gag. This thing fighting you? This is definitely not a man.

Amanda watches the demon’s skin sizzle, the usual terror and confusion on her face. “O-oh my god, what’s wrong with him?”

You pour all the psychic clarity and calmness into your voice when you whip around and tell her: “It’s going to be okay. Be calm, go outside the curtain, and don’t let anybody in. Can you do that, Amanda?”

You don’t stop to listen to her answer. Sam’s already tearing through the opening to the exorcism at ninety miles an hour, his pronunciation punchy and fatally clear. That had been one of the less exciting parts of the five-hour drive here; when Sam had run through it over and over, re-training himself. One misspoken word could get everyone on this plane killed.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

The demon thrashes viciously in your grip, twisting and contorting under Dean in ways the human body can’t bend. Bile rises in your throat as you hear a snap, then two, as the demon does everything it can to buck Dean off. By the time you go to stun it with another splash of holy water, it’s more of a dribble. That’s your first mistake.

Two people are not nearly enough to keep this thing down. It gets a hand loose that instantly sends Dean flying, and before you even see where he lands, it cranks your head all the way to the left in one vicious slap.

Your whole face is blasted with red, stinging pain. You go down hard, smashed sideways into the cramped wall.

The pain stuns you out of the headspace you built to distract yourself, and all at once the presence of the demon is thrust upon you. The black, molten psychic power of it crackles through your body, filling your nose and mouth with the same terror hanging in your visions all week. Until you realize— It fucking backhanded you.

Trying to see past the dots swimming in your vision, you mindlessly shove off the wall, snarling with rage. No fucking way.

And then it speaks (to Sam?), and in the fizzing noise of pressure in your ears you hear it promise, “I know what happened to your girlfriend!” The constant stream of Sam’s exorcism stops cold.

When the demon speaks again, its voice, a spectral twist of the co-pilot’s and something older, drooled with pleasure. “She died screaming,” it rasped, “Even now, she's burning.”

A lot happens in the next precious seconds. First, the little circular light flushed flat to the back cabin’s ceiling explodes. Just—bursts, in shock, spraying sparks and glass all over the little room. You’re stunned enough as it is getting hit in the face, so one more thing to fuck up your vision doesn’t help. But you heard what the demon said to Sam. Through the suffocating evil flooding your mind, you feel the sharp spike of hurt and rage and grief in your best friend—and that’s the precise moment when you decide that you’ve had e-fucking-nough.

These last few days have not been winners. And though you live a pretty shitty life with an impressive amount of shitty days, even before you got to Pennsylvania, your streak of bad luck had only just gotten started. This demon has screwed with your Gift on an unimaginable level. Your last few nights have been plagued with nightmares straight from hell, and your days haven’t been much better, riddled with useless visions that get more and more disconnected every time you faint. It made it even more obvious than usual that you’re deadweight for Sam and Dean. They had to handle your boiling water burns and your freakouts, not to mention your mood swings and your unhelpful visions.

The demon hurt Dean, which is enough to get your teeth grinding. And Sam—it had cut him much deeper.

You wanted to tear it apart. You wanted to reach into it the same way it had reached into you, dig in with your nails, and rip something out. Your mom’s words buzz in your head: contact, truth, lies, rip, apart. Rationally, you know you should listen to her warning. If just looking into its eyes has forever changed your view of the man you’ve loved since you were little, then looking deeper could kill you—scramble your mind. You know that. But beside the rage and exhaustion fizzing under your skin is this desperate need to know.

Demons are made of lies. What if it was lying about Sam? What if it had screwed with your Gift in some new way, tweaking the image of him in your mind? It had to be lying. The Static in him, as warm and as good as you swore it was—it came from something evil. Sam. The man you love, the boy you’d fallen in love with, his soft sleepy breaths as he lays on the floor beside your bed, his freckly arms swimming in his too-big sleeves. How could any part of him be evil? He couldn’t be. N-not your Sam. How could he ever have something like that inside him?

You need to be sure. Consequences be damned.

As the demon rears up to keep snarling in Sam’s face, you slap a hand over its forehead—reach in—and start ripping.

_

She died screaming.

Sam can’t pull a full breath in. The words burn through his body like a syringe of poison, spreading from limb to limb. The demon snarls up at him, its foamy spit hitting Sam’s face and its teeth snapping around Jess’s name—until.

_____’s hand seals over the demon’s face. The demon’s jaw snaps shut. There is a terrible hanging moment where Sam’s brain struggles to connect the touch to what she’s doing; she never, ever psychically connected with the full face of her palm tattoo. Even with her mom Sam knew she put up a barrier, reading Beth with the smooth back of her knuckles instead.

Shit. Another fresh shot of horror lances through him. What the hell is she doing to it?

The effect is instant. Whatever button _____ had just hit, it activates every horror-movie, Exorcist-level instinct in the demon’s body. Surprised yelps echo down the back of the plane as the lights violently flicker. In electrified, strobing flashes, Sam sees it. The co-pilot’s body is diagonal on the floor one moment, and then it’s arching its back three feet in the air, lurching up into ______’s palm like she’d hit it with a defibrillator. The demon floats up and stays up.

…Until Dean brings it smashing back to the floor again, throwing his weight on top of the co-pilot. He barks, “Sam!” Right. Whatever she’s doing to it, it’s the only working distraction they’ve got. Slapped back to focus, Sam stutters out where he left off: “...O-omnis congregatio et secta diabolica—” It’s a blessing that he makes it through the next lines of the exorcism. Sam pours all of his willpower into keeping his eyes on the stained notebook page it’s written on, no matter how many times his gut begs him to check on her. All he can do is have faith. This is what she does—when Dean’s not strong enough and Sam’s too weak, she finds a damn way, come hell or high water. Sam has always had endless faith in that. So when the whole plane gives that terrible shudder that he was expecting, and then tips, and tips, and tips into a full pitch forward, Sam grips that faith with both hands. The demon’s power ripples through the rest of the plane. Everything descends into chaos. Past the curtain, the lights go out in one silent burst, followed by the explosive, concussive screams of the passengers as the oxygen masks drop. Movies are unfortunately good at capturing this precise moment, but nothing could ever replicate the way Sam’s belly swoops as all five hundred tons of the plane heads straight for the ground. Sam and Dean both go flying, crashing sideways into the walls of the back cabin. The turbulence rips the journal from his hands, and of course, with their fucking luck, it goes skidding through the curtain and down the aisle to ricochet under the seats. “Grab it!” Dean screams.

Sam can’t hear him. He staggers into the open doorway of the back cabin, clutching the frame for dear life. A terrifying, unnatural howl whistles through the cabin, even louder than the wails of the passengers. Its wind flutters his hair around his face and sends luggage toppling out of the overhead bins. For a moment, Sam wonders if the plane’s been hit or the demon has done something—but no. It’s her. He flattens himself to the floor—or rather, gravity flattens him—crawling on his belly towards the shadow of the journal under the seats. The passengers sob and shriek. The air is singed with smoky fear, and riding that same fear, Sam surges ahead, lunging for the book where it’s lodged between tossed luggage. He has to twist to get his hands on it, and it’s then that he feels it.

Down the aisle behind him, the wind drags luggage and loose papers into the void-like darkness of the back cabin—where the great, cleansing, sweeping power of her is fighting the demon. Sam believes in what he’s seen; Sam believes in angels.

She’ll buy him enough time. He knows she will.

Sam’s hands don’t shake as he pries the journal open to the right page.

“Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus,” he shouts, and the words ring as clear and clean as a bell. The plane tries to toss him again, but Sam grits his teeth and persists, “audi nos!”

He waits. Sam sees it more than he hears it. Deep in the blackhole darkness of the plane’s cabin, something red and fiery flashes to life… flickers… and dies.

Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he feels the demon fizzle out. The heaviness in the air melts away. The lights, which Sam realizes had been snapping on and off, turn on for good. The hissing of the turbines spins to its normal hum. The plane swooshes back up with a slow coasting motion, then sets itself back on its peaceful forward track.

Gasps and sobs of relief chorus all around Sam, and sprawled in the middle of the aisle, he finds himself doing the same. Overhead, the pilot’s voice crackles reassurances over the intercom. As big wuffs of air cycle in and out of Sam, he waits for the moment for his heart to stop thumping, for the big “we won” moment to wash over him—but it never really does. It sits with him. For a long terrible moment, he is on the bed in his apartment in Palo Alto, Jessica’s blood boiling holes in his neck.

Even now, she’s still burning.

INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 5th, early morning.

Somehow, amid all the noise of swarming paramedics, feds, airline authorities, and stunned 424 passengers, Sam manages to remain lost in his own head. He clenches his jaw til’ his ears pop. How had it known about Jess?

The terminal is quickly packed. He’s not in airports often enough to know whether they should be packed at one in the morning, but he’s gonna guess not. It is all background noise for him. Passengers whirl past, getting cleared by cops to go home, and Dean subtly nudges the three of them into the leaving crowd. Sam has a vague notion that he’s putting one foot in front of the other, but everything feels distant and hazy. His neck blazes with that terrible tingling feeling, and he digs into it with his nails until Dean stops him.

“Sam,” Dean orders, dipping his head towards the direction of the parking lot. Apparently Sam isn’t cooperating well. “Let’s get the hell outta’ here.” For a brief moment, the awful burning feeling covering him in a fog parts long enough for him to think, and Sam realizes that he doesn’t know where _____ is. Panic lances through his chest so fast that he sobers all at once, and he opens his mouth to panic more—until he sees her, scrunched up behind Dean.

Well, clutching Dean. Left shameless by whatever she saw in that demon’s head, she’s got Dean’s hand and wrist in a deathgrip, trailing him so close that her shoes catch the heels of his boots. She does not look good. Her eyes are big and wide and she looks straight through everyone and everything, still tethered to the other dimension her powers live in. She’s got her elbows pressed into her ribs and her body bunched up so tight that Sam can almost feel her psychic overstimulation from where he’s standing.

“S’okay, sweetheart, ” Dean hushes, the first in a long, quiet string of reassurances.

Sam stares at her. Even if she’s in her own world, she must be able to feel it, ‘cause she physically leans out of his way. That should hurt him—should make him burn with sympathy—but instead, all he can think is, she would know. She would know if the demon was lying. Sam’s connected with her like that—there’s absolutely nothing to hide, even if you wanted to, so there’s no way she couldn’t see if the demon had been telling the truth.

The line of people seeping through security to get out of the airport slows to a stop, making way for the pack of paramedics hauling 424’s copilot away on a stretcher. The black boils from the holy water have left his body entirely.

He’ll ask her once. He has to try. Sam lets the two of them in front of him, Dean, then _____, almost pressing her face into Dean’s back. When they’re stopped in line, Sam lifts a hand to touch her—but stops himself, not wanting her to feel any worse. “_____,” Sam swallows, trying to keep his voice even. “What did you see? H-How did it know about Jessica?”

Before she even has the opportunity to answer, (if she can even hear him), Dean swings around to shoot Sam a pained look. “Dude, look at her. Now is not the fuckin’ time. Let her get a full breath in before you start with the interrogations, okay?”

Sam recoils. The gnashing, rebellious fire he usually saves for Dad pours out here, instead, and before Sam knows it he’s snarling back, “I can’t ask one question about my dead girlfriend?”

It lasts only for an instant, but Sam gets to watch in real time the way that hit lands. He’s aware that it’s deeply fucked up of him to enjoy throwing Jess in Dean’s face, but it is his backward, comforting reminder that she was a real person; not a four-year-long fever dream he invented to escape. No one says her name but him anymore. At least, when he talks about her, someone else is forced to feel something too.

Dean sets his jaw. He makes the mistake of trying to turn towards Sam, which _____ thinks is an attempt to shake her off—and she lets out this awful, hoarse sob sound that stops them both cold.

Sam feels like a rail spike has been driven through his chest. Dean gives him a look, then mercifully drops it.

Immediately, Dean’s wheeling her back in and soothing her. The angle at which she’s clinging to him is awkward for all three of them, so he endures her trembling and hitching little sobs as he peels off her hands and re-arranges them. Dean loops an arm around her back so he can stroke her shuddering shoulders, uttering, “S’okay, kiddo, s’ all over… ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you…”

And of course, because Sam can never exist in peace, he watches the way ______ drops all her weight onto Dean and feels his chest squeeze. Suddenly, he’s very aware of what four years have changed between her and his brother.

The rush back to the car is silent, but for _____’s little sniffling breathes. After making it out of the blistering lights of the chattering airport and out into the peaceful snowy parking lot, things calm down.

Four separate times Sam thinks about reaching out to comfort her. The Gift always leaves her freezing cold, and early December in Indiana on top of that has her making audible little shivering sounds as they walk. Sam’s boiling under his coat. He unzips it, then zips it up again, unsure if she’d even want it. Dean gets her in the car and puts a warm blanket around her before Sam can get over his indecision.

They just saved two hundred people. In hindsight, that’s a massive win. Maybe if the demon hadn’t said what it’d said, and maybe if it hadn’t reduced her to this, Sam could celebrate. Seeing her so messed up always throws him. Less than an hour ago, she was the powerful psychic that used to have Dad clutching his telepathy-blocking charm under his shirt.

Sam scrubs his hand down his face, staring blankly at the trembling lump of blanket lying across the backseat. Now, she’s… whatever she saw in that demon.

Dean tucks her feet up onto the seat, then nudges the door closed with his hip. Sam stares past him, through him, at her silhouette in the Impala’s dark glass, because that’s somehow easier than looking at Dean.

The smattering of snow growing on the asphalt makes the whole world sound muffled. Sam feels like he’s talking to empty air when he croaks, “It knew about Jessica.”

“Sam,” Dean calls, softer this time. Asking for Sam to look at him. When he manages to heave his head up, Dean’s face is firm and reassuring. “These things—they read minds. They lie, just like Beth said. That’s all it was. Don’t let that thing get into your head, okay?”

Sam forces himself to nod. They both spare the shaking shape in the backseat one more look, then Dean’s rounding the car for the driver’s seat, and Sam’s sliding in next to him without another word.

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 5th, night.

Green. It had to be the ugliest color a motel room could be, Sam thought as he stared at the empty room. The walls were this sad limey green color that managed to look awful even in the dark, some parts made even limey-er by the huge neon green vacancy sign right outside their window. Their room was parked right next to it, so there was no escaping the sign even with the curtains pulled shut.

You and Dean, who were positioned right under the ugly green light, had somehow managed to fall asleep anyway. The only sound in the whole world was your soft breathing across the room and the crackle of the ancient TV.

Right now, it was playing a rerun of some televangelist in a big shiny white suit. He paced the screen on mute as Sam watched, curled on his side, laying diagonal to face the screen. Nightmares were so common for him now that the hardest part of the battle was getting to sleep in the first place. His strategy was to get so bored and so tired that his body would simply have nothing else to do but crash. Bored was the key word—Sam had tried reading, sudoku, and counting cars as they whisked by, but all of that occupied his mind too much to work. Tonight was another night where his mind was just too full to sleep.

He hoped Dean was right. He prayed that the demon had just been lying, lips pressed to the cross he kept under his shirt. Most days, Sam dropped into bed and sent off a brief prayer before the fight for sleep began. Tonight, though—tonight was one of those nights where he clasped his cross in both hands and poured his heart out. Sam prayed for his brother, his Dad, and for you, like usual, pleading for protection and strength. Sam prayed for Jessica, too.

(But never for her forgiveness—he knew he didn’t deserve that).

When Sam had first started getting comfortable with prayer, he’d always worried that he was being greedy or selfish by asking for so much. Health, food, lunch money, for Dad and Dean to get home okay. Now, it’s a natural comfort to him. To open yourself up to something higher than you, to give up your pride and ask for help—that is a mark of holiness. Goodness. Sam closes out his prayers and feels clean.

Across the room, Sam hears the covers in the opposite bed shift. He squints sleepy eyes at your silhouette, and even sluggish and drained, the shifting colors from the TV and the vacancy sign illuminate you like something not entirely from this world.

You pad over to his bedside. A soft, ice-cold hand shakes his arm. When you get up close and realize Sam’s awake, you scuttle back in surprise. “Uh.”

Sam shoves his face into his pillow. With his mind still on Jess, it’s hard for him to look at you right now. “What is it?”

It’s funny. From the moment you got off flight 424, you’d been glued to Dean’s side. Sam had kept his teeth pressed together through the entire thing, watching from a distance as you reached for Dean, spoke to Dean, took the food Dean gave you. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d figure you were avoiding him. Now you’ve decided you want something from him?

The second you touch his arm, every wisp of jealousy in Sam dries up. Not at all in the mood to be touched, he squirms out from under your hand and hoarsely repeats, “What?” You speak to him for the first time in hours. You sound rough and broken, and the edge of that awful sob from earlier today threatens to tip into your voice. “Can I…?”

Sam keeps his face planted in the pillow. At first he’s unsure what you’re even asking for—until you drop a hand on the mattress and he feels your weight tilt closer, wanting to… to lay with him. Like when you were little. When you share beds on the road, there’s often space left between you. That’s not what you’re asking for. If that’s what you wanted right now, you’d be in Dean’s bed.

The soft, choked little voice he can’t resist begs, “I just need to feel you.”

The last sliver of guilt and self-loathing that Sam has been holding onto instantly slips out of his grasp, hearing that. For the millionth time since this morning, he’s reminded of how awful he was to you. You’d been brought to the brink with your powers in a way they hadn’t seen in years, and Sam chose that precise moment to freak out. He wished he’d been better to you. Maybe he can’t pray for Jess’s forgiveness, but he can work to earn yours now.

Sam shuffles back on the mattress and opens the covers for you. “C’mere.”

As quiet as a mouse, you duck under his arm and slip under the covers. Sam immediately realizes that he should’ve fucking braced himself or something, because holy shit, you are so close. He accidentally gave you very little room in the already small bed. To keep from tumbling off the mattress and onto the questionable carpet, you reasonably and logically slot right up against him, your back against his chest and your heads on the same pillow. Holy shit, he did not think this through. Sam has very few gentlemanly places to lay his arm. And even if he found one, your icy cold hand picks up his warm one and—right, okay, you take it and wrap it right around your middle. That’s fine too. Cool. Awesome.

Okay. Forgetting every way he could sabotage this for himself for just a moment, Sam realizes that he missed this. God, he missed it so much. You wiggle back into his body and Sam gives you a big, indulgent squeeze around the tummy, earning this watery little sigh that makes his already racing heart zing out into orbit. Friendly snuggling became a lot less friendly when you were pushing seventeen instead of nine, so Sam hasn’t allowed himself to properly, um… cuddle you… in ages.

That isn’t even the best part. That little squeeze makes him realize just how pleasantly cold you are, a wonderful ice cube in blazing hot soup. Sam’s practically cooking under the covers—and that must be perfect for you and your chilly hands, because you make the same pitiful happy noise that Sam does as you get comfortable against each other.

Maybe if this were any other moment, after any other day, that would be something you might laugh about together. Instead, Sam’s prayers are filled with you and your incredible burden. He hesitates to go all in and hold you like he wants to… until your breath makes that tight, hitching sound again, and Sam’s sure you’re holding back tears. Screw it, Sam thinks. He’ll take care of you this time. Sam presses his face into your hair and entwines your hands on your belly, unsure of what to say and yet wanting to say so much. Dean can’t hold you like this—this is something you only want from Sam.

You both go still. Sam feels you hold your breath. His legs are itching to shift under the covers and your hand awkwardly holds his, the two of you afraid to disturb the magic.

Your thumb slowly caresses along the flat side of his hand. His heart leaps into his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to relax. You need this. Finally, it’s his turn to comfort you.

Sam swallows hard. There’s no way you can’t feel his heart thudding away, inches from popping clean out of his chest. Neither of you are stupid. If Dean were to wake up, you know exactly what this would look like to him—to the cleaning lady, to the strangers out on the street. But right now, in this frozen moment, there’s no one awake in the world but the two of you and the TV. It is so, so wrong. But when you touch him, Sam feels clean.

Bit by bit, you adjust to one another. Your breath syncs up. The whole time, your eyes never move from the TV, but if Sam focusses he swears something washes over him—that same great, sweeping, cleansing power from the plane, as light as moth wings on his skin. He has to bite back his smile. If you did that to anyone else, they’d find you creepy as hell.

After what feels like forever, you plainly croak, “It was lying about her. It was made of lies.”

That hits Sam like a slap to the face. That’s… yeah. That sounds right. He absorbs the impact as best he can, because although his faith was thin, Sam trusted Dean’s word and he trusts yours, too. There’s—so much that he feels about that, but he doesn’t want any more of his grief to overwhelm your Gift. Sam’s not naive. No matter how good of a person you are, no matter how considerate and understanding and empathetic you can be, Sam knows that talking about Jessica brings you some level of pain. It hurts him, too. And he has zero clue where that conversation would even begin, so he stores his shame and his loss and gives a shaky nod.

Instead, Sam asks, “...What did you see? When you looked into its head?”

Right. Cause’ that was such a better question to ask her, Sam.

You go silent. It’s a weighty, knowing silence, one that chokes the whole room. Sam readies himself for whatever you’re about to share with him. Admittedly, he’s curious. When the Gift was something new in your life, Sam used to pile on question after question about what the world felt like to you. ‘What does it feel like when Dean’s happy?’ A car motor turning on. ‘What does my happiness feel like?’ Dimples and a mystery being solved. ‘You’re joking.’ Not even a little. It fascinated Sam—how does a demon feel in comparison to a regular spirit?

“...It was just an evil spirit, Sammy,” you dismiss. “That’s all.”

Sam highly doubts that’s true. If it was just a spirit, then why did it screw with you so deeply? What had you seen in its head that had scared you? You, of all people, who was built for this? He knows there’s something more here, but after this week and all the ways you’ve fought to avoid being a burden, the fact that you’d crawl to Sam for comfort is a sign of surrender. You’ve given up. Clearly, you don’t want to talk about it. Sam isn’t going to push you. God knows he’s done that enough.

When Sam doesn’t push you, you shudder out a wet sigh and pick up his hand. At this point, Sam expects you in this state to do something weird—and sure enough, you do. You pick up Sam’s hand and you just stare at it. Just stare. Your thumb presses into the meat of his palm, almost like you’re looking for something. Feeling him. Sam’s heart gives another pathetic, noticeable throb. Feeling him and being close to him is, after everything, still a source of comfort for you. His cheeks burn.

Just to fill the silence, Sam whispers, “I’ve lost a lot of my calluses.”

Per usual, his little creep says nothing. You’re still feeling him. Your other hand comes up to investigate too, adding even more soft gentle touching to Sam’s already overloaded system. Your thumbs press into the center of his palm (reading it, maybe?), then over each bump, confirming for yourself that Sam’s real.

Maybe he’d be a bit more resilient if you were doing this to him in a crowded diner or a rowdy college party. Instead, Sam can feel the rise and fall of your breath through your thin shirt, and it’s the only sound in the dead world besides the buzzing static on the TV.

Your gaze turns to the TV. The fingers caressing his hand stop cold.

Sam says your name. He can feel your heart thud thud thudding deep in your chest, like rabbit’s feet hitting snow.

Again, absorbed completely in your own task, you don’t answer him. You roll over very suddenly under the covers. Sam hopes for a minute that being face to face with you will give him some answers, but the flash of your face he sees only serves to scare the shit out of him. You give him no time to process before you’re full-body hugging him, shoving a hand between his side and the mattress and fisting one in his shirt to bodily haul him against you. Sam sputters out a sharp noise and awkwardly slopes his hands down your back. The sudden intimacy gives him a whole world of shameful butterflies and freaks him out enough, but…

You looked terrified. The same bone-deep horror you had on your face after you saw the demon in person—when you trudged up to Sam with those haunting Proctor eyes, staring straight through him and right at his future. What had you seen in that demon?

Sam tries to speak, but you talk over him, just as haunted as you’d been on that plane.

“I love you. So much, Sam. You know that?”

It’s not a sweet, reminiscent kind of question. It is a genuine, unironic, please-tell-me-the-truth, You know that?

Sam’s brain stalls. “...Yeah. O-Of course.”

In case that wasn’t worrying enough, your hands needily grasp at his back, refusing to let Sam go as you duck your face into his shoulder. Sam can feel your entire body trembling from head to toe, can feel your hot breath on his neck choking back tears. “You’re a good person,” you tell him, insisting. “The best to me.”

“That’s—”

“I can feel it, okay?” You snap. One of your hands slips up his chest to smooth over Sam’s heart, and you squeeze him against you, promising, “Here. Right here.”

…Okay. Consider him officially freaked out. Sam manages an unconvinced, “...Thank you.”

You’re so wound up that you’re gritting your teeth, digging your nails into his shirt and clawing him as close as possible. This has to be an effect of what you saw. Which is strange, because that… whatever that was, did not feel like psychic possession or a psychic panic attack or any kind of psychic anything. It felt like you, trying to convince Sam that he’s a good person. It strikes a cold, dark chord somewhere deep within him that he doesn’t like. You’re just… you’re just reacting to what the demon showed you. You’re overwhelmed from stretching your Gift so thin. T-that’s. Yeah. Regardless, you’re scared. You need him. That, at least, is something he can work with.

“Shh,” Sam coos. He rubs a warm hand from the base of your scalp all the way down your back, then up, and back again, repeating the soothing motion until his arm goes numb. “You’re tired. Let’s go to sleep.”

You mumble something non-committal under your breath.

Sam hushes you, blindly reaching for comforting things to say. “S’ okay. You’re okay, baby. You can fall asleep on me.”

Maybe the demon showed you visions of Sam getting hurt. Something. That would explain this, maybe. He fixates on it, purely because it’s a problem in front of him that is much easier to think about than how scared he is for you, and worse, how much he loves this. Being your person. It’s a stupid, selfish thought to have in a moment like this, but—Sam wishes he could take care of you like this all the time.

As your frantic breathing smooths out into a clear, easy in-and-out, Sam wonders, wherever Jess is, what she would think if she saw this.

He closes his eyes and tries to steady his own breathing, the TV still crackling away on the dresser.

In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh.

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydennyy @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #pythia #sam winchester imagine #supernatural rewrite

[btsgotjams27]

this is us ~ jjk | 16

six months later and you're still not over jungkook, and when you finally hit rock bottom, you realize you have to pick yourself up because no one else can do it for you.

✨ title: this is us | (sequel to all grown up) ✨ pairing: jungkook x f!reader | ✨ rating: m/18+ | minors dni ✨ genre/au: drama, romance, angst, fluff, smut | est!relationship, age gap, bff's younger brother ✨ playlist | AO3 & Wattpad ✨ a/n: if you haven’t read the prequel to this, please do so here! :) ✨ a/n 2: hello, hello! can you believe we're almost done with this series? it's been a crazy journey for these two, hasn't it? lol. well, i'll just say the angst is strong in this chapter but! this is the last angsty chapter, which i'm kind of happy for myself, my readers, and the characters lmaooooo. i hope y'all enjoy it and now it's only going up from this point out!

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] | next ✨ 17 ~ one year later

chapter 16 ~ so maybe you're not okay | wc: 5.4k warnings: time skip (6 months later), angst, reader is reflecting on her past actions, language, alcohol consumption, *some* tough love, self-deprecation, depressing thoughts, mentions of throwing up smut warnings: kissing, touching, groping, breast play

~ six months since the breakup ~

Six months have passed since you and Jungkook split up. Sometimes, your heart ached continually, and you wondered when it would stop or ever cease. You almost gave in and called to check how he was doing or what he was up to, but you didn't. It was foolish to believe he'd want to talk to you since he, too, was hurt. You had shattered his heart for the second time, and you shouldn't be surprised if he never wanted to hear from you again.

Your heart skipped a beat anytime his name was uttered, whether it was Jin or Yuna. A part of you wanted to know if he was doing well or if he was as unhappy as you, but you were hoping for the latter. He deserved happiness, and you wanted him to find it even if you weren’t a part of it.

As much as you wanted to run away from responsibilities, you couldn’t. Your show was the only thing that kept you going—for now, at least. Critics and audiences alike praised the first half of the season, but as the season proceeded, numbers began to fall, making you doubt your talent and career. Could your writing be suffering as a result of your breakup? It did take up a lot of your mental space these days.

You wanted to hide under a rock and never come out again, it was virtually impossible because your phone rang nonstop day and night, attempting to put out fires—executives, producers, and writers breathing down your neck, never letting you take a breath. You just wanted everything to halt, and you just wanted no one to need you. But you were reminded of that whenever you stepped into your apartment. You didn’t know which was worse anymore.

The show's last day couldn’t have come any faster, and Kenji wanted to go big and celebrate the filming wrapping. You arrived at the beautiful modern building, which hardly looked like a restaurant.

“Hello, darling.”

You turned to your ex-boyfriend, his arm snaking around your waist. He could never help himself, but you smacked his arm away. “Kenji,” you said with a scowl.

“I’m sorry, love—habit.” You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s celebrate,” he said, holding his arm for you to take, though you didn’t amuse him by doing so. You were tired of his antics.

Because it was a party and you were practically the face of the project, you had to put on your best smile and pretend everything was fine—better than okay, perfect because you had gotten what you wanted out of your career, you had worked your ass off to get where you are. Still, none of this mattered if you didn't have the most important person by your side, but you didn’t dare utter his name.

If there was one thing you hated about being in this industry, it was the mingling aspect. Of course, you cared for your crew but showed it differently than how Kenji wanted to. You preferred intimate gatherings, taking a few groups to talk and catch up.

Though, at this point, you didn’t want to be around anyone anymore and just wanted to eliminate the noise clouding up your mind and space.

“Hey, babe. Are you doing okay?” Hyunie asked, pulling you in for a hug.

You loved your friend, but you swear to God if she asked you one more time if you were okay, you’d explode. “I’m fine,” you snapped, closing your eyes.

Having Hyunie by your side throughout this project was a godsend, and you couldn’t have done it without her. As Yuna was busy with baby Indie, Hyunie became your right-hand gal, almost waiting on you hand and foot.

She cleared her throat. “I just wanted to make sure,” she muttered, ready to walk away.

“Wait, Hyunie—” You turned, grasping her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay. I know you’re stressed. I’ll leave you alone.”

God—were you always this bitchy and cranky? Or had you unlocked a new part of yourself that you’d only discovered after breaking up with Jungkook? Either way, you’d lose your friend if you didn’t stop.

You had stopped counting how many glasses of wine you had accepted from the server as he passed by with his tray, but it had to have been more than enough for you to want to kiss the next person you saw.

Aimlessly, you stared at your wine glass. Are you the only one like this? What the fuck are you doing with your life? Pretending to be okay when you weren’t. Shit—you were so fucking pathetic.

Every day, the same thing, over and over again. Mindlessly, alone. You were gradually losing yourself in your innermost thoughts.

Tomorrow may be better. Maybe it’ll be alright. But who were you kidding? They were nothing but lies. You were too far gone, too broken. And it didn’t look like it could ever be reversed.

“So, you’re the big boss, hmm?”

You looked up to see a handsome man donned in an all-black outfit, his honey-skin chest practically on display, the deep V of his silk shirt leading your eyes down to his lower half. “That’s me,” you muttered, swirling the last of what was left in your wine glass.

“Can I get you a refill?”

“Yes, please.”

The man flashed a beautiful smile before going behind the counter, reaching underneath to pull up a bottle of wine.

“Are you supposed to be back there?” you asked, raising a brow because he wasn’t a crew member from your show. Actually, you had never seen him before.

He chuckled. “I’m Jung Hoseok, co-owner of Onjium.” You held your glass out for him to refill.

“It’s a beautiful restaurant, and the food is immaculate.”

“Ah, why, thank you,” he remarked. “Should I return the favor and praise your show?”

You tried to suppress your smirk by sipping the red wine. “I’d rather you praise me instead."

Hoseok's tongue darts to wet his lips, biting the bottom. "I can do that."

It had been too long since you had kissed anyone, alone let anyone even touch you. But Hoseok’s kisses from the column of your neck trailing towards your collarbone made you realize how horny you were—and your vibrator wasn’t cutting it anymore. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t sought out a fuck buddy in the first place. It would’ve easily taken your mind off everything and relieved some stress.

His hardened length brushed against your clothed heat, his soft lips continuing to mark your body, his hand on the small of your back, eliminating the distance between you. “Fuck—you’re so sexy,” he kissed your lips. “Why isn’t every man dropping to their knees for you?”

You throw your head back, a chuckle leaving your lips. “Do you always flatter every woman who walks through your restaurant’s doors?” you ask, tugging at his belt, unfastening it with his pants.

He grins and shakes his head. “I never do things like this,” he lies through his teeth.

“Uh-huh, sure,” you quip back. “So you’ve never fucked anyone on this couch before?” You found it hard to believe—a good-looking man like him, not fucking every beautiful that walked into his restaurant?

“Nope, never,” he laughs, coming in for another kiss, his hard length pressing into your lower abdomen, making you ache and crave what’s hidden beneath those briefs. “Can I?” he asks, toying with the thin straps of your dress.

“Please do. I’m at your service to be praised and adored.” You were hardly ever this bold or confident. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins, coinciding with how shitty you’ve been feeling these past several months.

Hoseok’s slender fingers drew imaginary circles into your skin. He studied your face—eyes closed, mouth agape, and head lolled back. Savoring every moment as you bite your bottom lip, just waiting for him to continue as he pleased. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Honestly, at this moment? Anything—anything to relieve the ache that was building inside your body.

He hums, waiting for your answer.

You opened your eyes and straightened your posture. He still hadn’t removed your straps, so you did it for him, agonizingly slow, of course—just as he teased you, you did the same to him. But your stupid bra stood in the way until you unfastened the hooks, freeing your breasts one at a time. His attention is now diverted from your eyes to your chest, taking in the perfect view.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you leaned in, whispering, “I want you to fuck me so hard that you have to take me home and then fuck me all over again.”

He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself, then gripped the soft flesh of your ass through your black slip dress. His hands roamed the sides of your body. His eyes fixated on your breasts before palming them in his hands. “Fuck–yes. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

His hand reached the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. You spread your legs wider, rolling your hips against his erection. Faint whimpers leave your lips when his fingers pinch your stiff peaks.

“Fuck–Kook. I need you inside me.”

“Name’s Hoseok,” he says between kisses.

“Don’t–don’t talk.”

“Anything you want, princess.”

You pulled away with a deadpan expression, breathing a loud sigh.

“You just ruined it.” Of course, he couldn’t have known that you hated that pet name, but that pet name also brought you back to reality.

You drew the strings of your dress back over your shoulders, proceeding to grab the rest of your things. “I’m sorry, Hoseok. I shouldn’t have done this,” you say, looking around for your bra.

“Was it something I said?”

Technically, yes, but also, you were stupid for trying to sleep with a man you had just met. This wasn’t you. You didn’t go around fucking random strangers–you much preferred being in a loving relationship, not one-night stands with men you’d never see again.

“No–it’s me. I’m sorry.”

Quickly, you left the crime scene, slipping into a taxi, still holding your bra because you couldn't put it back on without someone stopping to talk to you. With eyes closed and a loud sigh, your head lolled back on the car’s headrest. The angel on your shoulder was berating you for making bad decisions. The devil told you to return to the man who wanted to sleep with you and show you a good time. Right now, you didn’t want to listen to either of them.

You open your eyes and straighten your posture, catching a glimpse of yourself in the rearview. The person staring back was unrecognizable—having sunk to the lowest of the lows, unsure if you could pick yourself back up. At this point, you wondered how your friends could even put up with you. You didn’t even want to be around yourself—a pitiful mess you were.

Sundays were brunch days at Yuna and Namjoon’s. It was a tradition the group had organized since the new parents had their hands full.

But you lay in bed, thinking of the many excuses you could give to your best friend to get out of this brunch you had started to loathe. It reminded you of your mother’s family reunion dinners.

You 9:27 AM *cough*cough* I’m not feeling well. I think I drank too much.

Yuna 9:29 AM 😒 Get your ass over here. I don’t care if you’re on your deathbed.

Tae 9:30 AM Dang—mama don’t play. You tell her, Noona!

Hyunie 9:30 AM Seriously, taetae? Why??? Why are you like this? 😑

Joon 9:31 AM I’m making my infamous avocado toast.

Jin 9:32 AM Namjoon cooking? *cough*cough* I’m sick too.

Yuna 9:33 AM Oh! Don’t make me slap all of you through this phone. Everyone be here at 10:30! OR ELSE.

You 9:33 AM Fine…

Jin 9:34 AM Okay—MOM.

Tae 9:34 AM Or else, what? You’ll spank me?

Hyunie 9:35 AM Someone come strangle my husband before I do!!

Even if you were on your deathbed, huh? Apparently, you still had to attend this infamous Sunday brunch.

A notification bell came through your phone, illuminating your screen.

Jin 9:37 AM I can come pick you up.

You 9:38 AM Why? You don’t trust that I’ll go there?

Jin 9:38 AM Nope 🙃 See you soon friend.

The car ride to Yuna’s consisted of nothing but radio silence. Jin looked over, watching you mindlessly observe pedestrians, deep in thought about who knows what. He wanted to interrupt many times but didn’t want to appear insensitive.

“You look like shit,” Taehyung remarked, sitting at the table.

“Thanks, Taehyung. I really appreciate your honesty,” you faked a smile before letting it falter. “FYI—this is what I look like, hungover.”

“You seem to be drinking a lot these days,” Yuna couldn’t help but comment.

“There’s nothing wrong with drinking,” Namjoon responded as he was focused on smashing the avocados in the bowl. He looked up to see his wife glaring at him. “What?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, as long as it’s done in moderation. We don’t want anything bad to happen to our bodies.” He looked over at Yuna again, who was pleased with his answer.

“Maybe just slow down on the mimosas today, babe,” Hyunie interjected when you picked up the tall, slim glass and sipped. Whoever made it went a bit overboard on the champagne. It wouldn’t be your fault, it was whoever made this.

“I’m fine,” you noted. “I’m a big girl, and I can care for myself.”

With her tongue in cheek, Yuna tuts as she spreads the butter on the piece of bread, preparing the pan for the avocado toast.

You wanted to let that slide because she had been like this for the past few months, making snide, snarky comments or saying things under her breath. Maybe motherhood was taking a toll. Maybe she hadn’t had enough sleep. Maybe she, too, was pissed off at the world.

“Do you have something you want to say to me?” You set your glass down, folding your arms across your chest. Maybe you were feeling confident after the sip of orange juice and champagne.

Everyone quieted down, pretending not to let this conversation become awkward, trying to do other things to distract themselves.

Yuna placed the bread into the warm pan, letting it sizzle, but she didn’t answer you. She had wanted to talk to you privately for a while now, but everything was bubbling up to the surface, and she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Namjoon clenched his jaw and lightly elbowed her, giving her the staredown of the century, mouthing, “Not now.”

“Why not? Hmm?” she answers aloud to her husband. “She needs to hear what I have to say.”

He looks at everyone whose eyes are now on the couple in the kitchen. “There’s a time and place if you want to talk, but not in front of everyone,” he said in a hushed tone, quickly glancing at you, then back to his smashed avocados.

“Yuna, if you have something to say, just fucking say it.” You were tired of all these side eyes and unspoken words.

She sighs and then turns off the stovetop, removing the pan from the heat. “It’s been six months, Y/n. Six months since Jungkook left.”

“Yeah, you don’t think I fucking know that? I have to live with that knowledge every day. Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone and let me drink in peace?” Picking up the glass, you took another sip; the bubbly drink fizzled down your throat. “I’m fine,” you lied. “Sometimes I just want to wallow in all the shit I’m feeling, okay? And be fucking depressed, sad, and hurt. Am I not allowed to do that?”

Hyunie steps closer, grasping your arm. “Of course, you can, but we’re just worried about you and want you to talk to us.”

“What do you want me to say?” You look around the room, trying your best to hold it together. Your tongue darted to lick your lips, teeth nibbling your bottom lip, but the yearning in your heart welled to the surface, just waiting to erupt. “You want me to say that I fucked up? Instead of pushing Jungkook away, I should’ve tried to work through it. That I should've gone to LA to get him back? Well, it's too fucking late. I can't do shit now. He's probably moved on with his life and is doing ten times better than I am."

You let go of Hyunie and sat in the dining chair. "God–I'm so pathetic." You wiped the tears streaming down your face. "I feel so numb, so broken," you said with a shaky voice. "I just want to wake up from this stupid nightmare, but I can't because this is my fucking reality. I know I have no one to blame but myself for this mess."

Everyone looked at you with pity and remorse. Practically watching you fall apart. You didn't want this to happen but knew it eventually would.

Yuna sympathized with her best friend, and she did. But she also had her baby brother to worry about as well. She knew how he was doing–which was much better than you right now, and you were right. He had moved on and was in a better spot, mentally and emotionally.

She walked over to you, placing her hand on yours, gently rubbing the top of your hand. Yuna softly sighed, “I love you, I do. But sometimes I just wanna give you a good smack.”

“Jagi!” Namjoon quips, setting down his fork.

“In a loving way, of course,” she pauses, “I'm sorry things turned out the way they did with you and Jungkook. It hurts me to see you like this–living life so aimlessly. If you want him, go get him. If you don't, then move on.”

“It's not that simple,” you said, turning to her.

“I know—but you have to try. Take it one day at a time. Do something fun. Try something you’ve never done before. Get your mind off everything,” Yuna suggests.

She was right. Since your show had wrapped up and nothing else lined up, you could do as you, please. Maybe you could find a new hobby or travel—it’s been a minute since you had a proper vacation. Honestly, traveling to a secluded place seemed like a dream. But would it be a ruse to run away from your problems, or would it help you move on? Could it be a bit of both?

“I’m sorry, guys. I am.” You look up to your friends who have been supportive these past few months while you were at rock bottom.

Jin, Namjoon, and Taehyung grunted or hummed, acknowledging your apology before distracting themselves with something else.

Hyunie comes in for an embrace. “You’re gonna be okay. I know it.” She pulls away, the corners of her lips curving into a reassuring smile.

“I don’t deserve you guys.”

“You don’t,” Jin jokes, in which Namjoon glares at him. “What?” He stuffs a blueberry in his mouth. “Just saying.”

You were conscious of your choices and actions and aware of the consequences; nevertheless, accepting and coming to terms with them was another matter.

Regardless, if you wanted to get out of this deep, dark hole you’ve dug, no one could help you unless you helped yourself.

With nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no one to see—your life felt like it had no meaning, no purpose.

Do something fun.

Yuna’s voice echoed from the day before. Fun? You didn’t even know what you considered fun anymore. What did you even like besides writing and working? No new films were interesting, at least not enough to make you want to pay to sit in front of the big screen. And you just knew you’d be scrolling through Netflix for hours trying to find something to watch before ultimately giving up. There was no point, you thought.

And since none of those things were riveting, you again found yourself at the bar. At least, it was the first time you’d gone this week. Well—to be honest, the week had just begun.

“Another Moscow mule, please,” you inquired, waving down the bartender. It was only your third one of the night, but given that your speech was becoming unintelligible—you’d be cut off soon.

The bartender nodded, acknowledged your request, and began working on your drink.

You held onto the black straw, mindlessly stirring the ice in the copper mug. Your eyes laser-focused on the bottle sitting behind the bar back—Highland Park, single malt whiskey. You preferred cocktails over straight liquor. You didn’t think you could handle all the alcohol content; hell, you could hardly hold the ones in cocktails.

Next to the shelf of liquor stood a mirror, but you couldn’t recognize the person in the reflection. Who was she? Six months had passed since the breakup, and the person in the mirror looked grim and unhappy. You couldn’t remember the last time you genuinely smiled or even laughed, and you had forgotten what true joy felt like.

This past year drained you emotionally and physically. You weren’t sure you had even gotten through all of it, and storing these traumatic, unpleasant memories in your amygdala only to resurface when you drank, forced you to deal with your emotions and feelings—things you didn’t want to touch. They were too painful and tortuous. It was easier to leave them be, brush them off, pretend that life could go on—but you had to face these memories and feelings sooner rather than later, or you’d never be able to pull yourself out of the hole you had dug.

The soft murmur of your name broke your focus on yourself in the mirror. You turned to see Min Yoongi beside you in a black button-down with a turtleneck underneath.

“Why do you look like you just sat down to be interviewed for a documentary?” You ask without regard to how he is doing or what he was doing at the bar.

Yoongi laughed at your abruptness. “I just came from a meeting with a colleague and came here for drinks, but he had to head out; then I saw you sitting here, so here I am.”

“Mmhm, here you are.” Your eyes lit up when the bartender handed you your drink.

“Can I get a single malt whiskey? Neat.”

You chuckled because you were looking at the bottle the bartender picked up.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked, sitting beside you, his knee slightly brushing against yours before swiveling away in his stool.

It would be easy to say, ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ and go on the rest of the night indulging in small talk, but did you want to open a can of worms?

You gave your attention to the new Moscow mule sitting before you, stabbing the lime with the black straw and pushing it down to the bottom. You turn to him, “I feel like I’m gonna break down and cry at a moment’s notice.”

For some reason, it felt easier to bare your soul to someone who knew nothing about your life because all your friends quickly judged you and your decisions. But not with Yoongi. He knew the bare minimum about you.

“It’s okay to cry. Just don’t cry alone,” he simply said before thanking the bartender and sipping his whiskey.

Honestly, you hadn’t cried in the past few months. You felt more numb than anything, but the accumulation of your relationship with your mom, infertility, and Jungkook was enough to make you want to break down and give up on everything in life. The weight of it all was coming to a peak, ready to erupt.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” he teased, to which you rolled your eyes. He took another sip, waving for you to continue.

“Do you ever ask yourself what the fuck you’re doing with your life?”

“All the time,” he chuckled. “It’s normal to ask that question. Think about it—we’re living, breathing humans that live on a rock floating through time and space.”

“Yes! Oh my god! I think about that all the time. Why do all of my problems seem so big in my little world? But compared to how big the world is, it seems silly, minuscule, and unimportant. I mean, the person walking down the street probably has bigger problems than me.”

“Mm, that could be true, but don’t minimize your hurt and feelings. It’s important to recognize and learn from those things and let them shape a better you.”

“Why get a shrink when all you need is ‘Min Yoongi’ in your life?” You finally take a sip of your drink, the ice already melting in place, the condensation pooling a rim on the napkin.

He chuckled at your joke. “I’m hardly a therapist. I’ve just—I’ve been where you are, and I’m sorry it sucks, but give it time. You’ll be okay.”

“But, like, how do you know that?”

“Well, I don’t,” he took a swig of his whiskey. “I mean, there aren’t many things in our control, but for the things that are, it’s important to do what we can. We can only manage what’s right in front of us. We don’t know what will happen tomorrow, next week, or three months from now. Just worry about what’s happening right here, right now. That’s all you can do, you know?”

You recognized the truth behind Yoongi’s words and wanted to believe it. You did. But it was always easier said than done. Maybe you just needed more time, time to find yourself again. Maybe find joy in the little things, in yourself, and become comfortable in your skin without the dissonance of your friends. This time in your life would be as good as any since you had nothing lined up for you, work-wise. There was no one to keep you here in Seoul. You could go anywhere if you wanted to. Would now be the right time to uproot your life and go wherever your heart desired?

Yoongi could see you pondering his words, maybe letting the reality of it all soak in. He chugged the last of his whiskey, setting the glass down. “Come on, let me take you home.”

You lifted your finger, ready to key in your apartment's code, before returning to Yoongi. “Do you wanna come in?”

He hesitated before answering, “I shouldn’t.”

“You’re not going to tuck me in; make sure I don’t drown in my vomit?” Yoongi snickers. “Sorry, I’m not in my right mind right now. You don’t have to come in.”

“You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“I just gave you an out. You can leave if you want, but if you don’t hear from me tomorrow, will you be ready to live with that guilt if something happened to me?” You could’ve easily eliminated the last line but couldn’t help yourself. Let’s blame it on the alcohol for the sudden confidence.

Yoongi’s tongue darted out, licking his lips, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile. He nodded toward your door. “Come on. Let’s get you tucked in.”

“I just want to lay on a nice, warm beach. Or I guess I’ll try to dream of it tonight.”

Yoongi followed you into the bedroom and lunged forward to keep you standing straight before you plopped onto the bed. “I have a vacation home in Phuket if you ever need to get away from here.”

“You do?” Your eyes widen in delight, almost wanting to take up his offer.

“Yeah, Tae and Hyunie went there recently, and I’m only ever there occasionally. Feel free to use it if you’d like.”

“Is this the part where you plan to murder me, and no one will ever find my body?” you joke, referring to when he said he’d take you home the first night you met, even though you hardly knew him then.

“I think you’ve been watching one too many Law and Order episodes, huh?”

You shrug. “You can never be too careful, you know!”

Yoongi laughs. “If I wanted to murder you, I’d have done it already.”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re waiting for the perfect moment. Like when I’m all vulnerable in my bed.” He shows off his gummy smile, a feature you’ve come to appreciate. “You should smile more often. You have a really pretty smile.”

He shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle as he turned away from you. Through the short time, he’s known you, you were never this honest with him.

You sigh. "Can I skip to the part where everything will be okay again?"

Yoongi kneeled by your bedside and flashed a closed-lipped smile before scanning over your features. Apparently, you were just full of questions tonight, but he didn’t mind. "Where you are now is not where you'll always be."

He seemed so positive and empathetic toward your situation, which you were grateful for. It's possible he was just being kind, but he had plenty more to say. He was almost like your personal fortune cookie, always ready with an answer.

"That's easy for you to say." You snuggled deeper into your fluffy pillow, pulling the duvet under your chin.

"Mm–yeah, it is," he chuckled. "Well, there's a high chance that the future you want never happens, and if you put too much meaning into it, it'll torment you."

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly. 

“You know what I mean.”

You stick out your tongue in protest, pulling the duvet over your head. “Just say I’m being pathetic. I can handle it,” you lie, muffled through the sheets. You were one step away from losing your shit.

Yoongi cleared his throat, lifting the duvet so he could say goodbye. He could see the sadness in your eyes when you looked back at him, and he only knew what you were going through because Kim Taehyung had a big mouth and shared whatever details he knew about you and your ex-boyfriend. But he never wanted to press you further unless you wanted to share.

“Well, I’m gonna head out. It looks like you’re tucked in safely and not dying, so...”

He proceeded to stand, but you sat up, grabbing his hand, your hand lingering longer than usual. Your eyes focused on his plush lips, then you moved in, closing your eyes for a kiss, but he pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” He stood, taking another step toward the door. “You’re cool, but I don’t kiss people when they’re not sober.”

Your cheeks become warm, your gaze avoiding his. “I’m sorry. As you can probably tell, I’m not in the right mind frame, and I’m very susceptible to handsome men when they’re sweet.”

Yoongi flashed a thin smile. “It’s okay. I’ll pretend nothing happened,” he remarked, waving his hand again before leaving you alone in your bedroom.

When you heard the front door closed, you grabbed your pillow and screamed into it. Why was kissing someone always your answer when feeling shitty about yourself? At this point, Yoongi probably found you as foolish as one could be. He probably wondered how and why Hyunie and Taehyung continued to be friends with someone like you.

You set the pillow aside, sliding under your covers, thinking about the question you asked Yoongi earlier at the bar.

What the fuck are you doing with your life?

So much of your adulthood was spent trying to survive your childhood and the trauma that came with it, and as you became an adult, you hoped the person you had become would be the person you needed when you were a child. But in reality, you felt like an imposter. The adult version of you was trying her best to be what that little girl needed, though ultimately, you failed her.

You knew deep down inside that you needed to stop whatever this path of destruction was, stop blaming others, not wait to be rescued, and most of all, stop refusing to participate fully in life. You had friends who became like family to you, who loved you no matter what you did. Was that not enough?

Inevitably, you were aware that no one could save you but yourself. You’d spent your life stuck in this endless cycle that no one had created but yourself.

You stopped before you started. You gave up before you even attempted. You talked yourself out of it before you got into it.

In retrospect, you knew you were also at fault regarding Jungkook. You sabotaged your relationship because you couldn’t bear the pain. But what if you had tried and given everything, and it worked out?

But as Yoongi said, it’s better not to dwell on a future that may not happen. Otherwise, you’d continue this endless cycle of torment.

✨ a/n 3: so, how are we doing? how are we feeling? do we have any theories on what'll happen next? what do we think about yoongi? let me know (:

also! i still plan on doing the podcast episode, so start thinking of questions, comments, rambles/rants (:

✨ next ~ 17 ~ one year later

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #jungkook x you #jungkook x noona #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader

[autistichalsin]

Hello!! :D

Just popping in to say ILYSM (in that strange, mutuals on the internet sorta way) and that you have lots of fans who love your Halsin-posting. Your post notifications always brighten my day. ❤️

Idk why in the world you’ve got people investing their finite existence on this good Earth giving you grief. Some of your stuff might not be everyone’s cup of tea (pleasing everyone is an impossibility, after all), but it doesn’t even come close to the kinds of things my favourite hardcore/“problematic” (<= self-described, including the quotations, lmao!) Halsin/bg3 writers and artists post. And I don’t see anyone clutching their pearls in their comment sections.

Like, when I click on the profile of one of my favourite writers (which includes you! 🥰 But not this example, I love all your stuff!) and see that they’ve posted a story with a description like: “hardcore kinky stuff that you’re not into, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat”, I simply keep scrolling and maybe pick one of the hundreds to thousands of other bg3 stories I could choose from. But maybe that’s just me. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(Ao3 has tag filtering, you guys, it’s amazing. Remember the fucking Dark Ages when Ao3 didn’t have that at all? How tf did we ever live like that? That’s the kind of shit you say Thanks for at family Thanksgiving. And don’t tell you guys haven’t figured out at least one of the dozens of ways to filter stuff out on godsdamn Tumblr of all places; we’ve been tweaking the etiquette of that for years!)

How utterly irrational it is for these people to look at such an openly Queer and Kinky video game — the likes of which I’ve never seen in the mainstream before (He-llo strategically advantageous BDSM scene! 🤤) — and decide that they’re going to go around policing how people iterate upon those pre-established themes. How did this fandom attract puritans of all people? [Insert “The Myth of ‘Consensual’ Sex” meme here.]

Any-hoosies, all this to say that your haters are a weird, vocal minority that are letting you live rent free in their heads, instead of doing something meaningful or joyful with their pathetic, puritanical existences. There are way more people who love the kind of meta and fics that you post.

Have a good day!! XOXO 🥰😘💋💖💛🫶🤙

Hello! Thank you so much- that means a lot to me. It's weird to think of myself having "fans" lol! Like you're not the first person to use that word but it's just. Such a weird (in a good way) concept for me???? Like!?!?!? But I'm so glad to hear you love my posts <3

Yeah, pleasing everyone is impossible, and it's weird that of all things, my extremely mild CNC kink fic has become the antis' boogeyman. Fam there is literal necrophilia kink in this fandom! (Not saying they deserve to be harassed either, of course, no one should be!) But the fic that has become the pinnacle of what's problematic in this fandom is a survivor writing about a fictional survivor using kink to reclaim their sexuality? Like. OK Jan

See, but that's the difference, you're a grown adult who takes responsibility for curating your experience, whereas others.... either don't, or they don't read it but act like the fic EXISTING is a problem. I guess some people are in for a rude awakening when they discover who the Marquis de Sade is......

God, remember BEFORE AO3? Remember FFN when half the time, the PAIRING wasn't even properly tagged bc you could only tag two characters at all, so people would by default just tag the most popular characters to appear in the story? And instead of tags, you had genres, so you had to decide if you wanted romance/hurt/comfort or friendship/tragedy or what? (I'm a certified Fandom Old- on my old account I was in the first 10,000 users on AO3).

Yeah, people really are missing the point of this game- and it's no coincidence most of these folks are younger. (And a lot are exclus too; I've seen them get angry at the BG3 characters being canonically pan, saying that "pansexuality is a made-up Tumblr sexuality). So... totally blind to the interwoven history of queerness and kink. Not surprising.

Thank you so much for this kind message, anon, you cheered me up a lot. <3 I hope you have a great day!

#discourse

[mmc-veronica]

A≒A'≠A - A’ English Translation

Trigger warnings: Death and suicidal ideations

UM. so i finished this quicker than i thought i would. THERES A LOT OF STUFF HAPPENING IN THIS TRACK… i did translate/format half of this on my phone so sorry if its a bit wonky 😭 when i first listened to this i remember being kind of like “?????” lol… also i.. have not proofread this so sorry for any mistakes. anyways, translation under the cut!

Hello? Honey? It’s Etan~

Actually today I have a feeling that I can get home early today, so maybe we can see each other soon~...

Eh?! For real? Then let’s just meet up somewhere… by the way, where are you right now?

Oh, oh, then that would be closer to Tokyo Station.

I’ll be there in forty secon… no that might be impossible, but I’ll be finished with work in five minutes so wait for me somewhere, or you can just go ahead and meet me at my place, that might be a bit more convenient!

Alright! If you get there before me, feel free to make yourself comfortable! Then I’ll see you later, mwah!

It’s been a while since I’ve been this tired… Yo, yo! My Honey’s shoes are already here!

Honey~! Are you alright? Did you bump into anything? I’m home, I’m home, I’m home!

This situation where I come home and my honey’s right in front of me… Isn’t this a bit too good? It’s so priceless that my heart won’t stop racing! Hug~!

Hah… this is nice… coming home from work and being recharged with my Honey!

All my worries and stresses from today are replaced by happiness that I feel like I could redo this entire day and feel fine~

Huh? Of course, I’m fine! I seriously hurried over here after those five minutes, you know!

Could it be… Did my Honey make me something or do something for me?!

Are you serious? That’s seriously the best! By the way, what did you get for me? What are you going to make for me?!

This is so good~ Anything you make is good! Like, seriously, somehow everything tastes like my Honey!

It’s okay! There’s nothing to worry about! This handmade hamburger steak is a given, and once this frozen potato side dish was warmed up it’s Honey-flavored, right? Mmm so good…!

Thank you for the meal~ Thanks to your nice surprise I’m in such a good mood! I’m so satisfied that I’m filled with so much inspiration for ideas for a new song!

Right, right! Well, even once the release relay starts, we NSFW are the exciting last performers, so we’ll start putting in some serious effort soon~

Well, yeah, kind of. When it comes to the performance we haven’t thought of anything yet. The other members are still out and playing around. Even so, I think we still have to produce a happy song that breaks our boundaries, so the people who listen to it will be so happy that they want to start dancing!

That’s right, as the ambassador of this name I want to keep working hard.

Well that was the plan, since my happiness has reached its limit. But you see… Mm… There are some things I need to start cleaning up… before I properly become an adult…

Well before that, Honey over here! Come over here!

No, no! That can wait until later, It’ll become a hassle!

When it comes to cleaning up, I’ll properly do it all later, so…!

I caught you~ so from here on out its the start of my dessert time~

This is…! Hyper delicious sweets! Not even a ten star rating will cut it! Just one bite won’t do, so I’ll just have to take my time with having a taste~

I’m so refreshed! Then Honey, you were alright with… Yo yo?! What is this! Isn’t this a sight! My honey, wearing my shirt and sweatpants! Oh… this is too attractive…

Oh okay, okay, help yourself to any drinks! And why are you watching the news? That’s a bit bland!

I see, I understand the sentiment. Background noise just to keep your nerves at bay is always good. Especially if you’re alone.

Yeah, you’re right. Except I’m not sure what’s been changed specifically. The drinking and smoking age has been the same. Passports… you can get after ten years, right? Damn! I don’t know if it’s because of this country or not, but if someone goes out on a whim and decides to become an adult then that’s a bit of a problem~ Even with me, there’s a lot of stuff I need to do.

Hey, honey? You call me A, right? Ever since we started dating.

Yeah, true, but… For one, you don’t call me by my real name so it’s fine and I like you calling me A but…

I am A but this- If I said I was a fake A, what would you do?

Did I scare you? I guess we are similar~

I’m actually a twin. The one on the right is me and the one on the left is my older brother. The real A, without the dash.

The one that started the band and went by A, that wasn’t me. That was my brother. But…

He died.

A bit before we turned fifteen, he was crossing the street and a truck came… He… He… I’m fine. I’m fine now. I’m sure you can guess what happened. What I couldn’t say all this time, was this. Whenever I think about what happened, I can’t stop from panicking, so I've made sure to try not to think about it. My parents and doctors have all said to hurry up and forget about it, but not just the incident. They want me to try to forget about him as well. But, I can’t help myself. Especially recently. I have to keep him in my memory, or he’ll be scared right? I keep aging, but he’s alone, in the body of a kid. To think that he’ll be forgotten by everyone…

It’s kind of too late for this, but can you listen to me? About the real A that you don’t know.

I’ll make sure that I’ll remember properly, so if it’s you, it’ll be okay.

Yeah. Of course I know. No matter how stupid I am, I know you’ll wait for me. Up until now you’ve done that already. I won’t push myself. So first I want to talk about some of the easier stuff.

To outsiders, we were both little troublemakers. But, on the inside we were actually good! Basically, we would come up with ideas and run around messing with the adults! Well we were identical, right? So we would switch classrooms and see how long it would take for them to notice! Right?! But if no one notices, it takes the fun out of it, so in the end we would just tell them ourselves, especially him. I would say to him, “We were doing so well, so why did you tell them?!” and we would get into arguments, but, when we came up with our next prank, we would just make up without a word.

We went into middle school, and he suddenly said he wanted to join the light music club. I liked music too, but I never thought of doing it myself, so I was a bit surprised. I guess it was then… the crowds of people we hung out with changed bit by bit, but we still got along well, it was what it was. When he started being the singer for the band he was in with his buddies, it felt like he kept getting sucked in by the music. He was all like, “A musical star being born doesn’t sound that bad!” and I started watching his practice sessions with my friends. When we were third years, they had a farewell stage at the cultural festival, and of course he was super excited, but he got sick out of nowhere! I would say he got too excited and he got sick. Catching pneumonia and going to the hospital, coughing everywhere, he kept saying “I let down my bandmates and underclassmen,” I felt bad for him so I said, “Well, do you want me to stand in for you just this once? We look the same and we sound the same, so if I copy your singing we can just trick them like that!” Just like we did in the past.

Yeah. I sang in his place. I thought I did perfectly… Well yeah, in the end we were figured out. Well, I guess we revealed it, he did, that is. I’m not sure. That’s what I wanted to ask. Then, that day, I met with him on the way back from class, and… From that time, I really can’t remember much. No matter how hard I try, I can’t recall anything. When I came to, I was in the hospital. No, I wasn’t injured, but…

Yeah. That’s why I don’t like hospitals, even now. I blacked out without even realizing, and when I woke up, I was told that he had passed, and I couldn’t even attend his funeral. I was the one that invited him, and if I didn’t do that, then the incident wouldn’t have happened…

No, I’m fine! If I’m able to tell you this much, I can keep going. I want to tell you everything.

It was from there, where I started thinking, “I want to hurry up and die.” That was all I could even think. Even after getting discharged from the hospital, I was a mess, and I felt like even eating was meaningless. Then, I just started messing around here and there, and was surrounded by weird people. Yeah, the weirdest people I’ve met up until now, those are the current band members. That’s kind of the punchline here. Well, I’m not sure why, but they told me they wanted me to sing for them, but once I thought about it, I thought that it wouldn’t be that bad. And I could stand in his place… because the one who really wanted to sing was him, but he can’t anymore, so there’s only one thing that I can really do. But, I didn’t want to steal his spotlight, so I put ‘ at the end of my name. I’m A, but I’m also not. An imposter that is identical to A, A’. Well that’s obvious, isn’t it? We were seriously inseparable, where one of us was, the other was there also, and we would always go to each other for advice. If we were together, I thought we could do anything. No matter how old we get, nothing would change, is what I thought but… but then why… If that’s the case I should’ve died instead… I wonder, I don’t even know what really happened. I don’t even remember. Before the accident, we were just chatting, and according to the police, it turned out the truck had ran a red light, but… Even then, I blamed myself, that I was in the wrong… No way. There’s no way. If he was here right now, he would never blame me. That’s the kind of person he is. If… I was really in the wrong, he would probably just laugh and say, “Seriously, what are you doing? Rather than that…!” Huh? No… it’s nothing. Yeah. No matter how many people say we’re so similar, I can only think that he was more mature than me. We’re twins, but I can only think that he’s my older brother.

Maybe… Well, there’s not much I can do! He’s not here anymore, and I need to make something of myself. To make something of myself… that’s…

I know. Becoming A’… it wasn’t a mistake. I met you out of it too. Right now everyone’s waiting for me. The A with a ‘’s songs. From starting as an imposter…I couldn’t do it without reason.That’s why I said at the start, that it’s okay. I wonder if he’ll forgive me too, if I keep using the name A’ and continue making songs. Me? Yeah… I think he’d say “Go for it, as long as you’re having fun.” Well of course you’d get along with him! If you can get along with me, then you could with him. I guess it was all in my head… If I think about the type of person he is… then I have a feeling it was.

Haah… Yes!! One song finished~! No matter how I think about it, this is good! Now that’s said and done, the second song… I can leap this hurdle easily. I guess regaining motivation does help…

Why isn’t there a towel hanging here?!

Sorry, I guess I can’t reach you yet. I guess you knew that already though. But I hope you’re waiting excitedly for all the stories I’m going to tell you. I’ll have fun for the both of us. Even singing, and this dazzling world of adulthood.

#dear vocalist #dear vocalist translation #dearvo #dear vocalist unlimited #a’ #edasshu #えーダッシュ #ディアヴォーカリスト #ディアヴォ #dearvo translation #rejet #rejet translation

[svcredveins]

Well hello and welcome to our community and I also have to say I like your style and it's really unique to see someone like race cars not many ppl I know like racing or sports like nasscar so it's cool also I would like to know if you still do dark cardiophile writing is ok if you don't as much but I hope you have an amazing time here

Hello! Thank you! I appreciate it. Yeah haha. It’s quite amazing really. Although sadly enough sports car racing is not much as known as NASCAR or F1, but either way, I enjoy my sports car racing haha, but it’s cool knowing that there are other racing fans out there even of all sorts!

I haven’t written anything in years actually lol. The last time I wrote a book was a Marvel fanfic and that was back in 2021 with no cardiophile stuff. The last time I wrote some dark cardiophile stuff was in 2018 and I think 2019 lol

I have been thinking about writing again, but when I’m trying to improve how I say words, it can get quite overwhelming when I want it to be professional sounding, but if I’m gonna do that again, I’m gonna have to reread my Marvel fanfic since that’s the best I’ve written something haha. But we shall see! My little brain can only do so much in a day, like I do a lot of editing (photo and video) and will be super busy over the course of next week or so in preparation for my sim racing league’s next season for the GT3 Team Series. I do their promo intro and track reveal for them and that all takes ages to do haha also having my own livery reveal to do which takes much longer to do depending what I’m looking for out of it. Hopefully one day I’ll find the time to write again!

With me when I do something, I mainly just do that. Like on social media I’ve got two accounts and I’m already mainly posting on one because I’ve got good ideas for it, but haven’t really posted on the other one. Sometimes though I’m all energy filled and post on both consistently but anyway that’s my ramble. But yeah hopefully soon I’ll be writing again to include some dark cardiophilia of some sort :)

#cardiophilia #heartbeat #cardiophile #cardiophile thoughts #stethoscope #self stething #beating heart #female cardiophile #female heartbeat #dark cardiophilia

[nine-of-diamonds]

🛼 🥤 🍄 📚 🌿 🪲 🐝

for that ask game^ you don’t have to do all of them this is simply a curated selection by yours truly

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

i mean, you have classified knowledge on which one i last worked on but here ya go: ☕️👀😇👋🤡

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

been reading a few fics from Inquillitory (Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gone is a good angst read and i’ve been following It Hurts To Hope for a few chappies now)—can i recommend your own writing on an ask you sent in?? ksdljf;lsfsdlkj people who are not melon, go check out 1watermelontea they have a fun fantasy au and a co-written mer au with me :)

📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app?

the actual last thing was me reminding myself that i lent a friend a book (ninth house, if anyone’s curious) but the last fic related note i jotted down was written two days ago at like. 3am and it simply reads, “LT inspired au: gem = vanja, pearl = ragne???” (kudos to anyone who catches what i’m referencing)

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

in my experience, there are two main types of writer’s block, generally: there’s the “your body is rebelling against the idea of creativity bc you haven’t eaten or drank in ten hours or you’ve been criminally overworking yourself,” in which case, the fix is just… a break and self care. then there’s the “brain will not write/generate ideas for seemingly no reason,” which is about 10x more annoying to work around but usually i either table whatever i’m struggling to work on and work on smth else (hence why my google drive is a Monster lmfao), get my brain warmed up by rereading and sometimes editing a finished fic, or doing this trick i learned in english class ages ago and just. writing all my thoughts in a list format until my brain spits out a new idea or decides it’s ready to actually write.

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

did. did you just trick me into adding to our wip ksldjfl;sajfs

since the full paragraph is not 50 words (and also bc technically melon wrote the first word lol), y'all get an extra sentence from the next paragraph as well:

"Totally.” Her gaze flickered briefly over to her… imaginary friend? Scar watched as he clamped a hand over his mouth, seemingly concealing an amused smile. Pearl shot him a pointed look before turning to Scar. “What floor are you heading to?” 

Scar blinked at her, then upon realizing he hadn’t thought this far ahead in his plan, instinctively blurted out, “Same as you!” 

🐝 ⇢ tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them

@1watermelontea hello melon, the answer to this question is just. you. i’m gonna use this as an opportunity to respond to that secret author’s note (for those of you who are not melon/have no idea what note i’m referencing, my dear co-author decided to be sappy in the notes of our fic chasing the horizon line go check it out <33): i’m so touched?? writing with you has been so so much fun and i get so excited whenever i see you’ve added things to our docs and just. chatting with you is always a highlight of my day :D

#ask game answers

[my-dear-watson]

hello guys!

so remember how i told you i was gonna write a KitTy fanfic? yeah that didn’t exactly work out so now that i’m bored i’ll tell you the plotline i was kinda going for ~

(also please note that as much as i am invested in this ship i haven’t read a single kitty fanfic that i remember so any similarities to other fanfics if it occurs is purely coincidental)

ok here we go

so Kit lives in Devon right? and Jem trains him; so i thought that sometimes Jem thinks it’d be nice if he every once in a while visits the London institute! so every couple of months or something he visits, learns more about the shadowhunting life and all ykwim

now here he meets another shadowhunter, Julie, who’s from a nearby town, but spends most of her time in the Institute.

she was brought up by some relatives whom she’s not that close to so she chooses to live in London mostly.

she was actually going be one of the pov characters if i was gonna write it (along w kit&ty)

Kit and her become friends because they’re around the same age and have similar interests and all whatever

they hang out and go on patrols together, she’s always bringing little gifts for Mina, etc etc

whenever he’s with her he remembers if this is what it’d have been like if Livvy was alive, if this was how their friendship would’ve looked like, (but then he remembers ty and tries not to think about what-ifs and what could have beens.)

anyway, now onto Ty: he’s in the scholomance. He spends a lot of the time outside (if it’s not freezing, idrk about the carpathians)

now it’s the forest and there’s creatures lurking, so he discovers many, figures out some pixies or something talk of the downworld and all.

so being the genius he is, Ty finds a way to get info out of them; basically something’s wrong with Livvy’s ghost. maybe she disappears for times, and due to their connection he’s having problems (idk i didn’t think much about this point lol)

so anyways, he tries to ask the creatures for some powerful warlock that can keep secrets (ofc in some tricky way as to not expose himself) and they give him some warlock’s name in the London Shadow market ;)

Now as soon as he goes back to the scholomance, the professors or whatever teachers they have call an emergency meeting!

#ok now i’m very tired so im gonna sleep rest maybe coming tomorrow or whenever i feel like it lmao #cassandra clare #tsc #kit herondale #shadowhunters #ty blackthorn #the wicked powers #twp #the last king of faerie #the last shadowhunter #the last prince of hell

[taleasnewastime]

Hello again hehe LOL I thought that little button lead to a very complicated link that would require me to probably code Tumblr all over again LOL don't know why I was so afraid of sending an ask hahaha anyways:

Hello lovely! Hope you're having an amazing day. I love your writing and I feel in love with your 'What if I love you too much' story, I think I relate to OC's overthinking a little bit too much haha (did you took a sneak pick at my mind? Please confess now hehe) so is love to request a drabble of maybe that first date/dinner of them with gorgeous little Zack and maybe Zack is so shy at first and oc is in her head about the whole thing but JK sort of ease them both down with his unlimited chill that he poses in this story, some fluff and all sweetness to heal my broken heart please. If possible? Thank you so much! Lots of love from this over thinking Londoner

Hello!! I hope I'm not too scary, I try not to be anyway. But thanks for asking for WIILYTM requests, and thanks for sending this in! I struggled to start with but in the end I think it's cute so I hope you like it :) Thanks for loving my fic, hope you're doing ok!!

Genre: FLUFF!

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Reader is frustrated at Zac, worries, insecurities, same old with this story really

“Zac, I asked you to go brush your teeth.”

You’re being too snappy, taking your nerves out on your son, but Jungkook will be here any minute and you still have one hundred things left to do. The house is a mess, toys everywhere, you haven’t even started thinking about cooking. Though Jungkook said he’d do it all you wanted to at least lay everything out for him so it would be easier. And Zac sat in the middle of the floor playing with his toy’s isn’t helping.

He should have been in bed an hour ago. But your stress coupled with his sixth sense for anything to do with Jungkook has meant he’s still wide awake. At least he’s in his pyjamas.

You manage to ignore him as you head into the kitchen, hoping that by the time you go back out he’ll be upstairs doing what you’ve asked. At this point you’re not even getting much done. The house in a state beyond recovery so soon to Jungkook turning up. It was his suggestion to have your date at home so that you didn’t need to worry about childcare, and though he’d offered to have it at his place, you’d said it would be easier here. Now you wish you’d never said that.

“Zac,” you stop dead in the doorway when you see him still sat playing on the floor. His eyes are wide as he looks up at you, a look that’s trying to show he’s innocent even when you both know he’s not. “What did we agree earlier?”

He looks to be contemplating the question and in this moment you fail to recognise his age and naivety. Frustration takes over. More frustration at yourself for not being more organised and nerves building for your first date with Jungkook.

“You promised that you would go to bed by 7 if I bought you that truck.”

He continues to stare at you with butter wouldn’t melt eyes. But you know you have him.

“Go brush your teeth and I’ll come and read you a story.” He stands, truck still in hand and you add, “Leave the truck here. We can play with it tomorrow.”

It’s the same moment Jungkook decides to turn up. Unaware of the current struggle going on, he does as you asked, knocks lightly on the door to announce his presence and then walks in. In theory it would have been enough to make sure Zac didn’t wake up. But with Zac not even in bed and you attempting to get him to go up, Jungkook’s arrival doesn’t help.

“Jungkook!” The name is screamed in much the same way it always is when coming out of Zac’s mouth.

While you give up, collapsing on the sofa, Jungkook only looks over at you in surprise before looking at the little boy charging towards him with a truck in his hands. He’s better at managing his emotions. You watch as he sets down a bag, bends and easily lifts the little boy who’s not so little anymore. While you always let out a little huff of effort when picking him up, Jungkook lifts him in a way that looks like he weighs nothing.

“Hey Zaccy,” he says, stepping further into the room. “I thought you’d be in bed.”

There’s a beat of silence, Zac’s attention going to his truck which he runs up and down Jungkook’s chest. He’s trying to supress a smile and when Jungkook’s eyes go from your son to you, you can see a similar smile on his own lips. At least someone’s amused by this situation.

“We were just discussing the importance of brushing our teeth, weren’t we?”

Zac’s head snuggles deeper into Jungkook’s chest, continuing to run his toy across Jungkook’s shirt while Jungkook lets out a small chuckle. You shoot him an annoyed look, but he just smiles down at your son.

“I thought something smelt,” he pegs his nose in mock offense. “Is that your breath, Zac?”

Zac giggles, looking up at Jungkook. “No!”

“Phwoar,” Jungkook waves a hand in front of his face, scrunching his face up, getting another giggle from Zac. “It is, isn’t it!” He sets him down on the floor and whilst bent whispers. “Go brush your teeth before your mum gets too upset,” Zac glances at you before looking back at Jungkook, “she’ll come read you a story in a minute.”

“And you?”

“If you go fix your stinky breath I will.”

Satisfied Zac goes running upstairs, truck and all. Jungkook watches him until he’s out of sight and then standing to his full height, turns to look at you.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you admit because that looked way too easy.

He rolls his eyes, walking towards you. “Let’s not pretend it’s not you who’s the hero here.”

“Which reminds me,” you ignore him. “Don’t look at the house. It’s a mess.”

He smiles. “Are you sure?”

He closes his eyes and then carries on walking towards you, stumbling as he goes. His arms go out in front of him as his knees hit the sofa, he falls slowly, his body hovering over you. By the time he opens his eyes you have a smile on your face.

“I meant to clean the house before you got here and at least get some food out, if not start –”

He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. Light, but you can still taste like the chocolate he told you he’s obsessed with. He pulls far enough away to look at you.

“I said I’d cook.”

“But I wanted to –”

“And the house isn’t a mess.”

“It’s always a mess.”

“Well, then it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He smiles as you softly hit his side. He leans down to peck your lips one last time before fully pulling away. Standing above you, he offers you a hand to help you stand up. You want to tell him that this isn’t how you imagined your first date, that you wanted it to be perfect, to have candles lit and Zac tucked away. That you wanted the house clean and something delicious cooking on the hob. But that’s not your life, it’s never been perfect and it’s not about to start now. All your insecurities manifesting and all your worries about what Jungkook might start second guessing about all of this, that he might start to realise this isn’t something he wants.

All of it silenced with another small kiss, a small push towards the stairs and some reassuring words, as if he can read every thought and wants you to know that’s not what he’s thinking at all.

“Go read Zac a story,” Jungkook says. “I’ll get the food on and there’ll be a glass of wine waiting for when you’re back.”

It doesn’t alleviate your worries, but it calms them for the time being. It makes you remember that Jungkook knows what he’s getting into, that he’s here for the whole package.

You smile wider at him, are quick to lean in for one last kiss before you’re heading up the stairs to make sure that Zac is definitely cleaning his teeth.

It may not be the perfect first date for some people, but for you, you can’t think of anything better.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #WIILYTM request #ask

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts: The Steward and the King

New chapter, let’s go!

Dude Eowyn chill out lol

Eowyn: “I’m bummed because I tried to commit sudoku and it didn’t work.” Faramir: “Please don’t do that. You’re too pretty to die. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, we all might die anyway, so you might as well rest up if you wanna be able to fight.” Eowyn: “But they want me to stay in bed. And my window doesn’t look eastward :’-C” Faramir: “Oh! I can fix that! :-D”

AND NOW MERRY AND FARAMIR GET TO CHAT!! DUDE!!

First Bergil, and now Faramir!! This just in: All of Pippin’s friends eventually become Merry’s friends. When am I gonna get my scene with Beregond and Merry, huh??

(I probably won’t but a girl can dream)

Tbh I think the Warden ships Farawyn

Faramir: “I’mma give you my dead mom’s cloak ‘cause it’s beautiful and sad like you”

Faramir: “Man, it’s been great hanging out with you. I really hope the world doesn’t end now, ‘cause I don’t want to lose this.” Eowyn, a genius: “This what?”

This whole scene plays out like a cheesy Bollywood movie. It’s so over-the-top. I love it X’-D

And then everybody MAGICALLY STARTS SINGING AT ONCE

“And his duty was to prepare for one who would replace him” 👀 John the Baptist is that you??

And here we see the healing power of love *throws confetti*

YOOOOOOO WE GET MORE GONDORIAN MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS WAIT

Okay so we have trumpets, bells, harps, viols, flutes, and horns listed so far. I’m gonna want to answer that ask more thoroughly at some point won’t I?? ‘Cause I have didn’t have this information before but NOW I DO

Heyyy there’s somebody named Hurin! Hopefully his life has been better than the original one

(I can’t imagine naming your kid after someone who’s best known for having a son with the Worst Life Ever. Like, okay, sassing Morgoth to his face is pretty cool, but is it worth it?? Is it really?? Like the only thing worse would actually be naming your kid Turin. … They’ve done that too, haven’t they?)

ELFHELM!!!

ELFHELM SURVIVED!!

ELFHELM OF DAD JOKES I LOVE YOU

Hahaha hi Ioreth

“They are dear friends, I hear.” HECK YES THEY ARE

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW RIGHT YOU ARE IORETH

Listen one of my favorite tropes is when people in-universe acknowledge the bromance as An Official ThingTM, so this is PEAK. THANK YOU TOLKIEN

Faramir: “I give you my stick.” Aragorn: “No u”

Goodness GRACIOUS that is a whole paragraph of titles for Aragorn. What the heck. Who is it in my notes that always tags Aragorn as “local man has too many names, local authorities report” because you are RIGHT

“Now according to tradition, he should take the crown from his father, but given that his father didn’t have the crown and is also very much dead—”

Faramir: “I give you the crown” Aragorn: “NO U”

And now Frodo does the task of a ring-bearer in an actual wedding, which is to carry the shiny thing to somebody so they can give it to somebody else

“HEY! LET’S HEAR IT FOR CAPTAIN AMERICA!”

Woohoo King Aragorn!

WAIT

HOLD UP

‘ITS GATES WERE WROUGHT OF MITHRIL AND STEEL’??

YOOOOOO!! That’s a 100% METAL DOOR!! In a MEDIEVAL SETTING!! Even WE don’t have huge metal doors for most things, and we’re in the modern age!

First of all, imagine how shiny! Secondly, IMAGINE HOW FREAKIN’ SCI-FI—

BEREGOOOOOOOOND

HELLO MY BOO I’VE MISSED YOU

“And the king said to Beregond: ‘Beregond…’”

Pffft

I must be slaphappy, ‘cause for some reason I find his name being written twice in a row to be very funny

Aragorn: “Okay so you’re not in trouble, but you’re also not allowed to be a Guard of the Citadel anymore.” Beregond: “😨☹️😭” Aragorn: “…Because you’re gonna work FOR FARAMIR! GET PROMOTED ON, IDIOT!!” Beregond: “😧 … 🤩🥳🎉🎊🎈”

Aww haha Aragorn and Eomer hug X-D

Eowyn, to Faramir: “I’ll be back later, I promise.” Eomer, probably: “👀😨😡”

Aragorn: “Pls stick around, friends, I love you guys”

Frodo: “Pippin, you were wrong, Gandalf is keeping secrets again.” Gandalf: “excuse”

Aragorn, excitedly: “LE GASP!! A TREE!!”

Okay so lemme get this straight: Aragorn wasn’t allowed to marry Arwen until he found a tree??

Right. Okay. 🤣🤣🤣

I’m sure this is very symbolically important and whatever but it’s almost 3 AM and I just think it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all night

GLORFINDELLLLLL

GLORFINDEL HI!!

I’VE MISSED YOU FRIEND!!! 8-D

I guess all these other elves are here too but I don’t really care ROFLOL

This chapter really is the epitome of Tolkien going “oh shoot I guess I’d better include some romance in here huh”

#eowyn #eowyn of rohan #faramir #meriadoc brandybuck #merry #elfhelm #ioreth #aragorn #beregond #eomer #eomer of rohan #frodo baggins #gandalf #glorfindel #mention of: #bergil #peregrin took #pippin #samwise gamgee #arwen #lady arwen #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #assorted thoughts #in which lady glasses gleefully ignores the mushy stuff in favor of gushing about minor characters and metal doors #in case you ever wanted to know my general opinion on romance....*gestures above* there ya go

[all-hallows-street]

Lingzi's Odaibako/Twitter Answers Collection Volume 2

Continuing the compilation of Lingzi's Odaibako answers. Click here for Part 1.

You can still send questions/comments/requests through Odaibako but please be respectful and mindful! As the author stated they will not respond to any questions or suggestions about future content! Also do not spam, Lingzi answers in rare bursts so they might not get to answer your comment any time soon.

A few clarifications. I will skip some doodle requests/drawn answers and will compile them later in a post with all of Lingzi's twitter drawings. Everything with [] marks an edit so the English sounds more natural.

16. Hello. I have a question. There is a scene where Nini imagines (delusions) having a child with Lily. Can demons and angels actually have children? Is there a mix of devils and angels? I was curious because angels themselves don't seem to reproduce.

Yes, that's just Neil's fantasy. Angels don't have the ability to reproduce~

Source

17. Hello Teacher Lingzi I'm Japanese and I'm learning Chinese. I would like to translate your manga All Saints Street into Japanese. But I understand copyright. Can I translate your comics and quote your images? (Also cite sources, of course.) Or is it difficult for an individual to do this?

Ah, sorry, I haven’t looked at the question box for a long time 😂 I don’t know if it’s too late to answer now 🙏🙏😭 If it is only for the purpose of learning and communication, it is no problem to translate comics that have been released for free! 👌👌

Very important answer for me lol.

Source

18. Do you have the names of the demon representative and the vampire representative? (Other representatives too) I like it very much😭

That's a new character created by the animation team, and I don't know him either... (laughs)

Source

19. Hello! I am Japanese. I learned about Halloween Street through anime and fell in love with it! I particularly like Ira. I want to know what kind of woman Ira likes🙇‍♂️💕︎💕︎ I like your comics❣️

Does it mean love in love...? I think he might not be interested in women... nor other genders... He is mainly not interested in relationships, but if I have to choose one trait, I think he might like [loves and is good at playing games] 】Female w

Source

20. Seven-year-old Anna looks similar to a seven-year-old human, so Damao must be in his twenties? How long is a werewolf's lifespan?

The lifespan of a werewolf is almost the same as that of a human, and Damao should be around 25↑🤔

Source

21. Hello Teacher! In the anime, Neil's age is stated to be 16 years old, but I read that in the original story, the devil is 80 years old and becomes an adult. Are the age settings different between the anime and the original?

Regarding this... I checked with the screenwriter of the animation before. They forgot the setting of the comic, so they wrote it according to the age of human beings 😂😂 So just think that the settings of animation and manga are different!

Source

22. Hello, teacher! I don’t know if there is a detailed setting for this, but I am a little curious about whether the ice cream that the devil eats (the name is really apt) is a real soul (?) Can the devil in the All Saints Street world eat human souls?

It’s a real soul 😂 But what’s frozen into ice cream should just be the soul of the fruit (everything is alive👌) Yes, they should like evil spirits and the like.

Source

23. I really like Neil's design. I love Neil very much and I have all his belongings around me. Neil has one side of his hair braided. Why does he braid it? I like it because it's very pretty. Do you think this is fashionable? (I'm Japanese so the translation may be different)

The setting is because Neil's mother's family has the habit of wearing braids for generations, so he and Nick both have braids. (But the real reason is that I like to draw braids and think they are cute)

Source

24. Hello, Teacher Lingzi. Does FENZ have any guidelines for doujin activities? (I would like to know if there are any rules like HMCH, such as distributing doujinshi but not producing goods.)

As far as I know, it has never been posted🤔...So I can't give a formal answer to this question. It's just for reference...As long as you don't take the official pictures privately ( Official comics + animation) should be fine if you print pirated copies and sell them, and do fan activities...

Source

Two similar questions are answered at once.

25. Hello! I recently learned about this through an anime translated into Japanese. All the characters are really cute and I really love them! Will a Japanese translation of the original manga be released…? I really want to read the original… When will the Japanese version of the Manseonggae original comic be released?

Because there are really many people asking about the Japanese single volume, I will give a unified reply here: Thank you for your interest in comics, but… I really don’t know! 😂😂😂 I basically won’t be involved in anything other than [conceiving + drawing] comics, so I really don’t know…but I haven’t heard any relevant news yet, so it should be…not available yet Plan it!

(It's been a year since and there are still no news about an official Jpn manga publication)

Source

26. Hello, excuse me for asking! Previously, you answered in the question box that angels do not have the ability to reproduce, but how are the genders of angels determined? Sorry for the Japanese. I would appreciate it if you could answer. My favorite work🥰

Being infertile does not mean that you have no reproductive organs🫢(probably) I think you can imagine the body of an angel as that of an infertile human 🤔

Source

27. Hello Teacher! Does Abu have a sense of pain? If there is something that everyone has that Abu doesn't, or something that Abu has that everyone doesn't? Please let me know!

I still feel pain, but it’s a special place... Maybe it’s because I’m less sensitive to cold and warm. Even if I only wear T-shirts all year round, it’s OK, but I still wear them with the four seasons in order to better integrate with everyone. To change clothes.

This is being answered through Abu's perspective or the translator is confused af. Source

28. Hello teacher~ I just discovered that there is a teacher’s account on Twitter a while ago, so I looked at all the pictures on Twitter. The series on Ira is really warm and cute, but at the end I saw Ira lying on Teacher Lin’s shoulder. It made me think, is it possible for him to lie on top of others like this (stealing) and moving (lazy)? After all, hiring someone to hold a parasol in summer is equivalent to getting a free taxi without having to prepare sunscreen. Although I don’t know how to deal with the clothing issue.

Haha, it’s because of the clothes that he usually doesn’t do that. Although it’s really convenient... If you can change clothes at home, the probability of turning into a bat is higher. Forget it outside, the clothes will fall off. On the ground~

Source

29. Can devils go into church? 🤔 for example if someone they know gets married at a church do they just have to stand outside? wwww

Oh I never thought about that before, but I think you are right[.] They may not be able to get into the church

Source

30. Hello teacher, I’m interrupting you again (although I am anonymous). I want to ask this time, will an angel still be an angel without a halo? To be more specific, it probably disappears. Also, can angels share halos?

Logically speaking, the angel's halo will not disappear, but it may be damaged and destroyed. If it is broken, just go back to heaven and apply for a new one😌👌It's not a big problem. Yes, Lily also secretly used Teacher Lin’s aperture.

Source

Continue in Part 3

#all saints street #wan sheng jie #1031 万圣街 #manhua #Lingzi

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

for the don’t stand so close to me series: the reader and bruno haven’t had the chance to do anything for a couple of weeks, and after seeing bruno with his hair tied back and shirt undone one button more than usual, she snaps and drags bruno into a supply closet and gives bruno a blowjob (maybe a sprinkle of dom!reader if you’re comfy with it)

Don’t Stand So Close To Me (18+) (Part 12)

Teacher!Bruno Madrigal x Student!Fem!Reader

Modern Day!Imagine

Non-Magic AU

Summary: Reader giving Bruno head, lol, just the request

Warnings: Swearing, Agegap, inappropriate thoughts, teacher/student (STUDENT IS OF AGE)

Word Count: 983

Italics will mostly be his direct thoughts, his imagination

Author Note: Hello everyone, I've been away for so long and I do apologise for that. I've just been super stressed out this year with just life and everything that comes with it so I've been very absent from Tumblr and writing so I'm sorry for that but I will try to write more, probably not as frequently but here and there when I can, thank you for everyone for checking in on me and being patient, I really appreciate it :))

Don't Stand So Close To Me (Masterlist) (Part 11) >(Part 12)< (Part 13)

(I do not own this gif)

-

Bruno POV

Today was a rather hot day. The sun was beaming through the windows, heating up the entire room. There were no air conditioners in my class so I tried opening windows and doors to create ventilation. It was bearable but not preferable. My last class of the day was just before lunch and had my darling lover in it. I smiled at her as she walked in and made her way to her seat closer to the back. 

30 minutes in, the class began to heat up again, more than I could handle. I pushed my chair out a bit to get better access to my draw on the side of my table. I open the top drawer and pull out a hair tie I knew I had when Y/N last left one here. Pulling back the majority of my hair, I tied it up in a small ponytail to keep it out of the way of my face. Unbuttoning the cuffs of my sleeves, I folded them up, exposing my forearms to the air. 

After another 10 minutes, not even that was enough. I looked up from my desk to see everyone hard at work. Well, almost everyone. She, as usual, was staring at me, lost in thought. I chuckled to myself. 

No wonder you always need help catching up.

I looked back down at the work in front of me and unbuttoned the first two of my shirt buttons, enough not to be classified as inappropriate.

I couldn’t help but think about the last time I spent time with my darling Amor. 

At least a couple of weeks since we had some quality time together. 

I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the sounds she made when I eat her out. Every little twitch her body made at the small touches I gave her. The moments when she’d wrap her legs around my head as she would orgasm and release sweet sweet juices into my mouth. 

Fuck. 

I didn’t even have to look down to know how hard I was at that moment. 

In class too. 

It was as if someone from the heavens above heard my woes because people had already started packing up for the end of class. 

Well, time to go home and sort out my problem.

As I was halfway down the hall to leave, my name was called out. 

“Mr. Madrigal!” 

“Y/N?” 

She was jogging down the hall to me. 

“Could you come with me, quickly?” she asked, slightly out of breath. 

“Of course.”

We didn’t go that far before she pushed me through a door, into a supply closet filled with things like stationary and books.

I had no time to think about what was going on before her lips were on mine. Obviously enjoying the situation, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her against my body. 

“What are you doing, don’t you have another class?” I asked as she made her way down to kiss my throat. 

“Not for another hour.”

She wasted no time ripping open my shirt, pressing hot kisses to my chest and down. 

“You looked so good in class today, I can’t stop myself,” she said, breathlessly, unbuttoning my pants.

“Your hair, your arms, your chest,” she released my cock from my underwear, “you are so perfect.” 

She licked the tip slowly, coating it in her salvia and the view alone made me almost collapse if it wasn’t for the shelf behind me for support. She moved her hand slowly along the side of my shaft, swirling her tongue around the red head of my cock. 

“Fuck!” I dropped my head back, closing my eyes. 

I felt it as she slowly pushed the rest of my cock into her mouth, coating the entire thing in her saliva. I grabbed the back of her head, not necessarily pushing it further in, just giving me something to hold onto. 

She finally released herself from my cock, pumping her hands up and down my dick while looking up at me, proud. 

“Does it feel good, sir?” she asked, already knowing the answer. 

“It feels amazing,” I whimpered.

A smirk rose up her face and she proceeded to put my cock back in her mouth. I had trouble keeping my eye open, so I let them fall close and rested my head against the wall behind me. 

I don’t know how much longer I can last.

She had obviously known I was close too because of the way I tensed up under her. I could feel the cockiness radiating off her as she bobbed her head faster. I had to bite down on my hand just so I wouldn’t scream out.

“F-fuck,” I groaned into my hand. 

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I spilt my hot cum down her throat, trying not to collapse from my weak legs. She stroked her tongue along my cock a couple more times before pulling it out. I hadn’t even noticed she had swallowed it. As she stood up, I pulled her in by the back of her head, giving her a passionate kiss. I felt her smile as she reciprocated the kiss. 

She pulled back, “well! Better get to my next class!” 

She grabbed her bag off the ground, hoisting it onto her back.

“Wait- what? B-but what about you? I can’t just leave you without!” I said pushing myself off the wall. 

She turned to smile back at me.

“You don’t need to worry about me, sir. I better get to class though, bye!” she waved before leaving the closet.

“Wai-” the door shut.

Damn.

Knowing I had no other classes for the rest of the day, I just slouched against the wall, sliding to sit on the floor. Still quite tired and out of breath, I closed my eyes and sat there for a while.  That girl is a wonder.

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Author Note: Thank you so much for reading, again sorry for the absence, I hope you enjoyed it. If you'd like to join the taglist, feel free to just leave a comment. :)

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#bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal au #bruno madrigal #bruno my beloved #encanto #au #fanfic #bruno fanfic #madrigal #modern day headcanon #modern day au #encanto fanfic #bruno encanto #bruno smut #bruno madrigal smut #encanto smut #bruno madrigal x reader smut #smut #teacher x reader #teacher!bruno #teacher x student #student!reader #fem!reader #older man/younger girl

[spaghettiandart]

I love your Peepaw Philip AU but I’ve got a few questions that might or might not have already been answered. (Hopefully they haven’t, I don’t like being a parrot!)

How is the Emperor’s Coven operating? Is the Boiling Isles coven system self-efficient enough without Belos manning the helm?

Is Hunter freaking out about his missing uncle and trying to find him or has he been coerced into a better health schedule by some of the coven scouts (ie Steve) and possibly Darius and Eber and Raine?

Speaking of RED (lol, my little nickname for the three rebellion coven heads), are they investigating Belos’s disappearance?

And my last question - how’s Philip’s interaction with King and Amity? Those two I haven’t seen and loved comics/art of his interacting with them yet and I’m curious how that would all go over.

Hello! Firstly I'd like to apologize for taking a while to reply, I've been a bit busy irl lol. Secondly, it's all cool! I'm always happy to answer questions, and these ones haven't been asked yet (im??pretty sure?? I dont have a good memory pfft) so it's all good haha.

A little warning, both for mention of death (just like off handedly, treated as a possible result of the emperor going splat out the window), and also I'm gonna ramble A LOT, so this will probably be... very, very long. And filled with my bad humor since I cannot control myself ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. It's been only a week, maybe less, since I came up with this au so I dont have many solid ideas in place. Everything is open to interpretation!

I've actually been thinking over how the Emperor's Coven, and by extension the coven heads and the boisling isles itself, would react to Belos' predicament. I've written out a few scenarios, roughly plotted out some scenes that would go down between characters, but nothing's really set in stone. Here's what I have so far, but I honestly encourage people to have their own interpretation of what would go down if they wished :)!

So. Belos' epic fail (real not fake) (coven scouts called) via falling out a window was obviously witnessed by some scouts down the hallway, either that or they heard a loudass noise coupled with the Emperor swearing which was totally Not Good. One of the images I'd planned to draw later but didnt get to was one where there was a coven scout (STEVE!!!), Lilith, and Hunter all staring out of the window.

Now on one hand, the coven could come to the conclusion that the Emperor is dead (because who the hell can survive a fall that high + if the emperor survived he "totally would have come back as soon as he could" = emperor is dead oh crap). Hunter would VEHEMENTLY deny this ("He can't! There's no way that could happen!" Followed by him having a rough time of it poor guy).

Either that or they come to the conclusion that this was a kidnapping attempt or soemthing of the like and Belos is missing, which is just as bad. Hunter is still suspicious about that, because /who the hell could be able to kidnap Belos/? Obviously not a human teenager. Cough.

Either way, Lilith, as the head of the emperor's coven at the time (since its early season 1, right before the convention episode too), has to deal with... a lot of things, including dealing with other coven heads, the emperor's coven, and just trying to get things in order in the chaos that came from the emperor's sudden and tragic "death". Still on the fence about if someone in particular takes over his role or if all the coven heads work together (poorly btw they're gonna fight a lot over it), as well as if the general populace is informed about him "peacefully passing away from old age" or his "sudden disappearance" or whatever.

Anyways shes working herself to the bone. Shes got eyebags for days, plus the added stress of the dude who /PROMISED/ to cure her sister of her curse just up and vanishing to who knows where, so shes. Having a rough time.

Hunter is, as I said, not doing well!! In his mind Belos has always been this sort of... untouchable figure, you know? Nobody could hurt him. Now hes missing, and since Belos is his only "family", Hunter is determined to find him, wherever he is.

So then I had this scene written down where Lilith, still wanting a cure for her sister (plus some other things she needs for the coven itself), and Hunter, wanting a clue about his uncle's whereabouts, both decide to. Uh. Break into Belos' quarters and pilfer his shit.

Does he even have quarters canonically? Its so weird thinking of this dude like... legitly sleeping. Like in a BED. Either that or he sleeps on his throne ahdhshava just imagine that. Hes sitting on his throne all day listening to people with his mask on and hes not responding because hes completely OUT behind that thing ahagdhs.

Okay side tangent over. Basically Hunter is sneaking down the hallway, all sneaky like, and he stops by the door. He reaches out to open it, but before he could it opens to reveal lilith, carrying several books that had probably been banned from the public, and they're both staring at eachother.

"I wont tell if you wont."

"Deal."

A few other notes I had detailed a scenario in which Lilith and Hunter either a) work together to carry out the Emperor's will while he's gone (or presumed deceased) or b) investigating into what occured due to their own interests, which eventually winds up with them uncovering the mountain of wtf that the Emperor had hidden. In my notes I wrote down about them potentially meeting the collector because I thought'd it be funny to draw their reactions to them. Fun!

(Also the collector has been around Belos for a while now, just kinda stuck in place. What the hell is he gonna do when the only contact they've had with another person- albeit not a GOOD one, not by a long shot- suddenly disappears???)

As for RED (THATS WHAT THAT MEANT!!! I SAW IT BEFORE IN A FEW FICS AND I WAS SO CONFUSED AHFHSGWGAH ANYWAYS-) they probably get involved later on with this whole mess. At this point of time Raine isnt a coven head- unfortanutely, but they only become one in season 2, and since its season 1 it's up to Darius and Eber instead. I do contemplate if, in this state of chaos, Raine is promoted earlier on so that theres more stability or something,,, idk. I'm still not sure ^^;

Goodness but. This kid. Hunter needs some people to make sure he doesnt wear himself down to the bone just scouring the isles. Imagine if he arrives in places to investigate like RIGHT after Phil leaves the place, both none the wiser. Gah.

Honestly though, I think if anyone would be able to coerce this kid into sleeping a full night's sleep, it'd be Steve. Hes not involved with all this conspiracy-investigatory-drama stuff like all of the other responsible adults in Hunter's life, and he has big brother energy.

Okay, onto King and Amity: I- uh, I'm still figuring things out with these two. Amity is Lilith's personal apprentice (I'm pretty sure? At this point in time at least), and the au begins before her character development really kicks off, so I dont think its until later when she gets to meet Phil and also experiences deja vu "hey your voice is super familiar?" like Eda and Lilith. Just like RED, I'm not sure what to do with Amity yet, unfortunately. I'm open to suggestions/ideas though! :)

As for King, Phil is like... you know cat trees/perches? Yeah. That's what Phil is to King. Hes like an adequate Grandpa, he has some responsible instincts, but hes kind of reserved to being King's personal perch when he wants to feel tall.

Somewhere in my notes I also wrote down the following:

"King and Phil are mysterious origins buddies

King: maybe you were also a malevolent and terrifying (though not as terrifying as me) ruler like I once was?

Phil: hm... no, I dont feel like I would have been a very good ruler"

It was for something I wanted to draw but,,, yet again, I didn't get around to doing lol.

I hope that answers your questions! If you have anything else you might like to ask, or suggestions or things you want to talk about, feel free!

Thank you for your ask!! :D

#sorry if this comes off as incoherent my anxiety was just brain explodes today #not art #cyno ask #old man phil au

[cyborg-franky]

Hello Franky. I hope ur doing alright.

I’m sorry if I came off as rude in writing down this request. Idk if you’ve ever wrote anything like that before, so I’ll just drop this ask anyway in case you haven’t. I hope it doesn’t bother you

Can I ask for hcs of the WBP celebrating reader’s birthday? It could be something where the reader is used to people forgetting abt her birthday every year and it usually goes on like any other regular day, except today where it’s her birthday and she’s feeling a lil shitty coz it still hurts that nobody remembers it’s the day!!! little does she know that her boyfriend/s were preparing a whole surprise for her or smthn <<GOD I WANT THAT TOO!!!😞

I know it’s kinda lame and I feel a but pathetic writing this lol i hope I’m not coming in a bad timing

Sorry this is so late, I know this feeling though, most my life it was that way and my dad and mum never bothered, even now at age 35 neither remember. I hope even though this is late it helps <3 [Sorry ended up abit platonic and GN reader I just wanted to do a thing where everyone celebrated all at once]

Every year was the same, your birthday would drift by with no thought. You knew this year would be the same, why would anyone on a crew of hundreds care about one person’s birthday? You could at least rest a little better knowing that wasn’t personal at least, just the world couldn’t stop for one person.

But it still hurt.

The day carried on like any other. Duties carried on, people would pass you and nod, wave, no hint that they knew it was your birthday. That’s fine you told yourself as you trudged down the deck, staring into the inky expanse of the sky, watching the stars twinkle across the blanket of night.

“Hey!” You glanced up and saw Ace, wearing his usal grin he walked over to you, linking your arm as he did so.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, just come with me, it’s good I promise.” He said with a twinkle in his eye, he was up to something and you just thought it was Ace being a typical little shit, yet you followed anyway, allowing him to pull you along.

When you rounded the corner you jumped when there was a loud cry of SURPRISE mostly from Ace who shouted just as loud and was right next to your ear.

You then saw the people you were closest too, all around a cake which Thatch had baked, a little stack of gifts and plenty of mugs filled with booze.

Overwhelmed by the celebration you felt yourself tear up, Marco coming to stand next to you, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Did you forget I know your birthday? I got your medical records yoi.” 

Even though you’d been here barely a year everyone cheered and wished you happy birthday and for the first time in ages, you felt like you belonged. 

#platonic #one piece x you #one piece x reader #marco the phoenix #gender neutral reader #sfw #one piece reader insert #portgas d. ace #thatch #whitebeard crew #fushichou marco