#who collects all the hair she sheds after a shower & sticks it to a piece of tape

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Beneath the Stars

Title: Beneath the Stars Request:   Hi I was wondering if you could do a sam x reader where they’re on a hunt and to stop the monster they have to burn the place they are down and the reader gets trapped in the building and maybe even under some debris and Sam has to rescue them like partly angst partly fluff I just love your writing and wanted to see how you would take this on thnx ❣️ - @supernatural-02 Pairing: Sam x Reader Warnings: fire?? some descriptions of injuries/pain?? some angst?? but with fluff as well. and maybe some mild swearing but i can’t really remember Word Count: 3,619

note: so this turned out a little longer than i expected, but i hope you like it! thank you so much for the request! also i’m super duper tired tonight so i won’t be completing any ship requests tonight - I’ll work on them tomorrow! :)

“So, get this - turns out O’Connor was cremated,” Sam declared, eyes glued to his laptop screen. You frowned, glancing up from your own research, whilst Dean scoffed in the corner.

“Great - what the hell is he attached to, then?” Dean muttered. “The dude was loaded, had estates all over the country - why is he here? Just sayin’, if I was a ghost, I wouldn’t be sticking around this piece of crap town if I could be in a mansion in LA.”

Sam rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and loosening his tie. As he and Dean began to bicker, you turned back to your laptop, continuing your research of the history of the house in question. It wasn’t spectacular - an abandoned two storey in rural Kansas, home to businessman Ross O’Connor, who died in “suspicious circumstances” in his own bed in 2014, aged forty. He’d been the last known resident of the property, and all seemed well until a few months ago, when interest was displayed in gentrifying the area. Every real estate agent who took on the house turned up dead a few days later, and what little evidence the three of you had managed to collect pointed you in O’Connor’s direction.

Your eyes skimmed the page, burning and strained from the blue light. While Sam and Dean had been in their FBI getups procuring as much intel as they were able, you’d been in the motel researching every lead they sent you. Their voices faded into the background now, nothing but a faint irritation as the words on the screen seemed to melt together. Your head hurt, and you vaguely wondered if you’d remembered to eat today. Sighing, you pulled away from the screen, slamming the lid shut.

“I’ve got nothing,” you declared. “I’m hungry, I’m exhausted, my head’s killing me. How about we head to bed and pick this up tomorrow?” you suggested, and the boys sighed, nodding their assent. As Dean headed for the shower, you laid on your bed, pressing your hands over your eyes in an attempt to block out the glaring fluorescent light. Stars bounced across your vision from the pressure, sparkling blue and yellow and red as they danced over your closed eyelids, lighting up the darkness as your eyes complained against your fingers. You felt the bed dip and glanced up to see Sam sitting at its foot. He offered you a small smile, though his eyes were warm with concern.

“Hey, you okay?”

You sighed. “Fine. I just feel like I’ve hit a wall,” you muttered, and the corner of his mouth twitched in sympathy.

“We’ll get there - we always do,” he assured you, moving to lay down next to you. You nodded, curling into his side as his arm circled your waist.

“Yeah, I know, but… it’s not just with the case. This, hunting, it’s all just… what are we working towards, Sammy? It’s not like we’re ever gonna get rid of all the monsters, so… what’s even the point?” you mumbled. Sam sighed, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah, I know. But… we’re helping people, Y/N. Once we finish this case, who knows how many lives we’ll have saved?” he asked.

“Sure, I guess… and then they’ll gentrify this place, up the real estate prices, then rich people will kick all the poor people out. How’s that for helping people?” you scoffed. “It doesn’t make sense - this O’Connor guy, wouldn’t he be all for that? Everything I’ve read about him makes him seem like a total dickwad who let money get to his head. I’m just not seeing any motive for preserving that stupid house,” you said, and Sam frowned.

“You’re right, it doesn’t make any sense,” he said slowly. “And what Dean said earlier… he’s got a point. What is there here that this guy is attached to? He only moved here a month before he died. Nothing in this case is making any sense. Maybe we’ve got it wrong,” he mused. You made a noise of discontent.

“Well, we can work that out in the morning,” you mumbled. “I’m exhausted.”

Sam smiled sympathetically, rubbing your back as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You leaned into his warmth, his hard chest a far more appealing surface than the thin motel pillow. Your eyes fluttered as you struggled to keep them open, finding yourself focussing on the stars just visible through the tiny motel window. One thing had to be said for finding yourself in the middle of nowhere, even amidst the frustration of an unsolvable case - at least you could see the stars, see whole galaxies stretching across the sky, beautiful and glimmering and free. The stars faded into darkness as your eyes fell shut.

“Get some rest,” Sam urged, moving to run his fingers through your hair. “I love you,” he reminded you, and you smiled sleepily, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck and placing a soft kiss to the warm skin.

“Love you, too.”

---

It was barely 8 o’clock when Sam’s phone rang - another death. He sighed, alerting Dean as the two of them donned their FBI gear. You settled back in bed, computer in your lap as you continued to research. When Sam and Dean returned a few hours later, you glanced up hopefully, only to be met with downtrodden expressions and a heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush any flickers of hope you still held.

“No luck?” you asked, and Sam shook his head, shedding his jacket and collapsing next to you, glancing over your screen helplessly. You could smell the fresh air still clinging to his hair and clothes, taste the sweetness of the countryside on the breeze that crept inside when the door opened. His skin was flushed from the midday sun.

“Nope,” he affirmed. “How about on your end?”

You sighed. “Nothing.”

“Maybe we’re in over our heads,” Dean suggested glumly. “The amount of deaths must’ve dropped the place’s value by now - they’d be stupid to try and sell it now.”

“Dean!” Sam said sternly. “Those people - they had families, they deserve some kind of justice. Besides, someone might try to buy it in the fu-”

“Families…” you murmured, and Sam and Dean both glanced at you quizzically. You ignored them, brow creased and fingers hovering over your keyboard before you started typing frantically. Article after article arose, and you skimmed them quickly before searching past records. Slowly, the puzzle pieces fell into place. Sam and Dean’s trained their perplexed stares on you, but you hardly noticed - finally, it made sense!

“I’ve got it!” you declared. “Ross O’Connor - no record of him predates 1993. So, I did some digging… turns out, his name’s really Ross Miller. When he was nineteen he had a big blow up with his parents, moved out, even changed his name,” you informed them. Dean’s brow creased.

“So? What’s that have to do with the case?”

“I’m getting to that! So, I looked back at all the past owners of the house, and saw that the last owner before Ross was a woman named Carol Miller - must be his mother. House had been in her family since the fifties.”

Sam’s eyes lit up, and you kept talking. “Get this - Carol died of a heart attack, and six months later, her disowned son comes back into town and declares ownership of the house.”

“Okay… so, what, she left it to him in her will?”

You shook your head. “Nope - apparently, she left him out of her will entirely. He claimed he was forgotten, found himself a good lawyer, and must’ve had enough of a case to snag the old family home. I was right about what I said last night, about Ross being the kind of guy who’d want to make money out of the place. Looks like he was staying there while he helped sort out the finer details of a sales contract - he was the one who set up the plans to gentrify the area. But before it could go through…”

“He turns up dead under suspicious circumstances!” Sam finished, and you beamed, nodding.

“Yep! And wanna know the cherry on the cake? In an interview back in ‘08, Ross was asked about his family and said he and his parents had some disagreements over some property developments he’d proposed - I’m willing to bet that, as an aspiring young businessman, he saw the house might be of value and tried to get his mother to sell it-”

“Hence the blowout,” Sam murmured, and you nodded.

“So, what? His mum’s the spirit we’re looking for?” Dean demanded, and you nodded again.

“Yeah, I think so!”

“Great! Well, let’s just get to the cemetery and-”

“Yeah, that’s the thing - she was cremated too,” you said, eyes scanning your screen as you read the information to the boys. Dean groaned.

“Great. Perfect. So we’re in exactly the same place as before-”

“Not quite,” Sam objected. “Obviously the house was important to her - I wouldn’t be surprised if she was attached to it,” he remarked, and you nodded quickly.

“Exactly! So… what, we salt and burn the whole house?” you asked. Dean’s whole face brightened, and he closed his eyes, quietly pumping his fists in the air.

“Yes!” he hissed. “Flamethrower, here I come!”

---

“I can’t believe we’re actually committing arson,” you whispered, adrenaline levels high as the three of you snuck under the police tape and headed to the house, concealed beneath the cloak of night. It was almost two am, your only company the scattering of stars and the chirping of the crickets. Sam chuckled.

“Y/N, we’ve literally dug up graves and burned the bodies,” he reminded you.

“I know, I know, but this just feels different! Like, we’re literally burning down a house!” you exclaimed, and Sam chuckled again, the sound interrupting the sloshing in the gasoline can that was tight in his grip.

“I still can’t believe we’re not using the flamethrower,” Dean muttered, and Sam rolled his eyes as he picked the lock to the back door, ignoring his brother’s grumbling.

“Okay, she’s not going to go easy - everyone have iron bullets?” Sam checked as the door swung open. You nodded, hand finding the gun at your waist as you spread your fingers over the cold metal.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean confirmed. “Y/N, you go to the attic, Sam, second floor, I’ll cover ground,” he said, reiterating the plan the three of you had established in the warm safety of the motel. The words sounded different now as the night’s chill bit at your skin and whipped at your face, stealing the whispers from your lips and swallowing them into the shadows.

The three of you slunk into the house - Dean began to scatter salt and gasoline as you and Sam headed upstairs. You finished the attic quickly, heading down to help Sam finish off the second floor. Once the house was saturated, you held the box of matches.

“Okay. You get out, I’ll light up the house as I go down,” you told him. Sam frowned.

“I’ll stay with you - just to be safe.”

You paused, but nodded. Couldn’t hurt. You lit the first match, and that was when the ghost appeared.

She charged towards you, screaming in anger and managing to throw you into the staircase. You cried out, losing your hold on the match as Sam shot her with an iron bullet. She disappeared, but you knew it wouldn’t be for long.

“Let’s go!” Sam yelled, helping you quickly to your feet as you lit a match and tossed it to the attic. It caught quickly, and you were halfway down the stairs when you tossed another lit match on the second floor. It, too, caught quickly. You were readying your third match when you got to the bottom of the stairs, only to find a wall of flames licking up the hardwood floors and heading rapidly towards you.

Shit - the match you dropped earlier. This was bad.

You saw Sam’s jaw tense and his body stiffen as he scanned the situation, calmly planning your escape. His hand found yours, and you let yourself breathe - mistake. Smoke choked your lungs and you coughed, lifting your shirt to hold against your nose. Sam was quick to copy you, dropping your hand as he did so.

“This way!” he said, shouting over the flames now - the floor above you was starting to collapse, smoke obscuring your surroundings as the flames crackled and ate at the walls, the roof, the floor, chewing through the furniture and quickly heading towards the exits. You nodded, following him as he weaved through the flames, eyes focused solely on the front door - the only exit left.

The windows to your left blew out, raining shards of boiling glass over the two of you. Some found your skin, and you swore as you shook it off, struggling to breathe even through the cloth of your shirt. Your hair was plastered to your scalp as sweat seemed to gush from your pores, and your eyes stung from sweat and smoke as you tried to keep up with Sam. But your boyfriend had long legs and a clear eye on the exit, while the smoke billowed over your head and blocked out most of your vision. You could feel yourself getting lightheaded, and when the edge of your jacket caught aflame, the few seconds it took for you to stamp it out were enough for you to lose sight of the youngest Winchester amongst the chaos.

“Sam!” you cried, choking on the smoke that snaked into your lungs. You coughed hard enough that you fell to your knees and retched, blindly screaming for his help, for Dean’s, for anyone.

That was when the ghost appeared - she was burning up, but while the house still stood, so did she. Though her power was fading, her anger made up for it ten times over, and suddenly a beam from the roof was crashing to the ground - right on top of your leg.

You screamed as your calf snapped beneath you, collapsing to the ground as searing pain raged past your knee and up your thigh. The flames greedily licked up your surroundings as the smoke continued to clog your lungs. You couldn’t breathe - you were choking and retching and your throat and nose burned with the acidity of vomit, and you were trapped.

You felt a rush of cool air, and you looked up - there was a gaping hole in the flaming roof, and amidst the blaze, you caught sight of the night sky, a glimpse of navy amongst the orange inferno. The flames leapt into the blackness, and you half expected them to burn it away, to watch the sky fold in and crumple like a burning piece of paper. But it stood steady, and as your vision began to fade and your lungs relinquish their fight, you couldn’t help but think how beautiful the stars were tonight.

-----

Sam was already outside when he realised he was alone.

He collapsed onto the grass, pressing his hot, sweaty face against the cool as he panted, gulping lungfuls of fresh air.

“We made it!” he cried. “Y/N, we-”

He paused, forcing himself to turn around. “Y/N?”

His stomach dropped as he saw the empty space behind him, and watched the building go up in flames.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice rang through the air, and he appeared from the other side of the building, coughing and covered in ash. “Are you hurt? Where’s Y/N?”

“They-they were right behind me!” Sam stammered, and before Dean could stop him, he was back on his feet and sprinting into the burning building, Dean’s shouts echoing behind him. The smoke was worse up high now, but he still managed to pick his way through the burning debris, heart pounding against his ribcage as he held his shirt - drenched with sweat - over his face.

“Y/N!” he screamed, his heart almost giving out as he caught sight of you, unconscious and trapped under a fallen beam, leg splayed awkwardly beneath it. “Y/N!”

---

The stars were beautiful tonight. Beautiful, glimmering, free. You danced among them, enveloped in their warm glow as they swam playfully around you. They chased you, gleaming and laughing, and the more you ran, the warmer you became. You fell - you could feel yourself sweating, and suddenly you were gasping for air.

And then the stars were falling. You could feel them landing on your skin, like cool, tiny droplets that warmed too quickly in the thick air. Their laughter turned to screams and you felt them smother your face with something hot and damp. Your leg seared with pain, and as the stars fell away, your eyes fluttered open.

“Y/N!” Sam was screaming, voice rapidly coming into focus, and suddenly your whimsical imaginings were just that. The stars falling on your skin were none other than Sam’s tears, or sweat, or a combination of the two. You coughed, realising that Sam had ripped your sooty, sweaty shirt and was holding it over your mouth as he held up his own shirt with his free hand. “Y/N, thank god!” he yelled. “Come on, let’s get you out!”

You could see his muscles strain as he struggled to lift the heavy beam that had trapped you beneath its weight, but he could barely lift it a centimetre off the ground. Your head swam and your chest was tight, but it was a little easier to breathe lying down, close to the floor - probably the only reason you weren’t dead quite yet.

“Sam, it’s no use!” you managed to choke. “Get out of here!”

“No, nonono!” Sam yelled, grunting as he used all his weight to try and shove the beam away from you. It began to give, and you screamed as it’s movement tugged on your broken leg.

“Sammy, you have to go!” you cried, but your words were drowned out by his angry shouts and the roaring of the flames. The beam moved again, and suddenly Sam’s arms were looping around you and lifting you up against his chest. Your leg screamed in protest, and your eyes rolled back into your skull.

---

“They’ll be alright,” a gravelly voice murmured. “I’ve healed the worst of their wounds - but they must rest.”

“Thank you, Cas.” You recognised Sam’s voice, laced with stress and gratitude as it mellowed into a sigh. You felt a hand on your forehead, fingers brushing the hair from your face, and slowly, you blinked.

“Y/N!” Sam exclaimed, voice heavy with relief. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”

You swallowed tentatively. Your throat was raw, and you weren’t sure your nose would ever be free of the stench of smoke, but you found yourself nodding.

“You-you idiot,” you managed to cough, forcing yourself into a sitting position despite Sam’s frantic protests. “You should’ve left me! You could’ve died!”

Sam chuckled dryly. “I’d never leave you - not to that,” he told you, his thumb running gently over your cheek. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes and holding his hand to your face.

“Yeah, well, you’re still an idiot,” you grumbled, and he laughed, genuinely this time, as he kissed your forehead.

“That’s fine by me,” he managed, and you found yourself smiling despite yourself. You pulled away and saw that your hands and clothes were covered in soot and ash, and still sticky with sweat. The motel bed beneath you creaked when you moved, and the blankets were hot over your legs. You kicked them off, marvelling as you realised your leg was healed. You knew of Castiel’s abilities, but when he used them to heal you, it was always disconcerting - injured one minute, completely fine the next.

“You shouldn’t have gone back,” you murmured again, wincing as you saw the traces of a burn peeking out beneath Sam’s sleeve. It was baby pink with tender new skin, still soft and delicate. Cas’s mojo wasn’t what it used to be - but even so, it had saved your life. And probably Sam’s, as well, if he’d inhaled half as much smoke as you had.

“Of course I went back,” Sam whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. You saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, licking his dry, cracking lips still covered in ash as he hesitated, his next words catching in his throat. “When I was in the cage… one of Lucifer’s favourite torture devices was fire. It was the worst- worst pain I’ve ever felt. I could never let that happen to you,” he said thickly. You managed a sympathetic half smile - even after all these years, Sam’s time in the cage still haunted him. He didn’t like to talk about it, so the fact that he did now was enough for you to drop your guard.

Your hand found his, and you squeezed it lightly.

“Well… you saved me,” you whispered, your lips grazing his cheek. He crawled in the bed next to you, his arms circling your waist and holding you close to his body. You nuzzled into his chest as he squeezed you almost uncomfortably close, but you didn’t dream of complaining.

When you finally pulled away, you found yourself distracted once more by the stars. Not the ones behind your closed eyes, nor the ones set into the night sky, still visible through the tiny window. No, not those, not this time.

Sam smiled, a breathless smile so full of relief and of love, and as your gaze met his…

You found the stars in his eyes.

__________

Forever Tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor  @stealingheartsswift13 @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme @castieliswatchingoverme

Sam tags: @sammys-dimpless

If you want to be added to any of my tag lists just let me know!

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #sam winchester imagine #sam x reader #spn #spn fanfiction #spn one shot #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester oneshot #supernatural oneshot #dean winchester #castiel

[dat-town]

love you like a love song baby

Characters: Jungkook & you

Setting: best friends to lovers

Genre: tooth-rotting fluff

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Just two emo kids growing up together and getting together over a failed sponge cake.

You have imagined it, confessing, countless times.

Cheesy like in romance movies and rushed because you're nervous. You even practiced what you would say. How you would reassure him that, of course, he isn't obligated to return your feelings and he doesn't even have to reply because you just had to get this off your chest.

This feeling that's sometimes too big for your body. It's overwhelming how much he can make you feel. When you have a bad day, sometimes it's enough to hear him talk about some video game or a new editing technique he learnt for his youtube channel. Or when he enthusiastically tells you about meeting that cute labrador by the park on his way home and you can't help but imagine getting a dog together. Or the way he makes your heart jump, your blood sing and your head swim when he envelops you in his big hugs, when he smiles down at you like he means it, when he jokingly lift you up as an exercise and when he oh so casually sings mainstream love songs around you.

But the thing about this growing, pulsing, very much alive feeling in you is that it doesn't only make you happy and excited. It has an ugly part with teeth biting and claws crawling. It's the jealousy and self-doubt whenever you see him around other girls, prettier ones and you see him flash them shy, bunny smiles. It's disappointment when he skips one of your regular movie nights to hang out with the boys or because he's too tired or would rather do his homework. It's the loneliness you feel even beside him in those vulnerable moments because you know he'll never feel that way. And the worst is that you know you can't blame him for these unwanted feelings or the tears nobody has seen you shed late at night because it's all you. It's your fault for developing a crush on your best friend and he doesn't even know.

It's better this way, you tell yourself but you can't help but wonder: what if it isn't?

You and Jungkook became friends at the naive, fragile age of fourteen, in middle school, a questionable phase for both of you but let's admit: listening to depressive music together is one hell of a bonding. It's been history ever since because with him, it's always like puzzle pieces falling back into their places. You went to high school together and Jungkook even joined the art class you wanted to take but was too shy back then to go alone and you were always there to cheer for him at the track and field competitions. When you were both admitted to Seoul universities - you for interior design and him for movie directing -, it went without saying to rent a place together. It felt perfect because what could go wrong? you asked yourself and you didn't know that the answer was everything until Yein.

Before Jungkook had his fair share of crushes he always talked about but never acted on his feelings. So when the pretty girl in his photography class came around it was all new. Suddenly it wasn't just the two of you and you got a first hand experience of what your best friend could feel during your brief relationship with Yugyeom in the junior year of high school. You told yourself that it wasn't jealousy, you just missed your best friend and for real, you liked Yein. She was quiet and smart and she was good for Jungkook and yet, you couldn't be entirely happy for them. After months of denying, struggling alone and fighting it, you finally admitted to yourself why: you were in love with Jungkook. (You still are.) And suddenly, everything made sense. From then on every comment on how cute you look together and every correction that you are just best friends hurt too much.

Jungkook and Yein lasted for about six months. Jungkook refused to tell you why exactly they broke up and said it just didn't work out and let him be. Ironically, a year later you met Yein at a yoga class downtown and ended up sitting down for a coffee to catch up. It wasn't you who brought up Jungkook, she asked about him and told you:

"He couldn't give me his heart, he was keeping that safe for somebody else.”

You have thought it was an odd reason to broke up over in university but didn't tell her. You still chat sometimes when meet in an afternoon yoga session but don't talk about Jungkook anymore.

So things between you and Jungkook shouldn't have changed but they did, inevitably because now you catch yourself staring more than you should as his best friend, especially when the boy has the nerve to walk around the flat shirtless. Or when he clings to you during movies, resting his head in your lap while analyzing every damned thing happening on screen and you absentmindedly play with his hair, combing it with your fingers, your heart shouldn't flutter so much at the content little noises he makes. Or when he asks for your opinion about his latest video and starts explaining all the aspect you'd never understand anyway, the urge shouldn't be so strong to just tell him: gosh, I'm so in love with you.

So yeah, you have thought about it million and million times, counting pros and cons but always ended up too afraid to ruin your friendship. It doesn't stop you though from pouring the amount of your heart's content into the bowl before you after double checking in the recipe how much sugar you need for the cake.

“Shit,” you stare at the kitchen scale in horror and end up scooping half of the sweetener back.

Jungkook seemed a bit down in the morning, probably still fussing over that job interview from last week that didn't go well, and exclaimed that he was going out for a run even in the rainy Saturday weather. He was out of the door before you could tell him to put on a jacket at least. So that's it, that's why you decided to brighten up his mood and make him a homemade cake even though you are a complete disaster in the kitchen if it's anything else but instant noodles. Nobody deserves to be sad on their birthday and especially not Jungkook if you can do anything about it.

But of course nothing works out as it should, you're out of coconut powder, so you change the recipe in the middle of the making. You also accidently put too much cream between the layers of the too thin sponge cake and it kind of falls apart. At least it doesn't taste horrible but it definitely looks like something a six years old would make. Maybe if you didn't listen and dance to the old greatest hits on the radio while baking, you could actually be decent in the cooking department, but nah, what's the point then?

"OhmygOSH! When did you get back?” you cry out in surprise when in-between a dramatic turn to a Disney era Selena Gomez song you notice Jungkook watching you from the living room with strong arms folded in front of his chest and an amused smile on his face. How dares he look at you like that after almost giving you a heart attack?

"Not that long,” he shrugs, something still tugging the corners of his mouth upwards and drops of water from his hair leave wet spots all over the floor and well, everywhere.The neon coloured running shirt he wears is a tight fit on his body, sticking to him like second skin because of the rain and sweat. He looks like he stepped out of a sportswear commercial.

“You have flour on your face,” he points out, nose scrunching, laughing. You love the sound of that too much to mind that he's making fun of you. Too enamoured, you cannot even stop him when with two long strides he steps in front of you and gently wipes off the ingredient with his thumb. Your cheek tingles where he touched you and it takes you a moment to collect your thoughts with him looking down at you like that.

“And you stink, not to mention you are drenched. Go shower and change,” you put your hands on your waist trying to sound and act like you're in charge in the situation. Your messy emotions protest.

“Yes, m'lady,” Jungkook salutes jokingly and you take a deep breath when he leaves.

When he comes back freshly washed in sweatpants and the kind of big white shirt you like to steal to sleep in, he ends up helping you making the frosting on his own birthday cake.You work together so well, methodically and it's so sweetly domestic that those greedy feelings come back again. But it's his day, you won't ruin it, because you don't want to see anything but smiles on his face today.

You order pizza for lunch and eat half the cake before it even arrives. And when it does, Jungkook is already whining with his best aegyo about wanting to get his present. You have been hinting about it for weeks, that you have the perfect gift and can't wait to give it to him. So  how could you say no when he asks so cutely?

You watch him with knots in your stomach as he neatly takes off the wrapper of the box and opens it up. Inside of it, there's a vintage polaroid camera he has been talking about for months. Jungkook stares at the device like he doesn't quite believe his eyes and then up at you in awe.

“I love you,” he blurts out eyes shining from excitement, tears brimming in the corners and a huge grin plastered on his face. Your heart does that thing again and you feel the heat of a blush on your face.

“I love you too,” you mumble and hug him tighter when he pulls you into his arms.

You have been friends for far too long, of course, you have said these three little words before but you started to think that it means very different for you. But pulling back Jungkook looks at you half-conflicted, half-determined and his tongue stumbles over the next words.

“No I… I love love you. I think a part of me always did.”

You can't help the light sob escaping you, curling your fingers into the boy's shirt.

“Really?” the hopeful question falls from your lips and for a moment you think you're dreaming because it can't be happening. But then Jungkook lunges forward, takes your face into his hands and presses his sugar-coated lips to yours.

“Really,” he whispers into the small space between you.

Looking at his happy face and listening to the drums of that rapidly beating heart of yours, the realization hits you hard of how utterly stupid you were because instead of imagining confessing, you should have just done it.

#happy birthday to the boy who deserves the whole world #jungkook fluff #btswriters #bangtan bookclub #sfwbangtan #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #bts fluff #stories #i was soft this morning and decided to write this #best friends to lovers

[meetmeatthecoda]

OMG PLEASE: “Here, take my coat. This rain isn’t going to do you any favors, you’re barely over being sick.” + “Whoa there, snot monster! Just where do you think you’re going??”

Sick Prompts

Thunder booms, lightning flashes, and Liz rolls hereyes.

It figures that she would get caught in a spontaneousApril thunderstorm today, of all days. She’s been home sick for the last twodays with a nasty cold, she woke up late this morning thanks to her“non-drowsy” sinus medication, spilled yogurt on herself on the way to work,and stubbed her toe on her desk. And then, without any preamble from Cooper,she was sent to drive thirty minutes out of the way to meet Red in somegodforsaken nature reserve where the only shelter from, say, unexpectedmonsoons, is a single gazebo that Red is currently standing under, nice anddry.

Liz sighs. What a ridiculous day. She can’t wait to gethome, dry off, take a warm shower, dry off again, get in some comfortablepajamas, and just sleep, really, she can’t –

But what’s that she sees? Red is coming out from underthe gazebo? Yes, yes he is. The unyielding droplets of rain don’t take long todarken the light fabric of his tan suit. But he’s still jogging out to meet her,completely ignoring it.

“Red, what are you – “ she tries to yell to him.

But he waves her off and keeps coming. She quickensher pace towards him to at least try to meet him halfway. They don’t both needto get wet, after all. This is her bad day, not his.

Finally, after some jogging, her shoes squishing unpleasantlyinto the softening ground, they meet in the middle, rain dripping from the edgeof Red’s fedora and Liz’s hair drenched and sticking to her face.

“Red,” she starts, quieter now that he’s near. “Whatthe hell are you doing out here in the rain? You’re gonna ruin your suit and Isure as hell can’t pay that dry-cleaning bill so just – “

“Here,” he talks smoothly over her. “Take my coat.This rain isn’t going to do you any favors, you’re barely over being sick.”

Liz blinks in astonishment as Red quickly sheds hisblue windbreaker and, seeing no objection from her, drapes it around hershoulders, adjusting it so it covers her as much as possible.

Of course, Red would know that she’s been sick. Theyhave been in between cases so she hasn’t been in contact with him but sheshould know by now that nothing as trivial as missed calls will stop Red from checkingup on her. Liz knows that she should be at least a little bothered that Red wasaware of her days spent in bed with nothing but misery, pillows, and dirty tissuesbut she isn’t. Instead, she feels only a rush of warmth.

She has forgotten what it feels like to be cared for.

There is another clap of thunder and Red, to Liz’sfurther surprise, wraps an arm around her shoulders and tucks her into hisside, jogging them both back towards the gazebo.

They make it there in one piece, Liz a little drierthan she would have been and Red a little wetter than he should be. Liz turns tolook at him.

“Why did you do that?” she asks in something likewonder. When was the last time someone did something like that for her?

(She forces Tom and his meaningless, fake promisesfrom her mind.)

Red nonchalantly takes off his fedora and tips thecollected rainwater off into the grass.

“Why wouldn’t I do that, Lizzie?” he asks, frowning. “Youwere really quite sick and you’re by no means back up to one hundred percent yet.”He places his damp hat back on his head and turns to look at her. “If you’renot careful, you could catch pneumonia. I’m not about to let that happen bywatching you walk through a rainstorm while I’m standing right here with aperfectly good jacket.” He shakes his head at her, smiling a little. “Don’t besilly, Lizzie.”

Liz stares at him for a minute. He says this as ifit’s obvious, that someone would do this for her. Despite the thin shield ofdry humor, she can see the sincerity in his eyes. And despite the cloud ofeverything she doesn’t know about him that constantly hovers in between them,she can be sure of one thing.

Red cares about her.

Even with the rain currently creating a puddle at herfeet on the gazebo floor, she feels another surge of that odd warmth fill heras she looks at Red, who is standing there, smiling at her, rocking a little onthe balls of his feet.

“Well then,” she says, quietly. “You’re quite thePrince Charming.”

Red scoffs. “I hardly think so.”

“Oh, I disagree.” Liz says earnestly. “I was certainlyin distress and you came to the rescue and saved me from a relentless enemy.”

“And who might that be?”

“Mother Nature.” Liz says seriously.

Red chuckles and smiles at her. A low rumble ofreceding thunder sounds in the background of their little gazebo. Red suddenly leansforward and adjusts the lapel of his jacket around her shoulders, needlesslystraightening the edge. Liz can’t help but notice that his fingers brush hercheek very slightly.

In a surge of bravery, Liz reaches up and takes hishand, bringing it slowly down in between them and squeezing his fingers.

“So, do you think my Prince Charming would be willing totake me out for something warm to drink?”

Red beams, his thumb running across her knuckles.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Wonderful,” Liz chirps. “Let’s go.”

And she pulls on his hand, tugging him out into thenow drizzling rain, giggling as he stumbles clumsily after her.

Maybe this day isn’t so bad with Red by her side.

Liz knocks on the door, tapping her foot impatiently.If Red would just pick up the damn phone, then she wouldn’t have to make thesespecial trips out to his safe house every damn day. But nothing is ever thatsimple with Red, is it?

She knocks again, preparing to burst through and startyelling if need-be, when suddenly the door is wrenched open from under herfist. Dembe stands there staring at her, looking strangely flustered.

“Hello, Agent Keen. Raymond is indisposed right now.”

Liz frowns. “Indisposed? What do you mean? Issomething wrong?”

Dembe sighs, suddenly looking tired. “He is…feelingunder the weather.”

Liz blinks. Has Red ever been anything less thanhealthy and full of energy? “He’s sick?” If that’s true, she certainly feelsbad for nearly breaking down the door. “Well, maybe I can help.”

“No, I don’t think – “

“Dembe?” Dembe is suddenly interrupted by a familiar butnasally voice calling from deeper in the house. “Who’s there?”

Dembe gives a long-suffering sigh and Liz suddenlyunderstands that he must be playing the role of caregiver to a sick Red.

“It is Elizabeth, Raymond.” He calls over hisshoulder.

“Lizzie’s here? Oh, hello, Lizzie! Do come back,please!”

Liz raises her eyebrow at Dembe and he just shrugs,moving aside to let her pass. “He’s in the second room on the right.”

“Thanks.”

Liz wanders back to the appropriate room and, peeringthrough the open door, is met with a startling sight.

Red is propped up in bed dressed in a wrinkled whitedress shirt and rumpled slacks, discarded tissues littering the floor andbedside table. As he sees her, Red tosses the newspaper he was perusing to thebed and beams at her.

“Lizzie!”

But Liz can do little more than gape at him. She hasnever seen Red in a state quite like this before and it is very disconcerting.Her gaze is stuck somewhere between his one out-turned pocket lining and his strangelymesmerizing sock-feet.

“Everything all right, Lizzie?”

Liz snaps out of her stupor with a blink. “Me? Yeah,of course, I’m fine. You, on the other hand…” She waves her hand unnecessarily athis sniffling form.

“Me? Oh, nonsense, Lizzie, I’m perfectly fine. Just alittle cold. It’s nothing, really.”

His claim is only slightly undermined by the hugesneeze that then racks his whole body. Liz raises her eyebrows. “Um, sure.Well, look, I was here to talk about the case but you’re obviously not in anycondition to do that. So, is there anything I can get you?”  

She is suddenly worried, looking at his red-rimmedeyes, flushed cheeks, and runny nose. Has Dembe been taking his temperature?What if he has a fever? Did he just shiver?

“Are you cold? I’ll get you a blanket…”

“No, Lizzie, really – “

She ignores him – not intentionally, really, it’s justthose stupid sock feet are giving her the insane urge to coddle him – and goesto ask Dembe where the blankets are.

By the time she has a nice thick quilt and arrivesback in Red’s room, she is met with yet another surprising sight: Red leaningover the bed trying to put his shoes on.

“Whoa there, snot monster! Just where do you thinkyou’re going?”

Red looks up and frowns at the unsavory nickname. “Ifyou must know, I have a meeting to attend.”

Dembe breezes in the room. “No, Raymond, I cancelledthat meeting. You’re unwell. Take your shoes off and go back to bed.” he orderseasily.

“Oh, Dembe! You’re no fun! I’m perfectly well.” Redgrumbles even as he kicks off his shoes and grabs another tissue to blow hisnose.

Liz sighs. Somehow, this whole new side of Red seemscompletely typical. Part drama queen, part selfless martyr. No wonder Dembe isflustered. Caring for Red seems to be a full-time job. Perhaps she should tryto lighten the load.

“Here Red, I got you a blanket. How about I cover youup and you take a nap? You need rest.”

He mumbles something unflattering about mother hens thatLiz chooses to ignore because she thinks she spies a little grin on his face asshe throws the quilt over him and tucks the edges in around his body, makingsure to cover his silly sock feet. She sits on the edge of the bed and smooths thequilt over his shoulder.

“You gonna be okay, Red?”

“Of course, Lizzie, of course. You’re right, a littlenap will make me right as rain…” And he’s already drifting off to sleep and Lizcan’t help but think that he’s really quite adorable, all stuffy nosed andcuddly like this. Perhaps she’ll help Dembe with that chicken noodle soup shecan smell cooking and stay until Red wakes up.

Her little snot monster could use some loving.

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #mine #fanfic #prompts #sick prompts #ask #anon #so sorry for the wait! #and i'll continue to chug away on the others! #hang in there guys! #thank you! #and enjoy! #:D #much love! #<3