#7600 words later...

[weirdowithaquill]

Let's Talk About Rebecca:

Well, I said we needed to talk about Rebecca, and here we are.

To begin with, I would like to preface this with a simple disclaimer: I am in no way telling people to like or dislike the version of Rebecca found in BWBA, but instead looking into what caused such a deep disdain for this character, one that lasted long after Henry had been departed and was fuelled not by her position as a ‘replacement’, but rather by the series itself. This is not a dissertation on why Henry is a stronger character and why Rebecca should never have been introduced - that is counterproductive and, in some ways, false. This is instead something adjacent to an essay in which I will focus on how Rebecca’s flawed introduction, characterisation and tenure in the series both represents the BWBA era as a whole, but also what led to her being notably absent from All Engines Go, the reboot of Thomas and Friends. This will be followed by me attempting to redesign her characterisation and create an alternate version of Rebecca, one which in my opinion would have done far better for herself in the series. 

Part 1: Who is Rebecca, and Why Her Characterisation Doesn't Work:

According to the former official Thomas and Friends website, Rebecca is: “...a very cheerful and happy engine. She is painted a sunshine yellow which reflects her positive outlook on life. Rebecca always sees the best in others and enjoys helping everyone around her feel good about themselves. Despite her warm nature, Rebecca is not afraid to stand up for herself or her friends. She is a big, strong tender engine who is not intimidated by the more experienced engines on the railway. Rebecca is the number 22 engine.” 

Already, there is a major issue here: her characterisation is a strange amalgamation of others, who could probably just as easily take on her roles without really breaking any of the episodes she is in. “Cheerful and happy” are characteristics held by Ryan, Stanley, Whiff, Thomas, Percy, Edward, Mavis, Peter Sam; the list goes on. There are already far too many engines whose main qualities are cheerful and happy. She is painted yellow - like Molly and Flora were, or if we go further back, like Jock, Pip and Emma were. “Sees the best in others” was once upon a time a quality unique to Edward, as well as Salty. “Enjoys helping everyone around her feel good about themselves” sounds way too close to what Emily has become in the series, without mentioning the evolutions of Mavis’ character or Rocky’s character. If we add in her clumsiness and shyness, we get Kevin and Molly respectively - and Kevin is also yellow! She isn’t intimidated nor does she have any trouble at all with fending off engines who want to be mean to her. She isn’t unique here either: Duck did this when he first arrived, and he had a much bigger and more notable impact because of how he acted when confronted with the big engines' attitudes. What all this really means is that Rebecca has already finished a character arc at some point in the past and does not need to grow further. 

And here we reach the crux of the problem with Rebecca in BWBA: she has nowhere for her character to grow into - something all the other main characters have done decades ago. This is especially problematic at this late stage in the show; Thomas & Friends has been running since 1984, and almost every character they pair Rebecca up with has had an exceptionally long time to bed themselves in and grow into the space they occupy. For Rebecca to compete, and truly qualify for her status as a main character, her character needs to make its own space - and importantly, make that space bigger than as many other characters as possible. This is a running problem in the TV series post Season 7, and something that really baked itself into the show by the time the series reached CGI: the characters do not develop. The Steam Team (bar Emily) hasn’t had any real, natural character developments since the Mitton era - not any sustained over multiple seasons, at least. If we go back to the Classic series - or further back to the Railway Series - we find that the very essence of Thomas is in its strong characters and their natural growth. Gordon grows into being more humble, Edward and Henry grow more confident in themselves, Thomas and Percy mature and (to some extent) learn their limits - the list goes on. There are characters that do not grow as much or remain the same, yes - but they still have some sort of character arc where the essence of them as a character is tested. 

Rebecca does not undergo character growth in the series, and her character itself is not tested in any meaningful way. Instead, she is overused and underutilised - by which I mean, she appears constantly throughout the series but is given nothing to define her as being any different to any of the characters mentioned above. Worse yet, Rebecca’s leads are easily interchangeable with any other Steam Team member, and this further complicates her. Rebecca takes trucks perfectly - like Donald or Douglas would, or perhaps Edward? Rebecca is too fast and leaves passengers behind - like Peter Sam did to the refreshment lady. And when she causes all kinds of delay, is that not like James did way back in Series 3? And she’s tricked by Diesel… like almost every single engine in the entire series, going as far back as Gordon, Henry and James were in Series 2. 

Would it have been better to divide Rebecca’s leads up and give other, more established engines more spotlight? Probably. Her personality is similar to a number of others, and her introduction is basically a mix and mash of older episodes - notably the eighth series episode, Thomas and the Tuba, the tenth series episode, Seeing the Sights, the first series episode, Thomas' Train, and the fourth series episode, Peter Sam and the Refreshment Lady. This really doesn’t help to define her, especially when all fans think about when they watch the episode is what other, older episode it is most like. Her subsequent appearances do very little to endear her either, both due to the lack of effort put in by Mattel to ground Rebecca in the series and the low impact of the episodes she does star in. Characters like Oliver or Duke have had lasting impacts on the fandom despite their short tenures because their episodes have high impact. Duck is one of the most popular characters in the fandom of this show, despite having been a secondary character ever since Series 5, and being practically absent from the series between Series 8 and Series 16.

Rebecca also takes up a difficult spot as a replacement for Henry, which complicates her relationship with a large portion of the fandom, meaning a lot of her as a character is questioned in relation to what Henry would have done. While technically, Rebecca was slated as a replacement to Edward, her arrival coincides with Henry’s departure, and thus for the purposes of this, we will consider her to have taken the position Henry had, similarly to Nia and Edward. Whether or not Henry’s departure from the main cast is a bad thing is an issue unto itself, which dives into character assassination and to what extent the Henry seen in Season 21 is the same Henry seen in Season 1. In either case, Rebecca’s roles could have quite easily been filled by Henry or another standing character, and her characterisation is too similar to other, pre-existing characters to make her stand out amongst her costars and their longer, more notable characterisations and character growths. 

Much of this is compounded by how Rebecca was introduced and integrated into the main cast, which is clearly seen when compared with another notable case of an engine joining the Steam Team after it had been first codified: Emily. 

Part 2: Rebecca vs Emily - How to Introduce a Main Character: 

Rebecca’s introduction is extremely underwhelming, especially for a Steam Team member. Thomas and Gordon shared the very first episode, Edward established himself as a foil to Gordon in his introduction and in Henry’s first appearance, he is bricked up in a tunnel in perhaps one of the series’ most infamous and iconic episodes. James makes his grand entrance by crashing into a field, Percy nearly gets destroyed by Gordon and Toby tugs on the viewer’s heartstrings as we watch him lose his entire livelihood. Moving forward several seasons, Emily’s introduction includes her saving another engine from a terrible accident - and then lastly, Nia gets an entire movie to embed her. Rebecca just bumbles about for ten minutes and takes the final shed at Tidmouth. 

To make matters worse, Henry’s departure is equally low-intensity. Edward at least got a full episode; Henry got a single line, used to further Gordon’s character as opposed to finalising Henry’s arc and introducing Rebecca’s. And while Gordon’s character here is interesting and new and possibly the first real growth we’ve seen from any of the Steam Team since Henry, Toby and Percy regressed into children before CGI even began; it does nothing to create a satisfactory conclusion to Henry’s arc or properly build up Rebecca’s arrival. This ultimately undermines Rebecca’s position as a primary character in the series, where she has joined far too late in the series to make an impact without dedicated time and effort being put into her. 

We are expected to accept that Rebecca has simply arrived and is now a main character by the show without any reasoning behind this. There is no connection between the viewer and Rebecca to justify this promotion to main character status, and it is telling. The writers don’t have anything new or unique to say about Rebecca either and it reflects in her episodes, which are remixes of old episodes or bland and unoriginal. This is especially painful in an era when so much of the writing is like this, bar the few episodes that really manage to break through the white noise. Ironically, two of the episodes that do really stand out have Edward and Toby as main characters respectively. 

In contrast, Emily is very well introduced to her position and has a long, notable character arc that plays out across both the Classic and HiT eras to cement her as a main character before making her a permanent member of the Steam Team - a journey that endeared her to fans and helped to build her characterisation to make her unique and interesting. Emily is first introduced in Season 7, where she has a strong introductory story played out against Thomas where she steals Annie and Clarabel and then rescues Oliver from a nasty accident. I’m not entirely certain, but this might be the first time that an engine takes Annie and Clarabel without asking - prior to this, Percy and Duck both got permission or it wasn’t mentioned. And after this episode, Emily does not immediately move into Tidmouth Sheds - she remains at Knapford, despite having further notable appearances across the rest of the season. 

What is made apparent in Season 7 is her characterisation. Emily is brave and bossy, but kind-hearted. She doesn’t headline constantly either, instead playing off other characters and rolling into the background when needed. She slots naturally into a secondary role in this season and feels like an engine who belongs on the NWR. Season 7 introduces Emily to viewers and gives her characterisation to back up her unique appearance. Season 8 continued this trend, building on her more and pairing her up with different engines to settle her comfortably into being a proper presence on the island - notice how it’s an evolution over two seasons? By Calling All Engines, Emily is a main character by virtue of her cementing herself into the cast, and her berth at Tidmouth feels like a natural progression of her story, firmly planting Emily as a Steam Team member. By Season 11, she is being used as a primary character to bounce newbies like Whiff off of! 

When considering Emily and Rebecca, two takeaways make themselves known: firstly, that characters need time and effort to be cemented in the story, especially when introduced long after most other central characters have had time to imbed themselves; and secondly that characters need strong, interesting differences when compared to those they share the screen with in order to fill unfilled positions. Emily is brave and bossy, giving her a unique style that makes her work great either as the protagonist or antagonist of a story. It gives her character flexibility - she can either be the engine that the protagonist is paired up with to learn something from or it can make her big-headed and in need of being taught a lesson of her own, one which she will - in her own way - try and pass on. We don’t meet someone with a truly bossy personality like Emily’s again until Bradford, and even then it isn’t the same. Bradford is used as a comedic character, whereas Emily’s bossiness was treated seriously. 

In comparison, Rebecca’s characterisation causes her to fade where she needs to shine. By being given a personality that has already been used consistently in Thomas, she fails to have a lasting impact and the abruptness of her introduction and elevation to the Steam Team is jarring and gives older viewers no reason to be interested in her. When combining this with the few defining qualities she has, it is equally hard for Rebecca to intrigue new viewers, making her feel bland and unoriginal when compared to many of the characters she shares the screen with. Rebecca is asked to attempt and hold her own against characters who have been intentionally woven together by the series for decades - and as explained above, this is not an impossible feat. It is not an impossible feat in the CGI series either, as Hiro, Paxton and Marion have all managed to stand out in an era when characters very rarely got much character building beyond their introduction. Unfortunately, Rebecca is given none of the same care, and it is reflected in how little she is used. Despite appearing more often as the seasons continue, she gets fewer leads to the point where she has an equal number of leads to Toby in the final season.  

Emily and Rebecca are two sides of the same coin in terms of introduction, both first appearing in an episode rather than a movie and then becoming members of the main cast - the difference is that where Rebecca was shunted in and thus the writers were unsure how to use her, Emily’s careful character-building and integration into the series ensured she would always have fans, something that is reflected in her being given a proper conclusion to her character arc in Series 24, where she is given the number twelve and thus immortalised in the same way that Thomas through to Oliver were. 

Considering the above issues, it becomes quite clear that the potential best way to introduce Rebecca and have audiences become invested in her and her story is not to simply drop her into the series, but rather to build her up slowly, similarly to Emily - which was entirely possible and plausible. 

Part 3: What Could Have Been: 

If we assume that Mattel was fixated on Rebecca having her canon characterisation as well as the BWBA series, there is still an entirely plausible method that could naturally build her character into the main cast, though it is underpinned by the original intent of the showrunners to have her introduced in Series 21 and replace Edward: 

In Series 21, Rebecca is introduced and shown to be clumsy but kind. In keeping with the original episode, she messes up the express and gets in trouble, however she then redeems herself by rescuing Gordon when he breaks down with the express. She is shown to be clumsy but kind, and gets the lead in a couple of episodes, as well as several minor roles. Preferably, she stars in at least one episode with Thomas specifically. At the same time, audiences are introduced to Henry’s dilemma surrounding whether or not he should sleep at Tidmouth - be it cause of the Kipper, arguments with Gordon, or whatever. This both places Rebecca into audiences’ minds while simultaneously opening up the question of whether or not Henry will remain at Tidmouth. Edward leaves, but the shed remains open - this is filled by Nia. 

Continuing in this vein, in Series 22, Rebecca gets a couple more episodes than last season, specifically with both primary and notable secondary characters - I’m talking Duck, Oliver, Rosie, Daisy, Ryan - characters who are popular, relevant to the series and allows the series to cement her as a main addition to the cast. This is to cement her and give her plenty of characters to bounce off and develop relationships with. Meanwhile, Henry’s arc comes to a conclusion and Henry quits Tidmouth in the last episode of the season, leaving it open. This also allows the creators to build up Gordon’s reaction to Henry leaving, showing his struggle to adapt to Edward’s absence and his simmering disdain towards Nia for replacing Edward before the 23rd season. 

Finally, in Series 23, Rebecca takes the empty berth at Tidmouth, replacing Henry and kickstarting an episode - or preferably two, but this is Mattel, so it is likely to be one - where Rebecca is forced to withstand the brunt of Gordon’s anger as he boils over, being compared to Henry before proving herself. This plants her firmly as a main character, while also potentially giving her a strong reason to become close friends with Nia - who also had to deal with Gordon’s stubbornness. Henry is given a proper farewell arc as well, allowing him to gracefully retire to his secondary character status. 

By arranging Rebecca’s arrival over several seasons, she is given time to fall naturally into her position and role, developing slowly and making the connections with other characters needed to cement her position on the NWR before taking centre-stage. This would also help writers learn how to write her, creating a scenario where Rebecca has a real chance of taking off as a character and potentially even getting similar stories to Emily where she is the lead main character who is used to introduce new characters - like how Emily interacted with Whiff in the eleventh season. This would also help viewers to understand who Rebecca is and get comfortable with her presence in the show before being asked to accept her as a member of the Steam Team. 

However, I still feel like her characterisation is weak in comparison to other Steam Team members - as mentioned previously, her clumsiness has been done by several characters including Kevin and Percy, who is a fellow Steam Team member. Her “Cheerful and Happy” characterisation has been used by far too many characters to count - including Percy, Peter Sam, Derek, Stanley and more recently Ryan - and not even her bright yellow paintwork makes her unique in terms of the series, seeing as Molly and Flora both had similarly bright shades of yellow for paintwork back in the model series. Moreover, her leads place her in relatively generic situations where other characters likely would have produced far more interesting plotlines, such as Molly easily pulling trucks despite being built for expresses or James trying to prove he can still pull the express and getting into trouble. Based on this, a complete overhaul of Rebecca’s characterisation is needed. 

Part 4: How to Redevelop Rebecca as a Character: 

When designing a Thomas and Friends character, one of the first things required is a real-life basis - and Rebecca was given a very interesting and unique basis that had the potential to give her very interesting stories. Rebecca is a Bulleid Light Pacific, in particular an unrebuilt West Country Class.  These were strong, powerful mixed traffic Pacifics used by the Southern Railway from 1945 until 1967, giving them a lifetime of about 22 years. They were praised for their free steaming, excellent boilers, and had a number of notable innovations for British steam - including welded fireboxes and frames, as opposed to the traditional, riveted system. The class was also well-known for their availability, being able to pull trains on almost every line that the Southern Railway had. 

In contrast, the class was also very famous for their flaws. Remember, Rebecca is an unrebuilt West Country Class, which had many of the same problems and flaws as their larger Merchant Navy Class relatives. These issues would plague the three Bulleid Pacific classes to such an extent that many of them were rebuilt by British Railways in the 1950s into a more conventional design which utilised the strengths of the class while altering or replacing many of the issues that Bulleid built into the engines as he used them as a testing bed for some of his more modern ideas. In particular, the major problems with the West Country Class were: 

Adhesion problems: the lighter load on their driving axles meant that they were even more prone to wheelslip than the larger Merchant Navy class, requiring very careful control when starting a heavy train - there are several surviving videos of these engines struggling to start a train due to their wheelslip. 

High fuel consumption - these engines were hungry, and this was in many ways highlighted during the 1948 locomotive exchanges where the West Country Class burnt 13.5 kg/km as opposed to the 9.02 kg/km of the T9 class that they replaced - for reference, the West Country Class’ coal consumption is comparable to the Gresley A1 Pacifics prior to the exchange trials of 1925 - a number which was dropped to roughly 10 kg/km after they were modified into the A3 class. 

Restricted driver visibility due to the air-smoothed casing and soft steam exhaust from the multiple-jet blastpipe. The exhaust problem was never adequately resolved, and smoke continued to beat down onto the casing while moving, obscuring the driver's vision.

Maintenance problems: the chain-driven valve gear proved to be expensive to maintain and subject to rapid wear, which was particularly problematic during the Post War period, as British Rail focused on availability rather than high quality maintenance. 

Leaking: leaks from the oil bath onto the wheels caused oil to splash onto the boiler lagging. Once saturated with oil, the lagging attracted coal dust and ash, which provided combustible material, and sparks from heavy braking would set the lagging on fire underneath the air-smoothed casing. The fires were also attributed to oil overflowing from axlebox lubricators onto the wheels when stationary, to be flung upwards into the boiler lagging in service. In either case, the local fire brigade would be called to put the fire out, with cold water coming into contact with the hot boiler causing stress to the casings, meaning these un-rebuilt locomotives would have warped casings, the result of a lagging fire!

All of these strengths and flaws tell a notable story about the kind of engine Rebecca may have been in real life: an engine with extremely good power and speed, but with difficulty at slow speeds and design issues that could have dangerous and rather embarrassing unintended consequences. This is a brilliant basis for a character, and it really irks me how little of all of this characterisation gold that Mattel ended up using - while it is consistent with how they treat their newer characters, it is also a real shame. Especially considering that from all of this, it is really not hard to build a genuinely interesting character that wouldn’t feel too out of place in the Railway Series or Classic series. 

Firstly, based on the high coal consumption and severe maintenance and wheelslip issues, we can suggest that Rebecca is a bit clumsy and worries about how others perceive her. Her class was large enough for this to be less apparent back on the Southern, but perhaps she was one of the worst for it, so she was teased mercilessly - and so after having moved to Sodor, she fears how the other engines will treat her. To cover for these insecurities, Rebecca acts standoffish or gruff, wanting to keep the other engines at a distance so they can’t find out about her flaws and tease her for them - already very different from her original characterisation, but far more interesting as it makes her one of the few new NWR engines to actively try and push both steam and diesel engines away. Furthermore, her excellent steaming abilities and fast speeds in service could translate into Rebecca being somewhat reckless or a speed demon, wanting to use her strengths to both hide her weaknesses and as something she enjoys. Rebecca has an air-smoothed casing, and it may help her feel the wind better at speed, like Spencer with his streamlining. Quite simply, by using her basis as a starting-point for her personality, building up character-traits from strengths and flaws of the class, we can construct an interesting and different characterisation that draws people in, similarly to how the Reverend Awdry did with his eight famous engines. Better yet, it means that once the other characters crack open this more standoffish side to Rebecca, we can still see the kind and clumsy Rebecca from the TVS, but it feels more natural and rewarding to go through a journey to get there and if it’s directed only to her close friends, while also meaning that we the audience can still see her gruff side when dealing with unknowns or characters she dislikes. 

There is also the fact that by considering her class basis, show writers can find interesting stories or take other issues with Rebecca’s class to incorporate into her personality. For example, the low-visibility created by the air-smoothed casing could translate into eyesight problems for Rebecca that she tries to hide because she fears engines would tease her for them, potentially culminating in Rebecca passing a red signal and getting into a crash. Maybe she doesn’t like fire or hates the works because of bad memories, meaning Rebecca hides any mechanical faults until they cause her to break down on the main line. 

By building her character around her class basis, we can develop an alternative personality for Rebecca that naturally stands strongly around other engines - especially as there are very few other Southern Railway engines on Sodor who could see Rebecca’s gruff and cold attitude as the defence mechanism it is. It also gives Rebecca a strong connection to Henry, who acted practically the same when he first arrived on Sodor to hide his steaming problems, making him sympathetic to Rebecca and opening the two up to a long-term arc that ends with Henry having helped Rebecca grow into the happy, cheerful and clumsy engine from the series before leaving. Her recklessness could translate into a rivalry or competition with Gordon, who is far more responsible and meticulous with his express due to his experience and the pressure that has been put on him. 

However, this is not the only way to build a better characterisation for Rebecca, the other option being to make Rebecca into a foil for other main characters. 

Part 5: Rebecca as a Foil: 

The other way to build Rebecca’s character into something that flows naturally with the other, previously introduced Steam Team members with making her more unique and interesting is to build it around the concept of the foil character. A foil character is a character who contrasts with another character, typically contrasting with the protagonist - a strong example of foil characters are Edward and Gordon, or Thomas and Diesel 10. Rebecca could quite easily fall into the position of being a strong foil character to the three big engines, more specifically James and Gordon, who are without a solid foil character to be contrasted against since Edward’s departure. In BWBA, when Nia arrived, she was considered to be closer to Thomas and Percy than Gordon or James, leaving them without a natural opposite. Rebecca has all of the strengths and weaknesses to fill this role. 

For the first option, using the personality the series gives Rebecca, we get the following scenario: Rebecca arrives on Sodor and is both an express engine and a mixed-traffic engine. When she arrives, instead of fumbling her first Express badly, she succeeds, and James and Gordon become worried about their status and jealous of her high speeds. Remember, prior to the codification of the characters into one or two jobs by CGI, James was a common replacement for Gordon on the express, and having his role as secondary express engine threatened would be a major blow to his ego. Worse yet, Rebecca likes pulling trucks, and is thus both similar but also a complete narrative opposite to the pair. Other engines like her for her kindness and helpfulness, even if it does get her in trouble when she doesn’t get her own work done on time - which Gordon and James exploit to make rude remarks about her. 

Already, Rebecca is a natural foil for Gordon and James, being similar enough for viewers to compare one to the other while also being different enough that her positive traits are highlighted against their negative ones. 

Then, Gordon could discover her hidden clumsiness and wheelslip problems, exploiting them to cause her embarrassment - something that has previously happened to James and when Rebecca is reprimanded for the resulting incident, he remembers his own struggles with wheelslip. This makes him more sympathetic to both Rebecca and the audience, and places him on a path towards apologising to Rebecca for how he spoke to her - while Gordon enjoys having the express to himself again. This could follow naturally towards an endpoint where Gordon gets his comeuppance and Rebecca is accepted into the Steam Team, having been a natural foil to both and developed close character relationships based on how she is positioned in contrast to Gordon and James. The series then progresses to seeing Rebecca act in opposition to the pair, as well as trying to one-up them, being either the protagonist or antagonist depending on who the hero of the story is. 

The second option is to use the character made for Rebecca in the previous part - the one built out of her basis and its issues - to turn Rebecca into a strong foil to Gordon and Henry, as well as potentially to Diesel or Thomas. This would begin with Rebecca arriving and acting recklessly with the express, being a speed demon where  Gordon demands professionalism due to his experience. This startles CGI Henry, who is also not a fan of recklessness and places her at odds with them but also potentially makes her interesting to James, who is himself quite reckless. Furthermore, Rebecca’s standoffish behaviour and grandstanding alienates engines like Thomas or Percy, while being very similar to how Gordon, Henry and James acted during their younger years, forcing the three to be confronted with how they used to act, reminding them of their old selves (BWBA is so obsessed with flashbacks and dream sequences, so this would be a good opportunity for them to use classic series moments to help flesh out all three and Rebecca here). 

This could build into Henry recognising the traits he used to hide his insecurities before he was rebuilt, helping to shift how the audience sees Rebecca and giving Henry an arc where he helps Rebecca learn to trust other engines and accept friendships - though notably not Gordon and James, who she sees as being the most likely to make fun of her. This helps Henry gain his classic series confidence back, giving him a boost to stand up and tell the Fat Controller that he wants to move, as well as the confidence to push back against Gordon when the big engine gets angry about the change. The series then follows Rebecca as she argues with James and Gordon, with engines taking sides depending on the episode - including  Thomas potentially absolutely hating Rebecca due to his alliance and friendship with Gordon.

Finally, Rebecca’s actions and attitude could help spur Diesel into recognising some of these negative traits in himself, finally ending the character arc that was attempted with Springtime for Diesel. 

Both of these options really focus on taking these established characters and growing them using Rebecca’s characterisation and unique position as the new big engine at Tidmouth, while also building off of Rebecca’s character strengths to make her stand out as unique too. Remember, Rebecca is the same size and strength as Gordon - the series hasn’t seen a NWR engine of comparable size to Gordon since Hiro was introduced, and he was neither an express engine nor a candidate for the Steam Team, so he was never a credible threat to Gordon. And before Hiro, the last engine of that size was Murdoch right the way back in Series 7, who never made it beyond the model series era. Rebecca has a real potential to be this threat to Gordon, being the first engine of such size introduced in almost a decade - she can pull express trains as well as Gordon while showing up James and being mixed-traffic and versatile like Henry. This is what irks me - Rebecca had everything going for her before she debuted, and got none of it. 

What is even more painful is the fact that there are an infinite number of ways to further develop and build her character or other characterisations to give her that take inspiration from the source material while still being fresh and interesting - for example, what if Rebecca’s clumsiness came from her being a static exhibit, possibly one at a children’s theme park which would explain the bright colours. She could be so kind and cheerful as a way to handle the pain of watching her siblings be scrapped - something that she could bond with Oliver over. The point is that Rebecca had and still has potential but needs a lot more effort put into her than what she got in canon. 

Part 6: Characters to Pair off with Rebecca: 

This brings me to my final core part to this long, and slightly ridiculous dissertation: who to pair Rebecca up with to best build her character and insert her into this universe while feeling natural and potentially giving them some more screen time and character dynamics outside of their usual social circles. 

For this, I decided not to look at Gordon, Henry or James, seeing as they got a lot of consideration in the previous parts, where they were core components of building up Rebecca’s character while also naturally removing Henry from the Steam Team. The following ten characters are engines who I feel would be some of the most interesting to pair up with Rebecca earlier on in the series, to help her bed into the series and give a wide range of popular or interesting characters for viewers to connect her to: 

1: Rosie: Rosie is a USATC s100, a class that worked at Southampton when Rebecca would have been in service! These two potentially have history, and even if they don’t, Rosie would be one of the first engines to realise why Rebecca is acting so standoffish and breaks through to her, seeing as she would have known the class from her younger days. Maybe they become confidants once Rosie manages to break through Rebecca’s facade? Maybe Rebecca decides she prefers Vicarstown and we go back to the Classic-era ensemble cast? The opportunities here are great, and it has the potential to give Rosie some real backstory too! 

2: Salty: Salty also worked at Southampton when Rebecca would have been in service, his class having been introduced in 1962, giving up to five years’ worth of potential overlap. Though it’s less likely the pair would have crossed paths, Salty would still know a lot about the West Country Class. He could potentially even float the idea of her getting rebuilt like a number of her siblings, which would add some real-life facts to the series! It would also be interesting to see Rebecca avoid Salty because she doesn’t want to be exposed by him - remember, she was in service at the end of BR, and really wouldn’t trust diesels based on what they did. 

3: Thomas: Thomas’ class also worked at Southampton when Rebecca would have been in service! However, Thomas would not have personally been at Southampton which means the connection is a little looser. Instead, he could have heard about them from a sibling, or maybe Stepney? Imagine Thomas being really excited to meet this new engine who he’s heard all these positive things about and then it’s this standoffish, grumpy engine who Gordon says is dangerous at speed. It would make for such an interesting dynamic and we could see the cheeky and blunt Thomas from the early series again! 

4: Oliver: These two both made it through the darkest days of BR and survived, and both are also very proud of their achievements - these being Rebecca’s speed and Oliver’s bravery - which could make a scenario where the two hype each other up, much to their own detriment. It would also be interesting to see how Toad would fit into this, seeing as Rebecca is quite reckless and Toad would be opposed to such a thing - and could create a really interesting dynamic where Oliver is forced to pick which of the two he believes during an episode. I can see Oliver being someone Rebecca trusts due to their shared experiences, and it gives Oliver some spotlight. 

5: Emily: Emily was what Rebecca is - an express engine with wheelslip issues who is considered to be one of the best engines of their time. Emily is also an engine who has some issues with CGI-era characterisation and could really do with being revitalised, so why not work with it? Emily tries to be nice and kind with Rebecca, only to keep hitting brick walls and reverting to her old, bossy ways to try and force the new engine to do what Emily wants - bonus points if this is held as being the right thing to do in that situation! It could also play into her getting her number, maybe by rescuing Rebecca from an accident she got into? 

6: Sir Handel: Sir Handel is another engine who desperately needs their characterisation revitalised, and Rebecca is a great chance! Sir Handel considers himself an express engine, and meeting Rebecca puffs him up as she regales him with tales of her speed. This plays into Sir Handel’s cockiness and he gets himself into trouble - and then he decides to get payback in whatever way possible, and we see the reverse of the situation where Sir Handel’s stories get Rebecca all fired up and she gets her own comeuppance. This would not only reintroduce Sir Handel, but also could set the foundations for Duke to return, with references to the MSR. 

7: RWS Flying Scotsman: I specify RWS Scott because I want the kinder, more humble version we got in the RWS to the version we got in the CGI era. Seriously - this engine has just been saved from scrap and given a second chance and his first action is to antagonise his only living sibling? I want him trying to be a voice of reason to Rebecca, seeing as he is uniquely placed to know the consequences of wheelslip - something he also has; as well as recklessness - Scott was the first to officially hit 100mph, so he knows a thing or two! Even more, Rebecca might look up to Scott, based on his fame, though his stories may lead to her being more reckless! 

8: BoCo: Remember I mentioned that the West Country Class caught on fire? Imagine a story with that, with BoCo (a Class 28 infamous for catching fire) as Rebecca’s foil. It could begin with BoCo backfiring and Rebecca making fun of him for it due to her disdain for the diesels who replaced her class before she suffers a similar fate when her boiler lagging catches fire and it’s BoCo who has to help her get her train home. It would be a great way for Rebecca to learn that diesels aren’t all bad, as well as giving her someone new to be friends with - and it would reintroduce BoCo! This could also help draw Rebecca down the branch to meet Bill and Ben… 

9: Molly: Overtly shy Molly and secretly shy Rebecca who covers her shyness up with aggression would make for such an interesting dynamic! I can imagine Molly gathering up all of her courage to speak to Rebecca only to be shot down (unintentionally) and then never want to talk to Rebecca again, and it’s only when Rebecca realises that the bigger engine tries to hunt Molly down - possibly with hilarious consequences. This idea would really work well if you popped in Mavis, who would want to help Molly and stand up to Rebecca. It would also be interesting to reintroduce Molly, especially with Mattel wanting more gender equality. 

10: Mike: This would be a case of grumpy, standoffish Mike versus standoffish-to-hide-insecurities Rebecca! These two would be about as productive as a house on fire. Literally! These two would naturally bump heads in the worst way possible, and it would create incredible comedy and infinite story potential. This would be even better if you added some inferiority complex on Mike’s side, based on the fact he’s never seen an engine this big before - seeing as Rebecca is the only engine of this size able to visit Arlesburgh. They would rile each other right the way up the wall and it would probably never get any better. 

To conclude, Rebecca had real potential as a character - she had an iconic basis, good timing for her introduction and the role she was aiming to fill in many ways needed to be filled; Henry’s character assassination had made him hard to watch for a long time, and moving him out of the spotlight to give writers some time to rehabilitate him was long overdue. It’s just a real massive shame that they managed to fail so badly. By failing to properly plan and develop Rebecca, Mattel created a background character that they tried to have fill a major role that she simply was not able to fill. There were many better choices in the show to take Rebecca’s role, not least of all Molly - a yellow tender engine who was shy and a bit clumsy. By neglecting to properly integrate Rebecca into the series and then giving the show writers very little personality to work with, Mattel ensured that Rebecca would be a BWBA-exclusive character, an engine who never managed to gain half of the popularity of other characters who had comparable runtimes. Engines like Murdoch, Molly and BoCo have far better legacies than Rebecca, and it comes down to how they were treated by the series. All three were introduced with something that made them unique, be it through their interactions with other characters or through their own unique characterisation. Rebecca is a grim reminder to people developing characters for stories - especially characters being added later in the series to a cast of strong, notable and even iconic characters - that these late introductions need a lot of effort and carefully designed arcs to make them viable and allow them to become embedded into the series alongside those they share the screen with. 

Rebecca is one of those characters who is enough of a blank slate that it is easy for people to project onto her. In some cases, this is useful to a character’s legacy - Fergus, Molly, and even Smudger all have been remembered far more fondly by the fanbase than their limited appearances ought to warrant, however this is mostly because they were given a strong enough personality by the show that these projections had preexisting characterisations to connect to. Rebecca was given far too little, and in redesigning her character, I feel like I’ve gained a new understanding of just how far Mattel had pushed the show prior to its cancellation. By expanding the series to include new characters from around the world while also demanding episodes with new, untested characters back on Sodor, the writing team was rushed to complete episodes with a plethora of new faces that had no substance to back them up. There was no chance for these foreign engines to become anything meaningful while Mattel demanded enough new characters to fill an entirely different series, nor was there time for many of the characters back on Sodor to develop meaningfully while the writers scrambled to try and create far too many new characters from scratch. 

And it was the characterisations that suffered for it. 

Once again, this was not an attempt to convince people to like or dislike the version of Rebecca found in BWBA, but instead look into why Rebecca as a character failed to stand up against the other Steam Team members or even many of the more notable secondary faces found in the TVS at this point in the series. This can be boiled down to comparisons to her predecessor, a lack of effort from Mattel to give Rebecca a chance to develop and the decision to use cliched characteristics to create a version of Rebecca that never was going to capture many viewers’ imaginations. This was also an attempt to redevelop Rebecca into someone that can be used by the fandom to rehabilitate her image, or at the least to point out what went wrong and what could have been done to fix it. Maybe someday Rebecca will get the redevelopment she deserved, or perhaps she will be left to the annals of Thomas history, becoming just another footnote in the ever-expanding list of characters who couldn’t stand the test of time. 

Thank you for reading.

[fioiswriting]

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew. 

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded.  He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt.  It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation.  A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges.  And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled.  Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger. 

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders.  Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it.  He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own. 

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell.  Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost.  King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you.  Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you." 

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor.  You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back.  It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you. 

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead.  It must have been your imagination.  You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest.  Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen. 

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears. 

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets.  And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company. 

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal.  You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead. 

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly. 

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway. 

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him.  You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be.  You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't." 

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs. 

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you.  You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin.  Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall.  Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself -  but you can't help feeling your heart clench.  You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time. 

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him.  A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly.  Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind.  A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy.  Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips. 

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion.   You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you. 

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit.  He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely. 

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion. 

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly. 

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience. 

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps. 

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you. 

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him.  He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence.  You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious. 

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching. 

He doesn't let go of you. 

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him.  It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his. 

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you. 

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him.  You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow. 

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other.  Your hands are buried in his long silver hair.  You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet? 

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress. 

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices. 

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body. 

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry.  You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable. 

You need him. 

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears.  You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him.  It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you. 

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting.  For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness. 

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you.  You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy. 

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth.  You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie.  You know you should lie.  To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years.  You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not." 

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips. 

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye.  It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words.  You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath. 

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe.  It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity.  Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know." 

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him. 

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him.  You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up. 

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know."  Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence.  He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions. 

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

[ro-is-struggling]

Second Chances || Johnny Storm x Reader

Summary: You run into Johnny in a bar and after he saves you from having to spend the night with what you were convinced was the most irritating man on earth, you decide to give him a second chance to get to know him better. Maybe he wasn't as bad as you thought…

Or the story of how you accidentally agreed to be friends with Johnny as if you were two little kids that hit it off in the playground. 

THIS IS PART 2 OF MY MINI-SERIES FIREPROOF! Masterlist + info (series summary & warnings) HERE

Warnings: fem!reader, reader having a terrible time in a bar, Johnny being a flirt, vague mentions of Johnny's tragic family past, fluff, bonding, I think that's it?

English is not my first language

Word count: 7600

Notes: sorry this took so long, it wasn’t supposed to exist lol Part 3 was originally supposed to be part 2 but I thought it was going to skip too far ahead in time (you'll see what I mean) so I decided to write this short(?) thing about how Johnny and reader go from strangers to somewhat friends. Parts 3 and 4 are almost ready so I don't think it will take me that long to post them.

Stay tuned for more and I hope you guys like it!

Do you want to get notified when I post? JOIN MY TAG LIST HERE!

You hated bars.

Well, that was a harsh way of putting it. You didn't hate bars all the time. But at this moment you definitely did.

You enjoyed going out drinking and dancing with your friends from time to time. While it wasn't your favorite activity —and you certainly could do the same in a quieter, more intimate setting— you recognized the de-stressing value of a good night out, especially after a week of midterms. You didn't always enjoy the people in the bars, especially the men, but it was nice to spend a night with friends laughing and dancing while the alcohol slowly washed away your worries.

However, tonight was not a casual gathering of friends looking to unwind from the pressures of college. No. Tonight, the bar represented everything you hated about those places since the focus was not on having a good time, but on getting Ellie a guy to help her stop crying about Johnny. Just as you thought it would happen, he got bored with her after a couple of encounters and, because of your threats, it didn't take long for him to have the “it's not you, it's me” talk with her. Ellie knew she shouldn't have taken their hookup seriously in the first place, but she had done it anyway, so the breakup —if it could be called that— had left her devastated. Luckily it wasn't one of those breakups that left her crying for weeks, but she kept talking about Johnny. She was becoming quite the stalker, following him around campus, taking note of the girls he talked to or went out with to compare herself to them. It was a little scary if you were honest. It wasn't like her at all, so one of your friends decided it was time to erase Johnny from her mind once and for all.

So now you were stuck at the bar near campus, pretending to be having a good time while you and your friends struggled to find Ellie a nice guy to spend the night with. While you knew this would be a difficult task from the start, you had no idea how difficult it actually would be. You had lost count of the number of mediocre guys who had approached your table in hopes of winning one of you over. They used cheap tricks and corny lines that made you roll your eyes every time they spoke. Your friends laughed at them with you at first, but as the hours went by, the alcohol and desperation slowly made them stop seeing it as ridiculous.

Soon it was just you and Ellie at the table. The rest of your friends had either already left with some guy or were dancing with one on the dance floor. You hadn't had too much to drink —you figured at least one had to stay relatively sober to keep the rest from doing something they would later regret—, and now you were cursing yourself for it. You weren't nearly drunk enough to be able to keep putting up with the cheap lines the guys were throwing around, honestly hoping that a couple of memorized and overused words would be enough to get in your pants. You hated every second you had to stay there and were ready to tell Ellie that they should call it a night. But before you could say anything, Mark sat down at your table to chat for a while.

He was like a breath of fresh air. He seemed genuine and funny, needing nothing more than his natural charisma to get your friend's attention in an instant. He didn't resort to using corny lines or disgusting remarks. He was just himself and that was enough to get Ellie on the dance floor for the first time that night. You were genuinely happy for your friend. If things went well, maybe she had finally found the perfect candidate to push Johnny out of her mind for good. However, Mark was not alone. He had a friend who had sat across from you and hadn't stopped looking at you since. And to your misfortune he didn't seem half as charismatic and genuine as Mark. So while all your friends were having fun you were stuck with a guy who thought that telling you about his gym routine was the right way to get into your —or any other woman's— pants.

You put up with this guy's poor attempts at flirting for as long as you could. You knew that as Ellie's friend your role there was to get the annoying friend out of the way so she could have some alone time with Mark. However, when he started talking about his supposed success at being his own boss —and how people were poor because they didn't try as hard as he did— you knew you had put up with too much. You jumped up from the table, making an excuse about going to the bar for drinks so you could escape the situation. You no longer cared about Ellie or her relationship problems. You needed to get out of there as soon as possible and never cross paths with that guy again in your life.

In your rush to escape, you didn't notice a figure approaching your table until a familiar voice echoed behind you.

“Y/n? There you are! I've been looking for you all night!” Johnny exclaimed with a smile.

Your expression changed from annoyed to confused in an instant. What was he doing there? And why was he talking to you as if you were best friends —as if your current misfortune wasn't his fault.

“Johnny?” was all you could manage to say, the confusion evident in your voice.

“Yes, silly! Were we supposed to meet, or have you forgotten already? Don't tell me you're already drunk!” He gave you a subtle wink and, once you got over the initial shock, you understood what he was trying to do.

Why Johnny Storm of all people in that bar was looking to help you escape your uncomfortable situation was something you didn't understand. But you didn't need to in order to take his help anyway. You were a proud woman, but not proud enough to deny the salvation he was offering you. Who cared about what he had done to your friend? At that moment you wanted to run from there and he was giving you the perfect excuse for that.

“You're right! I'm so sorry!” You played along with the charade, putting on a fake smile and pretending to be happy when you spoke. “I got distracted talking to... my friend here, but you're welcome to join us.” You cringed internally when you couldn't mention his name and you could swear that Johnny's lips quirked into a smile.

“What do you say I go get us some drinks first?”

“That's exactly what I was about to do! I'll join you.”

You didn't even turn to exchange words with Mark's friend before disappearing through the crowd towards the bar. Johnny took you by the waist to guide you through the crowd and you left him just because fighting with him at that moment was not in your best interest. You could still feel the other guy's eyes on your back, following your every step carefully. If you wanted to get away from him for the rest of the night, you had to make sure you made it clear to him that you were unavailable. And Johnny was giving you exactly that opportunity, so you couldn't fight him because the charade would be exposed.

However, when you reached the bar and were able to hide in the crowd of people ordering drinks, you took the opportunity to show Johnny how you really felt about him.

“Thanks for that... but you can keep your hands to yourself.” You said in a rather dry tone, pushing away the arm around your waist.

“Hey, I just saved your life back there! How about you show a little gratitude.” He snorted, but there was the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I'm not going to show you any gratitude after what you did, you're the reason I have to be here today!”

“What, did I somehow force you to come out of your cave and have some fun?”

“No, you idiot! I'm here because you broke up with Ellie!” You raised an accusatory finger and Johnny raised his hands in the air in surrender.

“And that's why you're mad at me? I thought that's what you wanted me to do! I was honest with her like you asked me to be, you can't blame me for that.”

You looked at him with narrowed eyes, annoyed that he was right. You couldn't be mad at him for doing the one thing you had asked him to do. You could hate him for the way he was in general or curse the moment he fixed his eyes on your friend, but at least he'd had the decency to talk to her and end the relationship before things got more serious. That was the least he could do, but at least he had done it. But still, Ellie was in bad shape because of him which meant he was your number one enemy.

“Still, you made her sad and because of you she dragged me here so I'm not going to talk to you anymore!”

You turned away, leaning back against the bar to wait for the bar tender to let you order. You hoped your attitude would be enough to get rid of Johnny, after all, you didn't really understand why he had decided to help you. However, his smile appeared once again in your field of vision. He settled on the bar next to you, one arm on the table supporting his weight as he looked at you with an amused expression that made your eyes roll.

“I wouldn't be so quick to kick me out just yet.” He leaned toward you to make sure you heard him over the sound of the music and the people around you. “'Cause your friend over there is coming over here. But I'm sure you were having a great time with him and that thing I saw on your face when I walked by your table wasn't annoyance at all, was it?”

“He's what?” your head turned with incredible speed, scanning the crowd for the figure of who you were sure was a government experiment designed to test your limits. Johnny let out a laugh, but your concern didn't let you even care about that.

“Don't look back!” He warned you and your eyes instinctively met his again. “I can get you out of here without him noticing, but you'll have to trust me.”

Your eyes darted to the dance floor, searching for Ellie in the crowd of people. Before deciding anything you wanted to make sure your friend was okay. You found her quickly, still dancing with Mark as she laughed. You assumed that things between them were going well and decided to believe that he was the one she would end the night with so you would feel less bad about running away. Looking back at Johnny, you let out an exhausted sigh. You didn't really like the idea of listening to him, but you also didn't like the thought of having to endure the boring stories that awaited you if you didn't get out of there quickly. You were caught between a rock and a hard place, although ultimately you knew which was the better option. Still, that didn't stop you from being suspicious of Johnny and his intentions.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you don't have much of a choice.” Johnny said as if it was obvious and you knew he was right. “Or much time. He's getting close.” He added, his eyes getting lost in the crowd behind you for a second before returning to your face.

“But why would you help me?” you insisted, ignoring his last comment.

“Because I felt sorry for you, you looked miserable out there with him.” You looked at him with narrowed eyes, distrust evident in your expression. “It's not a pick up trick if that's what you think.”

“Then why are you helping me?”

“You know what, if you don't trust me that's fine. I guess I'll leave you alone. Enjoy your night.”

Johnny patted you on the back and prepared to walk away, but he didn't make it more than a step before your hand clung to his arm. “Wait!” you hurried to say. “Don't go! I... I need your help.”

Johnny smiled at you and you feared for a moment you had made the wrong decision.

“Follow me!” was all he said before he grabbed your hand and dragged you into the crowd of people on the dance floor.

You let him guide you through the bar, pushing your way through the crowd of sweaty bodies until you found yourself on the other side of the dance floor. When you realized that Johnny was leading you towards the restroom area alarm bells started ringing in your mind. Surely he hadn't lied to you to get into your pants, had he?

“Where are you taking me?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

Johnny let out a laugh, knowing exactly where your mind was going. “Relax! We're almost there.”

As you passed the restroom area you breathed a sigh of relief. However, it didn't last long because he soon led you to an area of the bar you didn't recognize. And by the absence of people there you suspected that you weren't supposed to be there. You went down a staircase and ended up in a hallway so far away that the music started to become less audible.

“Are you going to murder me?” You joked and Johnny laughed.

“No, I'm going to set you free.”

With his free hand he pointed ahead and then you noticed the illuminated sign marking the back exit of the establishment. Pushing open the metal doors, you found yourself in an not-so-friendly alleyway. If you were alone you probably would have run inside as quickly as you had come out. It really looked like the place where a character from the first few minutes of a crime show would meet their end. It didn't have much lighting and it smelled terrible. And you were pretty sure that if you paid attention you could see the rats that inhabited the dumpsters. You didn't want to be there a second longer than necessary.

“Oh so you're really going to murder me.”

“Come on, my car is not far from here.”

Under normal circumstances you wouldn't have gone anywhere with Johnny, especially after having to put up with Ellie talking about him all week. But that place was creepy and you didn't feel comfortable walking alone to your apartment in the short dress you were wearing. So you held on to Johnny's arm and didn't put up a fight when he opened the passenger door of his car for you. You assumed he was going to take you home, but when he missed a turn and kept driving you looked away from the window to stare at him in confusion.

“You missed it, you had to turn there to get to my street.”

“I know. We're not going to your house yet.” Johnny didn't take his eyes off the road as he spoke, giving you even less of a clue as to what he was up to.

“Are you kidnapping me?”

“What is it with you and those comments, huh? I'm not a serial killer.”

“You're the one acting weird!” you defended yourself. “In my defense, all men are potential serial killers. And Ted Bundy was cute and charming too, so a girl can never let her guard down.”

Johnny took his eyes off the road to look at you for a second, a smile plastered on his lips. “You think I'm charming?”

You felt the heat of embarrassment in your cheeks, but you did your best to hide it. “Really, that's what you take away from that?”

Johnny shrugged. “A compliment's a compliment, even if it's a fucked up one like that.”

You rolled your eyes, deciding not to press the issue any further so as not to expose yourself even more. “Anyway... where are you taking me?”

“The night's still young and I'm hungry so I thought we could stop by and get something to eat before I take you home.”

“Oh.” You murmured, somewhat surprised that Johnny wanted to spend more time with you than was strictly necessary. “I appreciate you asking for my opinion. That was very nice of you.” You added in a sarcastic tone.

“Oh my god, there's no way to please you, is there?” He rolled his eyes, but you knew from the tone of his voice that he wasn't really upset. More like amused you'd say. “I save you back there, take you out for a bite to eat so you don't end the night so badly, and this is how you treat me, huh?”

This time it was your turn to roll your eyes at his feigned pain. But you couldn't deny that he was partly right. You were being a little mean to him, but you couldn't help it. That was your natural reaction when interacting with people you didn't trust, especially people like Johnny. Sarcasm was your defense mechanism and, while you recognized that it made people not like you very much, you weren't willing to change it.

“I'm just saying I'd like to know beforehand.” you doubled down. 

Johnny smiled. He liked your attitude. He wasn't used to girls being themselves around him. Usually they acted a certain way to get his attention, always saying yes to everything, always playing a kind of cat and mouse game. He knew how to play that game very well, almost too well to the point that it was getting boring. He knew what the girls were going to say before he even approached them, which was fine when he was looking for some late night fun, but terrible when he wanted to have a conversation with someone.

In that sense, you were a breeze of fresh air with your strong character and sarcastic remarks. You weren't looking to impress him and you didn't fall for his charisma. You were simply being you and that intrigued him. Since meeting you the morning he woke up in your apartment, Johnny found himself thinking of you from time to time. He recognized you when he saw you in the hallways and wondered if you would ever get another chance to interact. That's why when he saw how uncomfortable you looked at the bar he didn't hesitate to come to your rescue. And that was also why he had made the unilateral decision to invite you to dinner. Johnny wanted to get to know you better, to understand why you awakened so much interest in him.

He stopped at a drive through to order some food and then drove a while longer until he pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket that was closed. You remained silent the whole time —except for telling him your order—, stealing the occasional chip from the bag as you looked out the window, wondering where he was taking you. When Johnny finally stopped the car, he got out and hurried to open the door for you. In one hand he took the bag with the orders in it and wrapped his other hand around yours to help you stand upright in the heels you were wearing.

“Wow, you shouldn't have.” You said, your tone equally sarcastic as you inspected the place.

It wasn't the prettiest spot in town, that was for sure. The fences that enclosed the place were rusted and covered with overgrown vines. There was some graffiti on the walls and a couple of oil stains on the pavement. The place had a bit of a creepy vibe. It was unusual to see a place like that so empty and there was something about it that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. However, when you looked up you discovered that it had a nice clear view of the sky. The stars were shining beautifully in the dark night sky and that was almost enough to put aside the scary vibes of the place.

“You see, you talk a lot about not wanting to murder me but you bring me to the most isolated place in the whole city.” You joked. “I feel like you're giving me mixed signals. What are we doing here?”

“I come here sometimes when I want to think.” Johnny shrugged as he pulled the food out of the bags, using the hood of the car as a table. “It's pretty quiet in here, don't you think?”

“You think? Who knew.” You regretted that comment the moment it left your lips. You didn't mean to be so aggressive with him, it was just that sometimes you found it hard to turn off the sarcasm once you turned it on. It was the reason you didn't have many friends.  You had to work on that, but it was easier said than done.

Luckily Johnny took no offense at your comment. He simply sat on the hood of the car and popped a couple of fries into his mouth, his eyes never losing that amused sparkle. “Unbelievably, yes. I know what you're thinking 'cute, smart AND sensitive? That must be a lie!' But I assure you it's not, I'm the whole package, baby.” He winked at you and you let out a laugh.

“Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking, how did you know?”

“It's one of my many talents.”

Johnny invited you to sit in the car with him, which you awkwardly did. You ditch your heels immediately, tossing them with mild hatred a couple of feet away from you. You smile as you feel the freedom to move your feet with ease, slowly regaining the feeling in your toes. The tight dress wasn't the most comfortable in the world for the position you were in, but you made it work.

“Give me your jacket.” You said as you popped a potato chip into your mouth.

“Are you cold yet? Should I stand up and do the whole show of draping my jacket over your shoulders like a gentleman?”

“No, silly. This dress is incredibly short and I tend to cross my legs a lot so I don't want to accidentally flash you.” A cheeky grin came across Johnny's face and you knew then what kind of comment he was going to blurt out, so you hurried to shut him up. “Whatever is going through your head, keep it to yourself or I swear to god I'll walk from here to my house.” You added, your accusatory finger pointed straight at his face. He raised his hands in the air in defeat, though the smile did not leave his lips. He still gave you his jacket and you secured it in your lap before doing anything else.

You ate in silence for a while, the soft sounds of the city at night and the sipping of the drinks were the only things you could hear. Normally in that kind of situation you looked calm on the outside but your mind was a worried mess. When you were stuck with a person you didn't know you were always worried that things wouldn't feel awkward. You wanted to be nice, but you could never find the words or the time to say something that would start the conversation. And suddenly the air would start to feel tense and you were never able to tell if it was just you or if the other person was feeling it too. Then it became harder and harder to say something—what if you sounded weird? What if the other person didn't want to talk to you and the very fact that you opened your mouth bothered them? What if it was the complete opposite and by taking too long you had ruined your chances of striking up a conversation? What were people supposed to say in casual conversation? And by the time you realized it, the other person was gone, probably thinking you were weird or rude.

However, sitting quietly next to Johnny didn't bring any of that up. You were just there, eating while enjoying the soft cool evening breeze, not even thinking about what to say or do to fill the silence that had formed. And when you realized that, it confused you. You didn't expect to feel so comfortable with Johnny Storm of all people. You wondered if it was because of the alcohol still coursing through your veins —though you hadn't really had much to drink—, or if maybe it could be because you had no desire to impress Johnny. After all, he wasn't just any stranger. He was someone you never in a million years could have imagined sharing a moment like this with. You two were so different on the surface that you hadn't even imagined ever having a conversation with him, much less a friendly one. You didn't see the point in getting his attention or even generating a friendly relationship because guys like him generally didn't look twice at girls like you –for any reason, romantic or platonic. And maybe that was what was allowing you to be so free, the lack of expectations.

“How did you know about that back exit at the bar?” your voice broke the silence and for once you felt comfortable doing so.

“Well, let's just say I know some people on the staff.” Johnny said with a mouth full of food.

“Well of course you do! I should have seen that one coming.” You shook your head, disappointed in yourself for not having considered the implications behind Johnny's words sooner. Now that you thought about it, it sounded stupid to have asked. Of course he knew probably more than one of the girls who worked there very intimately.

“Hey! I'm more than just a player, you know?” He pretended to be offended, holding a hand to his chest to emphasize the pain your accusations caused him.

“You don't act like that.”

“Well, maybe I only do it for the right people.” He looked very proud of that line, but you had to purse your lips to keep from smirking.

Arching an eyebrow at him, you said, “Does that line usually work on women?”

Johnny let out a chuckle, surprised at how easily you seemed to read him. “Surprisingly, yes.”

“That's okay, Storm. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.” You sighed suddenly, wiping the salt off your hands with a napkin before reaching for your drink. “Show me you're more than a flirt.”

“Uh, a challenge. I like it! Now you're starting to speak my language. What do I have to do?”

“Hold a serious, normal conversation for more than 10 minutes without resorting to cheap lines or meaningless flirting. And maybe I'll start to consider that you're a multifaceted person.”

“But my flirtatious attitude is my best trait!”

“So you agree with me then, all you think about is sex.” You took a moment to sip your nearly empty drink, using the annoying sucking sound to emphasize your point. “Tell me, Johnny, why is it so hard for you to take things seriously?”

“Who are you, my therapist?” He let out a chuckle, but you could swear it was more out of nerves than amusement. You felt a little proud of that. Not many people could make Johnny Storm nervous.

“I'm just one person trying to generate a connection with another person. Usually for that to happen people talk, mostly from a place of honesty and earnestness.” Your sarcastic tone came through again, only a little softer this time. You were beginning to feel really intrigued by what Johnny might answer. Being someone who saw the world completely differently, you couldn't help but wonder how his mind worked. “ What do you do when you talk to the girls you go out with?”

“Well, for starters I don't usually get into arguments about the meaning of life or anything like that.”

“You don't have to get all philosophical to engage in a mildly meaningful conversation with someone.” You rolled your eyes. “What do you talk to them about?”

“There's usually not a lot of talking, if you know what I mean.”

“So you really just repeat a couple of corny lines and that's it?”

Johnny shrugs. “There's a little more to it, but yeah. I'm not looking for a relationship, I just want to have a good time.”

“Still, that sounds boring.”

“Maybe, but it works.”

“So you never talk about your life or your interests with the girls you date?”

Your disbelief was evident. You knew Johnny's attitude wasn't strange. Quite the contrary, most men had that approach to dating and sexual relationships. It was the reason why finding a partner was so complicated for you. However, you found it strange that he didn't see anything wrong with being so emotionally distant from the people he slept with. That was definitely a 'you' problem, because other women were clearly delighted to pass through his sheets without having the slightest connection outside of the physical aspect of it. But for you it was impossible to separate the two. How could you be sexually attracted to someone you didn't know? It sounded like a nightmare.

“I suppose I do, but not to any great extent unless I can use it to my advantage, like my interest in cars.” Johnny shrugged. “I'm sorry, but I don't understand why a girl I don't know would have to hear about the last time I visited my sister or my life story before we had sex.”

“I don't know, maybe so they can get to know you a little better?”

“If I do that they'll think I'm looking for something more serious and they'll never stop chasing me.”

“They already think that, Johnny.” You rolled your eyes. “You're not exactly great at letting people know your true intentions all the time.” Your mind drifted back to your friend and how despite it having been one of the quickest and most honest breakups in Johnny's history as far as you knew —thanks to your intervention— she had still caught feelings for him. And while that wasn't entirely his fault, it was undeniable that he hadn't been entirely upfront with his intentions —at least not explicitly.

“Why am I being judged? You're the weird one! Casual sex is a thing and lots of people enjoy it!” Johnny countered finally, raising an accusatory finger in your direction. “In fact, I think you'd have more fun in life if you'd stop being so uptight. I know at least you would have had a better time tonight.”

“Oh yeah, and stay with Mr. Self-centered back there? No thanks.”

“Oh come on, it couldn't have been that bad!”

“I thought that at first too, but then he started telling me about his gym routine in extreme detail like it mattered to anyone but him and I knew he was an idiot.”

Johnny grimaced in disgust. “His mind was in the right place, but he completely blew it with the execution. He was supposed to make you touch his abs or his biceps so you could feel his muscles.” You shook your head, unable to believe he was taking the time to correct your horror date's flirting techniques. But still, you couldn't help but let out a chuckle as you imagined the sequence. Did Johnny really think that could work on you?

“That's even worse!”

“No it isn't! Look, touch my arm and tell me how it feels.” Johnny winked at you, flexing one of his arms to highlight his muscles. You rolled your eyes and threw a crumpled paper napkin in the center of his face to make him stop.

“Are you flirting with me, Johnny? Because that would prove me right, you know? It hasn't even been five minutes and you're already resorting to overused tactics to try to get me flustered.”

“I'm not! I'm simply showing you what he should have done.”

“Instead of that why don't you tell me something about yourself.”

“Something like what?”

“I don't know, something that lets me get to know you a little better. Something you wouldn't tell one of your conquests.”

Johnny didn't take more than a couple of seconds to think about what to answer, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. “Well, I was raised by my aunt. My mother died when I was a kid in a car accident...my father is out of the picture too, so my aunt had to take care of me and my sister. Poor Aunt Mary couldn't control me, so I guess that's when my rebellious attitude started to develop.”

Even though Johnny was smiling, you could notice a change in his attitude. The playful sparkle disappeared from his eyes, replaced by a more sober expression. He tried to act casual to hide how uncomfortable it made him feel to be so vulnerable, but he wasn't doing a very good job at it. It was a rare thing to witness. He was a very confident guy, so much so that it was annoying at times, but that attitude seemed to have evaporated. His eyes were focused on an oil stain on the floor, completely lost in thought. He was silent, but he didn't seem to be waiting for a response from you. Rather, he seemed to be having a conversation with himself in the depths of his mind.

For the first time since you met him, you saw Johnny for what he was: a normal guy with a life story as complicated as everyone else's. Not that you didn't know it before, but it was hard to remember when he went to so much trouble to hide it with the way he acted all the time. You didn't have much of a relationship with him, so you usually just saw him as a jerk who enjoyed playing with the hearts of the women he seduced. You didn't necessarily hate him, but you didn't love him either. And while all that might still be true, you were now able to see beyond the image he had created of himself. With those few words he had been able to show you a glimpse of his true self. And you liked that.

The least you could do after that was to return the favor.

“The reason I'm this... structured and focused on my studies is because I want to prove to my family that I can be somebody... that I can do something with my life.” You broke the silence with your confession, drawing Johnny's attention back to you. As he looked at you, his eyes had a softness in them that you had never noticed there before. It helped you not to feel intimidated by opening up about something so personal in front of him. “They never believed much in me so I never believed much in myself. Until I got my acceptance letter, so I made it my mission to graduate with honors.” You let out an uncomfortable chuckle, not quite knowing how to proceed after such a revelation.

Johnny was surprised by your words. He found it hard to believe that you had such a negative image of yourself, especially in relation to academics. He didn't know you very well, and yet he could safely say that you were the smartest and most prepared person on campus. It was a little sad that you weren't able to see that. But it was even worse that you went out of your way to impress people who didn't deserve it.

That was the moment he decided he should stay close to you. You needed him in your life even if you didn't realize it. You needed someone like him to help you remember that it was your life and you should live it according to your desires, not the expectations of others. He could help you loosen up a little and release the fun part of you that he knew you were hiding inside.

“Fuck that! You don't have to prove anything to anyone.” Johnny said and you were surprised by the honesty in his voice. “You should live your life for you and not to meet someone else's expectations. We only get one shot at this, and it's too short, so we should make sure we live up to our own desires.”

“Thank you, Johnny. That was... very profound and smart of you.” You smiled at him, but this time it wasn't sarcasm. You were genuinely impressed with his words. It was a very Johnny thing to say, but it painted him in a different light. Knowing what you knew about him now put some depth to his everyday actions. He wasn't annoyingly reckless just for the fun of it, there was more weight behind it, a thoughtfulness and awareness you didn't consider he had.  

“I told you I'm more than just a pretty face.” Johnny sounded proud of himself, gloating at being able to tell you 'I told you so' after you didn't want to believe him. You couldn't help but giggle.

“You're right, you are. But I'm right too, because I never would have figured it out if you didn't open up to me and we had a normal adult conversation.” You pointed out and Johnny rolled his eyes at your smartass attitude. “See, human connection! Now that I know you a little better I see you as more than the annoying playboy who broke my friend's heart... And I hope you can see me in a different light too. Isn't that nice?”

“No 'cause now I'm sad because you made me have deep thoughts.”

“It's okay to feel sad sometimes, especially with the right person.”

“Why would I want to be sad when I can not be sad if I don't think about it?”

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, unable to believe your ears. How was it possible for Johnny to go from saying one of the wisest things you'd ever heard to...that in such a short time? He really was a multifaceted guy. “Do I have to explain emotions to you as if you were a five year old? They are normal, they are part of the human experience and a functioning adult like you shouldn't bottle them up inside. It's healthy to let them out from time to time, even the ugly ones, especially if you find the right person to do it with.”

“So what you're saying is... you're the right person.”

“What? No! I mean, I don't know... if you want me to.” His words took you by surprise to such an extent that you didn't know how to react.

Your first reaction was to refuse, making a weird expression, a mixture of disgust and surprise. You weren't looking to have a friendship with Johnny, he was rather forcing it by continuing to show up in your life. But then you felt bad about how quick you were to dismiss him. Maybe he wasn't as bad as you thought he was. Maybe you weren't so different. Maybe he really needed someone to talk to and this whole thing was his weird way of asking for it without having to say it. Or maybe he was just trying to fuck with your mind. One could never be sure of anything with Johnny.

“Why the sudden fluster? Don't you want to be my friend? After all that! I showed you my soul, opened up to you and all for you to reject me? I can't believe it! And you said you were better than me, ha!”

You knew he was joking, his exaggerated tone and the way he touched his chest in feigned pain gave it away, but it still made you feel bad for what you said. “I didn't mean that! You caught me off guard... I mean, do you even want to be my friend?”

Johnny shrugged. “Why not? You seem nice and I must admit I enjoyed our little chat.”

You smiled at his words, although you didn't quite understand why. “Okay, I guess we can be friends... but no bullshit!” You added that last once again raising your accusatory finger.

Johnny let out a chuckle, throwing his hands up in the air. “No bullshit, I promise.”

A small silence formed then. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable, but it wasn't pleasant either. You could both read in each other's faces how surprised and bizarre you found the situation you were in, but neither seemed to want to back down. As strange as it seemed, it was also interesting. Both of you were intrigued by what this new friendship might bring to your lives.

It was a challenge for the two of you. If you were honest with yourself, you didn't have much faith that things would work out. You figured he would get bored of you in a couple of days —weeks if you were being optimistic— and never speak to you again. You wouldn't blame him for that, you didn't feel like you were interesting and you didn't know how much fun you could have with someone who was so different from you.

But Johnny was a completely different story.  He wasn't someone who ran away from a challenge, and as sweet as your talk was just then, becoming your friend was exactly that: a challenge he would have to overcome. It was exciting and intriguing, exactly what he needed to escape the monotony he'd been stuck in lately. You seemed like a nice person despite your differences, which he didn't see as a negative. He felt he could learn a few things from you, as well as teach you a few others.

“Do we shake on it?” Johnny broke the silence. “Or maybe we make a blood pact like in the movies.”

“No dumbass! We're not kids.” You laugh, shaking your head. “Now take me home, it's getting late and tomorrow I have to get up early to study.”

“Fine, but just so you know, there will be a lot less studying if you're my friend. You need to enjoy life a little more.”

You rolled your eyes. “Good, well then there will be a lot less quick hookups and more sharing of our feelings if you're my friend.” You went along with the joke. You expected him to complain, but Johnny didn't seem to mind.

“All right. Then please allow me...” He jumped up from the hood and walked a couple of steps to reach the heels you had thrown away when you arrived. “I can't let you touch the pavement with your bare feet. Let me help you.”

Before you could object Johnny knelt down in front of you like a man in love about to propose to his partner. Only instead of a ring he offered you your heels. He took your right leg gently and rested your foot on his thigh as he tried to figure out which shoe to place on which foot. Your skin tingled under his touch, your face hot from the intensity of Johnny's gaze as he carefully fitted your shoe. You knew he was playing with you, you could read it in his face, and yet you could do nothing but stand there, frozen in place as you let him take care of securing the heels back on your feet. Even though he was doing it to tease you, there was something incredibly intimate about his action that left you feeling stupid. His fingers lingered on your skin for a few seconds longer than necessary, arousing warmth in its path. His gaze traveled from your legs to your eyes and back to your heels, admiring your figure in a way you weren't sure another man had ever done before. Everything seemed to move in slow motion —the ticking of the clock, his fingers, your breathing, the night breeze hitting your body. Everything but your heart, which was pounding in your chest with an increasingly faster and stronger rhythm.

You managed to come out of your trance when he finally pulled his hands away from your body. So you took your foot off his thigh and jumped up, as if suddenly the metal of the car burned you. You felt embarrassed that you had fallen for his trick and even more embarrassed that he knew you had bought into his game. The damn bastard had done it on purpose, just to show you that he could, that you were no different from the others even though you presented yourself that way, and that with the right approach you could fall under his spell like all the others.

“What did I just tell you about all this bullshit?” You threw his jacket violently at him before making your way to the side of the car. Johnny caught it in mid-air, letting out a laugh that you found in equal measure charming and annoying.

“What? I was just being nice!” He played it off, throwing his hands up in the air in innocence. You decided to answer him by slamming the car door after settling into the passenger seat, crossing your arms over your chest. But all you did was make him laugh even harder.

“You look adorable when you get mad... and when you get flustered too.” He teased you as he put the key in to start the car.

“Drive or I'll end up being the one who kills someone tonight.”

[lila-lou]

✨Beyond saving - Pt. 3✨

Summary: I hate summaries, so this is part 3 of "Beyond saving".

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only!, Smut, mention of rape (well, detailed), Language, Angst, Hurt, soft dean (literally), it´s just a loooot

Word Count: 7600

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

As another week has passed, Sam entered the kitchen, noticing you sitting alone on the ground, your eyes fixed on the table where Dean had inflicted so much pain upon you. He approached you cautiously, sensing the weight of your emotions hanging heavy in the air.

"Hey", Sam said softly. "How are you holding up?".

You glanced up at him, your eyes weary and filled with sadness. "I'm… I'm trying", you replied hoarsely, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sam sat down beside you, offering a comforting presence as he reached out to gently squeeze your hand. "I know it's not easy", he said sympathetically.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you leaned into Sam's embrace, the weight of your pain almost too much to bear.

"I know it's hard to believe right now, but Dean still loves you", he said gently. "He's hurting too, maybe even more than you realize. He hates himself for what he's done to you, for what the demonic version of himself did. It wasn't the real Dean, you know that, right?".

You nodded slowly, tears brimming in your eyes as you struggle to come to terms with Sam's words. "I want to believe that. But it's so hard, Sam. Every time I look at him, all I can see is… is what he did to me".

"I know", he mumbled. "But you have to remember that Dean would do anything to take back what happened, to make things right between you two. He's fighting his own demons right now, just like you are. And I know that deep down, he's still the man you fell in love with".

"I know it's going to take time", he said gently. "But I truly believe that you and Dean can find your way back to each other. You've been through so much together, and I know that love doesn't just disappear overnight".

"Thank you, Sam", you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I don't know what I would do without you".

Sam smiled warmly, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze. "You don't have to thank me. We're family, and family looks out for each other. We'll get through this together, I promise".

As the days passed, you found yourself greeted each morning by the aroma of freshly prepared meals and the sight of a bouquet of flowers adorning your doorstep. With each delivery, your heart ached with a mixture of longing and hesitation, unsure of how to respond to Dean's gestures of remorse and affection.

Yet, despite your reservations, you couldn't deny the sincerity of his efforts. Each handwritten note contained memories of the happiest moments you had shared together, reminding you of the love and joy that had once filled your relationship.

With each meal and each note, Dean sought to bridge the gap between you, to remind you of the bond that had once bound you together. And though you remained guarded, the warmth of his gestures began to thaw the icy walls around your heart, slowly but surely.

As you sat alone in your room, reading through Dean's heartfelt words and savoring the meals he had prepared, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring within you. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for forgiveness and reconciliation after all. And with that thought in mind, you found yourself daring to believe in the possibility of a brighter future, one where love and trust could prevail over pain and sorrow.

As the days passed, you found yourself slowly opening up to the idea of letting him back into your life, of giving him a chance to make amends for the pain he had caused.

With each meal he prepared and each note he left, Dean showed you that he was willing to do whatever it took to earn your forgiveness and rebuild the trust that had been shattered.

Two weeks later, as Sam ordered Pizza, Dean made his way towards sam and the delicious smell. As Dean reached for the pizza, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks. Startled, he turned to see you sitting next to Sam, your gaze fixed on your hands clasped tightly in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure of what to do or say.

But then, a flicker of hope ignited within him as he realized what this moment meant. After weeks of isolation and silence, you had finally taken a step forward.

With cautious optimism, Dean approached you, his movements slow and deliberate. He sat down beside you, careful not to startle you, his heart pounding with uncertainty.

"Hey", he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's, uh, it's good to see you".

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his briefly before flickering away. Dean's heart ached at the sight of your pain.

As the dinner progressed, a heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional clinking of utensils against plates. Dean tried to muster up the courage to speak, to break the tension that seemed to suffocate the room, but the words caught in his throat.

Your gaze fixed on your plate, unable to meet Dean's eyes or engage in conversation. Every fiber of your being screamed with discomfort, your stomach churning with anxiety from being in such close proximity to him.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his heart heavy with guilt and regret. He longed to reach out to you, to apologize for everything he had put you through, but he knew that words alone would never be enough to mend the damage he had caused.

Finally, unable to bear the suffocating silence any longer, Sam cleared his throat, breaking the tension with a forced smile. "So, uh, how's the pizza?", he asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from the elephant in the room.

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak, your throat tight with emotion. Dean swallowed hard, his own discomfort palpable as he forced himself to take a bite of his pizza, the taste turning to ash in his mouth.

Despite his best efforts to push aside his guilt and make things right, Dean couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him like a dark cloud. As the dinner dragged on, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever be able to truly make amends for the pain he had caused you.

As the tension lingered, Sam attempted to lighten the mood with small talk, but his efforts fell flat against the weight of the unspoken turmoil between you and Dean. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the heaviness in the air suffocating.

Dean's heart ached with every glance he stole in your direction, the sight of your pain etched into every line of your face piercing him like a knife. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to you, to beg for your forgiveness.

For you, the meal was a torturous ordeal, you struggled to suppress the torrent of emotions threatening to consume you.

After dinner, Sam tentatively suggested watching a movie together, hoping to provide a distraction from the heavy atmosphere that lingered between you and Dean. He could see the strain etched on both of your faces and desperately wanted to find a way to bring a sense of normalcy back to your lives.

You hesitated, the thought of spending more time in Dean's presence filling you with dread. But with a small nod from Sam, you reluctantly agreed.

As Sam set up the movie, you and Dean found yourselves sitting on opposite ends of the couch, a palpable distance separating you. The air was thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension, but for the moment, you both focused on the screen in front of you, allowing the movie to serve as a temporary escape from the turmoil that surrounded you.

Despite the heaviness that still hung in the air, there was a glimmer of hope in Sam's eyes as he watched the two of you attempt to coexist in the same space. He knew that healing would take time and effort, but he was determined to do whatever it took to bring his family back together, one small step at a time. And as the movie played on, he silently prayed that tonight would mark the beginning of a new chapter for all of you.

As the movie played on, Dean found it nearly impossible to tear his gaze away from you, his heart aching with every fleeting glance he stole in your direction.

A torrent of guilt and remorse washed over him, threatening to drown him in its depths.

In that moment, Dean would have given anything to ease your suffering, to take away the pain that he had inflicted upon you. If cutting out his own heart and offering it to you would mean healing your wounded soul, he would do it in a heartbeat.

But as he sat there, watching you, he felt utterly powerless, his own torment mirrored in your tear-stained eyes.

Another week passed, and tentatively, you began to open up to Dean once more. Your heart clenched with uncertainty as you heard his voice, but you knew that avoiding him forever would only prolong the pain for both of you. So, you found yourselves sitting across from each other at the large map-table.

Dean's question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. "Are you able to sleep again?", he asked, his voice laced with concern and regret.

You hesitated for a moment, the memories of sleepless nights and haunted dreams flooding back to you. But then, with a small nod, you found the strength to answer. "Yeah, I am", you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

It was a small victory, but it felt like a significant step forward.

"I'm so sorry", he whispered, his words heavy with regret. "I can't even begin to express how sorry I am for what I did to you".

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you met his gaze. "You hurt me, Dean", you said, your voice quivering with emotion. "You hurt me in ways I never thought possible".

Dean's expression crumpled, his heart breaking as he listened to your words. "I know", he murmured, his voice choked with tears. "I know and I hate myself for it".

"You… you raped me, Dean", you continued, the words catching in your throat. "You violated me in the worst possible way".

Tears fell down Dean's face as he listened to your confession, the weight of his actions bearing down on him like a crushing weight. "I'm so sorry", he repeated. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you".

You took a shaky breath, your heart heavy with pain. "I want you to understand", you said, your voice wavering with emotion. "I want you to understand what you did to me".

"You shoved me against the table, Dean. You didn't care that I was begging you to stop. You didn't care that I was in pain".

Dean´s voice choked with tears. "I know, I know. I was a monster. I should have never—". But you cut him off. "You broke my wrists, Dean. Do you even realize how much that hurt? Every time I moved, every time I tried to do anything, I was in agony".

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I never should have touched you".

By now, your voice was trembling with emotion. "And my ribs, Dean. You broke them too. Every breath felt like knives stabbing into my chest. I couldn't even breathe without feeling like I was going to pass out". Tears started streaming down your face.

"And then you… you fucked me until I bled, Dean. Do you understand what you did to me? Do you understand how much pain you caused?". You paused. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you, Dean. But I want you to know… I want you to know what you did to me".

Dean sat there with teary eyes and wet cheeks, his heart breaking with each word that fell from your lips. He listened to the pain in your voice, the anguish in your eyes.

Every detail you recounted of the horrors he had inflicted upon you pierced his soul like a thousand knives. He couldn't bear to look away, couldn't bear to turn his gaze from your tear-streaked face.

In that moment, he felt the weight of his actions crush him with a force he had never known before. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to hold you close. But he knew that he didn't deserve it, knew that he had caused you too much pain to ever be worthy of your love again.

All he could do was sit there, his heart heavy with regret, and pray that somehow, someday, he could find a way to make amends for the irreparable damage he had done.

"I lay there for hours", you confessed, the memories still vivid in your mind. "I couldn't move, couldn't even catch my breath. Every inch of my body was screaming in pain, and all I could do was lie there and pray for it to end".

You continue, your voice laced with bitterness and sorrow. "After that, I stopped looking for you", you admit, the words heavy on your tongue. "I stopped trying to save you, stopped caring".

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of your words sinking in.

Dean's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he listened to your words, his knuckles white from the tight grip he held on his emotions. "I wanted to kill myself", he confessed in a voice barely above a whisper. "That's how much I hated myself for what I did to you".

Your words cut through the heavy silence like a knife, each syllable dripping with the bitterness of your pain. "I'm already dead because of what you did to me", you said, your voice laced with a coldness that sent a shiver down Dean's spine.

His eyes closed in anguish, the weight of your words bearing down on him like a crushing burden. You were his everything, the love of his life, and the thought of spending his days without you was unbearable.

"I wanted to marry you, to build a future together", Dean whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I wanted to have children with you, to grow old with you by my side. But I… I broke you".

The pain and heartache radiating from him was palpable, and despite your own suffering, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathy for the man who had once held your heart in his hands.

"I know", you finally replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know you're hurting, Dean. But… but what you did to me, it's something I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive".

Dean's shoulders sagged with the weight of your words, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to contain his emotions.

"I understand", he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I don't expect you to forgive me, not after what I've done".

During the following two weeks, Dean spared no effort to demonstrate that he was no longer the monster he had once been. He cooked for you, cleaned the bunker without being asked, and even went out of his way to avoid any situation that might make you uncomfortable. Every gesture was infused with a desperate longing for redemption, a silent plea for your forgiveness.

As you sat in the TV room, enveloped by the soft glow of the screen, a bowl of popcorn nestled in your lap, you felt a sense of tentative peace settle over you. It was the first evening Dean and you had been alone since Sam and Cas had left on their hunt, and for once, the weight of the past seemed to lift ever so slightly from your shoulders.

Lost in the movie playing before you, you barely noticed when Dean appeared in the doorway. His eyes lingered on you, filled with longing.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. But then, with a hesitant step forward, Dean cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the room.

"Mind if I join you?", he asked, his voice tentative as he gestured to the empty space beside you on the couch.

You hesitated, torn between the desire to push him away and the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time. After a moment's pause, you nodded silently, scooting over to make room for him on the couch.

As Dean settled in beside you, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes softening with gratitude and relief.

Dean watched you, his gaze lingering on your profile as you became engrossed in the movie playing on the screen. A flicker of recognition crossed his features as he realized it was the same movie from your first night together in the bunker—the night when everything had felt so new and full of promise.

"You remember this?", he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he glanced at you, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as memories of that night flooded back. "Yeah", you replied, your voice tinged with warmth. "It feels like a lifetime ago".

Dean's expression softened at your words, sadness clouding his features. "I miss those days", he admitted. "I miss us".

You turned to look at him. "I miss us too", you whispered.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, lost in memories of happier times.

Dean hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope or forgiveness. "Are you willing to give me another chance?", he asked quietly. "All I want is to make things right, to hold you in my arms and ease your pain. I want to heal what I destroyed, to show you that I'm not the same person I was back then".

You felt a tug at your heartstrings as you looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and regret reflected in their depths. Part of you wanted to believe him. But another part of you was still wary, still hesitant to open yourself up to the possibility of being hurt again.

"I don't know, Dean", you admitted. "I want to believe that you're capable of being the man I once loved. But… I'm scared. Scared of getting hurt again".

Dean's heart sank at your words. "I understand", he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, to show you that I'm worthy of a second chance. Just… please don't give up on me".

As you sat there, grappling with the tumultuous emotions swirling inside you, memories of your past with Dean flooded your mind. You couldn't deny the depth of your love for him, even now, despite the pain and betrayal you had endured.

You remembered the way he used to make you laugh, the warmth of his embrace, and the way his touch could make your heart race with excitement. Despite everything that had happened, a part of you still longed for those moments of intimacy and connection that you had once shared with him.

But alongside the memories of love and happiness, there was also the lingering shadow of pain. You couldn't forget the agony of that fateful night, the way Dean had shattered your trust and left you broken and bruised.

Yet, as you looked into his eyes now, you saw the same love and longing reflected back at you.

Dean's voice trembled with emotion as he opened up to you, his words raw and filled with longing. "I've missed you so much", he mumbled. "I miss the way you used to sleep on my chest, your soft breathing. I miss the sound of your laughter, the way it could light up a room and make all the darkness disappear".

He reached out tentatively, as if afraid you might pull away, and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Without you, I'm lost".

You felt a tug at your heartstrings as you listened to his words, seeing the pain and vulnerability in his eyes. Despite everything that had happened between you, you couldn't deny the depth of his love for you, or the longing in his voice as he spoke of wanting to make things right.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you locked eyes with Dean, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. A whirlwind of emotions churned inside you—fear, longing, uncertainty—each vying for dominance as you grappled with the decision before you.

Part of you wanted to pull away, to retreat into the safety of your own walls and protect yourself from the possibility of being hurt again. But another part of you, a part that still held onto the memories of love and happiness you had shared with Dean, yearned for connection, for healing, for the chance to rebuild what had been broken between you.

And so, with trembling hands and a heart that threatened to burst from your chest, you leaned in slowly, ever so slowly, towards Dean. Each inch felt like an eternity, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders as you closed the distance between you.

As your lips met his in a tentative kiss, a surge of emotion washed over you, overwhelming in its intensity. It was a moment of vulnerability, of raw honesty, as you allowed yourself to let go of the pain and hurt that had consumed you for so long.

You cupped Dean's face in your hands, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingertips as you leaned into the kiss, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours.

Dean hesitated for a moment, unsure where to place his hands, afraid of scaring you away with too much intimacy. His heart clenched at the touch of your lips, a familiar ache settling in his chest as he finally felt the softness of your kiss again after so long.

Despite the pain that lingered in your heart, there was a sense of comfort in Dean's embrace, a familiarity that whispered of happier times gone by. For a moment, the world fell away as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment, each kiss a silent promise of hope and redemption.

But beneath the surface, there was still a lingering sense of uncertainty, a fear of the unknown that threatened to overshadow the fragile connection you were trying to rebuild. And yet, as you pulled away from the kiss, a glimmer of hope flickered in your heart.

With a shaky, uncertain voice, you whispered the words that had been lingering on the tip of your tongue, the silent plea of your heart reaching out to him. "Hold me", you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling with the weight of your uncertainty.

Dean's heart skipped a beat at your request, his chest tightening with a mixture of hope and fear. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest as though afraid you might slip away if he let go.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin as tears welled in your eyes.

Dean's hands trembled as he gingerly brushed over your back, his touch tentative yet filled with a quiet tenderness. With each gentle stroke, he tried to convey the depth of his remorse, the ache in his heart mirrored in the way his fingers traced soothing patterns against your trembling form.

You clung to him tightly, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you let out the pain and anguish. Your body shook with the force of your sobs, the emotional turmoil threatening to consume you entirely.

With a tenderness born of regret and longing, Dean pulled you closer to him, his lips hovering over your forehead as he held you in his embrace. His touch was gentle, his fingers tracing soothing circles along your back as you continued to sob against his chest.

Tears welled in Dean's eyes as he looked down at you, his heart heavy with the weight of his past mistakes and the knowledge of the pain he had caused you.

"I love you", he whispered softly, his voice filled with emotion. "More than anything in this world. I'm so sorry for what I've done to you, for the pain I've caused. But please know that my love for you has never faltered, not for a single moment".

As you looked up at him, your tear-stained cheeks and trembling lips betraying the turmoil within you, Dean's thumb gently brushed away your tears with a tenderness that spoke volumes. His eyes searched yours, silently asking for permission, for reassurance that this fragile moment of connection wouldn't shatter beneath the weight of your shared past.

With a trembling breath, you leaned into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips met yours once more. The kiss was featherlight, tentative yet filled with an undeniable longing—a silent plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for a chance to start anew.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you faded into oblivion, leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment of raw emotion and longing. With a newfound sense of courage, you straddled Dean's legs, your hands finding their way to his cheeks as you deepened the kiss, your lips moving with a desperate urgency born of years of pent-up emotion and longing.

Dean's hands remained at his sides, a silent testament to his fear of causing you further pain or discomfort. He was surprised by your boldness, by the intensity of your kiss, but he dared not move, afraid that any sudden gesture might startle you and send you fleeing from his arms once more.

Instead, he surrendered to the moment, allowing himself to be consumed by the warmth of your lips, the softness of your touch.

As the kiss intensified, your tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins. Your hands roamed over Dean's broad shoulders, urging him to reciprocate, to touch you in return. Yet, he remained still, his hands trembling slightly at his sides as if unsure of what to do.

But then, as you pressed closer, seeking the warmth and comfort of his embrace, you felt it—a hardness pressing against you, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips. Dean's erection, unmistakable beneath the thin fabric of your pajamas, sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your body, freezing you in place.

For a moment, you were paralyzed, unsure of how to proceed. The realization of what was happening between you, of the undeniable attraction and desire that pulsed between your bodies, sent your mind reeling. Could this be happening? Could Dean still desire you, after everything that had transpired between you?

But before you could gather your thoughts, Dean's voice broke through.

"I… I'm sorry", Dean murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to find the right words. "I didn't mean to… I just…".

His voice trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor as if unable to meet your eyes. You could see the conflict etched on his face, the turmoil raging within him as he grappled with his own desires and fears.

"It's okay", you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you reached out to cup his cheek, gently guiding his gaze back to yours.

But even as you spoke the words, uncertainty gnawed at the edges of your mind. Could you truly forgive Dean for what he had done? Could you trust him again, after the pain and betrayal he had inflicted upon you?

As you took Dean's hands in yours, feeling the tremble of your own shaking fingers, you guided them slowly and cautiously to your hips. The simple act of touch sent a jolt of electricity through both of you, causing Dean's heart to race and his body to react with a twitch of arousal.

But despite the undeniable chemistry between you, Dean remained hesitant, his eyes searching yours for any sign of uncertainty or discomfort. He wanted to be sure, absolutely sure, that you were okay with this, that you were ready to take this step together.

For a moment, the air between you crackled with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the space between your bodies. But then, as you met his gaze with unwavering determination, Dean felt a surge of courage welling up inside him.

With a shaky breath, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. It was soft, gentle, a silent promise of all the things left unsaid between you.

Dean's voice trembled as he spoke, his words laced with both desire and restraint. "Do you… Do you want to go to our bedroom?", he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or reluctance.

You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you at his words, a mixture of longing and apprehension swirling in your chest. The idea of being alone with Dean in the intimacy of your shared bedroom filled you with both excitement and trepidation, a reminder of the love and passion that had once defined your relationship.

But as you looked into Dean's eyes, seeing the vulnerability, you knew that this was a chance for healing, for closure, for the two of you to finally confront the demons of your past and forge a path forward together.

With a nod, you reached out to take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently as you rose to your feet. "Yes", you whispered.

Dean walked slowly, his footsteps deliberate and measured, as if he were afraid to rush or startle you. His hand, warm and comforting, brushed against yours in a gentle caress, a silent reassurance of his presence by your side.

As you followed behind him, the hallway stretched out before you like an endless expanse, each step echoing the rhythm of your racing heart. And as Dean finally reached the door to your bedroom, he turned to look at you, his eyes soft with emotion. Without a word, he reached out and gently pushed the door open, inviting you into the sanctuary of your shared space.

With a shaky breath, you stepped across the threshold, the weight of the past hanging heavy in the air around you. But as Dean closed the door behind you, shutting out the outside world, you felt a sense of peace settle over you.

Dean hesitated for a moment. "Is it okay if I… if I pick you up?", he asked softly.

You nodded slowly, your own voice barely above a whisper as you replied, "Yes, that's okay".

With a gentle smile, Dean reached out and scooped you up in his arms, his touch surprisingly tender as he cradled you against his chest. Despite the years that had passed, the memory of his strength and warmth flooded back to you, comforting and familiar.

As he carried you across the room, his movements slow and deliberate, you felt a sense of trust and safety wash over you, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that still existed between you.

And as he carefully lowered you onto the bed, his touch was feather-light against your skin.

As Dean hovered halfway over you, he hesitated, his voice trembling with nerves as he asked, "Would… would it be better if you were on top?".

You noticed the veins on his throat and arms standing out, evidence of the effort he was exerting to hold back for you. "It's alright", he mumbled. "If you want to be on top, it's fine".

His eyes searched yours for a moment, before you nodded slowly and before Dean lowered himself down beside you, his body trembling with anticipation and desire.

Dean´s fingers trembling slightly as he began to undo the buttons of your pajama shirt.

With a gentle touch, he lowered his mouth to your neck, trailing soft kisses along your skin as his hand slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Are you okay?", he asked softly, his voice laced with concern as he brushed the shirt off your shoulders, revealing your naked breasts to him.

You met his gaze with a mixture of emotions swirling in your eyes—vulnerability, longing, and a hint of fear. But despite the tumultuous storm raging within you, you nodded slowly, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "I'm okay", you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper as you reached out to cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

With a gentle touch, Dean leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss, his hands trailing down your body as he continued to undress you, his touch both reverent and filled with longing.

As you straddled his la, got rid of his shirt and pulled Dean closer, your body pressed against his, you feel the warmth of his skin against yours, sending shivers down your spine. Your nipples graze against his now naked chest, eliciting a soft moan from both of you. Dean's arousal, evident and undeniable, presses eagerly against you.

Dean's hand ventured beneath your pajama pants, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body. As his fingers brushed against your skin, he realized you weren't wearing underwear, and a soft gasp escaped his lips. His hand hovered tantalizingly close to your pussy, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Can I touch you there?", he asked quietly.

Dean's heart skipped a beat as he watched you nod slowly, your breath heavy and your heart racing in sync with his own. The anticipation hung thick in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to crackle with electricity. With a nervous bite of your lip, you gave him the permission he sought, sending a surge of desire coursing through his veins.

His hand trembled slightly as it moved lower, tracing the contours of your soft folds. You let out a soft moan of pleasure, your body arching instinctively towards his touch.

Dean's touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. With each gentle stroke, he teased and tantalized, his fingers dancing over your most intimate parts with a skill that left you breathless. Your head spun with desire as he explored every inch of you, driving you to the brink of ecstasy with each passing moment.

As the heat between you grew, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace. In that moment, there was nothing else that mattered—no past, no future, only the raw, primal desire that burned between you.

As Dean felt the warmth and wetness between your thighs, he knew you were ready. With slow, deliberate movements, he began to ease down your pajama pants, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

"You okay?", he murmured softly, his voice laced with concern as he continued to undress you.

You nodded eagerly, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as you struggled to contain your desire. "Yes, Dean", you whispered. "I want this".

With a final tug, your pants were discarded, leaving you completely exposed before him. And as Dean rid himself of his own sweatpants and boxers, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight of him—powerful and virile, his desire evident in every line and curve of his body.

Your breath hitched as you caught sight of Dean's erection, fear and uncertainty flashing in your eyes as he hovered above you. Sensing your hesitation, Dean froze, his own desire momentarily forgotten as he looked down at you with concern.

"Are you okay?", he asked softly, his voice filled with tenderness as he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort or unease.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find your voice. "I'm just… I'm scared", you admitted.

Dean's expression softened, a look of understanding and compassion flickering in his eyes. "I won't hurt you, I promise", he whispered. "I'll go as slow as you need me to".

Feeling reassured by his words, you let out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thank you", you murmured, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

As Dean continued to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle against yours, you couldn't help but feel a sense of tension and apprehension creeping into your body. Despite his best efforts to reassure you, you remained nervous and tense, unable to fully let go of the fear that still lingered within you.

Sensing your unease, Dean pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours again. When he saw the hurt reflected in your gaze, his heart clenched.

"What can I do to help you relax?", he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I want to make this special for you, to show you how much I care. Just tell me what you need, and I'll do it".

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to express the turmoil raging within you. But then, with a shaky breath, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need… I need you to be patient with me", you admitted, your words tinged with vulnerability. "I need you to understand that I'm still scared. And I need you to hold me, to reassure me that everything will be okay".

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest in a tight embrace. And as you melted into his arms, you felt a sense of comfort and safety wash over you, the tension slowly beginning to ebb away in the warmth of his embrace.

"I'll be gentle, I promise", he murmured, his voice soothing and tender. "We'll go slow, at your pace. Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?".

You nodded, a sense of trust and gratitude washing over you as you buried your face in his chest. "Okay", you whispered.

With a gentle sigh, Dean leaned down and captured your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. His touch was soft and tentative, his lips moving against yours with a tender reverence that made your heart flutter.

As the kiss deepened, you felt his erection pressing against your wet folds, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. Despite your lingering apprehension, you couldn't deny the undeniable chemistry between you, the desire that burned hot and fierce between your bodies.

With a soft moan, you pressed yourself against him, your hips rocking instinctively against his, seeking the delicious friction that would ease the ache deep within you.

Dean’s breath was heavy with anticipation as he looked down at you, his eyes burning with desire and longing. “Can I…?”, he began, nodding towards his between the two of you. His hand moved to his shaft, as if to emphasize his need.

Your heart raced at the thought of finally feeling him inside you again, of surrendering yourself to the passion and intensity of your shared desire. But a flicker of uncertainty danced in your eyes, a lingering reminder of the pain and heartache that had once torn you apart.

“I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with”, he assured you. “I just want to make you feel good, to show you how much I love you”.

With a shaky nod, you reached out and took his hand in yours, guiding him towards you. As his lips met yours in a passionate kiss, you felt the heat and urgency of his desire washing over you, igniting a fire deep within your core.

As Dean pressed slowly inside you, his movements careful and measured as he sought to ease your discomfort. But as he felt you wince beneath him, he immediately stopped, concern flashing in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”, he asked softly, his voice filled with worry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you”.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you met Dean’s gaze. “It’s okay”, you assured him, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I just… I need a moment”.

Dean nodded understandingly, his heart aching at the sight of your discomfort. “I’ll stop”, he whispered, his voice filled with regret. “I should have been more patient with you, especially after… after everything”.

You reached out and placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You’ve always been patient with me”, you murmured, your voice filled with gratitude and love. “Even before that awful night”.

Dean’s eyes softened at your words. “I just want to make things right”, he whispered.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. "I want you to go on", you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to replace those memories of that terrible night with something beautiful, something loving".

Dean's eyes widened in surprise, his heart swelling. "Are you sure?".

You nodded, your gaze never wavering as you met his eyes with unwavering determination. "I'm sure", you whispered. "I want this, Dean. I want us".

As Dean slowly pushed himself inside you, the sensation of being filled with him once again sent shivers down your spine. You moaned softly and breathlessly, your body instinctively responding to his touch. But just as Dean buried himself completely within you, the memories of that terrible night crashed over him like a tidal wave.

His movements faltered, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the weight of his past mistakes bearing down on him. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to push the memories aside, to focus on the here and now, on the love and desire that flowed between you. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the haunting images that lingered in the depths of his mind.

Feeling himself going soft again inside you, Dean’s heart clenched with frustration and self-loathing. He wanted nothing more than to give you pleasure, to show you how much he loved you, but the ghosts of his past refused to release their grip on him.

With a heavy sigh, Dean pulled away from you. “I’m sorry”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I just… I can’t do this right now”. His gaze full of shame, as he got up from the bed and started to get dressed.

As you pulled up the blanket, your heart sank at the sight of Dean's retreating figure. Anxiety gnawed at your insides as you watched him hastily get dressed, his movements tense and hurried. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each one more tumultuous than the last.

Was it something you did? Something you said? Was your hesitation the reason he couldn't stay hard? The weight of your own self-doubt threatened to suffocate you as you struggled to make sense of the situation.

Dean couldn't even look at you right now, so consumed was he by his own guilt and remorse.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched him hastily getting dressed, his actions leaving you feeling confused and hurt. The weight of your own self-doubt pressed down on you like a heavy burden as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

“Did I do something wrong?”, you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you fought to keep the tears at bay. “Was it because of me?”.

Dean paused, his hand hovering over his belt as he turned to face you. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something, to reassure you that it wasn’t your fault. But before he could utter a word, the door swung open, and Sam burst into the room, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight before him.

Misinterpreting the situation, Sam’s eyes darted between you and Dean, confusion evident on his face. “What’s going on?”, he asked, his voice tinged with concern as he took in the scene before him.

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A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 4

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Taglist: @mayafatimakhan

[canadianfangirl-95]

Liar, Liar, Hearts on Fire 

Paramedic Frankie x f!reader 

Summary: After a head spinning car crash, you’re left with unresolved feelings for a handsome paramedic. After finally running into him again, will you and he able to cross the finish line and navigate the ever-changing dating world with your lack of trust in the premise of long-lasting relationships? Or will he be waving a red flag in the end? 

Series Warnings and Information: 18 + minors DNI, reader is in 30s, Frankie in 40s, post events of Triple Frontier, car accident, minor injuries, blended families, divorce, legal/medical mumbo-jumbo which I have done no research on, brief talk about past drug use from reader & Frankie, talks about Toms death, discussion of anxiety medication & anxiety, lying, swearing, reader has hair long enough to put in clip, drinking, fluff, smut, fingering, protected piv, oral f & m receiving 

Series Masterlist 

Chapter 6 Word Count: 7600+ 

Chapter 6  

A nudging at your shoulder wakes you from your sleep. Rolling over with a groan, you’re met with Burts purring face nuzzling your nose. Your eyes flutter open, sore after a night of mostly crying until you finally passed out from exhaustion watching 27 Dresses. Looking at your watch, you see how early it is and roll your eyes. “How poetic.” You mutter to yourself. Here you are, all these weeks later, being woken up too early on a Saturday, by your still hungry dieting cat, single, and with an even bigger disdain towards dating than you had before. You figure you might as well get up to feed him now or he won’t stop bothering you. Not like you won’t be spending the day in bed anyway.  

After feeding Burt, you finally look at your phone and rub your eyes at the number of notifications that came through last night and this morning already. Carlos hadn’t asked any questions, but what he heard from the end of your conversation with Frankie was enough for him to text the rest of your family. Which means you are now sifting through messages from your mom, stepfather and siblings all trying to get you to talk to them. You scroll down and find a text from Frankie from last night.  

Please call me when you can, I wanna talk this out.  

Squinting away the tears that wish to flow again, you swipe away his message and click on Jades name, typing out; 

Frankie and I broke up, call me when you can. 

You pat over to your fridge and grab a Ben and Jerrys chocolate chip ice cream and slide it on to the counter to peel the lid. Just as you are grabbing a spoon from your drawer, your phone starts ringing and you see Jades face light up the screen. Tapping the answer and speaker button you say, “Hey.” In a low baritone voice.  

“Girl what the fuck is this text?” Her voice rings through the receiver.  

You smirk to yourself, how Jade has become as successful as she is with such a sailor’s mouth you don’t know. “We broke up.” You say matter-of-factly. 

“But why did you break up? Do I need to kick his ass?” 

Letting out a chuckle, you take a spoonful of ice cream and place it in your mouth, leaning against the counter. “I know you’re feisty and all but he’s ex-military I’m not sure you can handle this one for me.”  

“Alright, well can you at least tell me what happened?” she asks with a more considerate tone.  

A deep breath leaves your chest, and you rock your head on your shoulders. “Okay, fine. So, everything was great, until it was finally time to sleep together. So, I tell him that I was feeling nervous because it had been a while, and he said it had been a while as well. So, I assumed he meant his ex-wife and he didn’t correct me, he told me that it had been over a year since they slept together.” Taking another big spoonful of ice cream, you can hear the tension of anger beginning to build in your voice. With a mouth full still, you continue. “So, we have sex and it’s great and all. Then, last night we’re at his friend’s birthday party and I see him talking to this, ugh, fucking beautiful girl.” You roll your eyes at the memory of her gorgeous face. “So, I ask his friend Will, hey, who’s that, and Will, completely hammered, accidentally tells me that she’s a, oh get this, flight attendant.” You practically yell. “The sexiest job a woman can have, and that Frankie has a mutual friend with her. Oh, and you know, that she and Frankie hooked up a couple times AFTER he got divorced.” You finish your rant with another bite of ice cream.  

A sigh comes through the phone, “Are you eating ice cream for breakfast?”  

“Fuck off, yes I am eating ice cream for breakfast.” You say with teary eyes. 

“Okay, so then what happened?” She asks. 

Shrugging, you explain. “I fucking ran out of there. He caught up with me, I challenged him on everything and get this, he says he didn’t say that Maria was his last, but that I was the one that said that. He just didn’t correct me.” Flailing your spoon around in the air to enunciate your point.  

“Fucking dick!” She exclaims.  

“Right! So, I had already texted Carlos to pick me up, he showed up. I told Frankie I didn’t want to see him ever again and left. Came home, cried, cried some more and went to bed.” You say finally.  

She lets out a groan, “Men. What the fuck is wrong with these guys? Has he called you?” 

Shaking your head as if she can see you, you say. “No, he texted me though. As well as literally every one of my blood relatives no thanks to Carlos.” You pick up your phone to review the thread of new messages from your mom. Burt has finished his breakfast and is intertwining his body through your legs, offering a calming head nudge with it. A soft smile creeps on your lips, and you lean down to scratch him gently.  

Jade’s voice sounds again. “So, are you gonna talk to him? Get his side of the story?”  

“I don’t know how his side could explain anything. He lied; he admitted it. I told him no lying, the only thing I needed was no lying, and the first opportunity to do so he took it gladly.” Taking a deep breath in your nose, your chest rises and falls as you try to pry through the endless thoughts ravaging your brain at the moment. “I don’t know, I really liked him, but it seems like it was doomed from the beginning. Maybe you shouldn’t try to date someone you met at fucking car crash.” Your voice is laced with disappointment. Not only with Frankie but with yourself. You tried, you finally tried at dating again and it blew up in your face worse than you imagined. You would have been better if you had just stuck to your routine instead of trying to live like your life was a romcom. 

“I know it’s hard sweetie but maybe think about talking to him. At least then you would know everything that happened, and you can make a more confident decision. Okay?”  

Taking a deep gulp, you nod. “Okay, I’ll think about. But not today, today I am going to eat ice cream, wallow in self pity and watch Pride and Prejudice.”  

She chuckles, “Okay. Sounds like a plan. Maybe text your mom back also.”  

“Ugh, has she texted you too?” You ask with a groan. 

“Yeah, a couple times. If you don’t text her back you know she’ll end up at your front door.” She says exasperated.  

“I know. She means well.” You comment, sliding another bite into your mouth.  

A sound of an overhead speaker can be heard through the receiver. “Oh, that’s my flight getting ready to board.” 

“Okay, you get into town at 6:30 tomorrow, right?” You ask. 

“Yes, are you still feeling up to pick me up?” She asks.  

Nodding, you lick your spoon clean. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m just happy to have you home for a few weeks. Talk through this whole thing in person.”  

“Absolutely, whatever you need girl! Except for right now cuz I gotta go. See you tomorrow!” She says excitedly.  

“Bye, safe travels.” You say with a soft smile.  

“Bye!” With that the receiver cuts and you’re left to your own devices again.  

Letting out a huff, you place the ice cream back in your freezer before grabbing your phone and slinking back to your room. Crawling under the covers, you swipe up your moms messages to start easing her worry. It won’t be easy as you may have the most protective family ever, but you try to explain that you’re okay, just need some space. Burt climbs onto the bed and curls up on your lap as you put on another movie to allow your mind to drift into a somewhat peaceful state as you push every thought of Frankie aside as best as you can.  

Frankie sits in his chair with his head back, his uniformed hat sat atop his face to shield it from the overhead lighting as he rests his eyes. Sleep has been distant for him the last two nights as he plays your crisp words over and over in his head. He messed up, he knows he did. It doesn’t surprise him. He’s messed up big before, he just thought you would be the roadblock. The end of his bad streak of terrible life choices. From the first kiss, he just wanted to be the kind of man you would be proud of, impressed by even. He should had known it was all downhill from the moment he saw you step into that conference room. You weren’t looking, just walking with muscle memory alone. His throat went dry the second you stepped through that door. He wanted to duck his head under the table, jump out the window behind him, anything but allow you to see him as your eyes lifted from the paper you were studying. He noted the way your polite smile turned to utter horror as the dots connected and you realized who he was. You navigated the meeting gracefully and he couldn’t believe you agreed to still go on that date with him after all that. 

Immediately, he knew how smart you were. Immediately, he knew how playful you were. He wanted it to work so badly, to be what you needed in each moment that he lied. He lied about his dating history so you would be happy. He loved the way your eyes lit up from their nervous slump when he told you how long ago he was with his ex. He wanted to see your eyes do that every day for the rest of his life, but lying wasn’t the way to go. He cursed himself for starting something so pure with a lie, but he made a promise to himself that you’d never find out, you’d never get hurt, and he’d never do it again.  

That is, until he saw Julia walking up to him. A panic set in as he looked around frantically, hoping that you weren’t nearby. When he felt like the coast was clear, he politely greeted her and maintained a normal conversation. Just long enough so she didn’t feel brushed off or used and then find you and stay by your side the rest of the night so she wouldn’t try to speak to him again. That sure went according to plan. 

A tap on his shoulder settles his thoughts, he tips his hat back into position and straightens up in his seat as Will sits down on the couch beside him.  

“So,” He begins, “How’re you doing?” 

Frankie rubs his eyes with his calloused hands and groans, “Not great, to be perfectly honest.” 

He nods, “Has she answered at all?”  

Shaking his head, he looks down at his lap. “Nope.” 

“Fish, I can’t say this enough. I just-,” he begins, but Frankie lifts his hand up to stop him.  

“You don’t, need to keep apologizing Will. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. You had no idea that she didn’t know, it would be reasonable of you to assume I did tell her because, as we’ve identified in the last couple days, that would’ve been the right thing to do. It’s my mess, please don’t beat yourself up.” He says earnestly.  

Wills head drops down, accepting Frankies words but still feeling the pang in his chest. Looking back up at his friend, he kneads his hands together. He wants to help make this right, in any way that he can. A desperate idea sparks, and his eyes light up, “Send me her number.”  

Frankie looks at him confused, “Why?” 

“Because maybe I can text her, we can talk, and I could get her to meet up with Stacey. They get along, and Stacey is your friend. Maybe she could get her to hear you out.” He says with hope.  

Shrugging, Frankie tilts his body to retrieve his phone from his pocket. “Worth a try, I guess. Couldn’t piss her off more than I already have.” He grimaces when he sees that he still has no notifications and quickly shares your contact with Will.  

“Got it.” Will says, staring at his phone. He starts typing a message and hits send.  

Frankie chews his cheek, “What’d you say?” 

Placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him next to a stack of cards, he says. “Just asked if she had time to talk, not like she won’t know what it’s about.”  

They both sit in silence, Frankie stares at the phone with tired eyes. Hoping it lights up, if it remains still, if you ignore even Will, then you may have already made up your mind on the two of you.  

A few moments later, Frankie has barely remembered to breath. The phone lights up and his eyes blow wide as his heart thuds in his chest. Will quickly snatches up the phone to read it quickly. His eyebrows knit together, and he shifts his body to rest his fist on his knee. 

The anticipation is killing him, he finally asks amongst the silence. “What does it say?” 

Will looks at it again and then up at Frankie before reading it out loud. “Hey Will, sorry I can’t right now I’m leaving for the airport. Maybe when I get home.” Scrunching his nose, he thinks. “Was she planning a trip or why is she going to the airport?” 

“Uh-,” Frankie stutters, “I don’t know. Is she leaving, is she going on a trip? Is she by herself, is she with someone?” His mind races at the thought of you leaving for who knows how long and what could happen during that time. Are you going on a trip to get your mind off of him? Are you going to meet up with someone? “I can’t wait to talk to her when she gets back, she could’ve made up her mind by then.” He says flustered.  

Suddenly standing, Will looks at him confidently. “You gotta catch her before she gets on that flight man.”  

Frankie rises and stares into Wills eyes, thinking, contemplating. Will continues, “You can go, talk to her, it can be all romantic like in the movies. Might be enough to get her to give you another shot when she gets back.”  

Nodding, Frankie places his hands on his hips and mulls. “But my shift isn’t over for another hour, and I don’t have my truck I got a ride with Pope.”  

Will gestures around himself, “Do you see anyone here rushing around to save dozens of lives right now? It’s 6pm on a Sunday, all the people we normally deal with are in church right now so there won’t be any slip and falls. Just go, take the third ambulance. We’ll be fine.”  

Frankie looks at him concerned, “Will, I- I can’t-,” he begins.  

“That’s an order.” Will states, standing firm.  

He chuckles, “You’re not my commanding officer.”  

Nodding, Will says. “No, but I am your friend. A friend who wants to make a big mistake up to you. Just don’t run any reds and keep the lights off.” 

Realizing what this means, Frankie takes a deep breath and lifts his hand. Will meets it with his and they shake. “Thanks man.”  

“Go get your girl.” Will says with a smile.  

Frankie springs into action and runs over to the ambulance not in use. It needs a few repairs to be in the service but still drives enough to be road legal. The bay door opens, and he squeals out in the direction of the airport. 

You text Will back and tuck your phone in your purse before sliding into your car. During your drive to pick Jade up from the airport, you think further about Frankie. You really gave it some thought today, it’s a hard situation. You have strong feelings for him, but he broke your trust. He’s been a positive addition to your life, you’ve been getting out more, your family says you’ve been brighter. But now he’s been responsible for one of your worst moments, your biggest let downs in someone. Most people, you can see it coming. Their character is driven by something other than trust. It just didn’t feel that way with Frankie, it felt different. Something bigger, better even.  

Parking in the visitor lot, you grab your bag and slide out of your car, locking it behind you. The day is warm as usual, light shining harshly against the dark pavement. Travellers mull about around you. You overhear plans of people being reunited, of exciting vacations and business trips. You’re excited to see Jade again, hoping she can ease your tired heart a bit as you continue to maneuver the debauchery that is your love life.  

You’re about to enter the sliding airport access doors when your name gets called out from behind you and you still at the voice.  

Frankie races through the streets to the airport, heart beating fast and pulse quickening. He doesn’t know how much time he has or if you’ll be too far gone into the airport by the time he gets there. Pulling up to the emergency parking, his eyes widen as he sees you slowly walking towards the doors. He quickly parks haphazardly and jumps out, racing over to the sidewalk. A staff member begins to interrupt him, but he rushes past him, he’ll deal with the parking situation later.  

Before you can get too far, he calls your name with exasperated breath.  

You turn, and through the crowd of people, see an ambulance parked against curb, and Frankie. In his uniform, his hair curling out from underneath the hat, looking just as he did on that fateful day that you first met. Your heart thumps in your chest loudly as he races towards you through the crowd. He finally stops in front of you, breathing laboured as you take in the desperate plea in his eyes.  

Beginning to well up, you gesture to him with your hands. “Frankie?” 

Letting out a deep breath, his hand raises to calm you before he starts. “You’re right, I am a liar. I lied, I did.” His hands come to his chest as your movement stops, breath stilled as you wait to see what he says next. “A bunch of times. I lied on our first date, actually. I didn’t just become a paramedic because I wanted to be a team with my friends again and help people, it’s because I felt like I owed it to everyone.” He begins counting on his fingers. “Everyone I’ve ever hurt in my work, in my actions, my leader Tom, my ex, my son, I felt like I needed to give back and help people to make some sort of amends for what I’ve done and all the mistakes I’ve made.” His eyes are worrisome, as if telling you all that will solidify any decision you’ve made. You look at him considerately and relax your shoulders from their tight position under your ears. “I lied when I said you looked nice that night at the bar, because you didn’t, you looked fucking beautiful. I lied when I agreed with you that our kiss on your porch was perfect. It was so much more than that. It felt like I was lifted in the fucking air. It was, it was everything I needed in that moment after what I think, - what I know, was the best first date I’ve ever been on.” He lets out a deep breath again and a soft smile creeps on your face at his words. His face lightens. “And I lied in your office, my first kiss wasn’t Colin in the 4th grade. It was Isabella in the 9th grade after we got ice cream on an absolutely terrible date.” You both let out a childish giggle and his eyes deepen as they gaze at your smile.  “What I’m trying to say is, I’m going to lie. I’m sorry but I will. It will be in ways where I just don’t express how I feel fully, or where I hide a little part of me because there are some things in my life that are just for me. But I promise, if you’ll give me another chance, to do my absolute best and be the kind of partner you can trust.” He finally places his hands on his hips and relaxes, waiting on your response.  

Your smile fades as your mind races and you look at how his chest rises and falls with his breathing. His words speak volumes to you, but actions are more tangible. Things you can see, feel, understand. “Frankie, listen.” You begin and you see how quickly he deflates. “Thank you, for everything you said. I genuinely appreciate it. I’ve been racking my brain the last few days. Trying to weigh out the possibilities and what ifs.” You look up in desperation, willing the tears that want to flow once again to hold off. “I’ve loved our relationship, so much of it has been wonderful. I just, don’t know if I can trust you.”  

He bites his bottom lip and looks down at the ground before meeting your eyes again. “I can’t make you trust me. I know more than most that it’s something you earn.” 

Taking a breath in, you continue. “Everything you said, it’s all perfect and sweet and admirable. But at the end of the day, they’re just words and you’ve used words before, and they ended up hurting me.” You say earnestly and he nods.  

“Red, if you’ll let me, I want to try to prove to you that I can be as open and honest and vulnerable as you need me to be. I don’t know how yet, but I can promise you that this won’t happen again.” Frankie says desperately.  

You take in his eyes, his lips, the way he’s spoken to you, the ambulance parked illegally just a few feet away and your face lightens. “Ok.” You whisper. 

He stares as if he didn’t hear you right. “What?” 

Letting out a huffed laugh, you restate. “Ok. Fuck it Frankie, I missed you so much and I wanna trust you.” His smile bursts on his face and crinkles the skin around his eyes. You nod before continuing, “You have a lot to work on for sure, but I think I definitely could’ve done things differently as well. I shouldn’t had run. I should’ve stayed to talk and for that I’m sorry.” 

Smiling, he steps forward. “Hey, it’s okay. We all make mistakes. We just have to work together if we wanna make this work.” You nod, feeling teary eyed and he moves to wrap his arms around your quivering body. “I’m so sorry Red, I really am.” He whispers into your hair as he grazes his hand up and down your spine.  

Taking in the sweet scent of him, you nuzzle your face into his chest and let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry too. I missed you.”  

“I missed you too.” He says, pulling back gently. An announcement sounds over a speaker, and he becomes overwhelmingly aware that you are leaving now. “So, when will you be back?”  

Looking up at him, you ask. “Back from where?” 

“Wherever you’re going. I wanna sit down and talk more when you get back.” He says, gesturing behind you at the doors.  

Turning to look over your shoulder, you realize what assumption he’s made. “Ohhh.” You say, your cheeks warming. “I’m not going anywhere; I’m just picking Jade up to drop her off at her apartment.”  

He looks up in thought and then lets out a chuckle, “I thought, - the text you sent to Will was that you were going to the airport. I thought I made you so mad you were leaving.” His hand rises to rub at the crease forming between his eyebrows.  

Your mouth gapes. “Oh, Frankie did you rush all the way here because you thought I was going on a trip?” 

“I mean, yeah.” He says with a laugh. “I was worried you were gonna go on some sort of vacation to get your mind off me and fall in love with a stud named Julio or something.” You both giggle profusely at his assumption. “I think I broke several traffic laws on the way here and I am definitely breaking a parking law as we a speak.” He says, looking over his shoulder at the collection of airport security who are examining his ambulance at the moment.  

Following his eyeline, you grimace. “Oh, I am so sorry.” You let out a laugh and then take his face in your hands, pulling it back to face you. “But I’m not going anywhere, and I’m definitely not going to leave you for Julio.” You say, a smirk dancing across your face.  

Frankies eyes lower to your mouth and he grins. “Good.” He whispers, before leaning in. Your lips meet and time stops. The hustle and bustle around you disappear as your mouths move together, your hands grip his face as his find your waist, squeezing you closer.  

After a few moments of connection, you release him and rest your forehead against his. “Why don’t you come over after your shift? We’ll talk.” You say in a whisper.  

“I’ll be there.” He says, before kissing your forehead.  

You break apart and smile at each other as he turns to make his way back over to the mess he left with his ambulance. Biting your lip to tone down the grin that wants to permanently stick to your face, you make your way through the airport, excited to find Jade and tell her all about it.  

You’re buzzing with excitement as you walk from the kitchen to the front door after hearing the knock. You and Jade chatted the whole way back to her place about your conversation with Frankie at the airport and what’s to come. As the door opens, your face lights up at the image of Frankie on the other side. Still wearing his uniform but his chocolate curls are freed from the confinement of the hat. His hands are tucked into his pockets, nervously picking the loose threads inside. The right side of his mouth twitches into a smirk when you open the door with a bright smile. “Hey.”  

“Hey.” You repeat back to him, leaning against the door. “Wanna come in?” You ask, even though you know the answer.  

“If you’ll still have me.” Frankie says, rolling back on the balls of his feet. The late evening sun illuminating his back.  

Nodding, you step aside so he can pass. He happily moves forward and ducks down to say hi to Burt before making his way to the living room to sit down. You watch as he moves cautiously through your space. Every step he takes is intentional, as if not to spook the house and have it reject him. You ask him if he wants a glass of wine with you before disappearing to the kitchen. As you pour the glasses, you try to push down the ache that has been building since opening the door and seeing him in that damn uniform again. Why does a man in uniform have to be so attractive? Why does it automatically make them 30% hotter? After your first time with Frankie, you had been aching to have him again. To feel his body against yours until a few nights ago. Seeing him again, looking so handsome and authoritative, after the heart-felt conversation you had at the airport, it’s stirring that all up again. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you put on a casual face to go out to the living room and sit beside him.  

You talk for a while, draining the wine bottle. He explains he and Julia slept together 3 times over the year since he and Maria broke up. It never meant anything emotionally and he texted her yesterday to explain that he couldn’t continue being friends with her outside of a mutual friendship with Mo. You talk more about your job, some of the breakups you’ve seen that have really stuck with you, and the big red flags in relationships that you’ve developed because of those situations. He expresses how worried he is to see Carlos and your family, and you assure him that you’ve spent the last day and a half hearing from them about how happy he’s made you and how they all hoped the two of you would work it out.  

A while later, the two of you find yourselves inched up together. Your legs draped over his lap, his arm on the back of the couch around you as your hand fiddles with the buttons on his shirt. Letting a deep sigh out, you ask, “So, what do we do now?”  

He grins and looks down at you, “Well I’d say our relationship has been anything but conventional. So why don’t we just do what feels right? We can make it up as we go along. As long as you’re happy, then I’m happy.”  

He shifts in his seat to edge a little closer to you and his movement wafts another breath-taking scent of his cologne through your sinus’. The wine is doing everything it can to push the two of you together, and you think now’s a good enough time to stop pushing away the things you want, and just dive in.  

“You know what would make me really happy, Frankie?” You say, your voice laced with lust as you look up at him through your lashes.  

A devilish smirk spreads on his face, “What would that be pretty girl?” He asks, his voice smooth as aged liquor.  

Your hand rises to hold his bearded chin as you guide his mouth towards yours. Your lips meet and you feel the rush of desire that coursed through your veins the first time you slept together. His hand comes to clutch your thigh on his lap, squeezing tightly causing a moan to escape your lips. Tongues prod at lips and you deepen the kiss, growing hungrier for each other. Breaking apart slightly, you let out a deep breath and look at him.  

“Come to bed with me Frankie.” You whisper.  

He groans, “Are you sure baby? I don’t wanna go too fast if you’re not ready. I wanna do it right this time around.”  

Taking a gulp you nod, “I’m ready. Please, I want all of you. Whatever you’ll give me. I wanna start this over, a new first time together, in the new chapter of our story.”  

His eyes darken and he swiftly lifts you up into the air as he stands, your arms quickly clutch at his neck, and you giggle as he turns effortlessly towards your bedroom. You grin against each others’ mouths and pepper kisses across his face as he crosses the threshold of your room and kicks the door shut. Gently placing you down on the bed, his face follows yours with feverish kisses. Excited and happy to have all of him again, you quickly tug your t-shirt over your head and unclasp your bra, tossing it aside. He stands before you and gazes at your bare top. 

“You are, so beautiful sweetheart. I’ll never get tired of this view.” He gushes and your cheeks warm under his eyes.  

You stand confidently, and take hold of your shorts and panties, pushing them down your legs. His eyes never leave yours until you step out of your clothing and stand in front of him. Him dressed, and you fully exposed, your folds already glistening with arousal.  

A deep breath leaves his nose, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”  

“You haven’t seen nothing yet.” You whisper, stepping towards him. Your hands find his broad shoulders under his Paramedic jacket, and you squeeze before slowly dipping to your knees before him.  

He mutters under his breath as his gaze follows you, “Oh fuck.” His fingers graze your chin as you slowly take his belt buckle in your hands and undo it before unzipping his uniformed pants. You glance up at him seductively before your hand reaches into his Calvin Klein boxers to pull out his aching member. He’s half hard and oh so ready for your tongue.  

You hum to yourself as you take in the sight of his manhood again before your mouth leans forward, taking his tip. He groans and his hand comes to hold the back of your head, rustling your hair. You take him deeper as he begins to grow within your mouth. Hallowing out your cheeks with his size. Saliva coats his cock as your hand pumps him up and down into your mouth. Curses leave his lips and his head tips back with pleasure. He revels in the sweet feeling of your throat as you take as much of him as you can. You take a deep breath into your nose before pushing as hard as you can down and allowing his cock to drive deep into your throat.  

He groans harshly and his free hand races to the bridge of your head and neck, squeezing your throat. “Fuck, can feel me inside of you baby. Fuck that’s so sexy.” He gushes.  

You grin as your lips slide off his dick and his shoulders slump forward. You raise to stand, and he cocks his head and bites his lip as his eyes narrow at you.  

“Get on the bed.” He commands. You comply, turning around to kneel on the bed, offering a delicious view of your ass before turning and laying back, propping yourself up with your elbows.  

He steps to the end of the bed and his tongue traces the inside of his cheek. You watch eagerly as he peels off his Paramedic jacket and tosses it to the flow. Slowly, agonizingly, he begins unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a white tank top underneath. His chest fills it and pulls it taut as your mouth waters. After removing the shirt, his bare tan chest greeting you, he pulls down his pants and removes his socks to stand bare before you. Giving his cock a few pumps as he takes in the sight of you naked and spread for him, he grins and kneels on the bed to wedge his shoulders between your thighs. 

Your breath escapes you as your head falls back onto the bed. Frankie begins peppering light kisses to your sensitive inner thighs, so close to where you need him.  

He places a kiss, “You know, I heard you that night with Stacey. What you said about how good your legs would look on my shoulders.” Your eyes widen as you hear him out. Another devastating kiss to your flesh. You whimper. “I couldn’t agree more.” His hands clutch your thighs and toss them over his shoulders, as he stretches forward and envelopes your clit in a tongued open-mouthed kiss. Your back stiffens and a moan leaves your lips at the sensation. 

Frankie grins against your folds before licking your moist pussy. He licks and sucks, prods and nips at your hole and clit. The feelings sending a warmth through your body. Your hands fly down to grasp at his curls, and he groans into you as you pull on a handful of threads. Your orgasm fast approaches, he sucks on your clit tightly and it throws you over the edge. Your thighs clasp around his head, squeezing him but it only makes him double down. Sucking you as you grind into his face, gasping for air. “Oh fuck!” You scream. 

Your legs finally go weak and collapse open as your orgasm settles and your breathing comes back. He nips at your inner thigh one more time before rising up your body. “Taste so fucking good baby.” He kisses you tenderly and the taste of your arousal on his tongue has you pushing your lower body up to gain more friction. Your clit scrapes his abs, and you whimper. He looks down between your bodies as you begin to slowly grind yourself against his stomach. “Are you gonna rub yourself off on my abs?”  

Your eyes squeeze shut with frustration as you continue to rock your bare core against his body. “Greedy girl.” He whispers before leaning his head down to take one your hardened nipples into his mouth, nipping it harshly. You cry out as your sensitive bud rocks against him and his attack on your breast hurtles you deeper and you come undone again. He presses his body down into your clit and rubs up and down gently as he works you through it. You still, and moan as your body relaxes again. Reaching a brief moment of contentment.  

“I uh- I’ve never done anything like that before.” You whisper. Frankie leans back on his ankles, and you perk up. “Oh, I actually got condoms.” You say before turning on the bed to reach into the bed side table, grabbing one out and giving it to him. He takes it from you and nods in appreciation for thinking of him. He slides the condom on and eyes you intently. “How do you want me beautiful?”  

Your chest rises quickly as you bite your lip, gazing at his body. “Behind.” You say in a hushed tone meant only for him.  

His hands clasp your waist and turns you onto your stomach. They find your hips again and he pulls your ass up, burying your face in the mattress. Fingers sliding down your spine as he lines himself up with your entrance. You wait in anticipation to be split open. Finally, you feel his hardened tip push through your hole, and he begins to bury himself in you. You both groan and he takes a deep breath before pulling back and slamming into you. His hands grip your ass with bruising pressure as he rocks back and forth. Your eyes start to well with tears at the sheer pleasure that is building inside you.  

He grunts, “You feel fucking amazing. I’ll never be able to get enough of this tight pussy.” His voice run through your veins and your toes start to cramp as you tighten around him. “Oh, yeah. Squeeze me baby, fucking choke me.” He says. Your orgasm drills into you and the force you apply to his cock squeezes his own release out of him. You both moan as your hips instinctively rock back against his cock to work yourself through it. He clasps your hips, and his head falls as his body relaxes while your cunt milks his over-sensitive cock.  

Out of breath, he releases his hold and collapses onto the bed beside you. Your hips rest onto the comforter and you both lay there, deep breaths as you try to calm yourselves down.  

After regaining some of your strength, you roll over and nuzzle yourself into his chest, his arm drapes over yours and holds you tightly.  

“Stay the night?” You whisper.  

“Anything for you.” He says, placing a kiss to your forehead. 

You allow your body to rest, your eyes closing with tiredness. “Take me out for dinner tomorrow?”  

“Of course.”  

You chew the inside of your cheek. “Better not be lying.” You quip quietly.  

Frankie smirks and grazes his finger on your nose. “Not gonna be a problem, Red.” 

Easing back into a relationship with Frankie took time, lots of talking and consideration for each others’ circumstances. You started spending more time with Nico, the boys and Stacey. Frankie met Jade before she headed out again, and after a thorough interrogation she gave him her sacred Jade stamp of approval. It was starting to fall into place, your heart was warm every time you saw him. His deep brown eyes would light up when you smiled. After much discussion with him and your family, you finally decided to have him meet them. They were so excited, but you had wanted to stay in your little bubble as long as possible before welcoming him fully into that more guarded part of your life.  

Your mom organized a dinner, at you guessed it, Federicos. Renting out the back room. Even your dad and stepmom would be there, allowing Frankie to see wholly what a blended family can become with a little bit of elbow grease and a whole lot of love.  

The big divorce case you’ve been working on forced you to work long hours again lately, so Frankie dropped you off at the office with a change or clothes so he could pick you up to go directly to the restaurant to save some time. 

After a grueling day of paperwork, you finally close your computer and change into your dress and wedges for the evening. As you arrive in the lobby, Frankie steps through the doors with a wide smile. You match his expression before noticing the manila folder in his hand.  

“Hey babe.” You say, kissing his cheek. Thankful that everyone else has already departed for the day.  

“Hey, how was your day?” he asks, resting a hand on your hip.  

Letting out an exhausted breath, you say. “Long, but happy to see you.” Looking down at the folder, you ask. “What’s this?”  

“Oh, I got my final paperwork, and I had some questions. I’m hoping you have a few minutes to go over it before we leave.” He says, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“Oh, yeah of course. Let’s just go to-,” 

“Conference room B?” He asks, a grin dancing on his face. 

You smirk and nod as he follows you to the room. You take a seat in the chair closest to the door, the same that you had sat in all those weeks ago when you were abruptly met with the man you had just kissed at a bar. You’re slightly surprised when he rounds the table and sits at the chair he had sat in that day as well instead of the one beside you. You eye him suspiciously. “So, what you got?” 

Frankie slides the folder across the table, “Just had some final stuff to go over.”  

Opening the folder, your chest warms as you read the header out loud. “Terms of dating me, sign at the bottom if you would still like me to meet your family.” When your eyes rise to look at him, he has a shy smile on his face.  

“I know I messed up, and I have a lot of trust to build. I told you I would work on ways to show you how serious I am and I think it’s a great step that you’re letting me meet your family. I really appreciate it. So, I thought this would give us another little push in the right direction, like what you did for me.” He says earnestly.  

You shake your head and smile; this is truly fitting for your relationship. “Alright, well let’s dig in then.” Sitting back in your seat you pull the list up to your eyes to read, he shifts his body weight slightly as he waits. Clearing your throat, you begin. “Had a dog named Trooper when you were a kid, would like to get another dog one day for Nico.” Smiling, you look at him across the table. “I love dogs, I would have one if my house was bigger.” You continue, “Your sister calls you Mashed Potatoes because you threw mashed potatoes at her when you were a kid. Your favourite birthday dinner is steak and eggs. You wear socks until they are basically threads before finally throwing them out.” You say with a chuckle. He smiles on with you before his face turns hard. “You-,” You begin before taking a breath in your nose. “You have been on anti-anxiety medication since you left the service.”  

His eyes meet yours and he leans forward, “I went through a lot, during my time in the army. I saw a lot of things, did a lot of things I’m not proud of. So, I got some help when I got out. That medication helps calm me down and not spiral in my thoughts so much. It’s something I take everyday, and I probably will for the rest of my life.” He stills; you wait in the silence. “I told you before that there are some things in my life that are just for me, especially my history as a soldier. I promise not to lie, but I also can’t tell you everything that you may ask about because it’s too hard for me to revisit those places. I know you want honesty, transparency, but I hope you can understand.” 

Your hand stretches across the table, and he meets with his own, your eyes threaten to pour tears like Niagara Falls. “Of course, Frankie. I completely understand.”  

He nods and releases your hand to lean back. You watch him lovingly before he says, “So, Red.” He begins and you smirk. “If you’re still interested in this whole thing I’ve got going on over here, care to sign on the dotted line?” He asks hopefully.  

Your shoulders relax and you chew your cheek before looking at him through your lashes. You grab the pen in the pen holder in the middle of the table and swiftly sign your name at the bottom of the page, tapping the pen sharply at the end to seal the deal.  

The next time you’re sat at a table with Frankie, signing documents, is at your bank. Signing the deal for your new home, and the life you’ll build together.  

Chapter 5

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed my first series!

[impala-dreamer]

3 fucking weeks and 7600 words later this goddamned epic angst is done!

[ao3feed-ateez]

match point

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OfnqSAx by raindaze “I’m Spiderman.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Okay, so. There's this guy: Mingi. We’ve been playing Val for a couple of months. He’s great. I'm also his tutor.” “Right.” “He doesn’t know that I’m also his tutor.” “I’m sorry, I don’t get how this relates to Spiderman?” Yunho turns to San like he's grown three heads. “Double life? Existential crisis? Lying to a loved one about your identity? Ringing any bells?” [OR: Yunho makes a new online friend, not expecting it to be the person he has to tutor throughout the semester. Mingi gets a tutor, not knowing that it's the one who has been head-shotting him every night for the past month.] Words: 7600, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ), Song Mingi (ATEEZ), Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ), Kang Yeosang, Choi San (ATEEZ), Choi Jongho (ATEEZ), Kim Hongjoong, Park Seonghwa, ATEEZ Ensemble Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi (ATEEZ), Choi San/Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ), Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Mainly yungi with a side of woosan and seongjoong, tutor jeong yunho, Gamer Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ), Gamer Song Mingi (ATEEZ), Online Friendship, Miscommunication, Idiots in Love, Pining, Jealous Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ), Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Explicit Sexual Content, not until later tho, Yunho is having a crisis, one-sided enemies to friends to lovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OfnqSAx

[nothingtolosebutweight]

Don't turn your back on me - 6. The sacrifice of hiding in a lie

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| Pairing: Ivar x Heahmund | Words: ~7600 [AO3] | Masterpost | Warnings: The usual heartbreak and longing, oh and don't slip on the cheesiness at the end. | Notes: It took me forever to get back to those two, because my first draft was kind of lacking and so my motivation dropped and other stories took over. Then about a week ago I started all over again and had such a blast writing them again. Sometimes you just have to take some distance to fall in love again ;) I hope some of you still remember these two (three 😼) and what a mess I made for them. @vaire-gwir Thanks as so often for reading through the first drafts and ideas and taking the time to write sweet comments in my document. It always keeps the motivation high while writing ❤

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With a smile on his face and a, "See you later." on his lips, Heahmund ended the call, shoved his cell phone back in his pocket, and tried to get back to work. Since he had arrived at his office about four hours ago, this had been the third call from Ivar.

He was still living with him, by now for almost two weeks. The time had passed frantically, as Heahmund found. They were so used to living together that his initial concern, that living with an ex might quickly become awkward, had not come true.

Instead, the opposite case had occurred. He felt better than before. Having someone around, besides Grace, felt refreshing. Heahmund enjoyed waking up in the morning and knowing that just one door away was someone who would spend the day with him. Someone who meant a lot to him, who made Heahmund feel alive and full of beans again, and who had brought laughter back into his everyday life, thus also the danger that permanent wrinkles would form because they had so much fun together. 

Unlike the worry lines on his forehead that scratched at his vanity, he would show off his permanent laughter lines with pride, and not feel remorseful about them.

Only sleeping on the couch was a bit of a downer. This, and along with it also the avoidance of too much intimacy, they had maintained.

They lived together like friends, at least that's what Heahmund regularly told himself, ignoring the fact that his body and his desires saw it quite differently. Having Ivar around all the time was as wonderful as it was a little torture, a constant test of his self-imposed celibacy.

Every time his eyes dipped too long into Ivar's sea-blue depths, he lost himself in the waves of affection that broke loose inside him, storming and shaking the safe haven he called friendship. He wanted to be as close to Ivar as possible, every time he surrendered to the magic of those eyes, wanted to hold him, caress him, whisper all the sweet things in his ear that he only dared to say in his mind.

It was maddening how often his gaze lingered on Ivar’s mouth, while they talked, wondering if kissing him would feel as heavenly as it had been. He longed to kiss him to get an answer to that tantalizing question. Sweet and innocent at first, savoring the first tender pleasure, while bedding himself in delight on those soft pillows. He wanted to feast on the sweet nectar of Ivar's rosy lips, devour them hotly and intimately after the first quenching of his thirst, plunder him until he could only gasp his surrender, bereft of all sanity.

Whenever Ivar ate something and licked his lips, memories of earlier blissful moments came up in Heahmund, which this tongue and mouth had given him. The worst for him was when Ivar carelessly - or certainly with ulterior motives - walked around the apartment half-naked. It had thrown him off guard the very first evening when Ivar had walked into the bathroom before him, wearing only his underwear. As much as he had wanted to keep a cool head, at that moment Heahmund couldn't keep his eyes from examining the desirable body as thoroughly as he could without Ivar noticing. This had happened several more times in the following days.

Heahmund simply didn't know what to do. His libido was on fire. Lust ran through his veins at the sight of Ivar and made his blood boil with desire. It made his thoughts drift into the wicked, releasing memories that shot straight to his loins, and not only once had it happened that his walk to the bathroom had taken a little longer than it would have without this previous torment.

If it had only been up to his desire, Heahmund would have long since thrown his misgivings and doubts about their future together overboard, would have grabbed Ivar to conquer him again, to snack on him as if he were his personal banquet. 

Ivar was like his own apple from the Garden of Eden, tempting, somehow forbidden by a self-imposed ban. 

Heahmund wasn’t sure if he would open his newfound paradise by giving in to his urges, or if this would be the first step into his personal hell again, as an inner voice always whispered to him in such seductive moments, wanting to warn him of the dangers that lurked in secret.

Heahmund also didn't want to make this agonizing decision about which path was right for them, dependent solely on his testosterone. That would be foolish. There was so much more to a relationship than being physically attracted to someone. That's why he felt safer lingering at this crossroads called friendship. He couldn't do anything wrong if he didn't take a step in one direction or the other. At least that's what he told himself in times of doubt or temptation.

Aside from his troubled hormones, everything else was great. They usually spent their days together, exploring some corners of the area so that Ivar could also see something of Ireland during his stay. They went out to eat at various restaurants, watched an old movie at the local theater, often just went for a walk, and enjoyed the beautiful nature that Heahmund's homeland had to offer.

Today, however, was the first day he had to leave Ivar alone in his apartment. Over the past few days, he had been able to work through his workload at home. Mostly two to three hours in the early morning, until they had found a plan for the day, and a bit in the evening, when they had made themselves comfortable in the living room. Today, though, his presence had been required in the office; there had been no way around it.

For Heahmund it was not strange that Ivar was now alone in his home. He trusted him, and after all, they had lived together just like that before. He had no secrets, and he didn't expect Ivar to use this time to snoop through his drawers now either.

Still, something was nagging at him, making him look up from his work again to glance at his phone, thoughtfully. All three calls from Ivar had quite a plausible reason, but the banality of the questions made them suspicious. It wouldn't have been a disadvantage if Ivar had asked him these things in the evening when he was back home. So there had to be another reason why Ivar had felt the need to call him straight away.

Heahmund didn't feel bothered or even controlled by it, but he was concerned. Something felt off. Therefore, he hurried with his tasks. Finished only the most necessary, so that he could pack his bag to go home an hour earlier than previously planned. Otherwise, he simply couldn't find peace and, along with it, the mental capacity to really focus on his work.

Outside, winter had returned with full force. The cold crept into his bones as soon as he stepped out of the office building, making him pull the collar of his coat tighter around his neck. Thick flakes had been falling from the sky since the early hours of the morning, covering the small streets in the Irish province in immaculate white. It was nothing unusual for late February, but it annoyed Heahmund that it took him a little longer to get home because of it. 

He voluntarily chose another delay when he stopped at an Asian restaurant to get something for them both to eat, not feeling like cooking today. The choice was easy for him, as he still knew Ivar's culinary preferences.

Shortly before he arrived home, he sent Ivar a short voice message to let him know that he would be back soon, and with something to eat on top of that. It wasn't long before he received a reply consisting of a happy-looking emoji and the words that Ivar was looking forward to it. Heahmund thought it was sweet, and he also missed him, strange as it may sound. He couldn't wait himself to dive back into their togetherness. It felt a little like they had been apart for months again, and not just a little more than six hours.

He had barely unlocked the door to his apartment when Heahmund found himself confronted with four eyes in which the joy over his return was clearly visible. It was definitely an amusing sight and also one he would like to get used to again. It was nice to come home and not just be greeted by a cat that first drew attention to the empty food bowl, complained about a dirty litter box in second place, and only at the last indicated with a small gesture that the human's presence was indeed appreciated.

"Hey," he greeted them both with a grin on his face as he closed the door behind him, already in the process of taking off his shoes and then placing them neatly with the others. Next, he took off his jacket, after he had put the food he had brought with him on the small dresser in the hallway.

Normally, he would have turned to Grace first to greet her with a gentle nuzzle so as not to upset her. The events of the day, however, caused him to reconsider this approach and Heahmund turned his attention to Ivar first. Without saying another word, he opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, and Ivar, who had apparently just been waiting for it, sank right into the offered embrace, nestling his head in the crock of Heahmund’s neck. 

Hugging was nothing new for them and nothing unusual for Heahmund either. Friends were also allowed to hug each other. It was a purely innocent gesture, and in a way, it served as an alibi for both of them to be close to each other without committing to a kind of relationship that one of them still shied away from. In an embrace, they could satisfy their need to feel each other skin on skin, enjoying the endorphins this gesture released in them.

Especially at this moment, it was more than needed. Heahmund sensed it clearly and therefore remained in his position longer than usual, holding Ivar close to him, rubbing in slow movements over his back to soothe him a bit. It was convenient for him, too. His body, tortured by the cold, enjoyed the warmth that passed from Ivar to him.

"Is everything all right?" Heahmund asked after a while, his lips resting close to Ivar's temple, brushing his skin while talking.

"Yes," Ivar said in a soft sigh. "Just give me one more minute."

"I'll give you two if you put the food on plates afterward while I quickly go to the bathroom."

Ivar nodded in agreement, but then realized that Heahmund probably couldn't really see that. He uttered a quick "Deal," before closing his eyes again to fully enjoy the embrace, restraining himself from brushing his lips over the skin in front of them. The urge was there, but as it had been all the time he'd been here, he tried to respect Heahmund's boundaries.

He didn't count to 120, so maybe Ivar even had a few seconds left when he broke free from the hug and smiled gratefully at Heahmund. To fulfill his part of the agreement, he grabbed the plastic bag with the food inside and made his way to the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Heahmund lean down to pick Grace up to carry her in his arms on his way to the bathroom. Ivar couldn't suppress his jealousy when he witnessed Grace getting her little head kissed as well. It wasn’t fair in his opinion.

When Heahmund came back out of the bathroom, Ivar was still busy in the kitchen, just about to grab the cutlery. Heahmund's gaze wandered over to the adjoining living room, where the television was playing a movie he had already heard when he arrived. His bedspread, which lay on the couch during the day, was no longer neatly folded on the edge as he had left it this morning. Instead, it lay crumpled over the seating area, one corner folded back diagonally, indicating that Ivar had been lying on the couch snuggled up in his blanket until his return. A corner at the edge, with a smaller indentation, made him smile. Grace must have settled there because she also wanted a corner of his blanket for herself. Most likely, Ivar had not dared to withhold it from her.

In contrast to outside, where icy cold prevailed, a warming idyll filled his apartment, as Heahmund noticed when he took a moment to let everything around him sink in. This perception had nothing to do with the turned-up heating. It was something else that made him think that way. Something domestic. The thought crept in that together with Grace they could be something resembling a small family.

When he let his gaze slide back to Ivar, his belief was only further confirmed. His guest was in the process of retrieving two glasses from one of the upper kitchen cabinets. The soda he was going to drink during the meal he had already taken from the refrigerator. They were such mundane activities, but still, they triggered a feeling of comfort and coziness in Heahmund. Ivar no longer needed to ask where he kept certain items in his apartment. After more than two weeks, he knew where everything important was stored and took what he needed as if it belonged to him, too. It felt normal for them to share everything, as normal as it was for Heahmund to watch Ivar in his kitchen, handling things as if he had been living here for years already. It just felt right, not in any way out of place.

With a smile on his lips, which always formed automatically when he got lost in these thoughts, Heahmund went to the kitchen and took the two plates that were already on the kitchen sideboard to carry them to the living room. He didn't miss the opportunity to stroke briefly through Ivar's hair beforehand, which made the younger smile as well.

"Let's eat comfortably on the couch while we continue watching your movie. You'll just have to fill me in on what I've already missed."

"We can rewind. I wasn't paying that much attention anyway," Ivar replied, filling his glass with his chosen soda. He had been too busy with his cell phone, texting with Ubbe and his mother, with whom he was in daily contact. They were still worried about him, found the spontaneous trip more than questionable. In the meantime, he had told them the reason and also where he was, but this hadn't necessarily met with enthusiasm within his family and it hadn't made them worry any less. However, in the end, it was his life, therefore his decision, and it was already too late for objections anyway. Nevertheless, he had been able to reassure them a little that he was doing well, and in the few times they had facetimed with each other, it wasn't lost on them that he seemed happier again, that genuine euphoria and joy bubbled out of him when he spoke about the activities he had done that day together with Heahmund. 

"Okay, all the better. Oh, and can you please give Grace something to eat before we start?" This was their tactic to endear Ivar to her. Since the unfortunate incident in the middle of the night, Ivar had taken over the feeding and it seemed to have at least the effect that Grace didn't want to spoil it with him. They hadn't become the best of friends yet, but they lived peacefully side by side. Otherwise, Heahmund wouldn’t have left them alone together.

"Of course. I've thought about that, too. And what about you? Do you want water with your meal as usual?"

“That would be great. Thanks,” my love. The old pet name was so often on the tip of his tongue, and it was not the first time that it had almost slipped out. Heahmund's heart wanted to say it, it felt natural to him, but his mind kept resisting, not wanting to say those two simple words, after all, they were too revealing.

Less than two minutes later, they were sitting together on the couch. Each of them in a corner, with part of the blanket over their legs and a plate on their lap. Their legs were side by side, touching, and apart from the noise of the TV, they ate their first bites in silence. Grace had settled on the backrest next to Heahmund's head, closely watching every bite he brought to his mouth, hoping that something would soon fall down for her to grab.

"Don't you like it?" Heahmund asked after seeing Ivar just poke at his food a few times without bringing the fork to his mouth.

"What?" Ivar looked up in confusion, torn from his thoughts.

Heahmund gestures with a nod to Ivar's lap: "Your food. Would you like me to prepare something else for you? I thought I couldn't go wrong ordering the crispy duck for you. Wasn't that always your first choice when eating Asian food?"

"Yes, you're right about that." Ivar looked up and smiled fondly. It always made his heart beat faster whenever Heahmund remembered something so simple about him. "It tastes good, that's not it. I just kind of don't have much of an appetite today."

Heahmund nodded in understanding and kept his gaze fixed on Ivar, looking at him thoughtfully. "Do you have something on your mind you'd like to talk about?" He reached for the remote control and turned down the volume a bit as a precaution.

"No. I'm fine. I just... I don't know, but I think it's time for me to look for flights back home and I'm not sure what to make of it. That's all." Ivar returned his gaze to his plate, stabbed a strip of meat with his fork and listlessly brought the bite to his mouth.

Heahmund was surprised that Ivar was thinking about this topic again and took a moment to collect his thoughts. During his stay, they had already brought up this subject several times, always to make sure that they were both still satisfied with their current situation. The result each time was that they both enjoyed their time together and that they would like to continue it for a while longer. What also kept surfacing in these conversations was that it was important to Ivar that he wouldn't bother him. Heahmund knew this and made it clear again and again that this was not the case. 

“Do you want to go home or do you just think you have to?” Heahmund assumed that Ivar just needed another confirmation that he was welcome to stay longer, that there was no reason for him to leave yet. Therefore, he asked his question rather casually, firmly expecting that the issue would be settled in two minutes.

“Both, I think?” Ivar wasn’t so sure himself, making it sound like a question rather than an answer.

“Why do you want to go home? What is the main reason behind it?” It was hard for him to imagine that Ivar was homesick out of the blue, and secretly Heahmund himself had suppressed the thought that one day the day would come when they would part ways again. Even if not forever. Still, he felt uncomfortable with the thought.

Ivar put his fork on his plate and placed it back on the table. He didn't want to force himself to keep eating if he didn't feel like it. He pulled a little on the blanket to raise it higher without depriving Heahmund of too much of it, and also pulled his legs a little to his body to get more comfortable.

"I can't be on vacation forever. Even though my studies don't start again until fall, maybe I should do something useful with my time until then. Besides, it might not be fair to my family. They worry, although not as much as they did in the beginning, but still ... I've never been away for so long. Besides, Ubbe's birthday is coming up and I think I should spend the day together with him after all he's done for me. I also miss my piano. It's little things like that which pile up, you know."

"Okay. Yeah, I think I get that." Heahmund said, not very successful at hiding the fact that he wasn't very enthusiastic about it. He also set his plate aside now, suddenly deprived of his appetite. "But is that really all?" He had the feeling that there was something else bubbling under the surface.

Ivar only shrugged his shoulders and avoided eye contact at all costs, which only confirmed Heahmund's suspicions.

"Do I have to make us tea first for you to be honest with me?" Heahmund said, earning a strained smile from Ivar.

It had become routine for them to sit down together at the kitchen table at Heahmund's usual tea time and for one of them to begin with a topic that was on his mind. In the beginning, Ivar in particular had made the start, had brought up on his own some points for which he still wanted to apologize or talk about. Later, Heahmund had also gotten things off his chest that continued to weigh on him, such as his escape into alcoholism, for which he was still ashamed; his perceived inability to be a suitable partner for Ivar since he had not been able to support him; and also the self-reproaches regarding his departure had been the basis for these conversations.

It was partly more painful than cat bites to open these old wounds, but it had to be done. Both felt the enrichment that this sincerity brought to them. They had gotten to know each other all over again on a deeper level, had revealed themselves to the other in their most hurtful form, and had subsequently treated their wounds together.

For this reason, Ivar wanted to keep this newly established trust in each other alive. He shook his head to decline the offer of tea. It would be doable without. It wasn't that he wanted to keep anything secret from Heahmund, he just found it difficult to express his thoughts today, to put them into words that somehow made sense.

"Today has been a strange day in general. I'm quite emotional and confused," Ivar said, laughing as if it were a half-joke.

That this was not the case, Heahmund could see by looking at Ivar. He could tell from his uncertain posture that his laughter was simply a nervous gesture. "Does it have anything to do with the calls?"

"Did I annoy you with that?"

"No you didn't, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it, that the questions you had were merely a pretense?"

Ivar smiled weakly, feeling caught again. "You know me too well. It's scary, but yeah. I'm guilty of that charge." 

He reached for his soda-filled glass and took a sip, once again trying to sort through his thoughts, pondering how he should say what was on his mind, what made him emotional today. 

Heahmund waited patiently, knowing that he didn't have to ask any questions now, that Ivar would continue talking of his own accord as soon as he felt ready.

"I think I had some kind of panic attack today. Not in the way that I was hyperventilating or anything, but I was pacing through the rooms and I couldn't think straight. My thoughts were haunting me and I was just.... scared I think."

Heahmund bent forward a little and stretched out his hand so that he could reach Ivar's. He clasped it gently, wanting to give him a feeling of hold and support. "What frightened you?" he asked in a gentle tone.

"That you weren't here." Ivar returned the gesture, increasing the pressure of their touching hands for a moment. He chuckled again briefly as if he couldn't take himself seriously because he felt the way he did. "I couldn't stop thinking that maybe you didn't have to be at work. That it was just an excuse."

"Why would I have lied about that?" Heahmund asked in wonder, not comprehending how Ivar could come up with such things.

Ivar sighed deeply and then began to tell what had been going on inside him. "I thought you would use this excuse to get away from here, to start a new life somewhere else again. The first time I called you was to check if your number was still working or more, if you would answer your cell phone when you see that I'm the one calling. The second time I just wanted to make sure I couldn't hear any noise in the background like at the airport or a train station, and the third one was just another needed reassurance that you were still taking my calls." He grew quieter as he revealed more and more of the thoughts that had plagued him during the day.

“Ivar…” Heahmund said softly, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. Before he could continue, Ivar spoke up again.

"And you know... In the end, I helped myself get rid of that fear by reminding myself that there's no way you would leave Grace behind here. Because her, you love."

It felt like a dagger in Heahmund's heart. It hurt deeply to hear those words and to imagine how Ivar must have suffered during his absence. It was obvious where this fear came from, what triggered these thoughts, and a new wave of self-hatred rolled over him. He had never wanted his behavior to have such an effect on the person he wanted to see smiling broadly with happiness every second of his life. He lacked breath as well as the words that could express what he was feeling right now, or which could possibly ease Ivar's deep-rooted fear, as well as the underlying accusation that he didn't love him as much back then as he loved his cat.

"This is embarrassing, isn't it?" Ivar asked meekly as he disengaged their hands from each other to fiddle with the end of the blanket instead, needing something to occupy himself.

"It isn't. It's understandable that this fear lives in you. I wish I could take it away, I really do, but all I can do is tell you that this will never happen again. You've learned your lesson, I've learned mine, and I certainly won't be such a coward again."

Ivar looked at him in silence for a moment.

"This panic, insecurity. Whatever it was. It made me think. Somehow I also feel trapped here. Lost in a spider's web of illusions. I have what I missed so much back in my life," Ivar pointed at Heahmund as if it wasn't clear what he meant by that, "but it feels like it's within my reach, but still not tangible, somehow still out of my grasp, even though I can see it right in front of me. It feels like we're living in a lie here." Ivar looked at the TV, focusing on what was happening there for a few scenes so as not to have to see Heahmund's hurt expression, which had appeared on his face while he was speaking.

"Is that what you think? That we're living a lie?"

"Let me ask you a question,” Ivar said while turning his head back to his counterpart. “What are we Heahmund? To each other I mean?"

"We are friends," Heahmund answered without thinking about it for too long. It was what he had been saying to himself inwardly for days, not really convinced of his answer himself. It sounded so wrong even to him.

"See, there's your lie. We're not just friends," Ivar countered firmly, gesturing wildly with his hands to vent his frustration. "And you know that, too. Why are you so stubborn and adamant about continuing to lie to yourself?"

"It's complicated."

"Because you make it that way. Basically, it's very simple."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is! At the end of the day, you just have to listen to what your heart tells you. It’s as simple as that."

Heahmund let out a pained laugh that turned into a sigh, rolling his eyes at the naïve-sounding advice. It seemed so simple what Ivar said, but in reality, it turned out not to be. "The heart isn't always a reliable source, Ivar. It has a very large blind spot and is completely impervious to reason anyway. I've answered the question, which is probably between the lines here, before and my answer would still be the same if you asked me directly again."

"That was weeks ago. Has really nothing changed for you since then?"

Actually, it was two weeks ago since they had had tea together and Ivar had thrown him off track with a simple question to which there was still no simple answer.

"Heahmund. Do you still love me?"

If he had taken a sip of tea beforehand, he most likely would have choked right on it. He had secretly already somehow expected this question, but by no means so straightforwardly. Heahmund felt under spotlight, like in an interrogation.

What was the right way to answer such a question? Heahmund already had no real answer to that one and the piercing look he was confronted with didn't make his nervousness any better. He thought hard about his reply, looking into his cup, watching the movement of the liquid as he swirled it as if he could read within what would now be the right thing to do.

"Of course, I still care about you," he finally said without looking up from his cup. It felt strange to say those words directly into Ivar's face, so he tried to avoid it. "I loved you deeply back then and such feelings do not simply fizzle out. To have you back in my life now, so surprisingly above all, has completely thrown me off course. Honestly, I don't know what to make of it. When I look at you, I still see my Ivar. The wonderful person I fell in love with. I see all the externals I was attracted to…,” As if to make sure once again, he now raised his gaze to look at his guest, “and isn't it unfair that you've become even more handsome in the meantime?” He tried to lighten the mood, which had become too serious for his liking, with a witty quip

It made Ivar smile half-heartedly. "I could say the same thing about you."

Heahmund just puffed in amusement, took another sip of his tea, and rearranged the words that followed in his head so that they wouldn't sound too hurtful.

"But apart from those things, I can still see you, staying in front of me with your face contorted in anger and your fist ready to strike. That memory is not erased either and I can still clearly remember why I needed that separation. I do believe you are truly sorry about it, but this doesn't make it go away."

"I am," Ivar affirmed once again, never tiring of reiterating this.

"I know. As I said, I believe you, but I,...I just…" Heahmund shook his head, ran the flat of his hand over his face in frustration over his lack of words, and tried again to continue his answer. "All I can say is, yes, I am still drawn to you, but do those feelings have any real substance or am I just holding on to better memories? I really don't know, Ivar. It's too early to answer your question honestly. It's too early to really know if things have really changed. If there still is a you and me. We both are different people now. The Heahmund you knew isn't the same you look at right now. Can you still honestly say that your feelings towards me are real?"

“I can. I still feel the same being near to you. Nothing has changed in that regard.” Ivar nodded in addition, as if to give his words more emphasis. For him there was no doubt that his feelings were based on a solid foundation.

"But can you say with certainty that you're not just chasing a fond memory? How can you be so sure?" Heahmund couldn't deny that he was a little envious that it seemed to be so easy for Ivar. He wished he could be as firm in his opinion.

"Because I listen to my heart. There is no simpler explanation than that."

Heahmund thought back to that conversation and tried to remember what he had said, what they had discussed further during the conversation, always respectful in their exchanges.

"I wouldn't say that nothing has changed. You know as well as I do that we've grown closer. Still, to answer your question in your favor, I just need more time. I don't want to rush into anything I'm not ready for with full conviction." 

Ivar nodded as a sign of his understanding. Even though it was hard for him and he wished otherwise, he could understand Heahmund's point of view. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to blackmail you either. I like it here. I enjoy it when we do things together. It's already so much more than I dared to wish for when I came here, and I don't want to be greedy, but somehow it's not enough for me.” This time Ivar reached for his beloved's hand, playing with his fingers. "I want you by my side, not just as a friend. You are so much more to me, Heahmund. Sleeping in separate beds is bullshit. I don't want to hold back when I want to kiss you either. I want the whole of you, and I think you feel the same way about me, too. You don't look at me the way you look at a friend. I am not blind, min kære. Neither on my eyes, nor in my heart.” 

Unlike Heahmund, who had slumped noticeably during the monologue, Ivar had no problem openly proclaiming the love that was still simmering inside him and resurfacing the old pet name he had so often used for his beloved in the past.

"I know," Heahmund whispered. "I can only thank you again for your candor. I appreciate you being so blunt and honest with me, and as I've said so many times before, I'm proud of how far you've come in terms of expressing yourself, but I for myself just can't give you any other answer right now."

It was on the tip of Ivar's tongue to point out to Heahmund that he had just said that he didn't want to be a coward anymore, yet he was just taking refuge in this role again. He changed his mind though, not wanting to push his beloved into something he couldn't or refused to decide yet.

"I can give you the time you need to find your answer, but not while I'm here. It's driving me nuts. Maybe it's better if we think about our situation while we're alone, with some distance, so we...you don't get distracted by the comfort which this lived lie provides you."

They were harsh words, but Heahmund realized that he deserved them. It was not fair to stall Ivar. "I won't stop you if you want to go home. Contrary to your feeling, you aren't a prisoner here. Do I want you to leave? No. Do I understand your reasons? Absolutely. So if you're comfortable with that decision, let's look for a flight. At my expense this time."

Heahmund had been looking forward to a pleasant evening, but the fact that he would be looking for a flight in a few minutes that would separate him from Ivar again didn't fit his wishful thinking at all. He tried not to let it show, even during the remaining days, but he was not happy at all with how the events had unfolded.

ლლლლლლ��ლლლლლ

It was hectic at the airport. Snatches of noise from other groups of people reached them from everywhere, drowned out only by the loud announcements of the various airlines.

They had made themselves comfortable on the floor away from the hustle and bustle and waited for the last possible moment until Ivar had to go through safety control and thus their paths would separate again for a while.

Although this time they knew that their togetherness would come to an end physically, but they would stay in touch via modern communication channels, they both found it difficult to hide their sadness about it. Neither of them felt like talking. Since the morning, there had been a strangely depressed mood between them that refused to go away.

With banal small talk they tried now and then to break the silence between them, but each attempt ended after a few exchanged words to renewed silence. The mood simply couldn't be lightened.

They just sat there, staring at random people, things, or whatever captivated their unfocused gaze, wondering what else there was to say. At some point, Heahmund put his arm around Ivar's shoulders, whereupon he lowered his head sideways against Heahmund's shoulder. Basically, they didn't need to say anything out loud. They understood each other that way.

"I have to go now," Ivar said after a while, looking at the big clock on one of the walls. It was time for him to grab his things and go through the security check.

They both got up sluggishly, gathered their things together, and came to a stop once more, standing opposite each other. Their eyes rested on one another, studying their respective features, deeply memorizing everything once again, unwilling to let even the smallest detail fade into oblivion.

"Have a safe flight and call me when you arrive back home. Promise me, okay?" Heahmund gave in to his urge to hug Ivar one more time. The thought of returning to an empty apartment, except for Grace, made him uncomfortable. With every second that passed, this thought became a bitter reality, so he felt the need to get as much physical contact as he possibly could, to replenish his reservoir from which he would be able to nurture himself in hard times of longing.

"I will," Ivar said curtly, not feeling like talking at the moment. He had a thick lump in his throat that made speaking too difficult. Every additional word carried the risk that he would burst into tears, no longer able to stem the raging torrent that was trying to force its way through the dam he had constructed inside him. When he broke away from Heahmund's embrace a little and looked him in the face again, it only made the whole thing worse. Heahmund's eyes were watery. He, too, seemed to be struggling to hold back his emotions, to keep himself under control.

Ivar felt a hand on his lower back, felt it pressing him closer to the body in front of him, which at that moment was radiating intense heat. He perceived another touch in his hair, felt fingers gently combing through it until a warm palm came to rest on his cheek. Ivar lifted his gaze, looked into Heahmund's face, sought eye contact, which was denied him as the focus of the ice-blue eyes was on his lips. It surprised him, left him baffled.

Heahmund's intention was clear. 

Ivar felt the excitement in the pit of his stomach, felt the sounds around them fade away. The air grew thicker, as if before a thunderstorm. He could literally taste the tension between them on his lips, hear the sizzle with which it tried to discharge. He had longed so much for this moment, and yet Ivar raised his hand and pressed his index finger against Heahmund's lips as his beloved tilted his head and came closer in an attempt to bridge the distance between their mouths, already in the process of closing his eyes.

"Don't do this to me. Why now?" Ivar whispered, not sure if he should be proud of himself for speaking his mind, or if he should hate himself for denying himself the bittersweet torture. And torture it certainly would be. Being kissed only to be separated again would only bring him new heartache. He slammed his fist twice gently against Heahmund's chest, frustrated at the turn of events and that his lover hadn't been able to find his courage sooner. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he stopped and instead placed his palm flat over the spot. This made him feel Heahmund's heartbeat, which was beating strongly.

Heahmund paused in his movement as soon as he felt the finger against his mouth. Ashamed, he took refuge in another embrace, pressed Ivar's head against his collarbone, and rested his chin on the soft mop of hair, avoiding eye contact at all costs. "I'm sorry," he said in a faint voice, apologizing not only for the present situation. He placed a kiss on Ivar’s hair instead, inwardly scolding himself for realizing only now, at the moment of impending loss, what a fool he had been.

"I just don't want our first kiss to be a goodbye, you know," Ivar murmured against the body he was pressed to, trying to explain his reasons. He wanted to make sure it was clear that it wasn't the kiss itself that he didn't want, although that had probably been clear ever since he stood outside Heahmund's door.

Heahmund removed his hand, which held Ivar close against him, and instead placed two fingers under his chin. Gently he lifted it, now brave enough to face the raging of the deep blue sea, risking the danger of drowning in it. "Then let me kiss you twice. The first one will be a promise, the second only a temporary farewell."

Ivar could already feel Heahmund's breath brushing against his lips as they unconsciously drew closer and closer again. His hand, in which he had been holding his luggage, lost its grip on it and let the backpack slide carelessly to the ground before clinging to the back of Heahmund's neck, pressing him closer. "Promise me this is forever," he said timidly, speaking in a soft, slightly shaky voice.

This was enough to serve as permission for Heahmund. Instead of verbalizing it, he bridged the last remaining distance and let the delicate movements of his lips speak for him. He put his promise in that kiss that from now on he would listen to his heart, that he would no longer doubt their love and would put his trust in Ivar's change. Heahmund didn't want to be a coward anymore. Instead, he wanted to throw himself headlong into this newly awakened intoxication that made him drunk with happiness.

It took only the first gossamer touch of her lips, the first taste, the first perceptible delighted sigh out of Ivar's mouth and Heahmund was lost in the maelstrom of his suppressed feelings. Suppressed for so long, they now fought their way to the surface with all their might, letting him deepen the kiss without thinking of his surroundings. The only thing that really mattered was standing in front of him, returning the kiss in a sensual way.

The kiss was powerful. Not in the sense of physical force, although Ivar certainly felt knocked over, but in the sense of emotional intensity. They clung to each other, goading each other on, again and again, striving for no end to their intimate touch.

Ivar was the one who broke the kiss, taking shaky breaths and trying to get a stronger grip on Heahmund's upper arms to stabilize himself. He felt weak in the knees, about to faint from fluster. Deep red adorned his cheeks and lips.

"I don't want to, now more than ever, but I really have to go now," Ivar said quietly after taking another look at the clock in front of him. It was cruel that time didn't just stop for a while so they could enjoy their newfound connection.

To keep his first promise, Heahmund once again bridged the distance and kissed Ivar again. This time as a farewell, but nevertheless no less affectionately. 

As they ran out of air and time loomed even more ominously on their necks, Heahmund loosened his hold around Ivar, which had strengthened again during the last few seconds. Not wanting to lose all contact at once, he reached for Ivar's hand and squeezed it gently, not wanting to let him go. Even when Ivar took two small steps back, Heahmund gently held on to their connection until only their fingertips were touching.

"Call me when you arrive, my love," Heahmund said aloud, no longer afraid to let his heart speak.

As a reward, he got a sincere smile from Ivar. "I will, min kære.” Heaving a sigh, Ivar took another step back, breaking their connection entirely. Without another word, he turned and headed for the security checkpoint. He didn't look back, not wanting to make it any harder on himself.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

There is one more chapter, and after that, the two of them can get off their emotional roller coaster ride.

@youbloodymadgenius @istorkyou @ivarlover

[itsaash]

Fic-o-Ween Day 12: Trick or Treat

Fic-o-ween Day 12: Trick or Treating

Character credit to @lumosinlove and prompt from @noots-fic-fests

Rating: E

...but... I've only included the first half of this fic here on tumblr. The rest, including all the explicit parts, are just on ao3. Partly this just made me feel more comfortable today, that anyone reading the E parts has chosen to click through. Also, it's way too long to scroll through it all on tumblr. So the parts posted here are teen.

Pairings: Coops and James/Lily

Summary: After some sweet Halloween party and trick or treating fluffiness, Sirius, Lily, and Logan change costumes and the party changes to become the type of party that everyone keeps disappearing from.

cws: food/drink mentions, smut, 18+ for full fic

Read on ao3, if you prefer. 7600 words

“Hey Re?” Sirius called out, his hands deep in the dish water, turning pruny and white, washing away the remnants of chicken and rice and vegetables that Remus had made taste actually really good.

“Yeah, baby?” Remus called back.

“You want to have a halloween party here this year?”

“Sure, love. What were you thinking?” Remus walked back into the kitchen, popping his hip against the counter by Sirius, arms crossed. 

Sirius’ eyes trailed along Remus’ biceps, then returned to the water.

“Um, I want to hand out candy? Like, I’ve gone with the Dumais trick or treating, and it’s so fun. But I’ve never handed out candy in my own house?” His voice raised up like it was a question, or like he was worried that Remus would think this was unbearably weird. 

Remus came up behind him, linking his arms around his ribs in a deep hug. 

“That sounds amazing. I would get a few kids from the building when I was in my apartment, but you’re right, it’s not the same as a house. Our house.” He laughed and Sirius felt the rumbling through his back. “We would get hundreds of kids at my place growing up, mom and dad took shifts at the door and would hardly sit down all night.”

Sirius smiled. “Yeah, exactly. I want to do that.”

Remus hummed, smiling into Sirius’ back. “I see one problem though baby, we have a gate, and you’re Sirius Black.”

Sirius dried his hands and turned in Remus’ arms, leaning back against the counter and pulling Remus into his body. 

“And you’re Remus Lupin.”

“Mhm. That’s hardly the same thing, but my point remains.”

“I know, I know. I think I might have an idea about that too though?”

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It was the night of the party and Sirius had been excitedly decorating all afternoon, planning and shopping for weeks. He didn’t want anyone to do it for him this year. The gates were open, and string lights of tiny pumpkins followed the path up to the front door. He hadn’t chosen any gory decorations, worried that Harry would be scared. He found out later that Harry had loved every single decoration he saw while trick or treating with his parents, so he needn't have worried, but it was his first time decorating himself. He, Remus, James, and Lily had carved pumpkins earlier in the week and now they lined the walkway and doorstep, and there were no less than three blow up decorations scattered around the front yard. But, the best part was the guards. 

Sirius gave Fabian a fist bump as he double checked the outside of the house. 

“Ready, Fab?”

“Yeah, Cap,” Fabian laughed. “This is going to be awesome.”

Sirius knew he couldn’t have who-knows-who just show up at his front door all night. He hoped the location of their house wasn’t too well known, and it’s not like they advertised that they’d be handing out candy this year. Hopefully, it would just be families who happened to walk by. But just in case, he had asked Fabian and Gideon, twin security guards from the rink, if they’d be willing to work his door for a few hours. They were dressed immaculately like suits of armour. They had helmets that could easily be lifted up or down and their faces were painted silver, their costumes rang satisfyingly when you knocked on the breastplates, and they were ready to scare the everloving shit out of trick or treaters (in the most fun way possible). Sirius hoped they would blend in with the decorations when the sun went down, the twins were eerily good at standing still. Jump scare at the right moment, and hopefully no one would notice the person handing out candy looked a bit familiar. 

“Should we have an age limit of who we scare?” Gideon asked. 

“Well, maybe don’t make babies cry,” Sirius laughed. “And don’t let anyone try to get into my house, and we’ll be good.”

“No problem, Cap. It’s going to be awesome.”

“And maybe try to scare Pots? Or Dumo?” 

Fabian and Gideon laughed. “We’ll try, Cap.”

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Remus wasn’t sure the last time he had seen Sirius smile so much, for so long. He had been prancing around, decorating, plotting with Gid and Fab, touching up the spiderweb placement all over the house and setting out the ingredients for Halloween themed cocktails. He had bought more candy (full sized chocolate bars, of course) than Remus was sure they’d need for two Halloween’s, and he made sure to have options that were gluten free, sugar free, peanut free. Remus had happily made some dips and set out chips, and also happily watched Sirius smile, and laugh, and live in his house like it was a home. Their home. Watching Sirius come down in a full Batman suit wasn’t bad either. 

The top of his face was covered in the full mask and he had a costume that looked like it could have come from the movie set. Remus laughed.

“Holy shit, baby, you look amazing.”

Batman came close, smile wide, and hugged Remus tightly. 

“Ouais? Is my secret identity safe?”

“You know, I really think it is. People could think that your muscles are padding in the costume, so not even your buffness gives you away,” Remus teased, trailing his hands appreciatively over Sirius’ (unpadded) shoulders and arms.

Remus was exquisitely happy that the costume left Sirius’ lips free, and he pressed up on his toes to capture them in a kiss. Sirius licked into his mouth, pressing their bodies together.

“My buffness, eh?” Sirius smiled into the kiss.

“Shut up,” Remus argued weakly.

“Ready for a good Halloween, mon loup?”

“Mhm, yes. I still want you to be a firefighter again some year when I can do something about it.” Remus murmured between kisses. 

“I’m sure I could be convinced. Maybe we’ll sneak up to our room together this year, instead of you snooping on your own,” Sirius growled, pressing his hips towards Remus. 

“I’m not sure going to our own room, in our own house, during a party we’re hosting, has quite the same hook up appeal as you’re implying,” Remus laughed. 

“But I never got to hook up with boys at parties before,” Sirius pouted, resting their foreheads together, arms still locked around each other. 

“Oh we can hook up,” Remus said softly, right into Sirius’ ear. “Just not in our own bed.”

Sirius groaned, dropping his head back, then smiled impishly. “I look forward to it.”

“Ok, baby, I have to go get my costume on now,” Remus said, pushing away. Sirius watched him all the way up to the stairs, before remembering that he was filling the coolers with ice. He had a party to finish prepping for.

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James bounced around the house, taking his cowboy hat on and off his head repeatedly. He made sure the black button nose painted on Harry's nose was perfect and redid the whiskers that Harry had smudged in the last three minutes. He grabbed the pumpkin bucket for collecting candy, and a pillowcase for the overflow, all the while taking dozens of pictures. He loved Halloween. Dressing up, choosing an adorable costume for Harry, seeing Lily in a costume that she always made look sexy, whether it was meant to be or not. Candy, parties, visiting neighbours and talking to the people at each house. It was the best. It was funny that the holiday that was supposedly the wicked holiday was the one where you knock on your neighbour’s doors, say hello, exchange presents and small talk. Just, you know, in costume. 

He and Lily took Harry and the wagon around to the houses near them. By the end of their short route Harry was sitting in the wagon, completely surrounded by candy, having dumped out his bucket into the wagon to wade through it like a ball pit of candy. They made their way to Sirius’ house, Harry vibrating in his car seat on a sugar high. James could relate. 

“We see Loops, mama?” Harry said, though it sounded adorably more like “whoops”. 

“Yes, baby, we’re going to Loops’ house,” Lily answered.

“And seerus! And bwiz! And Katie!” Harry went on like this, listing his friends, until they pulled into the driveway. 

“Wowza,” James whistled. “Cap went all out with the decorations.”

“Looks amazing,” Lily agreed. She eyes the door and the decorated front step. “You head in with the bags, love. I’ll grab Harry.”

James grabbed their bags from the back and pressed his hat down over his eyes, looking forward to giving Cap a “howdy partner,” in his best southern accent when he got to the door. 

Instead, he nearly had a fucking heart attack. 

“Aarghhh!” yelled the statues on either side of the door, and James startled so badly he stumbled backwards nearly falling. His sluggish hindbrain eventually realized the statues weren’t attacking him and he took a knee, like he was listening to coach at practice. He dipped his head down, trying to recover, shaking his head, not sure whether his body wanted him to run, cry, or laugh. After a few deep breaths with his heart racing like he’d played three shifts, and with laughter ringing through the air around him, he finally looked up. 

“Fab?” he asked, still bewildered. 

“Pots! Your face ,” Fabian laughed.  They were both bent over double, laughing, in their stupid fucking perfect suit of armour costumes. 

“What the fuck?” James asked, betrayed. “Sirius put you up to this?”

“What’s going on out here…?” Sirius opened the door, coming out to see Gid and Fab still laughing and James still down on one knee. “No! I missed it?” He turned to Fabian, “Did you get him good?”

“So good, Cap, he was completely fucking got, he had no clue.”

“Of course I had no clue! How could I expect to be betrayed at my best friend’s house? What if I had been holding Harry?”

“Well we wouldn’t have done it, if you were holding Harry.”

James shook his head and turned to Sirius.

“Did you set this up just to get me? I will put oil in your gloves.”

“Non, no! They’re here to guard the door, and do that to trick or treaters all night,” he waved vaguely in James’ scared-as-shit position. “Getting you was just a bonus.”

“Bonus,” Jame repeated, finally feeling steady enough to rise to his feet. Lily and Harry joined him then. Lily ran her hand over his lower back soothingly. “Lily, they scared me.”

Lily reached up to tap his cheek. “Happy Halloween lover,” she teased. 

“I wanna be scar’d!” Harry squealed, and Fab and Gid played at being still and then jumping at Harry for 10 minutes at least. James followed Lily into the house, her tight black batman costume irresistible to follow. 

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Sirius bounced between answering the door, making cocktails, laughing with his friends. Seeing all the little kids in their costumes was priceless. He loved having his friends over anytime, but getting to intersperse the party with answering the door to adorable yells of “trick or treat!” made it even better. He and Remus took turns answering the door, or would call to each other if there was an especially cute costume to look at. He loved the moments when Gid and Fab would go still again, and another group would come up the path while one was still at the door, and the first group would eagerly watch the next set of people fall victim to the jump scare. It was the circle of scares. 

At 9:00 Sirius closed his gate and waved goodbye to Gid and Fab, wishing them a Happy Halloween. He didn’t want to try his luck, and the little kids were the cuter ones to see at the door anyways. And he had a phase two of his night planned that did not include other people at his door. 

He came in, stretched his back, popping it satisfyingly. A smile grew on his face and he found Logan, hitting him in the stomach. 

“Gate’s closed, Tremz. The party can start for real now, eh?”

Logan’s eyes met Sirius’ and their eyes sparkled. 

“What the fuck was that look?” Finn asked, looking between them. “Aren’t we already partying?”

“Oui, of course, Harz. I’ll just go get another drink,” Logan said, and walked away with Sirius, leaving Finn looking suspiciously after them.

Sirius went and found Lily next. 

“Hey Lils,” he said, flopping onto the couch by her and Marlene. 

“Hey Batman. Good party,” she said, tipping her glass to him. 

“Merci. Harry downstairs?” “Yep, Adele and her friend have turned out to be excellent babysitters and they’re all playing or watching a movie. I’m sure he’ll be crashing soon.”

“Excellent. Phase two?” 

The side of Lily’s mouth quirked up and she laughed.

“Absolutely.” 

“What the hell is phase two?!” Marlene called after them, as the two versions of Batman walked away, laughing with zero chill. 

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

[myelocin]

To Us, A Love Story Unwritten | Kuroo T., Miya A.

Hello!! Before you begin reading, THIS STORY IS A PART TWO to Redefining You , which I highly recommend you read first because a lot of things are connected! :D

Part 1 | Part 2 | Epilogue | Bonus

Synopsis: Time away from Tetsurou leads you to the serendipity that is Miya Atsumu. 

Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou, You, Miya Atsumu

Genre/Warnings/Tags: None! Angst,  HEALING, Hurt & Comfort, surfer!Atsumu, tattooed!Kuroo, Fluff

WC: 7600+

a/n: here’s a word dump of my feelings bcos i made an oopsie and projected real ppl in 2d characters again

*playlist if u want maximum feelies: Blue (Elina), Miles Apart (Nick Wilson)

-

The thought of healing didn’t cross your mind until some months later.

In the mornings after that morning, you stood in your balcony, leaning against the railing with a mug of coffee, your thoughts wandering. Sometimes you thought of what kind of coffee you liked, and other times you caught yourself wondering how Tetsurou moved through his six AMs. Morning thoughts were reserved for the things you prefer to keep out of your head during the day. Tetsurou, of course, had always been an exception. He somehow always flowed in your train of thought whether the numbers on your watch flashed 3am or 3pm.

Or now, you thought after taking a quick peek at the time in your phone, 6:19 AM; all you could think about was how sad his golden eyes looked against the black of Tokyo’s backdrop.

Tetsurou making his way into your thoughts has always how it’s been for almost a decade, and habits are a little hard to break. At least, that’s what you say to reason with yourself.

Thinking back to your words that night, the “I love you” just kind of slipped out. But you know you meant it. Shifting your wrist to the side, you studied the tattoo again, then closed your eyes to remember the expression on your best friend’s features.

You meant the I love you, you told yourself again. Towards yourself that was for sure; towards Tetsurou.

And that’s always going to be the case, taunted the voice in the back of your head.

After that night, Tetsurou had broken up with his long term girlfriend for good. Though he didn’t necessarily ruin himself over the breakup—there were changes.

He still texted you at odd hours to show you a video he thought was funny, still showed up to your apartment for movie nights, and more or less was still present. But it was during the particularly sentimental scenes in the movie where he’d choose to refill the popcorn or grab another soda, and you could see that his can was still half full. You noticing that Tetsurou always chose to pick the other boba shop that was on the other side of town never flew past you either. You knew that that was the shop he always used to take her after classes—so even seeing how his hands never failed to tighten against the steering wheel when the two of you would drive by, you always pretended not to notice. Even though four months had passed, you know that for him, the wound was still fresh.

And remembering how sad he looked that night, you couldn’t help yourself to feel for his pain. At the end of the day, weren’t you just two people who yearned for the love that couldn’t be yours?

So you sigh and take a sip of coffee from the mug; it had grown a little cold. The digital clock on your phone read 6:31 AM next to a text from Tetsurou asking if you had time for lunch later.

Replying a quick ‘yep. meet u at the usual :)’, did nothing for you trying to have a more productive day off today and thus the morning felt a little slower than normal, so you sigh. Again.

It was going to be one of those days.

-

Tetsurou always made it a point to look gorgeous. Was he trying? Probably not, but that son a bitch knew people gave him looks that lingered a bit too long to be considered just a passing glance. You nearly snort in laughter at the way he opens the door to the café a little too, for better words, extravagantly, and walk to you purposely taking his time because you could tell he felt the way the young mom sitting at the table near the counter was giving him the look.

Then again, you don’t blame her. You weren’t too far from her reaction, albeit you actually had the decency to not openly gawk at him. Tetsurou plopped down in the chair opposite from you and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and propping them up the table before grabbing the menu from the middle of the table.

Already knowing your order, and his even though he still looks through the menu every time, you sit in your seat waiting for him to settle on the same thing he ordered the last time you ate there.

“Tetsu, why do you have to be so extra every time you see someone looking at you for more than three seconds?”

He cocked his head to the side and peeked at you from behind the menu, “Because I’m hot, tree.”

Though you rolled your eyes at the nickname, you still smiled at the familiar banter, “I still don’t get why you call me tree when you’re the literal beanpole in this friendship.”

“That’s rich coming from you, considering you told people you knew a talking rooster in highschool,” he deadpanned, but you knew he was on the edge of a chuckle from the way he emphasized his words.

“Hey,” you raised your arms up in defense, “people thought you were interesting that way so…”

Tetsurou set the menu down and rolled his eyes at your response as the waiter greeted the two of you. Before Tetsurou could open his mouth to say what he wanted, you spoke, “I’ll get the carbonara and he’ll get the tonkatsu ramen—“

“Oi-“ he interrupted from the side, still, you continued, “we’ll also get iced tea, extra sugar for him, and a little less for me.”

The waiter looked between the two of you waiting for Tetsurou to finish speaking but he only leans back huffing out a, “She’s right.”

You smirked. “You get the same thing every time.”

“Well what if I want something else one day?” he replied to which you rolled your eyes as a reply.

In between bites, Tetsurou looks up from his meal, “Any plans?”

You twirled the straw of your drink around the liquid and looked at him, “I was thinking of traveling somewhere. My boss is letting me take some time off, and season’s kind of slow, so might as well.”

He nods, and then points his chopsticks at you, sighing, “Oh to be young and employed with an employer who doesn’t want to kill you with work.”

“We’re literally seven months apart,” you deadpan.

He huffs in his seat and continues eating.

-

“Have you decided where you’re going?”

You look to your left at Tetsurou who’s facing you, no longer paying attention to the movie playing in the TV.  Smoothing out the blanket on your lap, you sigh and tilt your head. “Kinda? I’m thinking somewhere warm. Kinda miss the sea.”

At this point the movie you two settled on a few hours ago had been completely forgotten, so you shift your body and face him. He offers you your third (or was it the fourth?) can of beer for that night, which you take and pop open immediately.

“(Y/n), can you even swim?” he laughs.

You glare at him from behind your drink. “I can go and look pretty in the beach while sipping my margaritas thank you very much.” 

Tetsurou clinks his can against yours and leans back against the couch, shifting to a more comfortable position. When he finally settles, he positions his head in a way that’s still facing you.

Draping your legs across his lap, you rearrange the blanket so that it covers the both of you. You feel the weight of his hands leaning against your legs and then hear him speak, “How long are you gonna be gone?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, a month? Two months? Haven’t even got the ticket yet.”

He gives you a look you can’t decipher, and then his voice becomes a little quiet, “What if I want to go with you?”

“Tetsu, you know your job won’t let you off that long,” you reply. 

He lets out an exaggerated sigh and pout at you, “You’re going to go and find a new surfer best friend who’ll buy you margaritas that flips his hair and you’ll forget about me.”

You chuckle. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

At this point the alcohol must have hit the both of you because you suddenly look at him, eyes soft in the way you usually would mask in the hours you were sober. He looks at you, equally as deep in the state of inebriation as you are because his eyes are as hazy as the slur in his tone when he says, “Nope! Because you looooove me (y/n).”

And he laughs at his own joke, tilting his head back to take another swig of beer. The comedic undertone flies past you anyway, because you fiddle with the edge of your sweater and sadly nod, “Yeah. I do”

In front of you, Tetsurou raises his hand, smiling, then hollers, “High five! Love you too.”

If it wasn’t for the liquid confidence, you would’ve laughed along to his joke and take another gulp of your beer to swallow the confession—but you’re four cans in and Tetsurou saying that he loves you too clouds the usual boundaries swimming in your head.

He doesn’t notice you when you take another heavy gulp from your can, or bite your lip afterwards, but he hears you when you say, “I do, you dumb fuck, I love you.”

And as soon as you say it, you feel him look at you. You choose to keep your head down. A few beats of silence passes before he speaks, “I know, (y/n),” he reaches forward to grab your hand, taking it into his. He traces the lining of the tattoo before continuing, “I know your tattoo story. And I’m still proud of-“

“I love you, Tetsurou,” you could almost wince at how loud it echoed in the silence, and the alcohol is still swimming in your system so you take another gulp hoping to dive deeper.

You feel him stop tracing the lines on your wrist so you take your hand back to your lap. He let the quiet envelop the room again before he spoke, and you could tell he was careful with his words.

“That time in the balcony, when you said you loved someone…” he trailed off so you look up and catch his stare. His eyes were still glassy; your head was still swimming, the rational thoughts further muffled by liquid confidence.

“I meant you,” you say, and try to fight the urge to break eye contact.

And because Tetsurou chooses to reply with a hushed ‘I’m sorry.’, you tell him ‘it’s okay, Tetsu.’ and retreat to your bedroom with a mumbled excuse of sleeping off a headache.

You lie in the dark with one hand over your eyes and sniffle quietly. You hear his “I’m sorry,” echo in the silence, but you try to ignore the thought at how immediate the apology was. He always had a habit of thinking about his answers in uncertain situations.

But you know him more than you give yourself credit for, you realize, so you shut your eyes and ignore the sting of the tears because you know. You’ve always known everything you felt for him had been on the unrequited side for the most part.

The certainty in his apology still hurt none the less.

--

That morning you wake up with a slight pound in your head and an empty apartment. At least he didn’t stick around, you thought, fully aware that the conversation afterwards would have most likely been too awkward to sit through.

Sighing as you rounded the corner to enter the kitchen, you paused in your track to look at the table where a plate of omurice lay in the middle next to a glass of sweet tea, the condensation still a little fresh on the glass.

Taking a seat and whispering a soft, “Itadakimasu”, you picked up the glass and took a sip. It didn’t taste as sweet as his.

Your eyes still stung, but you couldn’t help but smile at the taste. Looks like he remembers how you like your tea too.

-

After that night, there never really came a talk about where the two of you stood. Two days after the not so sober confession, Tetsurou showed up at your door with a bag of donuts demanding your company to picnic at this new spot he found recently. So you played along and pretended like nothing happened. The rational thoughts were back, your head no longer cloudy so this time, you laughed along with Tetsurou.

Though you could tell this time around his gaze towards you lingered a little longer, and he began to have moments where it looked like he was contemplating to start a conversation then ultimately deciding against it at the very last second. It was fine, though. You weren’t sure if you were ready to have that conversation just yet.

So the next few weeks flowed like how it always did. Movie nights, playful banters, small talk, and beer—only this time you never drank more than two.

“Have you decided where you’re going?” he asks.

“Yeah, there’s this island in the Philippines. Siargao. My flight’s next week. The place looks sunny enough, but I might hop around the other islands if I stay long enough,” you reply.

“Don’t drown,” he laughs, and sets his beer down. You turn your focus back to the movie after chuckling at his reply and ignore how he never picked up a third can this time. And unlike before, he didn’t ask if he could come along this time.

-

Tetsurou drops you off with a half hug and a request that you update him as often as you can.

After a final wave at the gate, you board the plane with a return ticket to Japan slotted for two months later down the year.  

-

The island of Siargao is as beautiful as the pictures you always see on social media. Outside the unit you rented, was a stretch of untouched beach that was some ways from the main square of the city. And true to your words, for the first week of your arrival, you spent your days kicking the sand, lounging by the water and sipping on margaritas.

Tetsurou sent you multiple messages during the first few days, to which you replied through selfies with your margaritas. He’d send you a photo of himself rolling his eyes with the caption “off to work, because I have a job. Like some people.” , or something along similar lines.

You tried to think this wasn’t some random trip you took just because of Tetsurou. It had been a long time since you last took a vacation for yourself; work was lenient, you saved up enough, and frankly, you missed the beach. Tetsurou was just the icing on top of the cake that helped you make your decision, you rationalized.

Plus, you thought, this place is paradise.

And you held on to that thought because a few days later came the knock on your door at six in the morning that introduced you to the serendipity you never could have predicted. Your little summer serendipity came in the form of a six foot one, and totally ripped blonde named Miya Atsumu.

He knocked at your door asking if you knew any places that rented out surfboards and scooters. By the time he was at the third word of his sentence, you knew he was Japanese because of the accent that lingered after he spoke. By the fourth sentence, he smiled in a way that had his eyes crinkling. And by the end of the conversation, by whatever being possessed you in that moment, probably that extra margarita, you had agreed to go to the main square in the city with him.

Atsumu knocks on your door for the second time that day at five in the afternoon wearing a loose white button shirt and another eye crinkling smile. Dangling a set of keys in one hand he nodded behind him and said, “Ready to go? I got the scooter from the place you told me.”

This time, you voiced out your hesitation, “Ahh, it’s alright. You don’t have to get dinner for me tonight. I just happened to know a place.”

He smiles and blinks at you laughing, “Ya travelin’ alone?” You nod then he continues, “Same here. Might as well know someone in the area. Heard the food here’s good, so let’s go.”

You open your mouth to protest but he turns and walks towards his scooter so you huff and follow after him. He did have a point. You were going to be there for two months so might as well actually take the time to know some people.

-

After Atsumu helps you fasten the belt on the helmet, he tells you to ‘feel free to hold on to my waist if ya need to balance.’ and then backs to the main street. Your hands rest on his shoulders as he drives along a road parallel to the stretch of water on your far left. It must have been close to seven, you take note, because as you glance up the colors in the sky begin to blend into mellow hues of orange and red.

You look forward and glance at Atsumu’s reflection in the side mirror before briefly catching his eye. From the mirror, you could see an expression that was somewhere between a smirk and a smile.

“Ya like what ya see?” he yells over the wind.

You squeeze his shoulder, then lean closer saying, “Just drive. I’m not in the mood to die.”

He laughs over the holler of the open air and you can’t help but smile along to how his laugh lingers in the air.

Soon enough, the two of you settle into a restobar by the beach, one close enough to the water where you could ditch your flip flops and let your feet sink in the sand.

This has got to be the fifth margarita I’m drinking today, you think to yourself before taking a sip. Still good though, you inwardly snort. Atsumu sits across you from the table nursing his own choice of drink.

The atmosphere was nice, the live musician strumming his first song in the background. Then Atsumu speaks from across you, “So,” he begins, “How long ya stayin’?”

You fiddle with the straw of your drink, facing him, “Two months. You?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know yet. Off season and there’s not much to do back home, so might as well be bored somewhere a little more scenic.”

“Indefinite vacation,” you nod—impressed, “Must be hella loaded.”

He laughs again, “I’m comfortable.”

The silence envelops the two of you again, but as the musician begins another song, from the corner of your eye you see Atsumu listen, clap, and smile so you decide maybe befriending this stranger won’t be so bad after all.

The next night you head for go for drinks, Tetsurou messages you with a picture of him and Kenma in the car with a caption, “movie night minus the traitor who left the country >:((“ and you reply with your signature margarita selfie with Atsumu throwing a peace sign to your right. Tetsurou replies with a smiley face and you don’t hear from him for the rest of the night.

-

The next few weeks consisted of waking up shy of the sunrise and walks along the trail where the waves crept towards the sand. Atsumu liked to join you in the mornings, of course, the days he actually wakes up before ten AM. Some days you’d watch him peddle out into the water catching wave after wave as you sat in the sand, under a shade. You didn’t really go out into the water and preferred to just sit in the sun, so the times Atsumu would catch a break, he’d lay out a towel next to you and sit to talk.

He was talkative. Extremely talkative. But it was welcome, you suppose. He asked aimless questions during conversations. Conversations with him usually sounded like this: “(y/n)?” “Yep?” “Whadda ya think about riceballs?” “They’re…okay, I guess.” “Good to know.”

It was endearing, you suppose. Atsumu respected your boundaries and never pried, that fact was for sure. Though, he chose to fill in the beats of silence with little facts about his life. Over the course of the next month, in the moments you’d spend with Atsumu during the day, you’ve learned that he was playing for a professional volleyball team, he’s originally not from Tokyo, he tripped during a fan meeting, has a twin brother who’s darn good at cookin’ (he emphasized), and that his favorite food is fatty tuna. You don’t remember specifically asking, but he talks anyway you can’t bring yourself to mind one bit.

During the past month and some, Tetsurou sporadically texts you a greeting to which you reply to—but this time, it wasn’t until much, much later that you realize you didn’t think too much about the change of tone and much hastier conversations. You usually ended the phone call this time around, too.

Nearing the last few stretches of golden hour, Atsumu would routinely knock at your door and drag you out to walk around the beach only retreating to your respective units hours after the sunset.

It was during this one night where Atsumu sits you down and stars a small bonfire. He excused himself for a brief moment then came back with a Tupperware of what you assumed to be snacks, a blanket, and a hoodie which he lent you (that up to now you still haven’t returned).  You smile as he takes his seat next to you, comfortable in his hoodie.

“So,” Atsumu breaks the silence, “how come yer runnin’ away for two months?”

“That’s kinda sudden,” you reply.

He knocks your shoulder with his lightly before speaking again, “You don’t have ta’ share if you don’t wanna.”

“No pressure,” he says again and his eyes crinkle at his smile so you press your shoulder against his and say, “I just wanted time for myself I guess.”

He nods, so you continue, “It’s nothing dramatic, really. For a big part of my life I just…lived according to how people placed me in their lives. I guess I just wanted the space where I had to make decisions from nothing if that even makes any sense.”

“Depends. How many margaritas did ya have today?” he jokes.

“Atsumu! You were with me the whole day, I haven’t even had one yet,” you laugh out.

“But I understand what ya’ mean. Yer all good, I just thought you were gonna say you were soul searchin’ cause of a boy that broke ya’ heart back home.”

You look at him and wince. “In a way, that was a factor as well.”

Half expecting a sympathetic reply, you find yourself rolling your eyes and laughing because Atsumu suddenly yells, “Bingo!” and flicks your forehead.

He faces you and holds his hands up, “Hey, we all got a reason to do stuff so I ain’t gonna judge ya’.”

You smile and lean against his shoulder because you know he’s sincere. 

“Atsumu?” you call out.

“Yeah?” he replies as he turns his head looking at you. 

The red of the flames flicker as a glassy reflection against the brown in his eyes and your thoughts become jumbled for a second.

“If I find out you’re here because you got dumped I’m never letting you live it down.”

His eyes crinkle along with his laugh and you find yourself missing the pools of brown, but the echo of his laugh resonates clear in your ears as compensation so you decide you’re satiated.

“I swear I just got bored back home!”

Atsumu spends the next few hours by telling you stories and giving you soft smiles, and you don’t notice the absence of Tetsurou’s message that night.

-

On the afternoon after some weeks more, Atsumu comes to you by knocking at your door at five in the afternoon (which doesn’t even surprise you at this point), demanding you put on swimwear because he was going to teach you how to swim. At first, you stare at him with a blank look—wherein he stares at you right back with equal intensity, so after some time, you sigh and shoo him out, telling him you’ll meet him outside after you get ready.

After tugging on some shorts and a bikini top, you walk outside and glance around looking for the telltale blonde of Atsumu’s head. It doesn’t really surprise you when you hear your name being hollered from some distance, so as you look to the direction of the water—you see Atsumu waving his arms wildly, already waist deep out in sea.

The water was warm, at least, and you carefully wade in the water towards Atsumu. He lets you grab his arms to help you find balance against the waves knocking against you.

“You know you’re going to fail if you try to teach me right?” you say.

“Just needed an excuse to get you in the water,” he chuckles. 

You respond by splashing him with a handful of water. And somewhere in between splashes of water and playful banter, you find yourself wading chest deep into warm water, Atsumu’s arms acting as your anchor against the push and pull of the waves. The two of you stay like that for some time and you allow the woosh of the water and distant sounds of the children on shore fill the silence.

“Golden hour’s almost up, ‘Tsumu, we should go back.” you say after some time. 

He stands behind you and leans down a bit, then surprises you as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your back to his chest. Your breath hitches, then his voice sounds low near your ear, “Look at the sky.”

And so you do. The sky in front of you lights itself in bursting shades of oranges, reds, and touches of violets. You turn your face to the side but stop because you see Atsumu staring at you, the expression on his face soft.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” his lips part to say, and you nod because you see licks of the sky’s painting reflected in the glassy brown pools of Atsumu’s eyes.

He blinks and smiles in a softer way that only the corners crinkle up, and you don’t notice how your hand eventually found its way to wrap around his because you’re gravitating towards him—face angling closer until you felt his lips press against your forehead.

“Did you know,” you begin, “when you feel deja vu that means the universe is telling you you’re going down the right path?”

Atsumu looks as you, “Does this feel familiar?”

“In a way,” you respond and smile.

Turning to face him, Atsumu’s hands cradle yours as he presses his lips towards the side of your lips, then back to the side of your head feeling him smiling into the kiss. “You’re somethin’ else, (y/n).”

You look at him wearing a smile mirroring his, “Something good I hope.”

It’s something good, you decide later that night as you settle in bed after dinner with Atsumu. The past few hours flew by in a mirage of good conversation, light hearted jokes and even more eye crinkling smiles from Atsumu.

Settling into the comforter, you grab your laptop just in time as Tetsurou’s face pops up on screen, requesting a video call. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you hit the accept button and wave hello as Tetsuou’s face appears on the screen. He holds a can of beer as a greeting and leans forward. His eyes look glassy.

“(Y/n)..” His voice trails off before slowly continuing, “—how are you?”

You don’t notice his tone from the high you’re still feeling from the day so you beam at him, “I’m good! Atsumu and I are really hitting it off! You’d love him Tetsu!”

He stares at you through the webcam and then he sighs deep. Finally catching a drift of the atmosphere he’s giving off, you watch him crack another beer open and slowly speak, “You okay? Did something happen?”

He sets the can down at the table in front of him and places his face in his hands. You notice the new ink around his forearms. “I miss you, (y/n).”

“I’ll be home next week, Tetsu,” you say

“I—“ he pauses to look up at you with glassy eyes, “I think we should give us a try.”

Your heart clenches. “Tetsurou, you’re drunk. We can talk when I get home.” He shakes his head, and his movement is a little sluggish, so you continue to speak before he could, “I saw the photo your ex posted earlier. You’re still not okay, Tetsu.”

He leans back to his chair with a little force, “And suddenly you are? After being in love with me for eight years, (y/n), you expect me to believe that you’re suddenly okay? Bullshit.”

Your face grimaces, and you feel anger bubble up, the emotion seeping into your words, “I don’t think you’re ever going to go away, Tetsurou. For years I watched you fall in and out of love with someone who was never me. I’m not suddenly okay but I accepted that this—“ you pause to gesture between the two of you, “—isn’t going to happen and I’m moving on. I watched you when you were at your happiest and I deserve that too, Tetsu. I deserve to be at my happiest whether it be by myself or with Atsu-“

“We can try, (y/n),” he cuts you off softly.

“But I don’t deserve someone who isn’t sure about me,” you reply.

And maybe it’s the liquid confidence that riles him up, but he suddenly straightens his back and looks at you with the same glare you stare at him with, “And are you sure about Atsumu? You told me none of us are saints, (y/n), you’re not better off than I am here.”

You open your mouth, but the silence remains; the atmosphere suddenly heavy.

Then Tetsurou slumps before he he speaks, “(Y/n), I—“  

“It’s okay, Kuroo,” you watch as he winces at his surname, “It’s late and I really want to get some sleep. You should too. Take care.”

You catch the last second of him parting his lips at an attempt to reply before you promptly ended the call and shut off your laptop.

His words ring in your ear the entire night, and you think of Atsumu the entire night. You watch the second hand of the clock on your bedside table tick slowly. Your hand comes to rest against your eyes as you try to let sleep pull you in.

You think of Tetsurou who looked at you with glassy eyes that told you all the reasons why his heart was still hurting, then you think of Atsumu—of how the sunset looked better reflected in his eyes than it did painted across the sky.

“I really hope this is something good,” you echo your words from earlier as you let sleep finally succumb into slumber.

-

The night before your flight, Atsumu seats you outside for a bonfire, with the same blankets, snacks, and hoodie fitted around you. The first few hours he jokes about little stories that happened throughout his life and listens patiently when you’d share a snippet of yours.

At this point, you weren’t sure where the two of you stood. You look at him from the corner of your eye as he blows against an extremely burnt marshmallow before sheepishly offering the stick to you.

“When we’re back in Japan I’m lettin’ ya taste ‘Samu’s cookin’ to make up for this I swear.”

You lean your head against his arm and blow on the charred marshmallow, “Have you decided when you’re coming back?”

“Yes, but I’m not tellin ya,” Atsumu chuckles.

“What!” You exclaim, suddenly sitting up, “You already have a ticket?”

“That’s also a secret, doll.”

You sigh and move to lightly punch his shoulder, but instead, he catches your hand midway and envelops it in his own. Atsumu looks at the tattoo on your wrist peeking out, so tentatively, he pushes down the sleeve and looks at it.

“Baby’s breath means eternal love, right?” he asks, voice hushed.

“I’m surprised a big, buff, man like you knows,” you reply.

“Oi, big buff men can be sentimental too,” Atsumu quips.

“(Y/n),” he begins then looks at you in a way that suddenly has your stomach churning, “Should we give us a go at this?”

He asks the same question as Tetsurou did a few nights back and your head is swimming. Tetsurou’s words muddle the thoughts in your head as you turn to face Atsumu who is looking at you with eyes that always held the same softness that remained unchanged from two months ago.

Is this even fair for Atsumu? is the thought that you circle around.

“I don’t want to give you only half of me, ‘Tsumu,” you cradle his cheek in your palm and your heart stirs when he leans in. 

“You’re too good for me,” you confess.

He closes his eyes and you find yourself missing the dancing specks of scarlet flames reflected in his orbs. 

“You’re killin’ me, doll,” he sighs, his face still warm against your palm. Atsumu’s hand trails up and cups your hand that’s still flush against his cheek.

“Is this the part where we say we’re the right people who met at the wrong time?” he jokes quietly. Atsumu looks at you with a smile contrasting against the somber expression in his face, and you feel your heart clench.

Your thoughts momentarily flicker back to the night you talked to Tetsurou in your balcony some months ago and remember the feeling of déjà vu hinting that you were heading in the right direction with your decision.

Staring back at him, you look at your own reflection in darkened pools of brown and don’t feel déjà vu’s familiar push. Atsumu’s other hand trails up your face and his thumb rubs against your cheek. You stay silent when he sighs again and your heart clenches in the way that hurts, and your brain scrambles for a reason why.

Atsumu angles your hand in a way that lets him press a kiss to the tattoo on your wrist. “Hope ya heal in time, (y/n).”

You’re still quiet, thoughts still muddled as your rationality wrestles to string words to convey to Atsumu. “We can stay in contact, ‘Tsumu. I still want you to be in my life,” you slowly say.

“I don’t wanna be hurtin’ you while you’re still tryin’ to find yourself,” he says, and you nod. Déjà vu never comes and your heart still aches.

And your heart remains heavy as the two of you stand up to retreat for the night. Against the door of your room you look at him and press a kiss on his cheek. He smiles at you.

“Well, I guess,” you initiate, “see you around?”

He smiles and crosses the short distance between the two of you, then presses a chaste kiss on your forehead. “If the universe wills it, doll.”

The feeling of déjà vu is absent for the rest of the night.

-

After the first few days of your arrival back in Japan, you stay in your apartment cursing the winter. This particular winter was a little harsh for Tokyo and the sudden temperature change you needed to adjust to didn’t help with your traitor immune system. Kenma had waited for you at the arrival area of the airport instead of Tetsurou that day. Then again, you weren’t complaining—you didn’t have any plans to talk to him immediately after coming back home.

You didn’t need to report back to your job until the next week so the first few days, you loitered around your apartment mindlessly passing the time. Some mornings, you’d drag a chair by the balcony and sip your morning coffee. The snow accumulating on the rails and the gloomy morning light was a far cry from the little island you explored with Atsumu back in the Philippines, but your thoughts still ghosted around him from time to time.

The morning you left for the airport, he slept in, but that didn’t stop you from leaving a sticky note in his front door with your contact details neatly printed in the paper. Throughout your day, your eyes constantly flickered to sneak glimpses at your phone’s notification bar, but there was never an unknown number. So you sighed, and instead scrolled through the photos you managed to capture with him. The image of Atsumu stared back at you through the screen, expression beaming with unfiltered happiness and you find yourself smiling along every time.

A knock on your door one morning brings you out of your haze. Before you could look through the peep hole, another knock comes and then a voice, “Ah, (y/n), I think you’re home now,” your hand on the door knob loosens, “It’s Tetsurou. Can we please talk?”

You must have stayed quiet too long because he speaks again, “I got you donuts.” 

And you sigh, because he’s right, the two of you need to talk. But you still tell yourself you’re only opening the door because it’s six in the morning and you can’t be bothered to make breakfast so the donuts are the only reason you’re letting him in.

-

Tetsurou sits on the opposite side of the dining table gripping the handle of his mug with one hand before he clears his throat and looks at you, “I’m sorry.”

“Tetsurou,” you begin, “You’re someone that I don’t think will ever leave my system.” His eyes are a little clearer now that you return his stare. “You’re still the person who grew up with me even if time difference existed you know. You’ve had so many roles in my life and that’s never going to change.”

He looks at you, suddenly looking like a teenager again. His golden eyes stare at you and gleam of something unspoken. “I think somewhere along the years I really did fall in love with you, (y/n). And it just sucks how we never met at the same page. I really do love you, (y/n).”

“Maybe in the next life, Tetsu,” you say suddenly choked up. “We both deserve-“

“A fresh start.” He cuts you off, smiling. “A fresh start.” You affirm.

Before you knew it, Tetsurou rolls his sleeve to his elbows and angles his arm showing you a small outline of the sun peeking out behind some buildings. You look at him just in time for his explanation, “It’s not as sentimental as your baby’s breath tattoo, but sunrises remind me of you.”

You feel your eyes water when you look at the amber of his eyes growing glassier, “You got a tattoo that reminds you of me?”

“You’ve always been a constant in my life, (y/n). I shared so many sunrises with you. And I mean it when I say that I want you to find what makes you happy.” He tells you as you smile and lean forward, tracing the lining of his tattoo. The moment feels a little like déjà vu that doesn’t disappear when Tetsurou speaking again, “I love you enough to realize that kind of happiness won’t be with me, (y/n).”

He looks at you and everything feels so familiar. You choke out a sob that sounded a little like a laugh and Tetsurou does the same.

“You’re never getting rid of me, you lunatic,” you say, and Tetsurou laughs—eyes glassy from the pricks of tears fighting to slide down his cheeks. “We’re okay, right?” He asks you. And you nod, because your heart constricts in a way that doesn’t hurt, the knot in your stomach gone and Tetsurou looking so beautiful from the morning light that filtered in feels so familiar.

“Always, Tetsu.”

And after some moments of comfortable silence, he looks to the window on his left saying, “So, surfer dude slash volleyball player, huh? I think you got a type going on, (y/n).”

You roll your eyes and finally grab a donut from the box. “Yeah.”

Tetsurou chuckles, “Tell me about him. He’s the first guy who makes you look dopey in love.” So you smile and look out the window thinking about the boy who spoke of the little moments and showed you worlds under the sun and feel your heart mellow to a gentle beat, “He’s something good.”

-

Atsumu’s number doesn’t show up on your phone for the next month, but you try to keep yourself from doing your own research, or as Tetsurou pointed out, stalking, for his presence in social media. If he didn’t want to be found, you’d just leave him to it.

Tetsurou sits across from you at the arrival gate in Haneda airport later that month, scrolling through his phone and mumbling curses because Bokuto, his friend, had told him the wrong time for his arrival and won’t be arriving until a few hours later. Instead of driving back home, wasting gas, and sitting through traffic, you suggest to pass the time at a café instead.

“I swear to god, (y/n), remind me to end my friendship with him the second he lands,” Tetsurou huffs from across you.

“You’re being dramatic again,” You roll your eyes, laughing. 

“He’s gonna be here in a bit,” you pause and stand up, grabbing your phone, “I’ll go check the board so stay here.”

“Since you left your wallet here, I’m treating myself to another frapp, thanks (y/n)!” you hear him call from behind you, so you turn to flick him off as you keep walking.

-

Looking at the board above the gate, your eyes scan to look for information regarding Bokuto’s flight. Under said flight, you smile looking at SIARGAO listed within the board. Briefly, your thought wonders off to Atsumu; you hoped he was doing well.

A flow of people begin to trail out of the gate and into the lobby. Assuming that it must be from Bokuto’s flight, you stand on your tip toes from your little corner to look for the telltale monochromatic palette of his hair.

Grabbing your phone, you hastily press call to Tetsurou’s contact name, to which he answers with a drawled out “Heeelllloo?” along with an exaggerated slurp to the Frappuccino he bought with your card.

You open your mouth to tell him to come over, except that you don’t because standing a few meters in front of you is a familiar blonde.

From the phone in your ear, you hear Tetsurou call your name, so through the haze in your thoughts, you mumble a quick “Never mind.” and hang up. You don’t think Atsumu notices you just yet because he’s pulled his luggage to the side, a little closer to you this time, and pulled out his phone to what you could guess was him texting somebody.

You don’t speak for the first few beats of silence because, holy shit this is fanfiction material—is this actually happening? Eventually he pockets his phone and looks around, before his eyes spots you, who at this point, is still openly gawking at him some distance away.

Then three things happen in succession; first, Atsumu’s eyes widen, second, he blinks really fast, and then finally, third, cracks a smile.

And as soon as his smile pushes the crinkle in his eyes, you feel yourself release the breath you’ve unconsciously held in. He pushes his luggage with him as he walks towards you, hand held up in greeting and the smile still plastered wide on his face.

“Yo,” he says and your heart bursts with your reply that came out a little more breathless than you’d expected, “Hi.”

-

Tetsurou stands some distance away from the two of you, holding your wallet and his Frappuccino. He spots the blonde mop of head you’re staring at, really you should chill out (he thinks), and immediately recognizes his features as Miya Atsumu, the same guy who’s been a part of your daily margarita selfie for the two months you were in the Philippines.

The bedhead watches you walk towards Atsumu, and he to you before you both met somewhat in the middle, then looks at you, finding himself smile because of how happy you looked. He stands in his spot and can’t help but feel some sort of déjà vu as he stops himself from approaching the two of you. His heart, he realizes, clenches in a way that sort of hurts but sort of doesn’t, but because this is the first time looking at you with a smile so unabashed, he settles with the thought that because he loves you—you deserve nothing short of the happiness you’re feeling now.

And you can’t help but feel the same as Atsumu laughs out a comment about how the universe must really want the two of you together. His arms circle your figure after exchanging a few pleasantries and inside jokes and you smile into the crook of his neck.

“This feels a little like that déjà vu thing ya talked about before, ya know.” He mumbles. And for the brief moment you see Tetsurou’s text on the screen of your phone reading, “whipped.”, you laugh in a way that has you feeling dizzy and light. You feel like you could cry when Atsumu kisses the side of your head, because this moment feels so familiar.

Atsumu feels so familiar. So when you break the embrace and look at the reflection of your watering eyes in the warm pools of his, more than ever, you were sure that this is exactly where the gods meant for you to be.

-

a/n: *i’m aware there’s no direct flight from haneda/siargao but pls bear w me ;A;

proceed to Epilogue :D

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 5)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death ~7600 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4

Read on AO3!  Disclaimer below the cut!

DISCLAIMER! -i reckon I don’t need the paste it again… but in short: this is a purely self-indulgent work which contains a lot of my own headcanons and whatnot. this chapter especially so! lots of talking and thinking - curious to see what you think!! THANKS FOR READING <3 Consciousness was slowly seeping back into you. Like proverbially melting snow, the rivulets of thawing water were running over you while somehow you still felt coated, blanketed in heavy coldness. You blinked a few times before you realised no matter how often you did that, the darkness would not vanish: Tobirama had made good on his promise to provide an environment for you that was deprived of outward stimulus as much as possible. He had blindfolded you - though now the article was causing a rapidly budding sense of dread. Ignoring the ever present aches in your body, you snuck an arm up from under the blanket to rip it off quickly. The rest of the haze quickly cleared up.

The room was still dark, though. 

Your breaths were beginning to come more uneven now as you tried to fumble for the light on the nightstand. You had to clench your teeth to bite back on sobs that wanted to break out. How pathetic. Since when were you afraid of the dark?

But then you now were also scared of sleep.

Where was all of this coming from? Silly, you knew the answer, anyway.

A moment later, the dim light bulb illuminated the room. It was stale comfort.

You swallowed down the panic that was still settling in your chest. A whimper echoed in the lonely room. Your eyes wandered to the window - the curtains were drawn closed. Of course. Maybe-

With clenched teeth, you pushed the blanket aside and prepared yourself for the pain that would follow now. First, you pushed your chest off the bed with both arms. For now, the anguish was bearable, but you knew it'd get worse - next, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and before you could hesitate again, you rose to your wobbly, weak legs. 

The pain exploded. It was searing through your body like a wild fire rampant and uncontrolled. The wounds you almost - almost - had forgotten you had suffered from were acting up to remind you they were far from healed. There hadn't been a part of you the Stone hadn't cut, sliced, ripped, stabbed - and the healing had been reduced to a bare minimum. All the aches you suffered from now was tissue that didn’t want to be moved, that was broken.

You might even risk tearing open the injuries again - but you didn't care.

Because this was nothing compared to the increasing dread you felt now - caged, haunted, alone. 

Helpless.

You just needed to get that damn window open. See the village.

You staggered over to the window. Each step felt like knives being driven through your legs, wrenched around, tearing muscle apart, pulled out and then plunged back in. Tears began to stream down your face as memories of precisely that happening were starting to blur your focus.

Just four steps.

Four fucking steps.

With a gasp much like a drowning man's final one, you ripped the curtain open. 

Pale moonlight filtered through the window. Before you, the Hidden Leaf was peacefully slumbering. Your haggard form was shaking as the panic subsided, slowly. Sobs were wrecking through you as tears flowed freely.

Free. You were free. You just needed to remind yourself of that.

You wanted to linger at the window, but your power was leaving you rapidly. Already, you could feel your legs give in to the exertion. Not to mention the red-hot pain burning through you.

Standing. You just wanted to stand by the window. 

You had to turn around. The last thing you wanted was for Tobirama - or anyone, for that matter - to find you crumbled in front of the window. They’d ask questions you didn’t want to answer.

With a hiss, you began your martyrdom back to your bed. By the time you arrived, you felt ready to pass out from both exhaustion and agony alike.

Still, you refused to lie down again. You wanted to keep looking out of the window. Focus on anything that didn't remind you of everything that happened to you. Therefore you opted to simply sit on the edge and gaze outside, marvel the night sky. When last had you seen the stars?

The second dose of the leash had been quite different. Since Tobirama had put you to sleep, the effects of the drug had taken place in your dreams entirely: vivid scenes, nightmares your deranged mind would cook up from memories and physical sensations alike. Since the latter had been mostly absent, it left the focus on the former; unfortunately it had an extremely rich stock to draw inspiration from. What few pleasant ones you had made were overshadowed by the hell you were running through again. 

It just was so real. Everything. Real - and in bizarre forms even worse, thanks to the drug. Your tormentors had you in their grasp again, they were forcing you down on the dreaded table again. The restrains were biting into your skin as you fought bitterly against them, but it was futile. It was all futile and you had no choice but to relive all the torture again, every knife that cut you, ever drill that went into your bone, your skull, the saw at your ribs, the kunai they had stuck into your abdomen-

You closed your eyes and drew a deep breath.

Still - recovery was a tad bit faster. You knew they were hallucinations quickly. And as soon as the effect began to wane, the sleep was powerful enough to put you to rest. In a way, that was better.

A little bit.

And because it was artificial sleep, you wouldn't wake and nobody would hear your screams.

That was a relief.

You were going to relieve torture for as long as you were tethered to the leash - over and over again, in horribly deranged ways. Tears were flowing down your cheeks again as you sniffled, rubbing your hands over your face. 

You'd endure.

You had endured so much now.

This was just in your head.

You started to take deep breaths in order to soothe yourself when suddenly, the silence was cut through harshly, eliciting a surprised yelp from you and a slight flail of your arms as you tried not to slide off the bed.

"You are supposed to be resting." Tobirama's baritone voice behind you was stern - leaving no question about how displeased he was to see you like this.

Before you could speak he had rounded the bed to stand next to you and stare you down with a frown etched into his forehead, the scarlet gaze miffed. You closed your eyes briefly and found you had grasped for your chest instinctively. "T-Tobirama," you breathed, "Maybe a knock next time…" Where had he placed the hiraishin seal? 

Tobirama ignored your quip after having gotten a real look at you, and not just your back - you wanted to squirm away from the thorough glance he was giving you. Too late. You must've looked bad since you didn't pass muster - "Y/n?" He knitted his eyebrows, his expression softening. "What's going on?" He kneeled down next to you.

Inwardly, you cursed yourself - you didn't want Tobirama to see you like this. He had enough to carry as it was. He didn't need to worry more about you as it was. And you didn't want to be weak. Sitting alone in a hospital room with bloodshot, wet eyes, heaving sobs and drawing heavy breaths.

You were a shinobi, for crying out loud. 

You broke a weak smile and shook your head. "Just a few bad thoughts, is all." That was a bold understatement. But you knew 'nothing' wasn't going to pass by him. You extended a hand Tobirama took cautiously, still studying your face thoroughly for any sign of a lie. "Honestly." You reinforced. Well, you didn't lie.

The way his eyelids narrowed indicated he still wasn't quite sure if he was sold on that, but lucky for you, there was something else bothering him: "Lie down again," he instructed, softer this time but with no less firmness. You rolled your eyes now since that hadn’t passed your mind exactly. He already drew in a deep breath, no doubt to prepare himself to argue with any protest, but when he rose up to reach under your knees and help your legs into the back, you didn't resist at all. The exhaustion had gotten to you, after all, and lying down would feel better now.

"Thank you," you breathed once you were flat against the mattress again. Still, you didn't want to lie down completely just yet - so you opted to try to shift up on your elbows to rest on the headboard of the bed with your back. From the corner of your eye you saw Tobirama half opening his mouth, probably to protest, but he was cut short when you grimaced as searing hot pain shot through your chest and arms and you sunk down with a yelp.

Tobirama frowned again now, eyelids narrowed. "Are you in pain?" His voice was less soft now as the worry broke through more. He took a seat on the side of the bed again, but his hand was reaching for your abdomen, pushing the gown up enough to place it on your skin.

"Tobirama," you protested, but he flat out ignored you.

His touch felt warm, his calloused hand rough on your soft skin. You knew what he wanted to do and inwardly sighed - already, his chakra was pelting your network in a smooth, familiar way. A welcome, soothing sensation - even with how paralyzsed yours was, you wouldn't deny that. You responded in kind as best you could, momentarily. However he intensified the connection quickly and it became more of an examination. Immediately he'd become aware of all the aches and damages you still had to repair from the torture. Maybe some new damages from your latest stunt. You really hoped not. He'd be royally pissed. 

Even so, you rolled your eyes at his action, but you did your best to let your expression mellow somewhat after his inquiry and you attempted another smile that you knew didn't reach your eyes. 

One of your hands came to rest on Tobirama's, whose frown deepened now. "Y/n", his stern voice was more demanding, "Tell me." He definitely  had caught on to your ruse. 

Besides, with his examination, it was pointless to outright lie. Still, you didn't want him to worry more. You knew he did that plenty already.

You knew the whole ordeal was as much hell to him as it was to you.

You sighed then. "I'm-", you started, then you shrugged awkwardly. "It's bearable. Honestly."

He huffed sarcastically in response, "I can see that." Then, he shifted so he'd face your side more to put his other hand on your abdomen and then closed his eyes. You felt his chakra swell.

"Tobirama," you protested again more sternly now, raising a hand to lay over his and shove at them. He needed his energy for something else. Your wounds will heal in time. Heck, there were healers here. He didn't need to burden himself more.

"No." He cut the discussion short with a decisively stern tone, practically a growl, earning him an exasperated groan from you. Any further resistance would result in a lecture, you sarcastically realised. You rolled your eyes again and briefly wondered what he'd do if you flicked your finger at his facial marking on his left cheek. He'd probably shout at you.

Then, the healing started to kick in slowly.

Very carefully he began to tend to the many injuries of varying age that you had suffered from - Hashirama and he had laid the foundation when you first arrived back in Konoha. Their work had paid off, the healing process had kicked in nicely. But in your malnourished state, you'd recover slowly - and there still was the fact to consider that you had been exposed to sloppy, intense manipulation for weeks in which they kept you alive.

Alive. Nothing more. That much Tobirama would be seeing once more. You felt it every time you moved.

He still needed to be careful and not overdo it to not cause you distress or worse, symptoms of extensive chakra manipulation - but enough time had passed to heal some more damages. You knew because Mito had talked about this - and while your skill at healing jutsu was basic, you knew enough. Meticulously he tended to each injury as best he could, expanding on his own and his brother's work. Sometimes microscopically tearing down tissue of inferior quality to let it regrow better and reduce the scar tissue overall, sometimes rebuilding where the body hadn’t begun to heal at all. The worst damage was to your muscles - seeing how they weren't vital organs, they had been neglected most during your captivity. Here, Tobirama took quite some time to amplify, heal, cut down or redirect, much like a gardener tending to the plants. It was like surgery at the smallest possible size; the efforts were tiny, though with time - and rest - they’d pay off well. 

You almost groaned from the thoroughly comfortable feeling that was settling into your body. A procedure like this was like a healing massage of your being as a whole, tuning down the pain quite a bit and at the same time making you feel refreshed - something you had been unable to before, due to the 'leash'. The hand that had tried to push Tobirama's away from your abdomen was patting them now.

"Thank you," you uttered when he was finished, smirking then. Now, it reached your eyes. "You stubborn man."

Tobirama enclosed your hand briefly in his while he huffed. A smirk stretched his lips in a smug gesture. Still, there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Then he pulled back to cover you in a blanket. "No more than you."

You had to laugh a little at that. Then, you became more somber. "You need your energy for other things. I'll heal, eventually. And you know, there are medical nin here." A wink. And a more serious reminder at what truly was important.

Tobirama snorted again. You knew precisely how he thought about placing important tasks out of his hand. His answer didn't surprise you. "I assure you, I have enough energy for every task I need to perform, Y/n," he countered evenly and firm enough to indicate he wouldn’t sway on this.

You rolled your eyes again. In fact, if his tone was any indication, that was a discussion you were not having, now. Or ever. 

Tobirama then shifted a little and frowned again. He opened his mouth and closed it again. There still was a question burning under his skin, you knew. And you really hoped you could answer without breaking into tears again. 

He tried to make his deep voice as soft as possible. And ask in a smart, roundabout way. "How have you been doing?"

You gulped a little, but arched an eyebrow of your own to indicate you'd seen through his intention right away. You wouldn't let that be taken from you. Tobirama frowned a little, likely picking up on the dichotomy. "It's - it's difficult," you admitted eventually after trying to scrap every description of 'nightmare', 'torment' and 'horror' from your explanation. Tobirama didn't need to know more details. "But I will manage." Besides, lying was a futile effort with him, anyway.

Tobirama's arms crossed in front of his chest as he hung his head momentarily. His shoulders had tensed and when he looked back up, his face was scrunched up in a frown again. "Is there anything I can do?" 

The frustration in his question was tangible. 

You were surprised he didn't ask for details - but then he knew you well, of course. You'd talk when you wanted to.

Frankly with the time he probably had spent researching this drug, he was aware of the effects it caused - what you were going through.

You smiled weakly and freed your arm from the blanket to hold your palm up for him to take, which he immediately and firmly did. His warmth alone was soothing.

"I'm going to be fine, Tobirama. It's just in here," you tapped your forehead with your other hand, noticing your movements were less painful now - sure, the aches were still there, but duller. That was comforting. They would flare up again - but you'd enjoy this moment. "Still, it's good you put me to sleep after." 

So nobody might hear you.

His lips turned down in an almost helpless fashion as his thumb stroked your hand gently and he let his chakra pelt yours tenderly. His gaze on you was glossy, almost. "Alright."

Your heart ached.

You both knew there was little to be done at this point except finding the antidote, as fast as possible. 

"How are you doing, Tobirama?", you inquired then, a question you had been wondering about since noticing he actually came by in the middle of the night. You could only guess at how he felt, but of course you knew him well enough to paint a pretty picture of his emotional landscape right now.

The dark rings under his eyes bore witness to that.

Tobirama merely quirked up an eyebrow, snorting a little. "It's difficult," he answered, a little ironically.

You had to roll your eyes now. "Are you taking care of yourself, Tobi?" Now was your turn to become more stern as you made another attempt to sit up at the headboard of the bed to get more on eye-level with him.

Which Tobirama shut down quickly with his free hand on your chest pressing it down and shaking his head. "Better than you, it seems," and already, his voice stern again. 

You half had a mind to be stubborn and get up anyway, but it was ridiculous how easily he flattened your chest against the mattress again when he felt the resistance. You huffed, he gave a grunt. "Right, sitting up will seriously hamper my recovery-", you began.

He shifted again so he'd face you more, an eyebrow rising slowly. You knew that face. Time for a lecture. You wanted to sigh. "You've already sat on the side of the bed, you were clearly in pain - no, don't deny it-" he held up his free hand when you opened your mouth, "- there is no way you weren't with what I've seen - and that curtain," he gestured for the window, "didn't just open itself miraculously."

You were speechless.

"Unless you devised a way to pull it back from here." His head tilted forward questioningly.

"I used a wind release jutsu." You snorted, tone sarcastic. 

"You sure did." He was entirely unimpressed, but he had the decency to not point out that right now, you weren't using any jutsu at all.

"I could've easily sat up now," you pouted then finally, dropping the act. You were quite thankful Tobirama just scolded you for getting up - and did not ask  why  you'd take such a painful endeavour upon you.

"I know," he replied evenly, holding your hand a little bit tighter now while still stroking it softly. His expression mellowed again, his voice became pleading. Firm still, but the scolding tone had vanished - momentarily you wondered if he had  guessed  why you had been sitting and that was why he was showing leniency. "You still need to rest, Y/n. There is…," he paused, taking a deep breath, "a lot of damage that still needs to be tended to. We've just started patching you up. Don't aggravate it."

You sighed. "You changed the topic."

He snorted, but smiled slightly for being called out so easily. "I'm taking care of myself, Y/n."

"When was the last time you slept? Ate?", you asked then, frowning.

He sighed exasperatedly. "Y/n, don't worry about me, please." 'Worry about yourself' is probably what he had wanted to add there with the way he gazed back at you - there was desperation in that.

You knew, then - he didn't want you to see it.

Plus, the fact he didn't answer the question said it all, really.

"Tobirama…", you scolded, your frown deepening. "I can't force you to rest -  like you can -"

"Y/n, you-" his voice's volume rose again.

"- but you damn promise me, you're going to take care of yourself. Or else." Your stare bore into his eyes in the exact same fashion his did.

You both held each other's looks in what seemed to be a duel before Tobirama gave an exasperated sigh. "I will, Y/n."

You smiled then, immediately mellowing. "Thank you." 

Suddenly, Tobirama released your hand and shifted forward. Both of his arms reached under your thin chest to enclose you in a tight embrace as he buried his face in the side of your neck. You were flabbergasted - it was rare he did something like this. The both of you often settled for small gestures outside the privacy of your home - you both preferred letting your chakra mingle and graze over each other's network. It was your much more intimate and tender way of showing affection nobody else could see or know like you both did. But to feel Tobirama's chakra pelt over you and him hugging you this fiercely at the same time - it was special.

Your arms closed around him just as tight as his did around you. His heartbeat thundered against your chest and his breaths came deep, but fast.

"Tobirama?", you asked, now worried.

"You'll be alright," he answered. Taking another deep breath to inhale your scent, embrace you even firmer. 

His voice - his voice had sounded perfectly desperate now.

You turned your head slightly to peck his cheek.

"I will be."

________

Tobirama had embraced you fiercely for longer than he ever had in public. Semi-public, he reminded himself. It was night, and the hospital staff knew better than to come in there without a knock.

The truth was, the despair had been eating him away inwardly. Still was. To see your haggard body - to examine you and  again recognise the vast damages they had inflicted upon you, over and over again - and to know you still were in lethal danger - it was driving him insane.

And yet there you had been, quipping about your in Tobirama's eyes irresponsible behaviour - after waking up from what probably had been a horror trip still.

You, his beautiful, strong woman - still undergoing regular doses of a torture drug - being herself.

Berating him on his health.

He would never, ever forgive himself if he lost you. His heart was bursting from anguish just knowing that possibility was out there.

No. He'd figure this leash out, he'd find the antidote. Holding you this close, he reaffirmed himself of this truth and his promise to you.

Eventually, he drew back slowly.

Your gaze had become a little tired. 

"Sleep some," he instructed softly, his hand caressing your face.

"You too, please," you mumbled.

He leaned forward to place an utterly tender kiss on your lips. He couldn't yet. The experiments were over - he had results now he had to work with. "Soon." He wouldn't lie to you.

Fortunately, you had already fallen asleep.

He let his chakra flow over yours in a warm motion again gently before he took the blanket in both hands and put your arms under it. His heart skipped a few beats uncomfortably when he reminded himself that in a few hours, he will have to be back here no matter what. But for now, he used the hiraishin seal to teleport into the basement and swiftly made for the makeshift laboratory. 

As he had expected, the contents of the leash were found exclusively in Konoha's forests. Three different herbs to be precise, all of them known for potent psychoactive qualities. Or, in layman's terms, used as drugs. So far, so good. The real trick of the leash - the reason why it was called that - was the chakra altering component. And there his problem started again. None of these herbs were known for anything like chakra disruption or slowing chakra flow in the body.

Tobirama damn near smashed a glass vial into the next wall.

He was confronted with his worst fear once more; not that he hadn't gathered enough evidence to that effect before already. But he had hoped to at least glean something of a lead in how the chakra altering part of the drug worked by identifying the chemical components of the drug. Again, luck wouldn’t be on his side. Now, the real trick would be to find out how the whole chakra component worked separately to these herbs. Researching that went beyond simple chemical experimentation.

Tobirama sat down in front of the small vial that still held a small amount of the leash and stared at it as if that might make it show him on its own. His hands raked through his hair. Truth be told, he had felt the chakra signature the substance emitted the same way Hashirama had when he first had singled out this drug - but he hadn't paid much attention to that yet. It wasn't so uncommon for substances or items really, chakra was a very versatile thing and could be used in many ways - paper bombs for example and many more different tools used in combat. Still, it gathered his attention more now.

"I must be mad," he mumbled to himself after an inspiration struck him. 

He closed his eyes and tuned into his sensory skills, sending a potent, short wave of chakra through the vial in a way he'd search for enemies.

The result was, to say the least, interesting. 

The substance was swirling, almost like an alive being. Tobirama's scarlet eyes flew open in shock.

He had never seen anything like this. To him, the vial was a tiny, sparkling beacon of chakra now - this thing wasn't just altered by chakra, it was loaded with it. Static, certainly, not flickering or flowing like an alive person’s should be - but stationary evidence to the fact someone had done something .

If this was possible, then that meant...

Tobirama's hand grasped around it to do the next thing he had never ever done before in his life: he tried to examine the contents of the vial much in the way a person was examined. 

This time, the result wasn't as impressive. Of course, there was no network and no substance as such to feel or investigate. Still - Tobirama could sense the echo of the person that had synthesised the leash. Their signature - and through this echo, he could very vaguely guess at the alteration process that had taken place. It was so faint, Tobirama's head almost hurt trying to trace it down. He had to be careful - if he poured too much  of his own chakra into this now, he'd destroy the drug. Besides, it wasn’t so much the signature of the maker he was interested in, but rather the structure of the drug - or rather, the chakra stored within.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, all he could make out was a confusing, ever-changing swirl of finely threaded chakra that was woven together in a clever pattern Tobirama couldn't grasp the slightest. Almost like a foreign language, flowing with no such thing as a thread to unravel it with - no key words he could make out. It fluttered, convulsed around the liquid it had been imbued into; locked in structure and yet eerily flexible.

This wasn't a subtle alteration of some herbal components.

This was more comparable to a damn bomb to the chakra network of a victim.

And it was dauntingly sophisticated. 

Tobirama heaved a heavy sigh. The tight feeling had returned to his chest, constricting it while his heart burned painfully. It could barely get any worse. He sat the vial down and put both palms to his face, dragging them down slowly as he mindfully took deep breaths.

He'd get this. 

His breaths were getting more rattled.

He just had to, there was no choice.

He forced his breath to even out again. The blood was rushing in his ears. 

Numb, he rose to start setting up new experiments to determine the quantities of the three herbs in the leash - a mandatory, but simple task compared to all else now. His hands moved automatically as he prepared everything, his head felt heavy. Stuffed. There were so many things to consider, now.

He still couldn't rule out alteration of the herbs entirely; he still had no idea whether there was a jutsu involved. Or was the substance just imbued with chakra? Was it the chakra itself that caused the effects on you? Plain, simple, stored for a later usage? He had no answer to any of these questions. All he could do at this point was test it out. Again and again. Luckily, synthesising the base of the leash - the three herbs in the right quantities - would be a simple task after these experiments.

That was a small relief.

When all was up and running, he glanced at the clock. Just two hours were left before you needed the next dose. It was still night outside.

For the first time in days, Tobirama actually felt like he needed sleep.

He returned to your side at the very first rays of dawn from home after a short, dreamless nap using the hiraishin seal. In his hand the next dose in a closed vial. 

You were in the beginnings of the withdrawal phase again, squirming slightly in the bed. Your skin was glistening from the sheen of sweat that had formed, but your eyes were closed. Perhaps you actually were asleep, or maybe you just didn't even try to fight the delirium off. Not that Tobirama could blame you. You looked paler than before, too; he knew it must be your blood pressure dropping - all signs pointing to the withdrawal setting in and your body repelling the disruption of your chakra network due to the leash. The systemic response was beginning.

With slumped shoulders, he walked closer to your bed when a new thought occurred to him. 

All they had ever done was analyse the drug itself - and you, using their chakra. There still was an angle they hadn't yet tried: what your body itself had made of the chakra - the leash, really. Wordlessly, Tobirama turned around and slipped the vial back into his pocket to retrieve a few items: disinfectant, a tourniquet, a needle and three vials. 

Right now, he might not be able to recreate whatever the creator of the leash had done to the substance with his chakra using his own, but perhaps whatever your body did to metabolise the substance might yield new information.

He was desperate. He knew it. This - this was desperate. But it was a small price to pay.

When he opened the door to your room again, he didn't make a sound and rounded your bed to sit by your side. Gingerly, he produced your weak arm from under the blanket. You stirred more then and your squirming increased, but your eyes didn't open. Tobirama gave you a brief once-over before he got to work. As usual, your weakened state caused his heart to ache again and the sorrow to flare. No, he'd never get used to seeing you like this. When the leash wore off, it’d always become worse - as what strength was being left in you was sapped away and you were even stripped of consciousness.

Likewise, strapping the tourniquet around your arm just showed off how agonisingly thin you were. When he flicked your cubital vein, your elbow felt sharp in his palm.

The sorrow was beginning to feel suffocating, really. Tobirama hated to be subject to his emotions like this - it was unlike him. And yet on the other hand, what else could he expect? He’d just learn to deal with it.

The moment the needle pierced your skin, you whimpered quietly, trying to wrench your arm out of his iron grip that he quickly reinforced. "I'm sorry," he whispered, already filling the second vial.

You had stilled again. He looked up again to find you gazing at him. 

"Y/n," he breathed, furrowing his eyebrows sadly, but not letting go of your arm. 

You hummed lowly in response. Either you had forgotten about the needle in your skin, or you didn't care.

When the last vial was full, he made quick work of pulling it out and disposing of it as well as quickly closing the wound. 

Time for the far less easy part of his visit.

You must have known too, because your eyes closed again and you only gave a drawn out groan as you squirmed uneasily again.

Fortunately though, the matter went about the same as the last time - Tobirama soothed you as best he could with a calm voice and his hand on the back of your neck, though his heart felt heavy. You needed a moment again to work through it all before he placed the vial on your lips and you swallowed with two big gulps. By the time you stilled, he already had put you to sleep again, but not without giving you a gentle caress and then blindfolding you again. 

He lingered a moment longer to find he picked up on someone standing in the doorway. His head snapped up.

Hashirama was gazing at you, wrought with the same sorrow Tobirama dealt with. "How is she?"

Tobirama's scarlet eyes fell back on you, enduring the anguish of the sight a moment longer before he forced himself up and shook his head. The vials with your blood he slipped into his pocket. He waved his brother out and followed him, closing the door as quiet as he could. 

He walked for the laboratory again, his brother followed suit. "She's still quite weak. I've healed some of the damages a while ago, at least as much as her state would permit. Which wasn't more than… ground work."

Hashirama hummed thoughtfully. "In her malnourished state, her body's own healing capacity is severely hampered."

"Indeed. Add the lack of a functioning chakra network, and I have to admit I'm rather surprised she is not driven insane by the fact her life consists of sleep, nightmares, the onset of first powerlessness and then a delirium. Oh, and the few precious hours in which she is awake - which are ruined by the pains of her wounds." Tobirama's voice was dripping with cynicism. That was a joke, really - he knew you were suffering, badly. You hadn’t fooled him before.

Hashirama sighed and wisely decided to switch the topic. "What's your progress on the leash?"

Tobirama sighed. His shoulders slumped as his pace got a little slower. He might as well break the news now. "It's - it’s as we guessed. It’s all chakra based and  very sophisticated, in fact," he pressed past his clenched teeth.

Hashirama caught up to him and placed a hand on Tobirama's shoulder. His gaze was burdened with worry. "Explain that to me."

Tobirama told him in detail about his findings earlier this morning, as well as the report from the interrogation unit. While he did, his heart began to hammer against his chest again, his nostrils flared. He felt fierce determination and hopeless agony at the same time.

Hashirama's expression had turned sorrowful while he listened to the explanation. His hand squeezed Tobirama's shoulder. "We'll figure this out. We always do."

Tobirama really wanted to latch onto his brother's optimism. Heck, by now he was beaten down enough to do it.

Just for a moment. He wouldn't admit it, though. 

Hashirama smiled slightly then. "If there's one person in Konoha to figure this out, it's you."

And the healing effect died right there, then. Tobirama rolled his eyes then. "That's enough sap for one day, anija," he chided before turning and continuing their walk to the laboratory. 

Hashirama sighed again and Tobirama knew his brother was probably drooping again in his famous way. He had no time for this stuff. 

He flung the door open and reached for the vials containing your blood to place them on the rack on the bench.

Hashirama stood next to him, crossing his arms. "What is your plan?", he asked after a moment, having noticed the setup had changed since last he had been here.

"Ascertain in what quantities they used each of the three herbs. Then, I'll have the base from which they created the leash. After that…" Tobirama's hands gripped the edge of the bench. "I'm going to have to try to replicate the chakra alteration." He might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack.

Hashirama knew that too - he knew they still didn't know enough about the kind of alteration to even begin researching into a certain direction. His hand reached for one of the blood vials, which he grasped around and closed his eyes. Tobirama turned his head slightly to watch his brother work.

“What can you feel?”, he gruffly inquired when his brother wouldn’t speak.

Hashirama hummed thoughtfully. "I'm… not sure," he mumbled, reaching for the leash's vial to examine it in kind. 

Tobirama stayed perfectly still.

"It feels different," he judged after a moment, "The substance definitely got metabolised in a way that altered the chakra that was in the original vial." 

Tobirama frowned and now took one of the blood vials in hands, closing his eyes to examine it, as well. He proceeded the same way he had with the leash: a careful pulse to first check with sensory abilities. No response there. The signature must be too weak. That wasn’t surprising; given the small amount you’d ingest. Then, he tried to examine it closely, like he would if this was still flowing through your veins: there, he received an echo. It was yours; traces of your chakra clung to this blood. That much was to be expected. However when he concentrated harder and poured more of his own into it, he found another trace: it was the leash's. More precisely, its creator's. This time, it felt different though - not the delicate, confusing swirl of the drug itself. This felt sharp - stingy, as though it had hooked onto your blood and ripped everything your blood was passing through. Sharp daggers of  chakra  that had latched themselves onto your cells to damage all the came into contact with.

Tobirama opened his eyes again, slowly.

"This is…" he uttered slowly, awed - but in a horrified way.

"... unlike anything I've seen before." Hashirama finished for him, placing both vials in the rack again. His tone was grave. 

Tobirama placed your blood back on the rack as well, his heart's rhythm pounding in his ears. 

Hashirama had turned around to lean against the bench and crossed his arms. "Tobirama," he finally started. 

Tobirama gave him a curt grunt.

"It might be worthwhile to take another blood sample now," he suggested, turning his glance towards Tobirama. "I'm fairly certain we'd find the drug was acting different in her blood now."

Tobirama nodded slowly, still focusing on taking even, deep breaths before he shoved off the bench. This would very likely reflect in your nightmares - guilt churned in his gut already. Yet there was no other way, and the information was invaluable. "I'll do it."

"No," Hashirama cut in sternly. "You will go home and get more sleep now. You look awful, brother." Already, his brother was heading for the lab door.

Anger flared in Tobirama. He couldn't be serious. He contemplated simply using the hiraishin seal to get to you immediately, but Hashirama suddenly stopped.

"Go, Tobirama. You set everything up here. I'm more than capable of taking blood from Y/n." His voice left little room for discussion. 

He crossed his arms and scowled at his brother. "Don't agonize her, anija," he warned scaldingly, then he took off for home.

He didn't want to. But Hashirama was right. And for the task ahead, Tobirama needed the sharpest mind he could ever have. That wasn't to say that when he was home, the crushing sense of forlornness gripped him like the heartache did. He missed you. So much. The bed felt colder without you in it, and the thought that unless he replicated the leash in the next six days, it would become a lot colder - for the rest of his life. It felt like a rock that was crushing his chest. He showered in hopes of alleviating the feeling somehow, but it was futile.

His sleep was short - he would not allow himself a second longer than he'd be idle otherwise.

Just a couple of hours later, he was back in the laboratory, pleased to find not three, but six vials of your blood on the rack next to the leash. 

He got to work immediately. The analysis of your second blood sample was different indeed: the leash's chakra was latched to your blood nonetheless, but it was not the stingy, cutting thing he had recognized earlier: right now it felt fuzzy, almost like pollen. Clogging and heavy.

It fitted, of course - in your chakra network, this was causing the muteness they had witnessed; the muzzle that was ensnaring it after indigestion. And the way the leash seemed to change perfectly explained why it would cause the effects they witnessed later in you: disruption not only to your chakra network, but quite literal damage to you as your body tries to repel it once your own chakra awakens again.

Tobirama cursed quite colorful profanities at whoever had devised such a sophisticated way of using chakra in a substance. He still had no idea how - if - the psychotropic agents played into all this but at least this was lead.

After having verified the quantities of each herb in the leash he set up to craft a large amount of a solution he now called the basis of the leash. It wasn't a complicated process as such; given the fact the herbs used were not so uncommon in Konoha's shinobi forces, so all Tobirama had to do was tap the hospital's supplies for more. Not long after, he stood in front of a large glass bottle filled to the brim with the basis.

Now, to create the actual leash.

He never had done anything like this. Using chakra to craft an item was one thing - usually there were seals involved that described a certain effect; but these needed activation and wouldn’t trigger upon indigestion by a victim. Things like chakra chains also interacted with a victim’s chakra but only so long as they held them - this drug worked, as far as Tobirama knew, simply by being drunk  once  until the victim was given it again or… killed. In fact - to imbue a liquid with chakra in such a fashion that it remained changeable, responsive to an organism - he had no idea where to even start. His first attempts all ended up with the basis either boiling or the solved, herbal contents beginning to break down and flocking to the bottom of the vial. Tobirama opted to try the same with plain water, but was entirely unable to even store a shred of chakra in it. The herbs were necessary, apparently. It didn’t surprise him - the chakra seemed to have been latched to something, it must be the herbs, then. 

The frustration culminated in Tobirama snagging the vial with the water off the table and smashing it against the wall in a fluid motion where it shattered into a thousand pieces. 

This was all so frustrating. 

He didn't even know if he was on the right path - if a jutsu was involved here, he could try all he wanted. He’d never pull anything off. Where to even start with such a jutsu? Or maybe a seal, actually? But if there was some other trick behind it, then he’d have to figure that out, otherwise he'd never synthesise the leash and you-

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose.

Easy, now. 

It was a far-fetched guess, but involvement of a jutsu could’ve possibly resulted in a bigger resonance of the creator’s chakra signature. Such was the nature of huge releases of energy to his sensor skills. The leash barely gave off anything, so that seemed unlikely. That left the option of a seal. But if a seal was used then certainly first there’d have to be something to seal off - some kind of chakra.

Which meant somehow, the chakra had been stored in there.

All Tobirama could think of at this point was the way medic shinobi treated their patients: no special jutsu involved but rather establishing a deep connection to the other person’s body, their chakra network; and after examination they’d alter the body with their own chakra, letting it flow freely into the patient. If he were to start viewing the vial like that, he might get somewhere - and if he thought about what he wanted to do - create a drug that near muted the victim’s chakra network, later become disruptive to it - maybe it’d work.

By the end of his patience with the laboratory, he had managed to produce a substance that contained his chakra to a certain degree. It was nowhere near as intricate as the leash itself, but the effect Tobirama thought he had poured in there might at least alter a person's chakra flow. At least it would have done so were the fluid a living person and he were to affect their network. Truth be told, this endeavour had felt like chiselling a statue from a rock with a fork alone. This couldn’t be right; the process of creating this in greater quantities would be a head-splitting process. Not to mention, this wouldn’t cause a disruptive effect in the slightest.

Still. He could take this to the interrogation unit, now. And hope they had some more answers by now. 

He still had a little bit of time before you'd wake.

[cajunquandary]

A Beacon to Beasts

A Beacon to Beasts

AO3 Link (in the works, check back later)

Summary: While Dean is in Purgatory, he comes across some interesting monsters who help him through.

Created for @spndarkbingo​

Square Filled: Fornication

Rating: R (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Dean x Reader x Benny

Warnings: Dark Fic. Canon level violence, SMUT (p in v, biting, anal, oral, dp, unprotected sex *dont be silly wrap the willy,* all the smut, also I might be developing a praise!kink here??), angst, traumatic memories. If you squint: suicide, Destiel, Denny

Word Count: 7600

A/N: Originally published in early 2017, this is a total rewrite with the tremendous help of @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ and @wonder-cole​. You talented bitches. I love you.

Lightning spider-webbed across the sky, for a brief moment illuminating every shadow across Purgatory. The forest practically hissed in the unwelcome brightness as the trees whispered amongst themselves. A crack of thunder caused a quake larger than you’d felt in the god forsaken land ever before. It cracked the sound barrier, bent the hellscape reality at all of its slithering edges, and sent a shockwave so powerful it nearly tore apart every cell in your body. With an eerie silence, darkness fell again, and as your eyes adjusted, you could see that the beast attacking you was fleeing the other direction from whence it’d come—no, not fleeing. It was chasing the impact. 

Something pulled in your chest like a red-hot meat hook, something that sent sparks of electricity straight into your brain and signaling an overwhelming raw need. You were familiar with such will-crushing lust. Your fangs were proof. But this… this was stronger than anything you’d ever felt before. It nearly drove you mad. You could feel your mind slipping, until you took a step forward, then another, and another. The more you walked towards the source of the prior disturbance, the more sated you felt. The more whole. 

It took weeks of fighting others like you and endless backtracking to find the source—a vampire and another beast. It was a bit like a human, but no humans could be in Purgatory. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating. 

Your body shuddered at the proximity of the delicious flesh. The warmth. You were merely a moth, drawn to a flame of your own destruction. Your head swam and you reached towards the man, but another fang sped from the shadows opposite you first. This was just enough of a distraction to pull you back from the brink. 

You crouched behind a half-rotten tree, only one eye peeking from behind your cover. The human barely had time to react before the fiend had him forced into the well-trodden packed earth. His fall was hard. Your mouth watered as his pulse quickened and echoed through your soul. 

The vampire accompanying the human sent the attacker’s head flying so closely that spattered monster blood landed on your hand. The foul stench drove you deeper into the safety of the trunk. You didn’t want to be next. 

In this land, the best way to survive was to stay hidden, quiet, so you decided to follow them for the first few weeks, being careful to keep to the shadows. The thirst for the human ebbed and swelled unpredictably. At times, it was all you could do to resist the pulse exposed on his neck, especially when the man slept. 

For days you tried to figure out what the other one was, who he was, but damn, was he a monster magnet. You’d been in pretty thick shit before, but never like this. Your cover was nearly blown a few times a day, but you were thankful the two were too busy fighting their own to notice you.

“Damn, man. You’re humanity is gon get us kilt.” The vampire wiped the rancid blood from his blade on the latest dead monster’s shirt.

“Yeah well, as soon as we find Cas, we’re getting the hell out of hell.” A human in Purgatory? How? No wonder there had been such a disturbance. He must have been pulled here by a great force--one that very nearly ripped the entire existence apart. 

“Hey brother, I’m startin to think the angel don’t wanna be found. Dean, think about it. Every time we get close, he disappears again.”

“Benny—don’t.” The human stormed away from the vampire. What was going on? A human and an angel? Things must be getting really messy up top.

The vampire, Benny, turned suddenly in your direction, and you closed your eyes, hoping the thick layer of leaves and thorny bushes camouflaged you well enough. It must have, because he merely shrugged and walked after Dean.

This night was the quietest it had been since The Event. It had been hours since the last monster attack and you were almost as exhausted as they looked. It wasn’t long before the men settled down into the dust and a pile of dry brush and began to lightly snore. Usually one stood guard as the other slept, but on this occasion, both must have been too far gone to care. 

You crept slowly forward, focused completely on the human. He was so beautiful. The creases of his forehead were reduced to fine lines as he slumbered, slow, tender breath fluttering across weary-pale swollen lips, freckles and mud mixed on his cheeks, hair tousled and bloodied, yet still so soft and shiny. His lashes twitched as he dreamed. You were only a few feet away now, beginning to feel lost in the warmth radiating from him, drunk in the light from his soul.

A sharp pain through your side interrupted your trance and you collapsed into a prickly shrub. Between gulps of agony, you could just make out that you were pinned to the ground with a rough makeshift javelin, reminiscent of a butterfly pinned to a shadow box as you’d owned as a human. You screamed in pain, and if you weren’t already twice dead, you’d worry about losing too much blood.

A pair of boots came into your view. “I smelled you days ago. I know you’ve been followin’ us. Why haven’t you attacked? You workin for someone?”

You looked from under your brows, straining to see if Dean was still where he had been, but found nothing. All you could do was gasp shallowly against the burning splinters. It had been years since anyone had gotten the jump on you like this. The bit of human that was left within you prayed that this was a bad dream, that you would wake in a moment in the gently swaying safety of the treetops.

The javelin was ripped from your aching side, and you screamed again as your organs smacked back together in the loss of pressure. The vampire threw you against the nearest tree. Through the pain that overwhelmed your ability to flee, you watched in utter captivation as the human secured you with heavy, rusted chains.

The latter bent close to your face, piercing green eyes a stark contrast to the caked mud and blood spattered across pale cheeks. “Now look, you piece of shit. I’m gonna waste you like I’ve wasted every damn thing in this place. But first, you’re gonna tell me where the angel is, and why you’ve been following us. If I like your answer, I’ll make it quick. If not… well, I don’t normally like the answers.” He smirked, tilting his head just slightly as if he was considering just how he was going to end you. 

You gulped hard knowing the human meant business. You’d seen him firsthand, the violence, the rage. All this man left behind him were wide trails of blood.

You were shaking now, feverish and confused. When had your fangs come out? You retracted them in an attempt to look less intimidating and more cooperative. Between gritted teeth and a gradual tunneling of vision, you managed to respond. “I’ve been tracking you since you arrived. There was this storm, and I’ve felt a pull towards you the whole time. I-I don’t work for anyone, I swear.” His gnarly blade pressed into the soft flesh of your throat now and panic was rising  and threatening to close off your throat if the blade didn’t do it first. “I didn’t even know about the angel until earlier today when I overheard you.”

“Well. I don’t think I like your answer.” Dean sliced deeply into your arm, which produced a guttural scream from deep within your core. The blade itself didn’t hurt that bad, but whatever was on it sure did. Benny walked away, knowing what was coming. Benny was a monster—Dean was worse.

“P-please I don’t know, I just know the light—your soul is like a candle in this endless darkness. I’ve been here for so, so long and you feel like home, like safety. I crave your closeness and I don’t know the details of why, but I couldn’t hurt you.”

Benny looked over his shoulder as Dean paused. Something struck a chord. Benny walked back over and pulled Dean slightly off to the side, almost out of earshot.

“Brother, I think she’s tellin’ the truth. We should give this one a chance to talk.”

“Why? She doesn’t know anything about Cas. She’s just another monster in my way.”

“And so was I. We were both human once. Let’s hear her out. She hasn’t even fought back.”

The fatigue and injuries caught up with you. Focusing on the thick red-black ooze streaming from your wounds, sleep was finding you swiftly with your head falling forward, blood-soaked hair in your eyes and chest pulled tight against the restraints.

Dean lifted your chin with the end of his blade, remnants of your internals still glistening on the edge. Your eyes followed the length of his arm to his face where he held you in an unwavering gaze. Those eyes were greener than anything in this world—more than the trees you hid in, the brush around you, or the sparse grass beneath your feet. 

You seized your breath and relaxed your tense muscles. If this was finally what wiped you into oblivion, it would be okay, as long as you could stare into those eyes. After all, you were tired of fighting. Your mortal soul had been tired in life, grown wearier after you were turned, another century had passed before you’d been sent here after a hunter took you out. The memory flashed by: how you sat there on your knees, glad to be facing the barrel of the gun after so long that you didn’t even fight. Had you known you’d end up here, you may have fought more to stay topside. But now, you faced oblivion, or so you hoped. This would finally be the end of the suffering, the fighting.

Dean must have read the all-too-familiar look of defeat and acceptance in your face. He lowered the knife, letting your head fall forward again, and caught you in his arms as the chains broke and clattered to the dust.

He leaned you against the base of the tree. You weakly gazed upward through hooded eyes, wanting to see past the leaves to the empty sky, but couldn’t. It was all grisly branches for a hundred feet up.

“Why were you creeping up on me?” Dean pulled your attention back to them.

Battling the unconsciousness that nipped unwaveringly at the corners of your mind, you whispered, “The ache in my chest… the closer I get to you, the easier it is to handle. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I just needed to be... closer.”

“And is this better?” He motioned to the foot’s distance between you.

“Yeah,” You half-smiled through gritted teeth, the pain from your side still throbbing. It wouldn’t kill you. Nothing in Purgatory killed a monster except another monster—usually by beheading. It still hurt like a bitch, though, and left you exposed and vulnerable like a wounded animal.

He pursed his lips and shared a look with Benny, who shrugged. “I’ll stay up and watch, Dean. You get more rest before it starts again. And I’ll watch you, specifically.” The other vampire motioned at you, an intensity behind his blue eyes you could identify with. This human was meant to be protected, no matter the personal cost.

Dean was soon asleep again, his back turned to you.

The earth supporting your broken form was anything but forgiving. But still, you weren’t going to waste time whimpering to yourself now that you were a part of the misfit group. “Benny, where are you from? How long have you been here?” You wondered aloud.

He eyed you suspiciously, pausing before he answered. “I ran with a crew out of Louisiana, but we sailed all over the Americas. Been here a long time.”

You adjusted your position with a grunt. Benny’s hand was already on his weapon. “Calm down, sailor, just tryin to get comfortable... I’m from Shreveport. Been here a long time, too. Only did about two centuries up top, though.”

“Well, I’ve got a few on you then, sister. Shreveport was nice. Rolled through there a few times.” The vampire chuckled at the memory.

Even still, your body had different plans for the evening, and if anything else was said afterwards, you wouldn’t remember. Rest was in the cards that evening, even if your mind protested. Between stretches of sweet nothing, nightmarish memories flashed by in haphazard, non-chronological snippets. 

There you stood, on the bridge above deep, twisting waters. Though the wind whipped your hair wildly, you could feel nothing. Not since the day you were bit.

Then you were in the shed on your grandfather’s land, centuries before, when you were young but still so old. Had you ever had a chance? And there were fires and anthills, guns and chains. 

Before that one could go where you knew it would, you shot awake. Benny raised a concerned brow in your direction, but you couldn’t face him. Not after that. Within moments, sleep took you once again. 

The butterfly pinned in the box. Such a stark contrast was that orange and red and blue against the green felt and the glint of silver pins. You would chuckle at the sight if you could. Tiny fingers traced the outline of the glass. 

Then you were on your knees. You didn’t even fight. This? This was the day you died… the second time. By the hands of an inexperienced young hunter who was too focused on fighting with his dad to even notice you there. I mean, he practically tripped over you. The boy looked tall for his age, hazel eyes partially obscured by choppy bangs and mouth pressed into a thin line. He hesitated too long. You’d cocked your head to the side, wondering if he even had it in him to off you, and you almost felt sorry for the kid. Especially when his dad saw. The old black-haired ass berated him, belittled him. Compared him to his older brother. A disgrace, he’d said. Nothing like him, nothing like Mary. When the boy could look you in the eyes, you gave a slight nod as if to say, “It’s okay, I forgive you.” Those bright hazel eyes morphed into the moon cast over a monster wasteland. 

By morning’s light, you felt better, somewhat healed, but mostly sore. You and Benny spoke all the while, learned your ins and outs, and caught up on the situation with Dean, the toothy leviathans, the apocalypse (again), the dick angels, and everything else Dean had filled him in on weeks ago. If you weren’t in Purgatory yourself, you never would’ve believed all this. I mean, angels? C’mon. 

Sure enough, Benny was right. Beasts continued to attack in waves. There were a few close calls, and not one would speak of the whereabouts of the angel Castiel, though a few tried to save themselves by spouting lies. Dean would see right through them. It only ever took one question. “What color are the angel’s eyes?” A few had gotten lucky and guessed blue, but Dean didn’t even accept that answer. You asked once, what answer he was hoping for. He only shook his head in response. 

There were times, though, when he would describe Cas to you in the quiet of night, and it was like listening to a lost lover. Dean gave in after some months and described the angel’s eyes as full of grace, blue, but slightly glowing. And not just any blue, no. The bluest blue you could ever imagine. The purest blue. He spoke longingly about things they’d done, things he wanted to do, wanted to say. Needed to say. You would close your eyes and drift off to him mumbling stories of Cas, the fondness softening his voice.

It was dark again and the almost empty end of a particularly difficult day. You’d all sustained serious injuries from the violent fray that only seemed to become more dense as of late. You and Benny would heal quickly, but Dean wouldn’t… and you worried for him, lingering protectively close.

The weary hunter screamed in time with the monster as he thrust his knife through its eye, his voice echoing long after the lifeless body crumpled in front of him. In a rage, he threw his weapon down, stalking over to a nearby tree. He punched, kicked and threw himself against the bark until he was nearly bloodied beyond recognition. Benny could only look down, powerless to help his friend. Unable to watch any longer, you forced yourself between Dean and the tree. His eyes were closed until his bruised fists struck soft skin stretched over bone, the unexpected change in texture catching him off guard. You winced against it but grabbed his jacket in both hands, balling your own fists into it to hold him firmly in place. Jerking him forward until you were nose to nose, breath and blood mixing, you growled, “We will find him, Dean. But not if you kill yourself first.”

“Y-you sound like him,” His voice cracked and his head fell to your shoulder. You could feel his tears, hot on your frozen skin. This world was so cold and it never ceased to amaze you how he kept his warmth. You held him tightly, even as his knees buckled and swayed. By the state of those green eyes, you could see resignation and defeat creeping up on him. 

You shared a look with Benny, and he knew, too. “I’ll keep watch. You make him rest, cher.” You’d come to learn that Benny preferred to keep watch from all the years he’d had to watch his own backside here. You’d survived in hiding, while he’d made a name for himself—a killer, like Dean (not that either of them ever wanted to be.) You had to give it to him, though. After all, you’d tried to fight off everything in the beginning, but it was too tiring, like living was. So instead, you learned to thrive in shadows and whispers, moving like a ghost through whispers of the trees.

You were grateful for the moment alone with the warm beacon of a man, though. If the electricity across your skin anytime you touched the human indicated anything, it was a confirmation of your heart’s longing. You kept him pulled flush against your chest, his heartbeat so strong that it reverberated through your body. You focused on the feeling. How many centuries had it been since you felt your own beating? Dean’s was so strong it could surely support you both, you thought.

With a groan, Dean pulled the two of you down into a horizontal heap. You couldn’t make out the details of his face in the dark abyss of night, but his heart rate had shifted notably, along with his breathing. His anguish was palpable and you couldn’t help but to take some of it on as your own. He exuded it, it leaked from every pore. 

Supple lips brushed against yours, and you closed your eyes, slowly guiding one hand to his back above you and the other through his hair. It was as soft and silky as you’d hoped it was. You pulled just slightly, allowing your nails to gently spread and retract in circular motions. Dean clenched, the softest sounds carrying on the thick night air. Smiling at the reaction, you carded through the messy spikes and repeated the measure for several moments before Dean crashed into you, with his sudden need matching yours. Every kiss grew deeper, longer, and your tongues began to wrestle gently but urgently between locked lips. He grabbed at you hungrily with a certain ease, unable to hold back anymore, with palms stroking openly up and down your torso, until they slipped below your core.

You both pushed and pulled, wallowed and rolled, careful of injuries but powerless to pull away, fighting to get closer. You helped him slip from his leather jacket, and he groaned into your mouth with a tantalising mixture of pain and pleasure. The sound made you shiver, and you hastily removed yourselves from worn and tattered pants, breaking only for a moment. 

“Shh, Dean,” you whispered next to his ear. He nodded, understanding that even in this embrace, you were exposed and hunted. But with skin on skin, it was difficult to keep logic and sanity at the forefront of your mind. 

Dean slowed his pace and shifted until you were straddling him. With a touch so light it tickled, he let his hands trace every angle of your body, until he felt the latest wound and drew back suddenly. 

“It’s okay,”  you breathed into his gaping mouth. 

“No, I-- I’m sorry.” His voice was feeble, desperate. 

Taking his hand in yours, you placed it back where it’d been. It was a small gesture, but the effect it had on Dean was profound. With both hands now, he clutched your sides so tightly, it sent swells of something delicious straight to your center, before rippling out to every nerve ending exposed to the cool air, and then some. 

Just as you began to give in, a rustle from only several feet away snapped you back to reality. You shot up upon bare feet, weapon already in your hand as you scanned the malevolent shadows for the source, listening and feeling for any shift in the air. Dean lay frozen by your feet, head still spinning in weakness and lust.

In a swift turn on the balls of your feet, you faced the intruder, ready for war. 

“It’s just me, cher. I heard something and wanted to make sure you two were okay.” As Benny took in the situation, he laughed softly. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll be over there…”

With an annoyed frown, you allowed your stance to go slack. “Thanks.”

Dean touched your leg, leaning in to kiss it lightly before planting a little nibble at your ankle. You slipped back down next to him, gasping when he quickly found your neck and nipped along your clavicle to the sweet spot in the hollow of your neck.

He was shaking slightly under the strain, but lifted himself atop you. To help keep him steady, you placed your hands on his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his torso. With a grateful kiss, he traced his tongue across your bottom lips as he lined himself at your entrance. 

His tip sank into your soaked folds and his resulting keen made you tremble beneath him, itching for more. “Dean, p-please…”

“What do you want?”

You rotated your hips against his, fighting to make him move. “Please, fuck… Dean I need you. Need more.”

Your begging tore his resolve to shreds and he sunk into you, stretching and filling you like nothing ever before. Your back arched at the sensations as they nearly overwhelmed you, drowning out the hell around you and leaving only Dean. Your heavy breathing barely registered as you whined his name. A shallow shriek betrayed you. Dean placed a calloused hand over your mouth, and it only drove you more mad. 

As he bottomed out and began short but powerful thrusts, tears gathered at the edges of your eyes. Everytime, he hit that sweet spot. Everytime, you whimpered into his hand and dug your fingers into his flesh tighter. Everytime, he moaned in response. 

It wasn’t long before those slow, drawn out jolts coiled you so tight you could barely contain yourself. Dean could sense the change as you began to rub against him, allowing the friction to take you over the edge. Right as you fell off into a fierce and roiling sea of ecstasy, Dean replaced his hand over your mouth with his own, swallowing your choppy breaths as you twitched and spasmed beneath him. 

Still lost in the swell, you felt the hunter release and fall, spent, onto your chest. You managed to wrap your arms around him and held him steadfastly, not ready to let go. It was incredible to watch Dean unravel and relax for the first time. In fact, it’d just become your favorite drug. 

Unknown to the broken lovers, a pair of “gorilla-wolves” attempted to interrupt throughout the steamy romp in the leaves, but Benny quickly took care of them. The nasty things wouldn’t have gotten as close as they had, but the vampire had been distracted by the sinfully delicious sounds coming from the far side of the tree. He’d tried to ignore it at first but found his mind wandering. It’d been ages since he’d felt the touch of another being, and the want rose up in him, a fire in his stomach.

You panted next to Dean when he rolled to the side, your injuries far from mind in the lasting rapture from being one with the human. His breathing was still ragged, but slowing. The wound on the back of his shoulder had reopened. Begrudgingly , he let you patch it again. Once dressed, you fell back to the sorry bed of leaves. Dean nuzzled into your side and let out a pained sigh as sleep found him. You could’ve sworn you heard the faintest “Don’t let me die here…” fall from his lips. Your grip on him tightened. You’d get him out if it killed you. But first, you had to find that elusive angel.

It was another month of the same routine. Days and nights ran together. The closer you got to the angel, the denser the swarm of monsters was. Even Benny seemed to be on his last leg. You offered to keep watch this time. At first Benny protested, but you shut him down.

“It’s broad daylight out here. I can see them coming from far enough off, I can give you plenty of time to wake up and fight if I can’t handle it. Don’t worry.”

He didn’t feel like protesting too much, and finally nodded, sad blue eyes locking on yours in a silent promise of trust in comradery.

A few hours passed, and you stood to stretch. A twig snapped behind you, and you twirled quickly, your knife to Benny’s throat. His hands raised. “Sorry cher, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Nearly lost your fool head. Why aren’t you resting?” You dropped your arms and stood next to the vampire, staring out through the forest again, scanning. Listening.

“I rested enough.”

“Right, that’s why you have to use that tree to support yourself.” His lips pressed into a hard smile, electric eyes dropping to the ground. When he looked back up, something in them had changed. He reached towards you, hesitant, and brushed the wavy mess of hair from your face behind your ear, hand gently gliding across your jaw until his thumb rested on your lip.

You closed your eyes and shuddered under the vampire’s touch. It was more familiar than Dean’s. You leaned into it, following as it guided you into his embrace. He was larger than Dean and still smelled of the swamp and sea. The scent was intoxicating, dragging all of your attention to Benny. 

He pulled back for a moment and cradled your face in the large, thick hands of a sailor. “You okay with this? Don’t want you to feel pressured, darlin’.”

“Mm not pressured,” you smiled up into those spirited sharp blue eyes. You lost yourself in them, completely ensnared. You could see past them, to cerulean glittering waters, could feel the lapping of them against your old boat, hear the seagulls and crows chattering as they glided on heatwaves, taste the salt on your tongue. 

You stretched up on your tiptoes, craning to taste the salt on his lips, feel the waves in the way his tongue twists. Benny must have felt the same, as he met your parted lips in a feverish kiss, maneuvering you effortlessly between himself and the tree for support until he was rutting into you.

The touch was bittersweet and starved, driving both of you as you stripped away layers. Benny pressed into you until the bark bit into your back and arms. You knocked the hat from atop his head to get closer, to guide him in, and he responded by taking the thin flesh of your neck into his mouth. Fangs drug thin scratch lines over your chest and shoulders, followed by sucking kisses. Benny grunted as he settled next to your ear, the growing bulge in his remaining trousers becoming almost painful in the restriction. 

Sensing this, you moved to loosen the last piece of his clothing until it slumped to his ankles, all the while raw, needy noises spilled from your mouth. If only you’d found each other topside, things would have been better. You wouldn’t have let that young, long-haired hunter boy and his grumpy father kill you.

In one smooth move, Benny hooked his fingers into your jeans and slid them off, until you were completely free of them. With lust in your eyes, you found his full lips once more. You bit and sucked at his bottom lip until he was throbbing against you and whispering your name in short breaths in desperation. 

With a slight adjustment in position, he grabbed your ribcage and lifted you just enough to line himself at your entrance. Hungrily, you raised your knees and rested them on his sides. You dug your nails into his shoulders in anticipation, but he didn’t keep you waiting long. With a final shift of his angle, Benny slid into you unrestrained.

His pace was unforgiving. He was rougher, more desperate, yet somehow more controlled than Dean. Pain was something you both knew too well, and found pleasure in at this moment. Neither of you had to hold back in fear of hurting the other. 

Benny muttered a long string of praises as he placed his cheek on yours and relished in the fragmented breaths and mewls leaking from your gaping mouth.

Between the friction to your front and the sharp ache in your back, the intense set of his pace brought unwanted tears to the corners of your eyes. Before you knew it, he had you biting back a scream as you came in his arms, your back digging into the tree as he held you through it. You sank your teeth into his neck, drawing blood and pushing back the sharper set as they threatened to emerge. He snarled into your ear and released, standing for a moment, relishing in your closeness.

For a time, you just remained in that position as he softened inside you, foreheads resting fondly on each other.

Dean stirred, grumbling as he woke. With a silently shared promise to continue the embrace another day, the two of you straightened yourselves back out and rounded the tree to greet the sleep-starved human.

Over the next two weeks, the three of you grew much closer. Sometimes in between attacks, you took solace in each other. Most times it was talk, but when words were too difficult and your bodies needed to feel something… else, something primal and good and pure, they would pass you between them, never straying too far.

Benny's eyes would always drift and land upon Deans. It intoxicated him, pulled at his heart in ways that tore him apart. Deep green eyes, full of hope and goodness and humanity… something fragile yet unbreakable, much like what he once saw in Andrea’s. Just like Andrea’s. As much as he tried to put her memory to rest, Dean’s gaze would always take his breath, whether they were fighting or fucking, and the feelings that washed over Benny were wild and raw.

You ventured off to scout ahead one day, leaving Benny to help Dean walk after a surprise run in with a gorilla wolf didn’t fare so well. Those things sure liked Dean. Could you blame them? As you cleared the spaces ahead, you reminisced on the first time it happened. 

It’d started innocently enough, some kissing and tender touches traded between you and Dean. You craved comfort, and his touch never disappointed. The fading daylight illuminated something… different, something new in his eyes. There was a spark of acceptance? Resignation? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but for some reason the usually tightly wound hunter was relaxed. His movements were delicate and slow, a stark contrast to the usual quickie on the run. 

You nearly lost your balance when he stripped your pants away and traced deliberate sucking kisses down to your sweet spot. You’d had to catch yourself from falling over at the heady sensations, threading your hands into his hair and holding on for dear life (or death.) Within moments, Benny swooped in to support you from behind, snaking a strong arm around your stomach as Dean began to lick and hum and stroke you in ways you’d never felt. Your blood burned like fire, causing every inch of your skin to become more sensitive. 

Benny brushed the hair from your shoulder with his free hand, then took a fistful of it and guided your head back. With a contented sigh, he took your exposed neck into his mouth and you twitched violently between the shivers running down and the heat rising up. The contrast of Dean’s soft lips to the burn of his stubble mirrored that of the rough, blood soaked fabric of Benny’s jacket against the smooth of your skin… and it drove you mad. Your vision swelled with every wave and the sounds of the cursed world around you faded as if cotton had been shoved in your ears. 

Your legs gave way and you fell into Dean’s lap as he chuckled, watching you come undone. The orgasm hit you somewhere along the way down, untouched but wound so tightly that you couldn’t hold out another moment.

While you writhed against him, Dean held you securely to his chest with arms that crushed into your ribs and pinned your arms to your sides. Your head finally came to rest upon his shoulder, and as your senses eased back into focus, you realized that you were completely laid down upon his bare chest. Still buzzing from the high, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck and laid a small peck. Dean’s resulting smile stretched wide, and you could feel it there without even needing to see it. 

“You okay, baby?” Dean gently stroked your back up and down with one hand, and moved to tangle strong fingers in your hair to hold the base of your head tenderly with the other. 

When you found your voice, you muttered a small, “yeah, thank you.”

Benny kneeled beside you and lowered his face until your foreheads met, the three of you so impossibly close. “You up for some more, sugar?”

You smiled wryly and closed your eyes. “Yeah, I’m all yours.”

Though your limbs were but heavy gelatin, you managed to lift out of your shirt as the men undressed. Pulling Dean’s discarded coat over you like a blanket, you rested against a fallen tree and admired them. Dean was more slender, but faster and stronger. The way his muscles rippled and creased beneath pale, freckled skin reminded you of a swimmer--all lean and mean. He was graceful in every movement, like a dancer. Benny was a little more solid, built like a tank. Maybe he wasn’t as fast, but there was no going through him. You’d seen beasts hit him straight on with full power, and the vampire had barely flinched. Those fists could break anything, but his face was always… soft. Kind. Dean’s was hardened, but you couldn’t blame him. And yes, there were moments, like this, where the lines of his face smoothed, and some color returned to his cheeks. 

How you’d ever found Heaven in this Hell, you’d never come to understand. But you were ever grateful. Hopeful for a future with them topside, however it may go. 

Dean’s outstretched hand pulled you from your daydream. You took it, letting the jacket go as he helped you stand. As you stood, he continued to pull you forward until you were flush with him. He pressed a firm kiss to your scalp and rubbed his palms up and down your body. His cock twitched against your belly, and you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing just a little tighter at the new flood of arousal. 

Benny snaked his arms around you from behind, until his hands rested on your neck, not gripping, but just *there.* The weight of them naturally guided your head to fall back against his chest. He growled into your ear, “You’re so fucking beautiful. So good for us, cher.”

Your mouth fell agape and released a strangled moan as Dean kissed along your exposed neck and mumbled a steady stream of “You’re such a good girl for us, such a good fighter, a great companion.” 

With every word, a new fire raged through your veins. Your face burned hot. Dean’s hands wandered south, caressing every inch passionately. One hand found its home grasping your thigh right under your ass, and the other came to rest in your dripping folds. You bucked against the touch and right into Benny’s length resting between your cheeks. 

You whimpered, needing more, needing release. “D-Dean please, fuck. I need you. I want you inside me, please--unnghh.”

Dean teased your entrance for a moment more before the wrecked look on your face and the subtle, high pitched sounds spilling from you completely enraptured him. Benny nodded, moving his hands to steady your sides as you squirmed uncontrollably. With a swift movement, you were raised up with both of Dean’s hands cupping and spreading your ass until he lined up at your folds and let you sink down much too slowly. 

Pathetic cries filled the air as you struggled to maintain control, the stretch of him almost too much to handle and not nearly enough all at once. You shook and grabbed at anything you could hold with a flutter in your chest that threatened to make you implode. And yet, the intense feelings only grew. Benny planted himself and anchored with a strong arm outstretched and clutching to Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean bit his lip fiercely and let out a pained groan at the other man’s unyielding hold on him. His cock twitched again as he bottomed out deep inside you. The depth burned and ached, and with it your eyes came to focus on Dean’s. 

The emerald green was more prominent now, outlined by the hot blush beneath a spray of freckles. His brows were drawn tightly and jaw slack, full, pink lips parted in bliss. His breathing was erratic, and with every intake of cool evening air, Dean trembled. 

You mewled and whined, shifted against them, desperate for friction. The slightest broken smile graced the hunter’s face and he nodded, knowing but not yet ready. 

Tears already began to gather as you fought the urge to physically fight the men into submission, to finally scratch that itch. Benny didn’t leave you waiting much longer though, before he was slipping and pushing into place in your ass. The deliberate burn of him spreading you open opposite Dean left you thrashing between them. 

Dean took a deep breath in as a reminder for you to do the same. If it weren’t for him grounding you and helping you through, the black void would’ve already sucked you in as another victim. You did your best to relax and bore down, allowing Benny to fill your other hole completely to his base. 

The vampire grimaced through his own keening, the tightness of you nearly sending him over the edge right there and then. You stilled between them, already on the verge of destruction as the three of you adjusted to the new feelings washing over you in waves. 

Dean’s lips found yours, open and wanting. Taking his tongue hungrily into your mouth, you sucked and fell absolutely limp as he sucked your lower lip between his. The scent of him was utterly intoxicating, and you were ready once more. 

Benny began to move in tandem with Dean. With every movement of the both of them against your thin membrane, a wailing cry seeped between your clenched teeth. Benny was now clutching both of Dean’s shoulders so tightly that were white bloodless patches beneath each of his fingertips. This made Dean buck harder until the hunter’s eyes shut tightly and left his head bobbing backwards in lust. 

The symphony of your cries was lost beneath those of the two men, who shuddered and swayed. The sweet, sinful music flooded your mind and sent you reeling over the edge once more, clenching and swearing and falling against Benny’s outstretched arm. 

Dean’s thrusts faltered as his stuttered, “I’m.. I’m about to--”

“Just let go, brother,” Benny encouraged. 

It was the only confirmation Dean needed before his load spilled into you, sending renewed longing to your stomach as he pulsed inside you. “Fuck Dean,.. You feel so good,” you managed.

Benny came seconds later, and you relished in the full warmth of them. 

You smiled to yourself as the familiar electricity flooded your veins and leaked to your core. It may have been the first time, but every time since had only been… better. Impossibly, incredibly better. 

Upon your return, you noticed that Dean had found new strength.

“We’re closer than ever to Cas, he’s three days away by the river. We’re almost done! We can go home!” Dean was grinning widely, a spark finally back in his tired eyes.

You smiled, scooping him into a rough embrace. If Dean was happy, you were happy. Benny joined you in the bear hug. You were so ready to be topside again, and now, it was so close you could just taste it.

Your second chance.

With a start, Benny hollered and let go, leaving Dean tense and alert in your arms. Then, he threw you to the side as a beast attacked. Its whole face morphed into a shark-tooth ringed mouth, and you grimaced.

Leviathan. You must’ve been really close to that angel.

You drew your weapon as one engaged you, swung and lopped its head off easily after years of practice, until something glinting and sharp emerged where it should not have been.

You looked down, the blade bloodied and protruding through your chest, through your lungs. Unable to draw a breath, you fell to your knees.

“No!” Both Benny and Dean were yelling, voices echoing through the hostile forest. Black ooze covered them from the slain monsters. You looked up as your assailant withdrew the sizable knife from your back and placed it against your neck. It was another vampire. You looked back to the boys.

“You killed our sister, so now we’re gonna kill yours,” the voice behind you teased in a sing-songy tone. More boots shuffled into your line of view.

Benny looked absolutely broken as he charged, extra teeth bared sharply in defiance. Dean bounded to you, holding your gaze with those emerald green eyes as he expertly dodged the advances of his adversaries.

Once again, your breath was seized and you relaxed your tense muscles. If this was finally what wiped you into oblivion, it would be okay, as long as you could stare into the comforting depths of that hunter’s eyes. After all, you were tired of fighting…This would finally be the end of the suffering. To oblivion. The warmth from Dean’s soul flooded over you as he got closer, but it was too late.

Your head rolled from your body. 

Dean decimated the group of vampires in record time, the rage fully restored and urging his body forward against all odds. Once again, the hunter had become more vicious than any monster in the land. In two days, he would limp to the river and find his angel.

You, however, woke on the other side of Purgatory. Oblivion was not something that would ever come for you. There would never be a release. Despair, overcoming any hope you ever had, creeped its dark tendrils through your entire being and swiped your feet from underneath you. So that’s what happens to monsters who die in monster heaven… they get respawned and zapped to another part. Great. You were stuck in hell, too far away now to reach them in time. One day you would find a way out. You had to. But first, you would have to find the strength. Strength you may never have again. You curled into a ball, mind silent as you gave into the feeling, a single, small tear streaking a thin line from your eye into the dust. 

You were alone. Again. 

Your second chance gone along with the human and his friends.

 This was my second attempt at writing smut and maybe I got carried away??

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain​ @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles​ @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch​ @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog​ @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @inmysparetime0​ @impala-dreamer​ @arryn-nyxx​ @idk-life01 @attorneyl​ @deathtonormalcy56​ @xwing-baby​ @wonder-cole​ @itsangelpie-supports​ @thinkinghardhardlythinkingogblog​@icecream-and-gadreel

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling​ @abbessolute @emptywithout​

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278​ @will-winchester

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part twenty) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7600 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part twenty: It’s auction time! Two horses of the Gold Canyon Ranch are up for sale. Will they get the price they are hoping for? Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music:  Sold - John Michael Montgomery (Auction scene), Save A Horse - Big & Rich (Jo & Y/N dancing scene), Good Time - Alan Jackson (Dean & Y/N dancing scene), In Case You Didn’t Know - Brett Young (Final scene). Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @kittenofdoomage​, @manawhaat​ and @winchest09​ for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “Sold! For 3750 dollars to number 48!”

     The auctioneer slams the gavel down on the block, sealing the deal. A sigh of relief falls from Dean and Jo’s lips, who are leaning over the high fence at the auction pen. Almost four grand for an unbroken two year old Mustang is more than a fair price these days. The average numbers have been decent so far, especially considering the current economic depression that is weighing down on the country.  

     Benny leads the young horse out of the arena, him and Dean exchanging a nod, accompanied with a smile. The Gold Canyon Ranch crew is playing it cool, but all are well aware how desperately the cash is needed. It’s not something the whole circuit needs to know, however. Much like any business where money is involved, there are always those who are eager for an opportunity to profit off the loss of others. There are plenty of vultures circling the skies above their potential prey, waiting to take advantage. Dean will not let that happen.

     A new horse is brought in and the auctioneer starts rambling again, announcing prices while assistants scan the crowd for bidders. It’s a vibrant ambience, most people here to make deals, others to have fun. Upbeat country music rallies on the buyers who watch one animal after another come into the pen, judging their conformation, gait and looks before they raise their sign into the air to announce their bid. The small indoor arena is more crowded than one would expect after the market collapsed earlier this year. He notices that Y/N is experiencing some difficulty getting through the mass of people, trying to push past people while transporting three huge burgers.

     “Sorry, got held up, there was a line,” she excuses, handing the fast food to the wranglers.      “You didn’t have to do that, Yank,” Dean returns, taking the large burger in his hand nonetheless.      “Yes, I did. You haven’t eaten, yet. Dig in,” she returns.      Grinning, he moves the welcoming food to his mouth to take a bite. Once again she surprises him with her care and observations. Nothing goes past her, especially when it comes to his well-being.

     Y/N glances at the large display on the back wall where the sold horses are listed. She thought the biddings stalled just under 4000 dollars and the numbers on the screen confirm it. “The price for the Mustang wasn’t bad, was it?”      “Not at all. Dad still has to pay ten percent commission, but he’s gonna be satisfied with almost three and a half grand,” Jo agrees. “If that Pinto sells for good money, you might wanna break it to him that you two are the new Sonny & Cher, before he catches you two lovebirds red-handed.”      With his mouth full, Dean chuckles at the blonde Cowgirl’s remark, which she paired with a perked eyebrow. He lets his free hand slip around his girlfriend’s waist, gently pulling her closer.      “I’ll tell him when we get back on Monday, promise,” he announces, more to Y/N than to Jo. “He’s too busy doin’ business now anyways.”

     Y/N smiles at the assurance, leaning into him. She’s glad Dean is so comfortable with her by his side in the presence of others, but just as important, she’s glad Jo has realized Dean isn’t just fooling around. Her friend has always supported her, but it took her a second to believe her cousin’s intentions are, in fact, good. Her skepticism wasn’t random; she has seen plenty of tears fall for the ladykiller. But those days are in the past now.      “What time is the second horse going up for auction?” Y/N wonders.      Dean checks his watch and glances at the horse currently in the pen, who is carrying a tag with ‘204’ on it. “He’s number 211, so he should be up in twenty minutes or so.”      “Think Benny will manage?” Jo checks.      “Yeah, he has plenty of time to switch them. Let him make himself useful, he’s not riding any horses this weekend anyway,” the head wrangler grins.

     The crew members finish their quick meal, the three of them now leaning over the fence while watching the exciting auction. The burgers are delicious, fresh off the grill from one of the many food stands, topped with cheddar and crispy bacon. Quality greasy event garbage, but Y/N wouldn’t want it any other way. Usually she tries to eat healthy, keep her body nourished for  the hard physical labor she puts into her work. During shows, however, she always lets go. She knows that she can’t swallow a bite before her runs, not with the nerves always closing off her throat and having her stomach in knots. But staring down at the big, juicy burger in her hands, she just dives in; figures it’s better to stash up on carbs before her big day than to fall short.

     Twenty minutes later, Benny leads the Pinto into the auction pen. The horse looks magnificent, his white patches washed clean and the fur that’s black shining under the limelight. His mane, detangled and brushed, cascades down his well formed neck, reaching his shoulders. The stallion is stunning, getting a reaction from the audience.

     “Alright, y’all, this is quite the looker we got here. We present this two year old Pinto stallion, owned by the Gold Canyon Ranch. A tall fella which stands at sixteen hands, strong enough to carry a big Cowboy around the competition arena. Sired by Cash Button, well-known APHA champion producer. As you can see he’s haltered, but unbroken, so if you’re lookin’ for a fine show horse to start fresh with, this is the one for you.”

     Dean is glad to hear that the auctioneer does a good job promoting their horses. The speaker can make or break an auction, so he’s thankful the organization hired a skilled one.

     Somewhat nervous, Dean sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble as he takes in the traders on the bleachers. Jody managed to buy Sundance, despite the huge interest in the mare. She paid a whopping fifteen grand for the talented barrel racer, who stayed at the top of the rank and scored Jo the first win of the competition. Now that the Mustang switched owners for a reasonable price as well, a big stack of cash for the Pinto would really bring the ranch back in the clear… for now. Dean is aware that it will take more than one good day to nurse the company back to financial health again, but it would be a good start.

     “Opening bid is 2500 dollars, so let’s get this bid started, people. 2500, 2500 for the gentleman on the front row. Can I get a 3000?”

     The auctioneer begins his bid calling, the rhythmic repetition of numbers and words adding to the tensed atmosphere. It’s a fast chant that engages the crowd and brings a sense of urgency on the possible buyers. But no matter how hard the speaker tries, the biddings slow once they near three grand, nowhere near the number they hoped the stallion would sell for.

     “Last chance to become the new owner of this stunning future prospect, folks. 3500 dollars now, will you give me 3750? Going once…”

     “C’mon, c’mon,” Dean mutters, drumming his thumb on the wooden fence.      Y/N watches the mass of people, but she can’t see any new signs popping up. It couldn’t possibly be that the Pinto will go for less than the Mustang, even though he’s worth more?      “Did Bobby arrange a reserve?” she checks with Jo.      Her friend shakes her head, glancing at her with worried eyes.      Y/N now shifts her attention to her other side, taking in the head wrangler, noticing the frown edged on his forehead under the brim of his hat. He’s radiating tension, much like Jo, all three keeping their eyes on the $ 3500,- on the screen. It’s not enough, but it might be the amount they will have to settle for.

     “Going twice…”

     “Four thousand!”      All three perk up, trying to make out where the bid originated from. The distinctive voice is easily recognizable though, the woman’s strong accent hard to miss; it’s Donna.      “Four grand, ladies and gents! Do we have another bidder? 4250 dollars, 4250 anyone?”

     Out of nowhere, another number is raised into the air, one of the assistants pointing at the bidder and shouting back a ‘yup!’ at the auctioneer.

     “We’ve got 4250 dollars now, 4250. Can I get a 4500?”      “Five!” Donna calls out.      “Five grand! Do we have 5500?”

     And there you have it, a bidding war. Dean exchanges a look with Jo, who smiles as the bids keep going back and forth like a tennis match, the stakes taken higher every time the ball is bounced back. Y/N watches in anticipation, getting more excited every time the amount that is about to be paid for the Pinto grows larger.

     “Seven and a half grand. 7500,- dollars. Is bidder number 24 gonna raise? You tell me, young lady. For 7750 dollars this gorgeous stallion can be yours. What do you say? 7500 dollars, going once...”

     The rancher with Minnesota roots seems to hesitate, discussing her next move with Jody, who’s seated next to her on the bleachers. After a few nerve-wrecking seconds, Donna keeps her sign down; they can’t go higher, but she took it high enough to make this a successful auction for Bobby Singer.

     “Going twice… Sold! To lucky number 7 for 7500 dollars!”

     The audience applauds the entertaining battle, Benny making a little fist, modestly celebrating the good sale as he walks the horse out of the pen. All the members of the Gold Canyon Ranch family know it; this is a much needed win.

     Unable to contain her elation, Y/N reaches for Dean’s hand, entwining her fingers with his. It draws his attention and he glances aside at her, his green irises full of delight. The worry has dissolved from his eyes, the weariness gone for a moment. Today is a good day; they can let their guard down for a little while.

     “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but with three horses sold and Jo winning the barrel race, I believe we have reason to celebrate!” Y/N says cheerily, looking between Dean and her best friend.      “Hell to the yeah! I think I deserve a drink,” Jo agrees victoriously.      “Come on then.” Y/N grips Dean’s hand tighter, nudging him to follow. “Let’s hit the bar.”

     “Does everyone have a drink?” Y/N checks, looking around to make sure everyone has either a glass or a beer bottle in hand.

     The Gold Canyon Ranch crew is standing around a barrel that serves as a high table, accompanied by Donna and Jody. A live band, consisting of a drummer, a banjo player and a singer who also plays an acoustic guitar, treats the attending guests to a great show. Strings of lightbulbs are connecting the steel frame that keeps the high tent up, its canvas lit with alternating colored spots. The bartenders have to kick it up a gear to keep up with the demand, people waiting to place their order on all sides of the horseshoe-shaped counter. Riders, trainers, horse owners and spectators are laughing, dancing and having a good old time. Nothing today would suspect that business isn’t as usual.

     Dean enjoys the carefree feeling and raises his bottle, joined by his workers and his boss. Even the grumpy old man lifts his IPA into the air, a sparkle back in his uncle’s eyes that he hasn’t seen in a while.      “Alright, y’all. Let’s congratulate Jody Mills here with the purchase of a future champion. Glad to do business with you as always,” he starts, giving the short haired ranch owner a nod, “and of course we raise our drinks to my Joanna for the win.” He throws his daughter a subtle but proud smile, before he turns to the rest of the crew. “Thank y’all for pitchin’ in and for all the hard work.”      “To the Gold Canyon Ranch,” Benny adds, clinking his glass against those of his colleagues and friends, who repeat his words with a cheer.

     Being on the opposite side of the table, Dean takes the opportunity to move his hand to the small of his girlfriend’s back, letting it rest on her hip, knowing Bobby won’t be able to spot it. He presses his fingertips into the denim, meeting her gaze as he takes a good swig of his drink.

     It doesn’t take long before his uncle is dragged away from the fun by a horse trader, without a doubt stealing his time to negotiate about other horses Bobby plans to sell. As Dean predicted, he will be too busy mingling and so Y/N is delighted when her boyfriend leaves an affectionate kiss on her temple. She closes her eyes and smiles at the sweet gesture, counting her blessings. With every touch, every look, the nervousness dissolves a little further.

     When she entered the tent earlier, she felt her heartbeat quicken and her mouth running dry. She’s well aware Dean is easy on the eyes, because she has caught herself getting lost in the image of him more times than she can count, but now it wasn’t just her who noticed his looks. The handsome cowboy made plenty of heads turn, a few women greeting him with a flirtatious ‘Hey, Dean’ as the group passed through the crowd to find a spot. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, her boyfriend’s reply to them stinging sharply in the pit of her stomach, even though he was only trying to be polite. It’s not just jealousy that has her lose grip. It’s worry, because she feels intimidated by all the girls that seem to throw themselves at the wrangler. They are all beautiful, stunning looking women, vibrant and confident. More beautiful than me, the insecure voice in the back of her mind once again reminds her.

     He noticed the uneasiness, able to read her body language better each day, and he tried to reassure her the best he could with Bobby still being in their presence. Now that the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch has moved away to do business, she’s glad Dean instantly rose to the occasion to pull her closer and let her know who he belongs to.

     “Want another drink?” Dean asks, not just his girlfriend, but the other people in his company as well while he takes the ranch’s credit card from his wallet.      Y/N notices the slight hint of hesitation in Jo’s expression before she answers, and she reckons it has something to do with the ridiculous prices on the venue, a beer being seven dollars. Four bucks might not sound like much, but when you start buying rounds, the money to be paid at the bar adds up. That card already got declined once today, and both she and Jo  don’t want Dean to deal with the same embarrassment the youngest Singer had to go through at the show office earlier.      “This round’s on me,” Y/N decides, digging up her own card from her back pocket.      “You don’t have to do that,” he objects under his breath, trying not to let his pride slip through.      “I’ll be glad to,” she counters quickly, not taking no for an answer, turning to the others. “Another beer? Jody? Donna? Glass of wine?”      Eagerly, Jo and Benny look up, completely in sync with the two women who they share the table with, all nodding at the offer, all nodding at the offer.

     “At least let me pick up the drinks then?” Dean offers before she gets up from her seat, not too keen of his girlfriend paying for him, but knowing that determined look in her eyes well enough to not go against her.      She agrees on the compromise with a sigh and gives him her card. “Three beers, two white wines and a coke for me.”      “No margarita?” he checks.      “No, sticking to the one. I have a ride to win tomorrow,” she explains, adding a smug smile.      Dean chuckles at that before he turns around, heading for the bar.

     Y/N takes a second to watch him walk away, wondering if she did the right thing. She doesn’t want him or the ranch to pay now that she knows they are low on money while she has plenty, but Dean seemed bothered. She gets it, the man is supposed to pay for the drinks, but this is the twenty-first century; she is just as entitled to pick up the bill as he is.

     “Y’know, you don’t have to keep savin’ us,” Jo comments, making sure that Donna and Jody, who are having a laugh with Benny, can’t pick up on the conversation.      “It’s okay, Jo,” Y/N assures. “It’s the least I can do. I don’t mind at all.”      “I know you don’t, but he might.” She nods at her cousin. “It’s a guy thing. My Dad’s the same way, you should have heard him when he found out you paid the fees because his card didn’t work. Old fashioned country boys seem to think the weight of the world is theirs to carry.”      The intern sniggers, hiding her concern. “Well, those country boys need to learn that us girls can take on that weight just fine.”

     She glances to the bar again, expecting her boyfriend to return with a tray of drinks, but when people move away and no longer obstruct her view, her breathing hitches. Y/N spots Dean casually leaning on the counter with his elbow, talking to a girl. The young woman is all smiles, raking her fingers through her wavy, blonde locks, the light above the bar shining down and highlighting the chemistry. She looks stunning; slim figure, long legs wrapped in torn jeans, exposing skin of her knees and thighs. When she leans forward while laughing at something he said, her cleavage is on display.

     As  the color drains from Y/N’s cheeks, Jo follows her friend’s fixated stare, her face falling when she notices the two by the bar. Dean doesn’t cross a line by any means, but it’s clear that the woman who took an interest in the head wrangler has every intention to persuade him.      “Who is she? You know her?” Y/N asks, the questions rapid and laced with worry.      “Yeah, that’s Jamie Sward,” Jo states.      “Please tell me it’s not one of his exes?” She rips her eyes away from the painful sight, shielding her face in embarrassment.      “‘Ex’ wouldn’t be the right word, but yeah, they did have an on and off thing in the past,” Jo admits carefully, not wanting to lie to her. “Sis, it’s fine. He’s an idiot, but he’s not that much of an idiot. They are  probably just talking.”      “Her breasts are hanging out of her shirt!” Y/N hisses frustrated, blood rushing to her face now, a contrast to her pale skin tone mere seconds ago.

     “So…” Jamie says, taking a sip from her drink while looking over her glass at the handsome wrangler. “What are you up to these days? Still working at Gold Canyon?”      “Yeah, kinda became furniture of the place. Don’t think I’ll ever leave to be honest,” he chuckles, watching the bartender preparing the drinks he ordered. “What about you?”      “Oh y’know, worked a few bars in Phoenix to pay for college, sulked over the fact that you stopped calling me,” the beautiful blonde returns, the smirk that accompanies her perked eyebrow telling him that she’s not too broken up about it.

     “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” he rubs the back of his neck, well aware that he ignored her messages the past month and a half.      “Don’t sweat it. We weren’t dating. Just having fun, right?” Jamie shrugs casually, setting down her drink again. “Talking about fun, I have a room at Days Inn if you’re interested.”

     The offer hangs in the air and it’s only now that Dean realizes he’s on thin ice here. When the blonde cowgirl approached him, somehow it didn’t dawn on him where the conversation was heading towards, simply because he’s not interested in her in the slightest. Ever since he met Y/N, he can’t bring himself to give a damn about any other woman, and Jamie is no exception.

     “I’m uh - I’m gonna have to say ‘no’,” he says, almost apologetic, not wanting to hurt her feelings, because she is a sweet girl. “Doesn’t have anything to do with you. I met someone and things have been really great--”      “Wait. Are you taken?” she interrupts, astonished. “Are you serious? You’re in a relationship?”      He nods, unable to stop a beaming smirk from showing. “Yeah. She’s awesome. I don’t get why everyone acts so surprised, though.”      “C’mon, Dean Winchester. With your reputation?” Jamie snorts. “But hey, no hard feelings. I’m happy for you.”

     She means it, he can tell. He gives her an appreciative nod as the bartender sets the last two beers on the carton tray, which Dean picks up from the bar.      “Right, I’m gonna get back to my girl. Good to see ya again, James,” he says before he leaves.      “You too, Dean. Good luck tomorrow!” she says cheerily, giving him a little wave before she heads off herself.

     With a content smile on his face, the head wrangler returns to the table. It’s only after he has given everyone else their drinks and sets down the Coca-Cola bottle in front of his girlfriend that he locks eyes with her and notices the stale, yet anxious look on her face.      “What is it?” he wonders.      “Jamie seemed awfully friendly,” she comments, fidgeting with the straw of her drink to have something to focus on.

     Dean lifts his head slightly as his jaw lowers. He tries not to roll his eyes and pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Right, that conversation might have looked a little different from a distance than how it actually went. The penny drops and he turns to face Jo and shoots her a glare. The fact that Y/N has learned the name of the woman he’s been talking to gives away that his cousin apparently revealed more than he would have wanted.      “Okay!” Jo takes her cue and clears her throat, deciding that this would be a good time to exit the conversation. “I’m gonna request some songs to dodge the awkwardness. Have fun, you two.”      The ranch owner’s daughter quickly sneaks past Dean towards the dancefloor, heading to the stage. Before Dean speaks, he glances aside to make sure the others won’t pick up on their conversation. Deciding that he wants some more privacy, he takes Y/N’s hand and beckons her to come with him to an empty booth on the side.

     “Y/N, listen. I don’t know what Jo said--” he starts, before she cuts him off.      “- Jo has nothing to do with this. She was actually defending you. Don’t tell her I told you that.” Y/N sits down on the bench next to him, knowing that her best friend wouldn’t be happy with Dean knowing that she actually did something nice for him. God knows he will hold it against her.      “Jamie and I were just talking. Yeah, we hung out a couple of times, but I don’t feel anything for her. Hey…” He takes her hand, squeezing it softly. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m serious about us before you start believing me, huh?”

     He watches her take a breath, contemplating on what to say and on what to feel. Sure, a part of him gets it that she’s not a fan of the women who throw themselves at him. He didn’t like it one bit when Benny took an interest in her either, shutting that down immediately. Still, it hurts, because deep down he knows she assumes he will fall out of line.      “I believe you, it’s just that…” She exhales, shaking her head while she doubts herself more by the second. “I don’t believe the girls who have their eye on you have only good intentions.”      “You don’t have to worry about Jamie. She’s cool. And considering other flings and what not; it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what they want from me, because I know what I want for myself, and she’s sittin’ right beside me,” he tries to assure her, slipping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer. “You’re the only one I have eyes for, Yankee.”

     She looks up from under her lashes, his soft voice slowly beginning to ease her anxious mind. Dean casting those negative thoughts away only does one thing, though; it makes room for a different kind of self loathing.      “God, I’m such a bitch…” she says softly, rubbing her face with her free hand.      “No, you’re not. Don’t say that,” he dismisses, not wanting her to be so hard on herself. “But I need you to trust me.”

     Y/N eyes dart up to his, stunned, realizing that her behavior might have hurt him more than he’s letting on. He avoids her eyes, trying to mask the harm her actions did, but even in the dim light she can detect the damage. Of course she trusts him. She trusts him and Jo more than anyone on the ranch, yet it came across like she didn’t. Damn it, she could kick herself in the head right now. Jealousy isn’t a good look on her, neither is self-consciousness, but sometimes she can’t help but to feel intimidated and overwhelmed. He needs to know that it’s not his fault, though.      “Dean, I do trust you,” she promises, lacing her fingers with his, hoping to sooth him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t.”      He turns to look at her, allowing his thumb to rub over the smooth skin on the back of her hand. Despite her efforts, he can’t quite shake the feeling, but she doesn’t have to know that this bothers him more than it should. And so the corner of his mouth pulls up in a small smile as he looks deep into her eyes, and kisses her softly.

     The intimate connection brings more peace than they both expect. They have that effect on each other, that instant calm washing over with a small touch or a sweet kiss. It’s during moments like these that the insecurities lose their proof, the sources that are the patronizing and condescending voices in their heads suddenly unreliable.

     After a few peaceful seconds which silence his troubled mind, Dean moves his lips from hers, glad to see that the kiss worked the same wonders for Y/N. Her warm eyes look up at him when she leans into his chest.      “So we’re okay?” she checks, needing that confirmation.      “We’re okay,” he promises, leaving a kiss on her hair.

     The music changes, the lead singer persuading the attending guests to move to the dancefloor. As people leave their seats and gather, Jo emerges again and grabs her beer from the barrel table, carefully testing the water before she approaches the couple.      “Is the coast clear? I come in peace.” She holds up her hand innocently.      “Everything’s good,” Dean states, not just aiming at the bond between him and his cousin.      “In that case, can I steal your girlfriend?” Jo asks. “This is such a good song and I for one wanna dance!”

     Y/N’s face lights up, fueled by the blonde cowgirl’s contagious smirk. Before she slides out of the booth, though, she shares a look with Dean.      “Go, seriously. Have some fun,” he encourages.      “You’re not coming?” she wonders.      Dean scoffs. “Hell no!”      “Oh, come on!” Y/N tries again.      “It’s no use, Sis. Dean doesn’t dance. Not good for his John Wayne reputation,” Jo nags, taking her best friend’s hand to pull her to her feet.      “Wranglers don’t dance. They ride,” Dean defends, aggrieved.      “Alright, tough guy. You go stir in your own juices while you miss out on all the fun.” His cousin twirls around, dragging Y/N with her before she can change her mind.

     The most horrible and yet catchy country song ever made sounds from the amplifiers, ‘Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy’ covered by the band that is rocking it out on stage. A fiddler clad in a charming saloon dress like the women used to wear in the old West has joined them, adding spice with the crisp sound of her instrument.      Trying to get her best friend out of her funk, Jo pulls Y/N in the lines that have formed, without missing a beat getting into the choreographed series of steps that every cowgirl knows by heart. Laughing, Y/N joins her, getting the hang of the dance quickly.

     Dean has stood up and joined Jody, Donna and Benny at the barrel table, nursing his drink as he watches his Yankee dance it out. He lets the tension flow out of his chest with a deep breath, the ache melting away with the sight of her. The colored lights flick over her features in the same rhythm of the music, her hat hanging between her shoulder blades by the stampede string. Forgetting the troubles for a moment, she copies Jo’s motion, who pretends to rope a lasso above her head as she makes a circle, while shouting out the words back to the lead singer when he points his microphone to the dancing crowd. It makes Dean chuckle.

     “Well, that seems too jolly to miss out on,” Benny decides, holding out his elbow for Jody to hook her arm through. “Can I have this dance, darlin’?”      “Benny Lafitte, always the charmer,” the woman with pixie hair comments, but takes his offer, leaving just Donna and Dean.      They watch their friends, both with a pleased smile on their lips. It’s quiet for a while between old companions as they take in the carefree portrayal.      It’s the head wrangler of the Gold Canyon Ranch who eventually breaks the silence. “Thanks for the save.”      “What save?” Donna returns, pretending to be oblivious.

     He can see by her mischievous smirk that she’s well aware what he’s talking about; her bid on the Pinto at the auction. Donna never intended to buy the two year old stallion. She and Jody spent fifteen grand only an hour prior to the sale, and especially during current times, Dean can’t picture the girls spending another 7500 dollars on a second horse. He knew the moment Donna raised that sign; she was doing them a favor and drove up the price.      Dean throws her a knowing look, his eyebrow perked, triggering Donna to drop the act.      “That Pinto is a hell of a good horse. Would’ve been a good buy,” she grins. “If only I had done the final bid.”      Grinning, he takes a swig of his beer. He appreciates the help, knowing that the two female ranch owners will not spill the financial secret to anyone else in their circle. It’s safe with them, and he considers himself lucky to have friends like that. Everyone needs a hand sometimes, and he’s more than glad that Donna and Jody offered theirs in time of need.

     “Anyhoo, I’m gonna join the girls for a dance off. You should join us for a change. I’ll bet your belle would love it,” the broad-smiling woman suggests.      “She’s having plenty of fun without me,” he sniggers, watching her belt out the lyrics to the song with Jo.      “Okeydokes. But you’re missin’ out, handsome.” Donna winks at him, heading to the dancefloor with a spring in her step.

     Dean watches the cheery woman from Minnesota go, but his focus soon darts past her, immediately captured by the sight of Y/N. Damn, they could shut off the power and she would still light up the room. He can’t keep his eyes off her, the familiar swell of his heart once again taking up so much space that it’s hard to breathe. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, not anymore. It used to terrify him, feeling something so strong for a woman he’s known for such a short amount of time. But now when he feels it, it just strengthens his fondness and devotion for the girl who he wishes he had met years ago. Maybe he could have saved her the heartache that has her self-conscious about her place with Dean. Maybe his track record wouldn’t be so long that she would question him. He’s willing to do anything to make up for that time, though.

     As Jo and Y/N dance in circles around each other, clapping their hands and laughing, her gaze meets Dean’s. She’s caught off guard by the adoration in his eyes, his smile so warm and affectionate, that she slows her step. The good-looking cowboy she gets to call hers just stands there by himself, adding action to his words. He’s watching her as if she’s the only girl at the party, like she’s the only girl in the world.

     Y/N breaks away from her friends and steps towards him, swaying her hips a little more than she usually does. She shook the concern that weighed heavy on her earlier and got her footing back. A cheeky smile plays on her lips and her eyes sparkle, telling Dean instantly she’s up to no good.      When she reaches her boyfriend, she takes his forearm between both hands and pulls at it. “Come dance.”      “I don’t dance, Yankee,” he refuses, not budging.      The music changes to a new song, triggering cheers to rise from the small crowd. The new rhythm has her eyes go wide, then pleading.      “Oh, come on. This is a good song to move to!” Y/N begs, using all her strength to shift his tall form.

     He stands his ground, surprised at her physical strength, but the stand off is as much for his own sake as for hers. If he lets her go, she’s gonna land flat on her ass, but Dean spares her the embarrassment. The cowboy sighs, not that fond of being at the center of attention anyway, not to mention on the dance floor in this big tent. But how the hell is he going to say ‘no’ to her?      “One song,” he complies, strict on the conditions.      She jumps into the air excitedly and the delight in her eyes is already worth it. He adjusts his grip and laces his finger through hers, walking towards the dancing group of people, their friends amongst him.      Jo’s jaw drops to the floor when she notices Dean on her tail. “How the hell did you manage to drag his sorry ass over here?”      She wiggles her eyebrows. “I can be quite persuasive.”

     Her cowboy catches her by surprise when he tightens his hold on her hand, raising it and spinning her. When she comes full circle he pulls her in again, slipping his arm under hers and smoothly transitions into a two step. Completely flabbergasted, she grabs his shoulder and stares up at him with big eyes. Whoa, where the heck did that come from?      “I thought you couldn’t dance!” she giggles, while he leads her across the dancefloor, not missing a step.      “Never said that,” he smirks. “I just said I don’t dance.”      “Well, you’re dancing now,” Y/N returns, delighted.      He chuckles at that, looking deep into her eyes. “Only because the most beautiful girl at the party asked me.”

     They nail the routine, even though they’ve never teamed up on the dancefloor before. It’s not a complicated choreography, a simple one-two mixed with some country swing, but apparently it looks impressive enough to earn a ‘yee-haw!’ from Benny.      Y/N glances aside when the others rally them on, clapping in the rhythm of the song from the sideline, making room for the couple. Jo gives her two thumbs up, clearly entertained by the unexpected turn of events. She can’t stop her smile reaching from ear to ear when Dean twirls again, not missing the same expression on his face.

     The fiddle and guitar work together in harmony, throwing in a variation during the bridge of the song. Having her a little closer than at arms length, his right hand on her higher back, his left hand holding hers out to the side, they continue to move from one end of the open space to the other swiftly. The cowboy is enjoying himself, even though he was being a grump about dancing earlier. How can he not, now that he’s a witness of the pure joy his girl is radiating?

     The drummer finishes the song with a ruffle and the music dies down, the band receiving applause from the attending party-goers. Beaming, Y/N looks into Dean’s emerald green eyes, which sparkle every time the spotlight hits them. Dean was right; she’s having a blast, just like he predicted.

     Not ready to admit that he doesn’t really want to stop dancing with Y/N, he glances at the musicians, waiting for the next song. He narrows his eyes confused when he spots Donna, who got the attention of the lead singer. The young man has crouched down at the edge of the stage, Donna whispering something in his ear. Dean can see him nod in agreement before he rights himself and grabs the mic stand.      “Alright, y’all. I got a special request for a ballad just now. We’re gonna perform an original, so take your lady to the floor. Time to take things a lil’ slower.”

     He puts away his electric guitar and picks up the acoustic one, plugging it in. A romantic tune coming from the speakers when he strums the strings. Questioning, Y/N glances up at her boyfriend, almost sheepishly. Dean agreed to one song, which had a totally different vibe to the music that was sounding right now. The wrangler has been nothing but wonderful and sweet with her, but she doesn’t expect him to openly show how much he cares about her, especially with Bobby still present in the tent.

     But against the odds, Dean moves his extended hand that was still holding hers closer to his chest, letting it rest there. Gentle fingertips press into her skin as they sink to the small of her back, encouraging her to come close. He looks at her, the playfulness dying down and replaced with something deeper, something even more profound.

     I can’t count the times I almost said what’s on my mind, but I didn’t.      Just the other day, I wrote down all the things I’d say, but I couldn’t.      Baby, I know that you’ve been wondering.      So here goes nothing.

     Comfortable in his arms, Y/N lays her head against his chest, the soft thump of his heart beat and the slow swaying motion calming every nerve that was ever there. She couldn’t feel safer, more sheltered than in this very moment. Right now, she’s the only girl in the world. She couldn’t care less that she’s in the limelight, that everyone is a witness of the bond between them that’s strengthening each day. In fact, she feels proud. Dean stepped on the dance floor, just for her. He is showing a side of him not many are familiar with, just for her. If this doesn’t prove that he’s her man, and no one else's, nothing will.

     In case you didn’t know, baby, I’m crazy ‘bout you.      And I would be lying if I said that I could live this life without you.      Even though I don’t tell you all the time,      you had my heart a long, long time ago.      In case you didn’t know.

     Careful not to stand on her feet and ruin the moment, Dean continues to slowly sway her from side to side. Softly pressing his cheek against her hair, he shuts his eyes for a second, storing the memory amongst the other precious recollections. God, this feels beyond amazing.

     When he opens his eyes again, his gaze travels over the faces watching the pairs in front of the stage. Tensing slightly, he notices Bobby, who watches the two slow-dancing. His uncle shoots back a judgemental glare, seemingly not too pleased with the fact that there’s more going on between the supervisor and the intern than he originally thought. The head wrangler looks back guilty, grimacing awkwardly.

     “What is it?” Y/N wonders, apparently feeling him stiffening.      “I think we’ve been made,” Dean whispers in her ear, dipping down his head slightly.      “Bobby?” she assumes, concerned. “What should we… Should we stop?”      But Dean shakes his head, not caring about the ranch owner at this point. He’ll get over it, and if there was ever a right time to tell the old man, today, after the wins they so desperately needed, would be the day.      “Keep dancing,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss against her hair.        Y/N eases, leaning into him again, the space between the two decreased to the minimum. A breath slips from her lips, the air warm against his chest, even through his shirt. He can smell her shampoo lingering in her locks, mixed with her scent that’s so unmistakably hers. Slowly but surely, everything about her is becoming familiar, yet there’s not a single aspect of the woman before him that he takes for granted.

     The way you look tonight, that second glass of wine. That did it.      There was somethin ‘bout that kiss. Girl you did me in.      Got me thinking. I’m thinking.      One of the things that I’ve been feeling, it’s time you hear ‘em.

     Listening to the words, feeling the music reach his soul, he can’t help but to evaluate the thoughts that cross his mind and the emotions that leave him vulnerable. He knows he’s beyond falling in love at this point, but even if he could, he would never want to go back. Y/N is what he never knew he needed, yet it stuns him when that three word sentence settles on the tip of his tongue. He can’t tell her, though. Not yet. The way he’s holding her right now, how he softly leans into her, is the closest he can get to actually saying it out loud. God, he hopes she knows. Dean silently promises that one day he will tell her. One day.

     In case you didn’t know, baby, I’m crazy ‘bout you.      And I would be lying if I said that I could live this life without you.      Even though I don’t tell you all the time,      you had my heart a long, long time ago.      In case you didn’t know.

     The cowboy pulls back slightly, dipping his chin to establish eye contact again. The kindest smile awaits him, her beautiful orbs glazed over with emotion. She’s not sad, though, quite the opposite. She’s moved. No one has ever made her feel this whole. This is the true definition of happiness, being in his arms, him looking at her like he’s doing so now. Their noses brush when Dean leans in, then he moves his mouth to hers and captures her lips with his. The kiss is soft and slow, just like the music, just like the dance. But of all the intimate moments they shared so far, this has to be the greatest one yet. The thought swirled through her head before, but in this very moment, she is sure: she loves Dean. More than she ever thought she was capable of.

     You’ve got all of me.      I belong to you.      Yeah, you’re my everything.

     In case you didn’t know, baby, I’m crazy ‘bout you.      And I would be lying if I said that I could live this life without you.      Even though I don’t tell you all the time,      you had my heart a long, long time ago.      In case you didn’t know.

     From a distance, the company of four watches the couple. The dim light coming from the strings of lightbulbs above the dancefloor falls over them like a soft blanket, the spots by the stage illuminating their silhouettes. The vision before them is the definition of romance, one that silences the normally so chatty personalities on the sideline.

     Jody and Donna sigh collectively, swooning at the sight.      “I can’t...” The blonde ranch owner swoons. “I can’t with these two.”      “They are so good together,” Jody agrees, endeared.      Jo nods, proud of her friend, and secretly also of her cousin. “Gotta say, never thought I’d see it happen. If he can settle down, there’s still hope for all of us.”      “You guys can thank me with a beer,” Benny sniggers, his eyes not leaving the pair either.

     His comment earns a look from the three women in his presence. The farrier is about to move a beer bottle to his mouth, but pauses the action when he feels their eyes burning in the side of his head, demanding an explanation.      “Who do you think talked sense into the bastard and told him to get his act together, huh?” he brags, taking a sip of his drink.      “Who do you think told him to never let go of that girl and that he better put a ring on her finger?” Jody says, earning impressed nods.      “Who do you think requested this song?” Donna bounces back victoriously.      “Well then,” Jo holds out her bottle, waiting for the others to join her in a toast. “To the matchmakers!”

     Jody is the last one to raise her wine, her eyes not leaving the sight before them. “To love,” she adds.      The four agree to that, clinking their glasses together. After all, it’s what life is all about. Friends, family and that one person you’re going to share the rest of your life with.      They repeat her wise words with abandon. “To love!”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-one here

[fae-fire]

Top Surgery... (Trans man asking for help)

I am also posting this on tumblr... but this is my original twitter thread: here

I am around $200 off from my $1,000 goal. I am also putting $1,000 of my own money from my October paychecks into my already $7,000 saved

I'm afraid to ask for help, but I kind of do need help. I am, for sure, around $1000 short for my top surgery. I am gonna try my best to cut out spending, but if you could help by sharing or sparring a few dollars, I'd be eternally grateful.

my paypal is: paypal.me/raefirst

The money would go towards the surgery cost and expenses like our cat and dog food that the money I am moving to my savings for the surgery can't cover anymore. I'm sorry and I am embarrassed to ask for help. I am afraid to set up a gofundme because I don't want my family knowing. I do plan on speaking to my dad this weekend, but I am not sure how that will go. He doesn’t know. My mom doesn’t know and I want to keep it that way. 

I'll answer any questions but for context I have $7050 saved (the number is now around $7600) and need $8068 upfront for the hospital and surgeon. I am anticipating an additional $500-$750 on top of that at later dates thanks to pre op and post op visits. I am also putting my own money towards this and am diverting most of my paychecks to be able to afford everything...but that also means less money for taking care of my pets and for food. 

Thank you for reading and sharing. I am sorry and embarrassed to have to ask for help. My surgery date was moved up from April next year to October 28 (a month from now). If it were still next year, this would be a different situation and I was originally being told to expect around $1,500 out of pocket...but now it’s $8068+ 

I really appreciate the help so far as well. Words can’t express how...grateful and in awe I am of everyone who has helped me. I am really bad at expressing myself...but I have lost sleep and am legit in tears from gratitude. 

[merakilyy]

Tales of an Unsuccessful Matchmaker

Six months after the Guanyin temple, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji still aren’t together. Jingyi snaps because if his oblivious seniors can't talk about their feelings, then Jingyi is going to take matters into his own hands and make them talk.

Naturally, he enlists the help of Lan Xichen to matchmake a little.

Just a little.

(In which Sizhui is 100% of Jingyi's impulse control, Wangji is lonely, Jingyi may or may not break into the Hanshi via window, and Xichen is surprisingly permissive.)

Tags: Wangxian, post-canon, matchmaking, accidental secret marriage, Jingyi being a menace who just wants his otp to get together already

(On AO3) Wordcount: almost 7600

~~~

If you asked Lan Sizhui, he would describe Lan Jingyi as a cesspool of bad ideas. He would say it with affection and add that Jingyi is still a very talented cultivator whose penchant for more creative solutions has provided much entertainment during their night hunts and saved his life at least once, but it was unofficially Sizhui’s job to keep Jingyi’s worst impulses in line.

However, with Sizhui travelling with Wen Ning outside Gusu for several months, there was no one left to temper Jingyi’s wilder ideas.

Furthermore, Sizhui had inadvertently planted another questionable idea into the mind of Lan Jingyi in his most recent letter.

Lan Jingyi,

I hope that you are well and that you have not caused Grandmaster Lan to suffer another aneurysm.

Uncle Wen Ning and I went to visit the Burial Mounds. It is just as barren as the last time we were there but Uncle Wen Ning told me stories of how Wei- qianbei learned to restrain the resentful energy so they could farm the land and grow radishes. No potatoes, though. It is not a nice place, and even the best memories are bittersweet, but it is a part of my past and I am happy to learn all that I can about my first family. Uncle Wen Ning says Wei- qianbei even managed to grow lotuses in the Burial Mounds. Can you imagine? I thought Uncle Wen Ning was teasing me until I saw three dried lotus seeds in the dirt.

Briefly, Jingyi wondered when the fearsome Ghost General became Uncle Wen Ning to Sizhui, to himself, and to all the other junior disciples. Was it before they accidentally turned Wen Ning green from an aggressive plant spirit, or was it after Wen Ning paused a night hunt so he could rescue a kitten from a tree as they all watched? Jingyi didn’t ponder this very long; his thoughts quickly drifted elsewhere as he continued reading.

After we left the Burial Mounds, we ran into Wei- qianbei and Lil’ Apple in Yiling. He says that he’s been travelling on his own for the past few months. I was surprised that he’s been gone for so long without Hanguang-jun at his side. He seems tired. Later, I asked Uncle Wen Ning about Hanguang-jun and he simply said Wei- qianbei and Hanguang-jun know each other best. I am not sure what that means but Uncle Wen Ning did not say more on that subject. Before Wei-qianbei parted ways with us, I offered him the lotus seeds I found in the Burial Mounds but Wei- qianbei refused. He said that I should hold onto them until he can settle down somewhere to plant them. Do you think he’ll ever come back to Cloud Recesses?

Sizhui’s letter went on a bit more to say he and Uncle Wen Ning were going to Lanling next and that they might visit Sect Leader Young Mistress Jin but Jingyi’s mind had already begun churning with a new idea.

Sizhui had said nothing about whether or not Wei Wuxian was lonely but he was alone! And tired! With only that stupid donkey! So of course he was lonely without Hanguang-jun at his side. Furthermore, Uncle Wen Ning was the one who knew the most about Wei- qianbei and Hanguang-jun’s relationship and describing them as those who know each other best is basically confirmation that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are soulmates.

Plus, Wei-qianbei was waiting to settle down somewhere. Somewhere with enough space to grow lotus flowers. But, also somewhere where Sizhui could easily give him the seeds which meant Cloud Recesses. And, since Hanguang-jun lived in Cloud Recesses, Wei-qianbei must be waiting for Hanguang-jun to confess so he can settle down in the Jingshi. In Cloud Recesses.

Rather proud of his ability to read between the lines, Jingyi began to formulate a plan with his newfound knowledge.

~~~

When he woke up the next day, Jingyi reviewed his plan from the previous night and almost considered scrapping it as he realized he forgot to account for Hanguang-jun’s feelings. Even though Uncle Wen Ning almost confirmed Hanguang-jun’s feelings, how well did Uncle Wen Ning really know Hanguang-jun?

As he finished tying his forehead ribbon in place, Jingyi decided to shelve his plan until he could properly ascertain Hanguang-jun’s feelings towards Wei- qianbei . For now, he decided to simply gather evidence of Hanguang-jun’s feelings.

Evidence, as it turned out, was not difficult to find.

As he headed towards the cafeteria for breakfast, Jingyi saw Hanguang-jun sitting on the porch of the Jingshi in a chair that Jingyi had only ever seen Wei Wuxian use before. Hanguang-jun was impeccably dressed as always, an intricate guan woven into his hair and without a wrinkle to be seen on his spotless white robes. With a pot of tea balanced on the window ledge beside him, Hanguang-jun was reading a letter. Ducking behind a pillar, Jingyi watched as Hanguang-jun flipped through page after page of writing. There were so many pages that Jingyi initially thought the letter might actually be documents from other Sects requiring mediation from the Chief Cultivator. But after taking a closer look, Jingyi saw how a few pages contained doodles in the margins and only one person could be so shameless. Even without seeing the messy scrawl, Jingyi knew it was from Wei Wuxian because no one else would send such ridiculously long-winded letters — especially not to Hanguang-jun. No one else dared send long, verbose letters to a man whose Sect literally had rules that restricted the use of words.

Do not use frivolous words, speak meagerly for too many words will bring harm, do not take your own words lightly, be careful with your words, Lan Jingyi recites in the back of his mind. After having copied the rules so many times, they are easily imprinted in his mind. Wei- qianbei definitely broke all of the rules , Jingyi thinks while he observes Hanguang-jun’s expressions as he reads.

Unlike Sizhui, Jingyi did not have the privilege of being raised by Hanguang-jun for most of his childhood. It was more accurate to say Jingyi, like most members of Gusu Lan, knew of Hanguang-jun instead of knowing Hanguang-jun.

Still, Jingyi has taken enough classes with Hanguang-jun to be familiar enough with major changes in Hanguang-jun’s expressions. Even if Jingyi can’t name the soft expression on Hanguang-jun’s face right now, Jingyi recognizes the look. He saw it at Dafan Mountain, when he requested Mo Xuanyu be moved into the Jingshi, when he and Wei- qianbei rescued them from the Burial Mounds, and after the Guanyin Temple.

It was an expression reserved for Wei Wuxian.

Hanguang-jun’s expression barely changes as he continues reading. Occasionally, Hanguang-jun will flip back to an earlier page with an amused huff.

This should be the most boring endeavor Jingyi has ever undertaken. He has never been a good scout, and even worse at night patrols because he would get bored so quickly.

But, watching the subtle shifts in Hanguang-jun’s expression is more entertaining than Jingyi would have guessed. He is no expert at reading Hanguang-jun, or at reading people in general, but it is fun to guess at the shifts in Hanguang-jun’s expressions. Even Jingyi can see the soft, deeply rooted affection Hanguang-jun has for Wei- qianbei in how he holds the paper with such care, in how he is possibly smiling at Wei- qianbei ’s little drawings, and in how Hanguang-jun looks very lonely sitting on the Jingshi porch alone.

Ouyang Zizhen would be having a field day with this information, Jingyi thinks.

Jingyi is so lost in his thoughts between what his friends would say about observing Hanguang-jun and actually observing Hanguang-jun that he startles when Hanguang-jun himself says, “Breakfast will begin soon. Do not be late.”

Carefully tucking the thick wad of paper into his sleeve, Hanguang-jun stands and makes his way to the communal dining area.

Jingyi has too much dignity to scurry out from his hiding spot right before Hanguang-jun’s sharp eyes. Luckily, Hanguang-jun is not interested in punishing Jingyi and moves toward the dining area. But, before leaving, he says, “Eavesdropping is forbidden, Lan Jingyi.”

Just as Hanguang-jun’s back disappears around another corner, the warning gong for breakfast rings.

Flustered, Jingyi tries to collect himself as he scrambles to his feet. He is enough of a Lan to not run, but he is definitely pushing the limits of speed walking so he will not be late for breakfast.

~~~

Having deemed that morning’s events to be sufficient evidence of Hanguang-jun’s deep yearning for the return of Wei- qianbei , Jingyi decides he needs someone who knows Hanguang-jun well enough to help him formulate a plan.

Ideally, Sizhui would have been the best partner. Not only has Sizhui been raised by Hanguang-jun, Sizhui is also Jingyi’s equal and a close friend which would make the need for formalities unnecessary. Sizhui is also the best at curbing Jingyi's wildest ideas.

But, Sizhui is still travelling with Uncle Wen Ning.

The only other person who knows Hanguang-jun well enough to assist Jingyi is Zewu-jun who is...not exactly in seclusion, but he is not not in seclusion either. Jingyi doesn’t understand it either.

But, Jingyi does know that while Zewu-jun himself has not been seen leaving the Hanshi, Zewu-jun is perfectly free to leave if he so desired. More importantly, people are allowed into the Hanshi. Confident that Zewu-jun would do anything to help Hanguang-jun, Jingyi decides to seek his aid.

Without Sizhui around to slow Jingyi down, to encourage Jingyi to sleep on his plans before enacting them, Jingyi decides to put his plan into action the first chance he gets.

That evening, armed with nothing but the bare bones of a plan and his desire to help Lan Wangji, Jingyi marches up to the doors of the Hanshi for the first time in his life.

Seeing the candlelight flicker through the open window of the Hanshi, Jingyi takes a deep breath and knocks.

He meant to gracefully entire the Hanshi, politely and through the door. He would bow at the full angle, speak at the proper volume, and would present his objective in a calm, respectable proposal. There was a plan, and Jingyi had intended to carry out that plan.

What Jingyi did not account for was Sect Leader Lan’s refusal to open the door. Like any self-respecting cultivator of the Gusu Lan Sect, Jingyi was reasonably terrified of Lan Xichen. But, dire circumstances call for extreme measures. With no other choice, Jingyi turns to the window.

Seeing that there is no one else in the vicinity, Jingyi messily pushes his long sleeves up to his elbows before leaping at the window ledge.

Admittedly, Jingyi didn’t think it was a good idea either. He is basically breaking into the Hanshi, breaking hundreds of rules, and Zewu-jun might run him through with Shuoyue if Jingyi is mistaken for an intruder. Which...Jingyi technically is. But Jingyi tells himself this is a necessary evil, that Zewu-jun is too level-headed to respond with Shuoyue, and that Hanguang-jun’s happiness is on the line. He is still reciting this in his head, like a mantra, as he backs up and dives directly into Zewu-jun’s window.

Jingyi miscalculates his own power and ends up jumping through the window entirely, landing in a flailing, graceless heap as Zewu-jun watches from behind a desk. Zewu-jun’s face is composed as always and his eyes aren’t even open, but Jingyi feels judged as he picks himself up from the ground.

“Sect Leader,” Jingyi salutes, robes askew and regulating ribbon crooked across his forehead. He had already broken enough rules, he figures being respectful to his Sect Leader might mediate the number of lines he’d have to copy as punishment.

“You should not be here,” Lan Xichen’s voice is...impassive. Where he once faced the world with a serene smile, Xichen now faces directly ahead, eyes closed, as still as jade. He does not even bother to address Jingyi directly.

In retrospect, Jingyi will later realize that he has interrupted Lan Xichen’s nightly meditation.

At the moment, Jingyi is more than a little desperate. “Sect Leader Lan,” he bows again, even though Lan Xichen’s eyes remain closed. “I know you are...taking a personal leave from many of your duties, but this is a problem that has plagued Gusu Lan for several months now.”

“Then I suggest you take it to Wangji,” Xichen says, unmoved, in the same placid tone. “Hanguang-jun is more than capable of resolving any issues that have arisen.”

Even though Jingyi’s arms are getting tired and Zewu-jun still isn’t looking at him, Jingyi holds the salute. Just in case. “But Zewu-jun,” Jingyi says, trying very hard to not sound like he is challenging Zewu-jun’s authority, “This is an issue that concerns Hanguang-jun directly.”

Immediately, Zewu-jun’s eyes open and he finally looks at Jingyi. “What is the situation?” Xichen asks, concerned.

“Hanguang-jun is sad!” Jingyi says. It is only his rigorous Gusu Lan education that allows him to will his arms from shaking as he continues to maintain his salute.

“At ease,” Xichen says, giving up on his nightly meditation. “Wangji has been in mourning for a long time but he has been content since Wei- gongzi ’s return.”

Folding his arms in his sleeves politely, Jingyi protests while trying very hard to not sound like he is protesting. “I have evidence that Hanguang-jun is sad!” he says.

“Please take a seat,” Zewu-jun sighs and waves a hand at the cushion before him. He waits for Jingyi to kneel before continuing. “What does this evidence entail?”

“Hanguang-jun was sitting in front of the Jingshi alone before breakfast!”

Jingyi can see that Zewu-jun is unconvinced, even if Lan Xichen’s expression does not change. “Wangji often spends time alone. Wangji enjoys solitude.”

“But he was lonely! He looked lonely!” Later, Sizhui will smack Jingyi for impertinence and Lan Qiren will assign more handstands.

Now, Lan Xichen is unruffled at Jingyi’s boldness and is even amused at the extent of Jingyi’s sheer brazenness. “You have seen Wangji alone before,” Xichen points out calmly. “Why the concern now?”

“Because Wei- qianbei isn’t with Hanguang-jun!”

“Wangji’s connection with Wei- gongzi is profound. It is not our place as outsiders to interfere.” Zewu-jun says this with the weighty experience of someone who has attained this knowledge firsthand in the worst way.

“But they still aren’t together! Lan Sizhui has written to me so much about how lonely Wei- qianbei is! Read for yourself!” Having at least the foresight to prepare himself beforehand, Jingyi pulls Sizhui’s crumpled letter from his sleeve and just barely resists the temptation to thrust it in Lan Xichen’s face. At the last minute, he remembers some manners and offers the letter to Zewu-jun with both hands and lowers his head..

Taking the proffered letter, Xichen skims the contents of Sizhui’s neat handwriting. To Jingyi’s frustration, Xichen’s composed expression does not change.

“Lan Jingyi,” Xichen says slowly, choosing his words with care as he looks back up at Jingyi, “I understand that you are frustrated.”

Jingyi huffs a laugh under his breath — as if frustrated even begins to cover how he feels , Jingyi thinks — before he remembers who he is speaking to and tries to look abashed over his rudeness.

Brushing past the infraction, Xichen continues, “And I understand that you wish to see Hanguang-jun and your Wei- qianbei together again. But, you are not the first to attempt such an undertaking.”

“But Zewu-jun! They are clearly pining and miserable without each other!”

If Jingyi had been paying attention, he would have realized that Sizhui’s letter was actually not very good evidence as it made no explicit mention of Wei Wuxian actually missing Hanguang-jun. It was sheer fortune that Zewu-jun happened to already agree with him.

“Zewu-jun,” Jingyi begs in a last attempt to sway Xichen to his side, “They use their birth names with each other.”

Xichen sighs. “I will not aid this endeavor of yours, but I see no reason to prevent you from undertaking such a project. So long as you operate within our Sect rules, I will not stop you. In exchange, I expect routine updates on how this project of yours proceeds. I invite you to join me for tea in one week's time so you may inform me of developments in the situation.”

Much later, once this ploy has reached its conclusion, Lan Sizhui will hit Jingyi over the head for his audacity in breaking into the Hanshi, for his disrespect in speaking back at Zewu-jun, and for violating curfew.

For now, Jingyi is simply grateful that Zewu-jun agrees with him.

~~~

The first plan is fairly benign.

What Jingyi needs is to first bring Wei Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses. So, he simply sends a letter to Wei Wuxian lamenting how lonely Hanguang-jun is and how worried he is for Hanguang-jun and won’t Wei- qianbei come visit an old friend in his time of need?

Wei- qianbei, Jingyi had written.

How long do you intend to run around with that stupid donkey? Don’t you know Hanguang-jun is sick with worry here in Cloud Recesses? Hanguang-jun is very lonely without your presence and it is very rude of you to take advantage of Hanguang-jun’s kindness and then abandon him. You must come back and take responsibility for the suffering you are putting Hanguang-jun through!

It could have been a good plan.

Except, Jingyi had no way of knowing the sheer quantity of letters Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji sent to each other. The letters were constant, daily updates of even the most mundane events. When Jingyi had happened upon Lan Wangji reading Wei Wuxian’s letters in front of the Jingshi, Lan Wangji had actually been rereading and reorganizing a stack of all the letters Wei Wuxian had sent that month and not, as Jingyi had assumed, been reading a single letter.

Since Wei Wuxian gave Lan Wangji timelines of where he intended to go next and when he would arrive, Wangji had been able to leave Wei Wuxian letters and little gifts in every village he passed through.

So, Wei Wuxian was confident that Lan Wangji was in perfect health and no more worried than he usually is.

What Jingyi did not know was that Wei Wuxian also knew how much Lan Wangji missed him. He missed Wangji just as much, but he had some travelling to do first, some loose ends to tie up, and an identity to reclaim.

A couple weeks after Jingyi had sent his letter, Hanguang-jun summons him to the yashi.

“Chief Cultivator,” Jingyi bows. “Hanguang-jun requested the presence of this disciple?” While formal speech is not something that flows off Jingyi’s tongue, he has never been directly summoned by the Chief Cultivator Lan Wangji. Jingyi is most comfortable with Hanguang-jun as a teacher and mentor, but he figures that it is better to err on the side of caution and maintain the utmost formality.

“Lan Jingyi,” Wangji nods his acknowledgement. “I recently received a letter from Wei Ying.”

Jingyi blinks, unsure where Hanguang-jun is going with this and why Hanguang-jun is telling him.

“Wei Ying has informed me that he has recently received an interesting letter,” Wangji continues.

Jingyi blanches.

To his horror, Lan Wangji reaches into his sleeve and pulls out the exact letter Jingyi had sent off weeks earlier.

“I believe this is your doing.”

Jingyi splutters, his mind scrambling for a defense even though he knows there is none he can provide without giving away his entire plan.

Luckily, Hanguang-jun saves Jingyi from answering by continuing to speak. “Do not make assumptions about others,” he recites, listing the rules Jingyi has broken. “Do not exaggerate, and do not act in bad faith. Be careful with your words.”

“This disciple apologizes for his interference,” Jingyi says as he prostrates himself before Hanguang-jun. “This disciple welcomes any punishment Hanguang-jun sees fit to bestow.”

“Rise.” Despite his new position, Wangji is as uncomfortable with being formally bowed to as Jingyi is formally bowing. “You will copy the rules two times, supervised by Lan Qiren in the library pavilion.”

Which is a very light punishment, all things considered, and Jingyi is well aware of how lenient Hanguang-jun is being.

In his haste to leave the yashi, Jingyi does not realize that Hanguang-jun did not quote do not tell lies amongst the rules he had broken.

~~~

“I sent a letter to Wei- qianbei,” Jingyi informs Lan Xichen in the Hanshi the next day, after his punishment is complete.

“Am I correct in assuming it was unsuccessful?” Xichen says mildly as he pours a cup of tea for Jingyi.

“Wei- qianbei sent the letter I sent him back to Hanguang-jun,” Jingyi grumbles, accepting the tea.

With a deeply entertained smile, Zewu-jun hides his amusement behind his own tea cup.

~~~

The second plan is an objectively terrible idea.

The flaw with Lan Xichen’s hands off approach to Jingyi’s whole endeavor is that he is unable to point out the glaring flaws in Jingyi’s plans.

Because of Sizhui’s brief mention of the lotus seeds he uncovered in the Burial Mounds, Jingyi is reminded that Wei- qianbei was not always the Yiling Laozu or a vagrant wanderer. Before he was forced to raise corpses in battle, Wei Wuxian had been the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang who spent his days surrounded by water and lotus flowers.

Consequently, Jingyi has been inspired to plant some lotuses in Cloud Recesses. Growing lotuses, a plant that Jingyi has only seen once in his life and has never handled, requires a pond. A pond, which would require some source of still water which would also require diverting a river. Or building an aqueduct. Or having the means to hire someone else to build an aqueduct. Or use demonic energy to redirect the flow of water.

Neither hiring someone nor using demonic energy is a viable option but Jingyi pushes those logistics to the side as a problem to be addressed for later.

Instead, during a break between training sessions, Jingyi finds himself a shovel and gets to work.

Jingyi is standing in a shallow ditch he has dug out himself behind the Jingshi, right under a window, when he hears Lan Qiren’s familiar bellow coming from too close behind him.

“Lan Jingyi! What do you think you are doing?!”

Jingyi turns to face Lan Qiren. Holding the shovel, Jingyi bows before answering. “Digging?”

“Disgraceful!” Lan Qiren’s face is redder than Jingyi has ever seen it, even redder than when Wei Wuxian paraded around in front of everyone in Hanguang-jun’s under robes at the Burial Mounds. “Look at your robes! This is unacceptable. We do not need a trench in Cloud Recesses. Fill it back up.”

In his endless wisdom, Jingyi protests. “But wouldn’t a lotus pond be nice?”

“Do Cloud Recesses look like Lotus Pier to you!?” Lan Qiren snaps. “We are not in Yunmeng. Did Wangji put you up to this ludicrous task?”

“Of course not! If Hanguang-jun had planted a lotus pond, then Wei- qianbei would be here!”

Which is exactly the wrong thing to say as Jingyi discovers when he finds himself back in the library pavilion, with Lan Qiren, copying the rules forty times in handstands.

And he had to fill the earth back in.

~~~

“I am no expert on the cultivation of lotus plants but I suspect Cloud Recesses is too cold. Yunmeng is far warmer than we are and has milder winters.”

“How was I supposed to know that!?” Jingyi grumbles, wrists still sore from his punishment.

Xichen does not shrug, but his demeanor heavily suggests a shrug. “In any case, Shufu is rather opposed to Wangji’s relationship with Wei Wuxian.”

“Well I know that now .”

~~~

The third plan is indirectly inspired by Lan Qiren himself when he assigns Jingyi the task of delivering Cloud Recesses’ excess harvest to the nearby villages. Jingyi is carrying several baskets of napa bundles and medicinal herbs on his dan when he passes by a field of peppers.

The bright green peppers remind Jingyi of that day in Yi City, when Wei- qianbei tried to claim his lethally spicy porridge was supposed to be medicine. A claim he made to several junior disciples of Gusu Lan. Gusu Lan: the sect with the most experience with medicinal cooking.

At the time, Jingyi thought he was more likely to choke on Mo- xiansheng ’s terrible cooking than die from corpse powder poisoning.

Now, the entire experience has stirred Jingyi’s thoughts as he formulates another plan on how to lure Wei Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses.

The thing is, while Jingyi actually has very little concrete knowledge of what Wei Wuxian enjoys eating, he does know that Yunmeng Jiang is known for their spicy and flavourful cuisine. Sizhui has also mentioned Wei- qianbei ’s penchant for spicier dishes in his letters, as has Uncle Wen Ning in his stories. And, when they had stayed at inns with Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei , Hanguang-jun always ordered uncharacteristically spicy dishes and requested additional chili oil.

With this evidence, Jingyi concludes that Wei Wuxian is a degenerate gremlin who has burned his tongue.

A degenerate gremlin whom Hanguang-jun is desperately in love with.

It is not a secret that Wei Wuxian despises Gusu cuisine for its bland tastelessness and bitter medicinal properties.

But if someone were to adjust Cloud Recesses’ diet to include more spices, Jingyi thinks, then Wei- qianbei will enjoy the food and stay with Hanguang-jun.

“Are these spicy?” With his mind made up, Jingyi asks the farmer tending to the peppers as he unloads the last of his napa and herbs.

“The spiciest in Gusu!” The farmer responds.

Jingyi has no conception of how spicy that is but it must be spicy enough to make Cloud Recesses’ dishes flavourful enough for Wei- qianbei .

“Here,” the farmer pulls a bundle from his pocket and presses it into Jingyi’s hand. “Take this huajiao as well. It is a numbing spice imported from Yunmeng. It is too strong for my wife and I but I am sure a young master of an illustrious Sect like yourself will find some use for it.”

There is no rule against accepting gifts and it is not unusual for disciples to return with goods gifted by grateful farmers so Jingyi doesn’t feel bad about taking both the huajiao and a basket of peppers.

It takes another couple weeks until Jingyi is rotated onto food preparation in the kitchens again. In those weeks, Jingyi observed Hanguang-jun receive another bundle of letters from Wei-qianbei, request additional pillows and bedding for the Jingshi, and told Jingyi not to fill in the ditch he had dug behind the Jingshi. Jingyi filed this as further proof that Hanguang-jun is desperately missing Wei-qianbei and told Zewu-jun as such.

For his part, Zewu-jun simply sipped his tea and listened to Jingyi’s incessant chatter without judgement.

In the kitchen, Jingyi is standing by the stoves, watching the row of pots and pans slowly cook over the fire. The packet of huajiao and peppers are burning in his sleeve.

Briefly, it does occur to Jingyi that he really does not know how much spice is necessary to adequately flavour an entire dish. Thinking on how red and colourful the dishes Hanguang-jun served to Wei- qianbei were, Jingyi figures more spice is better.

When no one is looking, Jingyi slips the peppers and huajiao into each dish, pouring equal amounts into the pot of rice, the pan of leafy vegetables, and the crock of soup.

He uses up everything the farmer had given him.

Belatedly, Jingyi considers that he maybe should have kept some of the spice for the next time he is on kitchen duty, but decides that murmurs of Gusu Lan serving spiced food on one occasion will be enough to at least temporarily bring Wei Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses. Wei- qianbei will inevitably come if only to question Hanguang-jun and Jingyi is rather optimistic that he will be able to convince Wei- qianbei to stay. He just needs Wei- qianbei to be in Gusu.

As he waits for everyone to be seated for dinner, Jingyi is almost vibrating with anticipation. Lan Qiren does not notice, simply giving Jingyi a cursory glare of disapproval. Hanguang-jun, however, does notice. He gives Jingyi an admonitory look, indicating that he knows Jingyi is up to something, but says nothing as he takes his seat at the main table.

Once the dinner finally commences, Jingyi is disappointed to see that the dishes appear to be the same mild colouring they always are. Then the disciple beside him gags on an unsuspecting bite, coughing and spewing his rice back into his bowl.

Looking around, Jingyi sees that several sect members are coughing and choking on the rice. It is no better for those who are attempting to suppress the spice with the soup.

Lan Qiren’s face is dangerously red and he looks like he very much wants to be yelling, but no longer has control over his own mouth. He sits panting heavily, trying to relax his burning throat and cool his tongue.

Only Hanguang-jun is unbothered, calmly bringing bite after bite to his mouth. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the spice, but he appears otherwise unaffected.

Trying his concoction for himself, Jingyi fares much less well than Hanguang-jun as he breaks out in a string of violent coughs. Despite the inoffensive colouring, the spices are very strong even if it is less spicy than the concoction Wei Wuxian fed them.

Still, Jingyi can’t feel his tongue.

~~~

As Lan Qiren is angry enough to want nothing to do with Jingyi and Hanguang-jun is mired under stacks of paperwork, Jingyi’s punishment is left to Lan Xichen’s supervision.

“That explains the delay in my dinner that evening,” Xichen ponders aloud as he watches Jingyi balance in a handstand against the wall of the Hanshi, holding a brush over a half filled sheet of paper.

“Grandmaster has banned me from the kitchens indefinitely.” Jingyi barely bites back a groan as a splotch of ink drips from his brush, marring the characters he has already copied.

“Shh,” Xichen prompts gently, resuming his own meditation. “There are two hundred and eighty-three copies remaining.”

~~~

Despite the monumental failure of his previous attempts, Jingyi’s zealousness has not waned. If anything, continuing to watch Hanguang-jun walk around all alone and very lonely has only hardened his conviction. He is ready to enact his fourth plan which involves Fairy, Fairy finding Wei Wuxian, a long chase through clear fields with no trees to hide in, and the timely arrival of Hanguang-jun.

Jingyi is halfway through writing a letter to Jin Ling to negotiate borrowing Fairy when he receives his own letter from Sizhui.

Lan Jingyi,

I hope you have not pushed Grandmaster any closer to a Qi derivation in my absence. Uncle Wen Ning and I left Lanling last week. (Jin Ling sends his regards.) I will be returning to Cloud Recesses soon. But first, Uncle Wen Ning and I will be making a detour to Qinghe to pick up a parcel for Wei- qianbei before traveling to Gusu together. Wei- qianbei says he will reconvene with us in Caiyi. Hanguang-jun will be with him.

Take care, and do not break too many rules in the coming days. I have much to share with you of my adventures, of what I have seen, and the many stories Uncle Wen Ning has been telling me.

Lan Sizhui

Jingyi is ecstatic, pushing his half finished letter to Jin Ling aside. With Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei together, they would finally talk out their deep-seated, all-consuming love for one another and Hanguang-jun would finally stop being lonely.

He finishes drafting his letter to Jin Ling anyway, just in case he still needs to resort to Fairy.

A couple days later, Hanguang-jun leaves Cloud Recesses.

As soon as Jingyi sees Hanguang-jun’s back disappear around the curved path leading down the mountain, he quickly walks to the Hanshi.

Before Zewu-jun, Jingyi still carries out the motions of bowing even though his arms are sloppy and his angle is sloppy.

“Lan Jingyi,” Zewu-jun nods, gesturing for Jingyi to take a seat at the table. “There are still three days until our regular scheduled tea time,” Xichen says mildly, pouring Jingyi a cup of tea anyway.

“Hanguang-jun has left Cloud Recesses to find Wei- qianbei . Shouldn’t we follow Hanguang-jun?”

To Jingyi’s surprise, Xichen is as placid as ever and completely unbothered, taking a slow sip of his own tea before answering. “There is no need. Wangji has informed me that he will return tomorrow with Wei Wuxian, Lan Sizhui, and Wen Qionglin.”

Jingyi only sips his tea out of politeness. “But Sect Leader, shouldn’t we follow Hanguang-jun to make sure he finally confesses? Wei- qianbei is so annoying and doesn’t realize how much he loves Hanguang-jun!” Belatedly, it occurs to Jingyi that it is bad form to be insulting a senior in front of his Sect Leader, nevermind a senior who is going to become his Sect Leader’s brother-in-law.

But Lan Xichen is unphased, having long since grown accustomed to Jingyi’s brand of chaos. “While there is no harm in facilitating opportunities for Wangji and Wei- gongzi to explore their feelings, we cannot force them to speak what is not ready to be spoken.”

“But they’ve been doing this for so long!”

“Jingyi, you are not the first to attempt to push Wei- gongzi and Wangji together. They are both deeply stubborn people. All we can do is wait. Fate has blessed them and bonded their souls together. I trust that Wangji will find his happiness.”

“Watching Wei- gongzi and Hanguang-jun together is infuriating,” Jingyi is Lan enough to not pout, but his displeasure is clear.

Zewu-jun hums softly, sympathizing with Jingyi. He has watched Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji dance around each other for two lifetimes now and is still watching. “We can wait at the entrance tomorrow for their return.”

Looking up in surprise, Jingyi asks, “Sect Leader is leaving his seclusion?”

“I am not in seclusion,” Xichen answers. “Only in mourning and taking time for advanced self-reflection.”

Jingyi still doesn’t really understand the difference. The purpose of seclusion is precisely for mourning and self-reflection, was it not?

In any case, Jingyi wasn’t about to argue semantics with his Sect Leader.

~~~

At the entrance to Cloud Recesses, Jingyi stands with Lan Xichen as they wait for Hanguang-jun to return with Wei Wuxian and Sizhui, and Uncle Wen Ning. Zewu-jun is only carrying Liebing. Shuoyue is nowhere to be seen, but the usual guards are only a few paces back in case anything unexpected were to happen.

They take up their posts in the late afternoon. Jingyi had proposed waiting in the morning, but Zewu-jun had predicted otherwise. “I suspect Wei- gongzi will want to explore the vendors in Caiyi and Wangji will allow Wei- gongzi such indulgences,” he had said, shooing Jingyi off to training.

Now, Jingyi has to admit that Zewu-jun was correct.

They have barely been waiting for ten minutes when they hear Wei Wuxian’s laughter drift through the trees. Moments later, Hanguang-jun appears first, making the last turn that leads the path directly into Cloud Recesses.

Zewu-jun gives Jingyi a look as Jingyi vibrates with excitement, but says nothing to admonish Jingyi’s restlessness. They watch as Lan Wangji leads Lil' Apple by the reins, Wei Wuxian sitting astride Lil' Apple’s back with Chenqing tucked into his belt. Sizhui and Wen Ning follow closely behind them, carrying baskets of assorted fresh fruits.

Perched precariously on Lil' Apple, Wei Wuxian raises a hand, waving vigorously at Xichen and Jingyi’s waiting figures.

Xichen simply smiles his welcome, but Jingyi waves back just as excitedly.

“So?” Jingyi asks, not even trying to minimize his excitement once they are all within Cloud Recesses’ wards again after they have exchanged the proper greetings and pleasantries.

At his side, Sizhui has already guessed what Jingyi is about to say and desperately shakes his head as vigorously as possible without attracting Wei Wuxian’s attention. Nothing escapes Hanguang-jun’s notice, and Lan Wangji briefly glances at Sizhui with amusement, but Sizhui knows Hanguang-jun won’t draw unnecessary attention to him. Shadowing Sizhui, Wen Ning simply smiles wryly, his wide eyes dancing as if there is a joke that only he is privy to. Lan Xichen simply stands there, lips curled into a resigned smile as he watches the scene unfold before him.

“So…?” Wei Wuxian echoes, confused, as he takes Hanguang-jun’s hand and allows Wangji to help him off Lil’ Apple’s back.

Jingyi does not notice how Wangji’s hand remains on Wei Wuxian’s back even after both his feet are planted firmly on the ground. Xichen, however, very much notices and gives Wangji a knowing look that says as such.

Wangji resolutely ignores his brother’s gaze. Instead, he refocuses his attention back onto Wei Wuxian.

“So have you finally confessed your undying love and devotion to each other!” All the advice Zewu-jun had given Jingyi about leaving Wanji and Wei Wuxian to their own devices has flown out the window as Jingyi says this so emphatically that it is no longer even a question.

Confused, Wei Wuxian turns to Wangji first. Jingyi doesn’t see any changes in Hanguang-jun’s expression but he must have reacted as Wei Wuxian nods and turns back to Jingyi.

“Of course we have,” Wei Wuxian says with an oddly anticipatory note to his voice. There is a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hanguang-jun is my husband.”

There is a brief pause as Jingyi processes Wei Wuxian’s words.

“ What?!” Jingyi shrieks. “ Husband?! ”

Somewhere in Cloud Recesses, during a fine afternoon tea with a Lan Sect Elder, Lan Qiren suddenly coughs up blood.

“Well we’ve already been engaged forever,” Wei Wuxian shrugs as if he hasn’t just distorted Jingyi’s entire world. “We didn’t want to wait any longer.”

Off to the side, Wen Ning is completely unsurprised by this revelation having witnessed their union with his own eyes, albeit from inside a bush. Sizhui was never told outright, but Wen Ning had hinted at Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s union just enough that Sizhui had extrapolated his own conclusions.

Jingyi swings around to look at Zewu-jun, the only one who is not betraying him at this moment by being the only other person who is surprised. While Xichen had already determined that Wangji and Wei Wuxian had confessed, Xichen hadn’t expected them to already be married .

“To be fair, I didn’t know we were engaged for most of it either,” Wei Wuxian continues nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just uprooted Jingyi’s entire world. His hand is clasped tightly in Hanguang-jun’s grasp as Wei Wuxian swings their entwined hands together back and forth between them. “Lan Zhan forgot to tell me.”

“I did not forget,” Lan Wangji hums thoughtfully as he looks at Wei Wuxian with the most adoring, love struck gaze Jingyi has ever seen. With his free hand, Lan Zhan reaches over to cover their entwined hands and relaxes Wei Wuxian’s fervent swinging. “Wei Ying was not ready.”

Wei Wuxian rests his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. With an equally infatuated gaze, Wei Wuxian looks up at Hanguang-jun from his shoulder. “But I’m ready now. Lan Zhan, I’m so ready —“

Lan Xichen interrupts before Wei Wuxian’s smitten tone can turn outright salacious.

“Welcome back, Wei- gongzi , Wangji. I offer my blessings and congratulations to you both,” Zewu-jun says mildly, forcing the words out through his own shock. “May I ask when this union took place?”

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian look at each other again. Jingyi can’t decide whether he finds their ability to carry a conversation with only their eyes to be the height of romance or absolutely grating.

“A few minutes after we accidentally got engaged,” Wei Wuxian explains rather unhelpfully. “When he tied his ribbon around my wrist.”

“We completed the first bows before Lan Yi,” Hanguang-jun elaborates. This time, Jingyi notices when Hanguang-jun releases Wei- qianbei ’s hand so he can wrap his arm protectively around Wei- qianbei and pull him in close.

“Lan Yi?” Zewu-jun echoes. Hanguang-jun’s explanation clarified nothing for Jingyi, but Zewu-jun seems to understand. “Wangji, that was over two decades ago.”

“You’ve been married for twenty years!?” Jingyi snaps, no longer even trying to mediate his own surprise. Glancing back to the side, Sizhui and Wen Ning are doing their best to melt into the trees and be idle spectators.

Traitors , Jingyi thinks.

“Not exactly,” Wei Wuxian interrupts Jingyi’s thoughts. He is leaning into Hanguang-jun’s shoulder slightly, subconsciously. In any other circumstance, Jingyi would find this to be exceptionally romantic. “We didn’t get to the second set until after we saved everyone in the Burial Mounds, when we all went to Lotus Pier.”

“It took you twenty years to get married?” Jingyi is blurting out thoughts as they come, the shock of Hanguang-jun’s marriage having finally severed the already tenuous connection between his brain and his mouth.

“Lan Zhan and I like to take it slow,” Wei Wuxian says as if it is perfectly to space out wedding bows over two decades, across two lifetimes, without any ceremony, and without telling anyone.

Xichen speaks again. “When did you complete the final set?”

“Right after we left the Guanyin Temple.”

“But Sizhui and Uncle Wen Ning followed you right after you left,” Jingyi says, trying to map out a timeline.

“We finished our bows before they caught up.”

Wen Ning says nothing. At the time, he had briefly gone ahead to clear the path for Sizhui when he had happened upon and witnessed their bows to each other. No one else knew what he had seen and Wen Ning very much intended to keep it that way. It was a tender and very private moment, and it was fortunate that they returned to the road just as Sizhui caught up with Wen Ning.

“But you were lonely! And all that longing!” Jingyi tries to untangle his mess of thoughts, wondering if he spent too much time reading too much into Sizhui’s letters.

“Of course I was lonely!” Wangji’s grip on Wei Wuxian’s waist tightens. “I missed Lan Zhan! I have to leave my new husband behind!”

“Then why did you even leave?”

Wei Wuxian pauses, thinking about how to put into words how he felt. “I was ready to love Lan Zhan,” Wei- qianbei finally says, voice subdued. “But I wasn’t ready to be me.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You can’t devote yourself to someone fully without knowing who you are without that person,” Wei Wuxian says with uncharacteristic sincerity.

A silence falls upon them. Jingyi still isn’t sure whether this is real, or if he was having the weirdest dream.

No one notices Lil' Apple stealing an apple out of Sizhui’s basket.

“Wangji,” Xichen breaks the silence, “why did you not tell anyone?”

The hurt in his voice is resounding and Jingyi wonders the same thing. All these weeks, Zewu-jun has been quietly supportive of Jingyi’s misplaced attempts to bring Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei together, only to find out there was no need for any of it.

“It was...not intentional,” Lan Wangji says slowly, carefully parsing through his words. “Wei Ying and I did not wish to leave our feeling unacknowledged for any longer.”

“You did not even have a proper marriage ceremony,” Xichen says wistfully.

“The ceremony was never important to us, Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian answers quietly. “This entire mess happened because of cross-sect politics and interferences. So we wanted something for ourselves, something that couldn't be co-opted for sect politics.”

And despite everything his poor heart has gone through in that single afternoon, Jingyi’s heart melts because of course Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei wouldn’t tell anyone. Having each other was more than enough for them and wasn’t that just the pinnacle of love?

“Now, Lan Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian continues, teasing grin back on his face, “I heard you concocted a plan to lure me back into Cloud Recesses.” Jingyi makes an affronted squawk, but doesn’t get a chance to defend himself when Wei Wuxian continues. “Since you’ve already started on digging a pond, you can help me grow a lotus pond! A-Yuan has even been so kind as to bring back lotus seeds from the Burial Mounds. You’ll help me, won’t you Lan Jingyi?”

Jingyi’s head is spinning with all the newly gained information. And A-Yuan? Who is A-Yuan?

Later, Sizhui will sit down and explain his early history with Wei Wuxian as a Wen, and Jingyi will make the connection between Gusu Lan’s Lan Sizhui — Lan Yuan — and Wei Wuxian’s A-Yuan. But at the moment, Jingyi’s mind is swimming in all the newfound revelations.

Without waiting for Jingyi’s response, Wei Wuxian marches off toward the Jingshi. Lan Wangji follows at his side, his arm never letting go of his husband.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon behind the Jingshi, Jingyi!” Wei Wuxian calls back without turning around.

They leave Lil' Apple in Jingyi and Sizhui’s care, trusting that they will lead Lil' Apple to the back mountains to graze on grass with Hanguang-jun’s rabbits.

As he watches the figures of Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei disappear into Cloud Recesses, Jingyi genuinely cannot tell whether or not he is being punished. At least they’re finally together, Jingyi thinks, before resolving to never think about them so deeply ever again.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s relationship was simply too complicated for comprehension.

~~~

Some Notes: Jingyi’s weekly teas with Xichen continue anyway because Xichen thinks Jingyi is hilarious and Jingyi...still has plans.

A dan is a wooden pole that you set on your shoulder and is used to carry goods. It’s still used in rural China.

[melancholic-pigeon]

Aaaaaaaah deadlines.

I am terrible at them. I either miss them by a mile or I finish the thing too early and start climbing the walls to jump the gun on posting it.

I should wait! If I do, I'll catch thirty threads I missed or wording errors I blipped right over! It's good to take a break and come at it a few days to a week later!

I hate doing it. It's always just There in the back of my head going "am I finished yet? What about now? Now? ....Now? HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY PAY ATTENTION TO ME"

Does it even matter??? I posted last year's a week early, time is an illusion, but will that drive me nuts down the line?

Or maybe I just decide it's a due month or a due week instead of a due date and then maintain consistency...

Oh damn I'm going to talk myself into it aren't I

fuck

we're up to 7600 words btw