#I love his expression here too!! it feels very Him you know

[goldsbitch]

That one night stranded

There is good sex...and then there is good sex. And when you know and love someone, it's very easy to tell when they fall into an anxiety trap and try to fuck it out.

Lando is determined to have good sex only for the rest of his life.

Or - Lando and Y/N get stranded in between flights. accidental 7k epilogue p.2 to That one Christmas flight, but can be read as a stand-alone

warning: angst, shit family, smut, p in v, oral, minors DNI, typos, couple therapists, please leave, i'm not ready for your judgement

//

There were two very different text message chains happening in the hotel lobby, where the young couple stood, waiting for the receptionist who was coding they key card.

Lando's phone was bursting up with family photos, taken the day before. Lots of smiley faces, tables overflowing with food and pictures blurred up, because the person taking the photo was most likely laughing too hard to stay still. And even better - most of the messages were words of praise his family had for his no-so-new girlfriend. He knew well enough his family was proud of him nevertheless. Somehow, bringing home someone who fit in right easily, laughed at the same jokes and earned a sincere approval, filled up a hole he had no idea was present in his heart.

This one night they'd "earned" by the delayed flight felt like a reward. They'd done great together. Alone time was a rare luxury, especially when it was unexpected and not planned out for weeks. He glanced over to her, glued to her phone in a similar way that he was. Only difference being the furrowed brows.

The other text chain was Y/N and her mother. Right when the reality sank in - the fact that no plane would be able to fly to Japan with these weather conditions - her heart did too. She'd somehow hoped it would be different. That her mother would save the snarky comments. Yet she found a way to make this all seem like Y/N's fault.

You should have taken an earlier flight.

She knew it was irrational. But yes, if they had opted for the earlier flight, they'd be in the air by now. Funny, how only parents know the exact formula to make one’s brain switch off the rational part. It was the hidden undertone in the text messages. Her mom would usually save those for phone calls. The last thing Y/N wanted to do at the moment. You're too reckless. Not organized enough. Being late is your fault. Bad planning. Do you even care about seeing me? I took a day off from work to spend time with you. Are you sure about bringing the racer boy over here?

Guilt filled up her stomach and her eyes were glued to the phone, hoping for more letters to appear. Something along the lines like "have a safe flight". Or "I'm looking forward to finally meeting Lando". Words she knew would never appear. She felt her boyfriend's arm embrace her as he exchanged few final words with the receptionist. The specific info got lost on her, but the tone spoke on it's own. Even a stranger could pick up on his unmasked joy and comfort. He didn't mind they were stranded for few hours. She wished for that kind of peace of mind. His family had been incredibly lovely to her. Accepted her the way she was and gave her enough space to express herself. She was ready for "double checking" or some sort of acceptance tests. Expected to have to prove herself to them more. None of that came. Part of her was secretly infuriated by that. There was no way in hell Lando would get the same treatment. Y/N wished she could provide that comfort for him too. It resembled the same feeling she had when he came to her apartment for the first time and she forgot to put away all the mugs overflowing the nightstand. Like something that was her responsibility to fix, clean up before he even knew this was a thing.

"Look at me, honey," he said in the elevator, his finger pulling her chin up. His eyes scanned her with a look she grew to love. Pure, unfiltered adoration. "Feels like we got gifted a night only for ourselves. I can't think of anything better to receive." She smiled as best as she could, trying to get on his level of ease. But one thought sat in her brain, unwilling to make space for anything else. Today's bliss for tomorrow's misery.

"You're right, as always," she replied, trying to convince herself maybe more than him. The kiss she gave him afterwards was to divert his attention from looking at her, because she knew from experience, he'd soon see right through her.

"Have you texted your mom that we'll be late?" he asked, unaware of her bubbling anxiety.

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, trying to dismiss the situation.

//

Who cares that mom thinks he's just a reckless celebrity. Would an immature asshole who "can't possibly care about me in the longterm" be say things like that? It was pure fire running through her veins. Maybe it really was a gift, these few hours they got extra. The reality was that even if they'd arrived on time, fresh and dressed up as a cookie cutter loved up couple, her mom would still find something wrong to drill about later. Screw that. Last few moments of solitude.

She was standing in a hotel room bathroom, looking into the mirror, trying to calm herself down.

This worked perfectly into Lando's favor, him still being completely high on the good Christmas vibes. The minute she excused herself, he got on the phone with the hotel concierge and offered to throw any amount of money at them if they'd manage to follow up on his impromptu request. By some miracle, the trail with cold champagne, strawberries and few roses arrived before she returned from the bathroom. When his lovely girlfriend entered the room again, he greeted her with a dramatic spin, rose in one, a tall glass in the other hand. His interpretation of an angelic smile plastered on his face. The plan of catching her off guard worked. She stood there for a moment, taking the scenery in.

"Lando..." she said, speechless enough to muster anything more.

He winked at her and stepped closer. "It is technically our anniversary..." he said, like an open invitation.

Y/N stared at the loved up guy standing in front of her. Mother's voice still ringing in her head. All composure she managed to gain by staring at herself in the mirror gone in a second. How can anyone, ever and anywhere think that Lando, her Lando, is anything but a perfect boyfriend. How can her mother feed her with words like reckless, immature, wild and careless...without ever even meeting him in person. Her phone dinged with the sound a text message and she just knew it was her mom again. She didn't even bother looking at the notification.

"You're perfect, you know that?" she blurbed slowly. Once again, as if more to herself than to him.

His smile grew wider. "I try my best," he noted with a tone that could only be described as playful.

"Many people forget anniversaries..."

"To be fair, it is easier if it's pinned to annoyingly recognized holiday..." he joked and handed her the glass. "Do not ask me when we actually got together, because I don't think there is enough champagne around here for me to apologize for not knowing that date."

She smirked and accepted the glass.

"You did kind of just admit that yourself, you know..."

"I know, but, you didn't ask, so it doesn't count."

He knew her well enough to know that she was about to ask exactly that just to tease him, so interrupted her before she had a chance to even breathe in.

"Toast! To us! To the best outcome a desperate secret meeting at Honda could ever have!"

Giving up on teasing him, she clinked her glass with his. "To the Christmas champagne tradition."

He leaned in and kissed her before tasting the champagne. If it weren't for the symbolic gesture, he'd order anything else. Champagne had a weird undertone of podiums and that was something he hated to get reminded of during off season. But that was not something he needed to tell her.

She gulped the whole glass, happy have something to take the edge off.

"How bizarre, we managed to make it here," she remarked, courage building up.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, honey."

That's it. He was being the ultimate boyfriend, while she was there, barely participating. No more of that. She grabbed the glass from his hands and downed the liquid he barely touched anyway. Surprised Lando only raised his eyebrows and watched her put both of their glasses away.

"Bed. Now," she ordered him, changing the tone of the conversation.

Fascination overruled Lando's facial expression and he obeyed, without a single word. Usually, he was the more dominant one in their sex life. He couldn't help himself, forever horny teenager. But, sometimes, out of nowhere, she whipped up her bossy side. He often fantasized about that when he was alone, racing around the world.

She waited for him to absentmindedly kick his shoes to the corner only to sit at the edge of the bed. Shook her head and nodded toward the pillow. He obeyed and pushed himself further to the back. His eyes were literally inviting her, encouraging her to continue.

With full determination, she took her shirt off, following by swiftly removing her bra. Then she climbed over to him, never breaking eye contact.

Lando wanted to say something, anything, but he was worried that would somehow break the spell. He followed her every move, tuning in. They had spent few days in the family circus and they were about to enter another one. It's been the longest they'd gotten without sex while being in the same timezone. Even though he was not demanding or expecting anything, he was craving it like a starved man.

She wanted to feel hot. Determined to prove that she is a good girlfriend. Swung her leg over his, practically sitting on him. Their lips crashed together in a messy kiss, tongues fighting for dominance. Lando sighed when she parted them. But she was on a mission now. Knowing well enough Lando was a boobs man, she pulled his face towards her nipple and he didn't think twice about what to do next. She watched him suck and pure physical relief washed over her. All will be well soon.

She grabbed him over his jeans, pleased to find that he was already getting hard. Abandoning the kiss, she moved over to gain access to his crotch. Locked eyes with him while opening his zipper, almost violently.

"Take this off," she ordered and boy, did he do as he was told.

The air was heavy with anticipation on both parties.

With thick determination, she knelt over and took him into her mouth. He grew in her instantly, reaching full erection almost immediately.

Wasting no time, she started to move, up and down and suck him off. One hand called over to help at the bottom of his shaft, the other used as a support for her to lean on. She quickly got lost in the rhythm and continued, almost like someone dead set on completing a task. She had to prove herself. He was a great boyfriend and she needed to be the best girl he had. Because tomorrow, only ugly judgemental looks from her mother would await. No warm family welcome, this bliss they lived in for the past few days would be long gone. She could almost see it already happening, Lando desperately trying to impress her mother and her just dismissing him, because she had already made up her mind about him.

But he was perfect and Y/N was head-over-heels in love. With her eyes closed, she kept on moving, barely reaching for breath, ignoring the growing pain in her back, because the pit of despair growing in her stomach was louder anyway. It was all worth it for making her lover happy. Because who knows how it will all look tomorrow. If she could back down from the trip, she would. Her mom does not deserve to criticize someone so perfect like Lando.

Out of nowhere, felt his hand reaching over to her shoulder, somewhat bringing her back to Earth.

"Y/N," he moaned, with an unusual undertone. She took it as a sign to speed up her movements.

"Stop," he continued instantly. She froze, not quite sure what had happened.

"Ok, ugh," he pulled away unwillingly. "I can't believe I'm about to interrupt...Whatever amazing thing is happening right now."

She swallowed her own saliva. Got up a bit, slightly mortified. Why did he stop her. What has she done wrong? He never complained before? That's it - this connected with the treatment her mother had prepared instead of Christmas dinner would be the final straw ending their lovey-dovey period. Her thoughts were tripping one over another, making up an incoherent mess.

Once again, he pulled up his finger and arched her chin up.

"Is everything alright?"

Silence followed. He gave her a questioning, puzzled look.

"I thought you liked my blow jobs," she said with a stern look stripped of any emotion.

"Believe me, I do," he said with a heavy sigh. He couldn't believe himself, never expected himself to pause a perfect blow. "But something feels off about you."

She failed. She failed at going with Lando's flow and ruined what was suppose to be a nice romantic holiday evening. Giving up, she threw herself on her back, lying 90 degrees next to him, eyes glued to the ceiling. If they hadn't been so comfortable with each other, she'd feel very small, lying there like that, him with his dick out and her topless.

Lando had hoped his intuition was wrong. But sadly, he recognized the signs correctly. Without knowing this emotion had pained her ever since the plane got delayed, he felt his own anxiety pile up. Only years of mental preparation for his overly demanding job had helped him to avoid jumping into conclusions too quickly. Even though, deep down, he was terrified that her sudden mood change was due to the fact she didn't love him anymore. It was always the first thing he thought about, no matter how much he tried to work on it. But - years of mental training - he was going to cash that in.

He watched her, hoping she'd look back at him. When she didn't, he reached his fingertips towards hers. Her own hand responded instantly and their fingers tangled together.

"What happened...Did I do something wrong?" he opened with, reaching for any clues.

She kept her stare up the ceiling and chuckled. How cute it was, finding him so unaware.

"No. Lando, you're amazing. Annoyingly so, lately."

He took that as an invitation and shifted his body over so that they shared the same angle and joined her at the "staring at the ceiling" activity.

"I hope that is not the problem - I have hard time not being like that," he joked, hoping it would diffuse the tension a bit. The Lando she met a year ago would probably run away in a situation like this. Or maybe even ignored the obvious distress of his sex partner and let he blow him to his release. But not the Lando of today.

Her lips curled into a small smile.

"Oh, if only all of us were like you," she couldn't help but comment sarcastically.

"You know that you're more than perfect to me, right?" There was no lightness to be detected in his tone. She shifted, a wave of uncomfortableness washing her over.

I may be, but not my family.

"Yes, but I need you to know...I need you to understand, that I truly love you and I am totally mesmerized by you. To me, you are perfect. Even when you irritate me to heavens," she admited, making sure to highlight the words of praise. Scared that if she didn't build enough foundation today, there will be nothing to stand on once the challenge comes tomorrow. She'd tried to warm him about the meeting, but it always seemed to go through his ears.

It was like she was speaking in riddles. "Why do you need me to understand that now?" he asked, eyes now fully glued at his girlfriend, searching for some clues.

She felt his eyes on her and out of nowhere felt very naked. "Because...." ...Words were hard.

"Go on, I'm not backing away from this," Lando insisted, trying to get them both on the same page.

A loud sigh. "We had such a great time with your family..."

It was like she was speaking in a language he was not yet fluent in. "Don't divert the conversation," he hissed, eyes on her like she was some sort of target.

"I'm not!" she gasped, almost offended.

Lando was still not following. "My family is basically in love with you, I have messages if you need proof."

"Yeah. And that's the problem," Y/N smirked bitterly.

He leaned closer to her. "I think we should look up a definition of the word problem..." he joked.

She was still burning holes in the ceiling with her look. "We missed the flight. It's another bullet to my mother’s gun." Stupid, stupid mistake.

"Who is she planning on shooting?" Lando asked softly.

"Us, I'm afraid." She finally met his look and the only emotion he was able to read in her eyes was concern.

If this relationship had taught Lando anything, it was that the hard way is sometimes the only way. So, he finally allowed himself to ask the one thing that had been on his mind for a while now. "Does she not like me?"

Deep down he was suspecting this might be one of the reasons why his girlfriend is acting sketchy. He just hoped it was something more trivial. "She's never met you," she whispered, as if she was defending him for something he hadn't yet committed. So far, there had been only one moment when her mom Facetimed her when he was right next to her. One greeting, awkward wave and a smile that was not reciprocated. He made up some excuse to leave them alone promptly after that, feeling like he was intruding on a private conversation.

"I wondered when you were going to tell me that," he remarked, ready to go full on. He was just now allowing the thought that his lover's parent might have been feeding her bitter doubts for some time now enter his brain.

The obvious change of Lando's expression made her stomach turn, kind of like drinking milk that's gone off does. But, they'd vowed to be fully honest with each other after their first big fight. Deep breath. "She um...It's not like you can say she is exactly on board with all of this,“ she gestured between them. 

And there it was. The confirmation he feared. He did his best to remain as calm as possible. "Don't worry, I figured, you sort of hinted at that few times before. And I'm planning on charming the hell out of her. After all, you do share genes. Some of my tricks gotta work on her." It was more of a plea, lacking his general playful confidence. When she studied his look, it reminded her of the times when he was hiding his real emotions in front of hungry reporters.

He told her once he wanted her to be blunt, rather than deceptive in difficult times. The words started to leave her mouth without much of a filter. "But, what if it does not work. She has this habit of making her mind up before I have any chance to affect it."

Somehow, the fact she voiced it, made it easier for him to react. "Honey, don't take this the wrong way. But, I only care about your opinion. It would be great to have your mom on our side...However, I'd like to believe it's not the base of our relationship."

"No, it's not," she said quickly, silently hoping it was going to be enough for them to survive this challenge.

"So, tell me. What does she think about me?" he asked, suddenly craving to know it all.

She bit her lip. "Lando, don't make me say things like that."

Wow. That bad. "I'm used to getting hate from thousands of people who don't know me. I can cope. The more specifics I know, the better I can prepare...Come on, spill it," he countered, trying to convince her that he can handle it. However, it wasn't like he himself was completely sure of that. Her face was expressionless and he nodded to confirm it nonverbally.

"She thinks you're reckless," she spoke slowly, skipping few heartbeats. She was used to being on the other side, praising Lando when he doubted himself. This place, where she found herself at, was not one she liked.

He analysed it for a moment. "Well, I do get into a car every week to purposefully drive it as fast as possible, so I can she from which angle she might be coming from. Nothing new."

"You're a party boy," she shot back faster than she could think.

And he shot right back at her. "You're a party girl, but I assume your mom has no idea, huh."

"No...," she admitted. For some reason, this calmed her down a bit. She finally took another breath.

"What else," Lando's stared at her, following his internal feeling they hadn't arrived to the end yet.

No point in holding back now, she figured. There was a weird ball of tension in her chest, almost asking daring her to push him to the limit. "She googled you. A lot. And she made sure to tell me names of all your model exes. Then proceeded to tell me I look nothing like that," Y/N deadpanned.

Lando knew this was probably the one thing that stung her the most. But, the thought of someone she held so dearly voicing it her was making him extremely angry. "That's just fucked up-"

She continued, before he had any chance to react more.

"And, she thinks you'll affect my school. That the lifestyle around you is shallow and only attracts bonehead people."

Now, this was finally getting to Lando. Of course, he could not let Y/N know that, not in this moment.

"Do you think that too?" he asked, because he craved to know the truth. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the world around felt silent and his mind had time to roam freely, he found himself thinking about this. He never really studied and was never going to. His life was based on different approach. He loved it. But that didn't stop him from feeling a bit inferior from time to time.

He expected anything, but a laugh. For a moment he figured she was mocking him. Only once she reached to touch his face he realized just how still and stiff he became throuout out their conversation.

"I think it's shallow and bonehead to assume that. I've met some amazing people in your team, smart people who have dedicated their lives into the sport I'd grown to love while watching get so passionate about it."

There was an unspoken question hanging in the air. Lando dared not to say it outloud.

"And, no. I don't think you deserve to be called any of those words. Only when you're looking in the mirror, because that smug face deserves to be punched one day."

He chuckled. It would take him few moment to truly let her words sink in. "You didn't seem to think that one time in Abu Dhabi." That time when he fucked over a bathroom sink and made sure that she watched them the whole time. Lando watched with joy as her face started getting some color again. He couldn't fight his urge to get closer to his partner, break the tension even further. So, he rolled over to bury his nose in her neck. It was almost automatic at this point. None of his previous girlfriends were this understanding of his overly touchy needs. Words were important, but they grew more on meaning when he could feel her skin, explore her light shiver, watch how her body reacted. When he felt her pushing towards his touch, he swung his arm over her, with the notion of providing some heat to her naked chest.

A more comfortable silence fell upon the hotel room. Both of them lost in their own thoughts. Lando was taking in all of the newly found information. It was a heavy burden, not because of the substance, but because it was coming from someone Y/N held dearly. It was hard not to feel a little injustice of it all. But more than that, he was grateful that she was able to avoid internalizing all of that what was fed to her from her mom. He approached all of this as he would any strategy meeting before a difficult race. Find the strengths, capitalize on them and try to minimize the advantage "the opponent" might have. But truth be told, he'd rather not have to have this sort of competition.

"Thank you," he whispered into the crease of her neck. "Thank you for not giving into it all." He hoped, prayed, that was he as saying was true. It was not just about her mom. It was the press, some of the overbearing fans and anyone who dared to challenge them without having any real insight in their relationship. "I know it must be really hard and not exactly what you might have signed up for."

What did I sign up for? 

She reached over to embrace him, mindlessly drawing circles on his back. The pit inside her stomach was growing smaller. Without really intending to, signed up for a partnership, exciting love affair that got out of hand. Anyone who came before him was redundant. He outshined everyone. 

"I’m pretty sure I must have bribed faith in my past life to have you thrown in my life." 

"Aren’t you my little smart poetic girl," he murmured approvingly and started to cover her skin with kisses. Few moments flew by. "We could order some food, put on the show you like and drift away. How does that sound?" 

She understood his intention. It had been a long day and another one was coming. Her emotions were clashing from one end to another and as much as she tried to hide it all, Lando was proving to be hard to fool. And no - she did not want to chill in. Burning all of it out sounded more fun. To be held for a moment, stuck in the timelessness only lightheaded orgasm created. 

He was still trailing her neck with small pecks, arm locking her in. The untamed curls almost tickling like small feathers. Everything was heightened, as if his skin was loudly calling her in. His words of initiating a calm wind down not matching his action. 

"Please, no more of this PG fun. It’s been days."

He stopped all of his movements. "Well then, pray tell, what do you have on mind?"

The next words flew out of her mouth before she could filter them. "Are you in the mood to fuck me?"

"Am I in the mood to fuck you," he repeated, in his signature sarcasm dripping style. He was having trouble processing how his sexual partner could ever arrive to this question. Unsure whether to address her clumsy dirty talk first instead of the absurdity of the question, he arrived at a simple "Charming…".  Of course he was in the mood. Always, anytime and quite literally anywhere.

"Well it's just, it's been quite a tense talk..." she hinted back carefully. To her surprise, his face went into smirk mode. 

"I will ask you the same thing next time you're hyperventilating about school and you come in begging for stress release," he jested, once again making her eyebrows shooting up. 

"I am never begging," she defended, unwilling to give into his narrative. 

And then he shot back, with his signature you-don’t-have-any-chance-to-resist look. "I said what I said."

Blood ran boiling in her veins. If oil had been in such abundance as his audacity, the world would be able to run cars freely for centuries. "Tell me one example of me begging for sex with you."

Lando turned his head slowly. Oh. Oh, it was on.

Very quickly she realized her own mistake. She ran into that one like a fool. "No, Lando, don't-"

"You know, it has been indeed quite a long day, I think I'm gonna hop in the shower and get a healthy dose of beauty sleep," he declared dramatically, sat up and removed his t-shirt. She rolled her eyes as high as humanly possible. No way would follow through with this premise. "Fine, Lando. I’ll be here, munching on strawberries, naked and horny, all by myself," she tried to tease and leaned over to grab one of the bright red fruits from the trail. Eyes locked in with him as she shamelessly sucked on it. There was a glitch and a twinkle in his look. Almost got her thinking she had this one in the bag. He stepped closer, noses almost touching as he whispered: "Have fun, honey," gave her a little peck on the cheeks while having the nerve to grab her exposed breast. His tone was teasing, daring her to dare a little more. It was annoying in a typical Lando fashion.

"Lando, you gotta be kidding me right now," she sighed, impatience getting the better of her. 

"Few magic words and you get exactly what you want from your reckless racer fuck boy,“ he mocked everyone who ever doubted them. "Oh, sorry, forgot to add, very good at taking your edge off. Am I right?"

His presence was more intoxicating than usual. As if he radiated some hormones making her feral. All the complicated emotions leaving the conversation one by one. Nothing but the two of them left in the room. His hot breath on her cheek, fingers circling over her nipple and his body heat reminding her of each time she wrapped her arms around him as he pushed into her. 

"Yes, that you are," she responded mindlessly and searched for his lips with her own. He allowed her a small peck, like a chef would at a tasting menu. Enough to hook, but not enough to fill up. And with that thought in mind he broke their kiss. "Come on, say it. I want to hear it."

Few moments of silence, her breathing heavy and his almost undetectable. Two ego’s fighting a battle so pointless it was almost amusing. She couldn’t just give in like that, no matter how dizzy her head was getting. 

"Fine by me, honey. Your choice," he danced away, letting her hanging. There was something infuriating about how nonchalantly and elegantly he smiled, knowing well enough her was winning this battle. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as to prevent herself from watching his tone back. 

This. This was her Lando. Always pushing her into a direction she had no idea she wanted or needed to go. Never the same thing twice, somehow, he always dug up something new. 

She sat on the bed, dumbfounded, playful anger replacing all the anxiety she had felt just moments ago. Was this his plan all along, or did he just have a natural talent at steering her mood into a place where she’d happily go and give into anything he’d suggest her to do?

He was grinning all the way coming to the shower. It was a statement, a game and something to ease the tension. Once the water started, he’d allowed himself do a light check-in with his own feelings. It wasn’t easy to hear all those things. In fact, some of them hit a little close to home. Lando made sure to separate what he had heard from Y/N as a person. She wasn’t the author of these thoughts. Someone else was. A person who he had not yet even met. There wasn’t a single cell in him that would doubt that everything she stared had been said by her mother at some point. 

He closed his eyes and aimed his face directly under the shower head. Images of him and Y/N all coupled up at his family house started to come in, like a set of developed photos. So natural, calming and most of all - honest. Comfort memories he knew he’d be reaching for once the new season and it’s challenges catch up, when the distance and loneliness hit. But at that moment, there she was, right next door and probably still a bit fired up by his uncharacteristic postponing of sex. His hand slid over to his crotch, squeezing himself casually and switching up the mental images to less family-friendly moments. He was sort of expecting her to come and join him in the shower. But no, of course not. Not when he set her up like that. They were all too similar for their own good.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, towel purposefully hanging dangerously low, he couldn’t stop himself from simpering. Once he got a look at her, sitting under the covers, phone in her hand and too stingy to pass him more than two looks. But, she did come for the second one and that betrayed her, aiming directly to where his tower barely covered his waist. 

To prove his point, he shuffled his wet hair, sudden movement making her glance once again. It felt really addictive to know he was the centre of her attention, despite how much she tried to hide it. 

Smugness and water dripping from him, he landed shamelessly on the bed, towel giving up on trying to participate. Her reaction was to frown, making her pet peeve of people getting into the bed wet known, once again. Something Lando became aware very early on. He used this information only when the situation required it. No words were said, as he leaned over her, making sure to leave some remaining water drops on her, and grabbed a moisturizer. 

Then he proceeded to slowly plump it and rub it on his body. The unreasonably loud sounds of him doing that were cutting the silence of the room like a knife. 

His partner sitting next to him hummed quietly. "Whatever this is, it’s not working."

He replied, elegant as ever. "I don’t know what you’re insinuating." He pretended to be as focused on his activity, the same way as he did when doing PR bullshit. "Ah, honey. Would you be so kind and help me reach to my back?" Lando asked overly nicely. Y/N watched him, almost admiring just how bad his acting skills were and how he proceeded with his act without any remorse. He was reaching over to his back, unable to do so, and making it look like the biggest tragedy human kind has ever experienced. And with puppy eyes, he decided to go for a low blow. 

"Please, baby," he said in a tone so insincere it wouldn’t fool a child. This was yet another provocation. 

"You know it irks me when you’re wet in the bed."

He let out a chuckle. She was so bad at keeping herself in check. It was adorable. She just sat there, pretending to be scrolling Instagram, little lines around her eyes forming from how tense her eyebrows frowned. "I do. And we seriously have to get your accidental innuendos under control. Can’t have you walking in public saying these things." He wiggled the moisturizer in front of her face. 

Finally, she snapped. "You are the most annoying and immature guy I’ve ever met. You’re impossible." Lando looked at her, like one would at an angry puppy that’s trying to jump a little too high. 

"One would almost say a miracle, huh."

Once again, he shook his bottle of moisturizer. Having had enough, she snatched it from his hands and put it back on the nightstand.  "It’s a miracle I haven’t killed you yet."

Without missing a beat, he shot back. "And how will we celebrate?"

She let out a sigh so loud the people in the next room must have heard it. Sitting there, not knowing what do with her hands anymore. He wished they were pulling his hair. 

"Are you seriously gonna make me say it."

He simply nodded, arching himself up. If her mind had been clouded before, it was now full on can't-see-further-than-my-nose type of situation.

He leaned over even closer, getting up all over in her personal space. As if that was even a thing anymore. 

Somehow, for some reason he would have yet unpack, his heart was beating like crazy. Say it. 

Accepting that he won what ever this was, she gulped and finally whispered. "Please."

He gave her a questioning look, as if he didn’t hear her. "Hm? Sorry?"

Still debating whether she should smack him or not, she repeated herself. "Please."

"What, do you want me to put the cream on you too? Hydration is important for the skin,“ he teased, enjoying himself immensely. 

"Lando."

"Y/N."

If he were to be completely honest, he was extremely proud of himself to withholding this long. Also, not sure how longer he could go on, given the fact his erection has entered the chat. 

To make it more complicated, she sat up and put her mouth almost onto his. He could smell her aroused energy. Almost taste her on his mouth. And that as even before she licked his lips lightly with her tongue.

"Say it," he mumbled, unable to make it not sound like a plea. 

It was different than what they’d usually do. Many couples dabbled in talking during sex, they never really did. Then something hit her. Like a secret wavelength he was sending her way. Maybe he needed her to talk today. So, finally, she broke in. 

"Lando, please, fuck me.“ 

All those times, he waited for the five red lights to go out only for him to smash the pedal, paid off. Like opening windows in a stale room, he let the fresh air in. Ripped the duvet covering her off, he grabbed her legs to pull her into a laying down position, not even giving her time to gasp. His moves were quick and oh-so-sure of himself. 

"Tell me what you need, love,“ he ordered, while he traced the line of her neck with his tongue. 

He wasn’t certain if she was finding the idea of talking as hot as he did. But he sure as hell hoped. It wasn’t like he needed any guidance at that point. Had every inch of her body mapped out already. But he longed to hear it from her mouth. Towering over her, he nibbled on her neck, one hand running through her hair and the other squeezing her hips, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. 

He noticed she stopped her breathing and locked him with her arms, holding on for dear life. 

"You, I need you, Lando,“ she let out, suddenly all uncertain and shy. It was the vulnerability in her tone that got him. He moved his lips a little lower, so that he could leave a mark on her collarbone, without fearing she’d regret it tomorrow. 

His body was moving on its own. Brushing on her upper thigh, opening her legs up and positioning himself between her. All the blood left his brain. 

"I want you to touch me. I want to walk with marks made from you in public, a secret only you will know.“ 

He was only now realizing how good of a fuel this was for him. Lightheaded, he folded her legs and pushed them to her stomach, making as small as possible. So that she would be completely in his control. 

To grand her wished, he left one mark just below he collarbone and moved to leave a second one on her breast. She let out a heavy breath. 

"Lando, please. I need you inside.“ 

He was almost getting too dizzy not to comply immediately. His erection throbbing into her leg. 

Then, out of nowhere, he flipped them both. 

"Get over me, baby,“ he hummed and positioned himself on his back. She gave him a questioning look and knelt above his dick. 

But he shook his head and grabbed her hips once again. "Up here.“ 

His hungry look must have encouraged her, so she moved until he stopped her, ending up directly above his mouth. "Sit down.“ 

His statement was followed by his strong hands literally pushing her down on his mouth. 

Eyes finally locked again, he smirked for the last time, before he buried his mouth in her. 

Lando wished he knew what he looked like from her perspective. Squished between her, licking and sucking, letting her move in the exact way how she wished. He felt her legs tense up with each move his tongue made. This all got even more intense when he squeezed her nipple between his fingers. 

He twirled his tongue through her folds, circled around the clit, which had her melt. 

"More,“ she demanded and positioned herself so that he could only access. 

Saliva and her juices were mixing in his mouth, the smell of her arousal hitting his nose and making him high. 

He upped his pace and went for the moves he already knew from the past would work. Watching her crumble, barely being able to keep herself up, to the point where she had to balance herself against the wall, was probably becoming his definition of heaven. His tongue moved in a fixed rhythm, exploring every possible place she had to offer. 

"Lando..." she moaned, completely lost due to the moves his tongue was making. 

He felt the urge to stop and take a breath, because judging by the slight movements of her thighs, she was getting close. 

And only moments later, her first release came. Wetter than ever, she held on dearly and with one high pitched sigh, she collapsed almost completely. He had to stop her from crushing his face. 

"Sorry," she let out mindlessly, unable to give him more reaction. 

Amused, he helped her back down and rolled her over on her back. 

Wasting no time, Lando pushed two fingers in her immediately, not giving her any time to calm down or rest. 

Wondering in which dimension he managed to send her off to, he watched, as she squeezed her eyes shut with every little twist her made. As her moans target to get intense again, he shut her off with a kiss. His tongue matching the movements of his fingers. He waited patiently, before he felt like she was getting lost in the same haze as bare minutes ago, only to remove his fingers and stop kissing her out of a sudden. 

Confusion and mild anger washed over her. 

"What-"

"I can’t hear you, baby," he teased and hovered his wet fingers above her mouth. "What was it that you wanted from me? Must have slipped my mind."

The look of pure desperation she gave him was the hottest shit he’d ever seen. 

"Lando…"

"Let’s made a deal, sunshine," he proclaimed and slowly shoved his wet fingers into her mouth. Like the good girl she was, she sucked on them without hesitation. „I’ll stop anything we’re doing, the moment you shut up. Ok?“

They were so close to each other with every possible body part. But it was not enough. It would never be enough. She nodded and he pulled his fingers out, slowly. 

"Deal, Norris."

A lightning shot through his body and nearly split him in half. She never used his last name before, ever. Why was that, out of all the things, doing it for him. She must have picked up on his momentary relapse and gained more confidence with that. "Stop fucking around, I want you inside. Now.“ 

He was already almost touching her entrance with his dick. Eye locked, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. 

"Please,“ she said, loud and proud, making it sound like a demand.

When he finally pushed into her, it was like anything else stopped existing. He belonged there and nothing else mattered. 

"Oh my God, yes,“ she whined, keeping up at her promise. "This is the best shit ever.“ 

Lando’s autopilot kicked in as the last braincell was truly gone. He started to move in a steady beat, finding it incredibly hard to keep himself from literally pounding into her immediately. 

„Faster,“ she encouraged as she held his shoulder with her other hand, to help her find balance. 

Lando was lost, in the best way possible. In her body, in his mind, in the fact that having sex was something completely different when you absolutely adored the person you’d be lying on top of. The built up energy finally finding its release, after days of dancing around. With each thrust, he lost touch with reality more. Only pure pleasure and reminiscence of her voice finding their way in. 

"Oh, God, baby." "Yes." "I need you." "It’s only you." "Shit, you’re so good."

Lando figured a long time ago that, for the lack of better comparison, their bodies must have been made for each other. Different shapes fitting perfectly into each other. They shared their sense of rhythm. It was never too short or too long. She scratched the itch before he got the chance to mention he had one. Lando felt almost sad for anyone who did not get to experience that. 

Somehow, their sex got better every time. 

He missed when she came for the second time, as he was too lost in his own release. His thrusts got more uneven, his body completely arched and then finally - like the slap in the face, pure bliss washed over him. He felt it in what seemed like every muscle, every strain of hair and in every inch of his lower stomach, spreading like nice hot drink in the middle of winter. All was good. There were no problems, only good things. She was perfect. 

He had a hard time recalling what were the exact words they’d share right after he came. The haze started to clear few moments after, when he found himself next to her, puddle of his cum in the middle of her stomach, noses touching each other and light kisses being left like little presents. 

As the heavy breaths grew lighter, he returned back to Earth.

"All good, baby?“ he asked, the sweetness in his tone coming naturally. Searched for any sign of discomfort in her face. He had hoped that she got exactly the kind of release she deserved. 

And many signs pointed towards that. The smile of her disbelief, red flushed face, sensitive skin that reacted to each light touch as if it was a strong grip. 

"I, um. Yes. More than good. Thank you.“ Most people would barely understand with they way she mumbled.

He chuckled. "You don’t have to thank me, ever.“ 

"I was taught that after every please comes a thank you, so pick you battle. All or nothing," she shot back, teasing as ever.

He didn't have to think much before replying. "Well, all of that then.“ 

She nudged him with her nose. "You seemed to enjoy me begging. Though begging might be a strong word. I would never do that." 

Even though she said it in a light tone, he knew it was intended seriously. "Maybe I just really needed to hear it today. That you want me. Need me.“ 

"What I love about this all is that we need each other. Both for different reasons, but that just makes it work even more.“ 

There was comfort in her answer. A realization, an answer to a question they never asked before. 

"I’ll be there for you tomorrow. We’ll crush it, as a team.“

[curlyfriesgalore]

the tulpar's very own "mom" & "dad."

i sent an anon message to a user (iykyk 🫣) about the reader dating curly while being a co-captain/pilot alongside him. they're seen as the mom and dad of the group because of their positions as leaders, and daisuke claimed they both had major facebook mom energy. definitely not self-projecting.

the two rolled with it, but discovered that they liked it way more than they realized, eventually calling each other mommy and daddy in their own space.

★ this is a list of headcanons and what is essentially a one-shot that's broken up into bullets. although, fair warning, i wrote A LOT, so there's so much to scroll through under the cut. anyway, the first half is sfw and other is nsfw.

☆ gen tags: fem! reader (she/her) who loves being captain and doesn't know what's popular these days. reader and curly are in their early 30s. no crash au. curly wants to have a family with you. jimmy is a janitor here LMAO.

★ nsfw tags MDNI: mommy (mama) kink. daddy kink. role switching but leans into fdom/msub. curly secretly got a thing for breeding 🫢.

[any feedback on my writing is much appreciated btw! since i'm doing this to improve —iris🌠]

sfw.

★ the dynamic.

you and curly met through working at pony express. both of you were equally capable captains and pilots of your respective ships, bonding over the responsibilities and pressures of your roles.

curly adored your genuine drive for this job. you were so passionate about bringing out the best in people and enjoyed micro-organizing every little detail, making sure everything went smoothly.

meanwhile, he was just good at talking, which you would always praise, but he never found much pride in what he does. however, it paid immensely well, and, at the very least, he got to indulge in his love for astronomy at every waking hour, distracting himself enough from cycling through his depressive thoughts.

so, he's not complaining. plus, he gets to ogle at and hang out with the prettiest and coolest person at pony express.

(sure, he had jimmy, so he wasn't always so alone with his mind, but with you in his life, he might actually have a chance at settling down. though, curly was getting ahead of himself. he'll try to drop his future family fantasies for now... juuust until he's sure he can bag you).

curly finds your way of leading to be so endearing and... intimidating, honestly. while he was calm and compromising, you were firm and authoritarian. you were never swayed by incompetence and planted a strong ground when navigating discourse between crewmates, but, at the same time, you were nurturing. you have an air of deep kindness and wise guidance that sends him reeling. he'd openly tell you how much he admired that, but would never admit that he daydreams of how hot you looked when you ordered your crew around. he's got to stay professional, after all!

at some point, the two of you were paired for a 3-month long-haul flight. you, the captain, and he, the co-captain. one thing lead to another and without the company's knowledge, you two fell for each other.

how could you not? you two had all the elements of a power couple and understood each other better than anyone else. besides, he is one hunk of a man. of course you'd want to snag him for yourself, who wouldn't?

funnily enough, you guys asked to see each other in the cockpit with the same intention of declaring feelings.

and, of course, since you two were grown adults stuck on a spacecraft far too long for your libidos to handle, it only took two confessions interrupting each other, two pairs of hands holding, and two soft kisses to lead to the two of you passionately making out, with you straddling his lap as he wrapped his arms around your back.

it's been years since then, and the tulpar was just one of many long-haul trips where the two of you got to work together.

however, you guys have kept your relationship hidden for the sake of professionalism. even jimmy was dumbfounded to accidentally find out nearly a year into dating.

"dude, why the fuck do you have captain l/n in your wallet...?" jimmy squinted at the photo. his eyes scrolled down the print, coming to a halt and widening at what he saw, "wait, shut up, is that you two kissing?" his eyebrows contorted into a tense knit. his mouth gaped as he stared at curly, who stood and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "since when?!"

as curly explained himself, jimmy half-heartedly laughed as he shook his head, bemusement painting his face. whether or not he was ever happy to learn about this, curly will never know.

then, realization hit. jimmy frowned as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "oh, god, please don't tell me those stains i've been cleaning were from you guys?"

"huh?! no, no! jimmy, i swear, that wasn't us, i promise!" curly panicked, his head shaking profusely.

turns out, it was, lmfao. jimmy gave him an earful, and curly kept apologizing, embarrassed that his best friend knows a little too much about what he's been doing around the ship.

this man adored you, more than anything. the security you had in him—in yourself, most of all, was intoxicatingly comforting.

the two of you swore to stick together for as long as it takes, and have already planned out your wedding, buying a house together, changing careers (curly wants to be a stay-at-home dad, maybe freelance in something if he's got time), owning pets, raising kids (he is 100% a girl dad!!! i can see him wanting at least 2, but if you still have room for one more, he'll gladly take responsibility *wink* *wink*), etc.

curly believed that you both balanced well as parents. you would teach the kids to be brave and confident in themselves, whereas, he would help them learn to handle confrontation calmly and be friendly to all.

(he's not saying that you weren't friendly, just that, between the two of you, he specialized more in the charm department. he wasn't wrong, though! back before you guys dated, he cranked his charisma to a max, and look where that's got him now 🤭).

all of this meant everything to curly. he had quite a rough start to life, not financially but familially (how you want to interpret that is up to you). it's why he's become such a people-pleaser and tends to be a doormat, growing used to internalizing his feelings because he believed others were more deserving of pity (a belief that's been reinforced by jimmy throughout their friendship).

not to mention, how much he worried about being with someone who had to stay on earth. he felt guilty for this hypothetical person, how they'd be akin to a military spouse, waiting for god knows how long, just for curly to come back and stay for less than 6 months at a time. it sickened him to think of how that would affect his future children.

so, for him to be in a relationship with someone in the same occupation and caliber as him eased a lot of that fear. and, this is the same person who is known for her emotionally maturity, who knows how to express her thoughts and feelings, and who loves curly for all that makes him him, giving him more reasons than he already had to get down on that knee.

good GOD does he wish he could go ahead and do that already, but proposing on an aged piece of metal in outer space wasn't the most... romantic setting, as much as you jokingly insisted it was.

but, no worries, curly's got it all planned out. once you all land back on earth, curly is making sure you get your dream proposal, for that man is stopping at nothing to wed you and love you for the rest of his life!

★ the beginning to a never-ending petname.

one night, anya pulled out a pop-culture board game, one that the others understood the rules and references of fairly quickly. but, you and curly? oh, you guys needed time.

you two weren't dumb by any means, you guys were just... a little behind on the trends—trends that have been out for forever 💀.

everyone poked fun at how much you would both pause and say, "huh...?" or "w-what's that from, again?" how your brows would knit and furrow, your faces looking blank as ever. the two of you would take a slow glance at each other, then at the others, and shake your head in confusion.

admittedly, swansea was in the same boat as you two, but even he knew a couple of things better than you lot. "the benefits of raising two nerds for kids," he'd say. he liked laughing at you guys, made him feel young.

"ohh, isn't that the game you play on your gameboy, daisuke? the... you know, uh, the cute pika ball thing?" daisuke stared at curly, dumbfounded by what he was hearing.

"CAPTAIN. HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THE NAME OF ONE OF—IF NOT—THE HIGHEST FORMS OF ART?!" he turned to you, desperation fueling his eyes. "l/n, please tell me you've at least heard of pokémon before..." daisuke exaggeratedly clasped his hands together. you sat there, pursing your lips with shifty eyes and pretended to whistle as you looked away.

"anya. swansea. i think i'm gonna faint..." he dramatically dropped himself onto the two. swansea shook his head, uncrossing his arms and pulling daisuke off his and anya's laps, "kid, you are way too dramatic for your own good."

daisuke exasperatedly commented on how you and curly were so much like his parents, clueless and far too involved in work to know his interests.

then, he thinks for a second, and finally decides that you guys were technically the parents of the ship.

"right? think about it. if the tulpar were a house and we were family, l/n and curly would be mom and dad 'cause they're responsible for us and the ship. swansea's the grandpa—oh, come on, swan, don't look at me like that!"

"i mean, you do have grandkids, swansea..."

"exactly. THANK YOU, anya. now, you get to be the cool older sister, i'm the even cooler teenage son, polle can be like... our little pet or something, and jimmy is the uncle!"

"wh-why am i the uncle?"

"'cause you know... you're... you."

"what is THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!"

as an "argument" ensued between the others, you and curly were flushing. nobody but jimmy knew of your relationship, but the fact that daisuke figuratively paired you guys as a married couple turned you into a bashful, blushing mess.

nobody noticed, really. jimmy was too busy grumbling about being seen as the weird uncle, and everyone started getting really annoyed by him. so, in classic curly and y/n fashion, you two tried to resolve the situation (curly reassured jimmy that uncles can be cool! but jimmy's frown just deepened).

the game ended, and the two of you walked to your sleeping quarters, reflecting on how it went. not bringing up the mom/dad thing just yet, but it lurked in the back of your minds.

deciding to stay in his room, you and curly changed into your pjs. you snuggled up under the covers, but he momentarily checked on some paperwork. you groaned, rolled your eyes, and patted the pillows.

"babyyy, just get into bed now." you pouted.

curly chuckled, "okay, okay... just give me ooone more sec, mama, i'll be right there—"

your eyes widened, a fuzzy warmth bubbled within you. curly quickly got embarrassed and apologized, but when you softly chuckled and reassured him that you didn't mind, he relaxed.

hearing how smoothly 'mama' rolled out his tongue unlocked something deep in you.

the truth was, curly had been calling you 'mom', 'mama', and 'mommy' in his fantasies for quite some time now. he told you, now with him in bed, how it helped him immerse himself in imagining his future with you. even in scenarios where you didn't have kids yet, it still felt so soothing to call you by those titles.

he rested his head in the crook of your neck as you circled his back with your palm, occassionally playing with the ends of his hair. as he yapped about it, trying to make it seem less of a big deal for him, you lifted his chin to face you. he instantly softened, his words faltering as you looked down on him.

"you can call me, mommy, more often if you'd like to, baby... i really don't mind." you reassured in a low voice.

curly was uncertain, but his ocean doe eyes remain glued to your deep gaze. he swallowed, "are you sure? you don't have to put up with it if you don't really like it, honey, it's okay—"

you softly hushed him, thumbing the golden hairs scattered on his cheek. "no, i mean it." you paused, hoping the following words sounded smooth, "...mommy thinks it's genuinely cute when you call me that."

curly squirmed. a whimper resided in his throat, but, as the rumbling of your voice trailed down his spine, he let a quiet, high-pitch moan escape his lips.

for a man who presents himself as someone very self-assured, he does have a hard time accepting that you were really okay with it.

however, when his hesitancy eases into normalcy, he's calling you 'mommy' and 'mama' in every other sentence. if not, all his sentences.

"hey, mommy, where'd you put my mug?"

"mama, you need to stop sleeping so late. it's bad for your health." (he's a hypocrite and he knows it).

curly's voice was naturally deep, saccharine sweet, and a bit raspy at times. but, when he called you by your motherly petnames, he'd go an octave softer, especially as the night came to a close and sleepiness was taking a toll on him. he'd sound a little dumb and incoherent, but the bass in him remained strong.

he still calls you by the classic petnames, mainly 'darling' and 'honey' since those are his other personal faves. though, minutes prior to work, he'd try to use your actual name or settle with 'babe,' so he doesn't accidentally call you 'mommy' in public. it was deeply personal for him, and if someone like jimmy caught wind of that, it would greatly upset curly, even though he would very likely tell you it was fine (just so you wouldn't chew jimmy alive).

so, when YOU began calling him, 'daddy,' it sent his mind into a haywire. (how it happened is in the nsfw section!)

he loved the safety of calling you his mommy, how it relieved the weight of his captain duties and the thoughts burdened in his mind. but, with his newfound title, he'd flip between feeling secure in your protection to wanting to do nothing but protect you. not from any real danger, perse, but, moreso, caring for each other's well-being when either of you wanted to indulge in a little less control.

it made sense that even you, the commanding leader who enjoyed delegating and dominating others (other than him), needed a break from your responsibilities and wanted curly to take the wheel for a change.

you both took turns pampering one another. he would do everything you wanted, and made sure to wrap you in his big, strong arms by the end of the day.

"rest your pretty head for me, okay, mommy? daddy's got you..." he brought the back of your hand to his lips and kissed it deeply, thumbing your knuckles with his large, calloused fingers. with his other arm, curly pressed your waist closer to his, letting you relish in his warmth.

when it was his turn, a long snuggle session, loads of praise, and kisses in every place was all he needed (don't forget to call him your good little boy! he needs his mommy's praise after a rough day at work).

"honeyyy, i've called you 'good boy' like 24 times in a rowww...!" you whined. of course you didn't mind peppering kisses on his face with the same adoring name over and over again, but now, he was just getting greedy.

curly giggled, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as he softened his sea blue eyes, "just ooone more, pleaaase, mama? please...?"

he loved how reliable the term 'daddy' felt. it gave him a little ego boost. he's always had a pretty good relationship with his masculinity, but this just added onto that like a good affirmation.

the way his mind would get so lost in replaying how you two back-and-forthed with your respective petnames. it felt like he was role-playing his future family with you in real time.

★ extras.

it became an ongoing joke with the crew, especially with daisuke. whenever you'd tell him to get back to work, he'd drawl out a long "okayyy, mommmm," but quickly apologized after swansea smacked the back of his head.

"tch, don't talk to your captain like that."

"ach! i'm sorry, I'M SORRYYY—i was kidding!!!"

anya found it silly, never really saying anything like daisuke, but since you two became good friends (both because you guys genuinely clicked and were the only women on board), she had a knack for teasing you about it. she knew something more was going on between you and curly. so, maybe, just maybe, during a psych eval, you eventually spilled to her about your relationship.

"hehe, called it."

"seriously?! how?"

"y/n... it's so obvious. i've seen you guys go into each other's rooms."

swansea didn't care. he was an actual dad, after all, and practically everyone he knew eventually became a parent one way or another. though, if you felt comfortable enough with swansea and told him about your relationship, he surprisingly wouldn't mind giving you two a piece of advice. how to keep a long-term marriage? dude's been with his wife for over 40 years and counting. raising children? please, he's done it twice. unclogging the toilet after your kids threw your deodorant down the drain? don't ask, just listen. you're much better off not knowing how.

whatever it is, ask away, but don't expect anything easy on the ears. swansea gives advice in poetic prose that borderline sounds like he's taking a jab at you.

truthfully, jimmy is somewhere in between being deeply irritated by the both of you and not giving two shits. he hates how you're sort of a curly clone, in the sense that you're also a high-performing person that everyone adores to work with. but, what's worse, is that you're so much harder to get mad at and are 100% capable of calling out his ass.

he's had to catch himself from saying anything too mean to curly multiple times. he knows he's easily replaceable, he's the janitor for god's sake, and if he said too much in front of you, he knows you'd tell pony express to fire him on the spot.

but, if we're assuming that jimmy is mentally better in the head, he'd eventually get over it and shrug off your guys' relationship, not wanting to grow envious as he does by default.

nsfw.

★ mommy.

it didn't surprise you that curly loved calling you 'mommy' in bed too. he'd always say, "mommy, you're so beautiful", "m-mommy, it's too tight...!" and when he gets overwhelmed, he'd become so dazed as his dick ached, crying because his mama felt so good.

he was like pavlov's dog, only the bell was your petname and you were the meal. if either of you were ever so slightly horny and everyone was stowed away in their quarters, hearing 'mommy' reverberate out of your mouth had him squeezing his thighs.

however, he's gotten used to mostly keeping it in his pants. not letting himself get needy when it's used casually. otherwise, he'd cease to function.

he loves it when you ride him, he gets all whimpery and brain-dead, begging his mama to let him cum out of his "little" boy dick.

all he wanted was his mommy to use him, make him so overstimulated until all that was left in his empty head was you.

sometimes, he loved the feeling of reaching his orgasm more than the orgasm itself. it's that momentary numbness he gets that he enjoys chasing, how every single thought completely disappeared, leaving him into nothing but a panting mess — all of him leaking out of his cock.

★ daddy.

one night, you were laying on curly, sitting upright. he held you in his arms as you spread your legs far and wide, toes digging into the mattress, gripping onto curly's biceps for support.

and, just like curly when he called you 'mama' for the first time, you accidentally slipped out a "daddy—!" as he fingered you, knuckles-deep.

you suddenly went quiet, quickly covering a hand over your mouth.

curly's eyes widened, his fingers stilled inside of you as his heart raced in his chest... he didn't expect it, but his shock washed into dominance.

he pulled out his fingers, his tone more stern and husk as he whispered, "say that again."

you whimpered, the loss of fullness making your thighs shudder. without a single thought, you called him daddy again, and again, and again... until he flipped you onto your stomach and was back to toying with you, digging into your insides at much greater speeds than before.

when you began regularly using it, he'd grow so romantic and reserved, wanting to take his time to just worship you—peppering deep kisses from head to toe—because in his eyes, you were the most precious person in existence.

he's never rough unless you tell him to be or he knows that it'll make you cum even better, but this man just loves to be slow and sensual. it's his go-to speed.

his favorite thing to do is coo at you, asking if you like how daddy is loving you or if daddy's doing a good job at touching your little hole. even when he's assuming a dominant role, he wants your reassurance.

curly is never mean. he only likes to light-heartedly tease you whenever you'd whine for him to keep going. other than that, he was heavy on his praises, loved complimenting you till you were blushing all over.

★ taking turns.

now, you guys would call each other 'mommy' and 'daddy' regardless of the dynamic, but if either of you felt more subby, you'd settle for the classic, 'good girl,' and him, 'good boy' (or any other submissive petname you prefer).

if you're domming and he's subbing, he wants you to use up all of his cum for your pleasure. he hopes you'll let him spill all that's left in him for hours on end.

however, most of the time, he's not really built for that, only able to handle a little over a round. so, to make up for it, he'll let you get him all pent up and force him to hold it in, using his desperation as energy to serve you.

the longer you left him like that, the faster his licks and finger-fucks became.

if you're cruel, making him rut into you would send him shaking. he'd struggle so hard, needing to take breaks as he alternated between slow and steady thrusts to rough humps according to what you ordered... oh, tears were definitely rolling down his cheeks.

(don't worry, he's not hurt. it's just a lot for him to physically handle. but, for you, he'd withstand anything!)

on the off-chance that he has the energy to go longer, he wants you to use him in all positions with only a minute to breathe after each cum. he wants to lose it, make him sweaty and breathless, please. turn him into a pathetic display only for your eyes to see.

if he's domming and you're subbing, he finds it fun to deny your orgasm, loving how surprised you get whenever he'd lift your vibrator off your clit or leave his dick in you, barely moving an inch. but even then, he quickly caves in and lets you have your way because nothing turns him on more than you cumming and crying for your 'daddy.'

he doesn't do that to hurt you, after all, he hates the mere possibility of even remotely making you uncomfortable. but, when he asks whether or not mommy misses his fingers, and you'd mewl in agreement, he can't help himself from edging you.

★ curly thinking of you. (extras).

he jerks off to the idea of breeding you.

but, even though it gets his dick all wet, he won't re-enact it just yet. he doesn't want to accidentally impregnate you when neither of you were ready—especially since you're the one carrying.

even if you were incredibly horny and adamant on it, he'd keep his rationale.

"mommy... i'm not cumming inside you." he chuckled, shaking his head with his tone, firm. you whined, "but, why not?" a needy frown formed on your lips, "i just want to feel good, daddy. you said i could...!"

you grinded down on his boxers, wetness seeped through the fabric of your panties. curly stifled a groan as he felt your clothed folds slide against his tip, drenched in his pre-cum.

"i know, mommy, i know... daddy'll take care of you soon, i promise... but i'm not risking anything, okay?" he pressed a kiss on your forehead, thumbing circles on your stomach with his hands gripping your waist. "it's for your own safety, mama."

but, since this was all in his head, he could indulge in it as much as he wanted.

curly loved remembering the way your cum dripped out of your hole, how softly your pussy parted. it made him wish it was his, wanting to fill you up and let his mess soak up inside you.

he wished he could finger it back into you—or, even better, tongue-fuck it in. the thought of having you sit on his face with him lapping his cum into your walls, as you rubbed your clit against the end of his nose got him all hot and bothered.

with his hand pumping himself from base to tip, he'd think of you laying down on your back, wrapping your legs around curly's head as you pushed his mouth further into you. he'd moan into your pretty parts, purposefully deepening it so his voice would vibrate all over your pussy.

[holy shit, i wrote so much. thank you for reading all the way ♡ let me know if you guys want more captain! reader and/or mommy/daddy kink! curly —iris🌠]

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Chef x Vampire!Reader

A/N: If you like this setting, consider reading this story too! It features another yandere employee at your castle: a maid. A male maid. And, if you wanna know more about the levels, check this post :) . Anyways, back to this himbo Warning: Not nsfw, but suggestive. MDNI. Chef calls reader "Madam"

Danger level: ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Submissive level: ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♡

_______________________________

~Your First Dinner with Him~

Yandere!Chef who is really oblivious. He has been staying at your castle for a while now and yet, he still doesn’t know that you are a vampire. You did try to tell him on his first day here that food is not substantial for you, but he had politely interrupted you with a “I insist, Madam. Please go rest, the food will be ready in a moment” and even guided you to the living room, by gently pushing on your lower back with his large, rough hand. You were too flustered by the gesture to continue arguing.

Your second attempt was during dinner. You thought about striking when he would go sit down after putting both plates on the table, but, much to your dismay, after that, he remained standing beside you instead. Confused, you looked up (realllllly up. How tall was this guy??) and found him nervously watching you. You were weak to his puppy look. You took a bite: “Hm! It is really good”. A smile broke on his face, his eyes turning into tiny crescent moons. “I am glad you think so, Madam! Please let me know if you have any special requests. I want to properly take care of you”, he enthusiastically, albeit a bit sheepishly, replied. Ugh, his expressions, his demeanor…way too cute. New hobby acquired: eating human food.

~His Favorite Dinner (?) with You~

Yandere!Chef, who you rarely see with a frown, who usually wears that soft and kind smile of his, looks rather uneasy today, some would say even depressed. The truth is: he can’t stand his body. Seeing it in the mirror this morning completely killed his mood. He was not aware of it before, as the change was gradual; however, it seems like he gained weight while working here as your personal chef. A number of his big, hard-earned muscles from years of underground fighting, like his pecs, his abdomen and his butt glutes, currently have a squish to the touch. They aren’t purely solid anymore. His form strayed from bulky to a bit more beefy. 

Why is that a problem? Well, ladies don’t find this attractive. At least, the ones from his village didn’t. He had witnessed it before. Had he stayed there, he would have been the subject of their disapproving and disgusted stares. Even among the regular folks, chubbiness was written off as being lazy and unreliable. You are too kind to think or do something like that, but he doesn't want your politeness, he doesn't want your open-mindedness, he wants your love. 

Lost in thoughts of new workout routines, he doesn’t notice his cut finger until blood starts to drip onto the vegetables. Ah…if he had dog ears, they would have flopped on his head. He already ruined his body, he doesn't need to ruin your dinner too. 

Turning around, it would appear that the person on his mind is right behind him. 

“M-madam! How did you get ther-", which is a very valid question; prior to this, there were no sounds owned by your footsteps nor by the kitchen’s door opening and closing. Yet, instead of answering, you just abruptly…grab his wrist and…put his finger in your mouth? At the contact, the broad-shouldered man makes a little noise. You don’t mind him as you begin to suck the blood out of the injury. 

He is very confused, he doesn't understand why you are doing this. The feel of your tongue on his skin, how you both are standing so intimately close to each other; it doesn’t favor his thinking either. It is actually making him lightheaded. Like is this sensation akin to pleasure that keeps building up the more this situation goes on. He lets out another whimper when your hand slides under his shirt to squeeze at the small fat of his stomach. 

As this snaps him out of his haze, he begins to weakly plead instead, without real conviction, to let go of his hand; he doesn’t want you to get sick. He could easily overpower you, but he can’t get his body to stop trembling. All he can do is bring a shaky hand to his mouth to muffle the sounds that keep spilling out since the feeling from earlier is now more intense, more delightful.   

Before this could escalate, you finally release his finger with a pop. You look up and find your poor chef completely flushed, his eyes unfocused, taking heavy breaths.   

Guess you owe him an explanation, huh?  

~H̶̝̿i̸̭̓s̴͉̿ ̷͉͑b̴̒͜e̶͊ͅs̴̠͋t̶̮͆ ̵̡̀d̴̟́ĩ̷̦s̷͛ͅh̶͍͛ ̵̣̃ ~

Yandere!Chef who now feeds you proper food.

“From which animal is this blood from? It tastes exquisite! I never had something like this before”, you excitedly ask him. 

“Oh, you know Madam, just ventured deeper into the forest than usual”, he answers vaguely.

He doesn’t want to worry you by saying it actually belongs to the rude asshole who pushed you the other day. 

Isn’t that sweet?

…

Drink well, darling

[yuridovewing]

been reading petalkit’s shadow, and boy is it a breath of fresh air to read a take on mapleshade’s vengeance that isnt like “lmao fuck them kids and mapleshade deserved to die for breaking the law and also the men did absolutely nothing wrong!”

[fatecantstopme]

Picture Myself Happy

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Follows the story line of episodes 17-21 of season 5. Lisa doesn't exist, instead it's (Y/N).

Warnings: canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (F and M receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), face sitting, light dirty talk.

"Dean? You okay?" you asked softly.

The look he gave you more than answered your question, but he responded anyway. "I'm about as far from okay as I possibly can be."

"I think we all are."

Dean shook his head. "My decisions have an impact on the entire world, (Y/N)--the world! And I'm sitting here denying fate. Where's that gotten me?"

"What are you trying to say?" you asked softly.

He buried his head in his hands. "I don't know...It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

Dean looked back up at you, face full of pain. You were certain he was going to say more, but his reply was cut off by Sam's voice calling his name.

"We've got an insane amount of demon omens in some tiny ass town in middle-of-nowhere Minnesota."

"Great," Dean mumbled as he stood up, face once again an impenetrable mask. "Guess we should get rolling."

You stood up too, but Dean cut you a look and shook his head. "Not happening."

"Dean, come on. I'm more than ready."

"Absolutely not. You almost died not that long ago. You need to rest."

"I've been resting for weeks. I feel fine," you insisted.

"Maybe she's right, Dean," Sam cut in. "We could really use the help."

"I'm the oldest and I say it ain't happening--got it?"

"Actually, I'm the oldest," Bobby quipped as he wheeled into the room. "Now, what exactly are we fighting about?"

"(Y/N) thinks she's ready to hunt again," Dean answered.

"Because I am."

Bobby's expression softened as he looked at you. "As much as I hate to say it, I think you should sit this one out (Y/N/N). Besides, I could really use your help here. You're better at research than either of these knuckleheads."

You were about to protest, but decided against it when you saw the worry in Bobby's eyes. He'd always been good to you and you owed him your life--you didn't wanna worry him more than you needed to. "Alright, alright. I'll sit this one out."

Dean nodded, seemingly pleased. "I'll call you when we get there--let you know we're safe."

You sighed, but nodded your agreement. You hated watching the boys leave to go on a hunt on their own--especially these days. End of the world and all that.

You watched in silence as Sam and Dean gathered their minimal belongings and piled into the Impala. You waved goodbye before coming back inside, expression clouded with a variety of inexpressible emotions.

The last two years had been a whirlwind for all of you--drawing all of you closer together. You cared very deeply for the Winchester boys and for Bobby, and they cared for you.

You were the same age as Sam, so the two of you hit it off with ease, but the elder Winchester was a little less trusting. The fact that Bobby trusted you meant a hell of a lot to Dean and went a long way in getting him to trust you enough to help on a couple hunts. You were a great hunter and before long, the three of you were almost inseparable.

You counted all three men as family and you knew they felt the same way about you, although you wished Dean's emotions aligned with your own. You weren't sure exactly when it happened, but you realized your feelings had changed one day during a particularly brutal hunt where you almost lost Dean. Somehow, in the midst of the shitstorm that was your lives, you'd managed to fall in love with the most emotionally unavailable man alive.

To make matters worse, you could never tell him for fear of damaging the little family unit you'd created for yourself. Instead, you stood on the sidelines, watching him flirt with every woman with legs and take more of them to bed than you'd cared to count. It made your chest ache, but you hid it well--even from Sam.

Loving Dean Winchester had never been a part of your plans, but you couldn't stop it from happening anymore than you could turn those feelings off now. Every time he walked out the door, you were terrified it would be the last time you would ever see him. You knew he was strong, but you also knew how self-destructive he could be.

He'd been different in recent months and you saw it more than anyone else did. For some reason, Dean chose to confide in you--perhaps because you listened quietly without judgment. You wanted nothing more than to see him find his way back to himself again and you hoped you were there to witness it.

"You gonna come back in or just stare off into the distance all night?" Bobby called to you from inside.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," you grumbled. "I was just lost in thought."

Bobby gave you a knowing look, which you chose to ignore. "Don't you have some research you need help with?"

He rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. He handed you a book and muttered, "Get to reading."

**********

"Dean's gone."

"What the hell do you mean he's gone?" you yelled into the phone.

"I mean he literally took off, (Y/N)!" Sam yelled back. "He killed the Whore of Babylon--which should have been impossible--and then he took off!"

"He...Sam, that's not possible."

"I was there--saw it with my own eyes."

"I, too, was there," Cas said in the background.

"Only a true servant of heaven can kill her," you said, bewildered.

"Exactly," Sam said, voice much softer than before.

"No," you whispered, disbelief lacing your words. "No--he wouldn't."

Sam understood your meaning. "I don't know anymore, (Y/N). I just don't know."

"We have to find him."

"I have a few ideas of where to find him, but I know he's going to come see you first."

"Why me?"

"To say goodbye," Sam said softly.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you could feel tears pressing against them. "I'll call you if he shows up here," you whispered.

Bobby rolled up behind you as you hung up the phone. "What's wrong?"

"I think Dean's going to say yes to Michael."

Bobby's expression perfectly matched the way you were feeling. A mixture of horror, disbelief, pain, and unbridled terror.

There wasn't much more to say after that--you were both just left to wait. There was nothing left for you to do but wait and see if he'd come home.

**********

The next day, there was a quiet knock on Bobby's front door. It was early in the morning and the older man was sound asleep in the middle of a pile of books on his desk.

You went to the door and peered out to find Dean's face looking back at you. You tugged open the door with more force than you'd intended to and stepped out onto the porch.

"Where have you been?" you snapped. "We were so worried."

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)--I should have called."

"Yes, you should have."

"I--uh, well I can't stay long, but I wanted to come see you."

"Dean, please tell me you're not going to do anything stupid."

He smiled weakly. "Now when have I ever done anything stupid?"

You didn't acknowledge his teasing like you normally would--too worried about the truth hidden behind his sarcasm. "You can't say yes," you whispered.

He gave you a pained smile. "I don't really have a choice, (Y/N/N)."

"Of course you have a choice, Dean! We always have a choice."

"If I don't--the whole freaking world burns! Do you have any idea what it's like to carry that weight on your shoulders?"

You shook your head. "I can't imagine the burden--nor can I imagine losing you to some asshole with wings."

He chuckled softly at that. "None of this matters right now--this isn't what I came here to say."

"Then what did you come here to say?"

He stepped forward and took your hand in his. You were surprised by the gesture, but you didn't pull away.

"You know, our lives are messed up. They're complicated and full of pain and darkness and death. There's not much happiness in our lives--especially not before you came into mine."

Tears filled your eyes as you listened to his words.

"When I picture myself happy, it's with you," he whispered. "I just wanted you to know that."

You inhaled sharply and the tears began to flow freely. "Dean, don't--"

He brushed his lips against your forehead, silencing your pleas.

"Don't worry, (Y/N/N). You'll be fine--I'll make sure of it. They're not getting what they want from me without meeting some conditions first."

"Dean, please don't do this. Just come inside and we can talk about it," you begged.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly. "I have to."

As you opened your mouth to respond, Castiel appeared directly behind Dean. You knew there was a possibility he would never forgive you for this, but you couldn't let him say yes. "I'm sorry too."

He looked confused for a moment until he heard Cas's voice from behind him. "Hello Dean." As soon as the hunter turned around, Cas used his grace to knock him unconscious.

Cas looked up at you with a surprising amount of sorrow on his face. "I will carry him inside."

You watched as the angel picked up the much larger man and walked towards the door.

"Did Bobby call you?"

"He overheard at least part of your conversation--enough to know Dean was here."

You nodded and followed him inside. "Good," you whispered.

**********

"Out of all people, I thought you would understand," Dean growled at you.

"You know what? I do understand! I understand your desire to self-destruct at every turn! I see the pain and the guilt and the utter emptiness inside you every time I look into your eyes, so don't you think for a second I don't understand."

He was taken aback by the anger in your voice--he wasn't used to you yelling at him with such intensity.

"It's for the greater good!"

"Screw the greater good, Dean! What happened to stopping the devil and saving the world, huh?"

"This is the only way!" he roared.

"I refuse to believe that," you said in a much more mannered tone. "I can't believe that...if I do, then it means everything we've done has been for nothing."

His expression softened. "No, (Y/N), wait--that's not--"

You held up your hand to stop him from talking. "I can't do this."

You walked away, leaving Dean alone in the panic room to stew with his thoughts.

"He still being an ass?" Bobby asked when you came back upstairs.

"Maybe you'll have better luck," you say to Cas. Both you and Sam had struck out.

"I will try." Instead of taking the stairs like a normal person, Cas zapped himself downstairs and stepped towards the panic room.

You had gone upstairs to get something from your room when you heard Sam yell your name. You came racing down the stairs, only to find the younger Winchester looking upset.

"Where's Cas?"

"Zapped to Oz," Sam fumed. "Dean's gone too."

"Great," you mumbled sarcastically. "Go find him. We'll watch Adam."

You were sitting in a chair, watching Adam sleep--in the least creepy way possible. You felt bad for the kid--it was a shitty life to be dragged into, especially after he was already in heaven.

Just as these thoughts were crossing your mind, Adam disappeared right before your eyes. You blinked a couple times, but the cot remained empty. "Bobby!"

**********

"What the hell do you mean he's gone?" Sam snapped at you.

"As I said before, he literally disappeared," you snapped back.

"Probably Zachariah," Castiel said as he appeared, holding a beaten Dean against his side.

"Dean!" you gasped. "What happened to him?"

"I did," Cas answered.

You were surprised, but you understood the angel's anger. After all, he'd believed in the Winchesters--in Dean--so vehemently that he rebelled against heaven--against everything he'd ever believed.

Cas tossed Dean's body onto the now-empty cot while you gathered some first aid supplies. You began to clean him up, listening wordlessly to the discussion happening around you.

"I think Dean should come," Sam said suddenly.

"Are you insane?" Bobby exclaimed.

"That is a terrible plan," Cas agreed.

Sam looked over at you for input, hoping you would be on his side. "What makes you think that's a good idea?" you asked gently.

"I have to believe he'll do the right thing."

You looked down at the still-unconscious man and sighed. He was the bravest and most loyal man you knew, but you also knew he could be stubborn and self-righteous to the point of aggravation. However, you believed in him too--maybe not as much as Sam, but it was there.

"I think it's highly likely he'll walk in there and say yes without a second thought--especially if it means saving you and Adam," you said honestly. "But I have to believe that in the moment, when it really matters, he'll do the right thing."

Sam gave you a small smile and a nod of gratitude.

"Now until then, could someone please move him down to the panic room?" you asked.

After Sam had talked to Dean and told him the plan, the two of them came upstairs to prepare to leave.

"Sam mentioned you agreed with him," Dean said softly, so only you could hear.

"There's no one I believe in more than you, Dean Winchester," you admitted. "You'll do the right thing."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you," you said simply.

He shook his head. "I'm gonna say yes, you know."

"I'm sure you will," you murmured. "But in that moment--the moments before you decide--I want you to remember one thing."

He waited breathlessly for your next words.

"Only you get to decide your destiny."

Surprise lit up his handsome face. Out of all the things he'd expected you to say, that hadn't been on his list. "(Y/N), I--"

"Time to go, Dean," Cas interrupted.

You offered him a gentle smile. "Go--and remember what I said."

Sam, Dean, and Cas disappeared before your eyes and you felt the familiar terror wash over you. This time was so much worse than all the others--this time you really did believe he might not come home.

**********

"Hey (Y/N/N)," Dean said softly as you opened the front door. "Did you miss us?"

The brightest smile he'd ever seen lit up your face and you jumped into his arms. "Dean..." you murmured against his shoulder.

He held you tightly before gently setting you back down on the ground. You gave Sam a hug before the smile fell from your pretty face. "Cas? Adam?"

Sam just shook his head and you sighed sadly. "Well come in. Bobby will be glad to see you both."

The boys explained what had transpired in California as you and Bobby listened quietly. You were glad Dean hadn't really said yes to Michael. You couldn't help but stare at him more than usual, eyes seeking some kind of change in him.

You waited until a lull in the conversation to ask the question that had been eating at you. "So why didn't you say yes?"

Three sets of eyes fell on you, but the only ones you cared about were the mossy green ones.

"Sammy believed in me, even when I didn't deserve it--even when I didn't have the same faith in him. He was stupid enough to take me with him because of that faith...I couldn't let him down," Dean answered honestly. "And, well--I remembered what you said."

You offered him a small smile. "Well I'm glad you did."

Dean held up his beer in a mock 'cheers'. "Screw destiny. I think it's high past time we make our own."

"I can get behind that," Sam agreed.

"That'll work for me," you murmured.

"Well not to put a damper on our middle-finger-to-destiny party, but we still don't have a good plan to defeat Lucifer," Bobby chimed in.

"Buzz kill, Bobby," Dean grumbled.

"We'll figure something out. Somehow, we always do," you added.

**********

You were standing in Bobby's living room trying to find a specific book in the overwhelming piles stacked everywhere, when your phone started to ring.

You answered it without looking at the caller ID. "(Y/L/N)."

"Uhh, am I in trouble? It's Dean."

"Oh shit," you said quickly. "No, nothing like that. I just didn't look at the screen before I answered. What's up?"

"We hit some sort of freak storm coming back, so we're staying the night at a motel we happened to pass. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn't worry."

You smiled even though he couldn't see you. "I appreciate the heads-up. Both of you stay safe and enjoy a nice night off."

"Thanks, (Y/N/N). You too."

It wasn't until Sam and Dean returned from the trip the next day that you learned of the events that had transpired the night before. Several old Pagan gods had gathered at the motel to discuss the end of the world and of course Sam and Dean just happened to be there too.

Apparently the intent was to use the boys as bait to lure Lucifer to the hotel and kill him--at least until Gabriel showed up and told everyone how terrible of an idea it was. Unfortunately, Lucifer had already been summoned by one of the gods and he ended up killing most of the other gods, as well as his brother Gabriel.

In positive news, Gabriel had given Sam and Dean the information needed to stop this whole showdown between Lucifer and Michael. Essentially, they needed all four Horsemen's rings in order to open Lucifer's cage and throw him back into it.

"Small problem with that plan," Bobby stated as the boys finished their explanation. "We only have two rings and we have exactly zero idea where Pestilence or Death is."

"You always manage to find the silver lining, Bobby," Dean said sarcastically.

"He is right though," you said gently. "And it's technically not the only problem. Even if we magically find the other two rings, we still have one very large problem. How the hell do we trick the devil back into the cage?"

"Shit," Dean mumbled. "I hadn't exactly thought that far ahead."

"That's why you have me."

"I guess (Y/N) and I will work on a way to trick the devil, while the two of you look for Pestilence," Bobby stated with a tone of finality.

**********

"This is an absolutely terrible idea," you said angrily. "Out of all the harebrained schemes you idiots have come up with over the years, this one takes the cake. Not only is he a demon, but he screwed us once already. Do you really think working with him is a good idea?"

Dean sighed and ran his hands over his face. "I don't like it anymore than you do, (Y/N/N), but he's the only lead we have."

"Besides, I'm completely trustworthy," Crowley commented as he appeared in Bobby's kitchen. "Well, at least as long as our interests are aligned."

"Fine, but the two of you aren't going alone with him," you said firmly.

"(Y/N), we'll be fine. You should stay here with Bobby."

"I don't need a damn babysitter, Dean," Bobby snapped. "(Y/N)'s better off with the two of you idjits--at least she'll make sure you don't come home dead."

You gave Dean a mirthless smirk and he grumbled in annoyance. "Fine."

"Nice digs," you said sarcastically as Crowley led you to the ramshackle house he'd been staying in.

"No need to be rude," he said in annoyance.

"Okay, what's the plan?" Sam asked.

"The plan, Moose, is for you and the girl to stay here, while Dean and I go to get the Horsemen's stable boy."

"Absolutely not!" you and Sam yelled at the same time.

"I'm not letting my brother go alone with you," Sam added.

"And I'm not letting you come with me," Crowley snapped back. "First of all, you keep trying to kill me, and secondly, I don't like you."

"Fair enough, but why do I have to stay behind?" you asked.

"Someone has to make sure little Sammy here doesn't do anything stupid."

Sam lunged for Crowley again, but you stepped in front of him, effectively blocking his assault. "Cool it, Sam."

Dean sighed, clearly not pleased with the whole situation, but you could see the resignation on his face. You knew what he was going to say before the words even came out of his mouth. "I'll go with Crowley. You two stay here."

"Dean--" you began.

"I'll be fine, (Y/N)."

It was your turn to sigh and nod in quiet acceptance. You looked at Crowley. "If he's not back in one piece, I will hunt you down and rip your heart out."

Crowley threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Understood."

You and Sam watched the two other men walk out the door, concern etched onto both of your faces.

"I don't like this," Sam muttered.

"Well that makes two of us."

"What did you miss about 'one piece'?" you snapped at Crowley when you saw the blood and bruises on Dean's face and torso.

"He's alive. Besides, I had nothing to do with it."

The look Dean gave him said otherwise.

"Technically," Crowley clarified.

You sighed. "You okay?" you asked Dean softly.

"It hurts, but I'll be fine."

Sam started to enter the room where Crowley and Dean had stashed the stable boy (aka Brady), but his entrance was blocked by Crowley.

"What are you doing?" Sam growled.

"Stopping you from mucking this up and ruining any chance we have at finding Pestilence."

"What's he talking about?" you asked.

"Sam--" Dean started.

"Get out of my way," Sam snapped at Crowley.

The demon grumbled, but stepped aside, allowing Sam to pass.

"Sam, just wait a minute," Dean called after him.

The next twenty minutes was a blur of trying to prevent Sam from killing Brady before you could get the information you needed, Crowley going and murdering a bunch of demons, and all of you being attacked by a damn hellhound.

As the five of you raced away from the hellhound fight, you muttered lowly, "Sometimes I really hate this job."

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed.

**********

"Why exactly do I need to sit this one out?" you asked in annoyance.

"Because," Dean started as he threw another weapon into his bag. "I don't like the idea of you going up against a Horseman, okay? It's dangerous."

"Everything we do is dangerous, Dean," you countered.

He sighed. "This is different."

"For the record, I don't like the idea of the two of you going up against Pestilence either--especially without backup."

Dean threw his bag into the trunk of the Impala and slammed it shut. "This whole mess is our fault, which makes it our problem to solve. I've never wanted to involve you in this hell."

"I know, Dean," you said softly. "But like it or not, I'm involved."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Just--stay here with Bobby, please. For me."

His voice was as close to begging as Dean Winchester ever got, so you sighed deeply and nodded, biting the inside of your lip to keep from saying anything else.

Dean pulled you into a tight hug, holding you a little longer than would be typical of a friendly hug. You tried not to notice or read into it--after all, just because Dean had told you he'd pictured himself happy with you didn't mean he wanted to be with you. He hadn't brought it up since, but you supposed there really hadn't been time.

"Be safe," you whispered as he pulled away.

"I always am."

You knew he was lying, but there was nothing you could do about it. Instead, you gave Sam a hug before watching them climb into the Impala and pull away.

When you walked back into the house, Bobby sensed your mood immediately. "You alright, kid?"

"I just don't like the idea of them going after Pestilence alone."

"I know you care about them, but they're tough boys, (Y/N). They'll be alright."

You gave Bobby a sad look. "I think we both know I care too much."

The older man sighed and nodded. "I don't think you can care too much," he said gently.

You understood what he meant, but you were too worried to respond. This was the reason why hunters didn't have families--love was a weakness that would only cause you more pain in the end.

**********

"No, no, no. Absolutely not."

"If it's the only way--" Bobby tried.

"I said no," you growled.

"Then we might as well accept defeat now," Crowley said. "Without the spell, we'll never find Death in time. Without Death's ring, we can't put Lucifer back in his cage, and the end of the world is back on."

"I'm not letting you sacrifice your soul, Bobby!"

"I'll give it back," Crowley insisted. "It's a temporary loan."

"You're a demon, Crowley," you deadpanned. "Trusting you would be insanity."

"I don't see another option," Bobby said quietly.

"The only other option I can see," Crowley mused, "is using (Y/N)'s soul."

"Over my dead body," Bobby seethed.

"If I won't let Bobby do it, why the hell would I give you mine?"

"I didn't think you would. I was simply offering up the only other option."

"(Y/N)..." Bobby said gently.

"I don't like this," you murmured.

"I know. I don't like it either, but it's our best shot."

You closed your eyes. "It's your soul, so it's your choice."

Bobby looked up at Crowley and nodded. "I'll do it."

When the boys returned looking a little worse for the wear, but alive, you were relieved to see them. Especially since they had Cas in tow.

You hugged the angel, eyes scanning over him for any obvious injuries before looking at Dean and Sam. "All three of you look like hell."

"It has not been a fun day," Castiel commented.

You patted his arm gently. "I'd imagine not."

"We got the ring, though," Dean stated. "So that's really all that matters."

"We, uhh--well we managed to find Death's location while you were gone," you said, hoping they wouldn't notice the worried look in your eyes.

"How?" Sam asked.

"With my help," Crowley stated. "And some assistance from Bobby, of course."

There was something in Crowley's tone that made Dean uncomfortable. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, addressing Bobby.

"It's not a big deal," Bobby said.

"It only cost him his soul," you said lowly, worry lacing your words.

"What? Bobby, come on! You sold your soul?" Dean yelled.

"It's my damn soul, boy!"

"Technically it's on loan. I fully intend to give it back," Crowley interjected.

"Then give it back!" Dean snapped.

"I will, once Lucifer's back in his cage and we all go back to hating each other."

"You son of a bitch," Dean growled.

You stepped in, grabbing Dean's arm to hold him back. "It was Bobby's choice, Dean. We needed the information and it was going to be his soul or mine."

Dean's expression sobered. He didn't want Bobby's soul to be at risk, but he was beyond terrified of losing you. It would kill him if your soul was damned to hell. "If you don't return it, so help me god--"

"I already threatened him," you said softly. "Repeatedly."

"With torture, I might add," Crowley put in.

Dean almost looked proud. "Good."

"Now that's all settled," Crowley began. "We'd better get to Chicago before the storm of the century wipes the Windy City off the map."

**********

Sam pulled you and Dean outside to chat before preparing for the next mission. "I wanted to talk to the two of you alone."

"Is everything okay?" you asked softly.

"I was thinking about what you said--about getting Lucifer into the cage," Sam responded. "And I think I have a plan that will work."

"Okay, let's hear it," Dean prodded.

"So I already talked it over with Bobby and he was telling me how, when he was possessed, he managed to regain control of himself long enough to keep from killing Dean and stab himself--"

"I can see where you're going with this, and I don't like it," you interjected.

Sam ignored your interruption. "I think I can do the same with Lucifer."

"I'm sorry--what?" Dean exclaimed. "Are you suggesting saying yes to Lucifer?"

"Just long enough to get him into the cage," Sam admitted. "I don't see any other options."

"Absolutely not," Dean snapped. "No way--no way in hell."

"Sam," you said calmly, "this is Lucifer! Not just some low level demon. The amount of sheer force of will you'd need to overcome him is--well it's damn near impossible."

"I know that," Sam said softly. "But I think it's worth a try."

Dean was about to say something else when Crowley appeared with a newspaper in his hand. "Read the headline."

Sam took the paper and began to read, "Swine Flu Vaccines to be Shipped Nationwide by Niveus."

The three of you looked perplexed, causing Crowley to groan. "Niveus? Ring a bell, anyone?"

"Wait," you began, "Isn't that the company Brady worked for?"

Crowley nodded. "At least one of you has a brain. Brady was the senior VP of distribution, to be specific."

"Oh fuck," you muttered.

"Please don't tell me--" Dean started.

"Pestilence had a bigger plan. Swine flu was just the beginning," Sam stated.

"The vaccine is phase two," you whispered.

"Exactly," Crowley added. "And it's full of Croatoan Virus."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

"You've gotta admit, it's an effective way to infect more than half the country all at once," Sam said quietly.

"We have to stop the distribution," you announced. "When do the trucks roll out?"

"Tomorrow," Crowley answered.

"Great," Dean said sarcastically. "So all we have to do is save Chicago, take Death's ring, and stop the mass spreading of the Croatian Virus to the entire U.S....all in one day."

You sighed deeply. "Well, if anyone can do it, it's us."

Dean looked over at you, a proud smile on his face. "That's my girl."

You blushed and looked away, unaccustomed to hearing him call you 'his girl'. Sure, he called you 'sweetheart', but he called most women that. This felt different, and you weren't sure how you felt about it.

"Let's go save the world," Sam muttered.

**********

You hadn't wanted to separate from Dean, but you knew Sam, Cas, and Bobby would likely need your help more than Dean and Crowley did. You still didn't trust Crowley and you hated the idea of leaving him alone with Dean, especially when they were facing an apocalyptic storm and going up against one of the oldest creatures in creation--Death himself.

"You just gonna sit there?" Crowley asked Bobby, drawing you out of your thoughts.

"No, I'm gonna river dance," Bobby quipped back.

"I suppose if you wanna impress the ladies," he teased. "You know, you can really make these contracts work in your favor, for instance adding your legs as part of the deal."

Everyone stared at Bobby in silence as he slowly began to move his legs for the first time in what felt like eternity. You gasped in shock when he stood up to his full height and took a step forward.

The joy was short-lived, given the tasks you were about to complete. There were a couple hugs before everyone sobered up and finished preparing to leave.

You were about to get into the van with Cas, Bobby, and Sam, when Dean approached you and called your name.

"Dean? You okay?" you asked.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering against your cheek for longer than it should have. "Just--just be careful, (Y/N/N). Please."

You smiled gently and nodded. "You too, Dean."

He pulled you into a tight hug, placing his lips into your hair, gently kissing the top of your head. "I can't lose you," he murmured so softly you almost didn't hear.

When he finally let you go, your eyes had begun to water--emotions bubbling up inside of you despite your best efforts to conceal them. "Come back to me," you choked out.

He gave you a sad smile as he stepped away. You saw him close his eyes as he swallowed thickly, clearly experiencing some complicated emotions of his own.

"Dean!" Crowley yelled. "Let's get a move on."

Dean groaned and his normal impassive mask slid back into place. "I'm coming, quit your whining." He gave you one last look before walking away from you.

Your heart ached in your chest, an overwhelming feeling of fear embedding itself in your bones. You watched him get into the driver's seat of the Impala before you managed to shake yourself out of whatever trance you were in and get into the van with the others.

"You good, (Y/N)? Bobby asked as you shut the door.

"All good," you lied. "Let's roll."

**********

"Have I mentioned how much I hate Croatoan Virus?" you grumbled as you shot yet another infected person who was charging your way.

"Maybe once or twice," Sam shot back.

"We should have known they would infect people before we got here," Bobby commented.

"Yeah, but at least we've stopped the shipment. Now we just gotta kill some Croats," you said with a smirk as you shot another one.

You and Sam traveled farther into the warehouse, following the sounds of people yelling for help. Cas and Bobby stayed up front to make sure no Croats escaped.

You were certain you had to be nearing the last of the infected people, but as you rounded a corner, one got the jump on you, tackling you to the ground. You fought with him, desperately trying to get him off of you so you could shoot him, but he sent your gun flying, leaving you defenseless.

You were starting to lose the battle, the Croat's teeth close to sinking into your flesh, when you heard a yell from behind you. The Croat looked up just in time to see Sam pull the trigger, bringing the terrifying moment to an end.

He helped you up and you retrieved your gun. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for the save."

He smiled. "Any time."

The two of you started moving back towards the front of the building. You heard a sound down one of the aisles and you started in that direction. You nodded for Sam to get back to Bobby and Cas, confident you could handle the situation on your own.

You cleared the aisle, but didn't find anything. You started heading back when you heard Sam yell and you started running. You arrived just in time to see Castiel shooting a Croat in the head to save Sam.

He looked slightly pleased with himself, gazing down at the sawed off in his hands. "These things can be useful."

You chuckled and Bobby just shook his head.

Sam got up and clapped Cas on the shoulder, a silent thank you for saving him. "Alright, let's blow some stuff up," he said with a grin.

"This has always been my favorite part of the plan," you declared with a grin of your own.

When the four of you returned to Bobby's, you were pleased to learn Dean and Crowley's mission had also been a success. Not only had they saved Chicago, but Dean had managed to secure Death's ring and learn how to use the rings.

"How old do we think Death is, exactly?" you asked.

"He told me he was as old as God...maybe older, but neither of them could remember," Dean responded.

"Holy shit..."

"Yeah. He didn't exactly strike me as the forgiving type, so I doubt he'll appreciate me lying to him," Dean commented.

"You lied to Death? About what?"

"I told him I was okay with Sam saying yes to Lucifer."

You sighed quietly, not wanting to admit which side you fell on in this particular argument.

Thankfully, Bobby did have something to add. "You and I have always treated Sam like he's a kid, despite the fact that he's one of the toughest people I know. He's been running into burning buildings since he was what, 12?"

"Pretty much," Dean replied.

"I saw him today, Dean. We both did," Bobby said, looking over at you. "He's not that little kid anymore. He's strong--stronger than any of us give him credit for. I think we should have a little more faith in his abilities."

Dean looked over at you, silently asking for your input. "I've always believed in Sam," you said honestly. "I'm not gonna stop now."

Dean nodded, a look of resigned acceptance crossing his features.

**********

You'd just gotten out of the shower when you heard a knock on your bedroom door. "Just a second!" you called.

You quickly threw on pajama shorts and an old faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, before throwing open the door without checking to see who it was.

"Dean," you gasped in surprise.

"Hey," he murmured awkwardly. "I, uhh--I was hoping we could talk."

"Oh, umm, sure." You stepped aside to let him in, shutting the door behind him.

He sat down on the edge of your bed, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Everything okay?" you asked worriedly.

"I'm just thinking about what's going to happen in just a couple days and I--I don't want to leave things unsaid."

"Dean, we don't have to--"

"I need to, (Y/N/N)," he interjected. "Just in case."

You didn't want to think about the very distinct possibility that one or both of you might not survive the coming fight. Your heart ached at the mere thought of losing him, and to your surprise he felt the same way.

"I don't know if we'll make it through this--all I know is I'm terrified of losing you," he admitted.

You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to say.

"I'm not used to being afraid," he whispered. "It's not a feeling I'm accustomed to experiencing and to be honest with you, I kinda hate it."

"You don't have to be afraid for me," you reassured him. "I'll be fine. You know I can take care of myself."

"In every other fight? I'd agree completely...but this isn't any other fight. This is Michael and Lucifer--it's the biggest fight of our lives."

"I know," you murmured. "But I have to believe that at the end of this, we'll all be okay."

He nodded, but you could see the emotions clouding his normally bright green eyes. "I wish I had that same faith."

You gave him a teary smile. You understood where he was coming from, especially given his past experiences.

"Any chance I can convince you to stay back?"

"There's no way that's happening, Dean. If you're facing two archangels, I'm coming with you."

He sighed. "I figured you'd say that." He exhaled deeply, clearly preparing himself to say something else. "Things have been so--intense--for the past few weeks and we haven't really had much of an opportunity to talk. We've been dancing around our feelings and I don't wanna keep doing that--I can't."

You swallowed thickly. "I don't know if I can..."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to say anything if you don't really mean it. You're scared and honestly, so am I. This might be the end, Dean--the end of everything. I just don't want you to say something you think I wanna hear because we might die, or something you don't really feel just because you don't wanna be alone for the end...I can't handle that."

Dean stood up and reached out to you. You'd finally let the tears fall during your speech, and he couldn't stand to see you cry. He reached up slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him. When you didn't, he cupped your face in his hands, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"I don't want you to ever think I'm choosing you because of some misguided desire to not be alone. I meant what I said, sweetheart--you're the only person I can imagine myself being happy with. It's always been you--I've just been too scared to tell you."

You sniffled softly as he finished wiping the last of your tears. "So why now?"

He continued to gently rub his thumbs on your cheeks, almost afraid to let go of you--as if you would simply disappear. "Because I'm tired of pretending I'm not in love with you. If this really is the end, I don't wanna go out without telling you the truth. If you don't feel the same, I understand, but I needed to--"

You leaned in to press your lips gently against his, silencing the rest of his sentence. He returned your kiss, one hand sliding into your hair to pull you closer to him.

You pulled away from him to suck in some air, leaning your forehead against his as you caught your breath.

"So does that mean you might feel the same?" Dean murmured softly.

You laughed lightly. "Maybe just a little bit."

He grinned as he slipped his arms around your soft waist and pulled you closer. "Just a little?" he teased.

You giggled as his fingers gently tickled your sides. "Or a lot."

"Yeah?"

You bit your lip. "Yeah...there's a strong possibility I feel exactly the same as you."

"Oh, baby, I don't think that's possible."

You looked at him in confusion.

"I love you more than anything--I don't even have words to express how I feel about you. 'Love' just doesn't cut it."

You practically melted in his arms, a warm, teary smile gracing your face. "I don't think I can compare to that, but I do love you, Dean--so much."

Dean was one of the most deeply emotional people you'd ever known and the way he loved was no exception. He was incredibly passionate and he loved with a kind of fierceness that almost frightened you. But at the same time, you felt incredibly honored to be loved by such an amazing man--a man who was loyal, brave, strong, and sensitive (even if he would deny it).

Dean kissed you deeply, holding your body tightly against his own. You could feel his arousal stirring against your stomach and you moaned softly.

"I could kiss you all night," he whispered against your lips.

"Why don't you then?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, a small smirk playing on his lips. "How would you feel if I kissed every square inch of your body instead of just your lips?"

You inhaled sharply, his words sending a shock wave of need straight to your core. "Please," you begged softly.

"Oh baby, you're in for a treat." He grabbed you and spun around, tossing you onto the soft bed.

It didn't take long for you both to be completely naked, Dean's head between your legs, bringing you closer to blissful release with each passing moment.

Every movement of his lips and tongue had you moaning in pleasure. You tangled your fingers in his hair, nails scrapping against his scalp as he continued to drive you wild.

When your orgasm finally hit, your hips began to buck wildly, causing Dean to lay his arm across your abdomen to hold you in place. He continued lapping up your juices and teasing your clit until you dragged him away, whimpers of sensitivity leaving your lips.

He breathed heavily as he hovered over you, licking his lips in contentment. "I didn't wanna stop."

You smiled. "I could tell."

"So I can go back down and finish--" he started moving lower and you grabbed him to keep him in place.

"No!" you said, laughter filling your voice. "I'm a little too sensitive for that right now, Dean."

He groaned in displeasure. "Fine," he mumbled. "Later then."

He leaned down to kiss you and you giggled softly against his lips. His antics always made you smile, so you weren't surprised to find the experience continued in the bedroom.

As he deepened the kiss, you felt his cock brush against your core, a sharp hiss leaving your lips at the contact.

"Sorry, baby," he murmured.

"I'm not," you said lightly.

He looked down at you quizzically, but didn't have time to comment before he found himself lying on his back looking up at you.

You grinned down at him, clearly pleased with yourself.

"Whatcha doin' sweetheart?" he drawled.

"Taking what I want."

Your meaning was quickly made clear as you kissed slowly down his chest and abdomen, stopping only to make a soft sound of appreciation when you came upon his throbbing cock.

You wrapped your hand around it and licked slowly from the base to the tip, giving a flick of your tongue against it to collect the precum.

Dean moaned softly, green eyes watching you intently as you took his cock into your mouth, slowly lowering yourself down until you couldn't fit any more.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, hand reaching for your hair to tangle his fingers in it.

You hummed happily and began to move, bobbing your head up and down in a pleasurable rhythm. Your hand wrapped around what you couldn't fit into your mouth to ensure his entire member was receiving pleasure.

Dean's hips jerked slightly each time you made a noise or a particularly pleasurable motion, and his grip on your hair tightened considerably.

You made it very obvious you were enjoying yourself, which seemed to only increase his pleasure. You very gently caressed his balls, massaging them in your soft hand as you continued to suck his cock.

Dean's moans and curses had increased in both volume and frequency, signaling he was nearing his peak. You flicked your gaze up to look at his face, meeting his dark, lust-blown eyes.

You held eye contact as you continued your motions, soft moans vibrating against his cock.

"Holy fuck," he whispered. "Gonna cum, baby."

You hummed, signaling your desire for him to let go. You continued to hold his gaze, but you switched your focus to the head of his cock, using your hand to rub the rest.

Moments later, Dean came with a low groan of your name, hips stuttering upwards as you swallowed every drop he gave you.

Just as he'd done to you, you refused to stop until he literally pulled you off his cock, aftershocks shaking his body.

"That was incredible," he breathed.

You smiled down at him, appreciating the praise.

"I wanna taste you again," he begged softly.

Your eyes widened a bit, but you couldn't deny the ache in your core. You wanted to feel him inside you so badly, but you knew he'd need some time to work back up to it.

"I suppose you can have a little taste," you murmured teasingly.

You started to get off of him, but he grabbed you to hold you in place.

"Where ya going?"

"To lay down..."

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Did I tell you to lay down?"

You inhaled sharply. "No..."

"Didn't think so, babe." He shifted so his head was flat against the mattress. "Come on up and sit on my face."

"I'm sorry--do what?"

He laughed softly. "Sit on my face."

"Umm...you sure?"

He lifted his head to look at you. "I've never been more certain."

You bit your lip and considered his words for a moment. You'd never sat on anyone's face, but you'd heard it was an enjoyable experience.

"Alright," you agreed, pulling yourself up to hover over his mouth.

"Lower, please," he said.

You lowered yourself down, but remained hovering.

"(Y/N)," he said harshly. "Sit."

You lowered yourself as much as you could without putting your full weight on him.

"For the love of god," he growled, tugging down on your hips and forcing you to actually sit.

You heard his groan and what sounded like a muffled "Fuck yes", before his tongue slipped between your folds and the assault began.

If you'd thought he was good with his mouth before, it was nothing compared to the incredible feelings you were currently experiencing. You had to press your hands against the wall to hold yourself upright and your thighs were pressed tightly around his head.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were loud enough to wake the neighbors, but you couldn't be bothered to care.

You could feel his tongue pressing into your channel while his nose bumped against your clit with every movement. The combination was amazing and your hips started to move on their own, seeking more friction to push you over the edge.

Dean's grip on your hips tightened and he started to move your hips more forcefully, letting you know it was okay to ride his face.

You took the hint and completely let go, allowing yourself to truly enjoy the experience. Dean's moans vibrated through your body, which only served to increase your pleasure.

Your thighs began to shake and your moans had turned to cries of his name as your hips made one final thrust before you fell apart. The orgasm that crashed through you was easily the most incredible one you'd ever experienced--the high both better and longer than ever before.

You lifted yourself off Dean's face as the pleasure became too much, but your legs were no longer able to support you, so you fell onto the bed beside him. You were both breathless, but Dean wasted no time in rolling over on top of you and pressing open mouthed kisses to your heated skin.

When you finally caught your breath, you murmured, "I've never felt that good in my life."

Dean smirked, pride evident on his face. "I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart."

You bit your lip and looked up into his handsome face. "Is that a promise?"

He groaned softly and his cock pressed against your core. You both inhaled sharply and he lowered his face down to kiss you deeply. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

"I hope not," you whispered back.

He smiled and placed another sweet kiss to your lips. "You ready?"

You nodded--you'd never been more ready in your life.

He gripped his cock and lined it up with your entrance, pressing in slowly to give you time to adjust.

You whimpered at the feeling, his cock stretching you in ways you didn't know you could be stretched.

"You okay, baby?"

"Mhmm," you hummed. "Keep going."

He waited another moment before continuing to push forward. By the time he was fully seated inside you, you were both breathing heavily and a light sheen of sweat graced your face.

Dean pressed soft, sweet kisses all over your face as he waited for your breathing to normalize. "Let me know when you're ready," he murmured.

After a few more moments, you took a deep breath and said, "You can move now."

Dean's hips began to move slowly, his thrusts languid and gentle at first. As your grip on his cock tightened and the soft sounds you made washed over him, his pace began to increase.

"You're so goddamn tight, (Y/N/N)," he groaned softly. "So warm and wet--fucking perfect."

You pulled his face down to yours to kiss him passionately. "Feels so good, Dean," you moaned.

He knew he wasn't going to last very long...which wasn't common for him. You just felt so incredible and he knew he was going to lose control.

He'd be damned, however, if he came before pulling at least one more orgasm from your sweet body.

Dean grabbed your legs and folded them towards your chest, flexing your body almost in half. This position allowed him to get even deeper inside you and the head of his cock pressed against your sweet spot with each thrust.

"Dean!" you gasped in surprised pleasure. Not very many men had managed to find your g-spot, but Dean wasn't exactly most men.

You dug your nails into his biceps--the only part of him you could reach, and your moans turned into an unending song of pleasure.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't love every part of it. Every noise was like music to his ears--a soundtrack he could listen to forever. The sharp pain of your nails in his skin only heightened his pleasure and the look of pure bliss on your face was an image he wanted to sear onto his brain.

He was desperate to watch you come undone--to see your beautiful face in full view as you fell apart for him. He was certain it would be an image worthy of an art museum.

"You gonna cum for me baby?" he asked lowly.

You nodded rapidly, unable to form a verbal response.

"Can feel you squeezin' me so tight."

He sped up just a little more and a sharp gasp left your lips. He knew you were seconds away--and honestly, so was he.

"Need you to cum for me sweet girl," he begged. "Wanna feel it so bad."

His words sent you over the edge, your third orgasm of the night washing over you and throwing you into pure ecstasy.

Dean held back his own impending orgasm just long enough to ask, "Can I fill you up, baby?"

"Please!" you cried.

Dean came with a loud shout of your name, hot ropes of cum filling your pussy to the brim. His thrusts slowed as you both rode out your highs and his cock began to soften as he pulled out and collapsed on the bed beside you.

"That was--" you began.

"I know," he finished.

You turned to look at him and giggled softly. He grinned widely and let out a warm laugh along with you.

"Who woulda thought we'd end up here?" he asked.

"On the brink of the end of the world," you added.

"There's no one I'd rather be with," he admitted.

You rolled onto your side to face him completely. "Same here, Dean."

He offered you a small smile tinged with sadness. "I love you, (Y/N/N)...and if we die tomorrow, then at least you'll know how I feel about you."

You closed your eyes and sighed. "I love you too. But I want a life with you, so let's try to make it through tomorrow, okay?"

He smiled warmly. "Alright, sweetheart. I'd like that."

"Good," you whispered as you nestled in close to him, laying your head against his chest and sighing softly.

Dean wrapped his arms around you tightly as if he was afraid you would disappear if he let go. You fell asleep like that, one last moment of peace and contentment before the final battle.

[mo-ali-m]

With you - Jamal Musiala

"If you ever feel alone and

The glare makes me hard to find

Just know that I'm always

Parallel on the other side"

Warnings: English is not my first language, there may be errors.

There are days when all we need is comfort, even when we are too big to fit in our mother's arms, or even when we are no longer old enough to cry on our father's shoulders.

Sometimes we just want to forget about our problems and live peacefully, within our own minds on a good day.

For you, these days were becoming much more frequent than recommended, with end-of-semester exams approaching and days with Jamal becoming scarcer. It wasn't like he complained about the situation, quite the opposite, his boyfriend was always supportive, so much so that he took advantage of a few days off that the coach had given him to rest at his house, he knew how difficult it was for you during this period of the year

— Baby, what do you think of Pride and Prejudice for today?— His voice woke you up from your conflicting thoughts, when you looked at him, the doe’s orbs were already fixed on you.

— It seems perfect to me — You murmured, smiling forcedly as you tried to mask your low self-esteem that day.

But Jamal knew you better, more than you did with yourself. After a year of dating, he could decipher you even with your eyes closed, ears covered and mute. You were like an open book.That's why his soft lips closed in a straight line, the thorough analysis only confirmed what he had already suspected since that morning: you were more than exhausted.

— Okay... so you stay here and I'll make the popcorn, put on the movie and I'll be right back.

The tall body covered in the couple's sweatshirt that you shared at that moment moved to the kitchen, determined to provide you with the best and most comfortable day possible.

A few minutes later and a bucket of buttered popcorn filled to the brim, you and Jamal were snuggled under a blanket, his warm figure on top of yours, his masculine hand resting against your belly under your sweatshirt.

You noticed that even in silence he looked after you and checked up on you, always eavesdropping on your expressions when he thought you weren't being seen. Jamal caressed him carefully, his soft, warm fingers making circles on his skin while his hands caressed his curls. Both very comfortable with each other.

— You know, I like being like this with you — he shrugged, speaking softly, his cheek against your belly — Just the two of us, together in our own corner after a tiring day.

A smile graced your lips with his speech, silently agreeing with a murmur also under his breath

— I like that too, it's like throwing myself into a sea of ​​balm — you laughed, being accompanied by him — It's been a while since we've been like this, hasn't it?

Jamal whispered a quick "yes", lifting his body enough so that their faces were level. Bambi's eyes looked at you with tenderness and understanding.

— Meine Liebe, let's promise something?

Confused, you nodded, still stroking his hair low.

— When things get difficult we won't forget each other, because that's why we're together too. To take care of each other in difficult times, even if I don't understand anything that those complex books from your college are talking about — You laughed softly, tears filling your eyes both from exhaustion of everything and from gratitude to him —Still, I will always help you, just like you do with me.

— Alright, let's do this — you nodded, your voice breaking making him hug you, tears flowing without permission down your cheeks — I love you Jamal, more than anything.

He smiled brightly, tightening his grip around your crying figure.

— I love you too, darling, more than anything — his lips kissed yours with love — And I will always be with you, until the end of my life.

With a warm heart and calm emotions you smiled, kissing him back more strongly, sealing that mutual agreement of being together with affection. Forever.

[yoursinisforgiven]

BIRDCAGE ──

pairing: isaac x reader (pickel)

cw: very reader (pickel) focused, implications of depression, reader is implied to have an existential crisis, non–canon characters, references to this fic (skin tissue) mentions of death, open ending.

you are responsible for your own media consumption

Part of you wishes he hadn’t given you a choice.

That day. The day your duties were complete. Yet somehow, your time there had become more than just a job—hadn’t it? The longer you stayed, the more Isaac lingered in your thoughts, his presence filling the spaces you didn’t even know were empty. Slowly, surely, your souls began to dance together, cautious at first, then bolder, more certain.

It wasn’t long before they swirled so closely they began to blend, seeping into each other until they became one—soul-tied. The bond was unshakable, like a knot pulled too tight to untangle.

But you hadn’t wanted that, had you? (You had. You wished you hadn’t tried to avoid it.) You’d never wanted to be tied down to anything. This was your chance—to be free, free of everything. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?

The fire crackled softly, the sound soothing in the stillness of Isaac’s study. The warmth of the mug in your hand mirrored the heat radiating from the hearth. What exactly was in the mug? You couldn’t recall. It didn’t matter. The only room in the manor that truly seemed alive was this one, and not because of the fire or the faint scent of aged wood and leather. It was because of him.

Isaac’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. His words hung between you, heavy with meaning.

“I don’t know, Isaac,” you murmured. (But you did. You had known. And you wished you’d told him.)

His sharp gaze lingered on you, searching, waiting. “You’re not forced to stay here,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I kidnapped you, yes. But now I’m giving you everything—the money, the safety, the chance to leave. You’re free to go.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a shroud. Freedom. Safety. Escape. Wasn’t that what you’d always wanted? Yet the thought of walking out that door and leaving him behind felt like ripping out a piece of yourself.

Your grip on the mug tightened. Afraid you might shatter it, you loosened your hold, drawing in a shaky breath. “Do you… want me to leave?”

“No,” he said quickly, a flicker of something undefinable crossing his face. “That’s not what I meant. I’m—what else is left here for you?”

His words pierced you, sharp and cold. You bit back the tears welling at the corners of your eyes, unwilling to let him see how much they hurt. Was he truly asking this? After everything? The cases you had worked on together, the laughter you had shared, those quiet moments when words weren’t needed, and the kiss—the kiss that had unraveled everything inside you. Had it meant nothing to him? Was that all you were? A fleeting light to brighten his life before he discarded you?

Your voice trembled as you broke the silence. “I just… I want to be with you, Isaac. I love you.”

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw. His expression shifted, the mask of indifference cracking, but he said nothing. The silence was deafening, stretching out like a chasm between you. You could feel it, the weight of your words hanging in the air, vulnerable and exposed. The quiet was oppressive, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

What had you expected? A confession that mirrored your own? A promise that he felt the same? The truth was, you didn’t know. And now, sitting in the thick of this unbearable quiet, you hated yourself for saying anything at all.

You lowered your gaze to the mug in your hands. The dark liquid inside rippled slightly, though the room was still. Was it your trembling fingers? Or the storm raging inside you? Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the mess you’d created.

Had you read him wrong? All those lingering glances, the way his hand would brush yours and linger just a second too long. The moments of quiet where his presence was so comforting it felt like home. The kiss. How could you have mistaken it?

But maybe you had. Maybe you were just another fleeting piece in his story, another face that would fade into his past.

The thought twisted like a knife in your chest. You had told yourself you were strong, that you didn’t need anyone. You had always been good at building walls—at keeping people out. Yet somehow, he had slipped through. Slowly, carefully, until you hadn’t realized the walls were gone until it was too late.

And now, here you were, stripped bare, holding your heart out to someone who might not want it.

You swallowed hard, pushing down the lump in your throat. The fire crackled again, an unwelcome reminder of the warmth around you that felt so at odds with the chill inside.

You wanted to run. To flee from the vulnerability clawing at you. But there was nowhere to go. Not really. Even if you left this room, this manor, this place, you knew it wouldn’t change the ache in your chest.

Because wherever you went, you’d take it with you.

“You don’t know what it means to love someone,” Isaac’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady, but with an edge sharp enough to make you flinch. “You’ve been given food, shelter, and safety here—you’ve built a false sense of attachment.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words hitting you like a blow. False sense of attachment? Was that what he thought this was? A survival reflex?

The ache in your chest deepened, twisting into something darker, something raw. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck, caught somewhere between your mind and your heart. How could you explain it to him when it felt as though he had already decided what your feelings were?

“Is that… what you think?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling despite your effort to steady it.

He turned away from you, his profile illuminated by the flickering firelight. For a moment, he didn’t speak, as though weighing his answer carefully. “I’ve seen it before,” he finally said, his tone quieter now but no less resolute. “When people are desperate, they cling to what feels safe. To what feels like home.”

Desperate. Safe. Home. The words echoed in your mind, each one another blow to the fragile hope you had been clinging to. Did he truly believe that? That your feelings for him were nothing more than a reflex born out of circumstance?

Your grip on the mug loosened, and you set it down on the small table beside you, your hands trembling too much to hold it any longer.

──

That had been four months ago.

The cold winter snow of January stung your cheeks as you clutched the hefty white and black envelope in your trembling hands—the white one containing your payment, the black you weren't so sure of. The weight of it felt far heavier than paper should—its contents a finality you weren’t ready to face.

Your last memory of that place was running to the side of the house, where the garden lay buried under a blanket of frost. The air had been so still, so biting, it felt as though even nature itself had paused to witness your departure. You fell to your knees before his mother’s grave, the marble headstone partially dusted with snow, the name almost obscured.

You had whispered your goodbyes, your apologies, your regrets. But even as the words left your lips, they felt hollow, dissipating into the freezing air as if the universe itself refused to carry them.

Kneeling there, surrounded by the skeletal remains of once-thriving plants, you couldn’t help but see the garden as a reflection of your own heart. Once alive, once vibrant, now barren and cold. The grave was just another reminder that everything beautiful eventually fades, no matter how deeply it is loved.

You had always thought of love as something eternal, something unbreakable. And yet, here you were, love slipping through your fingers like the snow melting against your skin. Perhaps love wasn’t meant to last forever

You whispered one last word—his name—before rising to your feet, the cold biting at your knees through the fabric of your pants. As you turned away from the grave, you glanced back at the house. A shadow had flickered in the window—his silhouette, maybe? Or just your mind playing tricks on you, desperate to leave with one final shred of him?

The snow crunched beneath your feet as you walked away, the envelope still clutched tightly in your hand. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the earth itself wanted to anchor you there, to force you to stay. But you kept going, kept moving, until the house and the garden faded into the winter haze behind you.

And now, four months later, that memory lingered in your mind like a ghost. What had you been running from? Him? Yourself? Or was it the inevitability of your own impermanence—the truth that every bond, no matter how strong, would one day be severed by time, by distance, or by death?

It was now April.

You sat beneath the shade of a café awning, the hum of life in the piazza swirling around you. Italy was breathtaking, a place where history and the present coexisted in an uneasy yet harmonious dance. Everywhere you looked, there was something that felt eternal—the cobblestone streets worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, the ancient cathedrals casting long shadows over the bustling markets, the faint melody of a street performer’s violin drifting through the spring air.

You sipped your espresso, the bitter warmth grounding you, pulling you back from the maze of your thoughts. The café was small, tucked away in a corner of the square, and yet it felt alive, as if it had its own soul. It wasn’t just a place; it was a witness to countless lives, each person who sat here leaving behind some invisible trace of themselves.

You wondered what trace you would leave behind.

The past four months had felt like a blur, your days filled with movement yet devoid of direction. You had walked the streets of Paris, watched the sunrise over the Swiss Alps, and now, here you were in Italy. Each place was stunning in its own way, yet none of them could quiet the ache you carried with you.

Italy, with its timeless beauty, seemed to mock you. The ruins of ancient empires whispered of the inevitability of decay, yet their grandeur reminded you that even in ruin, there was something enduring. Was that what love was? Something that persisted, even as it crumbled?

You turned the black envelope over in your hands, its edges slightly worn from being carried so long. You still hadn’t opened it. Part of you feared what it might contain. A confession? A farewell? A truth you weren’t ready to face?

The envelope was a paradox, much like the city around you. It was both a connection to the past and a barrier to your future. It anchored you to what was, even as it taunted you with what might have been.

A soft breeze rustled the papers on the table, and you looked up to see the café owner adjusting a chair nearby. He offered you a small smile, one that seemed to say, Enjoy this moment; it’s all you truly have. You nodded back absently, his unspoken wisdom settling uncomfortably in your chest.

Was that the truth you had been running from? That the present was all there was? That love, loss, beauty, and pain were fleeting, and their only purpose was to remind you of your own impermanence?

You set the envelope down beside your cup, staring at it as though it might speak. The past, the future—it all felt so distant, so intangible. But here, in this moment, the warmth of the sun on your skin and the taste of coffee on your tongue felt profoundly real.

Perhaps that was enough.

You turned to the man nearby, your voice tentative. “Excuse me?”

He looked up, his warm smile softening the sharp lines of his face. It was the kind of smile that seemed to know more than it let on, like a ripple on the surface of still water hinting at unseen depths.

“I want to…” You furrowed your brows, the words catching in your throat. What had you wanted? You searched for the answer, but it felt just out of reach, tangled somewhere between your heart and your mind. “I want to live.”

He tilted his head slightly, as though weighing your words. Then, with a subtle nod, he pointed upwards, down a narrow, cobbled road that glinted faintly in the afternoon light. “Fontana,” he said simply, his accent thick and lilting, the word rolling off his tongue like poetry.

“A fountain?” you repeated, confused but intrigued.

He disappeared into the café for a moment, leaving you alone with your thoughts. When he returned, he held a small, well-worn map, its edges frayed and corners creased from use. He unfolded it on the table, his finger tracing a path from your current location to a spot circled in faint blue ink.

“La Fontana di Respiro,” he said, his voice quiet but purposeful. “The Fountain of Breath. Old, forgotten by most. But beautiful. Alive.”

The Fountain of Breath. The name stirred something inside you, a faint flicker of curiosity that felt almost like hope. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking the map from him.

He nodded again, his smile lingering as he stepped back inside the café, leaving you alone once more.

You stared down at the map, your fingers brushing over the delicate lines of ink. The fountain wasn’t far—a short walk through winding alleys and across an old stone bridge. It wasn’t the destination that mattered, though. It was the idea of it, the possibility that it might hold something you didn’t know you were searching for.

As you stood, folding the map carefully, you couldn’t help but wonder: what did it mean to truly live? Was it the pursuit of beauty, of love, of fleeting moments that made you feel whole? Or was it simply the act of continuing, of putting one foot in front of the other, even when the weight of the past threatened to pull you under?

The cobbled streets stretched out before you, golden in the soft April light. The envelope is tight in your grasp. You stepped into the street, your heart beating just a little faster than before.

 ──

The cobbled streets felt different beneath your feet as you walked. Each step was slow, deliberate—like the rhythm of a life you hadn’t yet learned to embrace. The map had become more than just a guide; it had become a symbol. The Fountain of Breath. A place that promised something you weren’t sure you even understood. But maybe, like everything else in Italy, it wasn’t the destination that mattered. Perhaps it was the act of searching itself.

The air was crisp, a breeze swirling through the narrow streets, carrying the scent of fresh bread and earth. The buildings around you rose like silent sentinels—old, worn, but standing with a kind of quiet dignity. You wondered, briefly, how many lives had passed through these same streets. How many people had walked this path before you, searching for something—whether it was love, answers, or merely a moment of peace. The thought lingered with you, like the faintest trace of a dream.

As you turned a corner, the street opened up to a small square. The fountain wasn’t visible yet, but the sound of flowing water reached your ears, soft and soothing, like a whisper from another world. You walked towards it, your body moving almost on its own, guided by the pull of something intangible. Something that whispered to you that, maybe, this was where the weight of your thoughts could finally be washed away.

The fountain came into view then—no grand monument, no marble statues or elaborate carvings. It was simple, small, its stone basin weathered by time. The water flowed gently, trickling over the edge and into the basin below, where it pooled in ripples of silver under the afternoon sun. There was something profoundly peaceful about it, something that felt as though it had been waiting for you all along.

You approached the fountain slowly, as though unsure of whether to interrupt the quiet harmony of the place. As your fingertips brushed the cool water, you felt a strange sense of release, as if the water itself held the answers you had been chasing for months. The fountain, in its simplicity, seemed to embody a truth you hadn’t been able to articulate: that life wasn’t about finding certainty or resolution, but about accepting the flow of things, the ebb and flow of moments, of choices, of love, of pain.

You leaned over the stone edge, gazing into the water. The soft ripples distorted your reflection, and for a brief moment, you felt as though you were looking at someone else—a version of you who had chosen differently, a version of you who hadn’t left, who hadn’t felt so lost.

But then, the ripples settled, and the reflection returned to clarity. It was you. The same person who had walked those cobbled streets, who had traveled across countries, carrying pieces of a past you couldn’t fully escape. But perhaps that wasn’t the point. Maybe life wasn’t about running away from the past or finding a final answer. It was about embracing the journey, about allowing yourself to flow with it, and in doing so, becoming something more than you were when you began.

You stood at the edge of the fountain, your fingers curled into the cool stone, eyes closed, as you let the water run over your face. The crisp touch of it seemed to cleanse something deeper inside you, a quiet surrender to the moment, to the silence of the world around you. You were searching for something—an answer, a release, a way to end the restless ache that clung to you. You couldn’t explain it, but you weren’t ready to come up yet, to face the world with its questions and demands. You needed to find something—anything—before you could face it all again.

The voice that broke the stillness startled you.

“What are you doing?”

You jerked your head up, water dripping from your face as you blinked in confusion. There, a few feet away, stood a small boy—no older than thirteen. His clothes were simple, ragged even, as if he had been running about the city for hours. He looked at you, eyes wide and curious but unafraid.

You scrambled to gather yourself, wiping your face with your sleeve. “I—uh, I was just…” You didn’t know how to explain yourself. The truth was, you didn’t even fully understand what you were doing.

The boy frowned, his hands tucked into the pockets of his worn jacket. He didn’t seem as concerned by your strange behavior as you might have thought. Instead, he tilted his head and asked, “Why did you put your head in the water?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, feeling a strange, uncomfortable vulnerability in the simplicity of his question. “I thought it might help me—clear my head.”

The boy studied you for a moment, his gaze darting between you and the fountain. Then, with a shrug, he said, “I don’t think it works like that.”

His words weren’t profound. In fact, they were almost dismissive, as if he thought you were being silly. But for some reason, they cut through the haze in your mind, reminding you of how often you sought external solutions to internal struggles—how often you thought that answers could be found in places or things, when perhaps the real answer was never out there at all.

“Yeah,” you sighed, shaking your head. “I guess not.”

The boy gave a half-hearted smile, his expression shifting slightly as he took in your still-drenched face. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, his words straightforward, but somehow more perceptive than you expected.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. “No,” you replied slowly, feeling the weight of the word more than you anticipated. "I'm not."

He nodded as if that made sense, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face before he looked back at the fountain. “You don’t look like it,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. "People from here don’t usually... do that." He gestured vaguely toward the water, an unspoken judgment lingering in his tone. “The whole head-in-the-water thing.”

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the absurdity of the situation hitting you. A boy, no older than thirteen, was calling you out on your dramatic search for meaning. For a moment, you felt foolish—like you were the one who had wandered into a world you didn’t belong to, trying to force something out of the universe that it wasn’t prepared to give.

“I guess I’m trying to find something,” you said, shrugging, suddenly feeling the weight of your own search. It was hard to articulate, but the boy seemed to understand, even though he could never truly understand what you were feeling. He was just a kid, after all—how could he?

He raised an eyebrow. “Find what? A way to stop thinking so much? I’ve seen adults do that here, too. You won’t find it at a fountain. Or anywhere else, really.”

His words caught you off guard again. Not because they were particularly wise, but because of the raw honesty in his tone. He wasn’t trying to be profound, or to give you an answer. He wasn’t pretending to know what you were going through. He simply spoke as if life was much simpler than you’d made it out to be.

You opened your mouth to respond, but then the words fell silent in your throat. What was it that you were searching for? More control? More clarity? More... peace? You wanted something that would make the constant questions stop—the endless searching for meaning, for purpose. But the boy was right. You wouldn’t find it by running to fountains or searching for answers in places that held no answers. You had to stop running.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said softly, more to yourself than to him. “Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places.”

The boy, seemingly satisfied with your response, gave a quick nod and turned back toward the street. “You’ll figure it out,” he said casually. “But it’s not gonna be in that fountain. Trust me.”

The boy’s eyes widened when you blurted out your request. “Show me,” you said, your voice a little more desperate than you intended. “Where do you go, then? What do you do when everything feels like it’s falling apart?”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his brow furrowing as though considering whether you were being serious. There was a flicker of hesitation, but then his face softened, and he gave a quick nod.

"Alright," he said, his voice light, almost teasing. "You wanna see what I do?"

You blinked, unsure of what you were getting yourself into, but the idea of following him—of leaving behind the weight of your own thoughts—was somehow more comforting than standing still. You wanted to stop questioning, stop trying to figure out what you were supposed to do. Maybe he knew something you didn’t.

Before you could respond, he turned and dashed down a narrow alleyway, disappearing around the corner. You stood frozen for a moment, a strange mix of excitement and confusion bubbling up inside you. After a few seconds, you shook your head, quickly gathering your bearings, and followed him.

You caught up with him just as he reached the end of the alley. Standing by an old iron bike rack, he was pulling out a rusty old bicycle, its frame worn from years of use. He didn’t wait for you to ask questions. Instead, he tossed another bike toward you, his expression playful.

“Come on, we’re going for a ride,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitated for a second, unsure if you should follow. The world still felt heavy on your shoulders, the questions gnawing at you. But the boy’s easy grin and the lightness in his voice made you feel like maybe—just maybe—this ride might offer something you hadn’t considered before.

You grabbed the bike, its weight familiar and comforting. It was old, a little squeaky, but it didn’t matter. The minute you pushed off the ground, the wind rushing through your hair, you felt a small shift inside. For the first time in days, you stopped overthinking, stopped questioning, and just moved.

The boy pedaled ahead, weaving through the narrow cobbled streets of the city. As you followed him, the world around you seemed to open up in a way it hadn’t before. The scent of fresh bread wafted from a bakery, and the distant laughter of children echoed down the winding alleyways. The sun was warm on your face, but the air was cool enough to make every breath feel like a cleansing one.

You didn’t speak much as you rode, letting the rhythm of the bike take over. The boy’s movements were effortless, as though he had ridden these streets a thousand times, and you were simply following a path he already knew. There was something comforting in that. You didn’t need to lead. You didn’t need to have all the answers. You just had to keep pedaling.

Eventually, you turned off the main road, following a narrower path that led to a hidden, secluded area on the outskirts of the city. The boy slowed down and stopped by the edge of a quiet river, the sound of rushing water filling the air. You dismounted, your legs slightly wobbly from the ride, and looked around.

A small group of kids, not much older than the boy, were gathered on the riverbank. They were laughing, splashing each other, their carefree energy infectious. One of the girls waved at the boy, and he waved back before turning to you.

“Come on, let’s go for a swim,” he said, his voice light and inviting.

For a moment, you hesitated. You had no idea who these kids were, and you weren’t sure if you belonged there. But something in the boy’s eyes—something in the openness of the moment—made you feel like you were exactly where you needed to be. You didn’t have to explain yourself. You didn’t have to be perfect. You just had to be.

You stripped off your clothes, feeling self-conscious for only a second before the water caught your attention. The river was cool, the current gentle, but the water felt like a shock to your system. A good shock. It washed away the weight of your thoughts, the questions, the search. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were just... there. In the moment. Not thinking, not analyzing.

The boy dived in first, making a huge splash, and you followed, laughing as you kicked up water around you. The other kids joined in, each of them as carefree as the next. There was no pressure. No expectations. Just the joy of being alive.

As you swam, the world felt different. The water wasn’t a solution to your problems, but it was a moment of relief, a moment of escape from the weight of your own mind. You didn’t have to solve everything right now. You didn’t have to have everything figured out. All you had to do was be. To live.

You swam until your arms ached, until the sun began to sink lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the water. When you finally pulled yourself onto the riverbank, breathless and laughing, the boy followed, lying down beside you on the soft grass. He stretched out, gazing up at the sky.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you don’t have to have it all figured out. Sometimes you just have to live. Let things happen. And the rest will come.”

You turned your head toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips. You didn’t have the words for it, but you didn’t need to. The boy was right. Maybe it wasn’t about finding all the answers. Maybe it was about living—letting go of the need to control everything, to have all the pieces in place.

You had thought you were searching for something. But now, you realized, you were simply living.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you closed your eyes, the warm evening air brushing your skin. For the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

“Hey, where’s the post office here?”

──

You tied up any and all loose ends in Italy, giving the boy a tight hug, pressing money into his hand for ice cream and a treat for his friends as a thank you. He grinned, his eyes sparkling as he waved you off, but you knew this was the last time you’d see him—at least, for now. He had shown you a side of life that was easy to forget in the hustle of your own mind. The carefree joy of simply being, of not needing answers right away.

Before you left, you returned the map to the man at the cafe. He smiled warmly, telling you to keep it, that it was yours now. But despite his insistence, you slipped it back into your bag alongside the envelopes. You weren’t sure what you’d do with it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to part with it just yet.

And now, here you were, standing in the post office, your mind swirling with the strange mix of emotions you had been carrying all day. The walls, the fluorescent lights, the smell of paper and ink—they all felt like they were pressing in on you as you stood before the display of postcards. You spent far too much time pondering which one to choose. Some were too bright, too forced. Others too plain, too empty. None felt right. None captured what you needed to say.

You picked one up anyway—a simple, faded postcard of a seaside view. It wasn’t much, but it felt honest. You turned it over in your hands, the blank side staring back at you like a challenge.

What would you say? What could you say? You had so many words locked inside you—words you didn’t know how to express, words that were still tangled in the mess of your heart. You could write something vague, something polite. Or maybe you could just... let go. Tell Isaac the truth. About everything. But that would be too much. You weren’t ready for that yet.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you picked up the pen. You hovered over the postcard, your hand shaking slightly as you wrote, the words coming out slowly, each one feeling like it weighed more than the last.

"I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m still here. I’m still trying."

It wasn’t much. But it was honest. It was a start.

You stared at the words for a moment longer before sliding the postcard into the envelope, along with the map. There was something in that map, something in those streets and alleyways of Italy, that had shifted something inside you. You didn’t know what it meant yet, but you weren’t ready to let it go. Not yet.

On the front of the envelope, you wrote Isaac’s name. The address. Your hand moved almost mechanically, but your mind was elsewhere, drifting back to everything that had come before this moment—the kisses, the words, the silence between you both. Could you ever bridge that gap? Could you ever understand what it was between you?

You hesitated, fingers lingering on the edge of the envelope, before you pushed it into the slot, the sound of it sliding through the machine somehow final.

As you walked away from the post office, the weight in your chest didn’t lift, but it had changed. The knot wasn’t gone, but it had softened, just a little. There was still so much to figure out. So much unknown. But for now, you had made a decision. You had sent the message. Whether or not Isaac would ever read it, you had taken the first step toward something—toward him, toward yourself.

And that was enough for today.

 ──

You smile at the memories of Italy, the warmth of those days still lingering in your mind. It had been five months since you left, but it felt like a lifetime ago, like you had lived entire worlds between then and now. The landscapes, the people, the moments that had shifted something deep inside you, all felt so distant now, yet still so present. It was as if they were tucked away, just behind your eyes, ready to resurface when you needed them most.

Now, it was September. The air in New Orleans was thick with the humidity of summer, but it wasn’t the heat that consumed you. It was the festivals, the music, the life that seemed to pour out of the streets at every corner, filling the air with a rhythm you couldn’t escape even if you tried. You had come to the city on a whim, a place where you could lose yourself in the energy of it all, where the sounds of jazz and the shouts of street vendors could drown out everything else.

It felt like the city itself was alive, pulling you in, wrapping you up in its rhythm. You wandered the streets, not in any particular hurry, letting the sounds and colors of New Orleans guide your steps. The smell of crawfish and beignets filled the air, the clinking of glasses and the laughter of strangers mixing with the distant twang of a saxophone.

You had no plan, no clear direction. The days blurred into one another, and for a while, it felt like you were floating, untethered and free.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, Isaac still lingered. His presence was like a shadow that followed you, just out of reach but always there. You hadn’t heard from him since you sent the letter, and you hadn’t expected to. You had given him space, just as you had given yourself space. But the uncertainty of it all—of what you were running from, what you were running toward—hadn’t completely gone away.

New Orleans was a place for forgetting, for losing yourself in the chaos of the present. But you couldn't outrun yourself forever.

You found yourself walking toward the Mississippi River one evening, drawn by the sound of a trumpet playing nearby. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the water, and the air smelled like salt and summer. You paused, leaning over the railing, watching the slow flow of the river beneath you. For a moment, it felt like you were standing on the edge of everything—on the edge of the world, on the edge of who you were and who you were becoming.

A small group of musicians had gathered a few feet away, their instruments creating a rich, soulful melody that seemed to echo the pulse of the city itself. You closed your eyes, letting the music wash over you, its bittersweet notes reminding you of the things you had left behind. The weight of unanswered questions and untold feelings seemed to settle on your chest, but you didn’t mind.

You didn’t have the answers. And maybe, for once, that was okay.

The trumpet’s call grew louder, more urgent, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt something stir inside you—something that wasn’t fear, or uncertainty, or regret. It was hope. A quiet, stubborn hope, the kind that clung to you even when you tried to push it away.

You didn’t know where you were going, or what you were supposed to do. But maybe that wasn’t the point anymore. Maybe the point was to keep walking, to keep listening to the music, to keep moving forward, even if you didn’t have the map to guide you.

Because somewhere along the way, you knew you would find your way back to yourself. And maybe, just maybe, you would find your way back to Isaac too.

Tonight, after five months of blending into the rhythms of New Orleans, you had decided to venture into the heart of the city. The pulse of the streets called to you with a different intensity tonight—something raw and electric. Rumors had been swirling, whispers from the locals about the mythics, creatures from legends and stories, living in harmony with humans. The idea had haunted you since you first arrived, but tonight, it felt like the right time to seek the truth. Could Isaac’s grandfather’s discovery—the one that had once seemed so far-fetched, so impossible—actually be true?

You walked through the winding streets, the city alive with its usual hum—music leaking from open windows, voices carrying over the warm summer air, the clink of glasses in bars that spilled out onto the sidewalks. The heart of the city felt like a living, breathing organism, its pulse quickening as the night deepened. But there was something different tonight. A weight in the air, a strange energy that you couldn’t quite place.

You find yourself drawn to a dimly lit bar, its neon sign flickering above the door like a secret waiting to be uncovered. The street outside is alive, but the moment you step inside, it’s as though time slows down. The air is thick with smoke and the low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the faint buzz of an old jukebox playing a bluesy tune. It’s dark—deliberately so. The kind of dark where secrets can hide, and where you can lose yourself in the shadows.

The door closes behind you with a soft thud, and for a moment, you're caught in the stillness. The feeling of being outside, of being on the edge of something, is suddenly gone. Inside, everything is different. The people here are not like those you’ve seen in the rest of the city. They’re... something else.

At first, you don’t quite believe what you're seeing. Horns curl from the tops of heads, tails flicker in the dim light, and eyes gleam with an unnatural shine. Monsters. Creatures that don't belong in the world you thought you knew.

You freeze in the doorway for a moment, overwhelmed, your heart hammering in your chest. Your mind races, trying to make sense of what you're seeing. This isn’t a dream, is it? This isn’t some fanciful myth whispered about in hushed tones.

A figure brushes past you, forcing you to step back. You blink, trying to shake off the shock. But the door behind you swings shut with a heavy thud, and it’s as though the weight of the world presses in on you. It’s too much. You feel dizzy, as if the ground beneath you is shifting, and for a moment, the room spins.

The adrenaline in your veins begins to wear off, but it leaves behind a dizzying sense of disorientation. Your legs feel like jelly, barely holding you upright as the world tilts and spins around you. The fear still claws at your chest, but it’s mixed with something else now—weakness. The kind that comes when you’ve been running, fleeing, trying to escape, but you can’t outrun everything.

You stumble forward a few steps, your vision blurring, and then—before you even realize what’s happening—strong hands catch you from behind. You don’t have the strength to resist as they gently, yet firmly, guide you away from the bar. A low, soothing voice hums in your ear, but you can't quite make out the words, your mind too foggy to process anything.

“Easy now,” the voice murmurs, their voice thick with an accent, its tone smooth and calm, like the warm comfort of a lullaby. “I’ve got you.”

You try to shake your head, to gather your thoughts, but the world around you pulls further away. The pounding in your skull grows louder, and with each step, it feels like your body is growing heavier. You reach out, your hands trembling, but all you can grasp is the thin air.

Through the haze, you catch a glimpse of a figure at your side—tall, broad-shouldered. Horns. Those horns. They jut from the top of his head, curved and dark, catching the dim light of the street lamps as you pass beneath them. 

Your knees buckle, and for a moment, you think you might collapse, but figure supports you, their grip never faltering. The ground beneath your feet feels less solid with each passing second, as though the world is slipping through your fingers. You try to fight it, but it’s a losing battle.

“Stay with me,” he says softly, but there’s something in their  voice now—something that isn’t quite as playful, as teasing, as it was before. It’s... concerned? Protective?

You want to pull away, to scream at them, but your body refuses to obey. You can barely keep your eyes open as darkness begins to edge in from the corners of your vision. The last thing you see before everything fades is the curve of those horns, dark and sharp against the night sky. The last thing you hear is their voice, whispering something you can’t catch.

Then, everything goes black.

──

When you finally come to, your eyes open slowly, the world around you still hazy. The first thing you notice is the couch—a deep, sultry purple that seems to swallow you whole. Its plush fabric is soft beneath you, and for a moment, you wonder if you’re dreaming. The faint scent of something unfamiliar—a mix of incense and old wood—lingers in the air around you.

Your head throbs, a dull ache that pulses with every beat of your heart, and you feel disoriented, unsure of where you are. You try to sit up, but the movement is sluggish, your limbs heavy, as if you’re fighting through thick fog.

As your hearing gradually sharpens, you become aware of voices—arguing, bickering, sharp and tense. You strain to make sense of them.

“You brought a human—a stranger, no less. Dontis, you're far too irresponsible,” a voice scolds harshly.

“Xanny—” A voice you recognize interrupts, the same one that had saved you at the bar, pulling you from the brink of danger.

“They’re not a hunter. I’d be able to tell,” a third voice chimes in, a bit calmer but still tinged with concern. “Didn’t you say they literally passed out?”

“They’re awake—” A new voice joins the mix.

“It doesn’t matter, Dontis. I need to make sure my love’s safety is ensured.”

“And it is,” Dontis responds, a note of finality in their tone.

“They’re awake.” The voice now grows louder, more insistent, as if the discussion can no longer be ignored.

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the words hanging in the air. You can feel the eyes of whoever is in the room on you, though you still can’t see their faces. The silence is thick—uncomfortable—like they’re all waiting for you to do something, to say something.

You try to focus, to gather your bearings. You don’t know where you are, and the weight of this strange place presses down on you. The words in the air feel heavy, as if they’re charged with meaning you don’t understand. The uncertainty makes your pulse quicken, but you force yourself to take a deep breath.

Slowly, your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and you see shadows on the walls, figures moving in your periphery. It’s hard to make out details, but there’s an undeniable presence around you. You blink, clearing your vision, and finally, you manage to sit up, though it feels like you’re moving through water.

The room remains still, the silence pressing in on you like a physical weight. You can feel the gaze of everyone on you, even though you can’t see their faces clearly. The air is thick with unspoken tension, and your heart races in your chest, each beat louder than the last. You struggle to steady yourself, to make sense of the overwhelming situation, but your mind feels clouded.

You try to focus, to ground yourself in something familiar, but all the pieces of this strange place and the people around you are slipping through your fingers like sand. What is this place? Who are they? And why does it feel like you’re on the edge of something far beyond your understanding?

Your eyes begin to adjust to the dimness, shadows flickering across the walls, moving just out of the corner of your vision. You blink, willing your senses to sharpen, and slowly, like emerging from a fog, your surroundings come into focus.

The couch beneath you is plush and soft, the deep purple fabric contrasting sharply against the eerie atmosphere of the room. You glance down, your breath catching when you spot your bag and the envelopes tucked safely by your side. A brief sense of relief washes over you, but it’s fleeting. The black envelope—the one that has been the source of so many unanswered questions—is still there, close to you, like a heavy secret you can’t escape.

You shift your gaze up and find the four watching you closely. Two of them—neither of them human—stand at the edge of your vision, their features still too blurry to make out. But you can feel their presence, their intensity as if they’re waiting for something. You can’t help but feel their eyes on you, probing, as if they’re expecting an explanation you’re not sure how to give.

“Do… do you know where the nearest post office is?” The words slip from your mouth before you can stop them, the question feeling foolish as soon as it leaves your lips. You can’t even explain why you asked it. Maybe it’s just the first thing that came to mind, a desperate need to latch onto something familiar, something that feels like it might offer a way out. Isaac.

"Post office?" The voice you had earlier pinpointed to be ‘Xanny’ asks, his words dripping with suspicion. "Why would you need a post office?" There's a venomous edge to his tone, a quiet warning that you can't quite place.

The figure standing closest to Dontis—a gun tucked into their belt—scoffs audibly, the sound cutting through the tense silence. The weight of their presence is undeniable, like an impending storm. Your spine tingles, a chill creeping down the back of your neck as you subconsciously shrink into the couch, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable. It’s a futile attempt.

“Follow the Mississippi River until you see a building that looks out of place,” the figure says, their voice heavy with finality. The words hang in the air like a riddle, a puzzle that gnaws at your mind, leaving you with more questions than answers. Their tone is unyielding, but there’s something deeper there—something you can’t quite grasp yet, like the tension of a string pulled taut, waiting to snap.

You nod absently, your hand tightening around the strap of your bag, the black envelope tucked safely inside. Without another moment’s hesitation, you push yourself up from the couch and make a break for it, the words of the man—Dontis, you remind yourself—echoing in your mind like a distant echo. "Don't let the night engulf your spirit."

His voice, though distant now, lingers in your ears, like a warning that gnaws at the edges of your mind. The night feels different here, heavier, as if it holds something more than just darkness. A weight presses on you as you run, an unseen force that seems to pull at your very soul, urging you to keep moving, to escape the shadows that feel alive, watching, waiting. The city outside feels like a labyrinth, its streets twisting and turning, an endless maze that promises both answers and dangers.

You push through the doubt, through the fear that threatens to swallow you whole. Each step feels like you're running away from something just as much as you're running toward it. The world around you is dim, cast in the shadows of streetlights that flicker erratically, like a reflection of your own uncertainty. You feel a pull—an intangible thread that guides you, but not quite fully. It tugs at your heart, a constant reminder that you can’t turn back now.

What was it that you were seeking, truly? Was it the truth behind the strange encounters, the mythics, the envelope? Or was it something deeper, something more elusive—an understanding of yourself, of your place in a world you hadn’t yet begun to comprehend? The question hangs in the air like an unfinished thought, and you realize you may never truly know until you reach the end of this tangled journey.

The night grows colder, the air thicker, as if the weight of your choices is pressing down on you. You look over your shoulder, half-expecting to see shadows chasing you, but all you see is the endless stretch of the city, its streets swallowed by the night.

This was all a dream, surely. You just had to wake up.

 

──

The post office was a quiet, sterile space, a sharp contrast to the bustling, vibrant life of the city outside. The soft hum of elevator music played in the background, its light melody almost intrusive in the stillness, creating a dissonance that mirrored the turmoil inside your chest. As you walked through the aisles of postcards, your fingers brushed against the glossy surfaces, each card a reminder of places and moments you hadn’t yet explored. The weight of uncertainty pressed on your mind, and yet, you knew that you were on the verge of something—something you couldn’t quite name, but something that would guide you forward.

You stopped at a postcard that caught your attention. It illustrated a parade, bursting with color, and the words “New Orleans” sprawled across the top in the same sultry purple that had been the shade of Dontis’s couch. It felt like a sign, a strange connection to the chaos you had just left behind—a place full of life, full of noise, full of the unknown.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. What could you possibly write? What message could encapsulate all the thoughts swirling inside you? You stared at the blank space on the back of the postcard, waiting for something to come to you, some words that might make sense of all this.

And then it hit you—quiet, almost imperceptible, but there all the same.

"Don’t let the night engulf your spirit."

It was simple, but it felt right. The words seemed to carry a weight, as if they were more for you than for anyone else. Don’t let the darkness swallow you whole, don’t let it consume everything. It was a reminder—a reminder not to let the world around you, with all its chaos and uncertainty, swallow your essence. To hold onto who you were, even when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

You weren’t sure if it meant anything at all to anyone else, but it meant something to you. It was a plea, a prayer almost, for guidance, for clarity in a world that seemed to offer none. You had been running from something, from the unknown, from yourself perhaps, but maybe it was time to stop running. Maybe it was time to face whatever it was that had been pulling at you.

You scribbled the words on the postcard, the ink flowing across the paper with a sense of finality. You sealed the card in an envelope, the weight of it in your hands somehow heavier than it should have been. You didn’t know if your message would mean anything to anyone else, but in that moment, it felt like the only thing you could offer.

You stepped up to the counter, handed the envelope to the clerk, and watched as they stamped it with a finality that seemed to resonate deep within you. The journey was no longer in your hands. You had sent your message out into the world, but now, it was time to let go of it. To move forward.

 

──

And now, you found yourself in the quiet countryside outskirts of Japan, the land blanketed by a gentle snow that seemed to still the world around you. The flakes fell softly from the sky, each one unique, yet all part of the same vast, intricate pattern. The snow was a quiet reminder of the cycles of life, of how everything, no matter how fleeting, was part of something larger, something beyond your comprehension.

The journey had led you here—across cities, through tumultuous feelings, and the quiet spaces of your own heart. The winding roads, the voices of strangers, the encounters with those whose lives brushed against yours for only a moment... it all had a way of pulling you back. Back to him. Back to Isaac.

Had it all been inevitable? Had everything—the encounters, the moments, the letters—been guiding you back to him, even when you tried to outrun it? You weren’t sure. But the more you tried to escape, the more it felt like you were being pulled toward him in some unspoken way, as if the universe itself had conspired to weave your paths together, no matter how much you resisted.

You stood there, in the quiet snow, wondering if you could ever truly escape what was so deeply tied to you. Was it fate? Or was it simply the pull of your own heart, the way it could never quite let go of someone who had left a mark on your soul?

The snowflakes settled on your shoulders, and you couldn’t help but think about the nature of time. How every moment seemed to stretch into infinity when you were lost, and yet, when you look back, it passes like a fleeting breath. And in that fleeting breath, decisions were made, lives were changed. Could you ever truly escape the past? Or did it exist, silently, in the space between every step you took, waiting for you to acknowledge it?

You thought of Isaac—his presence, his words, the bond you shared, the weight of it all. It seemed inescapable. Perhaps that was the nature of love, or the nature of connection: once it forms, it can never truly be undone. You could run, you could fight it, but in the end, you were always drawn back to where you came from. To where your soul felt most alive.

And so, standing there in the soft, falling snow, you asked yourself: Was it time to return? Or had you already been there all along, caught in the pull of something inevitable, something you couldn't escape even if you tried?

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the snowflakes kiss your skin, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you finally felt at peace with the question. Perhaps it didn’t matter what had brought you back, but rather what you would do with the time you had now that you were here.

 ──

Though time and distance may stretch between two souls, they do not sever the connection, do they? The knot that had formed between you and Isaac, the one woven through quiet moments, unspoken words, and the subtle dance of your hearts—was still tightly bound, unyielding. No matter how far you traveled, how many miles you put between yourselves, your heart continued to yearn for him. It was an ache that could not be quieted, not by the calm of Japan’s snowy countryside, nor by the bustling streets of New Orleans, nor the stillness of any place you tried to escape to.

Perhaps that yearning was what led you here. To the plane, to the cab, to the train, to another cab, and then the long walk back to the manor that had once felt so full of answers. You had left. You had tried to walk away, to forge your own path, but the closer you got to him, the more you realized that perhaps there was no escaping the bond between you.

You held the vacation card from Japan in your hand, the one that had sat dormant in your bag for so long. 

As you reached the gates of Isaac's manor, a flutter of nostalgia stirred deep in your chest. It had only been less than a year, but in that time, so much had shifted within you. The space between you and him had felt like a lifetime. The memories of your time here hung in the air, each one pulling at you, urging you to move closer. But how to begin this encounter?

Should you call him? No, that would feel too detached, too impersonal, for a reunion that had so much weight. Perhaps you could scream his name, but the thought of startling him, of putting him on edge after all this time, made you hesitate. You wanted this moment to be real, to be face to face, to bridge the distance that had grown between you without words, only presence.

You leaned against the gate, your mind swirling with possibilities, and then—without warning—you stumbled forward. Your hands shot out instinctively to catch yourself, but as your foot caught the edge of the threshold, you realized something else entirely. The gate hadn’t been locked. You had expected it to be, assumed it to be an impenetrable barrier, but instead, it opened easily, as if it had been waiting for you all along.

Your heart quickened, a sudden jolt of realization flooding through you. This was fate. The gate had been unlocked, just as you had been drawn back here. It wasn’t coincidence, was it? It couldn’t be. The universe had a way of bringing you back to the places you were meant to be, even when you tried to walk away.

You paused for a moment at the threshold, your breath catching in your throat. Was this the moment where everything would change? Was this the point where you crossed a line you could never return from, or was this a return to something unfinished, a chapter that had never truly been closed?

Fate, you thought. How often had you heard that word, thrown around carelessly by others, by yourself even? But now, standing here, feeling the heavy pull of something far beyond your control, you wondered—was fate real, or was it just the stories we told ourselves to explain the inexplicable?

The gate creaked open slightly more, an invitation, or perhaps a challenge. The uncertainty of it lingered in the air. Was it truly fate that had brought you back to this place, or was it simply the inescapable pull of the bond that existed between you and Isaac, the one you had tried so desperately to outrun?

You stepped forward, your feet moving without thinking. The path that lay ahead was uncertain, but somehow, that felt right. Sometimes, the most important steps are the ones we take without knowing what the ground will be beneath us. And as you passed through the gate, the feeling settled within you that this was where you were meant to be, for better or worse, despite the turbulence and the longing that had guided you here.

You ran, the snow crunching under your feet, the cold air biting at your skin. Each step felt like a moment of release, of finally letting go of the uncertainty that had plagued you for so long. The path ahead was still unknown, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t mind. The unknown was no longer something to fear—it was something to embrace, something to move toward.

The snow beneath your feet made the ground slippery, and you stumbled slightly as you neared the front door of the manor. The chill in the air nipped at your cheeks, and the cold was sharp against your lungs, but you barely noticed. All that mattered was the way your heart raced, the way your body moved on its own, drawn inexorably toward the place where your soul had always felt tethered.

You reached the door, breathless, your heart pounding not just from the run but from the weight of everything that had led you here. You raised your hand to knock, but paused. A small thought flickered through your mind, something mundane but oddly comforting: You’ll need to remind Isaac to salt the pavement so the ice melts easier next time.

The idea of returning to the small, everyday things—the moments that had once felt so ordinary—felt grounding. It was as if, in this whirlwind of emotions and decisions, the simple act of being with Isaac again could somehow bring balance, could bring you back to yourself.

You knocked, the sound resonating in the cold air, and waited. The warmth of the house seemed to invite you in, a stark contrast to the icy world outside. You could feel it, just beyond the door—the tension, the unanswered questions—but more than that, you felt the pull of that soul-tied connection that had never truly left you.

The woman answered the door, her posture slumped, a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging around her like an aura, a cigarette in between her fingers. There was a weariness in her eyes, a kind of detachment that seemed at odds with the warmth of the house you remembered. The smell of stale tobacco clung to her clothes, as if it had become part of her skin, a permanent scent that spoke of time spent in places long forgotten.

But what hit you the hardest wasn’t her appearance or the smell—it was the ache that bloomed in your chest, sudden and sharp. You had hoped, foolishly, that when you returned, things would be as they were before. But now, standing here, facing this stranger in Isaac’s doorway.  Questions flooded your mind like a storm, each one crashing against the others in an overwhelming rush. Had Isaac moved on already? Had he replaced you so easily, without a second thought? Was he truly capable of leaving everything behind, as though it had never mattered? The weight of those thoughts pressed down on you, each question a stone sinking deeper into your chest.

Your heart twisted painfully in your ribcage. How long had you spent running from the truth of your own feelings? How long had you buried your doubts, your fears, your longing? And now, in this moment, everything you had carefully built—everything you had convinced yourself to believe—seemed to crumble before you, falling apart with a single breath.

The woman before you didn’t speak right away. She simply stared, her eyes narrowing as if she was trying to place you, to figure out whether you were a threat, an intruder, or merely a fool. Her silence was suffocating, the air between you thick with questions left unanswered. Her gaze was sharp, like a blade, calculating, unyielding.

You felt her scrutinize every inch of you, every tremor in your stance. What was she waiting for? Was she waiting for you to speak, to show your true purpose here? Or was she simply testing how long you could stand in this uncomfortable space between words?

You couldn’t bear the silence any longer. You forced the words out, each one feeling fragile on your tongue, as if speaking them aloud would break something within you. “I’m—I’m looking for Isaac.”

The words left your mouth, but even as they did, you felt the weight of them shift, uncertain, as if they belonged to someone else entirely. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of how far you had come, how much you had hoped—and how little you truly knew.

The woman didn’t react at once. She just stood there, her eyes piercing into you, measuring you, sizing you up as if trying to determine whether you were worthy of an answer. You could feel her judgment—heavy, thick, like the smoke curling from the cigarette in her hand. It wrapped itself around you, choking you in its silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke, her voice flat, almost uninterested. “Who?”

The word hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. Who? Of course, she knew who Isaac was. She must have. But the uncertainty in her voice, the casual dismissal—it threw you off balance. You furrowed your brows, confusion lacing your thoughts, but you pressed on, trying to hold onto the fragile thread of your purpose.

“Issac. Isaac Rhodes.” You said it again, firmer this time, though it felt as though you were repeating something in a dream, something that didn’t quite make sense.

The woman stared at you for a long moment, her gaze now calculating, as though weighing your words. The silence stretched longer, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on you, suffocating you. You wanted to ask her why she wasn’t answering, why she wasn’t reacting, but you knew better than to speak again. You could feel the tension building in the air, so thick you could almost taste it.

Then, with the slow, deliberate motion of someone who had all the time in the world, she lifted the cigarette to her lips and blew out a long stream of smoke. Her eyes never left yours as she did, and for a moment, you felt like you were trapped in her gaze—held there, suspended in time.

Finally, she spoke, and the words hit you with all the force of a gut-punch, each one leaving you breathless, suspended between disbelief and horror.

“He’s been dead for several months now.”

The words echoed in your mind, reverberating with a finality that shattered everything you thought you knew. Dead? Isaac—gone? The very idea seemed impossible, like a cruel joke your mind refused to accept. Everything you’d built, all the steps you’d taken, the places you had run to, had been in search of him. And now this? It was as if the universe had torn the ground from beneath you, leaving you suspended in an abyss, the air thick and suffocating around you.

You couldn’t grasp the weight of it. How could you? It felt like the fabric of time itself had been ripped apart—Isaac was dead. The words had no meaning, no place in the world you had fought so hard to understand. And yet, they hung there in the air, heavy as iron, pressing down on your chest with a weight you couldn’t escape.

Your heart trembled, a dull ache that spread through you like a slow-burning fire. In that moment, it felt as though everything you had ever known about love, about connection, had been a fleeting illusion—nothing more than a dream you were still trying to wake from. The dance of your soul, so sure of its steps, so certain of its path, suddenly faltered, tripping over a truth you hadn’t been ready to face. It was as if the rhythm of everything you had believed in had come to a screeching halt.

The world around you blurred, the edges of reality slipping away. You tried to breathe, but the air felt thin, distant, as if all sound had been muffled, leaving you in a quiet, suffocating void. The woman’s presence, her cold indifference, was like a distant echo now. You were no longer connected to her, to this place, to the world you had once known. Only the deep, gnawing emptiness of the truth remained, pulling you deeper into its grip.

How could something so final, so absolute, be true? You had felt him, the pull of his presence, the weight of his absence. You had searched for him, chased pieces of him across continents, across time, and now, in this moment, it seemed all for nothing. Had he ever been real? Had the love between you ever truly existed, or was it just a fleeting illusion, a trick of the light?

You tried to reach for something—anything—to hold on to. But it was as if the very fabric of your soul was unraveling, the threads of your existence slipping through your fingers like sand. You had always believed that love, that connection, was something eternal, something that could never be severed. But now, standing in the cold silence of this woman’s doorway, you were forced to confront the most brutal of truths: All things are temporary.

“His mail keeps coming here though—” The woman’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, her tone casual, almost indifferent. She steps aside, and with a practiced hand, she picks up a pile of mail near the door, sorting through it carelessly.

But it’s the sight beneath her fingers that makes your heart stop. There, nestled among the letters, are the vacation cards you had sent—one from New Orleans, another from Italy. The edges of the cards are slightly bent, as if they’d been sitting there for a while, waiting. Waiting for him to open them, to read them. To understand the words you had carefully written, the thoughts you had sent across the world to reach him.

Your hand tightens around the card still in your grasp, the one from Japan, the ink from your hastily written message still fresh. And then, the truth hits you like a sharp blade to the chest.

Isaac had never seen them. The cards. Your thoughts. The messages. All of the things you had sent across the globe, with the hope that he might somehow, in some way, feel connected to you again, had never reached him. He had never held those pieces of you in his hands, never read the words you had poured into them, never understood the weight of what you were trying to say.

And for a brief, horrifying moment, you feel completely and utterly invisible. As if all your efforts had been for nothing. The love, the longing, the distance, the journeys you had taken—everything had been in vain. Isaac had been gone, and you had been chasing shadows.

You take one step, then another, your feet moving almost automatically as if your body is trying to distance itself from the weight of everything you’ve just learned. The cold air bites at your skin, but it does nothing to numb the ache in your chest. The world feels impossibly heavy now, the road before you stretching out into an uncertain future, filled with the echoes of what once was.

“Hey!—” The woman’s voice catches your ear, a sharp, choking sound that catches in her throat. “—You okay?”

The words break through the fog for a moment, but they feel distant, disconnected. You don’t stop, don’t turn around. There’s nothing left to say. Nothing left to do.

As you walk away, the weight of the black envelope in your hand presses against your palm, a tangible reminder of everything you’ve just lost. It feels like a cruel joke, the weight of the envelope stark against the emptiness in your heart. You hadn’t even realized you had grabbed it from the pile of Isaac’s mail. The black wax seal feels strangely cold between your fingers, as if it’s mocking you.

──

The world around you feels like it's closing in as you sit on that bench, the cold air sharp against your skin, biting at your chest like the ache inside you. The black envelope, now broken open, feels like the last tether you have to Isaac, and yet, it’s nothing but a cold, clinical document—a finality that doesn’t belong to you. Your fingers tremble as you hold it, trying to make sense of the words, but they blur before your eyes, the paper feeling heavier with each passing second.

Inheritance Documents.

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. The air feels thick with grief, suffocating. You try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it’s impossible. Your chest tightens, and the tears—silent at first—begin to sting your eyes. You blink furiously, willing them back, but they come anyway.

The document lays out the legalities—Isaac’s final wishes. The manor, the estate, the property—all of it now belongs to you. The weight of the inheritance feels heavier than you could have ever imagined. You are left with his possessions, his legacy, but none of the pieces that truly mattered—the connection, the love, the understanding you once shared.

You had come here looking for closure, for answers, but now it seems as if you have only inherited the hollow remnants of a life that was never truly yours. The idea of ownership, of legacy, of what belongs to whom—it all feels strange now. What is inheritance, really? Is it just the passing down of things, of titles, of material wealth? Or is it something more profound? A passing of the heart, a handover of memories, of connections?

Isaac’s gone.

The realization that Isaac, the man you had loved, the man whose absence had gnawed at your soul since you left, is truly gone, hits you like an avalanche. It’s unbearable, this weight, this suffocating grief that consumes you. For months, you had run, thinking if you could keep moving, if you could just outrun the ache, maybe it would go away. But now, standing here, holding the final remnants of his life in your hands, you realize that the ache will never leave.

Tears spill over, hot and unbidden, sliding down your cheeks. They blur the words on the paper, but you don’t care. The letter, the legal jargon—it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. You squeeze your eyes shut, but the weight of the world presses down on your shoulders, and the sobs tear their way out of you, raw and unrelenting.

The cold doesn’t numb you. The night doesn’t silence the roar of grief that fills your chest, an agonizing, endless wail that you can’t silence. You put your hands to your face, as if trying to keep the world from seeing you fall apart, but the sobs come faster, harder.

How could he be gone?

You had left, yes, but it wasn’t supposed to end like this. You had come back, hoping for some kind of reconciliation, some kind of peace, but this? This was a cruel twist of fate.

You had hoped that maybe, just maybe, you could step back into his life, that the love you once shared hadn’t evaporated, hadn’t been buried in the years that had passed. But now all you hold is a set of papers, a man’s final wishes, and the bitter reality that you may never understand what happened, what changed. You had been so sure you would find him again, that there was something to hold onto. But now, it’s as if your entire existence has been reduced to dust.

You bend forward, your head dropping into your hands, and the tears come harder now, your body wracked with silent sobs. The ache in your chest is a hollow echo, a reminder of everything you’ve lost. The love, the connection, the moments you had hoped to find again—they are gone, and all that remains is this gnawing emptiness.

You had thought you were strong enough, that you could carry this pain. But now, as you sit there, alone in the cold, the weight of it feels unbearable. The loneliness, the grief—it’s like a heavy cloak you can’t shed.

And in that moment, you realize that maybe this is what life is—an endless series of inheritances. Not of things, but of grief, of love, of pain. The things we carry when the people we love are gone, the things we inherit even when we don’t want them. The burden of memories, of moments that are forever locked in time, and the knowledge that we can never truly let go, no matter how hard we try.

You sit there, shivering, your tears staining the paper in your hands, and for the first time, you allow yourself to feel it all. The grief, the loss, the love that never fades, no matter how far you run.

──

author's note: credits to @claiestve and this post, thank you for the idea!

just in case there’s any confusion, it was xanthus, love, dontis, and hunter who was bickering.

[hetalianskywalker]

Waiting

Pairing: Gil-galad x fem elf reader

Summary: I listened to “Would You Fall in Love with Me Again” from Epic the musical and went I need Gil-galad to say Penelope’s lines in Valinor.

Authors Note: I would be willing to write a version based on the whole song, but I couldn’t think of an equivalent for the marriage bed question that Gil-galad could ask the reader. So if anyone wants more, feel free to help me brainstorm. This is also my first time writing for this fandom even though I love Lotr and RoP so sorry if it’s rough.

Warnings: fluff. Spoilers for the end of his story line from The Silmarillion and other middle earth works, but based off his characterization in RoP. Referenced passed death. Kissing. Very self indulgent.

Music:

Word Count: 861

“Only my wife knew that.” Gil-galad uses that soft relaxed smile he saved for only those closest to him. His palm rests gently on the side of your face; his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. You relish in the sensation of the warmth of his hand mixed with the chill of his many rings on your skin; something you hadn’t even realized you missed. “So I guess that makes her you.”

Suddenly you're not in Valinor anymore, standing in the gardens of the Noldor palace in Tirion; you’re back in Lindon long ago. When the cities were bustling with elves and peace felt like it would last forever. Before Sauron had returned and it all went to hell. When it became so much harder to wash away your husband’s worry for just a moment. Before Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor and your husband, died.

The you of the early second age sneaks out into the surrounding forest at night for a moment of peace and quiet with your husband. You playfully half drag him along by the hand beneath the starlit sky and tree branches; his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he indulges you. You both know Elrond will say something along with giving one of his half teasing judgmental expressions in the morning, but you both decide to cross that bridge when you get there.

You feel like a completely different person now. There is hatred and pride intertwined in your feelings about that. But right now you feel so much lighter than you have at any point in the over three thousand years of being apart from Gil-galad. Maybe, you are still that lovestruck elven queen somehow.

He’s really here; I’m really here. Those thoughts and realizations continue to spiral through your mind and soul. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you watch his glossy eyes hold you in the moonlight.

“I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don't care how, where, or when. No matter how long it's been, you're mine.” The whisper slices into your very being: warm, desperate, and full of the same longing you had felt for him across the sea. He had stared east just as much as you had stared west. Waiting.

His forehead leans against yours as his hands move to your shoulders; he gives a soft squeeze, reassuring himself you are really there. Gil-galad takes a shaky breath and you notice yours is the same. His eyes close and you can’t help but smile as tears trickle down your face. You know that expression all too well: that look of concentration when he was praying he’s going to say the right words. You had so deeply missed seeing these little things.

“Don't tell me you're not the same person.” Your husband begs in the smallest voice you have ever heard him use. Your hands move to cup his face, unsure of how to give him comfort after so long apart, but needing to try. He leans into your touch as he opens his eyes again; a couple tears escape.

“You're always my wife and I've been waiting…” His voice is stronger now, summoning the High King you had followed into battle on more than one occasion and would do so still, but you are thankful to never have to again.

Gil-galad lets that word hang in the air between you for a long time. It carries so much weight and far too much sorrow. He swallows and you smile fondly up at him. He basks in the joy of you not pushing him to be faster in conversation; you always cared enough to wait for his genuine thoughts, not just what the king’s word was to mitigate the next disaster.

“Waiting…” He tries again, scarcely believing said wait is finally over. You are finally here with him.

“Ereinion.” The encouragement makes him grin as you wipe away a few more of his tears. The love you expressed in the singular use of one of his birth names makes him smile and his heart feels full, complete.

“For you.” You both linger in that moment, wanting it to end and never end at the same time. Your eyes flicker to his mouth and back to his eyes. You begin to slowly pull him toward you, but his mouth surges for yours before either of you can really process it. It’s warm, messy, and real. When you finally pull apart, his arms have wrapped tightly around you and your hands cling to his robes.

The wait is over. Finally.

“How long has it been?” His voice brings your thoughts back in order. You give a soft chuckle as you both pant, knowing you both know the answer already.

“Three thousand. One hundred. And forty one years.” The sorrow lingers in every word even as you hold on to one another for dear life. You had been on one of the last ships to leave for the undying lands, but there isn’t time to regret that now. What’s done is done and you are together now.

“I love you.” Your two voices say as one.

[numberonetacostan]

I remember reading a headcanon once where the contestants can only be programed to know the emotions that Mephone knows (not he unable to feel them, just knowing what they are when they do feel them) and romantic love was brought up (as well as the other not platonic kind but we don't need to get into that) but basically they'd be on their own to figure out what it was (with the theme of this blog it's kind of inevitable this gets related to tacopad/Tacomic, although more tacomic here tbh because Mepad could probably just pull up the dictionary definition or something, if that would even help I'm not exactly sure)

Hello!!!^^ Welcome, and thank you for sending in an ask!!! :] I am unfortunately having a bit of trouble reading the first part, so I apologize if I get anything mixed up.

The contestants learning about romantic love on their own is a super sweet idea actually?? We see in canon that payjay are already figuring it out, and it's interesting to note that our first canon couple consists of a season 1 exclusive character and a season 1 + 4th s3 boot who didn't stay on indefinite island. It's almost as if the game gets in the way of the contestants forming healthy, loving relationships. Weird.

But yes, the contestants would be on their own for learning about and navigating romantic love!! There will be a lot of self-discovery going on post-canon, and this would fit right in!! I'll write a bit about Tacomic and Tacopad since you mentioned them, but I actually don't mind talking about other characters or ships at all!!!^^ I love every ii character, other than maybe Salt, but then I feel bad about leaving her out so. Taco just happens to be my favorite :).

SO Tacomic would uh stumble and fumble around a lot I think. They're still working on their friendship at first, Taco has a lot to learn, and she's currently grieving Mepad. Mic still has growing to do too, even if she's gotten better and grown since s2 episode 14, yeah? I think it gets easier as things go on for them. Taco always has her little crush on Mic, but it's Taco she is shoving those feelings as far down as she can, because she doesn't want to lose Mic again. It would be when Mic's falling for Taco that things would really be getting started, because I think Mic seeing Taco changing and working so hard to be better because Mic is so important to her might make Mic's heart explode one day and she realizes oh she wants Taco. She probably had some feelings during their partnership, but that dynamic wasn't as healthy or strong in it's emotional connection, so Mic ends up falling again later on.

TACOPAD!!! Uh neither of them are too incredible with their own emotions. I mean, Taco is just bad with feelings in general, but Mepad is a pretty great therapist, yeah? But it's important to keep in mind how his emotional range and intensity has changed since the beginning of season 2. He's been watching the contestants all along, learning about feelings from Toilet, but his own are an entire other ballpark!! And we see how intense these feelings are, he loves all the contestants so much that he died for them. And intense feelings can be a lot for a guy who used to feeling very little at all!!! I am a Tacopad learning about feelings together truther actually. Mepad helps Taco to manage hers and express them in a healthy way and Taco makes Mepad feel a whole hell of a lot and helps him learn to communicate his at all!! I have so much to say about Tacopad. I can't believe we only got four months of it instead of four years as god intended based on the old season 2 upload schedule. I have so many feelings about them!!!!!

[whateverisbeautiful]

This is a big one, so I am sorry! There’s a creator on this platform and others that says cruel things about Judith, and though I am Judith’s biggest fan, as she is such a mini Michonne, sometimes I agree with them and here is why. The conversation that Rick gives to Michonne when he tells her about Judith not being his child surrounds obligation. The only reason Rick tells Michonne this is because it was an answer to the question, “ What kind of a life?” Then he proceeds to tell her “ I had to accept that( her being Shane’s child) so that I could keep her alive.” And it wouldn’t mean anything, if the next transition wasn’t him equating that acceptance to accepting living under Negans boot, as he then proceeds to say, “ this is how we live now, I had to accept that TOO, so I could keep everyone else alive.” He then doubles down by saying, “ you have to accept this, or it won’t work.” I’ve always ignored Judith’s resentment because she is my favorite but your breakdowns have got me considering some uncomfortable truths because though Rick is her dad, that conversion was the only time he’s ever said he loves her and it was in defense of him telling Michonne that he had to accept her. I’ve always ignored the idea of him saying he had to in order to keep her alive, because it hurts to think of our Judy as an obligation, but that stings, him saying that keeping her alive was only allowed by him accepting who she was. I tried to ignore it but then I realized everytime they showed Rick really thinking or closing in on Judy, his thoughts of Shane were close by. Everytime Rick asked about her in TWOL, it was only about her life. He knew she was alive in TWOL, be decided to die without even dreaming about her. Rick saying, “ this is how we live now,” was him expressing to Michonne that accepting a child who is the product of betrayal is how he has to live now. Maybe that person is getting to me, idk, but I will say, their world is not black or white and Rick grimes is a human being, and based on his actions, I could understand why it would be hard to raise a child who was born out of an affair, as Judith isn’t adopted by him in the traditional sense; her existence does betray Rick. Do you think Rick holds any resentment? Sorry, I know this question is hard.

This one is definitely tough. But I respect the way you communicated your thoughts on it. I feel protective of Judith’s character as well. There’s often so much commentary trying to ignorantly discredit her role in the Grimes family when adopted children are equally loved in so many families around the world.

I think Judith initially stirred up a lot of different emotions for Rick. But I truly believe Rick fully embraced Judith as his own without resentment very early on. I ended up having more thoughts on this than I realized, and I wrote out the rest here ⬇️💗: 

I remember there was this deleted TWD scene during that time when Rick was isolating himself after Lori died. From what I can remember, Rick takes a moment to come up and check on Carl and then he hears or sees the baby but doesn’t really acknowledge her as he returns back to the tombs. At the earliest stage of Judith’s arrival, it’s understandable that Rick was grappling with a lot. Due to the circumstances, Rick did have to accept/choose Judith as his child in a different way than he had to accept Carl when he was born or even RJ when he learned of him.

However, I think when Rick shared with Michonne how he had to accept that Judith wasn’t his so that he could keep her alive, I personally interpret that as Rick saying he knew he was going to love this child as his own and he needed to be able to do that under the reality of the situation rather than having to pretend she’s his blood in order for him to love her.

I think Rick didn’t want to feel like the whole reason I’m loving her and raising her is because I’m ignoring her parentage - he needed to accept that he could wholeheartedly love her as his daughter even with knowing her origins. And he likens that to the Negan situation because he’s saying we have to be able to accept living under this Negan reign rather than only being able to go on if we’re in denial of the reality. 

When Lori was pregnant with Judith, Rick had already been committed to raising this baby while deep down knowing she was Shane and Lori’s child. I think realizing he’d now be raising this newborn in an apocalypse without her mother was a very difficult thing to process after Lori didn’t make it. (Fortunately, Judith’s mother Michonne was quickly on her way). It’s completely human for Rick to have felt a bit aggrieved by the responsibility placed on his shoulders because the two people closest to him were disloyal. Having negative feelings attached to that betrayal makes complete sense.

But from everything we’ve seen of Rick, I feel like one; he chose not to view Judith as a negative representation of two people he loved but as a representation of the positive. His relationship with Shane and Lori crashed and burned in the end, but they were still people Rick sincerely cared about and once they were gone I think Rick ultimately chose to see Judith as the bit of good in them remaining.

And two; we know Rick is someone who fully commits once he decides someone is family. So I think when he holds Judith in that prison, he decides that Judith is his daughter and he never looked back nor held resentment toward her or having to raise her.

Yes, he felt an obligation to Judith but not because she was his burden - because she was his baby. And I think he definitely treated her as such throughout all the seasons.

TWD didn’t give Rick and Judith much screen time so I think the lack of “I love you” remarks just had to do with it not being shown rather than it not being felt. Similar to how Rick and Michonne only said “I love you” once in TWD despite it being very clear that it’s something they said to each other often (which I love that TOWL pretty much confirmed this with the way Rick stayed saying I love you in his letters.).

In TOWL, Rick had individual phone images made of Judith (again, I’d so love to hear how Rick described Judith and Michonne to the portraitist because I just know how he spoke of them would have been really loving and heartfelt), and when he reunites with Michonne the first word out of his mouth is Judith. He loved and missed Judith deeply, and I always feel like the reason Judith came up less while Rick was away was largely because it was just too painful as a parent to think about his little girl and not know if she was okay or even alive.

He knew Judith was with Michonne so that probably gave him some hope that she was still here, but also kids don’t tend to fare well in their world so even just the “what if…” about something bad happening to Judith was probably too much to even think about for long. I think he asks specifically if she’s alive first because of that. And then I always love his response when Michonne says she’s okay and he repeats it and gets choked up upon finally knowing that his daughter is okay. That meant something immense to him to hear that Judith was doing well. 

And afterward, he again wants to confirm that Judith is okay rather than just alive.

I know I always tend to lean toward thinking Rick and Michonne take the high road or have emotionally mature responses in the various scenarios presented but that’s largely because I genuinely think that’s the type of commendable noble character they both have. Even in all the complexity of their humanness and difficult emotions, I think their heart for others ultimately is what prevails.

So to more succinctly answer the question - I don’t think Rick holds resentment or loves Judith out of obligation. And if anything, Judith played a part in saving Rick. I think about that one scene where Rick is reading Carl’s letter while watching Michonne and Judith below. The staging of that is very intentional because as Rick has to come to terms with losing such a core part of his heart in Carl, he’s able to look down and see that two instrumental parts of his heart are still here.

And if Rick could be asked, I feel he’d say Michonne and Judith are what saved him after that loss and they along with RJ now are what make life worth living. 

[rileys-battlecats]

Hope i did him justice, also added what i used for references in the corner :>

YOOOOOO ITS MY LITTLE GUYYYY this looks amazing!! Thank you for drawing him!!!

[sskk-manifesto]

ಥ‿ಥ

[hp-lonesome-actual-art]

Another batch or Mr. Puzzles quick sketches. I kept forgetting to draw his side pocket in the last couple ones. Random character featured in the little comic-ish Live Interview is some version of doodlesona. Can’t guarantee the dialogue will be believable/sound in character for Puzzles because honestly I’m still working on understanding his talking style and when he sarcastically jokes around or when he chooses to be serious and drop performance act. But in the off chance you wanna read it goes from left to right with reading

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

hate how im now at a point where im legit like kicking my legs and grinning like an idiot over fictional characters SEND HELP

[hecksupremechips]

Ashton Frey is literally so autistic though like it’s got me making organized lists here let’s see

He’s carefully mastered the art of observation and reading people cuz he was so bored as a kid being forced to attend large social gatherings and he isolated himself and just studied the way people interacted with each other to figure out why they behaved the way they did. Despite this, he’s still really bad at understanding social cues (he is never able to tell when Rebecca is upset or what could’ve caused it, he can’t word anything properly, he talks in such a logical way that he comes off as uncaring and he doesn’t notice when it upsets people, etc) and generally doesn’t interact with most people

He’s very intelligent but hated school because the system was structured so horribly. He fell asleep in professor Andrew’s class frequently but once the professor found a way to appeal to his interests he became super committed and passionate

He’s horrible, just absolutely horrible with words and communication lol. He fumbles and stutters and says a lot of mean things on accident. He mostly communicates through his actions and it’s why he comes off as cruel and uncaring to those who don’t pick up on it and kind and considerate to those who do pick up on it (my favorite example is the difference between Rebecca and Isabella’s feelings towards him. Rebecca relies on Ashton to tell her how he feels and because he doesn’t communicate very good verbally, she assumes he doesn’t care about her when he in fact cares a great deal. Isabella on the other hand is able to get on his level a bit more, like understanding that even though he teased her about the letter he still took his day off to help her in the way he thought was best and he gave her ice cream and the charm because he cares, and she is able to see just how loving he really is)

Earning his trust isn’t easy but once you get it he WILL cling to you like crazy and shower you with memes and bad puns and do anything to make you happy

He gets a lot of attention for being hot but he’s usually oblivious to it or finds the attention annoying. He also tends to turn people off with his personality

He fixates so hard on what’s important to him that it’s detrimental to his physical and mental health and he shuts out everything else to pursue his interests

He categorizes his life into boxes and HATES when things slip out of their needed space. He finds himself lying a lot to the people important to him because he’s so desperate to keep them away from the other parts of his life. He is easily transformed by the people in his line of work and finds himself becoming like them. Also he’s kinda gullible in his job and doesn’t realize he’s been manipulated by his boss since day one cuz teehee cops are fucking assholes and he has a naive sense of justice and easily believes everything his boss tells him and it makes him the perfect pawn for some abuse (seriously i hate chief lee so fucking much god I hate him Ashton baby I’m sorry but you’re being manipulated and your boss is a monster and you need to get a better career dude)

He’s very insecure and scared of rejection and beats himself up for minor flaws. He also has trouble understanding his feelings and expressing them he tries to logic his way out of feeling and only cries when he’s hit absolute rock bottom and is like. Told that he needs to cry because he’s clearly not holding up well and only then is he able to

He’s got a damn good memory and remembers every obscure thing about his friends

He’s very attached to objects and gives them names (Shirley and Ophelia my beloved)

[lgbtlunaverse]

I've seen a good number of people ask a question along the lines of "why do characters like Falin and hate Laios when they're so similar?" and i've also seen good analysis on the differences in how the touden siblings carry themselves that would, despite their shared traits, make a person gravitate to one more than the other.

But i feel like we've overseen one very central thing here.

People don't like Falin

Like... the average person in dungeon meshi doesn't like Falin. She was deeply ostrasized by her home village, in magic school she had zero friends before Marcille and the others generally saw her as strange and a bit offputting.

Characters like Namari and Chilchuck like her well enough but not necessarily more than any other member of their party, including Laios. Neither Kabru nor his party think much of her. The canaries don't give a fuck about her. Toshiro's retainers don't see her as anything else than the weird foreign girl their boss has a crush on.

The reason we think everyone loves Falin is because, despite all the indifferent side characters, the 2 most important and central characters of the story are Laios and Marcille. Who are NOT representative of the average attitudes to Falin! But necromancy georg number 1 and 2 are our main eyes into the story and they love Falin so much that it colours our perspective of the whole world.

The only side character who qualifies as liking Falin and not Laios is Toshiro (at least at first, as he ends the story on much better terms with Laios) and that says a lot about his character, with him drifting to the quiet Falin precisely because of her oddness but being both uncomfortable with and deeply jealous of Laios' much more open expression of that oddness. Because he's a repressed guy from a culture where etiquette is incredibly important.

But like I said, that's a specific aspect of him, not to the world at large.

Because there's also people that click more with laios than with Falin.

Kabru, for one, who is initially distrustful of laios but clearly also deeply fascinated by him and drawn to him.

Minor spoilers, and you don't have to read too deeply into this, because I don't think Kabru particularly dislikes Falin or anything. But it's interesting that when he talks about his distrust of the toudens in ch.32 he's talking about them both. But his big friendship declaration in chapter 76 is aimed squarely at Laios, he doesn't say "you and your sister" he says "you"

And Senshi!! He instantly clicks with Laios, well before he does so with anyone else in the party– who he also becomes friends with, it just takes a bit longer– specifically because they bond over their shared special interest in monsters!! Senshi is kind towards Falin and cares for her wellbeing, but he also... doesn't know her. The reason he is even here, helping to save her, is because he and Laios bonded over monsters and he wants to help his new friends out!

Of course, the theme of neurodivergent isolation is very present in Laios' story. I'm not denying that. He does turn people off, without meaning to and unable to fully understand why! But so does Falin. And just like there are people who like her despite of or even because of those traits, there are people who do the same with him.

In conclusion: "Average person loves Falin and hates Laios" factoid actually statistical error. Average person is neutral on both Falin and Laios. Georcille, Laiorg and Geoshiro, who live in the dungeon and think over 10,000 Falin-loving thoughts a day, are statistical outliers adn should not have been counted.