#I was gonna put in a gif of some hot springs but couldn’t fit it in…

[puppypawprince]

surprise yumoto hakone board for @gentlebliss

❤️ x - x - x | x - x | x - x - x ❤️

[mightymorphingayagenda]

So I received an ask a few months ago about my thoughts on nessian having kids and then last night I had a lot of wine and this happened so, enjoy!?

This was one of those little moments Cassian would bundle up, like some cherished Christmas ornament, and tuck inside his heart forever. If his heart remained in one piece. It was so full he was worried it might break.

The smell of Nesta’s perfume and shortbread had lured him to the kitchen, where he’d found her sat at the table, bottom lip tucked between her teeth and brow furrowed in concentration as she’d iced a cookie. The beam of her high cheek bones a blushing pink in the warmth.

Cue tears brimming.

And he couldn’t even blame it on the presence of any smoke because by some Christmas miracle, his girlfriend had managed to cook something without nearly burning his house down.

Júlia had tucked herself into his girlfriend’s lap, and was mimicking her little mannerisms. Brows dramatically knotted and biting her lip. She’d even clearly tried to match their pyjamas, Nesta’s lose fitting red pants and white tank top a mirror to his daughter’s own long sleeve white shirt and fuzzy red pants.

The two of them were hunched over a cookie each, armed with little icing tubes and humming along to Mud’s ‘Lonely This Christmas’.

“One of those better be for me or it’s the naughty list for you too.”

“Daddy!” Júlia whipped her little head round, grinning excitedly in the way that children did- less actual smile more oh my god look at all my teeth.

“The one and only,” he smiled right back, picking her up as she tried to literally jump from the chair to Nesta’s terror and amusement.

He made a little mwa noise with every kiss he planted on her cheeks, and she was giggling in his arms uncontrollably. Probably hopped up on sugar if the crumbs on the table and the green frosting in her dark hair was anything to go by.

Finally he stopped and his daughter didn’t miss a beat. “Daddy me and Nesta made cookies and we even made the icing on our own and it’s all different colours and she’s really good decorating and she taught me how to draw a snow man!”

It was impossible to determine where one word ended and the other began. Perhaps his daughter had invented her own word several hundred syllables long.

“Can I see?” Cassian pleaded excitedly, putting Júlia down when she nodded so hard he was a little concerned her head might fall off.

“Hi you,” Nesta’s voice like velvet hummed soft and low as he leaned down to give her a chaste kiss, murmuring his own “hey, sweetheart”. Her lips tasted like sugar and he swore he saw a few granules dusted through her thick hair as he pulled back to asses one of Júlia’s creations.

“No way you made that!”

“I did I can show you I’ll show you how to draw a snowman too. And it’s harder than with pencils daddy, because you have to squeeze but you can’t squeeze it too much.”

“She’s got very steady hands,” Nesta said, like she was proud, her head falling back against Cassian’s chest where he stood behind her. He began massaging her shoulders gently. “She could be a brain surgeon,” his girlfriend continued.

Cassian was dangerously close to getting all choked up again.

He’d been a little worried asking Nesta to keep an eye on Júlia this evening. Not because he thought she’d let his six year old start licking plug sockets or anything. It was just they’d never hung out just the two of them before. He and Nesta had only been together eight months and he’d only introduced his daughter to his girlfriend two months ago.

But he hadn’t had anyone else to call when the snow had started falling with a vengeance on his way back from picking up a Christmas tree. It wasn’t Mor’s week with Júlia so she and Emerie had booked a Christmas mini-break, and his brothers were at a conference. So he’d called Nesta.

She’d been more than happy to pick up Lia from school and keep an eye on her. Almost as happy as she’d been nervous. He’d read it in her voice even through the phone. Nesta had never wanted kids, she’d told him as much, and it had put the brakes on their first date for a while. But Júlia had a mum, two in fact, and the idea that there was any pressure on Nesta in that department had slowly began to dissipate.

Still, Cassian had felt a tiny bit...scared. A bit crushed by his wanting them to adore each other as much as he adored them. So walking in and finding them like that, it had taken the wind out of him.

“I am going to be a baker!” Júlia proclaimed from her own seat now, knees tucked beneath her so she could reach the table.

“What will you call you bakery?” Nesta asked with genuine interest. It was lovely. She spoke to Júlia the same way she would an adult. There was no entertaining or humouring his daughter’s insane babbling, she treated every word as though it held the weight that of a wisened librarian’s might.

“Lia’s Bakery and I will you give you free cookies!”

“What about me? Do I get free cookies?”Cassian enquired. “I haven’t had a single one of your amazing cookies yet.”

“You weren’t here! And you didn’t help make them so I don’t think you should get any.”

“I was getting our Christmas tree!”

“Yes where is this tree that has kept you so busy?” Nesta demanded, tilting her head back to look up at him with arched brows. A naughty twinkle in her dove-blue eyes.

She loved teasing him, but Cassian always gave as good as he got when it came to her. With Júlia, well, his daughter got away with murder. Which Nesta found endlessly amusing.

“It’s by the front door. I think I’m gonna need a cookie to restore my energy before moving it again,” he looked to Lia.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But you’re not allowed to pick it, Nesta has to pick it.”

The way she said Nesta. Like she were one of the Disney Princess she loved to tell him about even though he’d literally just watched the film with her. It made his heart explode like a powdery snowball.

“Hmmmm, what about this one,” Nesta hummed, picking up a sugary treat frosted with a big red heart and offering it up for Júlia’s approval.

“Yes, daddy can have that one,” she nodded curtly.

“You can have a bite now, and the rest once you’ve put the tree up,” Nesta told him as he rested folded forearms against the back of her chair and hunched down to tuck his head over her shoulder, tilted a little to give her his best I-fucking-adore-you-woman eyes.

“Tease,” he smirked.

“Strategic,” she corrected, feeding him the cookie.

“Mmmmm,” he groaned. He wasn’t even putting it on, it tasted fucking delicious. Buttery and somehow melting and crumbing in his mouth at the same time.

“You’ve got a little something,” Nesta laughed, brushing the manicured pad of her thumb against her bottom lip.

“I was saving you a taste,” Cassian grinned, giving her a gentle kiss.

“Nesta doesn’t want kisses she wants the Christmas tree!” Júlia exclaimed, exasperated and impatient.

“You read my mind, Lia,” Nesta said.

Cassian chuckled, pushing off the back of Nesta’s chair and wondering back through to the front door.

Lia was hot on his heels, grabbing Nesta’s hand and tugging her from her seat.

It was a fucking massive tree, and his daughter’s eyes were wide as saucers as she took it in, halting in front of the sofa and nearly vibrating with excitement. By contrast his girlfriend collapsed onto the coach and he was tempted to laugh again. Childcare had clearly done a number on her.

But apparently she wasn’t so exhausted she couldn’t manage a little ogling of him.

Cassian might have been smirking by the time he got the tree upright in its stand, preening a little at the way Nesta’s gaze had lingered on his arms as he’d hauled 120 pounds of festivity about.

A fresh blush blemished her cheeks and she was rolling her full bottom lip between her teeth as she watched him. Knees half tucked beneath her and an arm laying across the back of the sofa, her ear resting against it and lose hair falling carelessly about the cushion.

He was going to wife her up so hard.

“Right, how about some decorations then?” He grinned down at Lia, having thrown Nesta a wink she’d batted off with a roll of her eyes.

“We did them in the colours look, we put them out colour coorninated.”

“Co-ordinated,” Nesta corrected fondly from the sofa as Cassian took in the neat sections of ornaments laid out on the floor.

“Co-or-din-ated” Júlia repeated, already on the floor and searching for the first glittering item to hang.

“We’ve gotta do the lights first though, anjinho,” he reminded her.

“Nesta we have twinkly lights and they can flash or you can leave them so they are always shining or when you click it you make it so they go like,” Lia wiggled her fingers in the air which Cassian recognised referred to the cascading setting on the lights, but knew meant nothing to Nesta.

She laughed none the less, Júlia’s happiness and excitement infectious.

“Will you show me?” She asked, propping her head up on her fist.

“You wanna go grab them, Lia? They’re in my office, on the desk.”

“Yeah I will go get them!” She yelled, already barrelling up the stairs, her little feed padding up the wooden slates like she were merely a skeleton of springs bundled up in the body of a little girl.

Nesta laughed again, a wide smile revealing white teeth and one of her beauty spots quirking in a dimple as she watched.

Once Júlia was out of sight however, Cassian was making a play for her attention. Falling onto the sofa beside her and throwing an arm around her waist.

“I think we have a problem,” he sighed happily, a smirk that promised trouble tugging at his mouth.

“We do?” She asked, letting her head rest against the pillow that was his bicep. Looking up at him.

“I only got one tree. But I have two angels.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and groaned through a subtle laugh, burying her lovely face into his shoulder and thus a telltale smile.

“You’re the worst.”

“And you, are the best,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to her hair and she looked up, smiling casual and soft. “Thank you for looking after her tonight.”

Nesta pressed her mouth to his, kissing him with a supple pressure for moment. “My pleasure,” she said as they pulled back just barely.

Cassian grinned again at that and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with his free hand. “How was it?” He asked.

“Honestly?” She said, a hand coming to his opposite shoulder, thumb rubbing soft circles there. “Made me fall in love with you all over again.”

Brows immediately rising he let slip an, “oh shit.”

Nesta laughed. “I mean it,” she said, head tilting a little as she watched him. “I don’t think I ever actually appreciated what your being a dad meant. There’s this whole person, this kind, clever, funny person who’s just perfect and you made her, from scratch. And you’re raising her and every little thing she does is because of what you’ve taught her it just...” she trailed off. Overcome by a sentiment she couldn’t put into words.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Cassian asked. Unable to help himself. And if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with how she made his heart ache in the best way, he would’ve noticed a similar ache in his cheeks, because he was smiling like crazy.

“I know we weren’t meant to see each other and if you have plans of course you should do those but, well you’re here now, and judging by those very sexy pyjamas you’re staying the night?”

Laughing Nesta slapped at his hand playfully as it slid from her knee, up her thigh to take a greedy handful of her ass, her jersey pyjama bottoms soft beneath his touch.

“Lia and I are going to go ice skating tomorrow. She’d love it if you came.”

“Really?”

“In fact I think she’ll be heartbroken if you don’t,” he admitted.

“You sure you want me there? I know you have this sad little crush on me or whatever but you’re allowed to want time with just the two of you-“

“Shut up,” he laughed. “Of course I want you there. Really it’d just be cruel sending you home to pine over me-"

“Asshole,” she grinned.

“Daddy I will put the lights on but I need to sit your shoulders!”

They both turned their heads as Lia hurried down the stairs with strings of lights spilling over in her little hands.

“Wowwowwow slow down,” he leapt up. “We don’t run down the stairs, do we?”

“Can we sled down the stairs again this year?” Júlia begged excitedly as Cassian scooped her up at the foot of the stairs and held her at his chest with one arm.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” he told Nesta. “We have never once done that ever.”

His girlfriend laughed as she stood up and Júlia shook her head very seriously.

“Never ever,” she agreed.

“Then I’m going to beat you both when we do it this year, because I’m a stair sledding pro,” Nesta flicked Lia’s nose playfully.

Her wide eyed gasp made it seem as if Nesta had told her she was Santa.

“Don’t make me haul the mattresses out into the hall right now,” Cassian warned.

“Bring it, old man.”

Honestly Cassian would lose to her gladly, so long as it wasn’t the only ride she’d be taking on his mattress this evening.

* @featherymalignancy

* @sleeping-and-books

* @my-fan-side

* @hearts-of-persephone

* @witchling13

* @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter

* @typicalmidnightsoul

* @sezkins79

* @thebitchupstairs

* @fourshizzle149

* @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies -

* @yikesitsmaddie

* @jjellybean

* @thronesandstars

* @mis-lil-red

* @rhysandsdarlingfeyre

* @cf-mist-and-fury

* @breezy-freezy

* @dayanna-hatter

* @anishake

* @candid-confetti

* @goldbooksblack

* @impossiblescissorspeachpaper

* @justgiu12

* @twansy17

* @caotica-e-quieta

* @singinginthedarktimes

* @carebear1339

* @keshavomit

* @januarystears

* @bookstantrash

[duskholland]

Places We Won’t Walk | Peter Parker

summary ↠ superhero!y/n au: when you have superpowers thrust upon you, sacrifices have to be made. some more willingly than others. 

wc ↠ 4.5k

warnings ↠ depictions of character injury and death. angsty as fuck. there are a few swear words too but honestly they’re the least of your problems lmao

a/n ↠ recently I’ve found myself reflecting on the amount of loss Peter has experienced. loss of innocence, loss of childhood, loss of loved ones... this guy is a teenager and yet he is constantly forced into being an adult and it !! is not fair !! I wanted to play around with this sense of loss, and this fic gave me the perfect opportunity to do that. it made me cry lmao. *there’s a lil bit of a pov switch near the end, but it’s intentional*

↠ this is my submission for @mischiefandi‘s writing challenge. it’s based off the song, Places We Won’t Walk by Bruno Major. I made it a superhero au to fit my guideline! thanks so much for the challenge, V, I had a lot of fun with this <3

“You ever wish you weren’t a hero?” 

The words fall past your lips before you can stop yourself. There’s a silence. Then a presence appears beside you, and you feel Peter wrap his hand in yours as he joins you by the window.

“What do you mean?” He asks, voice soft, questioning.

You tilt your head at the scene beneath the window. Central Park sprawls out in front of you, the lush green trees and speckled flowers brightening up the centre of New York City. The windows are shut, but you can imagine the sounds drifting up from the park: children laughing, lovers embracing, friends chatting. A sense of bitter jealousy sours your mouth as you force your gaze away from the park, the pain in your heart twisting angrily. 

“We’re up here, working,” you start, picking your words carefully. “The world goes by below us. People- they fall in love, yeah? They hang out with their friends, they live their lives and they’re happy. Meanwhile, we stay up here, working alone, sacrificing everything.” You can’t help the bitterness that sweeps into your voice. You glance tentatively to Peter, who’s gripping your fingers a little harder now, his face pinched in an expression of anguish as his soft brown eyes flicker over the park.

After a moment, he sighs. “No one said life was going to be fair, Y/N.” 

You’re disarmed by the bluntness in your boyfriend’s voice, and find your eyebrows raising reflectively. He finally tears his eyes from the park and brings his gaze to your face, his arms pulling around you as he takes in your expression. You bury your face in his shoulder and try not to cry as you think about the people down in the park, laughing and carefree, all because you’re up here, protecting them and their city. 

It’s not fair. It will never be fair. But there’s nothing you can do about that. Because leaving the job would be siding with the enemy, and you could never do that.

“One day we’ll get out of here,” Peter murmurs, hands in your hair. His sweet peppermint scent swept over you as he holds you tight. “One day, we’ll take some time off, yeah? Go to the beach, have a vacation. Just...not yet.” And his voice sounds so false that water burns your eyes as you blink furiously. 

“You think Tony will ever let us both leave the city?” When he stills, you catch your lower lip beneath your teeth and sigh guiltily. Pulling yourself back from his grip, you nudge your mouth against his cheek in a quick, chaste kiss. “Sorry,” you murmur. “It’s just hard, sometimes.” 

Peter, only eighteen, but looking so much older with worried creases scrunched between his eyebrows, shrugs his shoulders. But he has an image of understanding on his face and a soft, sad smile spread across his lips, and it makes you feel a little less lonely to know you aren’t the only one chained to responsibility. 

“We’ll get through it,” he promises. “They need us.”

And then you’re both looking back at the images of happy people playing in the park, and the silence returns again.

[——]

It’s Christmas Eve and you’re stumbling around on top of a rooftop, exchanging blows with a masked figure. In one hand he clutches a bag full of looted money, and in the other, he holds a knife. To say he’s built stockily, with wide shoulders and a tall, looming figure, he’s incredibly nimble on his feet. You’re breathless as you parry his strikes, your aching body already exhausted from taking on the rest of his goonies.

Peter’s somewhere below you, swinging around the city. You’d been relaxing beneath the Christmas tree in your apartment when his ears had pricked and you’d got a brief text from Stark HQ, and now you’re here, your evening plans of a festive gathering sacrificed for the greater good. Back in your lonely, dark kitchen lays a spread of cold festive treats you’d intended to serve to your friends and family, and you know you’ll stumble back to your empty place in a few hours and collapse on your sofa in tears. 

It’s not that you don’t like your job. There’s nothing more gratifying and fulfilling than spending your hours saving lives. But it is a full-time job, and you never signed up for it. It wasn’t your fault that you were involved in a lab disaster when you were thirteen. You never volunteered to be Tony Stark’s newest project. And yet here you are, your body bruised and throbbing on Christmas Eve, exchanging blows with a thug instead of taking part in festive celebrations like the rest of the city. It’s hard not to be bitter.

“Ow!” You exclaim, your lack of concentration allowing the man in front of you to get a swipe at you. Your arm aches as the knife slices across your bicep, and you try not to look at the way your blood drips down onto the stony slabs of the rooftop. You deliver a swift kick to his chest and watch as he goes tumbling down, crumping in a heap on the ground. You tie his hands together and get ready to call for a lift back when there’s another blow delivered to the back of your head and you go spinning. You’re on the ground now, your vision blurring as you stare up at another of the men who must’ve sneaked up behind you as you dealt with the other. “Don’t you guys ever give up?” 

He just snarls at you, lunging towards you with a larger knife than the other. You roll and spring to your feet, but now you’re lethargic and your arm has started to really hurt. Cursing lowly, you mutter into the com piece in your ear, “Pete? I’m gonna need some help up here,” the sense of guilt multiplying in your chest as you realise you’re pulling him away from the streets below, where he’s most likely helping civilians.

But you don’t regret it when the man gets a kick in at your stomach, and you end up on the ground again. Your head rattles against the stone and you can’t even manage to clamber to your feet as the guy approaches you, kneeling at your side so he can dig the point of the knife in at your neck. It’s cold and sharp, and you find yourself staring at the night sky, wondering if this is finally it. You can’t even see the stars through the air pollution, and your eyes glass over with tears as you realise you’re too exhausted to move your body.

You truly think it’s the end. But then there’s a loud crash, and the figure above you goes flying across the rooftop and crumples in a heap on the other side. With the pressure gone from your neck, you gasp a breath, a couple of hot tears falling down your cheeks. 

“Y/N? Y/N, what’s wrong? Oh, shit, baby-” Peter’s hands go to your arm and you yelp as he pulls back the sleeve of your shirt, exposing the large laceration. Your eyes are screwed shut as you feel a cold pressure, and you know from experience that he’s using some special healing spray he’d had put in his suit for occasions such as this. His other hand goes to your face and you can feel his fingertips tremble as he caresses your cheek gently. “Hold on,” he murmurs. “Almost done.” 

The throbbing dies down in your arm as Peter stops working on it. He helps you up to your feet, but you’re a little dizzy and stumble into him, your head aching and your stomach burning. 

“I feel like I was just eaten by a wood chipper,” you manage, your fingers clinging to Peter’s shoulder for dear life. His laugh is low and weak as he helps you towards the edge of the building. You hear him mutter something through his earpiece to HQ about needing a cleanup crew, and then he wraps his arms around you.

“Let’s get out of here?”

“Take me home.” 

He swings across the city with his arms wrapped around you, and you cling to your boyfriend weakly. When you’re back to your apartment, he helps you into some pyjamas and tucks you up in bed with a bunch of painkillers. You know you haven’t sustained any serious damage, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck. 

“You scared me there, for a minute,” Peter murmurs. He’s stood at the end of the bed, the mask gone from his face, but his body still wearing the rest of his suit. His brown hair stands up messily, and your heart throbs weakly as you see the dark bags hanging beneath his eyes. He steps a bit closer, eyes casting down guiltily. “Sorry it took me a while to get up to you.”

You hold out your hand and he takes it, his grip firm but somehow still delicate. “It’s not your fault,” you say. “None of this is your fault.” You trail off for a breath moment, but then a weak laugh slips out. “When do we ever just get a quiet night in?” 

His face twists almost painfully, but then he nods. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” His hand slips from yours and you realise with a pang that he isn’t done yet.

“Oh…” 

His lips find your forehead, and they linger there for a few moments. Unspoken words and mutual understanding flow through the contact and you sigh softly as you know he couldn’t possibly stay. Just because you’re out of action, it doesn’t mean he is, and crime doesn't take a day off just because it’s a holiday.

“See you later,” you say, voice quiet. He looks into your eyes for a few seconds, an expression of regret briefly flickering over his face before he steps back and pulls his face mask on again. 

“I love you,” he reminds you, voice a little squeaky.

You do your best to smile comfortingly as you watch him jerk up your bedroom window and clamber out. You don’t manage to say it back before he’s gone, disappeared off into the chilly night sky with a swing of his wrists.

With a sigh, you turn off the light and bed down beneath your duvet. You don’t even bother trying to sleep: you know you won’t be able to until he comes back and shows you that he’s safe. So instead, you stare vacantly up at the ceiling, every inch of your body hurting with a dull ache, and you listen to the noises of the city as they stream through your open window. A few sad tears soak into your pillowcase as you hear the dull pulse of Christmas songs and distant laughter, and there’s even a faint scent of gingerbread coming out from one of your neighbours’ apartments. And it hurts - it hurts like there’s a thorn piercing  your heart that scratches deeper every time you breathe - but there’s nothing you can do apart from lay there numbly and stare into the darkness, knowing that nothing will ever change, and this will be your life forever.

[——]

Undercover missions are always your favourite. 

It’s something about the way you get to don a disguise and slip into another persona for the night that thrills you. You get a break from your life, and though the missions are never straightforward, that brief release from your superhero duties is always welcome. They’re also some of the few occasions that you get to stroll around, arm in arm with your lovely boyfriend, and he’s able to look exactly like himself; not Spider-man, with that daunting, blue and red suit, but he’s Peter. He’s Peter and he’s eighteen and he looks so dashing all wrapped up in a neat black suit that it draws a smile to your face. 

The function room you’re currently pacing is full of New York’s elite. Dazzling diamonds and rich rosy scents flood your senses, and it seems everywhere you look, you’re surrounded by pretentious wealth. It’s hard not to let your eyes bulge as everywhere you look you see perfectly curled hair, long legs with tall heels, and expensive-looking leather watches. But it’s thrilling, too, and for a few moments, you find yourself lost in it. 

“Did I mention how stunning you look tonight?” Peter whispers into your ear. Your cheeks warm as you use your free hand to dust down your dress.

“Oh, this old thing?” You joke. “It only cost about $2500.” And you hadn’t had to pay a single penny, thank god. It all comes under ‘business expenses’ - one of the few perks you get when you devote yourself to a life of service. 

Peter gulps, his eyes softening when they meet yours. Adoration fills you as you look at your boyfriend, and you tighten your grip on his hand as you lean in to steal a quick, tender kiss. 

“The most beautiful woman in the room,” he says firmly. He joins your other hand with his, and the rest of the room seems to fall away, leaving just you, and him, holding one another tightly. “I’m so lucky.” 

“I’m lucky,” you correct, ignoring the way he opens his mouth to dispute the fact. “No one understands me like you, Peter.” Your breath catches as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. “I can’t imagine living in a world without you.” 

“A world without you is one I wouldn’t want to be in,” he affirms. He drags one of your hands to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the skin there. “I wish we could stay like this forever.” 

But you can’t, and no sooner do the words come out of his mouth are you being interrupted by an elderly socialite. She’s wearing a glittery shawl and her pale blue eyes seem to dig into your soul as you make contact with her.

“Pardon the interruption,” she drawls, Southern accent twinkling lightly, “I just wanted to say how dashing you both look. What an adorable couple,” she compliments. Her gaze drifts down to your empty left hand. “Are you two getting married?” She says anyway, effectively driving a hard dagger into your chest. 

Your eyes flutter shut as the pain that gripes at your chest stings your eyes. You can’t help yourself imagining the scene. You’re only eighteen, but you’ve known Peter since you were both fifteen and have been dating almost that long, so you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined what it’d be like for him to fall to his knees in front of you. You know he’d be nervous - all flushed, and bumbling, and nervously shaking - but you’ve always found that endearing, and you know with certainty that you wouldn’t feel anything other than pure, sweet adoration as he asked you to marry him. It’d be a yes - of course it would be - and then you’d tumble into his arms and live out the rest of your life peacefully.

But it’s just a fantasy. An idea that you cling to every night you’re out fighting on the streets, everything hurting. It’s almost pitiful how much you find yourself yearning for it to happen, your mind fabricating a reality where you aren’t tied down to your job, and can instead live peacefully with the man you love. 

When you’re silent, Peter speaks for you, laughing nervously. “Oh, uh, thank you, ma’am,” he flounders, his cheeks a bright red. “We’re just dating.” 

“Oh, what a shame!” She exclaims. Then she steps nearer and grips your arm, and you feel dread replace your awkwardness as you remember your mission objective. Her fingers dig into your skin as her mouth finds your ear, and she hisses a low, threatening, “I know you’re here to ruin this deal, but I’m afraid I’m not going to let that happen, sugar. You’re surrounded.”

And you know Peter’s amplified hearing has picked it up, and you pull back to look at him, a dull look in your eyes. Of course it was too good to be true. God forbid you get to spend even five minutes with your boyfriend without someone stepping in and ruining it. 

He shares your disgruntled expression as he flicks his wrists and his web-shooters appear. “Y’know, lady, I really thought you were nice,” he mutters. Then he blasts her with his webs, and the room becomes a war-zone, and you’re dragged back to your day job with a bitter taste in your mouth. This always happens, and at this point, you should be used to it, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less to come to terms with the fact that this is your reality: closeness with your boyfriend only when you’re on the battlefield, fighting back to back. No engagement, no wedding, no happily ever afters. Just fights, and pain, and work. And it’s heartbreaking. 

[——]

Peter knows how much of a toll this life takes on you. He’s watched as the fifteen-year-old girl he used to joke around with started to shrink and wither. He’s been there as you’ve grown older and your heart has grown heavier, and he’s been with you as you’ve taken lives, saved people, lost people - the whole works. And he understands how difficult it can be, because he goes through it too, but he knows it’s worse for you.

Neither of you ever chose this life. For you it was a lab explosion, for him it was a spider. You aren’t like Tony Stark who engineered his way to the top, or Captain America, who chose to take on that super serum. You didn’t willingly surrender your freedom for the greater good - it was taken from you, ripped out of your cold, aching hands, and he’s watched as that theft has slowly worn you down.

You’re still the same girl he’d fallen for, three years ago. You can still be found humming along to your favourite songs as you bake in the kitchen, and you still greet him with a kiss every time he climbs through your window. But you’re also sadder, and he can sense the weight that hangs in your heart and the longing that you feel when you look around at the world and see only what you can’t have. Because you’re a good person - and that’s the main reason Peter found himself being gravitated towards you in the first place. And that means that you won’t ever leave this life and this city, even if it’s slowly suffocating you.

He’s tried all he can to help. He lets you cry on his shoulder and rubs your back and promises he’ll get you out of here one day. But they’re empty words and he hates to lie to you, but deep down you both know that it’ll never happen. Even if Tony let you have a week off, Peter knows that neither of you would feel content leaving the city in the hands of others.

You’re both tied to your jobs like a ball on a chain, and try as he might, Peter hasn’t been able to loosen the shackles. Not even a little bit. And one day, it all falls apart, and it’s only then that he realises how blind he’d been to the truth.

You’ve both been sent out of the city for a drugs bust involving a gang of vibranium scrappers. They’re in possession of some seriously dangerous weapons, so you’ve got a team of agents with you to help neutralise the threat. The warehouse they’re staked out in looks cold and uninviting, and as he approaches the metal box, Peter grabs your hand desperately.

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” he says hurriedly. He looks at you and the determined grin branded to your lips and his heart skips a beat. You are the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. When you let out a small giggle, it sounds like a thousand gentle wind chimes floating through his ears.

“I can’t promise that,” you tease, nudging his side. “How about you promise to save me if I get stabbed again?” 

Peter’s heart falls as he remembers the time on the rooftop on Christmas Eve, all those months ago. When he’d swung up and seen you laying limp on the ground, close to death, he’d never felt as panicked in his life. It was as if his life had flashed before his eyes, but there was an empty space just beside him where you were supposed to be - his best friend, his partner in crime, the love of his life. He shudders as you drop his hand. 

“I’ll always save you,” he promises. He’s got his mask in his hands and before he can stop himself, he gives you a quick, deep kiss. He feels your surprise, but then you grin into him and kiss him back strongly, your lips warm and soft and perfect.

“I love you,” you remind him. You give him another short kiss. “Let’s go get these bad guys!” 

It goes well at first. 

Peter had formulated a plan and the team had followed it precisely. Whilst he worked with you to take out the gang leaders, the backup you’d brought scurried around, securing the precious vibranium and neutralising as many weapons as they could. The warehouse was stuffed with personnel, yet slowly and surely, the gang is broken down.

He can’t help but become a little distracted as he webs up a few men. He can’t stop looking at you. The way your face is pulled into a magnificent expression of determination as you kick and punch and dodge and defend. Your hair goes flying in arcs around your figure and your movements are so fluid and powerful that it’s like you were born to do this. He’s left awestruck as an overwhelming feeling of love floods his system, and in that moment, Peter knows he’d follow you to the end of the earth if he could.

But his soft expression of adoration drains away as he watches the unthinkable happen. You’ve just punched a man in the gut when another approaches you from the side, and in a sickening manoeuvre, he stabs you in the side with a long, poisoned dagger. Immediately you go down, the material of your suit darkening as you yelp. The sound sends a blast of hot, white rage through Peter. 

He loses it. When the man over you pulls out the dagger and allows a hot rush of blood to leave your side, Peter’s vision burns red. He’s shooting webs in every direction and manages to take down all the remaining targets in about two seconds, and then he’s stumbling to the ground, all the colour drained from his face.

Your face is flushed and your forehead is sticky, and as Peter pressed the flat of his hand into your side to stem the blood, you manage a scattered yelp. Your eyes are wide and terrified. 

“Karen, run diagnostics,” he manages.

“Wound is deep. Poison is lethal. Two minutes until it overwhelms her system.” 

Peter chokes back a sob and pulls off his mask. Two minutes. Even if you’d brought paramedics, he knows it would be a lost cause. 

You’re gazing vacantly at the metal warehouse ceiling as he uses his free hand to shakily cup your face. “Hold on, okay,” he stammers. “Y/N, it’s going to be okay.” 

Even in the face of death, you manage to smile weakly. “Take me outside,” you beg, voice shaky. “I want to see the stars.” 

Peter scoops you up in his arms and manages to apply pressure to your side with one hand as the other swings the both of you out of the warehouse. Luckily you’re quite far out of down, and after using a few trees to gain momentum, Peter finds the rise of a hill and settles you both there. His hands shake and his lungs heave as he gently lies you down in the cool grass, and something a little like peace travels across your face. But it soon vanishes as you shudder, and then you’re grabbing at his arm and squeezing so tightly it feels like you’re ripping his arm from his socket. 

One minute.

“Peter,” you manage, your voice quivering. Peter leans over you, kneeling desperately by your face, his eyes skittering over every line of your familiar skin. He takes in everything: the way your hair is soft and supple and smells of fresh strawberries, the way your eyes are sparkling and seem to draw him in, the way your nose curves perfectly and the deep smile lines that he can imagine forming by your mouth. His heart shatters as he brings his hand to your face and cups your cheek delicately. “Peter.” 

“I’m here,” he mumbles. You clench your finger around his arm as your breathing eases. 

“Get out of this,” you plead. “I- I’m begging you. Find… Find a nice girl, okay? And go to college with her. Maybe get married. Have some kids, even. Go on holidays.” You break off as a torrent of hot tears run down your face. “Live your life.”

Peter thinks about all the times he’d soothed your worries away. All the times he’d said you’d get some time off together eventually. When he’d said you could both go to college. When he’d promised one day you’d be able to settle down and live happily together. And he thinks about how they were just all big, ugly lies.

“You are my life,” is all he can manage. He smooths his hand through your wet hair as he cries too, eyes stinging. 

“Do it for me.” 

Your breathing is slower now, more pained. Peter presses a scattering of kisses to the side of your face and nods his head at the night sky.

“The stars are pretty tonight,” he manages. You gaze up and as the twinkling lights of the stars dance in your eyes, he knows you’re almost gone. He kisses your cheek again, his shaking lips lingering by your ear as he whispers, “I love you, brave girl. You can let go now. Go join the stars.” 

And your lips let out a final, shuddering breath as your eyelids close, the light draining from your face. And Peter folds over on himself, an awful, twisted anguished groan filling the air.

Do it for me, your voice seems to echo through his mind. And Peter cries until his mouth is dry and his lungs burn and he’s heaving, and all he can think about are the empty promises he’d whispered to you, and all the places you won’t walk together. And how that life you’d described - of him, with a nice girl, building a life together - is never going to happen, because you were the love of his life, and now you’re gone. And for the first time in his life, Peter knows he’s truly alone. 

[——]

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Behind the Curtain - 7

| Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Epilogue |   

Updates are Sundays at 5pm PST! Next week is the end!!!

Characters: Jaebeom x You

Genre: Smut

Warning(s): Breath Play, Light Name Calling, Size kink? sort of not really

Word Count: 2,248

You were turning the final corner to your room when you slammed face first into a wall of a human. Im Jaebeom. 

“I’m sorry!” You said as you stood up and tried to catch your breath. “

My office.” He said as he walked past you, “NOW!!” 

Dealing with the situation inside of you would have to wait. It was time to face the fearsome leader.

He’s twice your size. Easily. He’s nearly a head taller than everyone but Yugyeom and is built with the shoulders of a linebacker. You fidget uncomfortably, wondering why your stomach insists on flipping like a gymnast at the Olympics. JB’s eyes settle on you, anger seething from them and for some reason you blush and quickly avert your gaze.

Jaebeom paces around the room while you just awkwardly stand there, waiting for whatever storm was about to come your way and his arms keep brushing yours as he paces. Whether it was accidental or not, it was sending shivers down your spine. He pushes a button on his desk and then finally stops to turn and face you.

“Did you know what was coming and not tell me?” He finally asked, his voice is loud in your ear, his head so close that you are occupying practically the same space in his large office. You have to fight the flush crawling up your neck having him this close. “The raid?” You ask innocently, “Why would I have known before you?” “That is the true question Y/N.” He paces again before pulling his face hairs away from yours, his eyes piercing your soul. “Why did you know before us? Are you involved?” “I didn’t know.” You said firmly, trying not to falter as your heartbeat began to race. He might seem soft to those who know him, but he isn’t the gang leader for nothing. “Ahhh…I thought we didn’t lie in this gang.” He said as he pulled back a little. “I’m not lying.” You try to convince him and a smirk overtakes his lips. “That’s impressive.” he says, taking a sip of the water you just now notice is on his desk. “You must practice a lot.” “Practice?” You asked, confused at the statement. “Yeah,” he says, slyly, “Practice keeping your life story straight, your lies straight, keeping us complacent with your nearly flawless work only to have it all come crashing down in the end.”

You were looking anywhere but him. If you make eye contact, you’ll die. Literally and metaphorically.

“Someone has to work hard to make a good girl out of you.”

His voice has dropped an octave with that comment. You feel it in your core, but have to remain calm and collected on the outside. Does that mean he is letting you live? That he has some kind of plan that will assure his victory?

“Sometimes you need direction to find your way back to where you belong, a heavy hand, maybe?” He asked as he began to come closer again. “Do you like it when someone’s strict with you? You seem to not tremble as much as I thought someone like you would.” “Someone like me?” You asked, swallowing harder than you meant to.

“A traitor.” His hand comes up—hot, searing fingertips ghost against your jaw before carefully sliding back so that his thumb hooks under your chin and the rest of his fingers can put heavy, pressure on your throat. His fingers span the entire width of your neck easily and the pressure on your windpipe quickly hits you. He leans down until his face is directly in front of yours again. You can feel your knees start trembling when you realize that your life is literally in his hand and he knows your secret. “I wish you would look me in the eyes instead of looking away all the time.” He tilts your head up, almost forcing your eyes to lock on to his. You stare fiercely, emboldened by his dare. You look at his lush eyelashes, his moles above his eye, the stubble he missed on his chin, the way his skin creases at his eyes. Most of all, you look down at his mouth—pink, soft lips that he wets with the tip of his tongue before he speaks. If this was the last thing you ever saw, you wouldn’t be too mad.

Jaebeom quickly swapped places with you and pushed you up against his desk. His one hand reaching your waist to hold you still. He squeezes, a fingertip ever so gently gliding under the waistband of your pants. It drives all of your blood south, making your clit throb against the seam of your pants. In the craziness of earlier with Jackson, your underwear had disappeared.

You yelp as JB releases your throat for a moment, grabs you around the middle and completely lifts off the ground with a pair of arms as immovable as iron shackles. You squirm, nearly managing a kick where it hurts the most, but you are pulled back tight against a warm, solid body.

“I kinda like you scared,” he counters, squeezing you. “seeing the look in a traitor’s eyes before death always gives me a rush.

“I’m not a trait-“

His hand is around your throat again in an instant. It makes your whole body dizzy, it makes you feel vulnerable as hell and you can’t help but want to melt into the arms of the man who is about to kill you. The weirdest thing is that you can breathe easily—his fingers only squeeze on the sides, effectively cutting off the blood flow to your brain, instead of your windpipe. He is trying to weaken you for information instead of just outright kill you and you realize just how skilled with his hands this man is. The effect is like a live wire to your cunt.

“Why is it you only listen when you have to be manhandled into it?”

He sets you down on your feet again and you gasp for air, the blood rushing back to your head. It sends a trickle up your spine.

His hand sneaks up your shirt to squeeze your breasts hard enough to make your whimper. “Gonna fucking devour these tits. If you’re going to lie, you’re going to die, and I might as well have some fun first.“

“Jaebeom,” you accidentally moan, sounding pretty needy.

He pulls back, wiping his mouth where spit has practically dribbled onto his chin from his forceful talking. It should be gross, but instead you want to lick him clean.

“Get on your knees, sweetheart.”

He pushes you down on the hard wood. “I always knew you were a little slut,” he mutters, undoing his belt. “Christ, the things I’ve thought about doing to you— and yet you went to everyone else but me for relief over the last few days.“ You watch his zipper with a concentration usually reserved for combat.

His cock springs out, hard and heavy under its own weight. It’s nearly as thick as your wrist.

“Fuck,” you whisper. It’s so much better than anyone else in the gang you had seen. You knew It was your last fuck and you couldn’t be happier it was with this dick.

“You’re going to suck me off until I come in that pretty little throat, right? You have to swallow, okay? Obey one last order before it’s time to go.”

You nod, entranced by the throbbing tip, where he’s leaking pearled drops of pre-cum.

You lean forward and lick the flat of your tongue up his shaft to taste him.

Immediately, he grabs a fistful of your hair, which normally you would break someone’s finger for, but you kind of like being held like this. It just shows his dominance and proves that no matter what, you can’t get away.

Your open your mouth and ease the entire head in as far as you comfortably can on the first try, but when you gag yourself a little, he makes sure to force himself in more, if only a notch deeper.

His cock suddenly jerks to draw your attention, tightening up a bit, as if trying to get harder than he already is. He begins moving your head back and forth and your jaw is already edging on its way to soreness, but somehow feeling the tip hit the back of your tongue, tasting each time more pre-come leaks out of him, feels good.

His breath becomes more labored as you suck on him more. You learned you love the way his chest heaves, the fabric of his shirt stretching across his pectoral muscles. If only you really were on his side, you both would make a great power couple both in and out of the bedroom.

One of his feet slide forward, settling between your thighs. “Good girls get to grind their pussy on my boot while they suck cock,” he growls. “I’m not even that cruel to deny someone release before their death.”

You moan around his length when your clit meets the friction of the shoe through your too thick pants. You roughly hump his leg and leave a clear puddle of evidence. Would he smell it tomorrow, your pussy on his clothes, and think of you on your knees? Crying with a cock between your lips? Would the raid happen as planned and he won’t even make it to tomorrow?

Suddenly his hips find the will to move urgently. His cock fills your throat up enough that you can’t breathe, the hand on the back of your head presses you further into the stretch, and you feel his cock push forward into your gag reflex.

You feel tears leak out of your eyes. It feels like you have been caught in a perpetual choke.

“Good girl,” he groans out. “Swallow. I want to feel it.”

Your mouth quivers. He seems too in control to come. That seems to be the theme with Im Jaebeom though, In control until the last moment.

He groans loudly, hips stuttering. “Feels so fucking good. Knew you could take the whole thing, my messy, drooling slut.”

He slides out and you launch into a coughing fit, doubling over. He gives you a second to catch your breath before tugging at your scalp again, pulling you back up on your knees. “I.. can’t.. take it, please, fucking do it already ...” you begged, not knowing at this point if you wanted him to just fuck you or kill you already. “Do what? “ he said coyly, as he slid your pants down and moved you up onto the desk, pushing his still hard tip slightly into your folds. “Kill you? No. you are too valuable for that. I need more details before you can have this suffering end. I know you aren’t on our side and that your ‘mother’ who you write to is actually your handler. I’m smarter than you clearly give me credit for.” With that, he lined himself up and quickly thrust himself into you. You couldn’t contain your loud gasp as his cock filled you up so quickly. The stretch was painfully blissful. Jaebeom began to pound into you, keeping up a consistent rhythm, hard and quick. He was going to fuck you silly so that he could get all of the information he needed. You were starting to lose focus, but you had to stay coherent. He slowed down as he felt himself come close to climaxing, his breathing becoming heavy again. “Tell me when the raid is.” He said as he slowed his pace, stopping your pleasure in its tracks. “No,” you panted, trying to keep your cool. His hands found your neck this time, cutting off airflow. “Tell. Me. Now.” His teeth were clenched and he was clearly ready for this game to be over. You shook your head as best you could. The lack of airflow and fullness of his cock inside of you was bringing you to your climax without him needing to move at all. You knew you wouldn’t last too much longer. You might even black out first. “TELL ME!!!” he screamed as he grabbed your neck tighter. Your orgasm hit you hard with his rush of anger and much to his surprise, the way you clenched around him caused his focus to slip and an orgasm hit him harder than he thought it could. He grip tightened again as he came, and before you could black out and accept your fate, the door to the office was kicked in and the special forces were there to save you. Jaebeom let go of you out of surprise and you fell to the ground coughing. The agency made it in the nick of time. “Who?” Is all you were asked by the lead; you recognized the voice as your former partner. “I’m glad you got my message to move up the raid. A second later and I would’ve been a goner.” You barely got the words out your throat was so sore.

“We can talk about that later. Who?” He asked again. “Mark, Bam Bam, Yugyeom.” You said, rubbing your neck to rid the feeling of JB’s hand trying to force the life out of you, still working on catching your breath. “What does that mean?” JB asked angrily as two men ran forward and restrained him. “Mark,” you stood up, “Bam Bam,” you fixed your pants, “and Yugyeom.” You took a gun from your former partner put it right between Jaebeom’s eyes. You heard the agency spread the word on who to save while you quickly removed the safety from the weapon. “I’m glad I was able to let you cum one last time before the end.” You smirked. “I’m not even that cruel to deny someone release before their death.”

You pulled the trigger.

_______________________________________________________________________

Hello My Lovelies!!

So that was the last smut chapter!!! What did you think??

Were you surprised on who was light or dark?

Let me know!!! Epilogue is coming next week.

Until Next Time,

~LoLo

[san-station]

Thirsty • Seo Changbin

Pairing: Seo Changbin x Reader

WARNING: suggestive, fluff. Two of three swear words.

↝Word count: 5,1k

The beginning of semester always made you happy, you craved for coming back to your daily routines, you missed walking down campus to your favourite coffee shop and the smell of fresh bread. You missed the newbies asking about where was the registration building and the older students telling them the wrong directions just to pissed them off. You missed the early bumping sound of your neighbors’ loud music. Yeah, and the most of all, you missed the art studio at the Art and Design faculty as you were an art student for almost 3 years now.  

You entered the studio determinate, chin up and a small smile in your lips. Five classmates greeted you with hugs and cheek kisses. Meeting your classmates made you feel slightly happy about them around you. Usually, you best friend Jihyo would be there, asking how was your summer, the problem was that she had to move to another state due to her father’s job. No worries, though, you were a sociable person, not too quiet, but not too talkative, just the right amount of sociability you wanted. When your teacher finally arrived, he was exuding happiness as he brought with him the hardest evaluation of your life: nude models. Everyone there burst into whistles and giggles as the two male models located themselves on the studio’s parquet and established their elegant postures for you to begin the assignment. You grabbed your graphite pen and started to draw on your canvas after a long sigh, only enjoying a quarter of your piece. 

On the other hand, Changbin woke up late for his first class because he forgot to set the alarm, he got used to waking up whenever he wanted, so, for him, the semester was already a pain in the ass. He hated when he was having the best time of his life at his own apartment playing video games, listening to music or watching a movie. He was a music engineer student and so, he always hated when people made him do things, like establishing a deadline for his tracks or making him do the entire melody according to rules. He felt the pressure and felt obligated to do whatever people wanted. Well, that was college for those who always had to deal with the worst teachers and the worst partners. Or maybe it was because he irradiated a dark aura wherever he walked in and intimidated all human beings. His wardrobe was pitch black, maybe one or two white shirts he wore when he exercised. His daily expression was mad serious that you could think he was going to murder you in any second. However, he was a softy around his best friends and close acquaintance, that included you, the best friend of his best friend. 

Changbin ran to his class, stopping by the coffee shop to buy his morning coffee only to arrive to an empty room. 

A familiar person got out of the classroom seconds later and closed the door; he watched Changbin catching his breath crunching on a side of the wall. 

“Are you okay?”, he asked looking carefully as the strong and fitted man stood up completely. 

“W-what happened… to Mr. Oh’ session?”, Changbin question difficulty, after he notice he was half an hour later to his second class, he ran as fast as he could from the other side of the campus. Unfortunately, he thought, he would have to talk to him on another occasion. 

“You are pretty late… Session’s over, mate”, the boy chuckled and put the classroom’s keys on his pocket. 

Changbin whined and walked shoulder to shoulder with the him. 

“Lend me your notes”, he spatted bumping the man’s arm. 

“Which is the magic word?”, he asked with a smirk on his face, grabbing his backpack with one hand and putting the other inside his jean pocket. 

“Lend me your notes or I’ll eat your babies, Chan”, Changbin wasn’t in the mood for begging, so he said harshly as they got outside the building and walked through campus to their next location. 

“...C’mon, man, that was rude”, Chan fake cried and hold his chest thinking about the small man doing such atrocity. 

“Ugh, fine, please, Channie-hyung, could you lend me the fucking notes or I’ll have to ask Mark and I don’t like him.”

“Dude, it was only first day, I actually can ask Mr. Oh to give me the presentation and the assignments for the rest of the semester if I want and you can miss classes whenever you like to. Just send him your works”, Chan shrugged knowing how much Changbin disliked Mr. Oh. He almost failed him for expressing himself and saying Mark Lee’s rap sucked, he was the class favorite, thus he got the lowest score of the class and an email from the teacher saying he had to be responsible for his words and accept consequences. 

“If you do that, we’re getting marry this spring, bro”, he said as his nostrils filled with the sweet smell of coffee. Chan laughed and agreed, making their way into the famous place and lined up to order lunch. 

While they were taking, a familiar voice made Changbin turned to the direction of the source and smiled warmly. You were talking with one of your common friends, Felix, while sipping your frappuccino and eating a cheeseburger. Chan talked alone for a whole minute without receiving any attention from the small man. When it was time to order, he had to make the decision for his friend and scoffed when he notice where his eyes were glued like a statue. 

“Do you still have that tiny little crush on her?”, he whispered. The barista handed him a blueberry bubble tea, two burgers, chicken wings and a soda.

“I never said it was tiny”, Changbin gave the money without even looking at the cashier and started to walk to your direction, the employee was very surprised by seeing his 10$ tip, tho.

“Oh, wow…”, Chan was impressed, his childhood friend never admitted having feelings, he once thought Changbin had a tiny rock where his heart was supposed to be and his heartbeats where only earthquakes on his body.  He was a kid when he believed it, pardon him. 

They approached to your table startling Felix and you. 

“Hi, guys! How are you?!” your excitement melted Changbin’s heart, for him you were the cutest person he would’ve ever met and every time you came across and have a conversation, he always found something about you that made him believe that evil didn’t exist, that flowers bloomed constantly around the two of you, that when you laughed, a fairy was born and babies smiled. He thought you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and he found himself thinking about you every little second of his nights, daydreaming at every hour about what would you two do in the future if you ever got together. 

“Hey, Y/N, Felix! How’s it going? Can we sit with you?”, Chan asked stroking Felix’s head, that made Changbin flinched as he got lost in his mind.  

“Sure! C'mere”, you patted the sit next to you for him and his cheeks reacted instantly flushing a pinkish shade to his ears hidden by his black hair. Chan choked with his bubble tea as he wanted to vomit after watching that. 

“What were you talking about?”, Changbin asked grabbing his burger and eating like if he was in some sort of fancy restaurant and needed to impress you with his skills. 

“Tonight’s gonna be the welcoming fair for the new students and it’s gonna be outstanding!”, you clapped your hands full of glee. Changbin repressed a smiled. “There’ll be fireworks, a music show and a loooot of food!”, you finished, eager about the news. You loved the welcoming fair, it was so good to start the semester with great vibes, music sounding all over the place, colors flashing and lightning the dark night, tasty food dancing in your mouth making your stomach the happiest place on Earth. It was wholesome.  

“And we were planning to go when everything’s set up”, Felix added grabbing one of Chan’s chicken wings, that made the older looked at him with pressed lips, betrayed. “Wanna come?”, he asked with full mouth. 

Changbin was about to decline the offer, he wasn’t found of those kinds of things. People screaming and running over the place and food gathered on the floor at the end of the event? No, it wasn’t his thing. 

“It’ll be fun!”, you nodded and slowly took a chicken wing from Chan’s food. He whimpered and pouted after biting his burger. 

“Yeah, we’ll be there”, Changbin made it sound cool with his uninterested aura, but he was howling inside full of joy, he was going to spent the night next to you and he couldn’t ask for more. 

Or maybe he could ask for more, like making Chan and Felix get away from you and let him have, at least, a few words with you. Since you arrived at the campus park where the fair was settle up and vibrating with energy and new faces, Chan and Felix tormented you with his vacation stories, not letting the e-boy get close to you. Except that he was the one too shy to integrate to the conversation. 

The reality was that your gloomy state flowered after they walked away from you and, thinking you were alone, the happy mask you put on after going out of class was the perfect facade for the A student you were. Your first day started as great as it could be, you made your interventions in class, asked a few questions letting people answer and filling your brain with unknown themes and topics, that always sparked your curiosity and was one of the things Changbin like the most, that innocent eyes which never saw the bad side of people, only the greater of things. The eyes that looked at him without fear and only with excitement, not like everyone else. The eyes he deeply wanted to see closer and watch every little spot on your skin, memorize your scars and wrinkles; kiss the little moles you had in your mouth and your neck; blow the rebel strands of your hair that made you pull them on the back of your ears, trace the curves of your body, appreciating the reactions his hands would make on you as he could hear your heartbeat getting faster and little sweat drops appear on your skin. He would be proud of himself as he could sense how hot you’ll be as he touches you with such tender fingers, he wanted to make you feel thirsty for him, the same way he was thirsty for you

However, now he was a little worried when he saw the smile on your face fade away at the same time Chan and Felix decided to buy something to eat and watch the music show.  Changbin was nervous, he wasn’t good with reassuring words, he preferred being the company and listen to the other person, usually people only needed someone who could listen to them and just that, company. So he thought that maybe his company would cheer you up as the australian boys were out of sight. 

You walked a few steps ahead of him, Changbin keeping his distance as he delivered with himself about his next move, but you turned your head back to see him and waited for him to approach. 

“Are you okay?”, he asked when your eyes met his, you gave him a small nod and continue your walk beside him.

“Mhm…”, you mutter raising your eyes to the night sky.

“You sure? You don’t seem like it…”, he could read your body language, your downed shoulders, your sad face trying to be something it was not, the tone of your answers. 

“Today was not what I expected to be…”, you sighed and crossed your arms over your chest to hug yourself from the freezing wind it suddenly blow. 

“Yeah, tell me about it…”, Changbin scoffed, glancing  your previous action.

There it was, he had started the awkward silence because he couldn’t think about something more appropriate to say to cheer you up. He needed to think, he needed to know what was bothering you so much but he only could see the moonlight illuminating half of your face, your eyes looked visually pleasant, they seemed to reflect the entire sky and Changbin was stargazing. Your mouth started to move, you were telling him something that made you pout for a second. Changbin’s eyes followed the curve of your pointy nose and rested on your lips, for him they look pretty soft and kissable. Actually, everything about you seem soft and kissable for the strong man. 

“Bin…?”, you frowned and a ghost smile tried to emerge from you mouth, watching the man beside you so lost in his thoughts.

“Changbin, did you hear me?”, he realized your mouth said his name and he looked up, meeting your starry eyes. 

“Y-yeah…”, he muttered. “W-well, no… I’m sorry”, he apologized immediately, mentally slapping himself for not giving you the attention you deserved. You chuckled softly and brushed your palms up and down your arms to keep them warm as much as you could. Changbin’s arms intchend as planned carefully his next movements.

“I was saying that my drawing today wasn’t as good as I expected”, you pouted again, Changbin always seemed so interested in every word you’d say and it pleased your heart, he listened, not only heard and. You were glad he never pushed, he would let you open your heart as your mouth let out all your concerns. The first time you two met, Jihyo had told you Changbin was not an easy-going person at the beginning, he would keep distance and would never talk as that was his personality with strangers, he didn’t have too much trust in anyone but his close friends. Nonetheless, when she introduced you as her new best friend, Changbin fell his chest burning and his palms sweating as an angel stood right before him. Your shy smile warmed his chest and when you spoke, he sweared he was in heaven, he’d died and this beautiful creature greeted him in the entrance of his new home. 

For you, meeting him was a little more… extreme. He stood there with wide eyes, his lips pressed in a thin line and his arms crossed over his chest. His muscles weren’t as prominent as now, but that didn’t stop your mind to picture him holding you tightly, that made you shiver; a tiny hurricane of butterflies ignated from your belly to the center of your breast and you had to swallow hard when he hold his hand out for you to take it. Politely, you shook his hand for a little too long, but neither of you care to notice. Jihyo gave you both a knowing smile without realizing the meaning and the three of you talked the whole night. Well, you and Jihyo, Changbin dedicated the time to engulfed himself in your invisible wrap around his body. He wasn’t aware of the looks you had give him that da. His cute dimples drove you crazy instantly, his laugh exercised your cheeks muscles making you smile by inertia and, for the first time in two years, you let your heart enjoy the company of this shy and intimidated man that made you feel pure ecstasy just by standing on your side. A couple of years later, you became very good friends unaware of your feelings for each other. 

“O-oh… Why? What happened?”, he cared, you really life he cared, it meant a lot for you. 

“We have to learn how the human body has so many different shapes by sketching nude models and-”

“W-what?! Did you said nude…models?!”, he interrupted you and stopped on his place. You let out a soft laugh.

“Yes, and today was the first try… by the end of semester we have to present four different body shapes but every time I looked at the models, I just hated the way my fingers couldn’t create the proper shape…”

Changbin was quiet, the image of you in front of a naked man’s body made him shiver in repulsion. He refused to let your pretty eyes wandering through someone else's’ body that wasn’t him, even if that idea was kept for himself. 

“Anyways, I have three more months before the final presentation so I can practice a lot”, you finally said and turned to Changbin, the night breeze caressed your body, the goosebumps obligated you to press your palms harder over your naked arms and you allowed yourself to take a look at the man in front of you. 

After a long minute staring at you, Changbin found some courage deep in his chest and wrapped his arms around your shivering figure. He almost died, sweating as if he was being chased by some predator, turns out he was being chased by his own feelings trying to erupt as the time with you seemed to go slower than usual. And of course you were taken aback by the man’s actions. In the couple of years you’ve known him, Changbin only had hugged you twice: the time your dad had a car accident and was pretty ill, you felt awful thinking about losing him forever. Changbin comforted you when you came from the hospital. When your dad recovered, your heart exploded with so much love and happiness that Changbin needed to feel those pure feelings, so he hugged you tightly and you were on cloud 9 for the first time as your bodies interacted that much. He hugged you when you win first place at the art gallery competition, he was proud of your hard work and saw the opportunity to celebrate next to you such an award.  

Now, he hugged you because you were cold? He didn’t think clearly, he just saw his -not- tiny little crush freezing to death and his body reacted, wanting to protect you forever. Your shoulders were stiffed for a while, still in shock about the gesture. Changbin took that as a bad sign and slowly backed off. Not before you returned the hug quickly, welcoming the warmed feeling of his proximity. You closed your eyes and hide your face in the crook of his neck, making your nose inhale his viril scent. Changbin felt shivers down his spine as your breath tickled his sensitive skin, your hands intertwined behind his lower back and you pressed your chest to his, he let out a soft sigh.

“If you ever need help with something, just ask”, he murmured, mouth hidden in your hair. He took mental notes at how sweet your hair smelled, at how fragile your body could feel in his arms, he wished you could stay in his arms forever.   

You nodded and pull your head out of his neck, just to face him with a few inches separating the tip of your noses. Neither of you moved away, you felt too comfy in each others arms. Suddenly, your fingers delineated Changbin’s back muscles in such slow motion, never breaking the eye contact. At the same time, you allowed yourself to paint his face features in your mind permanently with ink, he was attractive, you knew that the first time you met. And although at the time he was skinnier, his features were as sharp as always, his eyes were as captivating as always and his mouth was as inviting as always.

Changbin seemed to read your mind and, for an instant, he looked at your rosy lips barely parted. All rational thoughts vanished from his brain, he really wanted to do this, he was ready to do this but his body never reacted, he only stared at you while the breeze, once again, hit your bare arms. 

“I-...”, he spoke in the sweet silence of the night. The music fair echoed through the air while you felt the only people in the place, reciprocally satisfied with each other’s heat.

Unlike Changbin, you were pretty confident so, you cupped his face with your colds hands and the grip he had on your waist got tighter. You gave him a sweet smile as he tried to say something that never came from his mouth, lips already connected with yours. 

It felt surreal, even if it lasted for only five seconds. Your lips tasted like cherry chapstick and felt as soft as silk, Changbin thought that maybe, if he ever got the chance, he would buy you a silk dress just for him to trace his hands all over your body while he kissed you for hours, loving the sensation the texture gave him with the extra of your figure. 

But good things sometimes didn’t last and you break the kiss with embarrassment. Your cheeks burning as you took a step back from the hug.

 “I- I’m sorry…”, you whispered, startled by your abrupt actions and avoided Changbin’s intense glare. He opened his mouth one more time and tried to hold your hand, but two accents made you both jump in surprise.

“Oi, why did you get so far from the fair?!”, Felix’s deep voice resonated around, some students passing by frowned as they thought the voice came from Changbin, only to find out it was from the fairy-looking guy.  

“We were looking for ya everywhere”, Chan spoke munching his almost finished hot dog. You cleared your throat and smiled widely at them. 

“We went stargazing!”, you pointed over your head directly to the sky. Felix wowed at the view and stood there for a while, watching the stars and talking about astrology facts. You listened and made little interventions with Changbin sat next to you, smiling from time to time. Chan, on the other hand, looked at the both of you with a smirk on his face being nothing but too obvious that they say the whole show you too starred.

As time went by, neither Changbin or you brought the kiss event back; you acted as if nothing had happened and, for a while, Changbine asked himself why. He found himself overthinking one night alone in his apartment after sending Mr. Oh’s final appointment. This time, Chan helped him with the pensum and handed him the assignments the teacher would make him prepare. He did everything on time, feeling gratified about not having to face Mr. Oh ever, he didn’t want Changbin’s  big mouth on his class and Changbin didn’t want to go to his stupid session, so everyone win. Everyone except for the fact that you erased his kiss from your mind, well, that was what it looked like for him. 

You both met a few times after the welcoming fair and you acted so natural and obvious that, for one moment, he thought he dreamed about the time he finally could tasted your cherry taste lips, and it would’ve been fine because that wasn’t the first time if he was being honest. Yet, when Chan asked him about your “puppy lovers moment” they watched from afar, his heart shrunken and couldn’t concentrate anymore. Nevertheless, his wilde thoughts got interrupted that night by the knocking on his door. 

He frowned, not expecting anyone to visit him at 2 in the morning. He got up from the comfy spot on his sofa after pausing the movie he was barely paying attention to and opened the door without even bothering to ask.  

You made your way to his sofa and collapsed, letting out a loud sigh. You decided to sneak up into Changbin’s place with no invitation, you couldn't catch a proper sleep since two weeks ago and nothing could make you feel better. You knew he would be up since he used to had insomnio, he had told you that a few days after the fair when you were having lunch once again in the coffee shop. 

“Uhm… hello, would you like to come in? Oh, great, have a sit on my nice couch”, Changbin said with purely sarcasm and closed the door, a smile flashing his face. You groaned, grabbed the blanket under your body and wrapped yourself with it as you made you comfortable in his place.

"I can’t sleep", you muttered gaining a scoff from the man.

“I can’t concentrate, Bin! The final presentation is the next week and I’m not over yet”, you uncovered your head out of the blanket and frowned in anxiety. “I feel the sketches look like shit…” 

“Hey... don’t say that”, Changbin sat down your feet and rushed his hands over your hair. One thing was clear, after your kiss, you became more touchable with one another and it just felt natural by now. “Your work is pretty impressive, you know it.” 

“Yeah, not this one.”

“What is it? What is the think you can’t find in your pieces?”

“Textures… I can see the muscles, I can see the curves, the lines, the expressions”, you explained sitting and carring your knees to your chest. “But I definitely can’t feel them. It’s just a canvas and, form me, every piece needs to be felt. I want people to look at the canvas and feel they can reach at the flesh and touch the warm skin! It’s so difficult when I don’t feel connected with my art…”

“You know what? Draw me!”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“N-no, I really want you to draw my body! W-well, at least my upper body”

A pink flush covered your cheeks as he took his hoodie off and turned to face you with his built up body. You almost let a gasp out at the gorgeous view but you controlled yourself before exposing that side of you, unknown. 

Changbin dragged a chair from his kitchen counter, sat on it and assume a pose for you.

“Let’s go, draw me as one of your french girls, baby”, he said exuding confidence. The nickname made your heart skip a bit but you brushed it off and stood up, looking a pencil and paper over the apartment. 

Changbin waited as you sat again and started to feel your cute form become timid and embarrassed about the fact that he was half naked. You concentrated on his wide shoulders, imagining your fingers traveling from his neck to his elbow, passing your fingertips over his flesh, painfully slow. The graphite of your pencil followed your orders as you let yourself sink deeply on pure sensations. How would your hand feel caressing his fitted warm chest, would you feel his heartbeats under your touch? Would he hold his breath if you lower your hands to his abdomen, tracing his belly muscles? You tried to not look right into his eyes, because you were catching some kind of heated steam vanishing into thin air and inundating the atmosphere around the empty apartment. You loved the way his muscles contracted as he shifted his weight from leg to leg. As he did so, you jumped.

“Really, Y/N?”, he smirked. “You are drawing daily nude models but you can’t take my chest? Jezz, my power…”, he muttered and you groaned, controlling the urge to reach out and punch that cocky smile of him. 

“Shut up and don’t move!”, you complained and he obeyed, still laughing at your adorable tantrum. 

An hour later, some suggestive jokes and another pencil, you were giving your piece the final touches as Changbin made an early morning snacks for you both. 

“Are you almost done?”, he questioned cleaning his hands and drying them with the kitchen towel. It was funny, because he didn’t even bother to put a shirt again, he just wandered around like that, it was his house after all. 

You hummed, letting him know that you needed a few more minutes. He stepped behind you, looking over your shoulder to his wide chest being touched by the tips of your middle finger, you were blurring some lines to give profundity to the piece. While you were so caught up by your work, Changbin allowed himself to trace your skin with his eyes, silently jealous of a insipid paper as he got unconsciously closer. 

You felt very proud of this, pretty confident about Changbin’s features. The last time he wanted you to portray him was a year ago and he was skinnier, but this time, well, this time your heart flipped everytime the lines of his body curved and became muscles, your breathing became rougher as your heartbeat was running faster than ever just by looking at the sheet. You could feel his body through this, you felt your chest hurting as excitement bursted into you silently and a proud smile came out of your mouth. 

You didn’t notice how or when Changbin’s cheek almost touched yours as he looked closer to your representation of him. Your breath was stuck in your lungs now, burning you inside. You pressed your thighs together as a reflexion, but Changbin catch sight of the movement and he knew it was deeper than him just imagining things.

“I can feel it”, you whispered swallowing hard, your heart thumping harder on your chest like if it wanted to get out of there to meet Changbin’s on the halfway. He tilted his head, making his lips brushed your cheeks slightly. 

“How does it feel?”, his voice was ten times deeper as you’ve ever heard him. Soft throbbings emerged progressively between your legs making your ears buzz. 

“It feels like you”, you purred, feeling his heavy breaths touching your lips faintly. 

“What are you doing?”, you scanned his features, the proximity feeling oddly familiar, so close but so far away. Changbin licked his lip and watched every inch of your face, trying to reminiscent the previous mental picture of you in the welcoming fair. You were beautiful that night, it glorified your pure and innocent soul. Nevertheless, having you there, not feeling cold but exuding a torrid aura, made Changbin think this could probably be the beginning of a unstoppable thirst he wouldn’t be able to control.  

“Let me take a sip of your lips, baby”, he put his hand down your chin and turned your face to his.  

“Changbin-”

His lips were on yours like a rush, as if you were on a desert and you’ve drunk the last drop of water, he was thirsty for your touch, he was crying out for your soft lips to meet one more time after a long time and you didn’t want to hold back, not in the slightest. You both deserved each other’s needy touches, you’ve been desiring this for far to long that it felt right when he softly asked if you were okay with was going to happen, taking your soft moans as answers, he gently carried you to his bedroom, never leaving your mouth at any cost, probably thinking that if he was dreaming, he would never want to wake up again. At the end of the early day, you became one, pure hearts attached to one another, feeling the same love and attraction since the day you met and finally. You finally were ready to give your sketches the sensations they needed, you felt capable of doing whatever you wanted if Changbin was there for you, because he became the missing piece of the big canvas you were painted on. 

And, by the end of the day, you were aware of how Changbin's body felt under your delicate touch.

Masterlist

A/N: this isn't proof read so, please, be nice~!

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part twelve) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Ash Miller, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5600 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part twelve: After finally opening up to each other, Dean is having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. But the flirting is soon interrupted when one of the horses gets caught in a dangerous situation. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘How Far This Road Goes’ - Gareth Dunlop, ‘Seven Riders’ - James Horner & Simon Franklin (second scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

     With a grin wider than the horizon, Dean puts the rolled-up mattress on Ted’s back, attaching it behind the saddle by tying the leather strings around it. He barely slept last night, but he doesn’t feel tired, not in the slightest. Nothing will get him off this high cloud, because last night, he kissed Y/N.        The head wrangler hums a Led Zeppelin tune as he tightens Ted’s cinch a little, patting his four legged friend on the shoulder when he’s done. Joplin is waiting next to him, rather impatiently, tied up to the strung rope between a boulder and a tree, like the other seven horses. Her female rider moves in between the dark mare and Ted, causing Dean to fight back an amused scoff. Y/N could have tacked up Joplin from the left side, which is the usual protocol when handling a horse. But instead, the cowgirl chose the small space between the two large animals, the space Dean already occupied, making it a tight fit.     “Morning, Yankee,” he teases, still with his back towards hers as he secures his lasso.     “G’morning,” she greets back. “Were you humming ‘Whole Lotta Love’ just now?”      Dean chuckles now, “I’ve got a reason to be cheery.”

     Y/N presses her lips together, very much aware why her supervisor is in such a good mood. She is also very much aware that he’s only inches away, the two almost touching. The chemistry is evident and she needs to remind herself that the others are also readying their horses; they are not alone like they were last night. Giving her hands something to do, she checks the saddle bags again, even though she has done so already.       “Did you sleep well last night?” Dean wonders casually, but she caught the lower tone in his voice. That tone that makes her heart beat faster and has her closing her eyes and taking a moment to compose herself.      “I did actually. A little short, though,” Y/N returns. “What about you?”      “Oh, I couldn’t sleep.”

     She can hear Dean’s boots crunch the gravel underneath them as he turns around. He comes closer and Y/N forgets what she’s doing, one hand holding the stirrup, might she need the support. She feels his hand on her hip, the touch so featherlight that she could be imagining it. Holding still while he moves in, she fights a shocked whimper when his breath fans past the junction between her neck and her shoulder. How contradicting; the warm breeze leaves goosebumps over her entire body.      “How come?” she manages to utter, her voice close to failing.      Y/N feels his lips against her hair, but he doesn’t kiss her there, even though she silently begs him to do exactly that. She moves into his touch only slightly.      “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers in her ear.

     Before the others notice, he moves away and his hand slips from her hip, leaving a burning sensation where his fingertips gently pressed into her skin through the fabric of her jeans. The cowboy who has clearly found his way into her heart and her mind, shoots her a wink over his shoulder when she follows him with her gaze. Chuckling, she shakes her head in response. It’s a good thing she held onto the saddle, because her knees feel weak. God, the things he’s doing to her.      “Y’all ready to mount your ponies?” Benny checks, before he gets on his horse himself.      When all the wranglers have untied their horses, Dean rolls up the rope that functioned as a makeshift fence and adds it to the load carried by one of the pack-horses. He then puts his left foot in the stirrup and swiftly moves his leg over the saddle, the fringes of his chaps whipping when the breeze catches them. The others follow his example.

     “Alright. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. We ride to the next spring, but it will be roughly six miles from here. That’s more ground to cover than yesterday. It will be rocky terrain, so stay sharp and keep up.” Dean turns his horse with the reins in one hand. “Don’t forget to keep an eye out for the herd. They were last seen in Marsh Valley by hikers, but that was four days ago, so they could be long gone by now. If we don’t find them by the time we reach White Rock Spring, we’ll set up camp there and continue the search tomorrow. Y’all good with that?”

     The rest of the company agrees, both wranglers and horses excited to get moving. Joplin especially; the waiting has made her impatient. She rears, lifting her front hooves a couple of inches from the ground, repeating the action several times. Y/N rides it out, her hand reaching to pat the hot blooded mare on the neck in order to calm her down. In perfect balance she gives her horse enough freedom of reign, but controls the movements with her seat.       “Joplin certainly is,” she laughs, amused with the mare’s enthusiasm.      “Alright then,” Dean returns grinning, admiring her riding skills for a moment longer. “Let’s ride.”

     It’s past midday and there is no sign of the herd so far. The group of riders passed Weavers Needle hours ago, a thousand foot column of rock that forms a distinctive peak, visible from many miles away. Y/N felt so tiny when she rode through the landmark’s shadow, like an ant on the forest ground. She quite possibly strained a muscle in her neck from looking up, but the young woman from the North couldn’t help herself. The landscape, created by volcanoes ages ago and molded by wind and time, leaves her in complete awe. The further they travel into the Superstitions, the more surreal the scenery becomes. 

     Benny told stories last night about the mountains. About the legend of the Lost Dutch Gold Mine, and the hundreds of other abandoned tunnels, hidden in the volcanic stone. About the Indians, how some of them believe that the hole that leads down into ‘the lower world’ is located somewhere in these valleys, and that winds blowing from it create the severe dust storms in the metropolitan area. It’s a magical environment that, despite having a desert climate, seems alive. The way the wind plays with her horse’s mane and whispers as it breathes through the canyon. The way the mesquite bushes rustle and the Saguaro cacti reach their arms for the blue heavens above. This land has a personality of its own; unpredictable, layered and rich with wisdom.

     “Enjoying the view?”      Dean held up his horse as Y/N was staring up at the renmands. She didn’t even notice she fell behind.      “Sorry…” she mutters apologetic. “It’s just… everything here is so beautiful.”      “Sure is.”      The cowboy smirks at her, not just complimenting the landscape. Joplin’s rider is unable to hide her flattered smile.      “You can stop trying to win me over,” she returns jokingly, resting her hand behind her on the cantle of the saddle.      Dean side eyes Y/N, triumph in the way he holds himself, “Because I already did, right?”      “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warns. “Last night was amazing, but it was just a kiss.”      “Oh, I didn’t plan to stop,” he makes clear, copying her action without noticing, gripping the back of the saddle with his free hand as well. “Next chance I get, I’m gonna kiss you again.”      “Is that so?” she teases.      “Unless you’d rather not have me.” Dean observes her, eager to pick up on her reaction.

     His lower leg brushes against hers, the metal of the stirrups jingling when they collide. He stares into her eyes longer than he should, breaking through the resistance with more ease than Y/N wants him to. Honestly, she has never been an easy catch. She pictured she would at least let him work for it, prove to her that this isn’t just a fling. But her defense crumbles with every connection, no matter how small. The intern can’t help but crave for her supervisor to touch her, to kiss her right here and right now. Both of them being on horses complicates things, however, especially since one of those horses is Joplin, who is getting anxious now that she is a few hundred yards away from the group.       “I wouldn’t mind it,” Y/N admits, on a more serious note.      Dean smiles, delighted at that, looking down at his horse for a brief second.       “You oughta catch up then.”

     The wrangler moves his hand forward and pushes his heels to his horses flanks simultaneously, the aid triggering Ted to shoot forward like an arrow from a bow. Without giving Y/N  a chance to respond, Joplin’s instincts kick in; she needs to stay with the herd. In a blink of an eye she bolts, surprising her rider, who can only just prevent a squeal from escaping her throat. The experienced rider is quick to recover, though. She moves her weight forward, allowing her horse to move under her freely, giving her all the reins she needs. Within five strides, Joplin is at full speed. Y/N can’t recall that she ever galopped this fast. The wind pushes the tears from the corner of her eyes, dust blocking her view. Her hat falls back, but she’s quick enough to catch it and push it tighter on her head. She doesn’t care, though, because she feels like she’s flying.

     Before they reach the others, Dean sits back in the saddle and pulls the reins, telling Ted with a ‘ho!’ to slow down. Joplin is next to him within a second, her rider laughing out loud. The cowboy watches her, laughter erupting from his throat as well.       “You’re crazy!” Y/N accused, a wide grin on her lips nonetheless. “What if I had fallen off?”      “You’re too good of a rider,” he returns, never worried she couldn’t handle herself. “And it’s about time you let go.”      “I usually don’t like losing control,” she returns, trying to be stern.       He cocks his eyebrow. “You didn’t mind last night.”       “Underlining ‘usually’,” she repeats with a tone, shaking her head at the up-to-no-good grin on his face.

     “Well, you—” He points his finger at her accusingly before he pushes his hat up a bit. “— should loosen up a bit. Picture it like riding.”      Y/N frowns at the wrangler next to her. “I thought we were talking about riding.”       “It doesn’t matter. What does, is if you hold onto the reins too tight, your horse will tense up. You will tense up. But if you relax at the right moment…” He moves his hand forward, giving Ted enough space to drop his head and the gelding blows out a satisfied sigh. “So will your horse. You allow things to be. And those are the best rides, ain’t they? The ones where the balance is perfect, and everything just clicks.”

     Y/N agrees to that without words, smiling at the comparison. Dean lets the true meaning of his message sink in as well. It’s good advice he’s giving. Maybe he should take it himself. In silence they take each other in. She has rolled up the sleeves of her dusty shirt for the warm breeze to caress her bare skin. Not so long ago, Y/N came walking into the Saloon, ironed button up, polished shoes, hair band and clips not allowing a single stubborn strand to spring free. Look at her now, like she couldn’t care less about appearance. Look how beautiful she is.       “By the way,” the woman next to him recalls, her voice softer so that the tourists can’t hear them.       “Hm-hm?”      “You were right. That was a lot more than just a kiss.”      With those words she canters away, and he’s only able to breath out again when she passes the other riders to lead the group. Don’t be fooled, he’s confident about how things are going, but that doesn’t mean that ‘allowing things to be’ is easy. Even he, the guy who doesn’t plan ahead and takes it day by day, is daunted by the possible commitment that this adventure with Y/N will bring. But one look at her, seeing the change she’s going through, the difference in her demeanor and her lifted confidence; she’s all the inspiration he needs.             “You better wipe that smile off your face, Chief, or the coyotes might start wonderin’ why you’re all giddy.”      A little startled Dean looks aside as Benny holds back his horse until he’s next to Ted. Caught in the act the head wrangler glares at his friend from under his Stetson, but the smirk doesn’t die down. No need to respond in words, because both know why Dean is on top of the world. And so the two companions ride next to one another for awhile in silence. Dean’s eyes never leave her, though, watching how she handles the bubbly mare, who’s excitement got peaked by the little race. Joplin isn’t for everyone, but she’s taking his advice and gives the dark horse free rein, trusting her, and eventually the mare transitions to a walk.

     “Well, now you’re just embarrassingly gaping,” Benny notices, clearly amused by the sight of his lovestruck friend.      Dean snaps out of it and eyes him again. It’s not so much the fact that Benny is mocking him, more the fact that he himself can’t get a grip.      “Shut up,” Dean mutters, shaking his head chuckling. “You were the one gaping when you interrupted us last night.”      “It was 3 AM and I wasn’t even close to awake, and what do I find?” Benny lazily points his finger at the intern, then at the man next to him. “You two, giving each other one hell of a Yankee dime. I mean, don’t get me wrong, brother. I’m proud of ya, but excuse me that I was a little taken aback.”      The Southerner pauses, his piercing blue eyes brassy and up to no good. Clearly he enjoys taunting his pal.             “Took ya quite a while to notice me too,” he comments, adding fuel to the fire.      “I was kinda in the middle of something!” Dean exclaims.      “Hell yeah, you were.” Benny sniggers. “Good think I stopped ya right there. At least now you saved some for later.”      “I wasn’t gonna go all the way with her,” his friend declares.      It doesn’t convince the rider next to him, though, because he laughs out loud.      “Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’.”      “Dude, I’m serious!” Dean states. “I ain’t gonna rush this.”      “Ah-uh.”      “I said: shut up.”

     The farrier’s laughter is contagious, hiccuping as he takes in air, and his friend can’t help but chuckle as well. The head wrangler adjusts the ranch rope hanging over his horse’s shoulder, the broad smile never wavering. It’s not just the smile, though, that tells Benny that Y/N is the girl for him. It’s his eyes. He has never seen them shine so bright. He has never seen Dean so contented.      “You two go together like peas and carrots,” Benny vouches, looking from the cowboy to the cowgirl. “I’m happy for ya, brother.”      “You’re talking like we’re about to settle down and get a dog,” Dean scoffs skeptical, even though deep down he wouldn’t mind an outcome as such.      “Give it time,” the Southerner recommends confident. “After all, two months ago, you would have thought I was crazy as a soup sandwich, if I’d predicted you to be on cloud nine by now.”       He wiggles his eyebrows and Dean sighs in response. He’s not even going to fight his friend on this, Benny is enjoying this way too much to ever let go.

     “Dean!”      The call comes from the front of the group and it seems urgent. Dean snaps his head to the sound of Y/N’s voice and the clatter of hooves. The intern has turned Joplin around and ridden back to the tourists. One of the pack horses, Cash, who Macy was guiding along side, tries to flee away as he kicks violently to the ground. He spins in circles around the rider and her gelding Jimmi, who is starting to panic as well.       “Pull the knot, Macy!” Dean commands, pushing Ted towards the commotion.      Fighting to control her own horse, she reaches for the rope that ties Cash to her saddle, trying to yank the safety knot. By this time, however, the distressed animal has pulled on the cord with all its weight, and there is no way it will loosen.       “I can’t!” she yells back, fright evident in her voice.

     Trying to not get caught up in the line, she steers Jimmi to stay head to head with the anxious pack horse. Dean is with her in a split second, maneuvering Ted close to her and staying free from the web.       “Listen to me, Mace. When you’re on the other end, I’m gonna take over.” He takes the end of Cash’s rope, wraps it around the horn of his saddle four times and locks it in his fist, hooking it behind his hip for leverage. “I need you to get yourself to safety the second that rope unties, alright?”       He makes eye contact and she nods frightened, all while trying to calm Jimmi, who is getting more claustrophobic by the second. The experienced wrangler then backs up Ted, using his horse’s body weight to pull the safety knot. The second Cash feels the freedom, he bolts. Macy is clear, but the head wrangler and his four hooved partner are about to be catapulted by the horse on a rampage. 

     Thinking fast, Dean moves his reins towards Ted’s ears, triggering him to rocket forward. Three strides later Dean can feel Cash jerk at the saddle, Ted bracing himself, the well-trained cattle horse maintaining his balance. The rope slips from Dean’s fingers, but he is able to keep his ground, even though the rough material burns in his hand. With tension on the line, the wrangler tries to keep Cash away from a boulder that came rolling down Bluff Spring Mountain, but can’t prevent the panicked horse from slamming the water tank he is carrying into the large rock. Even though drinking water pours from the hole, it’s not Dean’s first concern. Cash is holding his hind leg up, still kicking the ground as the black horse halts, breathing out nervously. Dean spots a trace of blood, just below the fetlock joint.      “Shit…” He gets off, dropping Ted’s left rein on the ground, a signal for the horse to stay in place and wait. Shit, shit, shit.      Cash, who is shaking and breathing fast after all the commotion, turns his head into the wrangler, seeming to seek comfort from him. Dean gently rubs the gelding’s withers and slips his hand down the hindleg to take a better look. Two distinctive small holes are visible on the white sock, crimson drops rolling down. It seems like barely anything, but he has lived in this area all his life; he knows a snake bite when he sees one.      “He got bit,” Dean informs the five wranglers, who are waiting on the path in anticipation.      Benny curses under his breath, getting down from his horse as well.       “By what? A spider?” Y/N wonders, sticking with the tourists on a safe distance.      “Nope.” 

     The Southerner picks up a stick, poking at something in the bushes. Then he lifts the piece of wood, a snake hanging from the end of it. Macy squeals and Y/N inhales sharply, too. She has never seen a snake up close like that, at least not without thick glass between her and the reptile. God, that thing is huge!      “Is it dead?” Dean checks, still standing by the wounded horse.      “Dead as steak on the grill,” the Southerner confirms, taking a closer look.       “Is it a rattler?” 

      The head wrangler watches Benny examine the animal as he prays to God that it isn’t. Rattlesnakes in this area are highly dangerous. The amount of venom they possess might not be enough to floor a horse, but it will cause extensive swelling for sure, most likely followed by a bad infection that will cut off the blood supply. A bite inflicted by a venomous snake could be life threatening, even when treated by a veterinarian immediately. Miles from civilization with no access to medical resources, it becomes lethal.      “I think it is, Chief.”

     Y/N looks over at the head wrangler, who drops his head and swears. It slowly begins to sink in that the consequences of what seems like a small injury might have serious consequences. Dean looks up, making eye contact with the intern and motioning her to come over. She rides Joplin off the path and dismounts the mare, leading her to Cash, who she comfortingly pets on the nose.      “Listen to me carefully,” he starts, his voice toned down so that the others can’t hear him, as he instructs the intern calmly. “If that is a rattlesnake, I need you to take the tourists a half a mile up the trail. At the junction, you wait until me and Benny catch up.”       “Wait, what are you gonna…” she stammers, hesitant where Dean is going with this.

     He bites his bottom lip for a moment and looks deep into her eyes, the urgency apparent in his intense greens.      “You’ll be responsible for the guests, so be cautious. Don’t take any risks and keep them safe. I know you’re not familiar with the area and that this is a lot, but can you do that?”      “Benny could go with them, he knows these trails,” she suggests, but Dean dismisses it instantly.      “No. I don’t want you to see this.”      “See wh -” she pauses, his penetrating gaze and tensing jaw stopping her from forming words. Shocked she rakes her fingers through Cash’s forelock, only now realizing the difficult task that Dean is facing. “Oh my God, you’re gonna put him down.”

     He doesn’t answer, but swallows apprehensively. If Cash has venom coursing through his bloodstream, his chances of survival can be considered zero. A slow and agonizing death awaits him; a bullet to the head would be the most moral way to go. The head wrangler takes a deep breath, composes himself, and shifts his gaze to Benny. Seems like he’s going to have to use the Colt after all.      “I’m gonna check out the snake, make sure it’s a rattler. If it is, you know what to do?”       Y/N nods uneasy, but determined enough to assure Dean that she can do her part. He thanks her without saying anything, his eyes softening. Then he moves past her, heading back to the trail. Left stunned, she lets her hand glide down Cash’s nose, trying to ease the horse, who in his turn gently presses his large head against her chest. Even though Y/N barely knows the horse, tears prick in her eyes. Poor, poor thing. She looks over her shoulder, watching in apprehension, how the head wrangler crouches down next to Benny, who has the snake at the end of a stick. 

     Dean pokes the reptile to make sure it’s dead, taking a good look at the animal. The light brown color with dark blotches on its back and smaller dark spots on its side, are indications that Benny is right. He can’t tell much when examining the head, since Cash killed the snake with a fierce kick and smashed its skull. Dean picks up the animal by the tale. It looks different from the rest of its body, but there is no rattle at the tip of it, like he has seen before with the Western Diamondback that is common in the area. He sighs relieved.      “It’s a Gopher snake,” he states. “A Sonoran, by the looks of it. Smart fellas; they mimic rattlesnakes to ward off predators.”      “Could’ve fooled me,” Benny concedes.      “Not venomous?” Y/N checks.      Dean smiles her way. “Not venomous.”      A weight falls off her shoulders, and the female wrangler rustles Cash’s mane thankfully. She exchanges a look with Dean, silent conversation easing the both of them. Then the group leader turns to the tourists.       “Alright y’all, let’s take a break here,” he decides, beckoning at the shade near the big boulders.       “Is Cash gonna be okay?” Macy asks worried.      “He’s gonna be fine. We’ll rest up for half an hour, meanwhile fix that water tank. Benny? Let’s repack so that we can take the load off Cash.” Dean turns to look at the farrier, who nods in agreement.

     They leave the snake for the vultures and move away from the trail. While Benny and Brad tack down Cash and focus on repairing the tank with duct tape, saving the water that remains in the tank by catching it with their water bottles, Dean focuses on the black gelding’s injury. Y/N strolls past him between the horses, who have taken cover in the shade. She watches how the cowboy flushes the puncture wounds with water, despite the fact that Cash keeps lifting his hind leg.      “Do you need an assistant?”      He looks over his shoulder and nods. “Could you hold him for a sec?”      She takes Cash by the rope that he fought so hard minutes ago, rubbing the bay’s shoulder in order to distract him. It works, because the gelding puts his foot down, allowing Dean to press a gauze soaked with betadine on the small holes.      “There,” he says satisfied, when he’s done cleaning the punctures. 

     Y/N lets go of Cash’s halter, picking up the bottle of betadine from the first aid kit, together with a clean gauze pad.      “Your turn.” She nods at his hand.“Show me that.”      Dean brushes it off. “It’s nothin’.”      His intern isn’t having it, though, and after shooting him a glare she takes his right hand and turns it over. Despite that his palm is calloused from years of ranch work, the rope has burned off parts of his skin, leaving fiery blisters.       “I wouldn’t file that under ‘nothin’,” she returns stern, mocking his slang.      Dean can’t help but grin at that, surrendering to her care. The smirk turns into a grimace when she dabs the damaged tissue with iodine.       “Sorry,” she apologizes when she notices him tensing up.      “It’s okay,” he assures, looking at her fondly, despite the sting.            Y/N blushes at his expression, breaking away from his warm eyes and focusing on his hand again. She applies a clean gauze and dresses his hand, taping the end of the bandage so that it won’t come off.      He checks his hand from both sides, impressed with her work. “How do you know how to do that?”      The cowgirl shrugs. “I have three brothers who never failed to miss an opportunity to fall from their treehouse or trip while chasing each other through the woods. You do the math.”      Dean chuckles, testing the movement of his fingers as he turns towards the other men, who are still working on the tank. On his way over, he glances at the young woman again.      “Thank you.”      “You’re welcome,” she returns happily, walking past Joplin to pick her water bottle from the saddle bag.

     Joining Macy and Jon, she makes the most of what remains of the half hour break, while the other wranglers try to repair the tank. Having lost most of the water, they don’t waste too much time resting up here and decide to move on to White Rock Spring. The other horses take over Cash’s tack, who only has to carry the empty tank. The gelding already puts full weight on his injured leg, the wounds so superficial that he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Twenty minutes later Y/N puts her left foot in the stirrup and hoists herself in the saddle. Her limbs are tired, her back is beginning to hurt. Day two of this trail is taking more out of her than she expected, not only physically, but also mentally, after the close call with Cash. Even though it’s early afternoon, she hopes that Dean and Benny will decide to call it a day, once the group reaches the spring. 

     It doesn’t take long before they pass the rock formation of Black Top Mesa and reach the T-junction Dean described earlier, left leading into Marsh Valley, right to Charlebois Canyon. The two Gold Canyon Ranchers leading the company have stopped just off the trail on the top of a hill. She catches a glimpse of Benny’s face, and he does not look pleased. Not sure if it’s her place to join them, since she’s the intern, she hesitates to ride up to the wranglers, but takes her chances a few seconds later. Dean did involve her when Cash suffered that possibly dangerous injury, afterall. Joplin halts next to Ted as her gaze jumps between the two riders.      “Something wrong?” she wonders.      “What’s missin’ here, Yankee?” Benny counters, without answering her question.

     Y/N looks ahead, down Charlebois Canyon. The land is dry and dusty, rocks and volcanic remnants more evident in the landscape. Now that she’s made aware that something is unusual about this picture, she remembers that the canyons east of Weavers Needle were much greener. More plants and bushes, more life.      “Water,” the female wrangler realizes. “There’s no water.”      “Yep,” Benny confirms. “That spring is supposed to be over yonder.”      “But how can there be no spring? It rained cats and dogs a week ago,” she wonders confused.      “Welcome to Arizona, where it can be raining like a cow’s pissin’ on a flat rock on one side of the road while the sun shines on the other,” the Southerner states.

     Dean is quiet, the gears in his head turning as he blankly stares ahead. He’s holding his reins with his unharmed hand, the leather feeling a little foreign, since he hardly ever rides left-handed. There are a few more springs close by, but since the whole canyon looks dry and dead, except for a few Saguaro cacti, he’s guessing that those ran dry too. Biting his bottom lip he glances over his shoulder in the direction where they came from, then north.      “What do we do now?” Y/N inquires, her eyes shifting from Benny to Dean.      “Chief?” the farrier checks with his friend, when he doesn’t respond.       “How far do you think it is to Eagle’s Nest?” he questions. “About six miles?”      “Give or take,” the Southerner affirms.      Dean ponders, but then turns Ted around to face the three approaching tourists.      “We’ve run into a bit of an issue,” he starts, updating the guests on the newly occurred problem. “White Rock Spring has dried up, and looking at the vegetation, I don’t think it’s wise to continue east. We’re not gonna find water there, which also means that the herd is most likely elsewhere. The way I see it, we’ve got two options: we either turn around and ride four and a half miles back to Willow Spring, or we move north to Salt River.”      “How far is that?” Brad asks as the dark haired student rests his wrists on the horn of his saddle.      “Six miles,” Dean declares. “If we leave now, we’ll hopefully make it by sunset. We need an inventory on water and food supplies. And I need y’all - and this is really important - to be one hundred percent certain that you’re up for another six hours in the saddle. If anyone ain’t, we will turn around to the Willow and cut our losses for today. No shame in it.”

     The leader of the company now turns to Macy, who has Cash waiting next to her. The black horse looks alert and calm, his weight on all four hooves.      “How’s he doing?” Dean wonders.      “He seems fine. He’s sound, even in a jog just now,” she returns, having kept an eye on the gelding next to her.      Dean nods, but not completely satisfied. He’s torn. Torn between pushing through and marching on to Salt River, or taking the safe route back to where they came from. Going back feels like giving up. It will be another day without a trace of the herd, another day of wasting time and energy. They have enough food with them for five days. Heading back might be a crucial setback, one that could lead to returning home without the group of young horses. He promised Ellen and Bobby to bring them in, but he also promised to keep everyone safe. 

     “How much water do we have left?” he checks.      After a quick count, they come to the conclusion that they have about 10 liters between the six of them, the horses not even included. The animals are used to these circumstances, though, and they can go without water for three to four days. Dean is confident they should be okay. It’s the riders he’s worried about: both the tourists and Y/N. Dean sighs, looking up the trail from Marsh Valley that leads into the mountains.       “Is there anyone who wants to go back to Willow Spring?”      No one steps forward or raises their hand. Dean looks the crew in the eye, one by one, trying to unravel them and detect even the slightest hint of doubt. His gaze lingers on Y/N, who doesn’t give him an inch and seems determined. He nods, his mind made up.      “Alright, then,” he decides. “We ride north.”

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Read part thirteen here