#Raleigh don’t read this post

[deputy-ajay-ghale]

Ever get dicked down so good you can’t text without your fingers shaking?

[patrickztump]

last month when fall out boy made the executive decision to play just one yesterday for the 8 ball at my show, that move launched me to the outer edge of our solar system and i have yet to come down from that high. every time the song comes on i am on cloud nine, still in disbelief it Actually Happened.

last week i saw my cousin and he cheerfully asked, “how was the concert?” i answered casually, “it was good, it was really good!” but i had to bite my tongue because i wanted to go into great depth about the 8 ball segment, the song they chose, last time it was played, how so very special it is to me, how badly i wanted it, and how mind blowing it is that everything lined up and that’s what i got. but, i held back. because not only is there not another soul in my life as Insane about this as i am, they all Really Don’t Care.

[greatrunner]

@tododeku-or-bust's post asking for examples of racism (experienced/witnessed) in fandom has got me thinking about how abstract the experience of antiblackness is once you (as in me, because I can only tell you my perspective) 'remove' yourself from the situation or the situation is considered 'settled.'

A lot of that is, obviously, a defense mechanism. If I didn't learn how to dissociate or numb myself from said experiences, I think I would be in a much worse place than I am right now.

But it also highlights how much I spent on Tumblr reading or experiencing antiblackness in different fandoms. Within the moment, the experience is raw and extremely triggering.

Left 4 Dead 2, Pacific Rim, Princess and the Frog, and Star Wars were probably the most active I'd been within a fanspace on Tumblr, and the antiblackness that ran rampant in those spaces was pretty vile.

At every turn, instead of owning up to the acts of passive and active racism, yt and non-Black users would break their backs to defend their position as 'not racist.'

The absolute refusal to investigate why they were so comfortable calling characters like Rochelle and Tiana boring or annoying compared to Lottie or Zoey allowed antiblackness to run rampant because, "I should be allowed to dislike a character!"

Do you know how aggravating it was to watch old-ass shows like Buffy and Angel at 14-then-22 and watch not only the writers but the audience (or LiveJournal or Television Without Pity) demonize characters like Charles Gunn and Robin Wood for doing things they cheered white characters on for doing... on the same shows? All while engaging in some truly racist stereotypes? It feels like you're going crazy when you see it. It made me wanna cry for help.

The fact that I had to remind Star Wars fans that 'DLF didn't mean it that way' wasn't an excuse for how LucasFilm treated Finn or John Boyega. That "actual racism" was benign, passive, uncritical, and often intentional.

The fact that much of my Pacific Rim experience was watching yt fandom call Stacker Pentecost an "asshole" or "control freak" because he was holding Raleigh and Chuck to account, or they wouldn't engage with his and Mako's relationship with the same respect they did with Herc and Chuck's.

I decided not to engage with the media outside of isolation or friend circles. As I moved further and further away from it, and it became vague and less sharp, I'd start to question, "Was it really that serious?" When so many people failed to read the room and centered themselves as victims of 'harassment,' was it really that serious?

And I have to remind myself, "Yeah, it was." Even as it becomes hard to verbalize or put into words to recall, it was and is that fucking serious.

And the worst part of all of this? Most of those racist shitheads knew that too. But they could get away with it, so...

The point ultimately is to drive people who'll challenge positions out of those spaces. That's why so many fanspaces don't promote growth or shifting dynamics. They prioritize anti-intellectualism and infantilization of the self or the work itself.

[misshoneyimhome]

So here’s my post for @callsign-denmark's Birthday Bingo 🤗 Naturally, I had to choose my beloved Frederik Andersen ❤️

I know this is also part of my 500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL, but I thought, why not combine the two celebrations ✨🥂 I really hope you like it, love! And, of course, HAPPY BIRTHDAY for the 13th 🥳🥳

[In short, this is basically 'just' a series of events that I imagine it could be like dating Freddie - but I still hope it's an enjoyable read]

➼｡ﾟ

Summary: The journey of Frederik and Olive wasn’t as straightforward as Olive had hoped—however, on her wedding day, reflecting on it all, she can’t help but smile as she tells their story 🤍

Bingo; Wedding, “Please stay”, comfort, learning to skate, Free space: heartache

Tropes & warnings; strangers to lovers, soulmates, heartache, fluff, angsty romance, happy ending; some smut 18+ (mildly described), penetrative sex (p in v)

Word count; 8K

➼｡ﾟ

“I am done. I'm done waiting for you." I Freddie Andersen

Present 2025 - The Wedding

Olive rose from her seat, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird in her chest. The soft, elegant fabric of her wedding dress whispered around her ankles as she glanced nervously at the sea of expectant faces before her. This was her moment, her wedding day, yet the spotlight felt uncomfortably bright.

In her hand, the delicate crystal glass held a few sips of champagne, a lifeline amidst her nerves; and beside her, a neatly handwritten speech, its words a testament to the journey she and her new husband had travelled together.

Just as she was about to speak, a reassuring warmth enveloped her; Frederik's hand, familiar and steady, rested gently on her lower back. His touch sent a wave of calm through her, grounding her in the present moment.

"You've got this, min skat," his voice, a soft murmur meant only for her ears, whispered encouragement.

Drawing strength from his presence, Olive closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts. Then, with a deep breath, she opened her eyes again, her gaze steady and determined.

“Most of you here have probably already heard the story - or versions of the story - of how Freddie and I met," she began, her voice clear and steady, carrying across the room. "But what many of you don’t know is that, though it was definitely love at first sight, the journey of our love wasn’t exactly a straight path.”

_

Flashback to September 2021

Frederik Andersen had just settled into Raleigh, North Carolina, having joined the Carolina Hurricanes for the upcoming season. The city, with its Southern charm and vibrant hockey culture, presented a new adventure waiting to unfold. And while adjusting to a new place and team was both exciting and daunting, he relished the challenge ahead on the ice. The welcoming nature of the Hurricanes' fans and the supportive atmosphere of the organisation made the transition smoother, yet there was still an underlying pressure to prove himself.

Frederik was a formidable goaltender, and he knew it. With several years in the NHL on his CV, he had earned a reputation for his sharp reflexes, keen game sense, and unwavering composure under pressure. He occasionally allowed himself a pat on the back, reminding himself of his achievements, which included crucial saves in high-stakes games, accolades from his peers, and the respect of coaches and teammates across the league.

However, Frederik was also aware of his veteran status in the sport. At 32 years old, he was no longer among the young talents but counted among the experienced players. The whispers of time's relentless march were growing louder, and he often reflected on his journey: the countless hours of training, the injuries overcome, the sacrifices made. Each scar and accolade told the story of his perseverance and passion for the game.

The physical demands of hockey were always present. Frederik maintained a rigorous training regime, balancing on-ice drills with off-ice conditioning to keep his body in peak form. He worked closely with the team's trainers to ensure he could withstand the gruelling schedule of an NHL season. Despite the toll on his body, his love for the game remained undiminished.

And mentally, Frederik embraced his role as a leader and mentor to younger players. He took pride in guiding rookies, sharing insights from his years of experience, and helping them navigate the challenges of professional hockey. His wisdom and steady presence in the locker room were invaluable, fostering a sense of camaraderie and mutual respect among the team.

Yet, Frederik also found himself contemplating life beyond hockey, recognising the importance of a balanced life.

_

One evening, during a team dinner at one of Raleigh's top restaurants, Frederik found himself momentarily drawn to the bar. The atmosphere buzzed with the chatter of teammates and the clinking of glasses. The restaurant boasted an upscale ambiance and exquisite cuisine, with subdued lighting and elegant decor creating an intimate setting for conversations and laughter.

Approaching the bar, Frederik caught sight of a young woman who immediately captivated him. She moved gracefully, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders as she expertly mixed drinks. There was something mesmerising about her—a quiet confidence that caught his attention.

So, leaning casually against the bar counter, the goaltender offered a soft smile and requested, "A Whiskey Sour, please," speaking gently while subtly admiring the bartender's skilled movements. She responded with a professional smile and nodded, focusing on preparing his drink with practised ease.

And as she worked, Frederik couldn’t help but watch her every move. What started as simply observing a skilled bartender at work felt like watching an entertaining ballet performance, captivated by her beauty.

"Here you go, sir," she said in her gentle, sweet voice, interrupting Freddie’s train of thought as she slid the drink across the bar with a warm smile. "Please, enjoy."

"Thank you," Frederik replied simply, returning her smile before taking a sip of his drink. It was perfect, the balance of flavours just right. He savoured the taste, appreciating the craftsmanship, and allowed himself another moment to enjoy the woman’s captivating grace before returning to his table.

And throughout the evening, the usually composed hockey veteran couldn’t help himself, occasionally stealing glances at the bartender. He was so intrigued by her poise and how effortlessly she handled the bustling crowd. She exuded a calm demeanour, much like himself, as she attended to customers with a friendly manner.

Later that night, as Frederik made his way through the bustling restaurant towards the men's room, he overheard fragments of conversations—a blend of laughter, casual banter, and occasional complaints about the noise. And near the end of the bar, he noticed a waitress and the beautiful bartender fully engaged in a quiet discussion, their voices carrying over the background clamour.

"Ugh, I can't wait until this shift is over. These hockey jerks are so loud," sighed the waitress, deftly balancing a stack of empty glasses, her frustration evident.

The bartender chuckled softly, her voice tinged with amusement despite sharing the waitress's sentiment. "Yeah, seriously. They act like they own the place."

Frederik couldn't help but smile to himself at their candid remarks. It was refreshing to hear such honest commentary amidst the usual polite chatter and flattery he encountered; their authenticity was a stark contrast to the sometimes superficial interactions that came with his status as a professional athlete.

After inadvertently eavesdropping, Frederik continued on his way, the conversation between the waitress and bartender lingering in his mind. Then rejoining his teammates, he engaged in their lively discussions and good-natured teasing throughout the evening.

Yet, as the night progressed and the players prepared to leave, Frederik found himself unable to shake the thoughts of the bartender. Her directness, grace, and quiet confidence had made a profound impact on him. Despite not even knowing her name, he felt an inexplicable urge to discover more about her.

As he was about to leave the restaurant, though, he realised with disappointment that she had already left her post. And as he made his way home, he felt a twinge of regret for not taking action sooner.

_

Flashback continued

About a week later, Frederik found himself at an ice skating rink with some of his new teammates and their family members for an open event before the hockey season started. The rink resounded with laughter, the sharp cuts of skates on ice, and the occasional thud of someone falling. Children wobbled around with their parents' careful guidance, while teenagers zipped across, showing off their skating prowess. The atmosphere was vibrant with infectious joy.

And gliding gracefully across the ice, enjoying the freedom and the cool breeze against his face, Frederik then spotted the bartender again. This time, though, she seemed a bit unsure on the ice, cautiously navigating with a few friends. They held onto each other for support, their faces lit up with both delight and mild apprehension as they tried to maintain balance.

Frederik couldn’t help but feel his heart skip a beat as he recognised her. He watched her for a moment, admiring the sparkle in her eyes and the clarity of her laughter amidst the rink's commotion. He could see her determination as she concentrated on staying upright, a mix of focus and joy that only enhanced her charm.

However, interrupted by Jarvy, Frederik shook his head and refocused on his teammates and friends. But a little while later, after signing several autographs, his mind was elsewhere as he made a few more rounds. Suddenly, he gently collided with someone, his larger frame absorbing most of the impact. Quickly reaching out to steady the person, Frederik's hands were firm yet gentle on their arms.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised reflexively, genuine concern evident in his eyes as he looked down, only to notice it was none other than the bartender he’d been so keen on watching earlier that day.

The bartender smiled sheepishly, her cheeks flushed from the unexpected encounter. "No, it's my fault. I'm just not that great at skating," she admitted, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

Gracefully helping her steady herself, Frederik reminded himself not to let the moment pass. "I'm Freddie, by the way," he quickly introduced himself with a warm smile—perhaps a little too rushed, but he hoped to ease any awkwardness.

The bartender let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, I know," she replied with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "You’re the goaltender for the Carolina Hurricanes."

"Right," Frederik sighed softly, slightly disappointed that this was the only reason she recognised him. Yet, just as he was about to say something else, she spoke again with a smile.

"And you were at the restaurant last week. I remember serving you a drink."

That made Frederik let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah, with the rest of the hockey jerks," he said, recalling her remark, teasing gently and causing her to blush slightly.

"Oh right - gosh, I’m so sorry about that… It's not that we don't like you guys... it’s just… We were just really tired during that shift," she explained, feeling a bit embarrassed as she looked up at him, her eyes sincere.

But Frederik just shook his head. "No need to apologise. I get it," he reassured her, his smile comforting as he admired her honesty and the way she didn't shy away from the truth.

"Anyway, I won’t take up more of your time, Freddie. You’re busy with your hockey stuff—but I am sorry about the collision—and the comment last week," she offered him a smile.

But as she then began to carefully skate away, Frederik couldn't resist calling out, "Wait, what's your name?"

Turning her head, she replied with a smile, "Olive, but my friends call me Liv.”

He watched her rejoin her friends, her laughter and presence still standing out in the crowd. And from that moment on, Frederik found himself thinking about Olive's smile, her easy laughter, and the genuine warmth he felt in her presence.

Similarly, Olive couldn't shake off the impression Frederik had left on her. She had expected him to be like the rest—cocky and self-assured—but instead, she found him surprisingly humble and kind. His gentle demeanour and the way he had treated her with respect and kindness had caught her off guard in the best possible way.

And surprisingly, the universe seemed to conspire to bring them together, causing their paths to casually cross over the next few weeks.

Olive attended her first Hurricanes home game with her hockey enthusiast friends, who had also managed to arrange a meet-and-greet with some of the players for an autograph session before the match. The excitement of the crowd was palpable, and Olive quickly found herself swept up in the fans’ energy.

And naturally, among the players, Frederik was there, who immediately spotted Olive in the crowd. His heart raced as he instinctively made his way over to her, nerves bubbling up unexpectedly as he focused solely on her, ignoring everyone else around him.

"Hey, Olive," he greeted, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Oh hi, Freddie," she replied, her eyes sparkling with recognition.

The noise of the crowd softly faded into the background as they connected in a gaze. And completely captivated by Olive's charm, Frederik momentarily forgot his surroundings. She had a way of making him feel at ease, her laughter contagious and her insights thoughtful.

But then her friends approached, their jaws almost dropping as they realised Olive was actually on a first-name - well, nickname - basis with Frederik Andersen.

And Frederik couldn’t help but chuckle at their reaction. Yet, ever the professional, he quickly offered them autographs, followed by Olive taking photos of them. 

“Hey, what about you, Liv?” one of her friends suggested.

“Oh no, that’s okay,” she timidly replied.

Frederik offered her a soft smile, trying his best to hide any hints of disappointment. However, her other friend pressed on and encouraged Olive to stand close to Frederik, prompting him to gently wrap his arm around her. “Come on, Liv! You know you want to.”

Olive felt slightly awkward standing next to the towering goaltender, yet she couldn’t deny how comfortable his presence felt. His body was warm against hers, his hand gently resting on her waist as they both smiled at the camera.

But their moment was fleeting as Frederik was then quickly called away to continue his obligations. Yet, just before parting ways, he gathered his courage and asked Olive out for coffee.

And naturally, she quickly accepted with a smile that lit up the room. They exchanged numbers, and as Frederik then walked away, he felt a sense of excitement he hadn't felt in a long time. The anticipation of their upcoming coffee date filled him with a warmth that stayed with him long after he had left the arena.

_

Flashback to October 2021

Frederik and Olive's first coffee date was nothing short of blissful. They sat across from each other in a cosy café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the warmth of their conversation. The café itself was charming, with exposed brick walls adorned with local artwork and soft jazz music playing in the background. And from the moment they started talking, time seemed to slip away unnoticed.

Frederik was genuinely fascinated by Olive's travels and her passion for writing. He listened intently as she animatedly described her favourite destinations and the stories she hoped to tell through her works. Olive's eyes lit up as she recounted her adventures in Paris, her quiet retreat in a small village in Tuscany, and the bustling markets of Marrakech. She shared stories of the characters she had met along the way, the inspiration they provided for her writing, and her dream of publishing a novel one day.

In return, Olive found herself captivated by Frederik's hockey experiences, his dedication to his craft, and the unwavering support of his family in his success. He shared tales from his childhood in Denmark, where his father first introduced him to the sport, and the journey that led him from local rinks to the NHL. Frederik spoke passionately about the thrill of his first professional game, the camaraderie among his teammates, and the sacrifices he had made to pursue his passion.

And as the evening drew to a close, neither of them wanted the night to end. They lingered outside the café, reluctant to part ways, with the city lights casting a soft glow around them, creating a magical atmosphere. Then with a shy smile, Frederik asked Olive if she would like to meet again.

"Definitely," she replied quickly, her heart fluttering with excitement.

And about a week later, they met for dinner at a quaint restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of Raleigh. The atmosphere was intimate, with flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over their faces as they continued to talk and laugh effortlessly.

The restaurant's rustic charm, featuring wooden beams and vintage décor, added to the sense of intimacy as they discovered common interests and a shared sense of humour that strengthened their connection. They laughed over their mutual love for different cuisines, shared their favourite books and music, and debated quirky action films.

“No way,” Olive insisted. “Die Hard is NOT a Christmas movie.”

Frederik chuckled. “Well, it does take place during a Christmas party, and it’s listed under the category of Christmas classics on Disney+, so… that settles it.”

Olive shook her head. “Well, they seriously need to do some proper research then.”

From the moment they met, Frederik was charmed by Olive's wit and intelligence, while Olive admired Frederik's humility and genuine kindness. Their connection was undeniable, and neither felt any awkwardness or doubt as they spent hour after hour together.

However, as weeks turned into months, the demands of Frederik's hockey season took precedence. His schedule was filled with training sessions, games, and team commitments, leaving little time for leisurely dates and quiet moments with Olive. Days became a whirlwind of practices, strategy meetings, and travel for away games, and Frederik found himself constantly on the move, with little opportunity to catch his breath.

Despite his best intentions, maintaining regular contact with Olive became a challenge. Text messages went unanswered for hours, and plans for meet-ups were often postponed. Frederik knew he was letting her slip through his fingers, but the relentless pace of the season left him torn between his passion for hockey and his growing feelings for her.

Meanwhile, Olive began to feel uncertainty creeping in. While she cherished the moments they had shared and the connection they had formed, she couldn't shake the feeling of being sidelined as the hockey season intensified. She tried to understand Frederik's commitments, but deep down, she couldn't help feeling neglected and unimportant.

Many evenings were spent alone, reminiscing about their time together, and Olive found herself drafting texts to him, only to delete them out of fear of appearing needy and clingy. The growing silence between them became deafening, amplifying her doubts and insecurities.

So, as weeks turned into months, Olive reluctantly started to distance herself emotionally. She convinced herself that their relationship was merely a fleeting romance—a beautiful chapter in her life, but not meant to last. She buried her feelings, telling herself that perhaps Frederik had never felt as strongly for her as she had hoped. Then turning to her writing, Olive used her emotions as fuel for her stories, seeking solace in her creative expression.

Their once vibrant connection began to fade, replaced by a bittersweet ache of what could have been. Despite sensing the shift in Olive's demeanour, Frederik felt powerless to bridge the growing gap between them amidst the demands of his career and the pressures of the season. He missed her laughter, her stories, and the way she grounded him, but changing the situation seemed beyond his control.

And as the hockey season reached its peak, Frederik and Olive found themselves drifting further apart, their love story seemingly slipping away into memories and what-ifs. The initial spark that had brought them together dimmed under the weight of unspoken words and missed opportunities, leaving both with a lingering sense of loss.

_

Flashback to December 2021

As Frederik had finally settled into his role within the team and achieved a better balance between his career and personal life, thoughts of Olive quickly returned to occupy his mind. It had been two months since their paths had diverged, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had let something special slip away. Determined to make amends, he gathered his courage and reached out to her, hoping for an opportunity to reconnect.

To his surprise and relief, Olive agreed to meet him again. She approached this reunion cautiously, wary of opening herself up to potential hurt once more. Despite her reservations, she found herself unable to resist Frederik's gentle persistence and the lingering memories of their time together.

So, for their next outing, Frederik suggested ice skating, eager to make up for their awkward first encounter on the ice. Arriving at the rink with a mix of excitement and nerves, Olive felt a flutter of anticipation as she laced up her skates beside Frederik. He flashed her a reassuring smile, his warm honey-brown eyes filled with determination to make this experience memorable for both of them.

And sensing her slight struggles, Frederik then knelt before her, gently taking over to tie her skates properly. It felt almost like a Cinderella moment for Olive as she gazed down at Frederik, who effortlessly secured the laces. And she couldn't help but feel a rush of affectionate emotions within her.

"There you go," he interrupted her thoughts, looking up with a smile. "All sorted?"

Olive nodded eagerly, "Absolutely."

Then stepping onto the ice, Frederik took Olive's hand in his, his touch tender and supportive as he guided her patiently, explaining the basics of balance and movement. His voice became a comforting backdrop to the sounds of blades slicing through the ice.

Olive chuckled at her initial wobbles, finding reassurance in his encouraging words and steady grip. And as they glided across the rink together, Frederik led with the grace born of years spent on the ice, and Olive followed his lead, gaining confidence with each lap they completed. Their laughter mingled as they shared in the delight of their newfound rhythm, the awkwardness of their first attempt melting away in the warmth of their shared smiles.

After a few laps around the ice, they paused to catch their breath, leaning against the rink's railings. Frederik's eyes sparkled with admiration as he looked at Olive, proud of her progress and the passion she displayed for something he cherished deeply. They exchanged stories and laughter, savouring the simple pleasure of being together again in this moment of shared joy.

And by the end of their date, Olive felt a sense of achievement she hadn't anticipated. Not only had she improved her skating skills under Frederik's patient guidance, but she also felt closer to him than ever before. The spark of their connection had reignited amidst the playful banter and shared triumphs on the ice, leaving them both with a renewed sense of closeness and affection.

As they left the rink, hand in hand, she just couldn’t help but marvel at how Frederik had transformed what could have been a daunting experience into a cherished memory. Once again, she found herself drawn to his easy charm and genuine kindness. Yet, she guarded her heart, reminding herself that they were embarking on a fresh start—a new beginning without expectations of where it might lead.

Frederik felt a deep sense of contentment. The day had surpassed his expectations, not just in reigniting their connection but in reaffirming the bond they shared. So, as they strolled away from the rink, the night air crisp and filled with promise, he suddenly halted and spoke with confidence.

"Hey Liv."

"Yes, Freddie?"

But Frederik didn’t really need to say anything. Instead, with gallantry and genuine care, he simply stole a tender kiss from her—a gesture he had contemplated all day but hadn’t dared to attempt until he was sure she desired him as much as he desired her.

Needless to say, Olive eagerly returned the kiss with equal longing.

Fortunately, their next meeting came less than a week later, and this time it was at a Hurricanes home game in the PNC Arena. The atmosphere was tense as the team faced off against the New York Islanders, but despite their best efforts, the Canes suffered a disappointing loss. The crowd, which had been electric with anticipation all night, now buzzed with the sting of defeat as everyone gradually dispersed from their seats.

Frederik's emotions were raw after the game. He didn’t want Olive to witness his vulnerability so soon after reconnecting, to see him like that. But as she approached him in the corridor with a comforting smile, he couldn't resist the pull of her empathy and genuine care. So, instinctively, he pulled her into a tight hug, seeking comfort in her presence.

"Hey, you did amazing, Freddie," Olive said, looking up at him as he released his arms from around her smaller frame.

"I know," he sighed deeply. "But a loss is still a loss."

Olive tried her best to muster a smile in the face of disappointment. "Well, the good thing about hitting rock bottom is that at least it can't get any worse."

Frederik couldn’t help but let a smile appear on his lips, her words both comforting and amusing. And as they made their way out of the arena, Frederik insisted on driving Olive home, to which she happily accepted. However, neither of them wanted the night to end on a sombre note, so Olive invited him inside her apartment.

The small space was cosy and filled with personal touches—framed photos, shelves lined with books, and soft, ambient lighting that created an inviting atmosphere. And in the quiet intimacy of Olive's living room, they swiftly engaged in heartfelt conversations that ranged from hockey to their deepest aspirations and fears. 

Olive shared her recent writing submission to the local paper, expressing her dreams of building a career beyond bartending and the fears that sometimes held her back. Frederik, in turn, opened up about the pressures of his career, the constant demand to perform, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead after his time in the NHL. 

It was a tender evening marked by sensitive topics, and as their emotions lay bare, their connection only deepened, culminating in a tender kiss.

Surprising even herself, Olive let go of her reservations, allowing their kiss to deepen into something more passionate and consuming. In that moment, their physical desire mirrored the emotional intensity they had both been denying themselves for so long. Each touch and caress spoke volumes of their longing and the bond they shared.

Then with unspoken understanding and mutual consent, they moved to Olive's bedroom, where their bodies eagerly intertwined in an expression that transcended mere physical attraction. Frederik took his time undressing her, studying every curve of her body as his fingers gently explored her smooth skin, gradually exposing more of her.

Meanwhile, Olive found herself unable to suppress her desire for him. Each touch and caress ignited a deeper longing, and as she helped him discard his clothing as well, she savoured the feel of his muscles beneath her palms. 

No words were necessary as their eyes locked in a tender gaze, a profound connection as Frederik positioned himself above her on the mattress. Then without hesitation, he lined himself up with her entrance and eased himself into her, causing moans to escape them both as their bodies joined together. With every movement, every thrust and kiss, the heat between them intensified. Their lovemaking was tender yet passionate, a culmination of deep, raw lust and heartfelt emotions for one another.

As they moved together in sync, quickening the pace and getting closer to the brim of ecstacy, their moans grew deeper and louder, names slipping off their tongues. Then with a few more final pounds, they managed to reach an intense climax together, a rush filling their minds as they breathed heavily and allowed euphoria to take over. 

And in the serene aftermath, nestled in each other's embrace, Frederik and Olive found solace in the warmth of their connection, the steady rhythm of their breathing echoing softly in the room. As they drifted into sleep, intertwined and content, they realised they were no longer merely skirting around their emotions—they were diving headfirst into the depths of a love that had patiently been waiting.

_

Flashback to February 2022

Olive experienced every moment with Frederik Andersen as a whirlwind of emotions and passion. Their dates were filled with laughter, deep conversations, and an increasing sense of closeness that left her breathless. Day by day, she found herself falling deeper in love with him, his presence becoming both comforting and exhilarating in her life.

Their physical connection was undeniable, each touch igniting a fire within her unlike anything she had felt before, as Frederik's tender caresses and passionate embraces brought her to heights of pleasure she had only dreamed of. It was in those intimate moments, she felt a connection that went beyond the physical—a deep bond that whispered promises of forever.

Olive simply found herself completely in love and believed she had found her soulmate in Frederik. She cherished their time together, treasuring every stolen kiss and shared glance as precious moments. In his arms, she felt safe, cherished, and truly alive.

However, Frederik was struggling with his own internal battle. While he cared deeply for Olive, and possibly even loved her, he couldn't ignore the demands of his hockey career. And as their relationship grew, he felt torn between being a devoted boyfriend to her and giving his all to his training and team responsibilities.

So, after navigating this delicate balance for several months, which included sharing meaningful moments during the Christmas season, Frederik came to a painful realisation. He knew that continuing their relationship would mean sacrificing valuable time and focus on his career—a sacrifice he wasn't prepared to make.

And caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, Frederik wrestled with how to best handle the situation. Part of him considered reducing their time together, hoping Olive would understand his need to prioritise hockey. Yet, after agonising over the decision, he ultimately concluded that ending their relationship was the kindest option, sparing Olive from further heartache and disappointment.

With a heavy heart, Frederik then explained to her that he needed to focus on his career and couldn't give her the time and commitment she deserved. 

Olive was completely blindsided by his decision. She had believed their love was deep and meaningful, capable of overcoming ayn challenges including his demanding career. So, naturally, the sudden breakup left her reeling with a mix of anger, betrayal, and heartbreak.

She struggled to understand how their seemingly profound connection could be discarded so easily. In her anguish, she felt deceived and used, convinced that Frederik had viewed her as a temporary distraction—a fleeting amusement with no lasting significance.

Beneath her hurt, anger simmered not only towards Frederik but also towards herself for believing so blindly in a love that seemed one-sided. Rejection wounded her deeply, shaking her self-worth and trust in her own judgement.

Despite the ache in her heart, Olive sought solace in the memories they had created—the laughter, passion, and genuine moments of connection. So, as she navigated the aftermath of their breakup, she made a solemn vow to protect herself from further heartache. She resolved to focus on healing, rebuilding her confidence, and learning to trust again—knowing that with time, the pain would ease and she would emerge stronger.

For now, however, the wound remained raw, and the weight of lost love hung heavily on her soul.

_

Flashback to April 2022

Months passed, and Olive gradually began to mend her broken heart. She tried to distract herself with casual flings and meaningless encounters in an effort to fill the void left by Frederik's abrupt departure. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to move forward, reminders of him persisted in her life.

As the goaltender for the city's beloved hockey team, Frederik Andersen was omnipresent in the media and among her friends, many of whom were avid fans. Olive couldn't escape reminders of him—the sight of his face on billboards, mentions of his name in conversations, and the ache in her heart whenever she watched him play.

Her mornings started with glimpses of him on TV highlights, a reminder of their shared passion for life. During lunches with friends, his name inevitably came up, forcing her to mask her discomfort with forced smiles and polite nods. Evenings brought photos of him on social media, where friends shared moments of his public life that she felt painfully excluded from.

Olive had never fully confided in her friends about the depth of her heartbreak, brushing off their gentle inquiries with a simple explanation that their relationship had ended due to his demanding schedule—partially true. However, her friends could see through her façade, sensing the pain that flickered in her eyes whenever Frederik's name arose. And their supportive embraces and silent understanding provided some solace amid the tumultuous emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

One evening, her friends managed to convince her to join them for another Hurricanes home game. By then, Olive had grown somewhat numb to the sharp sting of seeing Frederik on the ice, resigned to the ache in her heart that seemed to have taken up permanent residence.

And as the game progressed, Frederik focused on his performance and the team's objectives. Yet, during a break, as he came to scan the crowd, his gaze suddenly locked onto Olive's familiar face in one of the  front rows. In that instant, the weight of remorse and regret crashed over him like a tidal wave.

When the final buzzer sounded, Frederik's resolve solidified. He knew he needed to speak to Olive, to apologise for the pain he had caused her. So, approaching her cautiously, his heart racing with nerves and determination, he messaged her asking if she could meet him in the locker room after the game.

But Olive couldn't face him so soon. The wounds were still fresh, the emotions raw. So, with a gentle yet firm refusal, she declined his invitation, unsure if she could maintain her composure in his presence.

Despite her reluctance, fate intervened yet again a few days later when Frederik found himself dining at the restaurant where Olive worked. And this time, their paths couldn't avoid crossing. Accompanied by friends, managers, and his agent, Frederik's presence made it impossible for Olive to avoid the unexpected - and perhaps awkward, encounter.

Hours passed as she watched him from the bar, her heart still aching. So ,seeking solace, Olive slipped out behind the restaurant for fresh air, but only to find Frederik following her.

"You shouldn’t be out here," she said firmly, crossing her arms as he approached gently.

"I needed to see you," he said softly, taking a small step forward. 

"Freddie, please, I can’t do this..."

Despite her protest, Frederik moved closer to her. His expression was earnest, his eyes filled with regret and longing. And before she could object further, he pulled her into his arms with force, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that reignited a fire she thought had died.

Passionate and fueled by desire, the kiss brought forth unresolved emotions. Olive struggled against conflicting feelings, torn between past hurt and their undeniable chemistry. Yet, instinctively, her arms found Frederik’s neck, deepening the kiss.

And as the night unfolded, they found themselves back at Olive's apartment, their bodies entwined in a frenzy of longing and need. Their lovemaking was intense, a physical manifestation of the longing and desire that had simmered beneath the surface for months. 

Just like many times before, it felt so effortlessly easy to allow their bodies to melt together. With Olive straddling Frederik, she moved with determination and deep breaths, their moans harmonising while approaching their climaxes. 

Yet, in need for more closeness, Frederik swiftly turned them over into missionary, where he held his face close to hers, thrusting with force and vigorous motions till they both reached the peak in a symphony. 

And in the aftermath of their passionate reunion, Olive found herself whispering those two words that held both vulnerability and hope: "Please, stay."

Frederik knew he shouldn't have stayed. He owed her honesty about where they stood. But in that moment, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her against him, he couldn't leave. She was the love he craved, the one person he couldn’t let go of.

So, they fell asleep together, wrapped in each other's arms, finding solace in shared intimacy.

However, when Olive woke the next morning, she found herself alone in bed. Frederik had left quietly, only leaving behind a simple message: "I'm sorry."

The words echoed in Olive's mind as she lay there, her heart aching with a familiar pain. She had allowed herself to hope for a second chance at love. Yet, Frederik's departure left her grappling once more with uncertainty and heartbreak, questioning if their love story was destined to be fleeting rather than enduring.

_

Flashback to May 2021

For seven turbulent months, Olive experienced the unpredictable highs and lows of love and heartbreak, all because of Frederik Andersen. She had tasted the bliss of their intense connection and endured the pain of his repeated departures. Despite the hurt he caused, she couldn't ignore the enduring love she still felt.

So, to heal her broken heart and move forward, Olive found solace in Colin—a dependable man who offered her security and the attention she craved. Their relationship blossomed, giving her the comfort and stability she had lacked during her tumultuous time with Frederik.

And immersed in this new relationship, Olive gradually regained her confidence and found moments of happiness. Colin was attentive, always ready to listen to her thoughts and dreams, in stark contrast to Frederik's unpredictable presence.

However, despite her growing affection for Colin, she couldn't completely erase Frederik from her heart. Memories of their passionate connection and emotional bond lingered, casting a shadow over her newfound stability. She wrestled with guilt, questioning the fairness of her lingering feelings for Frederik towards Colin.

So, navigating this emotional maze, Olive struggled with conflicting desires, torn between her past and present, unsure of where her true feelings lay.

But as always fate intervened one evening as Frederik unexpectedly saw Olive at a bar during a rare free night in Raleigh. Her laughter and smiles quickly caught his attention, stirring jealousy as he watched her with Colin, making him torn between bantering with his teammates and the painful realisation of what he had lost.

Every laugh, every touch between Olive and Colin felt like a dagger twisting in Frederik's chest, a reminder of the love he had let slip away. His heart ached with longing and regret, unable to bear seeing Olive move on without him.

And so, driven by desperation and needing to confront his feelings, Frederik sought a private moment with her. He found her in a quiet corner of the pub, softly lit by a nearby lamp, and reached out to gently grasp her wrist.

“Liv!” 

"Freddie, please don’t!" Olive exclaimed firmly, trying to pull away, but he held on.

"I’m sorry, but I just can't bear to see you with someone else, please talk to me,” his voice cracked with emotion.

Olive's heart wrenched at the sight of Frederik, vulnerable and exposed. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled against the surge of desire threatening to engulf her once more. But she knew she had to be strong, to protect herself from the pain he had unintentionally caused.

"No, Freddie," she protested, her voice trembling as she withdrew her hand. "I can't do this anymore."

Her words echoed through the corridor, a painful declaration of finality amidst the noise of the crowded bar. With tears streaming down her face, Olive turned away from Frederik, but he grabbed her arm again, preventing her from leaving.

"Just listen to me..." he pleaded softly, filled with anguish.

Frederik's heart shattered at her rejection. He tried to explain, to beg for another chance, to convey the depth of his feelings and the turmoil within him. But Olive had reached her limit. She could no longer wait for Frederik to prioritise their relationship over his career and uncertainties.

"I'm done, Freddie. I'm done waiting for you," she declared, her voice a mix of grief and determination.

And as she walked away, leaving Frederik alone in the corridor, he was consumed by profound loss and regret. For the first time, he truly felt the weight of his actions—the pain he had caused her, the love he had lost.

In that moment of clarity, Frederik understood the enormity of Olive's love and the depth of his mistakes. He had sacrificed the one relationship that had made him feel alive, and haunted by her words and his own regrets, he vowed to learn from his mistakes. 

But for now, all he could do was stand there, grappling with the ache in his heart, knowing he had shattered the heart of the woman he loved the most.

_

Flashback Continued

The hockey season was reaching its peak, with the Carolina Hurricanes deeply entrenched in a pivotal playoff battle. Frederik Andersen, their dependable goalie, felt the pressure and nerves building as he prepared for the game that could define their postseason fate, as tonight wasn't just about a simple win or loss; it was about advancing to the next round or facing an early end to their season.

Frederik's mind buzzed with strategy and anticipation as he stepped onto the ice, the thunderous cheers of the home crowd echoing through the arena. Each save he made brought a rush of adrenaline, a mix of relief and determination to keep the Hurricanes competitive. Yet beneath his focused exterior, thoughts of Olive lingered—a poignant distraction that fuelled his drive to succeed while stirring up unresolved emotions.

Meanwhile, in the stands, Olive sat at the edge of her seat beside Colin, her gaze fixed on Frederik as he moved swiftly and decisively in goal. Her initial casual interest in hockey had evolved into genuine passion over the past many months, ignited by Frederik's skill and the intensity of playoff hockey. Despite her efforts to conceal it, Colin couldn't ignore the subtle changes in Olive's demeanour whenever the goalie made a crucial save or endured the disappointment of a goal against.

And as the game intensified and emotions ran high, Olive found herself torn between the thrill of the Hurricanes' offensive surges and the ache in her heart whenever Frederik faced relentless shots. She stole brief glances at Colin, aware of the unspoken tension between them—a delicate balance disrupted by Frederik's undeniable hold on her.

The Hurricanes fought fiercely, but midway through the third period, disaster struck as Frederik was substituted—a crushing blow for any goalie. His frustration was palpable as he slammed his stick on the rink railing on his way to the locker room, burdened by the weight of the team's playoff hopes.

And watching Frederik's despondent demeanour from the stands stirred a familiar ache in Olive's chest—a mix of empathy for his disappointment and a desire to comfort him. She felt torn, caught between her loyalty to Colin and the lingering emotions she still harboured for Frederik.

But then when the opposing team scored yet another goal, dashing any hope of a comeback, Olive's resolve wavered. Deciding on excusing herself from her seat, she made her way towards the locker room, driven by an irresistible urge to find Frederik amidst the playoff game chaos.

And navigating the familiar maze-like corridors of the arena, she finally reached the locker room area, where Frederik would be reflecting on his performance. The sound of subdued voices and equipment filled the air as she cautiously approached the doorway to the team's inner sanctum.

There he sat, alone in his stall, still clad in his gear, head bowed in contemplation. Yet, as he glanced up and saw Olive standing in the doorway, tears welling in her eyes, Frederik's heart skipped a beat.

"Liv," he murmured softly, his voice tinged with fragile hope.

Solid tears streamed down Olive's cheeks as she struggled to compose herself. She had come intending to offer comfort, but now as she was so close to him once more, she was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions—the months of shared memories, the lingering warmth of their connection, and the ache of their tumultuous past.

Frederik then swiftly rose from the seat and cautiously approached her. And with no words spoken, Olive instinctively rushed to close the distance between them, drawn to the familiarity and solace Frederik offered in his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up in a close, desperate union that spoke of longing, regret, and unspoken love.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, her hands finding their way into Frederik's hair as she held him tightly, unwilling to let go.

Then breaking away from the heated kiss, they stood breathless. Olive knew she couldn't stay, couldn't betray Colin's trust, yet a part of her yearned to linger in Frederik's embrace forever.

"Please, stay..." Frederik pleaded, his voice filled with desperation and vulnerability. "Liv, I want you. I need you… I can’t be without you…"

Tears continued to stream down Olive's cheeks as she struggled with the torment of her conflicted emotions. "Freddie... I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "You'll just hurt me again..."

But Frederik held her tightly, his eyes pleading for her understanding. "No, not this time, Olive. I love you..."

"I love you too, Freddie," she simply confessed, her voice barely audible amidst the storm of emotions within her.

They sealed their renewed bond with another heartfelt kiss, but Olive knew she couldn't continue deceiving Colin. Despite the pain it would cause, she had to be honest with him about her feelings for Frederik. It wasn't fair to him, nor to herself, to deny the depth of her love for the man who had captured her heart months ago.

And as the Hurricanes faced an early playoff exit, Frederik and Olive sought solace in each other's arms that night, rekindling their passion amidst the echoes of disappointment.

Together, they embraced the uncertainty of their future, knowing that their love story was far from over—it was just beginning.

_

Present 2025 - The Wedding

Three years had passed swiftly, filled with love, challenges, and unwavering commitment.

As Olive concluded her heartfelt speech, basking in the applause from their friends and family, she couldn't suppress the radiant smile that spread across her face. While Frederik, her anchor and soulmate, sat beside her, his eyes filled with admiration and love.

The venue, adorned in soft hues of ivory and gold, resonated with the tender emotions of the occasion. And Olive's voice carried with a blend of sincerity and gratitude as she thanked their loved ones for their steadfast support and recounted cherished memories of their journey together. Her words were interspersed with laughter and tears, each moment affirming the depth of their bond.

Frederik knew he couldn't match Olive's speech with words alone. Despite help from loved ones in composing his own speech, he grappled with expressing the simplicity and sincerity that defined his feelings. So, rising from his seat, he briefly glanced at his notes, the inked words reflecting his devotion and the path they had walked together.

"I've never been one for lengthy speeches…" Frederik began, his voice steady with emotion. "And I'm sure many of you here know that. But that's okay, because..." He paused, taking a deep breath. "The only thing that truly matters, the only thing I need to say, is that... I love you, Liv. I have loved you from the moment I first saw you, even when I didn't trust myself to love." His gaze locked onto Olive's, their eyes meeting in a shared moment.

A reassuring smile spread across her face as she listened intently, her heart swelling with the weight of his words. Frederik’s voice grew stronger with each heartfelt sentence, resonating with the depth of their shared experiences. "I've never quite understood why you chose me," he continued, his tone filled with humility and adoration. "But I've stopped questioning it. What matters is that we chose each other. And I promise, with all my heart, to be the best husband I can be for you, for the rest of our lives."

Their love story wasn't a simple fairy tale romance devoid of challenges or imperfections. It was real, raw, and deeply meaningful—a journey marked by growth, forgiveness, and unwavering commitment. It was a testament to their resilience, having weathered every storm together, emerging stronger and more deeply in love each time.

The End

[mp0625]

Sun and Sand

Pyotr Kochetkov x reader

Taglist. Masterlist.

A/N: sorry it was posted late, this is for Pyotr’s shutout on Saturday

You came down to Florida with Pyotr to support him in his second stint in the NHL this season after Andersen was sidelined. You said it was an excuse to support him but you really just wanted to go to the beach.

After the bad loss on Friday to Florida with Pyotr sitting on the bench. You were ready to get home, but you still had to go through Tampa. When you got off the plane that you took with the boys to Tampa there was a sense of dread in the air for not knowing if the game will end well or not. With Pyotr starting you were nervous as hell because you didn’t know what was going to happen. As the periods ticked away in the game, and save after save that Pyotr made, your anxiety got less and less. When the clock hit zero and the buzzer went off, you screamed your head off, and you went to celebrate with the team.

The morning after you woke up in Pyotr’s arms cuddled up, after a few minutes when you knew he was awake. You softly asked “Instead of taking the plane back with the team can we stay an extra day and go to the beach?”

He looked down on you with a soft smile and a kiss and said “Of course, baby.” “Is that why you packed our bathing suits?” He said with a grin.

“Maybe”

Once y’all got ready to go, you took an Uber to Clearwater beach. The sand was so white and the water so blue and warm. You swam while Pyotr read. After a while you convinced him to come swim with you. Y’all jumped the waves and swam in the salty water. After a while both of you started to get hungry, so you found a taco shop down the beach a little bit. Once y’all were filled with tacos, y’all went back out into the sun to read and nap. As it was getting dark Pytor woke you up and said “It’s getting dark we should probably head out.”

“But I’m hungry.” You said

“I’ll find somewhere to eat.” He said holding up a finger, “The phone said there is a seafood place up the road from here with good reviews.”

“Ooo let’s do that.”

When y’all got to the restaurant, it smelled delicious. As you sat down, you hadn’t realized how red you had gotten till now. “Oops I forgot to reapply sunscreen after lunch.” Once dinner was done, y’all Ubered back to your hotel, as you were getting ready for bed, you mentioned to Pyotr “Do we have to leave? The weather here is 10 times better than Raleigh.”

A/N pt 2: Yes I’ve been to Tampa and Clearwater a bunch of times that’s how I was able to put the details in.

Taglist: @studioreader @honethatty12 @slafgoalskybaby @topguncultleader @wondershells

I know I have a few people on the taglist that are new but I’m doing on this on my phone and I don’t have access to the list I’m going to tag them tomorrow when I put this on the masterlist

[dailydragon08]

A World Without Monsters Ch 2

Read chapter 1 here!

Pairing: Raleigh x Reader

Summary:  During a post-kaiju war press tour, you and your copilot Raleigh finally  grapple with the growing feelings you have for each other while also  wrestling the world of reporters, politicians, and more who would  manipulate the world's saviors for their own purposes.

Warnings: friends to lovers slow burn, mentions of depression and anxiety, PTSD, and trauma throughout multiple chapters.

A/N:  Raleigh x Reader series about coming to terms with feelings during a  post-movie events press tour, along with a series of flashbacks showing  how you two met and become close while piloting Gipsy Danger. Sorry it took me so long to post this! Been dealing with some pretty serious health issues but am getting better! Hope you enjoy!

Read here on AO3.

*

December 2025

“A press tour?” you and Raleigh repeated at the same time—rather unenthusiastically.

“Well, don’t sound so excited,” Herc replied. Although the grim look on his face and crossed arms told you he was just about as thrilled as you were. The three of you sat in Pentecost’s old office, the thin strip of window that ran from floor to ceiling revealing the cold winter skies behind your new commanding officer. You still had trouble believing it was a kaiju-free world out there—a world without monsters at last. It was what everyone had wanted, worked towards for years…but, now that it was here, it was like everyone didn’t know what to do.

It had been two months since you’d closed the Breach and in that time, many of those at the Shatterdome had either returned to their families or moved on. About a quarter of the base still remained, you and Raleigh included.

“Do we really have to?” you asked. “I mean, how long is this press tour?”

“Six months,” Herc answered. “And the order came from the White House, so it would be foolish to refuse. They’ve decided to make the first stop Hong Kong to help ease you into it.”

“Okay…but what exactly does a press tour entail?” You looked to your copilot beside you, knowing from his memories that he and Yancy had done some press before he’d died, but nothing like what Herc was describing.

Herc shrugged. “Just…be interviewed, really. Go on talk shows, go to events, talk to different government officials, shake hands, get congratulations, talk to the little people. But since you two are the last two jaeger pilots left…people will probably be a bit crazier than they would’ve been years ago.”

Raleigh sighed and slumped back in his chair, running a hand down his face. You reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. He covered his hand with yours and squeezed back, meeting your eyes. You almost winced at the dark circles that had seemed to take up permanent residence on his face, but yours probably weren’t much better. He gave you a small smile. “Well, at least we’ll be doing it together.”

You smiled back at him, turning back to Herc as he added, “And the official governments of whatever country we’re in will be paying for your accommodations. So you’ll have some of the nicest hotel rooms they can offer, plus no water restrictions.”

“Soooo,” you paused, your hand still in Raleigh’s, “we can take long, hot showers?”

Herc chuckled. “As long as hot as you want. You’ll be pretty pampered from what I’ve heard. You two have earned it.”

“Will you or anyone else be coming with us?”

“I’m coming for support, but they’re more interested in you since you’re young and were part of the mission to close the Breach.” His eyes fell to your shoes, and you could tell he was thinking of Chuck. As much of an ass as he was, he was still part of the team and you couldn’t deny you missed him.

“We’ll be getting a schedule and new orders soon,” Herc continued. “I’ll let you know as soon as we get more information. We’ll be heading out in two weeks.”

“Will we stay in the Shatterdome for the Hong Kong part of the tour?” Raleigh asked, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. It was almost second nature for you both at this point to comfort each other however you could, mainly through touch. Not that you were complaining.

“No, they’ve got a hotel set up for you in the middle of the city. And…they want everyone to clear out of the Shatterdome soon.”

“What?” you asked, brows furrowing. “But they could revamp the jaeger program, maintain it in case it’s needed again. They can’t possibly think shutting it down again is a good idea after everything we all just sacrificed to keep it alive.” And the Shatterdome was your home now. Where would you go after the press tour?

“I don’t know what their plans are for it. No one has said anything about shutting down the jaeger program, but I’ll try to find out more. They might just want to repurpose the bunker and move the program to a new location, who knows.”

“Doubt it,” Raleigh mumbled. “They’re not known for their intelligence, evidently.”

Herc sighed. “Well, we’ve got our orders. Let’s just concentrate on getting through this without making too many waves.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, his eyes flickering to your and Raleigh’s linked hands. “Dismissed.”

You exchanged a glance with your copilot, sighing as you stood and made your way back to your room. You didn’t even realize you were still holding Raleigh’s hand until Newt’s “hey lovebirds�� as he passed you in the hall.

*

August 2025

As the last of the flying sparks faded away, Raleigh’s smile took their place. It was fitting, since it felt like there were also sparks flying in your stomach whenever those blue eyes landed on you.

You lifted your visor to return his smile. “Hey! Looking for Gipsy?”

“Yep.” He’d changed from his torn sweater and worn-down jacket into military-issue cargo pants, boots, and a dark blue sweater that brought out his eyes. “And you mentioned you would be with Tendo? Is he here?”

“Ayyy, Becket boy!”

Raleigh’s face lit up enough to make rainy Hong Kong seem like paradise. They embraced before Tendo led Raleigh a few feet away to the railing overlooking Gipsy as she went through maintenance. You heard Raleigh mutter “so beautiful” reverently as he stared at her and couldn’t help but pretend he was talking about you. Stop it, you told yourself. You’re in the middle of a war for Christ’s sake.

You only half listened as Tendo rattled off all the improvements made to the jaeger before piping up at your name. “What?”

Tendo made his way over to his workstation with Raleigh trailing behind. He stopped next to you and smiled and you couldn’t help but smile back. He seemed to know how to pull happiness from you with just a look.

“I was telling Raleigh how you’re one of our best,” Tendo said. “And a damn good pilot, too.”

Raleigh perked up. “Hey, I forgot to ask. Are you one of the candidates for my copilot?”

You nodded, feeling excited and also slightly sick at the prospect of Raleigh inside your head. You’d definitely have to get a handle on your thoughts beforehand—if he chose you. “It definitely took some nagging, but I did manage to convince Pentecost to add me to the roster.”

He beamed. “I look forward to it.”

You smiled in return. “Me, too.”

“So, um…” he hesitated, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Tendo’s a bit busy, but what about you? Do you want to get some lunch?”

“Tendo!” you called over your shoulder. “Will you survive if I go get lunch?”

“Knock yourself out,” he replied from where he was bent over a piece of machinery. “But not literally. Your hands are smaller than mine, so I’ll need you to help me with this piece later.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit, fat fingers.”

“Hey! They’re buff, not fat!”

You snorted, heading towards the workshop door with a laughing Raleigh in tow.

“So, you two seem like you get along well. Are you close?”

“I’d like to think so,” you answered as you slapped your visor and gloves down on the table near the door, muttering a shy thanks as Raleigh jumped ahead of you to hold the door. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he is pretty awesome. But he’d just let that go to his head.”

Raleigh smiled, looking around the bustling hallway on the way to the mess hall. You remembered how empty the Shatterdome was when you first arrived. You were one of the first people there with Pentecost and Herc, and the task of turning it into the bustling resistance base it was now seemed impossible. Now with Pentecost’s plan to seal the Breach, it felt like everything was finally coming together for the final attack in a way that made your stomach twist in anticipation. You could very well see the Breach up close soon—and may even die in an attempt to seal it. You resisted the urge to sigh, not wanting to worry Raleigh. Although his mind might have been wandering in the same direction.

You’d been lost in your thoughts and silent for some time during your walk, but he didn’t seem to mind. He threw another lopsided smile your way before jogging ahead of you several steps to hold the mess hall door open for you. You thanked him again, your stomach doing little somersaults at his manners. A good portion of the men on base either ignored you or were constantly trying to one up you, likely intimidated by your skillset. You’d gotten used to getting shoved around, whether it was an accident or some jealous peer trying to prove their superiority. Raleigh had none of that and in fact, seemed to even want to make sure you were taken care of, insisting you go ahead of him in line with your tray, offering to help you reach things, and even asking if you wanted help carrying your tray to one of the open tables. You’d heard stories about the nightmare he’d been through in losing his brother and it amazed you that he was still so sweet and protective, making you yearn for the spot next to him in Gipsy even more.

“So how are you adjusting to the Shatterdome?” you asked as you sat across from him. “Or is it pretty similar to the military bases you’ve been on?”

“Well,” he loaded his fork with an impressive amount of food from multiple sections of his tray. “It’s a lot busier, but that’s probably ’cause they’ve stuffed everyone into one base versus being scattered across several. But I was at the Wall before this and that was just as hectic, so I don’t mind.”

“Looks like there’s plenty of room at this table,” a familiar Australian accent said behind you.

You turned and returned Herc’s smile as he and Chuck headed towards you, trays in hand. “Max!” you cried.

The little bulldog’s tongue lolled out of his mouth happily as he broke into a run and jumped up on the bench next to you. You gave him a good scratch behind the ears as he leaned into you, laughing and pushing him away as he tried to lick at your tray.

Chuck slid into the bench next to you, giving you a nod in greeting as Herc settled next to Raleigh, introducing his copilot.

“He’s more my copilot,” Chuck replied, making you roll your eyes. “Right, Dad?”

Herc eyed him warily and you shook your head. Herc was always so sweet to his son who only ever gave him grief in return. While he’d never turned his ire on you, it didn’t mean you wanted to smack him any less.

The urge to smack became stronger and stronger as Chuck tried to intimidate Raleigh into a pissing competition. You’d seen plenty of pilots do it before—and many had even tried to start it with you—and some even ended with fists. Raleigh maintained his composure well, but you could see the fury building in his eyes, his body stiff and unforgiving. You made a mental note to never get on that side of him. You’d heard enough stories to know he could punt anyone into next week if he wanted to.

“Just make sure you keep up,” Chuck said as he stood and adjusted his baseball cap, “or I’ll drop you like a sack of kaiju shit. Come on, Max!”

Max looked at you and whined as you put another bite of food in your mouth. You sighed and threw a piece of chicken up in the air. Max barked happily before snapping it up in his jaws midair, his little butt wiggling in happiness.

“Max!” Chuck called again and Max went scampering after him.

“He’s a smart kid,” Herc said sadly. “I raised him on me own, but never quite knew whether to give him a hug or a kick in the ass.”

Raleigh paused, glancing at you before replying, “With respect, sir, I’m pretty sure which one he needs.”

Herc’s lips formed a thin line before he turned back to his food in silence. The air felt tense, but you couldn’t help noticing the giant salad Raleigh had created out of his veggies, mashed potatoes, bread, and chicken. You chuckled to yourself as you took a drink of your water.

Raleigh smiled, all his earlier menace disappearing the second he met your eyes. “What?”

“You’ve created a monstrosity on your plate.”

He laughed. “Hey, it’s all going to the same place. You should try it.”

“Tell that to my taste buds.”

“Aw, come on, it won’t hurt ya!” He reached over and dumped a forkful of your chicken into the mashed potatoes.

“Hey!” You shoved futilely at his hand while he took the other and spread some mashed potatoes on your bread like butter.

“There you go!”

“That looks disgusting,” you laughed.

Raleigh’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

You frowned in disgust, sticking out your tongue as he held your mashed potato-covered bread out to you.

“Don’t make me play airplane with your bread.”

Still frowning, but also trying not to laugh at how effortless your rapport felt, you slowly took the bread from him and took a bite. It wasn’t half bad, but you weren’t ready to let him know he won. “Plehhhh.”

“You liar, you like it!” he beamed triumphantly.

You scooped the chicken back out of your mashed potatoes and redeposited them in their section of the tray.

“Hey, that’s the best part!”

“Noooooo, you create as many monstrosities on your plate as you want, but leave mine alone.”

Herc chuckled. “How many kaiju guts have you helped the research team transport and this is what grosses you out?”

“Look at his plate, it’s practically its own kaiju!”

Raleigh laughed loud and bright, drawing the attention of several neighboring tables and you smiled, proud you’d been the one to draw that out of him. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other with dopey grins on your faces and you couldn’t help but admire how his eyes lit up. When you’d first entered the elevator, before he’d noticed you, he carried the weight of someone who had seen too many horrors. Now, you felt like you were catching a glimpse of the man he’d been before—the carefree Raleigh that had his brother to guard his back and bring joy into his life. You only hoped that if  you were chosen as his copilot, you could do the same.

*

December 2025

“Pretty sure Hermann’s about to run up the wall ’cause of Newt’s—hey, what’s wrong?” you asked as your bedroom door shut behind you with a clang.

Raleigh sat on the bed wearing an unfamiliar black jacket, holding an identical one in his hands. His brow was furrowed and he clutched the clothing like it might evaporate if he wasn’t careful.

“…Rals?”

Raleigh looked up at you in shock and it took you a moment to realize you’d called him by the nickname Yancy had always used for him. You hadn’t meant to; it had leapt from your mouth unbidden and the wounded animal look in your copilot’s eyes made you wish you could take it back.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered so quietly, you weren’t even sure he’d heard you.

His attention returned to the jacket in his hands. He turned it and you could see Gipsy’s symbol in a large white design on the back. You remembered seeing flashes of Raleigh and Yancy wearing jackets just like it before Alaska. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I actually, um…” He stood, gently wrapping the jacket around your shoulders. “Here, put your arms through—oh, well, it sort of swallows you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a good swimmer.” You smiled, hoping to ease some of his pain.

He chuckled, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We can get it fitted. I thought they might be nice for the press tour—or just to have. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll wear it if you wear yours. We can match.”

He was quiet as his hands gently ran up and down your arms, sliding further down until his fingers were intertwined with yours. When he met your eyes again, you saw tears threatening to spill over.

You frowned. “Raleigh? Are you—”

“I, um,” he cleared his throat, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it on the bed, “need some air. I’ll be back.”

You watched for a moment as he rushed out of the room before something small and white on the inside of his jacket caught your eye. You picked it up to find his name stitched in white lettering on the inside corner. With a start, you checked your own jacket and your heart plummeted as you realized what had gotten him so emotional: there, on the inside of your own jacket, was the name “Yancy Becket.”

You immediately shucked your jacket off your shoulders, slinging it carefully over your arm before running out into the hallway. “Raleigh, wait!”

He turned halfway to the door at the end of the hall leading outside.

You held the jacket out to him. “I can’t take this.”

He gave you a watery smile, sniffling. “No, I want you to have it.”

“Rals, if anyone should have Yancy’s jacket, it’s you.”

He turned to face you fully and took the jacket from you. He stared at it for a moment before slinging it back around your shoulders, holding the lapels so you couldn’t remove it again. “It…” He licked his lips and closed his eyes for a moment before looking at you again. “It feels like this way…Yancy’s protecting you. You have no idea how much you’ve saved me, Y/N. It feels like you’re his way of cosmic apology and it just—it just feels right.”

Now it was your turn to get teary eyed. “Raleigh…”

He cupped your face in his hands, rubbing the rough pads of his thumbs over your cheeks before leaving a lingering kiss on your forehead. You pushed your arms through the jacket sleeves and wrapped them around his middle. He pulled you against him, resting his cheek against your hair as he took a shuddery breath.

A wolf whistle behind you made you jump and you turned to see Tendo walking past. You laughed, Raleigh’s arms still securely around your shoulders as you felt him shake with his own laughter. Despite Raleigh’s sweetness and the comments and whistles you got from your peers, you couldn’t help but still feel insecure. You weren’t sure what you and Raleigh were anymore, really—definitely more than friends, but did he really want to be with you like a boyfriend or even a lover? You two had just saved the world and were just about to do a grueling press tour; he had enough on his mind. The connection between pilots was always special, wasn’t it? Maybe that was all it was.

Raleigh pulled you from your thoughts as his hands fell back down to his sides. “I’m going on a walk…do you wanna join me?”

You smile and nod before following him to the door. Your heart skipped a beat as he jogged the last few steps just so he could hold the door for you, ever the gentleman. As you exited into the cold winter air, you could feel his warm hand slip into yours.

*

Taglist: @that-girl-named-alex @wayward-avenging

[callowyn]

20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @oakashandwillow

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 42...the perfect number

2. What's your total AO3 word count? just shy of 500k which is an insane number

3. What fandoms do you write for? >_> look. is the top fandom on my ao3 page supernatural: yes. am I still actively posting spn fic: technically also yes. but the incoherent scum villain tweets that don't make it onto ao3 are where my heart truly lies rn

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

#1 and #2 are the double header of Cumplane (Pairing), an in-universe meta for @cleromancy's threadfic, and Cumplane Forums AU, an archive of @flightlesscrowkids's communal threadfic that I shamelessly enabled. #5 on the list is also a scum villain chatfic, It's Fine Cause I'm Wearing Cat Ears, where shen yuan is still insane on the modern internet but this time binghe and liu qingge are there. thank you cucumber stans for your support and good taste.

#3 is my untamed big bang from these nettles, alms which I cowrote with @zorrosuchil (chengxian, but also wangxian and a lil tiny bit zhanchengxian, much to jiang cheng's disgruntlement).

#4 is my pacific rim reverse bang Our Blood in the Machinery in which raleigh becket is possessed, but joke's on you, he's into that shit.

5. Do you respond to comments? I try but unfortunately I often give myself the fake homework of needing to reply Meaningfully which means it simply does not happen

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? hmm probably the most it-didn't-have-to-be-this-way classic tragedy fic is The Dismemberment Song (the untamed, nieyao); the deadest dove is Jettison (pacific rim, hansens badtouch)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I was going to say Only Human but then I remembered the last chapter ends with one of the main characters announcing her imminent demise lmao so perhaps my cql fix-it of Waking / Rising

8. Do you get hate on fics? thankfully not, I don't think they get enough attention to have haters lmao

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? only for siblings

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? fandom fusions are my faaaaavorite to spitball. way back in the day I had grand plans for Merlispn which (as the name should make clear) was very silly

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not to my knowledge but cambionverse did once get cited in an academic paper

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? funnily enough one of my smallest and least-viewed spn fics, Driftwood, was translated into chinese!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? nearly all of them in fact! shout out to @thegeminisage and our series Cambionverse which is old enough to be in middle school now

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? I am a multishipper til death do us part ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? fuckin. Envesseled lmfao. ON GOD WE WILL POST THE LAST FIVE CHAPTERS I JUST DON'T KNOW WHEN

16. What are your writing strengths? *eye* think my own jokes are very funny hahaha and I love to write banter & arguments

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I can brainstorm plots all day long but executing upon them is So Hard

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? as a monolingual it is something I would do very sparingly if at all, and only if there wasn't another way to convey the same tone/emotion

19. First fandom you wrote for? the first thing I ever posted to ao3 was The Quest for Camelot which is found poetry from the merlin fic finders comm. before livejournal I did post a few things to ff.net but they are going with me to the grave

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? listen. I understand why it deals psychic damage for my followers to see supernatural content in the year of our lord 20 whatever. but read Cambion those are my kids

[senashenta]

Counting Scars

Title: Counting Scars

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Sex. Just. All the sex.

Summary: Three years after their first meetup in a motel in Amarillo, Texas, Dean and Cas are used to traveling to meet up with each other every couple of months or so. This time it’s in Raleigh, North Carolina, where they spend (most of) a weekend locked up together in a (not so) cheap hotel, making up for lost time and reaffirming their love for one another once more… until Dean’s DAD stops by unexpectedly to pound on the door and drag him away for a JOB, anyway.

Notes: Okay so the Horror High series was originally supposed to just be four fics: Horror High (10 chapters), Cheap Motel (one-shot), Counting Scars (one-shot) and then Storm Season (which is going to be X-number of chapters long, but I’m hoping around 10 the same as Horror High.)

But somewhere along the way other one-shots, Cerulean Blue, Everything I Do, and Falling Stars, just kind of… cropped up in-between Horror High and Storm Season. So, then the series was up to SEVEN fics. UNTIL. More one-shots appeared that take place AFTER Storm Season. SEVEN of them. And now the series is up to FOURTEEN fics, two of which have multiple chapters, and I have DUG MY OWN GRAVE, here! And all for a series with an EXTREMELY small following, so I’m pretty much writing it all for myself! :D;;

ANYWAY.

Top!Dean and Bottom!Cas the same as the rest of this series. If that’s not your jam, feel free to back out now. I just happen to like them that way. Also, gratuitous smut abounds!

On a personal note, I’m having a really rough go of it right now and my writing is pretty much all I have at the moment. Destiel, Lambden, Geraskier, Hijack and Valdemar are getting me through some tough times. Comments and likes help cheer me up, if you’ve got the time and inclination. (If not, thank you for reading, anyway.)

HORROR HIGH et al TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

COUNTING SCARS By Senashenta

[Days Inn, 3201 Wake Forest Road, room 16. Love you.]

Cas was rather stumped by this one because the hotel he was looking at simply wasn’t… shitty enough. Usually the Winchesters picked the cheapest, weirdest, most run-down motels they could find to fly under the radar, and while this hotel wasn’t five-star by any means, it certainly wasn’t run-down. It was nicely kept. It was clean. It was two stories. It had a pool (albeit one that was closed for the season.) Cas was frankly confused as hell, after three years of these little meetups.

But he was at the right address, according to his phone, and Cas had spent the last twelve hours on a bus from Tallahassee, Florida to Raleigh, North Carolina to meet up with his boyfriend-slash-lover, so finally he just headed into the hotel and asked for directions to room sixteen from the friendly and polite woman manning the front desk. Once he was pointed in the right direction, he headed off, and when he reached room sixteen, he only hesitated slightly before knocking.

There was scuffling from the other side of the door and then Cas could hear it being unlatched. Dean yanked the door open to grin at him hugely, then grabbed at the front of his trench coat and pulled him inside, closing and locking the door again behind them.

Cas hefted his backpack off his shoulder and dropped it on the ground, looking around the—nice—room with complete bafflement. “What’s with the…?” He gestured to the whole room, the plush bed with soft, comfortable linens, the fancy furniture—the balcony—with obvious confusion.

“Oh. I—ah.” Dean glanced around, then shrugged with one shoulder and rubbed at his hair almost awkwardly. “I just thought it’d be nice, for a change. Don’t you think? And the cost doesn’t really matter, I mean, it’s all on fake credit cards anyway. So.”

Cas watched Dean shift on his feet, still bordering on awkward—and finally smiled, just soft and fond. “You didn’t have to do this for me, you know.” He said quietly, even as he eased closer and ducked in to give Dean a kiss. “I’m happy just as long as we’re together. But this is… it’s nice. Thank you for thinking of me, Dean.”

Dean relaxed on his words and tilted his head to return the kiss. “I’m always thinking of you.” He told Cas with a smile, bumping their heads together lightly. “You’re almost always on my mind.”

Three years of being a couple and most of that time having to meet up in random places around the country, in cheap motels, to eke out time together over too-short weekends while spending the rest of their lives apart—it hadn’t dulled their relationship one bit. Cas and Dean were perhaps closer than ever, emotionally speaking, if not in geographical terms, and that always stood out glaringly when they did manage to get together.

Now, with Dean being twenty-one years old (Cas was still twenty and would turn twenty-one in four months) they were still solidly a couple, neither of them planning on going anywhere any time soon. Neither of them could really even imagine life without the other, even with the occasionally troublesome manner of their relationship.

Certainly, it would have been nice if they could have had a “normal” life together. Dated the “right way”, maybe even shared an apartment. But Dean was still a Hunter—would always be a Hunter—and Cas simply… wasn’t. He couldn’t go on the road with Dean even if he wanted to, and Dean’s dad wouldn’t allow it anyway. Besides which, Cas was midway through his post-secondary education at Florida State University, so he couldn’t exactly be touring around the country. He would have to drop out of school. School that his father was paying for.

As it was Cas was taking days off from school (and his part-time job) every two or three months to meet up with Dean like this. It was easy, in university. No one called truant on you, as long as you kept your grades up—which Cas did, of course. Though his first-year roommate from when he’d been living in the dorms, Alfie, had asked him where he kept disappearing to on more than one occasion.

When they couldn’t meet up, they texted, and called, and video chatted. Cas and Dean were in nearly constant communication, except when Dean was on a Hunt—then he turned his phone off, for obvious reasons. It was the times when he tried to call and it went straight to voicemail that Cas found himself worrying, even though Dean assured him that he was fine. He was always fine.

Now, Dean reached to take his hand and tugged Cas through the room and over to the balcony, pulling the door open and nudging him outside. Dean followed him out and leaned against the balcony railing with a smile. “It’s only the second floor, but we get a view of the garden, which I guess is nice? If you’re into that sort of thing. What do you think?”

Cas stepped up next to him and rested his hands on the railing, looking around, taking in the view. “It is nice.” He confirmed with a smile, and then, again, “thank you for this. I mean, I’m… happy. To see you in any cheap motel in this country. But this is special. Something different.”

“For our anniversary.” Dean said softly, a little smile on his face when Cas blinked at him. “I bet you didn’t think I’d remember stuff like that. But a month ago was the anniversary of our first date.”

“When we went to Maggie’s for dinner and then made love when we got back to my place later. And I mean made love, not just sex.” Cas laughed quietly; his expression fond at the memory. “My first real date ever and I absolutely let you go all the way. Does that make me easy?”

“Oh, the easiest.” Dean agreed with a grin.

Cas laughed again, a blatantly happy sound, and bumped sideways into him gently. “You love me anyway.”

“I love you because of it.” Dean corrected, teasing.

Cas rolled his eyes and swatted at Dean’s arm, then pushed away from the balcony and turned to go back inside, Dean following along behind him. Once he was back in the room he hung his coat on the rack by the door—there were, for some reason, two jackets already hanging there—and then wandered over to climb into the absurdly comfortable bed. He waved for Dean to join him.

Dean crawled into the bed with him, and after a moment of adjusting the two of them settled with Dean on his back, one arm tucked around Cas, who was cuddled into his side warmly, one of his own arms flung across Dean’s chest, his hand toying with the front of Dean’s t-shirt absently.

“So, how are Sam and your Dad?” Cas asked once they were comfortable, “Did your Dad freak out again when you said you were coming here?”

“He always freaks out.” Dean sighed, his hand rubbing at Cas’s shoulder gently. “Let’s just say he’s not your biggest fan.”

“He doesn’t even know me.” Cas grumbled.

“I know.” Dean squeezed his shoulder and sighed, pulling him even closer.

Cas shifted against him and buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck with a huff. It bothered him, that Dean’s dad didn’t like him just on principle alone. When people were together, loved each other, like he and Dean did, then wasn’t it natural to want the other person’s family to approve of you? Then again, from the sound of it, John Winchester didn’t approve of much.

At least Sam liked him, that much was true. Cas had always had a good relationship with Dean’s younger brother, ever since they had met. And while Sam was getting stubborn and (more) opinionated now that he was seventeen, rebelling against his dad and just generally getting in trouble, Cas still had a high opinion of him. He thought he always would.

Pressing a kiss against the side of Dean’s neck, Cas finally just changed the subject completely and asked, “why are there two jackets by the door?”

“There are three. One of them is your ridiculous trench coat.”

“Smartass.”

“Better than being a dumbass.” Dean grinned up at the ceiling, then told him; “my old jean jacket from high school is on its last legs. Dad gave me his old leather one, it’s still in good shape, but…” He trailed off slightly and glanced down at Cas, “that patch you got for me is still on my old one, and I was hoping you could swap it over to the leather one, while you’re here…?” Then a pause and he added, “Dad’ll be pissed I defaced his jacket, but whatever.”

Cas made a soft sound in his throat and glanced up at Dean in surprise. “You want to keep the patch?”

“Of course.” Dean gave him a gentle hug. “It keeps me safe.”

Cas was quiet and still for a moment because—that was the first thing he had ever given his boyfriend, besides peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Something to protect him. And even years later, Dean apparently still treasured it. It was a wonderous thing. After a brief pause to consider that, Cas shifted against Dean’s side, shuffling so that he was half-laying overtop of the other man, and leaning down for a kiss. “I love you, Dean.”

“Mm.” A hum against his lips and Dean angled his head to deepen the kiss; “I love you, too. More than anything.”

As often happened between them, one kiss led to more, which lead to Cas pushing Dean’s shirt up, urging him to take it off, and Dean doing the same with him. They both eased back long enough to strip out of them before coming together again, making out like it was the end of days.

Soon enough they were taking their pants off, too, as well as their boxers, pressing together, completely nude and loving the feel of their bodies against each other in the soft sheets. When Cas mumbled something about lube, Dean extracted himself from the younger man and the bed long enough to go to his duffle bag and dig it out. Of course, Cas had brought some, too, just in case—he always did—but Dean never forgot.

Cas took the brief time Dean was gone to settle on his back and slide a hand down to palm at his own cock, then closed his hand around it and started stroking, head falling back and breath starting to come faster. When Dean turned around, lube in hand, to that sight, he cursed softly and just watched for a moment before swallowing and heading back over, climbing back into the bed.

Prep was easy now, with so much practice behind them, and Dean knew exactly what he was doing, working his fingers into Cas carefully but deeply, stroking against his sweet spot as much as possible just to watch him jerk and hear him moan. He would never get over that.

They had long ago stopped using condoms; after the first accidental slip-up it had seemed pointless, and they were in an exclusive relationship. They trusted each other, so it was fine. Besides, Cas privately liked the idea of Dean coming inside him—though he had yet to express that out loud.

Now, Dean pulled his fingers away, sliding his slicked-up hand up Cas’s thigh, leaving a streak of lube in its wake—but before he could push Cas’s legs father apart and settle between them, Cas sat up, grabbed at him and pushed him onto his back, then climbed on top of him and—oh. Okay. This definitely worked, too.

Cas straddled Dean’s hips, reaching down to fist his boyfriend’s cock and give it a couple of strokes before holding it steady, lining up and sinking himself down over it, taking Dean deeply into his body. And then he sat there for a long moment, just breathing heavily, his hands braced against Dean’s abdomen, kneading there restlessly as he adjusted. Dean’s own hands came up to grab at Cas’s thighs, gripping there tightly.

Surprisingly, when he did finally start to move, Cas rocked his hips slowly, deeply, in a warm rhythm—usually when they fucked like this it was hard, fast and rough. This time Cas drew it out, rolling his hips sensually, all slow-building heat and delicious friction. This was new, different—but not at all unwelcome. Making love in an entirely surprising way.

Dean released one of Cas’s thighs and reached up to thread his fingers into the other man’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss—then another, and another—before Cas broke off to bury his face in Dean’s shoulder, still rolling his hips, panting softly.

Usually, their lovemaking was over almost too quickly, but this time seemed to last forever, long and drawn-out and delightfully kinetic, Dean’s hands roaming Cas’s sides and back and Cas working them both to their peak while panting into his shoulder, still, until Dean began carefully thrusting up to meet his movements, at which point Cas pushed himself up again, throwing his head back with a gasp. “Dean…!”

“Shit, Cas…!” Dean panted out a curse, hands dragging to hold by Cas’s knees while Cas’s rhythm sped up—and he brought one of his own hands up to grasp at his own cock, beginning to jerk off along with everything else. Dean just cursed again, watching him under half-lidded eyes, licking his lips at the sight. “So fucking hot…!”

Cas whined at that, just a token protest, but didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop stroking at his himself, until a long few moments later when he tensed up abruptly, and came with a sharp cry, spilling sticky come over Dean’s abdomen. Even though he was done, though, he continued to move, rolling his hips down against Dean’s until the older man reached his own climax and came with a muffled groan of his own, deep inside Cas’s body.

Only then did Cas climb off Dean, then ease down to start licking at the streaks of come that speckled Dean’s abdomen, cleaning them away with his tongue. Dean bit back another moaned curse at the sight, and when Cas was done, licking his lips absently, he drew him up the bed and tucked him into his side.

“You’ve never done that before…”

“Seems rude to leave it and make a mess of such nice blankets.”

Dean chuckled and rubbed a hand along Cas’s side warmly. “That’s very considerate of you.”

“I try.” Cas yawned slightly and nuzzled down into Dean’s shoulder with a quiet pleased noise, “did I ever tell you… I actually prefer no condoms?”

“No.” Dean sounded surprised. “Why?”

“Mmm… because I like you coming inside me.” And it struck Dean that Cas must have been tired—from the bus trip there, from the sex, from a combination of things—because he wouldn’t just say something like that, normally. Now, Cas continued softly, his voice almost a mumble, “feels like you’re marking me, somehow. Claiming me. I like when you claim me.”

Dean adjusted his arm around Cas a little, tugging the blankets up around them with the other one. “You’re mine and I’m yours. We don’t share each other.” He reminded Cas quietly, tone amused.

But Cas was already drifting off and didn’t even realize he was falling asleep until he woke up some time later.

-- --

When he did wake up, Cas breathed out a long, contented sigh. His head was still resting on Dean’s shoulder, his arm across Dean’s ribs, and Dean’s arm around his waist. Neither of them had moved, so Dean must have fallen asleep, too. Cas hummed to himself and let his hand slide along Dean’s skin gently. The older man didn’t even twitch—he was clearly still sleeping.

Fingers light, touch soft, Cas began petting along Dean’s chest and abdomen, pausing every time he reached a scar, mapping them, keeping a mental tally in his head as he trailed his fingertips along them gently. Nine. He counted nine scars on the front of Dean’s torso alone—and that was if you counted the two little parallel jorogumo ones as one. If not then it was ten, and that was…

Cas understood Dean’s job. The importance of it. And he was so proud of his boyfriend for doing it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t hate it a little bit, too. Every time they met up and Dean was carrying more scars, something in Cas’s gut twisted up. He hated seeing the evidence of all the times Dean had been hurt, even if some of them were now a long time in the past.

Now his fingers touched gently across a newer scar by Dean’s ribs; it was still raised and pink, obviously fresh, and he sighed softly, wishing there was something he could do. Some way he would wipe the slate clean, get rid of all the awful marks for good, like magic. Dean didn’t deserve to carry around all these reminders of pain.

“…what are you doing?” Dean’s voice came out thick with sleep and he finally shifted slightly under Cas’s touch, stretching and then ducking to drop a kiss against the younger man’s hair.

Cas smiled a little and smoothed his hand against Dean’s ribs. “Counting scars.” He replied simply, without any more explanation than that.

“Naturally.” Dean chuckled, still settled back in the warm blankets on the comfortable bed in their surprisingly nice hotel room. “Mm… do you remember what you were saying, before you fell asleep?”

“No… what was I saying?”

Another soft laugh. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. You know what I was thinking?”

“What were you thinking?” Cas looked up at him.

“The downside to this place? People might actually bitch to the management about the amount of noise we make while we’re having sex.”

A soft laugh and Cas leaned up for a kiss. “So, let them complain to management. We’re not doing anything wrong.” Then he settled again, his hand going back to tracing abstractly against Dean’s chest, like usual, and he said, “so, I looked up Raleigh while I was on the bus here. Have you ever been here before?”

“Yeah. Rugaru case a couple years back. Didn’t get to do much sightseeing, obviously.”

Well, yeah, okay, that made sense. Cas tapped his fingers against Dean’s chest with a soft hum. “Well, they’ve got the Natural History Museum,” He said, “and the Museum of Art, and the Arboretum. And—and I can practically hear you yawning already, stop that. I know those aren’t really your things. But they also have a huge farmer’s market, which I know is also not your thing, but I was hoping we could stop in tomorrow, if that’s okay with you? It’s got vendors from all over and it’s supposed to be great…”

Dean chuckled softly and told him, “Cas, if you wanted, I would go to all those things with you, even if I was yawning the whole time. Besides, the Natural History Museum would have dinosaurs and stuff, right? That could potentially be cool. It’s the kind of thing Sammy used to always want to drag me to.” Then a pause and he added, “and we can absolutely go to the farmer’s market tomorrow. A new date to commemorate our first date back in high school.”

A smile at that. Dean really did remember even the little things. It was still amazing sometimes. Cas tipped his head to press a kiss by the older man’s clavicle. “I’ll try to get that patch swapped over tonight, if you ever let me out of this bed.”

“Mmm…” Dean made a considering sound before tightening his arm around Cas’s waist. “We have all weekend to get that patch done, and this is a very nice bed, especially with you in it.” He joked, but then paused before asking, “do you actually still carry needles and stuff around with you?”

“Mmhm,” Cas agreed, “needles, thread and a seam ripper in my backpack at all times, you never know when they might come in handy.”

“Unbelievable.” Dean grinned down at him. “Did you know I adore you?”

“It may have come up from time to time.” Cas laughed, and lifted his head again, leaning up for a kiss. “I adore you, too, you know.”

“Happy anniversary.”

“Yeah. Happy anniversary.”

-- --

Some time later found them tangled up in bed (again), still stripped to their skin and Dean working Cas over as diligently and with as much attention to detail as he would give to any job on the road—absolutely focused on the younger man, who was arching and gasping under him while he kissed, nipped and licked his way down his body.

Cas had one particularly sensitive spot just under his navel that Dean liked to exploit every chance he got, and now was no exception. He nipped there lightly just to hear Cas gasp, then began sucking sharply, pulling up a little, purple bruise, all the while Cas made little “ah, ah” sounds and squirmed, his hands buried in Dean’s hair and his erection more than evident.

Dean laved his tongue over the pretty new bruise before ducking down to suck the head of Cas’s cock into his mouth, rubbing his tongue over it firmly. Cas moaned and tugged at his hair—and they had talked about the hair-pulling before, on multiple occasions, but the other man just couldn’t seem to help himself. Not when they were doing this, anyway.

So, Dean just ignored it for now and eased deeper onto Cas’s cock, sucking down the swollen shaft heatedly and with a pleased-sounding hum in the back of his throat because—he liked doing this for Cas. Sucking him off. He liked the taste and feel of Cas’s cock in his mouth—and especially liked the sounds the other man made while he did it. And if you had asked him, a few years ago, if sucking dick would be one of his favorite things to do? You probably would have gotten punched. But now? Now it was a completely different story.

“Ah… a-ah, Dean…!” Cas had his head back and his eyes squeezed closed, as if watching Dean go down on him would tip him over the edge immediately. Dean’s own eyes flicked upward, and he smirked around the cock in his mouth, just easing deeper, then starting to bob his head in easy motions, and sloppy.

Another few moments of that, of him giving Cas an unhurried blowjob and Cas squirming under him, and Dean pulled off his dick with a soft wet noise, huffing and licking his lips. Green eyes scanned up and down Cas’s body—Cas was sprawled out, obviously loose-limbed and pliant, breathing hard and a little, pinched expression on his face, somewhere between pleasure and pain—perfect—and Dean grinned before stretching to grab the lube from the bedside table.

“You ready for me, Cas?”

“…always.” Cas managed, his expression shifting into a little quirk of a smile and eased his legs father apart to make the next part easier for his boyfriend.

Dean settled himself half-propped between Cas’s raised knees and slicked up the fingers of his right hand, then capped the lube and dropped the tube off to the side to be retrieved later. For now, he focused on easing the first finger into Cas’s body, pushing deep and crooking it slightly to rub against the other man’s prostate. He could feel when he found it—but also knew because Cas gave a jerk and a moan.

And Cas took this part so well, so sweetly, always had, even the first time when he had been a total virgin and neither of them had known what they were doing with stretching him out. He had been patient, even then, when Dean had been tentative and fumbling with his fingers—nothing compared to the way he was now.

The second finger made Cas gasp out another moan, one of his hands down and pulling at the blankets now while the other one had returned to fisting in Dean’s hair, fingers tangled tightly in the soft strands. Two fingers was usually where they spent the most time, Dean toying with his sweet spot and drawing out the agonizing pleasure until Cas thought he might cry—until he was panting out sobs, sometimes.

Because Dean loved nothing more than to watch Cas completely unravel in front of his eyes, come entirely undone, fall apart like a marionette with its strings cut. Cas was beautiful in the throes of pleasure (he was always beautiful, but still) and Dean could never get enough of him that way (or any way, he supposed.)

The third finger was almost cursory, just to make sure that Cas was stretched out enough for his cock, though they had attempted going with just two in the past and Cas had admitted the added stretch and burn of the following penetration hadn’t exactly been a turn-off. Dean had filed that under Duly Noted for future reference.

Now, he just continued stretching Cas out for another endless couple of minutes, until the younger man was pulling at his hair (again with the hair-pulling) and breathlessly begging him to fuck him. And Cas rarely used that exact word, so when he did, Dean paid attention. He pulled his fingers back and wiped them on the sheets absentmindedly, then sat back on his heels and considered, licking his lips before patting against Cas’s hip gently.

“Roll over, Cas. Get up on your hands and knees.”

“Wh—” Cas began, but then just changed his mind, obviously figuring it out, and swallowed thickly, then carefully turned himself over onto his stomach—and lifted up onto his hands and knees. He swallowed again, glancing over his shoulder at Dean to ask, “is this okay?”

Dean just nodded mutely because it was more than just ‘okay’, already lifting up onto his own knees and lining himself up to push his own throbbing cock into Cas’s slick body.

They had fucked like this before, over the years, but only a handful of times, so it was still very new and different—and it would be fucking, there was no making love in this position. Cas’s face was flushed a dark red and his back was bowed slightly, his hands fisted in the blankets—and he just adjusted himself when Dean pushed into him, sliding his legs farther apart and moaning deep in his chest.

Dean took just a moment, his hands petting softly at Cas’s hips, to let him adjust, and then he started to move, a few slow, shallow thrusts at first but quickly picking up the pace until he was fucking into Cas hard and deep, their hips slamming together every time he buried himself to the hilt in the younger man.

Cas started out trying to keep his moans somewhat muffled, biting on his lip, eyes closed and head hanging, entire body jostling and jerking while Dean pounded into him, but soon he found himself panting out gasps and moans that just got louder the more time passed, until he was next thing to shouting, voice cracking, going hoarse around the edges with each cry.

Eventually, Cas’s arms, already shaky, gave out on him, and he half-collapsed forward into the pillows with a shout, hips still in the air but now at least able to muffle himself into the covers while Dean continued fucking him totally and thoroughly, the other man’s hands grasping hard at his waist now.

Cas scrabbled for purchase in the bedding, finding none, and eventually ended up grabbing at the headboard of the bed, his entire body jostling up and down along with Dean’s thrusts. His other hand, meanwhile, slid down between his own legs to start stroking at his own cock, slick and spilling precome in slippery blurts across the sheets under him.

There was nothing but animalistic want and need, here, and both of them were more than fine with that, at least for the moment. Dean continued thrusting into Cas hard, almost roughly, one hand coming up to shove his hair back out of his face before returning to Cas’s hip—until finally his climax edged up on him, and he backed off a bit, waiting for Cas’s telltale cry. He didn’t want to come before his lover, leave him hanging.

Dean didn’t have to wait long. Cas kept jerking at his own cock until he fell over the edge a short time later, coming over his own fist with a wrecked wail—and then Dean started thrusting harder again, working himself to the peak and over, swallowing a too-loud shout when he finally came hard and deep inside the other man.

Chest heaving, Cas waited for Dean to pull out of him, then carefully eased down onto his stomach. Dean shuffled around to lay next to him, settling on his side facing Cas and letting one hand drift down his back, gentleness in harsh contrast with what has just transpired between them.

“I’m sorry,” He apologized after a few minutes of them catching their breath, “that was…”

“A lot.” Cas mumbled, still face-first in the pillow. He finally turned his head to look at Dean—and just smiled, a little lopsided. “We don’t do that very often.”

“Because I’m afraid of hurting you.” Dean admitted, hand resting at the small of Cas’s back now. It moved when Cas began to shift, rolling onto his side to face Dean properly. “The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you, you know that, Cas.”

“Mm,” Cas agreed, “but I can handle some rough sex once in a while.”

“Cas…”

Cas sighed and lifted a hand to stroke along Dean’s cheek, his touch soft and reassuring. “Dean, it isn’t like you treated me like one of the monsters you Hunt. You just fucked me. Really thoroughly. You didn’t hurt me. I liked it, you liked it. So don’t feel bad. We can even do it again some time, just...”

“Just?”

“Just… notice. A little bit of notice, if possible. This time kind of came out of nowhere.”

Dean finally flashed a grin, “it did for me, too. Sorry.”

“If I’m walking with a limp later, I’m blaming it on you.”

“I accept full responsibility if I broke your ass, Cas.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but leaned in for a kiss, warm and affectionate. When they parted, he asked, “you think I could raid the minibar? I need a drink.” And then, to clarify; “a non-alcoholic drink. A ten-dollar bottle of water or something.”

“Oh,” Dean waved a hand in the direction of the minibar in question, “I already broke into the thing before you even got here. Have at.”

All Cas could do was laugh.

-- --

Later that night, in-between bouts of having sex—or making love, as the case may be—Cas sat down (on his miraculously unbroken ass) and removed the embroidered pentagram patch from Dean’s old jean jacket, which was very obviously on its last legs. The patch itself was worn, too, but mostly just faded with age. It was still recognizable for what it was. Cas sewed it onto the shoulder of the leather jacket with practiced hands and was done in no time, smiling to himself as he handed the jacket over to Dean to be inspected.

Dean seemed pleased, if the kisses he received as payment were any indication.

The rest of the night was spent just enjoying each other’s company, watching a shitty movie on the television and calling out for pizza to be delivered for dinner at nearly ten o’clock at night. They ate it sitting on the disheveled bed with the box between them, laughing and talking the entire time.

Even though they talked almost every day, it seemed like they never ran out of things to say to one another, and that was one of the astonishing things about Dean. Or maybe not so astonishing, considering his life. He had a treasure trove of wild stories that, to anyone else, would just seem like tall tales, signs of a healthy imagination—but Cas knew better. He had lived one of those tall tales. He knew all too well that they were real.

And Dean never seemed to tire hearing about Cas’s own, mundane life. His classes at university, his friendship with Alfie, his job at the Gas-n-Sip, what he did in his spare time, what he talked about with Charlie, Jody, Garth, Jo or Kevin when he video called them (especially Charlie.) He was as fascinated by Cas’s ordinary life as Cas was by his extraordinary one. Cas supposed it was true, the grass was always greener on the other side.

Once they were finished eating and had raided the minibar again for (expensive) drinks, they settled in for the evening, just spending the rest of their time quietly—making love once more, just warmly this time, sensually, heat and passion and closeness before completion, before turning in for the night just before one in the morning—actually pretty early, for them.

When they woke up the next morning it was just before eleven and they were in a sea of plush blankets and pillows—and it was snowing, just lightly, outside the balcony window. Cas cuddled closer against Dean’s side, his head resting against the older man’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, and quietly watched the stray flakes falling for just a few minutes as he tried to commit that exact moment to memory.

Dean, meanwhile, had one hand up, his fingers stroking through Cas’s hair and making him hum out a contented noise. “It’s gonna be chilly out today. You sure your trench coat will be warm enough?”

Cas made a soft positive sound in his throat and let his eyes close over, enjoying the fingers through his hair. “It’s actually very warm.”

“Who knew?” Dean chuckled, ducking in to drop a kiss by his forehead and then settling back again. “I wish we could just stay here forever, Cas. Just the two of us, in this room, in this bed, for the rest of eternity.” He sighed softly, “I love meeting up with you like this—I live for it—but saying goodbye after just a weekend together is always…”

“It’s hard.” Cas agreed. “I don’t like it, either. But… that’s how it has to be. I think we’re lucky your Dad even lets you come meet me at all.”

“Only because I don’t ask permission.” Dean told him with a tiny quirk of his lips, “I don’t give him a choice. I just tell him I’m leaving, and I go. I don’t even tell him where to until you’re long gone again, just in case, though he’d good at tracking people, he could probably find me if he really wanted to. He yells every time, though. About how I’m being disobedient and insubordinate and all kinds of other words they taught him in the Marines.”

“Your Dad was a Marine?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably explains a lot.”

Dean laughed and allowed, “yeah, probably.”

They continued their soft conversation for a while, just cuddled up in bed together, before finally deciding that if they wanted to go to the farmer’s market, they had to get up at some point that day. So, they climbed out of bed and showered, cleaned up and got ready to go out, Cas pulling on his trench coat and Dean is newly-pentagramed leather jacket, before they disappeared out the door, leaving a “do not disturb” sign on the handle on their way out.

Cas’s phone once again came to the rescue in getting them directions to the farmer’s market and they arrived just after one o’clock. The market was huge, with at least a hundred different booths and vendors, and Cas perked up considerably at the sight.

“I go to the farmer’s market in Tallahassee sometimes,” He told Dean, reaching to take his hand as they began perusing the market, “but it’s nowhere near the size of this one. There’s one stall, though, this old Polish woman and her daughter run it? And they sell the best pastries and tarts…”

Dean smiled as he listened to Cas talk. He was already privately making plans to go to the Natural History Museum next, even though they hadn’t really discussed it. It probably wouldn’t be entirely up Dean’s alley, just like the farmer’s market wasn’t, but it would make Cas happy and that was the importa—wait, that booth had pies.

Thoughts derailed for the moment, he tugged at Cas’s hand, heading over to the booth in question, a long table that was absolutely laden with pies of all sorts. Rustic, homemade pies. Dean paused there for a long moment and then glanced at Cas, who was looking all sorts of amused.

“It’s your money.” Cas told him fondly.

Okay, but how was he supposed to pass this up? And they had a mini fridge back at the hotel. Dean kept hold of Cas’s hand, tugging him along as he wandered down the table, looking at the various kinds of pies they had before finally releasing his boyfriend and digging out his wallet. “How much for the strawberry-rhubarb with the streusel?”

“Fifteen, hon.” The woman behind the booth answered cheerfully.

And damn, that was an expensive pie, but he was going to buy it anyway. He fished out a twenty and handed it over, retrieved his change, stuffed everything back in his pocket, then watched the woman bag the pie up for him, taking it with a smile and a thanks when she handed it over the table to him.

Cas was standing a couple of feet away with a little smile on his face as he watched the entire transaction. When Dean moved away from the pie booth, he reached to take hold of the older man’s free hand again. Dean just asked, “are all farmer’s markets so expensive?”

Cas just shrugged. “Generally, yeah. But you get what you pay for. I guarantee it’s a really good pie.” Then another smile and he added, “you found something for yourself at the farmer’s market after all.”

As for Cas, he bought a couple of apples from one of the other booths and found a hand-knit sweater at another that he seriously considered buying for his father but decided against in the end—because he’d come into town with only his backpack, so bringing home bulky souvenirs could be problematic. The apples went into one of his trench coat pockets for now.

They just continued on down the first row of vendors and tables until they got to the end of the row where—

“Hey, kid.”

Cas blinked and glanced sideways when someone called to him, then almost opened his mouth to protest because he was twenty, damnit. Instead, he stopped walking and in turn tugged Dean to a stop as well.

The woman who had called him was seated at a smaller table. It had a dark purple tablecloth and a literal crystal ball sitting in the middle of it. To the side was a deck of tarot cards. The woman herself was maybe a little older than them, wearing a long skirt and wrapped up in a shawl against the chilly weather.

Cas regarded her curiously for a moment before asking, “yes?”

She shifted in her seat, gaze roving up and down Cas before flitting up above his head and then back down to his face. She said, “I can see your halo.”

Beside Cas, Dean snorted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You two. You’re going to go through some very hard times.” She continued, and Cas frowned because was this her way of trying to drum up business? It wasn’t working very well. “Do you believe in soul mates? Because you two are strongly connected, and always will be, but… I see a lot of turmoil in your future. Things that may break you.” She hugged her shawl tighter around herself and offered them a vague smile, “you can get through it if you stick together, no matter what.”

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Dean tugged at Cas’s hand, “c’mon, let’s get out of here, Cas.”

Cas just continued staring at the woman. Finally, he asked, “how long?” And then, to clarify, “how long do I get with him, before it’s over?”

She shook her head. “It’s hard to say, considering all the variables. What you are. Could be a few years. Could be an eternity. It’s really up to you two.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas, let’s go.”

But Cas tugged his hand free and dug out his wallet, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and depositing it on the woman’s table. “Thank you.” He said politely, before returning his wallet to his pocket and taking Dean’s hand again, allowing himself to be tugged away. Once they were far enough off, he squeezed Dean’s hand and asked, “you’ve never run into psychics, in all the Hunting and everything?”

“We have,” Dean grumbled, obviously annoyed, “but real psychics are one in a billion, and they don’t hock their wares at farmer’s markets, of all places. She was just screwing with us. And you gave her money for it.”

Cas was quiet for a long moment before adjusting his hold on Dean’s hand, threading their fingers together, and saying softly, “I don’t think she was just screwing with us. And she never asked for a dime, I gave her that money of my own free will. I think she was just trying to help.”

There was silence from Dean for a while as they continued walking the loop of vendors, not really paying attention to them anymore. Finally, he just blew out a frustrated breath and said, “I guess I just… didn’t like what she had to say. Is all.”

“Neither did I, really.” Cas admitted, tugging Dean to a stop again and easing close, leaning up to kiss him gently. “But we’ll be okay. We’re always okay, right?”

Dean finally smiled a little. “Right.” Then he bumped his forehead against Cas’s and asked, “you wanna drop this pie off at the hotel room and then go to the Natural History Museum?”

The younger man brightened at that, perking, and nodded. “I would love that, Dean.”

Dean’s smile brightened as well, and he angled for another kiss. “Alright, let’s go then.”

-- --

The Natural History Museum was surprisingly fun for both Cas and Dean, who turned out to have a bit of a secret thing for dinosaurs. While they wandered the prehistory section, he kept telling Cas which ones he thought he could take in a fight, which just made Cas laugh on more than one occasion. They had a good time. Cas bought a fossil shark tooth from the gift shop before they left, just because he liked it.

On the long walk back to their hotel they held hands and ignored the occasional dirty look they got from passers by. North Carolina apparently attempted to foster safety and equity amongst all of its citizens. Still, clearly not everyone was getting the message. But it was like that anywhere you went, really.

Over the last few years, Cas had travelled all over the country to meet up with Dean and not everywhere had necessarily been welcoming to them. Some places they’d had to stick strictly to their motel room and order food in, just in case—mostly because Cas was worried about someone starting a fight and Dean finishing it. It had happened in the past.

In Raleigh, the dirty looks were few-and-far-between, and no one seemed inclined to start anything, so they both felt safe enough to be out together and affectionate in public. Even if that got them accosted by strange psychics at farmer’s markets.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?”

Cas blinked out of his thoughts and glanced sideways at Dean. He hummed for a moment before shrugging. “We did my fun things today already. What do you want to do tomorrow?”

Dean grinned and leaned over to kiss him. “You.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. That was kind of a given. “I think we can arrange that. Maybe even a couple of times.”

Dean laughed and bumped his forehead into Cas’s temple before returning to walking normally again. “Some day I’m going to tell Sam exactly how much time we spend in bed together on these weekends, just to see the face he makes.”

“Don’t you dare.” Cas swatted at him with his free hand, “your poor brother.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mm?”

“Do you ever wonder, you know, about the amount of sex we have when we’re together?”

“I think it’s just because we’re apart so much. If we were living together, I think it would be different.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.” Cas glanced down, watching his feet as they walked. “I think being apart creates this… vacuum, almost. Between us. We’re just trying to fill that void. Make up for lost time.” He smiled a little, “make new memories to last until the next time we can be together.”

Dean’s hand tightened in his slightly. “Memories of you get me through some tough times, you know that?”

Cas looked up again to give Dean a smile. “Same here.”

Dean paused, then, tugging Cas to a stop and pulling him into a hug. “Don’t ever change, Cas. Just… always be like this. Always be mine.”

“I can’t promise I’ll never change. Change is part of the human condition, I think.” Cas hugged back gently when Dean sighed at that, “but I can promise to always be yours. I don’t ever want to be anyone else’s, not ever. And it’s been that way ever since we met, I think.” Easing back a little, he smiled at Dean softly, “I think that fortune teller at the market was right, at least about one thing. She asked if we believed in soul mates, and I… I think I do. And mine is right here, standing in front of me.”

Green eyes blinked at him in surprise—and then Dean was ducking in for another kiss, this time warm and wanting. Cas allowed it, kissing back in kind until they both broke away for air—and he leaned up to drop a kiss against Dean’s forehead.

“Let’s get back home, Dean.” Or, the hotel, anyway. “I want you to make love to me again.”

Dean’s reply was a muttered but enthusiastic affirmative and to take his hand again, threading their fingers together as they headed off down the street once more, this time walking at a little quicker pace.

-- --

Cas was straddling Dean’s hips again, but this time they were defiling the little two-seat sofa that came with the hotel room. Cas thought it pulled out into a second bed, but that was a moot point considering the two of them were sharing the actual bed, anyway. Regardless, now Dean was seated on it with Cas in his lap, Dean’s legs up and his feet braced against the coffee table—both to help hold Cas in place and, also, because this was that delicious position that rubbed Dean’s cock against Cas’s prostate constantly, made Cas absolutely lose his shit.

They both liked this position but for radically different reasons. Cas because of the frankly mind-blowing pleasure it provided, and Dean because watching Cas come completely undone the way he did got him off like no one’s business.

“This is not making love.” Cas commented almost idly, already breathing a touch hard from the foreplay alone. He angled his hips to rub his cock hotly along Dean’s and bit back a curse at the feeling. “Ah…!”

Dean rocked his hips upward lightly in response, then cast a glance toward the clothing scattered in a trail between them and the door. “I think ‘making love’ was out of the picture the second we got in here and you jumped me, Cas.”

“I did—not!” Another rock of Dean’s hips and Cas’s voice went high and tight. He swallowed hard and reached down to grasp at Dean’s cock, giving it a few loose strokes just to make his boyfriend groan. “I just—ah—helped you out of your jacket, that’s all.”

“Mmhm,” Dean’s head fell back, and he licked his lips, “and then my shoes, and my shirt, and my jeans, and my boxers…”

To be fair, it had definitely been a two-way street. They had hit the room and gotten the door closed and locked behind them—and then been all over each other what seemed like a breath later. There was no real way to tell who had instigated it, or who had taken whose clothes off, there was just the fact that now they were naked, Cas needed to be stretched out, and the lube was across the room on the nightstand.

There was kind of a collective pause when the two of them realized that last part, and it was followed by Dean cursing. Loudly. Then whining out a pathetic noise when Cas proceeded to climb out of his lap to retrieve the tube of lubricant. It was kind of important, after all.

When he returned, Cas just climbed back into Dean’s lap, straddling him again, and handed him the lube before whetting his lips and leaning forward into Dean’s chest, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and closing his eyes.

They had never tried the whole stretching thing from this position before, and while Dean coated his fingers with slick with complete false confidence, Cas just breathed unsteadily against his boyfriend’s neck, entirely unsure how this was going to go. He was hoping well, all things considered.

When Dean reached down over Cas’s back and began carefully touching along the younger man’s entrance, Cas actually twitched slightly. Dean backed off immediately—and Cas chuckled against his neck, murmuring a reassurance that everything was fine: they had done this countless times before without hurting him, this time wouldn’t hurt him either.

Dean muttered a quiet agreement and went back to what he had been doing, carefully pushing one finger into Cas—then two—and eventually three. It was a process made more difficult by the angle he was working at, but the result was the same: Cas writhing and panting against him, arching and pushing down into his hand until the younger man finally, urgently, patted one hand against Dean’s shoulder and gasped out, “I’m ready… let me have you, ah… Dean…!”

“Cas…” Dean eased his hand away, sliding it up Cas’s back hotly and tugging him up to pull him into a kiss. “You know I’m yours…”

Cas whined out a pathetic-sounding agreeing noise against Dean’s lips, then kissed him again even as he eased back a bit, adjusting himself in Dean’s lap and sliding one hand down to grip the other man’s cock, holding it steady so he could line up and sink down over him—taking Dean into himself fully and deeply, with a long, low moan.

Then he just paused, back arched slightly and hands holding against Dean, one at his shoulder and the other at his chest. He panted softly, head falling back—and when he gave a little, tentative test rock of his hips he had to swallow a curse because the swollen head of Dean’s cock was pressing directly into his sweet spot.

But that was the thing with this position, it rubbed Dean’s cock all over his prostate the entire time they were fucking. It felt incredible but was so overstimulating it was almost too much to bear. It left Cas absolutely wrecked by the end. Not that any of that was a complaint… it was just a lot.

“Shit, ah…” Dean’s hands came down to rest against Cas’s hips and he rocked upward, just lightly, barely, but still drawing a soft whimper from Cas’s throat. “Cas… come on, move…”

Cas nodded mutely, biting on his lower lip, and braced himself against Dean’s shoulder and chest before starting to rock his hips, first slowly, almost hesitantly while he got used to the constant pressure on his sweet spot—then harder, deeper once he started to really get going.

He propped his knees against the couch on either side of Dean, with Dean’s knees up and holding him in position, and fucked himself deeply and thoroughly on his boyfriend’s cock, eyes closed and very quickly losing himself to the feeling of Dean against him, inside him, the pleasure that was absolutely pounding through him.

Dean just leaned back and watched the show with completely blown pupils, Cas rolling his hips and rocking overtop of him, the younger man’s fingers digging into his skin as he moved, head back and mouth working, breathless gasps and soft curses and oaths; things Cas only said when he really got lost in their lovemaking—or fucking, as the case may be.

Cas, meanwhile, was completely lost in the moment, in the push-and-pull of Dean’s cock in him, jamming against his prostate every time he rocked downward. And God did he love Dean’s cock. Had since the first time they’d slept together—even before then, when he had jerked his boyfriend off under the bleachers at school. Now Cas just focused on the feeling of Dean inside him, hands kneading against Dean’s skin as he worked himself harder on the other man’s dick.

When Dean moved one hand away from Cas’s hip, down to wrap around his weeping cock, and started to stroke, the end was pretty much nigh. Cas gave a little, breathless cry and rocked his hips downward, firmly, a handful more times—before coming with a panted wail.

Then he collapsed forward against Dean, gasping for air against his boyfriend’s shoulder, and continued rocking his hips, little whimpers in the back of his throat when Dean’s erection bumped against his battered prostate, totally overstimulated now. He didn’t stop, though, not until Dean finally locked up and came with a guttural moan of his own. Cas’s hips slowed to stillness, then, and he slumped against Dean, entirely boneless.

“Shit, Cas…” Dean had his head leaned back against the back of the couch and his hands rubbed soothing little circles at Cas’s hips, then drifted down his thighs warmly. “Did I mention I love it when you ride me?”

“Mmph.” Came Cas’s oh-so-articulate reply. He had his face tucked against Dean’s neck and his arms mostly limp at his sides. Dean was still inside him, gone soft now, and while normally that bothered him a little, this time he didn’t even care. “Feels too good… when we do it like this. So good it hurts.”

Dean smiled a little, hands rubbing up and down Cas’s thighs gently. “’S why we don’t do it more often.” He admitted, “I know you can’t handle too much of it.”

“Feels fucking amazing…” Cas murmured, almost a protest. He smiled slightly and brought his hands up, pushing off of Dean’s chest to sit properly again. “It’s just…” He ran a hand through his hair, “a lot. That’s all.” Then he shifted, wiggling his hips just to see Dean’s reaction—and stifled a grin when his boyfriend groaned and gave him a look. Cas chuckled and eased off, lifting up and off Dean’s limp dick and then dropping down to sit beside him. “Next time don’t complain when I want you out of me ‘too soon’ after, then.”

“You can be a real jerk sometimes.”

“You love me, though.” Cas leaned into Dean’s side and Dean wrapped an arm around him, already lowering his feet to the floor.

The older man came back with: “yeah well, you love me, too, so we’re even.”

“Mm.” Cas hummed a happy noise, entirely too pleased with himself, wanting nothing more than to make this moment last forever. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s midsection and squeezed, a gentle hug. “You’ve got me there.”

They stayed there on the couch for a while, just sitting together and enjoying their post-coital bliss. Dean used his fingers to tidy up the come that was smeared across his abdomen, licking them clean afterward. Cas watched raptly as he did so, then leaned his head back down when Dean was done, closing his eyes with a sigh. Dean leaned his own head sideways to rest against Cas’s lightly.

A few minutes later they were both about to fall asleep and Dean forced himself to move instead, getting up and pulling Cas with him. Cas made a soft protesting noise, and Dean herded him over to the bed where they tumbled into the soft pillows and blankets, tangling up together in a mess of exhausted limbs, the moonlight streaming through the balcony window now.

They were both asleep in seconds.

-- --

When Cas woke up the next morning it was to the too-early rays of the sun, an empty bed, and the sound of Dean’s hushed voice from the other side of the room. Sighing to himself, Cas rolled onto his back and flung one arm up over his eyes to block the light as he listened quietly to what was obviously Dean’s side of a cell phone call.

He could hear Dean pacing back and forth restlessly as he spoke: “I can’t, I’m not available and you know it! …yes, I have priorities, they just aren’t the same as yours, Dad!”

And oh. No wonder Dean sounded so agitated. Cas lowered his arm away from his face and looked sideways, watching Dean pace. Finally, he turned onto his side to face the other end of the room and sighed again. This probably wasn’t going to be good. Arguments between Dean and his dad never were.

“I take four days every three months, I am trying, here, and you just won’t give an inch, it’s—no! Being with him makes me a better person, makes me stronger, I don’t get why you can’t see that!” Dean ran his free hand through his hair, frustrated, then; “damnit, Dad! I said no! Two more days and I’m yours again, okay?! I—Dad, stop, I’m not going to—”

Then a pause and he lowered his phone and looked down at it before turning around and pitching it at the couch. He followed that up by bracing his arms against the wall and leaning heavily against it, head hanging down.

Cas immediately climbed out of the bed and crossed the room quietly, stepping up behind Dean and sliding his arms around Dean’s waist from behind. Dean made a soft surprised sound and dropped one arm down to rest his hand against Cas’s where they were clasped over his abdomen.

Cas leaned his forehead against Dean’s back between his shoulders. “I’m sorry about your Dad.” He said softly.

“You heard all that, huh?”

“Some of it.”

“He wants me to bail on you early for a job.”

“Ah.”

“I said I wouldn’t do it, and now he’s royally pissed at me. I think it just… cements in him the idea that you’re not good for me.” Dean sighed and squeezed his hand around Cas’s, then carefully straightened up and turned around in Cas’s hold to wrap his arms around his boyfriend as well. “Did you know you’re a bad influence?”

“I’ve heard, yes.” Cas gave him a soft smile. “Your Dad will get over it. He always has before, right?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean agreed—and then dropped his forehead down onto Cas’s shoulder with a despairing moan. “He’s so pissed, Cas.”

Cas brought one hand up to thread his fingers through Dean’s hair, gentle and reassuring. “I do understand, you know, to a certain extent.” He said softly, “your Dad has been through so much, the whole thing with your Mom and… I know if anyone did anything to you, I’d be out for revenge, too. I wouldn’t stop. So, I get it, your Dad’s… obsession. With the demon, and the job. With teaching you and Sam, and keeping you guys close and safe.”

They had been together long enough, were close enough, that they knew pretty much everything about each other. Dean had told Cas about his mom’s death, the circumstances behind it, and his dad’s reaction to it, long ago. He had told Cas everything about his family—everything he knew, anyway, and Cas had done the same, though he didn’t have the kinds of secrets the Winchesters had.

“I know he doesn’t like me, and I know he’s never even met me and that seems unfair, even to me, sometimes, but…” Cas continued threading his fingers through Dean’s hair and tipped his head to press a gentle kiss by the older man’s temple. “He just wants to protect you and Sam, and in his view I’m a threat to that. I’m a distraction. I knock you off your game. Or at least that’s how he sees it, probably.” It did hurt, that Dean’s dad would never know him—never like him, but… “he’s just trying to keep you safe, right?”

“I know that.” Dean’s voice came out muffled against Cas’s shoulder, until he straightened up again. “Doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, though.”

“He probably won’t ever understand what we have,” Cas told Dean with a little smile, “so just… cut him some slack. He doesn’t get it, but he does care.” Then a pause and he asked quietly, “are you alright?”

“I will be.” Dean offered a little, vague smile and just pulled Cas into a tighter hug. “You always know what to say.”

Cas leaned in for a kiss, then started backing up toward the bed, tugging Dean along with him, until they both crawled onto the mattress and buried themselves in the covers, Cas tucking up into Dean’s side under the blankets. Outside, it wasn’t snowing like it had been the day before, but it was still chilly. Cas looked off out the window, his fingers toying with Dean’s pendant absently.

“No matter what your Dad ever says to you, just remember I’ll always love you, okay?” When Dean’s hand came up and the other man began playing with a few strands of his hair gently, Cas smiled and cuddled closer. “Always, Dean. There’s never going to be anyone else for me. You’ve spoiled me for other people.”

“That’s a lot to say of your very first relationship,” Dean commented, sounding amused, “that I ruined you for anyone else.” Then he paused before adding softly, “except I can say the same thing of you. I’ve told you before, you’re it for me, Cas. I don’t ever want anybody else.”

“Mmm.” Cas hummed out a pleased noise. “Then we’re in agreement on that point.”

The two of them fell silent then, just warm and comfortable together in their (for once) nice hotel room. Today was the last day, though, Cas had to catch his bus back to Tallahassee the next morning. And they didn’t have anything planned, after everything they had done the day before…

So they simply stayed in for the day, spent most of it in bed being intimate in one matter or another—whether it was having sex or cuddling up together or just talking and laughing together about nothing in particular—but also watched some more shitty television, and of course ordered room service because there was no point in staying at a decent hotel if they didn’t order room service at least once.

Dean had been completely keyed up after his conversation with his dad, but slowly over the hours they whittled away together he unwound, relaxing into the comfort and security of their relationship—of Cas.

When they fell asleep that night, it was after making love again—properly, deeply, with passion and feeling—and knowing that their time together was almost over. For the next few months, anyway. They held on to each other in sleep, almost as if to keep from being separated when the sun came back up.

-- --

At just after three in the morning, Cas and Dean were woken by a sudden and violent pounding on the door to their room.

Dean was up and out of bed in an instant, yanking on his boxers and hurrying to his duffle bag, going for his gun. Cas followed after him, scrambling out of bed and pulling on his own boxers, but then hung back while Dean went and positioned himself to the side of the door, up against the wall. He motioned for Cas to get down and Cas immediately followed the silent command.

More pounding. Dean cocked his pistol and called out, “who’s out there?!”

And another voice shouted back, “DEAN, YOU OPEN THIS GODDAMNED DOOR RIGHT NOW!”

Dean jolted slightly, then relaxed his grip on his gun and lowered it to his side. He waved for Cas to get up again, then, frowning the entire time, reluctantly unlatched the door and pulled it open. Dean was pushed to the side by the man who stormed into the room, and just made a frustrated noise before closing the door and locking it behind him.

“What are you doing here, Dad?!”

And ah, that explained… Cas shifted on his feet and forced himself not to take the instinctive step back that he really rather wanted to. Dean’s eyes were darting between his dad and Cas—but they finally settled on his dad when the older man set a harsh glare on him and snapped, “I told you I needed you and you refused to leave, so I came to get you! And here I catch you with your pants down! Literally!”

Dean made an annoyed face and held up the gun he was holding. “If it’d been anyone but you or Sammy they’d’ve been full of holes right now!”

“A gun won’t stop a demon, Dean.” John growled.

“I am fully aware of that fact!” Dean snapped, and stalked back over to tuck his gun away again before crossing to where Cas was standing and reaching to squeeze his hand lightly. “You okay?” He asked softly, almost under his breath.

Cas nodded—but that had just drawn John’s attention to him, and now he was pinned under the older man’s glare. He tightened his hold on Dean’s hand without even meaning to. “Um. Hi. I’m… Castiel. It’s nice to meet you… I think?”

John glared daggers at him, then turned his glare on Dean, who just glared right back. He continued holding Cas’s hand, defiant. “I’m not leaving until after Cas’s bus leaves tomorrow, Dad. I always see him off and this time isn’t going to be any different.”

“You’re ruined. This kid has ruined you. You’re a Hunter, Dean! You know better than this!”

Dean bristled at that. “Cas hasn’t ruined anything, he’s made my life worthwhile, Goddamnit!”

“Being a Hunter makes your life worthwhile!”

“I can be more than just a Hunter, Dad, I can have a life, I can—”

“Are you coming with me or not, Dean?!”

“I already said no, and I meant it! I don’t ask for much, but these weekends are important to me!”

Cas’s lips quirked into a little smile at that—and he tugged at Dean’s hand, turning to face him and pulling him into a brief kiss. “Hey,” He whispered, bumping their foreheads together gently, “remember what I said. He’s just worried about you, deep down. You shouldn’t completely ruin things with your Dad for me, especially since my bus is leaving in about… seven hours. Seven hours isn’t worth your whole relationship with your Dad, Dean.”

Dean hesitated and frowned. Across the room John was grumbling. “Are you sure?” Dean asked finally, “it’s seven hours, Cas.”

“Seven hours won’t kill either of us, just this once.” Cas assured him softly. “Just go.”

Dean hesitated a bit longer, but finally pulled Cas into a proper kiss, then let him go and stepped away, stooping to start picking up his clothes. “I’ll be ten minutes. Meet you in the car.”

John turned and unlocked the door, pulled it open—then paused and glanced back at Cas, a long, surveying look (Cas privately wished he was wearing more clothes in that particular moment) before ducking out into the corridor and slamming the door closed behind himself.

Dean was halfway to being dressed, already in his jeans and just pulling his shirt over his head. Once it was on and his dad was gone from the room, though, he returned his attention to Cas, moving back over to wrap his arms around the younger man and pull him close. “Are you sure about this?”

A soft, amused smile, and Cas nodded. “I’m sure. We can make up for it next time. Just go with your Dad on this Hunt and prove to him that I’m not quite the terrible influence he thinks I am.”

“I can’t believe he actually tracked me down and came here,” Dean grumbled, leaning his forehead down on Cas’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t have been subjected to that.”

“He has a temper,” Cas admitted with a laugh, then patted at Dean’s side and repeated, “just go, Dean.”

More grumbling from Dean, but he did lift his head up and go for one more kiss before easing away and turning to start shoving his things into his duffle bag. ‘Packing’, as it were. “You should get some more sleep, Cas. Enjoy the bed a little longer. The room’s already paid for. Sorry I won’t be walking you to the bus.”

Cas sat down on the edge of the bed with a smile. “You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand.”

Once he was done tossing everything into his bag, Dean shrugged into his jacket and pulled his boots on, then picked up the duffle and moved toward the door—only to stop at the last second and hurry back across the room to lean down and kiss Cas again, hard and deep. “Call me when you get back home, okay?”

“Only if you call me when the Hunt is done so I know you’re alright.” Cas countered with a laugh. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean pouted but scooted out the door anyway, leaving Cas to lock it behind him.

Cas stood by the door and looked around the room for a long couple of moments, trying to ignore the depression that was edging in on him already—and the anxiety that was gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like to think too much about when Dean went out on Hunts.

Finally, he went over and crawled back into the now-empty bed, flopping on his side with a heaved sigh.

He was just settling in when his phone pinged with a text message. First just once, but that one ping was followed by a whole series of them in quick succession. Cas blinked and leaned up, reaching to the bedside table and pulling it over to read the new messages:

[I love you.]

[I miss you already.]

[Dad wants to know if I’m texting you.]

[Should I tell him?]

[I’m gonna tell him hang on.]

[Oh God he’s totally losing his shit.]

[His impression of you still isn’t great I guess.]

[I’ve got to go before he MURDERS me.]

[MURDERS.]

[Seriously I love you.]

[Talk to you after this Hunt is over.]

Cas laughed to himself, shaking his head, then typed out a quick reply:

[I love you, too. Take care of your Dad. Be safe.]

Then he set his alarm and put his phone aside, wrapping himself up in the blankets and doing his best to go back to sleep. In the end he was less successful than he would have liked to have been—but at least the bed was comfortable, and the blankets still smelled distinctly of Dean.

It was when he was packing up to leave the next morning that he remembered the pie, previously (miraculously) forgotten in the mini fridge. They had been so distracted by each other that neither of them had even had a single piece.

THE END

[silascody]

tattoo masterpost.

‘aka fuck knows he has too many and this is gonna be hell to explain from a mun standpoint without a frame of reference i can link to’

‘why are we here’ – back of his right thigh.

die young + skull in a whiskey glass – front of his right forearm.

‘it’s all a blur’ – back of right arm, just above the elbow.

large snake – wrapping around his left forearm with the head finishing on his left hand. 

1991 – on his abs just below his pecs, @jordanmitchell's birth year.

‘why not?’ – just below his right v-line. 

a rose – beside the crease of his index finger and thumb of his left hand. commemorating his 2 week post prison bender with a woman called rose raleigh.

D-I-C-E –  tattooed on his fingers from index to pinky on his left hand dice is the name he uses for dealing. loves to keep that ring finger bent to his palm so he’s throwing up a D-I-E, signature picture pose.

‘bulletproof’ – back of his right hand where it meets his wrist.

‘k’ – right wrist, matches the q tattoo @jordanmitchell has.

large geometric lion – on the inside of his right bicep for his dead brother jack who was a leo. 

skull in a panama hat – left pec. previously hatless but he had the panama added as a tribute to his best friend jasper and their misadventures.

large cannabis leaf – front of his left knee. 

large realistic red knife slash wound – on the left side of his chest, just below his heart. got it 17 when his mother told him the wrong son died to signify that she ripped his heart out. 

503 – top of his left arm. oregon area code. 

hands reaching out from the gates of hell – covering the entire back of his neck to the bottom of his hairline. 

eye in the centre of a spider web – front of his right knee. 

wall of text – near his right ribs. paragraphed collection of various texts @jordanmitchell sent him that he never wanted to lose pre-prison. only legible if he lets you close enough to read them. 

large compass dripping down his spine with red watercolors – his says ‘no-one, nowhere’ in typescript where reference pic says wanderlust.

feather – right shoulder. he doesn’t remember much of his paternal grandmother but she always said falling features brought luck and that stuck with him. 

LUCK in black lettering changed to FUCK! (F + ! in red lettering) – right pec. the red was done in the time that elapsed between his arrest and being sent to prison. he thought it was funny. 

stick and poke knife tattoo – just above the scar on his right shoulder blade from where he was stabbed during his second year in prison. he wanted it to look like he was being stabbed again but his cellmate wasn’t very artistically inclined. he’s glad he doesn’t have to look at it much. 

anarchist symbol on red brick wall – on his stomach. 

dragon – covers most of his right hand.

‘strange boy’ – just above his left heel.

oscar the grouch – inside of his right thigh. got called trash once and said bet. 

forked lightning strike – left ribs.

falling man – just below his left elbow.

born with horns – side of his right forearm. gets drunk and tells people it says born horny.

ak-47 – side of his right calf.

‘dead man walking’ – left shoulder blade. 

skeleton giving two middle fingers – back of his left calf. he likes to be permanently flipping people off when wearing shorts. 

1990 – just above his right foot.

skeleton climbing out of a coffin to do coke – back of his left thigh. 

‘SMOKE WEED DRINK BEER STAY HIGH DON’T THINK’ in black lettering with D, I and E specifically in red – left hip.

a pair of lips – left collarbone. an impression of @jordanmitchell's

‘fuck off!’ – along the side of his right hand. flashes at people in the form of a salute when he’s too tired or high to actually say it. 

[ramonadecember]

Angst list:

“If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. Do it because I need you.” For Sullen

i know i said my goal with these was to keep them short, but then it was your bday and i think my fellow cullen/samson enjoyer deserves some extra anyway. so here we are nearly 4k words later lmfao (which is why the full thing has been posted to ao3, this is just a 'preview').

happy belated birthday, bby!!

READ FULL ON AO3

Cullen never expected to see Raleigh Samson again. 

Once Samson had been cast out of the Order, there was a period of time where Cullen held on to this foolish hope that maybe something could be done about it. Cullen was hurt by Samson’s actions, taking his getting kicked far more personally than he had any right to, because to Cullen, it’d seemed like in finding a way to leave the Order, Samson had killed two birds with one stone and found a way to leave him too. But once some of Cullen’s initial upset had simmered, he’d started to think that maybe there was a way to fix what had happened. Samson could atone and be a Templar once more. They could be together once more. 

It didn’t work out like that, of course. Not in the slightest. Even if Meredith had been willing to welcome Samson back—and on that, she’d made her opinion clear that Samson was lucky to still have his head, so Cullen knew there was no hope for forgiveness—Samson would also need to want to return. The chance of that happening was just as unlikely. Samson bore no love for the Order any longer. 

Cullen found that out the one time he tried talking to Samson after it happened. It’d taken some time for him to work up the nerve to seek Samson out, and when Cullen did finally find him, slumming it down at the docks, Samson already looked like he was in rough shape, the cut-off from the once-steady supply of lyrium he’d been taking for years really taking its toll. It broke Cullen’s heart all over again, as did the way Samson laughed in his face at the suggestion that he apologize for ‘what he’d done.’ Samson had shook his head, giving Cullen this sad look like he was the one to be pitied in that situation. “You really don’t get it, kid, do you?” Samson had asked, but he’d refused to elaborate, telling Cullen to instead go run along back to his master. It made Cullen snap his mouth shut on any further response, his cheeks burning with anger and something he’d later identify as shame.

He really didn’t get it, not at the time. Not until Meredith’s madness really set in, not until the explosion that rocked both the Gallows and Cullen’s once-unshakable faith. Cullen had looked for Samson after that, once the fighting had simmered and the dust had—literally—settled, but Samson was nowhere to be found. As more time passed, it seemed less and less likely that Samson was just lying low in the aftermath, until it got to the point where Cullen had to start accepting that Samson likely got swallowed up by the chaos like so many others—until Cullen had to start accepting that Samson was dead.

It was an… odd knowledge to get used to at first. There was always a part of Cullen, silly as it may have been, that thought Samson and him would work out in the end. Or at the very least, it was always a comfort knowing that Samson was still somewhere out there, that they still coexisted in the same space at the same time as one another. Now that shred of comfort Cullen had clung to was no more.

Cullen did his best to move past it after that, doing what he did best and shoving down any residual heartache and feelings in the name of best performing his duty. A new, worldwide crisis meant there were much bigger issues to focus on than those of the heart, but then of course, as was Cullen’s luck—or lack thereof—his professional world collided directly with the personal life he’d been trying to smother out in the form of one Raleigh Samson heading up the army Corypheus sent to attack Haven. It left Cullen doing something he prided himself on never doing, and that was freezing in the face of a crisis. It may have only been for a moment, but it still happened—not that he was sure how else he was supposed to react when confronted with the ghost of someone he once loved, the ghost of the only person to make him feel safe but was ripping that feeling away entirely.

The Inquisition ultimately captured Samson after a few misses and some hard-fought battles. In the process it came to light just how… familiar Cullen was with him. While he tried to play it cool, tried to maintain that what he knew of Samson came from, at the very most, a place of friendship, but more than anything, a place of ‘sharing very tight quarters for an extended amount of time’ or ‘frequently paired off for training drills together,’ he knew others had their hunches about what he wasn’t telling them. It was there in Cullen’s commitment to bringing Samson in—alive. It was there in the passion with which Cullen spoke of Samson, even if that passion seemed to currently come from a place of animosity. It was there in the way he insisted on taking over for Josephine’s normal role during judgements once it was Samson’s turn to be dragged before the Inquisitor. Why anyone let him, especially after he explicitly stated that he wanted to because of personal interest, was beyond Cullen, but he supposed he was hit with payback for his unprofessional behavior in the form of Samson becoming his charge, his to deal with. 

It was hard from the start, not that Cullen expected any different. But the thing was, the difficulties arose from places other than where he thought they would. Cullen expected Samson himself to be difficult, to be purposefully unpleasant and contrary in all things asked or expected of him.

Cullen didn’t expect the difficulties to come from seeing Samson like… that. Ever since their spat in the throne room at Samson’s sentencing, Samson had completely shut down. No fighting, no bickering—as much as Cullen, admittedly, sometimes attempted to provoke him just to get a reaction—no real obstinance whatsoever, except when it came to leaving his cell. And even that Cullen would categorize less as defiance and more as Samson just… giving up. Samson had said it himself at his sentencing that he knew one way or another, he was a dead man, be it the Inquisition turning him over to other authorities or keeping Samson as their own prisoner, or even in some world where he managed a return to Corypheus. In his mind, all options ended with him dead—and with everyone saying ‘good riddance’ at that. So it seemed like Samson wasn’t waiting for the inevitable, he was opting to play dead even while his heart still beat. It was breaking Cullen’s.

Cullen tried to tell himself not to care, that if anything, he was glad Samson was suffering after all of the same that he had created for others, but as good as Cullen was at lying to himself—about all things emotional in particular—he still knew that wasn’t the truth of it. He couldn’t bear to see Samson reduced to this unrecognizable husk, lacking any trace of what had made Cullen fall in—

Lacking any trace of what had endeared Cullen to the otherwise crass and surly man in the first place. It was painful to witness, painful to have the phantom of who had once been his best friend haunting the dungeon, his office, his thoughts. 

READ FULL ON AO3

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

I would like to hear more about “Call Sign MY7H1C4L” 🤍

(RE: this post) That's an old one, probably from 2020. I only have the beginning written, but I did a bunch of research about doomsday preppers and ham radios. It was fascinating!

The short synopsis is Rhett living alone in a bunker after an apocalyptic event, trying to reach other survivors via radio. Y'all can read what I'd written, it's not much.

---

Rhett pressed a button and a little red light flared on. He’d grown to love that light. Just looking at it made him feel like he wasn’t alone—even though no one ever reached out to him.

“You are listening to call sign Mike-Yankee-Seven-Hotel-One-Charlie-Four-Lima. But since we’re friends, you can call me Rhett. Good evening from the outskirts of Raleigh. It’s been a good day in the home below. I had beans for dinner—again and finally finished Don Quixote. How was your day? Great, I hope. I think I’m in the mood for a classic one tonight.”

His guitar was already tuned and cradled in his lap. Rhett strummed the strings to make sure it sounded right and moved the microphone closer. He closed his eyes for a beat and imagined someone sitting by a radio, listening. The thought brought a smile to his face.

“This is Folsom Prison Blues by the great Johnny Cash.”

The guitar came to life in his hands and he started singing in a low voice.

“I hear the train a comin'

It's rollin' 'round the bend,

And I ain't seen the sunshine

Since, I don't know when

I'm stuck in Folsom Prison

And time keeps draggin' on”

Barbara trotted into the radio room—it was really more of a closet than a room—and curled up on the concrete floor next to Rhett’s leg. For the hundredth of time, Rhett felt bad for not thinking about rugs when he furnished his bunker. The radio room was not heated, because he didn’t spend that much time in it, so the floor felt cold even though Rhett was wearing thick socks. Barbara still always came when Rhett started to sing. At least her fluffy white fur protected her from most of the chill.

The last chord of the song rang in the tiny room and Rhett silenced it by pressing his palm on the strings.

“Would be nice to see the sunshine, but time does keep dragging on. Maybe someday. I gotta get Barbs to bed. As always, thank you for listening and if anyone’s out there... Call me. Let’s chat. This was Mike-Yankee-Seven-Hotel-One-Charlie-Four-Lima coming to you from Raleigh. Good night.”

Rhett reached for his rig and flipped off the tone squelch. If someone wanted to reach out, now they could talk to him. Every night Rhett did this and hoped. Every night he was left disappointed. All he heard was static. He still sat on the edge of his seat—literally and figuratively—praying for someone to call him.

He had no idea how many repeaters were still working in North Carolina. He had no idea how far his broadcasts reached. It still seemed impossible to him that no one was out there with a radio. There had to be other preppers in the Raleigh area. There had to be someone out there.

After ten minutes, he gave up and turned off the transceiver. Barbara roused at his feet and jumped up. She knew it was supper time. Rhett picked up the lantern he’d set on the edge of the desk when he’d sit down and followed Barbara out of the room, closing the door behind him. They stepped into the storage closet and Rhett picked a can of dog food from the shelf.

“Premium beef,” Rhett read from the label and looked down at Barbara, who was wagging her furry tail excitedly. “You’re so fancy. I don’t get premium anything.”

[margridarnauds]

So, I’m a medievalist. And I’m sorry to all of my followers who are going to read this and go “WE KNOW” but it’s important to the context of where I’m coming from. I have produced multiple papers on the presentation of medieval society in pop culture, particularly focusing on Ireland and Wales but also medieval England and Norway, I am, in other words, a professional pedantic bitch on historical accuracy. (And, sorry lads, you can’t read them, just because I’d rather not be doxxed, so you’re going to have to take my word that they exist, I’ve presented them, I did not have rotten tomatoes thrown at me while I was speaking so I’m going to guess I did okay.) 

And...look. If you’re presenting your story as an In-Depth Serious Historical Fiction Novel™, I will judge it if you include potatoes or your peasant characters say “okay”. Potatoes were not some sort of inevitability in European culture, they were the result of the bloody colonization of South America -- even in an Irish context, where people are inclined to think about potatoes, they were the result of the brutal colonization of Ireland, with most accounts of the introduction of potatoes to the island saying that they were introduced on the plantation of one of Elizabeth I’s cronies (popular tradition says Raleigh). The Green Knight Film™ got a LOT of judgement from me specifically because it was billed as an Authentic™ medieval film that honored the OG work and...it didn’t, even if it included enough of the aesthetics to convince a general audience that it was authentic (and there is a difference between authenticity VS accuracy.) If you’re Hilary Mantel (which I hope no one in this conversation is, given she is very dead) or you’re Philippa Gregory or another historical fiction writer, or even an Alternate Universe history writer like Naomi Novik or Harry Turtledove, I’m going to expect you to get a lot of minor details down to a certain degree of accuracy in order to construct your world. (And I’m going to point out, as someone who is both a consumer and producer of work set in medieval Ireland as well as being an academic specialized in that area of research...if you try to write a novel set in medieval Ireland and you do not have at least 5 Celticists on hand, even if you’re a professional Celticist yourself...you’re going to get things wrong. People who are not medievalists do not always understand how, despite us making a lot of strides over the years, there is still a lot we don’t know about the middle ages, and pop culture tends to take about fifty years to catch up to the field. I have never read a “hard” historical fiction novel set in medieval Ireland that passes the smell test because there is so much misinformation available. Like, there’s a lot of stuff that people are reading and consuming and thinking they’re accurate when in reality they just feel authentic, I just try to be nice about them because they’re trying and that’s really the best any of us can do.) 

...I am not judging the lovely kingdom of Meridell from Neopets. The function and intent is totally different, especially since that particular area is designed to be a parody of medieval England in pop culture, especially the “Dung Ages” stereotype, with the potatoes acting as a sort of visual shorthand. Totally different intents. I’m not inclined to consider the world that much because that was never the point. It’s a Funny Medieval World in a children’s fantasy game, that was never the point. It is useful as a means of study, in the sense that it provides an example of the reception of the Middle Ages in pop culture, but I’m not going to *complain* about it. If I was to cut out the Magician’s Nephew from the Chronicles of Narnia (which is what an audience reading it back in the day would have done since it didn’t exist) and I was to judge see these figures in a medieval English fantasy drinking tea a short day’s ride away from the lamp post embedded in the landscape, I’m not going to care. What I am going to care about are the underlying themes of English exceptionalism and imperialism that run throughout the series, as well as Lewis’ overall theology. We could say that the presence of things that are stereotypically signifiers of “English” civilization might be a part of how Lewis embeds those themes in the series, they’re formed by that context, but I’m not going to complain that the worldbuilding doesn’t work because, in the world of Narnia and how that world’s presented and constructed, they do. Star Wars can have over the top things mainly because it has always been presented as a myth in space -- there are practical things to consider, yeah, but I’m not going to ask about every detail, no. There are fanfics with Star Wars that go in-depth on, say, the fruits that they’re eating at dinner or the silks they’re wearing, and those fics are great, but I also sometimes will prefer fics that go into the overall insane space opera themes of the series. I don’t want to say whether I think they’re “well-crafted” or not, because I feel like “well-crafted” is being used as a synonym for “meticulously crafted” or “crafted with an eye to detail” -- these worlds are as crafted as they need to be. 

I do think it can be very useful for authors to think about these things, of course I do -- it can be invaluable as a way of figuring out how your story works, it can open up new pathways in a story. When I’m tackling something set in, say, the French Revolution or medieval Scandinavia, it can be really useful to dig into those kinds of details because they help me get a feel for an era or a setting -- it’s the same with fantasy. But I also think that that can very easily fall into, say, George R.R. Martin complaining about us not knowing about Aragorn’s tax policy when that was never really the point of Lord of the Rings in the first place. 

Fuck that post going around saying "you can have coffee in your story without justifying it :) you don't need to explain everything :)" I want, no, I DEMAND a fully researched ethnobotanical paper on every single food item in your work, if you don't explain to me where did potatoes come from in your fantasy setting or don't explain how the industry of coffee works over interstellar distances with full detail you are doing things wrong and I personally hate you and I hate your stupid story, fuck you

[amistadbailbonds]

Understanding DUI Arrests: What Happens After Being Pulled Over?

You are cruising down the road, the radio humming your favorite tunes, when suddenly, flashing red and blue lights appear in your rearview mirror. Your heart races as you pull over, trying to recall if you signaled that turn back there. But the officer's approaching your car with a different concern - suspicion of driving under the influence (DUI). Yes, Raleigh DUI bail bonds can help you get out of jail before your trial if you are arrested for a DUI offense, but have you ever wondered what happens after being pulled over for a suspected DUI? If you don’t, buckle up because we are taking you through a guide that sheds light on what follows a DUI arrest.

Initial Traffic Stop

Upon being pulled over, law enforcement officers typically observe the driver's behavior for signs of intoxication, such as slurred speech, erratic driving, or the smell of alcohol. The officer may then request the driver's license, vehicle registration, and proof of insurance. It's imperative to comply with these requests and remain respectful throughout the interaction.

Field Sobriety Tests (FSTs)

If the officer suspects impairment, they may ask the driver to perform Field Sobriety Tests (FSTs) to assess coordination and cognitive function. Common FSTs include the walk-and-turn, one-leg stand, and horizontal gaze nystagmus test. These tests aim to determine impairment, and refusal to perform them could result in consequences, such as license suspension.

Breathalyzer or Chemical Tests

Following FSTs, the officer might administer a Breathalyzer test or request a chemical test (blood or urine) to measure blood alcohol concentration (BAC). In many jurisdictions, implied consent laws necessitate compliance with these tests upon lawful arrest for DUI. Refusal may lead to immediate license suspension or other penalties.

Arrest and Miranda Rights

If the officer finds probable cause, they may arrest the individual on suspicion of DUI. Upon arrest, Miranda Rights are read, informing the person of their right to remain silent and the right to an attorney. It's crucial to heed these rights and avoid self-incrimination by consulting legal counsel before further interaction with law enforcement.

Booking Process

After the arrest, the individual is taken to a police station or jail for booking. This process involves documenting personal information, taking fingerprints and photographs, and temporarily detaining the individual until bail or a court appearance is arranged.

Court Proceedings and Legal Consequences

Once arrested, the legal process begins, the individual can get out of jail before their trial or wait for their trial. The defendant will face court proceedings, including arraignment, where charges are formally presented. Legal representation is vital at this stage to navigate the complexities of DUI laws and potential penalties, which may include fines, license suspension, mandatory education programs, community service, or even incarceration, depending on the severity and repeat offenses.

Conclusion

There’s no denying that understanding the post-pulled-over process during a DUI arrest is crucial, but it’s also vital to comprehend how you can get out of jail after you are arrested. The first step would be to apply for bail and pay the bail amount, and if you can’t pay the entire sum, DUI bail bonds in Raleigh, NC, can come in handy. 

Searching for DUI/ DWI bail bonds in Raleigh? The professionals at Amistad Bail and Immigration Bonds are always happy to help!

For More Details:  https://www.amistadbailbonds.com/understanding-dui-arrests-what-happens-after-being-pulled-over/

[solarmorrigan]

Apparently, when I said I would be interested in seeing more takes on Raleigh&Newt friendship, I meant that I was gonna write some. Inspired by this rad post by @kingeiszler and by @ffincher ‘s tags on it (I hope that’s okay?). By rights, they should be a little more unhinged, but I’m starting slow. Also, I have never pierced my own ears, but I read a wikiHow article on it before writing this, so I’m practically an expert (seriously, though, don’t listen to a word I say and probably get a professional to do this shit)

-

“You sure this is sanitary?” Raleigh asked as he settled himself into Dr. Gottlieb’s desk chair, which Newt had assured him would suit their purposes just fine.

“Relax, we’re gonna stay on Hermann’s side,” Newt assured him, voice easily carrying across the room as he rummaged around in his own disaster of a workspace. “Definitely want to avoid contamination.”

“Right…” Raleigh glanced over the riot of papers on Dr. Gottlieb’s desk, the odd abandoned mug of tea, and the frankly baffling amount of chalk dust. “And to be clear, I’m the thing we want to avoid contaminating, right?”

Newt snorted. “I hate to break it to you, my guy, but you are not the most valuable thing in this room. Not by a long shot.”

Raleigh could only roll his eyes. “Well, at least I know you’ll keep from bleeding too much to keep your specimens safe.”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!”

It wasn’t particularly that Raleigh shied away from messes—never let it be said he was afraid to get his hands dirty—but he could still remember with acute clarity when Yancy had tried to pierce one of his own ears during high school, and the memory of the resulting infection was equally distinct. He wasn’t keen for a repeat in the flesh.

“And you have done this before, yeah?” Raleigh asked as Newt trundled over with a tray of supplies; he supposed the answer didn’t matter much either way, but it seemed like the sort of question you’d ask a person who was about to stick a needle in your skin.

“Dude, I studied marine life – I’ve tagged a shitton of fish,” Newt scoffed, as if that was in any way reassuring.

“That’s… fascinating, I’m sure, but definitely not the same thing at all,” Raleigh drawled. “Have you ever done it to a human being?”

“What? Tagged ‘em and released ‘em back into the wild?” Newt snickered, already leaning in with an alcohol wipe to clean Raleigh’s earlobes, rolling his eyes when Raleigh didn’t laugh along. “It’s fine, dude, I’ve done it to myself a bunch of times.”

“Really?” Raleigh glanced along Newt’s ears, searching for holes he’d never needed to notice before, but Newt moved away too quickly to get a good look.

“Yep. And I only got an infection the first time and that was only because I was a dumb sixteen-year-old still trying to figure himself out and I thought that not showering would make me one of the guys.” Newt grabbed a Sharpie off the tray and pulled the cap off. “Took one severely infected set of piercings and a very frank talk from my academic advisor to make me realize that basic personal hygiene is cool and sexy no matter what gender you are. Okay, look straight ahead.”

Newt’s fingers were warm and firm under Raleigh’s chin, enforcing his instructions as he turned a sudden and an almost disconcerting amount of focus onto Raleigh’s ears.

“You’re being a lot more thorough than I expected,” Raleigh commented as Newt brought the Sharpie up.

“Don’t move,” Newt ordered, realigning Raleigh’s jaw before he placed a careful dot on first one earlobe, then the other. “Anyway, I have to look at you after this, and if I have to look at you with asymmetrical piercings it’s gonna drive me up the fuckin’ wall. I think I picked that up from Hermann.”

“In the drift?” Raleigh asked, once Newt released him.

“Nah. I’ve known the guy for, like, a decade. Some transference of personal habits was unavoidable.” Newt shrugged, turning back to the tray. “But I think I managed to classically condition him into liking sour candy, so we’re even.”

Raleigh decided he didn’t want to know.

He watched as Newt pulled on a pair of gloves and stripped a needle from its packaging before picking up a lighter.

“Don’t you have actual equipment in here for sterilization?” Raleigh asked.

“Autoclave’s occupied. I wasn’t exactly expecting to pierce anyone’s ears today. Besides, if the lighter was good enough for me, it’s good enough for you. OH.” For a moment, as Newt shouted and nearly dropped the needle, Raleigh thought he’d burned himself, but the look dawning across his face was the one he usually got before they went trespassing on government property. “You should do me next!”

Raleigh blinked at Newt. “What.”

“Yeah, it’ll be like a bonding thing! Like, I’m not gonna try to beat you to death with a stick or anything, but we can still make each other bleed a little, it’s cool!” Newt turned wide, pleading eyes on Raleigh. “Come ooon!”

“Don’t you already have piercings?” Raleigh asked, this time reaching out to grab for the side of Newt’s head and examine his ears more carefully; Newt didn’t even flinch.

“Yeah, but I let most of them close up. I haven’t exactly been focused on maintaining my aesthetic in the last few years.” Raleigh threw a pointed look at the tattoos pouring out from under haphazardly shoved-up sleeves, and Newt shrugged. “Certain exceptions notwithstanding. C’mon, dude, it won’t even be hard!”

There were, indeed, numerous little indents lining the flesh of Newt’s ears, but most of them did appear older, shallow and closed-off. Finally, Raleigh released Newt with a shrug. “Yeah, alright. Why not?”

“Sweet!” Newt punched the air—with the hand clutching the lighter, at least, rather than the one with the needle—then turned his attention back to the task at hand. “Alright, let’s do this thing!”

For an anticlimactic moment of quiet, Newt and Raleigh both trained their eyes on the steady flame of the lighter as it was held to the needle.

“Yeah, earrings are fun, you’ll see,” Newt murmured, attention still largely on the needle. “Once they heal up enough you can swap the basic studs out for something cooler. Maybe you can rock whatever color Mako’s got in her hair and be all disgustingly in sync and matchy-matchy.”

The little smile on Newt’s face—all mirth and no malice—kept Raleigh from bristling, instead inviting him in on the joke.

“And you wouldn’t know anything about that,” Raleigh shot back dryly. “Picking things up from your drift partner.”

Pulling the needle away from the flame and waving it in the air like it was an old Polaroid picture, Newt snorted. “Okay, Hermann and I might be a little more in sync these days, but I don’t think we’re ever gonna match. I mean, c’mon,” Newt reached over to the tray for another alcohol wipe, “our styles are a little different.”

“Uh huh,” Raleigh hummed, gaze flashing down to Newt’s torso, “right. Then I just have to say, that’s a very punk cardigan you’re wearing today.”

Newt’s own eyes snapped down the mossy green cardigan he’d clearly forgotten he was wrapped up in, the corners of his mouth cutting down into the closest thing to a scowl he was capable of.

“Okay, shut up, this is not matching.” Newt jabbed the needle at Raleigh, who grinned. “The lab is cold, and I just happen to know where Hermann keeps his emergency sweaters.”

“Right,” Raleigh agreed through his smile; the fact that Newt often complained of running hot went unaddressed.

“Look, you want me to do your ears, or not?” Newt huffed.

“Oh, by all means,” Raleigh laughed, spreading his arms in invitation. “Bonding and bloodshed. I’m here for it.”

Newt rolled his eyes, muttering to himself as he ran the alcohol wipe over the needle, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth just the same.

He unwrapped the bar of PPDC-issue soap and positioned it behind Raleigh’s right earlobe, hands steady and gaze focused, then rested tip of the needle against Raleigh’s skin.

“Ready?” Newt asked.

“One thing.” Raleigh waited until Newt had drawn back enough to look him in the eye before he asked, “Are you imagining I’m a fish right now?”

Newt’s answering laugh was abrupt and honest. “Only a little bit. Now, breathe in, aaand–”

[myfavoriteficss]

Do you have any series recommendations for either Nat x reader or Wanda x reader? Thanks!

Of course I do!! I hope you enjoy reading them!! (This is pretty long, so, good luck lol)

Wanda Maximoff - Series

Written by: @abimess

It only takes the holidays: (1) It only takes a commercial - (2) It only takes a pothole - (3) It only takes a lunch - (4) It only takes a party - (5) It only takes a Christmas tree - (6) - It only takes an unexpected visit - (7) It only takes a weird noise - (8) It only takes a fund-raising event - (9) It only takes a starry sky - (10) It only takes a Christmas gift - (11) It only takes a decision - (Epilogue) It only takes a deed

Written by: @aquamarinescarlet

Why did I agree to this?: Days 1 through 4 - Days 5 through 7

The Psychology Series: (1) The Psychology of Books - (2) The Psychology of You - (3) The Psychology of Us

Written by: @ayybtch

Made With Love: (1) Chocolate Chip Cookies - (2) Snickerdoodles - (3) Banana Bread - (4) Cupcakes - (5) Bread - (6) Cinnamon Rolls

Written by: @bxckywrites

A Little Too Much: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Written by: @delfiore

golden affairs: Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V

there is light in us: Part I - Part II

i’ll be the rain and you’d be tomorrow: Part I (The other parts have not been posted yet, but it is already so good)

Written by: @fortuositywritings

I Said No: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Written by: @helloalycia

girl next door: [one] - [two] - [three] - [four] - [five]

teenage dirtbag: [one] - [two] - [three] - [four] - [five] - [extra conversation]

my patient’s neighbour: [one] - [two] - [three] - [four] - [five] - [six] - [seven]

The Wrong Lifetime: [one] - [two] - [three] - [four] - [five] - [six] - [seven] - [eight] - [nine] - [ten] - [eleven] - [twelve] - [thirteen] - [fourteen] - [Epilogue]

Written by: @herculesinegypt

The Switch: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Written by: @hiiraya

(1) one last dance (rewrite) - (2) one last chance (rewrite) - (3) with you

Written by: @idkwhygregg

Choices: (1) Before - (2) Burying Friends - (3) The Exodus - (4) We Only Go Backwards - (5) Filmed in front of a live studio audience - (6) For the children

Written by: @marvelfansince08love

A Second Chance to Love You: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

Written by: @mionemymind

Fake Memories: (1) The Party - (2) The Unsaid Apologizes - (3) The Harsh Treatment - (4) The Breaking Limit - (5) The Mistake - (6) The Reveal - (7) The New Beginning

Written by: @missmonsters2

Drive Her Crazy: Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX (18+) - Part X (18+)

About You: Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX - Part X

Written by: @novoaa1writes

Find You Again: (1) “black widow jr.” - (2) child’s play - (3) the cost of building bridges - (4) rebooted - (5) ARZAMASSKAIA - (6) the best laid plans...

Written by: @peabrain112

Healing of A Broken Heart: (1) Healing of A Broken Heart - (2) A History of Almost - (3) Hopes and Promises - (4) What’s Always Been

Written by: @peachbear88

So This is Love: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

Written by: @randomshyperson

Land of Thieves: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 (18+) - Final Chapter (18+)

The One Where You Punch Tony Stark: (1) Sometimes it is just a punch (18+) - (2) Sometimes it’s just a kiss - (3) Sometimes it’s just a date (18+) - (4) Sometimes it’s just an epilogue (18+)

Written by: @somewhatgreatexpectations

Love Goes: (1) Latch - (2) One Day at a Time - (3) Fire on Fire - (4) Like I Can - (5) Breaking Hearts - (6) Another One - (7) Palace - (8) Writing’s On The Wall - (9) For The Lover That I Lost - (10) Leave Your Lover - (11) Nirvana - (12) Lay Me Down - (13) To Die For

As It Was (Love Goes Sequel): (1) They Can’t Take That Away From Me - (2) Wouldn’t It Be Nice? - (3) Just My Imagination - (4) I’ll Be Coming Back To You - (5) Just the Two of Us - (6) I'll Stand By You - (7) You and Me - (8) Unforgettable - (9) As It Was

Love Me (Or Let Me Go): (1) Leave, Then Go - (2) If you need me, let me know - (3) Walk Away - (4) In the Middle - (5) Love Me, or Let Me Go - (6) Don't Go - (7) Separate Ways - (8) Set You Free - (Alt. Ending) Home

Written by: @vancityfire13

Shelter From The Storm: (1) Shelter From The Storm - (2) Dreams - (3) Clean - (4) Almost - (5) Wildest Dreams

Written by: @wlw-imagines-blog

Abandonment, Enthroned: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Natasha Romanoff - Series

Written by: @aphrodite-made-me-write-it

Everything Stays: (1) Everything Stays - (2) Of Bliss, Of Blood - (3) Let’s Go In The Garden… - (4) Love, Lust, Prophecy

Written by: @flowingwithwater

Observe and Evaluate: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Written by: @hiiraya

(1) didn't know what I had - (2) you were good to me - (3) what I want

Written by: @lilxberry

I Watched You Die: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Written by: @peabrain112

Fleeting Love: (1) Fleeting Love - (2) Out of Love - (3) A Second Chance

Written by: @raleigh-ocean

ashes to ashes: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Wanda Maximoff vs. Natasha Romanoff - Series

Written by: @thenatashamaximoff

Dangerous Love: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

Broken Love: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

[busdriver]

Hello friends! I have just returned to tumblr after being inactive for years and therefore need some people to follow. If you post about these things or know a good blog that does, please give me a comment or like and I will check you/them out!

but please no fanfiction blogs, I have nothing against it I just don't wanna read it

Movies/TV:

It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (also someone please let me know the most frequently used tagged for this)

Umbrella Academy

Community

Preacher

Future Man

Jonathan Larson-related things (Rent, Tick Tick Boom, obscure demos idk)

Arrested Development

Mythic Quest

Julie and the Phantoms

Aggretsuko

Marvel in general but I haven’t seen most of the tv shows yet so I don’t want blogs that revolve around those. I'm a basic bitch so my favorites are Spider-man and Black Panther

Actors:

Jordan Fisher

Andrew Garfield

Nick Robinson

Alexandra Shipp

Zendaya

Music:

Raleigh Ritchie/Jacob Anderson

Mother Mother

Silk Sonic

Wallows

I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

McFly

Bo Burnham

Phantom Planet/Alex Greenwald