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redrobin-detective · 4 years ago

Text

The late Daniel Fenton

It was shaping up to be a beautiful if chilly December day and Casper High, as always, was bustling. It was 7:49 and class was about to start. The teacher watched the last few kids stumbling in at various levels of wakefulness. He already knew who would be the ones to rush in after the bell but that was alright. Life was too short to stress about being a few minutes late to class, especially in Amity Park of all places.

He looked up to see Madison, one of his shyer students walk in before making a beeline for his desk. She was biting her lip and nervously rubbing her hand down her skirt. “Hey,” she began quietly.

“Good morning. What’s up, Mads?” He asked casually. She looked upset, he could probably put on a video for the class if she needed to talk. They really needed a permanent counselor but the constant ghost attacks ran off most of them so he’d taken up the unofficial mantle. It felt good to help his students like that, make up for past wrongs.

“Are we um, expecting any new students?” She asked, her eyes darting over to the door she’d just come through. “Any transfers, exchange students or anything like that?”

“No,” the teacher frowned. “Amity isn’t the kind of place people transfer into. Why?”

“There’s a kid in the hallway,” she mumbled. “I don’t recognize him, he’s got a backpack and everything but he’s... I don’t know he doesn’t feel right.”

“Oh you’re talking about that weird dark haired kid,” Kyle said as he entered and sat down with a slouch. But even the class slacker looked unusually tense. “Dude’s creepy, can’t put my finger on why but he definitely doesn’t belong.”

“Oh,” was all the teacher had to say. Suddenly he realized how cold the classroom had become, the uncomfortable feeling that was pressing ever so slightly down on them. “I suppose it makes sense, the ghosts have been quiet lately with the Truce and all. He probably got bored.”

“Sir?” Madison said.

“Shannon,” he said instead, looking over at the frizzy haired girl hunched over her sketchbook furiously at work. “Would you do me a favor and move to the vacant seat in the second row? Just for today.”

“What? Why?” the girl whined even as she gathered up her various arts supplies and got ready to move.

“That’s Mr. Fenton’s seat,” he said taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes in preparation for what he was about to see. Danny would come here, of course he would. This was Lancer’s old classroom and Danny had him for first period English Lit. He and Dash both did.

“Mr. Baxter? What’s going on, is it a ghost?” Malik asked from the back row while Shannon shuffled to her new temporary seat.

“Yes but you don’t need to be scared,” he said softly, evenly. “He won’t hurt you.” The bell rang but Dash didn’t start the lesson. Instead, he waited. Danny had never been on time to class the entire time Dash had known him, of course death wouldn’t change that.

“Sorry, I’m late Mr. Lancer,” Dash gripped his desk so he didn’t jump when Danny Fenton simply appeared in front of his desk instead of walking through the door like any other student. “My folks couldn’t drive me, they’re still working on their stupid ghost portal.” A quick glance over at this class showed varying levels of fear, shock and curiosity but they were Amity kids through and through. The cold, powerful energy radiating off Fenton told them it was best to play along with whatever the ghost wanted.

“Perfectly alright Mr. Fenton,” Dash said softly, searching the 14 year old’s perpetually young face. He hadn’t changed a bit since Dash last saw him their second week of freshman year. It seemed unreal seeing how the years had taken their toll on Casper’s favorite son, Dash Baxter. God had they really been that young once? “Take a seat and we’ll get started.”

Danny shrugged and walked over to the seat Shannon had just vacated. He sat just the same, one leg stretched out and the other propped up against the leg of the desk. As soon as he took off the backpack and put it around the chair, it disappeared. He didn’t say anything else, just sat as stared at Dash with piercing blue eyes like he could see right through him.

“We had been talking about the lead up to the Civil War but let’s table that for today,” Dash said, proud his voice only wavered a little. He knew other people had seen Fenton around town. Lina saw him standing outside the Nasty Burger maybe five or so years ago. Dale, who used to live near Fenton Works swore he sometimes saw someone moving through the windows of the long abandoned house. He’d always secretly dreaded the thought of seeing Danny Fenton again, afraid he’d finally get was coming to him.

“Instead, we’re going to talk about local history,” he continued, not daring to take his eyes off the undead teen. Every other living student was tense, afraid. He wished he could assure them that the ghost wouldn’t lay a hand on them. In the event Fenton decided to ditch the hero schtick, it would be Dash and Dash alone he’d come after. “Amity Park has long had rumors of being haunted dating all the way back to the 1600s. It wasn’t until the last century that scientists determined that Amity Park is located on top of a thin spot between our world and the ghost realm. Natural portals form here all the time allowing spirits to pass through.”

No one spoke and barely anyone breathed except for Danny would wasn’t breathing at all. He just sat and stared at Dash with steady, unblinking eyes.

“Jack and Maddie Fenton were the scientists who discovered the weak point in reality in Amity. They devoted their entire life to the study of ghosts and made remarkable advancements in our knowledge of ectobiology and culture, the first being,” he paused as Danny cocked his head in confusion, squinting his eyes suspiciously at Dash. “The first being their manmade portal to the ghost zone. The portal remained active for almost two decades for research purposes but was shut down following their deaths.”

“You’re not Mr. Lancer,” Danny said suddenly, his eyes shifting from baby blue to an ectoplasmic green. Marty, who was sitting to the left of Danny, swallowed a squeak of fear and squeezed his eyes shut.

“No,” Dash sighed, “Lancer died almost thirty years ago now. Best teacher I ever had, he gave me his blessing when he passed on the job to me.”

“I,” the ghost ran his hand through his hair which was starting to lose its color. Seeing Fenton looking so scared and confused made him ache. It reminded him of old times. Dash had spent most of his life making sure he helped hurt kids if only to make up for the one he’d never been able to make it up to. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s okay, Danny,” he soothed. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“The portal, it wasn’t working at first,” Danny justified, his aura glowing a little more. “Sam and Tuck, they were curious. They wanted to look but I told them it wasn’t allowed, Sam, Sam she dared me to go in. I put on the hazmat suit and went inside and found the on button inside. I accidentally hit it and-” he paused midsentence and looked down at his hands. They weren’t pale flesh anymore but covered in white gloves. The black was completely bleached from his hair. A few of the students gasped as they saw the strange would be student melt into Phantom, the ghostly hero who’d been protecting their town since their parents were young. “I died.”

So much time had gone by. People were born and people were buried and the truth became distorted until it was just a legend passed jokingly around cafeteria lunch tables. Amity’s youth had forgotten their town’s history until it was sitting in a desk, trying once more to be one of them.

“You did,” Dash said sadly. He remembered hearing the news of Fenton's death. An assembly had been called the morning after the accident. Lancer had cried at the podium, Manson and Foley hadn’t returned to school for a week and had never been the same again. Dash hadn’t known what to think at the time, only that the kid he’d beat up for the crime of being different would never show up to school again. Or so he’d thought. “It was a tragedy, you were mourned by a lot of people.”

“I know you, don’t I?” Danny said quietly before he sat up straighter. “Dash?”

“In the flesh,” Dash grinned shakily.

“But you’re so old,” Danny said, once more distressed. “Your hair is grey and there’s wrinkles on your face and-and you’re a teacher now?” The last line was said with incredulity, his eyes flaring again. “You used to push me down the stone steps of the school and shove me into my locker and call me names.”

“Yeah, I did,” he sighed, feeling every one of his years. He was pushing 70 but he didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling like a stupid 14 year old who took out his frustrations on the ones who didn’t deserve it. “But you were the last; I never touched another kid again. I’m married now, four kids. I’m vice principal now, teach History and coach the school’s football team. It’s,” his voice caught again, still unable to process how young and stupid Fenton looked sitting there like no time had passed at all. It made Dash feel like all his accomplishments and attempts to be better would never amount to anything so long as his last victim roamed the earth unable to find peace. “It doesn’t fix what I did back then but I make damn sure that there won’t be any bullying at Casper so long as I’m here.”

“Huh,” Danny said, slouching once more in his seat but it looked less like his earlier teenage laziness and more weary. He and Dash were the same age after all, just because only one of them got old doesn’t mean time didn’t still affect them. “You did change, a lot of things did.” Danny looked down at the desk, “how long has it been?”

“Almost 50 years,” Dash sighed. “My wife wants me to retire but I guess I always find more things to do.” He paused then decided it was now or never. “I’m sorry Danny, for hurting you back then. I wish I'd gotten to know you better.”

For just a moment, Danny was perfectly clear. Even half floating out of his chair and looking like the local celebrity, his eyes were so painfully human. A boy killed before he ever got a chance to get started. Who’s will to protect was so strong it lasted half a century. It haunted him late at night to think of the glory and power of Phantom overshadowing just how incredible Danny Fenton had been. Not that anyone had seen it at the time. Soon there wouldn’t be anyone left to remember that quiet, kind teenager and then Danny Fenton really would be dead. Kill him just as thoroughly as that portal had.

The moment was broken by a breath of cold leaking out of the ghost’s lips and, just like that, his highschool classmate was gone and Phantom was left in his stead. He looked curiously around the classroom as if he didn’t know how he’d gotten there.

“There’s a ghost, stay here and don’t leave unless the fighting gets too close. I’ll get it though, don’t worry. No kids are dying today.” Maybe it was Dash’s imagination but he thought he saw Phantom’s eyes linger on him for an extra moment, trying to place where he knew the teacher from. Dash just smiled.

“Our lives are in your hands. Good luck, Phantom,” the ghost teen saluted before fading away entirely. Dash let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, suddenly exhausted but also lighter at the same time. It wasn’t every day you got to look your mistakes in the face and apologize. “Shannon, you can move back now.”

“No, I’m okay here,” Shannon said as she flipped to a new page in her sketchbook and looked intently at the spot where Fenton had once sat. “It’s like you said, that’s Danny’s seat.”

“I had no idea, Phantom’s been around for like, ever,” Freddie mumbled, pushing up his glasses. “But he used to be just like us.” And still was, Dash thought sadly. Danny would never grow old, never go to space like he’d always dreamed or marry Manson like he’d probably intended to. He was stuck, in more ways than one for who knows how long.

“Yes, that’s why it’s important to know your history. The Civil War and my other lessons are important but we can’t forget these smaller, more intimate histories. If we lose these lessons to time then we risk repeating the same mistakes over again.” He looked his students in the eyes, holding their attention.

“So we’ll continue today with the local history. Before he was ghost butt kicking superhero, Phantom was Danny Fenton, son of the local ghost hunters and a bit of an outcast in town. The Daniel Fenton Foundation was founded about a year after his death and was-”

#danny phantom #dead danny au #if bitch fartman won't redeem dash then I guess it up to me #god can you imagine growing up and growing old only to look at your past victim in the eye and see nothing has changed for him?#i could go on and on about what other characters got up to #but this is about the tragedy of the loss of Danny Fenton #not only his life but his memory #time moves on and Fenton got lost in the mix #once Dash's generation dies then Fenton will just be a cautionary tale #a ghost story #No one will remember that their hero was one long before he got his powers #god Im fuckign sad now #eat up and enjoy your angst

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dabifixation · 4 years ago

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the importance of knocking

dabi x fem!reader

summary: When Dabi told you to wait at the bar because he was going to "Take care of things" you shouldn't have humored him. You shouldn't have gotten drunk on a mission. And most of all you shouldn't have ignored your gut feeling by looking for the blue flame user and discovering exactly what he meant by taking care of things.

warnings: nsfw, smut, voyeurism, unprotected sex, squirting, MINORS DNI

word count: 2.4k

You really didn't like villains. They were temperamental bigots who were hard to work with and cared very little about their environment.

Blue eyed, flame wielding, two-toned nuisances were not the exception to this.

If anything, having Dabi tag along on your mission didn't really help with your dwindling impression of the man.

Said mission was going downhill very fast, losing your chance to achieve funds from your organization's formidable benefactors, all because somebody thought it was funny to set Mr Park's hair on fire after the man passed a comment on somebody's unprofessional attire.

You hated him for that. Truly hated him. However you knew he wasn't just messing up your mission for his own amusement. You weren't stupid, you knew a field test when you saw one. This mission was set up to see how well you'd do now that the Meta Liberation Army was under siege from the League of Villains. Dabi was your examiner.

And you failed the test.

So it came as a surprise to you when the bane of your existence suggested that he'd take care of things, which made you wonder if he was a comedian in his past life cause what could he possibly do to fix things.

You spent the next hour by yourself with an endless supply of whisky in hopes of coming up with a good plan in order to leave Japan undetected.

When the next hour passed by you began to wonder where your flame wielding partner went and how long he'd be. You were convinced that he was just hunting down one of the benefactor's and stole their suitcase filled with money. But you doubt killing someone took a full two hours, so you began to worry.

Not for him of course. That would be out of character for you. You were just worried about disappointing Shigaraki by coming empty handed and not on time. At the end of the day, you were a sucker for praise and didn't mind getting it from someone who ruined the goals and reputation of the Meta Liberation Army.

You had a serious problem.

Checking your wristwatch one last time, you decided now was a good time to phone Dabi. Snickering to yourself when you saw his contact was saved under 'If Menstruational Pain Was A Person'. You clicked on his contact, hoping he wouldn't be those annoying people who answered after the fifth ring on purpose.

He wasn't.

"Whoever this is, it better be important. I'm in the middle of something." He sounded slightly out of breath, and from the soft rustling of something in the background you could tell he wasn't in any danger. It made you sigh in relief.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"Oh it's you. Miss me already?" You didn't need to see him smirking on the other end, cause you knew he was.

You ignored his question, "Where are you?"

There was pause that lasted long enough for you to hear a muffled cry in the background and an unknown squelching sound. You didn't take him for someone that tortured his victims.

You learn new things everyday.

"Room 3406." You heard a groan this time, making you frown. Why was he dragging his torture session out so long, the least he could do was put the poor person out of their misery and take their money.

Wait.

"You're still in the hotel. You damn asshole I thought you were dead in a ditch!" You raised your voice, not caring that people passing by gave you concerning looks.

"Didn't realize you cared so much about little old me." He let out a sound crossed between surprise and a laugh, which caught you off guard.

He hung up before you could give a response.

That was weird.

You looked down at your naked arms, noticing the goosebumps.

Yeah, very weird.

❦

It didn't take you long to find the hotel room, thanking your lucky stars when you found out the room was unlocked and didn't require a key card.

Once you entered the room, you glanced around noticing that nothing was out of place or broken. There was no signs of struggle, which was a good thing. It made cleaning up easier.

Your eyes landed on a pair of familiar boots placed adjacent to a pair of red bottom heels that were laying on its side.

You picked the heel up, examining it to see if there was any blood on it. There wasn't.

That's strange.

"Uhnnnggg~"

Your head snapped in the direction of the main bedroom when you heard the sounds of someone whimpering in pain. The warning bells in your head grew louder when you decided to check out what was going on.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar but not enough for you to see what was on the other side. You heard a deep groan as your fingers brushed the doorframe, your heart in your throat at what you'd find. So you pushed forward expecting everything but what was in front of you.

You didn't dare move.

There Dabi was, hands gripping tightly on some woman's hips. The muscle in his arms flexing, and his legs out stretched beneath her. Her hands were buried in his obsidian locks as he set the pace for her, bouncing her up and down his cock. Each time he brought her down, she'd let out a R-rated moan. She swiveled her hips as best as she could, but from the way her thighs trembled from the pleasure, you could tell it was too much for her.

Dabi's eyes were shut in bliss, letting out a breathy moan when she opted for grounding on his cock instead. From her quick movements, you could tell she was close.

"Yes, yes, yes –oh fuck!"

Dabi immediately flipped her over, preventing her from reaching her climax. His heavy cock slapped against his abdomen, smearing moisture against his defined stomach. You quickly looked away, focusing on the woman instead.

It immediately clicked in. You knew who she was.

Yui Murukami, the 34 year old heiress and CEO to the company that supplied our friends in capes with support items. She was a rich and powerful woman known throughout Japan, and one of the benefactor's that pulled out their sponsorship after finding out that the Meta Liberation Army was infiltrated with "heretics."

The same heretic that's narrow hips she currently had her long milky legs wrapped around.

What a hypocrite.

You got a good look at Dabi for the first time tonight. Your eyes traveled down his lean form. What he lacked in muscle, he made up for in flexibility. The position he was in was a testimony to that.

The subtle red hair trailing down towards his impressive length caught your attention. So he was a natural redhead? That or he had some weird hobby of dyeing his pubes.

It made you shudder.

He pumped at his veiny cock, gathering the pre-come dripping from the pink and angry head, and used it to lubricate himself further. The golden piercings keeping his two skin types together stretched as he did so.

You thanked whatever God was out there for Dabi not noticing you. They surely had your back. Now was the perfect time to escape. Dabi was clearly lost in the throes of pleasure. But just as you stepped back, the floor beneath your feet decided now was a good time to announce your presence.

Dabi's eyes immediately snapped open in your direction.

Those ocean blues stared at you intensely without a hint of shame. You were frozen in place as you held his heated gaze, eyes falling to his lips when his tongue jotted out to lick them. It had you entranced and you almost missed the way his lips broke out into a full grin when he knew exactly what position he had you in.

Hook, line and sinker.

He was taunting you, waiting on you to storm out of this room in embarrassment and anger. Dabi was a sick individual who'd take any and every opportunity to test you and your loyalty to the Paranormal Liberation Front. If you walked out now, despite how badly you really wanted to, that would be the same as failing. You weren't about to fail twice in one night.

He raised an eyebrow when you didn't barge at his challenge. Shrugging, he guided his cock back inside the woman with a soft sigh. He broke eye contact first, looking down at where their bodies joined and bottomed out into her. She let out a ridiculously high-pitched moan.

He kept her thighs far apart as he continued his ministrations despite knowing you were watching.

Your face was hot as you clenched your fists tightly.

Slapping and squelching sounds filled the room as their movements picked up. The air growing heavy with the smell of sex. Dabi was rutting into her in a way that had her breasts bouncing in a particular rhythm.

There was something so enticing about the way she pushed herself back onto him every time he gave short deep thrusts. She clawed at his chest, trying to push him away but he wasn't having it. Instead he drove into her faster and more ruthlessly as a warning.

This moment was too intimate and private, but you couldn't bring yourself to look away either.

It was intoxicating.

Suddenly a long keening sound left her lips, hands digging into the once pristine sheets, almost tearing them apart. Dabi hit a special spot inside of her that neither of you could see.

Heat rushed to your belly in an all too familiar feeling.

He continued hitting that spot, her body violently shaking and writhing. The way his hips were angled, it brushed against the little button at the top of her mound perfectly.

That was the last straw.

She came so hard, no doubt clamping tightly around his cock. Causing him to throw his head back in eye rolling pleasure with a deep throaty groan. His movements began to filter in order to prolong the feeling, but he quickly regained his composure and picked up where he left off. Triggering her into squirting all over his abdomen. Not once, twice but thrice.

His abdomen glistened with her juices and his added sweat. The way his hair fell into his eyes and clung to his neck had your heart skipping a beat.

"Does this make you feel good?" He asked her as his hips bucked up. Voice deep, too deep.

Fuck yes.

She responded in a tired moan.

"I could have you like this underneath me every night if you just–" he snapped his hips into hers to accentuate his point, "–begged nicely."

Jesus.

She continued to mewl, clawing into the sheets as she neared her second orgasm.

"All you got to —fuck— say is please and I'll be scratching every itch inside of you that those fingers can't reach." He toppled over her, dropping both hands on either side of the her head.

"Uh huh." She let out, eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

"I don't like being ignored." He looked at you this time, making you jolt. One of his hands reached out to grip around her throat, making her gasp as he controlled her airway.

When she responded in a broken moan, he ignored her and kept his eyes focused on you instead. He narrowed his eyes, something dark flashing in them before he looked back down at her. A deep growl in his throat.

Oh.

He was talking to you the entire time.

You rubbed your thighs together to ease the aching between your legs.

It didn't go by unnoticed, as much as you hoped. Dabi gave you a look that made him seem so vulnerable at that moment. All his walls came crashing down and for once you could read his facial expression. He desperately wanted you to be the one underneath him.

"Touch yourself." He commanded, hips bucking in urgency.

He was close.

Yui was long forgotten as it felt like it was just the two of you in the room. You did as he said, ignoring the voice in your head that was calling you a 'fucking idiot.'

You unzipped your pants, enough to give him a view of the shape of your pussy and the increasing wet patch at the center of your lace panties. You pushed your hand into your pants, while the other bunched your shirt up. The moment your fingers brushed against your drenched folds through your panties, you closed your eyes and let out a silent moan. Everything felt hypersensitive. You didn't care that this wasn't enough to send you over the edge, all you cared about was imagining it was him touching you like this, rubbing your clit in tight circles as he fucked you into next week.

"Fuck." He let out after a long time of being silent. "Good girl, just like that–"

A loud groan ripped out of his throat before he could finish his rambling.

Not too long and the rhythm Dabi started with began to stutter when his hips bucked up irregularly. The woman underneath him putting on a whole performance but he continued to ignore her in favor of you.

He gave you a needy look as he gave one last sloppy thrust, waves of pleasure being sent to your pussy.

Dabi let out a moan that was so guttural and so deep as he came inside of her wishing it was you instead. He chased his high in quick juvenile thrusts, making sure every last drop was emptied inside of her.

His hips continued to twitch from his intense climax, a pained hiss leaving his lips. The oversensitivity finally catching up to him.

He gave her a slow open mouthed kiss after they regained their breaths. Pulling his softening cock out of her with a wet pop. He nuzzled his face into her neck, causing her to giggle and hug his form closer to hers. And he allowed it.

He looked back up at you, an indescribable look passing through his eyes. It was quickly gone as it had come, being replaced by a smirk and knowing wink that said everything you needed to know.

Bastard

Dabi was an incredible actor and you were just another one of his victims.

You left just as Dabi started getting hard again, obviously he could go for another round, a round you wanted no part in witnessing.

You weren't going to be used by him again in order for him to find a quick release. To hell with him and his twisted version of testing someone's loyalty. You felt utterly humiliated and dirty. All you wanted was to go back to the PLF hideout and crawl into your bed and forget this all happened.

How could you be so stupid. He had this all planned out from the start. No wonder he was so quick to help you when the mission started going downhill.

You hated him so much.

You wanted to scream when you realized he told you the room number on purpose despite being in the middle of that. He wanted you come up and catch him in the act, and that's why he had no problem in you watching him do those things to her. He wanted to see what you'd do in that situation. This was all one big joke to him.

Yet you couldn't understand why you were still so horny and soaking wet.

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki #touya x reader #dabi smut #dabi fanfiction #mha smut #dabi scenarios #dabi x you #bnha smut #unprotected sex #dabi is a little shit

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bonniebird · 4 years ago

Text

If you asked nicely

Reader x Mikaelsons

Requested by Anon

When you had fallen asleep Elijah had been neatly sat in one of the chairs in the corner of your room. He was softly reading some old book you’d never heard of. He had come in the angry wake of Klaus.

To his credit Klaus had tried for a day to coax you out of bed, soothing and fussing. He wouldn’t listen when you exclaimed you just want to be left alone for a day. To sleep until you roused only from your body being incapable of sleeping any longer. He had relented when he realised nothing he did would get you up. Not daring to move lest you catch the attention of one of your predatory protectors you stayed still. Hoping for more sleep. You just felt more tired now.

Something twitched the edge of your duvet and before you could decide between snapping your eyes shut and feigning sleep or glaring down whoever dared to disturb you and a new face peaked at you. “Hello Darling!” Kol said cheerfully. He smiled, shoving himself partly under the duvet and looked around as if he was appraising your docile cave. “I thought it sounded like you were awake. Elijah said not to disturb you. Apparently you gave Klaus quite the hard time.”

Amusement played with his face as he watched you. He received a frown. Not one of anger but more one you’d get if you suddenly roused someone with something delightful. You sighed, frowned and turned your head so you wouldn't have to look at him but by the time you’d done it, he’d rounded the bed and tucked his head under the duvet on the other side.

“Come on now love, don’t be like this! You’re no fun when you’re sleepy.” Kol teased before raising his eyebrows and adding. “I suppose it’s best you got Elijah helping you sleep last night, when Klaus helps you sleep… it’s a pain.” He smiled and rubbed his chest, wincing. You tried not to laugh knowing he was joking about the daggers. When he got a snicker out of you he beamed with delight.

“Kol! Brother are you pestering (Y/N)?” Elijah called from somewhere. Fake panic took over Kol’s face as he froze and leant up. Tugging the duvet up with him, letting a fresh breeze brush at your skin.

“How could you say such a thing brother! I do not pester… I seduce and intrigue, some think I’m a delight!” As he spoke he playfully wiggled his eyebrows and smirked. His eyes lit up as he heard the bubble of laughter you’d been holding onto escaped, bursting past your lips in peels of laughter that had you tearfully rolling in your bed in a fit of giggles.

“Yes! I did it!” Kol cheered, throwing his hands up victoriously. He cheered to himself, your duvet helplessly flopped across the room, making a last ditch attempt to cling to you as it defeatedly slipped to the floor.

“You didn't do anything!” You said through giggles the laughter ebbing away.

“Hey if you didn’t get out from under that blanket they were going to send in Rebekah.

“She would have just joined me and said it was a girl thing.” You pointed out knowingly. Kol gave you an agreeing nod as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“So what now, you’re free of that.” He said cast a gesture to your piled duvet on the floor. ��Elijah is making enough food to kill a man. Honestly there isn’t any space in the kitchen. Klaus has been painting pictures for you since yesterday and Rebekah was gathering supplies so you two could take to the bed in an appropriately aesthetic manner.” He mimicked Rebekah’s voice for the last few words and you giggled again.

“Food sounds nice. I should probably shower though.” You said as you sighed.

He hopped up and your eyes widened when he started to undress. “Right let's get in the shower.” He said until he caught your eyes. He flashed you a smile and paused.

“I need a shower… not you!” You said quickly, finally sitting up and trying to tame your hair a little. “I might need a shower! You don’t know where I’ve been!”

“I suppose that’s true.” You mused. He watched your brow furrow as if you were mulling over where he could have been that day. Your attention was snatched back when you moved in a blur. You were whizzed past Elijah who dropped his plate he’d brought up for you. Though you were sure Kol had knocked it out of his hand on purpose.

“Brother!” He snapped sharply.

“Brother?” Kol answered in a tone that would definitely rile Elijah. Kol focused on fixing the water in the shower which made Elijah rap on the door several times.

He gestured for you to get into the water but you frowned at him. “Aren’t you going to leave?” You asked and he shrugged.

“If you’d like. I thought I’d help you wash your hair.” He paused and rolled his eyes. “It was something that was done as… a show of affection. Elijah’s still right there and I’ll keep my underwear on!” He gestured to his boxers and then to the door. “Elijah?”

“Yes Kol.” Elijah said in an unamused tone. You tried to hold back another laugh at the sound of his voice.

“See, a perfectly friendly shower.” Kol said giving you his best innocent look that gave a more dubious expression.

“What’ll I wear?” you pointed out and he shrugged.

“I won’t look at you if you like. But I’m a thousand or so. I’ve seen a lot.” he said as he stuck his hand under the running water, satisfied it was a good enough temperature he stepped in.

“You’ve seen a lot or you’ve seen a lot of naked people?” You asked curiously as you decided to undress. It would be nice to have someone do your hair for a change.

“Both?” Kol said as he, to his word, closed his eyes until you’d gotten in. “Women did find me rather irresistible back in the day.” He said as he brushed his fingers through your hair until it was damp enough to add the shampoo.

“Back in the day?”

“Well, I got a bit out of swing when I spent a few hundred years in a box, not much room for seduction in a coffin.”

He chuckled when you spluttered out a laugh as if his comment had caught you off guard. Kol’s fingers were soft and gentle. More gentle than you’d thought a vampire capable of. If you weren’t quite so intimidated by his near nudity you would have been lulled into relaxation, so much so that you could have leant against him and closed your eyes.

The shampoo smelled different and glancing at the bottle Kol had set on the shower shelf you realised it was a brand new bottle, an expensive looking brand that you hadn’t heard off before. You assumed it would have either been from Elijah or sent over by Rebekah.

For a while there was silence as Kol massaged the suds into your roots and rinsed it out, continuing to massage your scalp and neck. “You know. Affection really is wasted on modern humans.” Kol said thoughtfully as he reached for a second bottle. “The fun that could be had if you all let go just a little.”

“If every human let go we’d all be like Elena. Vampire lovers on rotation.” You said quietly. His hands stilled for a moment as he raised his eyebrows. When you glanced over your shoulder at him he chuckled.

“Careful darling. Glass houses and all that.” He said playfully as he rinsed the final suds out of your hair. “You could have four Mikaelson if you asked nicely.”

He grinned when you elbowed him gently and spluttered a little. With the gentlest brush of a kiss to your shoulder he got out of the shower, leaving to finish your shower as he deliberately dripped as much water on the floor as he could. He cracked the door open and snatched the towels that Elijah was holding out for him. He could see Klaus lurking behind Elijah and grinned. He didn’t envy Elijah for having to deal with Klaus’ grumpy mood.

“Come on then darling, you must be starved.” Kol hummed out as he unfolded teh warm, fluffy towel. It was definitely one from the Mikaelson's home. It was massive enough for you to step into it and have it wrapped around you at least twice.

When Elijah saw the state of the bathroom he sighed and glared at a gleeful Kol who bowed mockingly. Klaus bickered with Kol as you were escorted to your bedroom which had been tidied and your bed made with fresh sheets. Rebekah was sprawled over them with a pile of new pajamas beside her. “Off you go now!” She insisted once Kol was near the doorway. Both he and Klaus found the door slammed in their faces as she took a turn at fussing you. She fixed your hair and produced so many creams and powders and moisturisers your small desk was almost completely covered in little bottles. Once she was satisfied she’d fussed you enough you were relinquished into Elijah’s care to be escorted to your kitchen. You noticed everywhere was a lot cleaner and suddenly all the odd jobs that needed doing were done.

“You didn’t all have to make a fuss.” You said quietly to Elijah who smiled.

“Nonsense.” He muttered back with an endeared affection.

Kol hadn’t been kidding about the amount of food in your kitchen. Even if you invited the gang round there would be too much for you all to eat. You gave Elijah a grateful smile as he pulled out your chair and helped you sit. He must have been worried to cook so much. You hadn’t meant to worry them. You’d just felt so exhausted by everything going on in Mystic falls.

As you sat you noticed sweet paintings of plants and flowers adorned your kitchen walls. Klaus’ touch there was no doubt and you smiled as you looked at them. “Rebekah said renovating the kitchen was a bit much. So I settled for decorating.” Klaus said as he took a seat beside you. He admired the way you appreciated his work.

“Thank you. All of you. I feel much better.” you said with a smile. The stress of the chaos going on had ebbed enough for you to feel energized again. The Mikaelsons had gathered in the kitchen and all smiled as you beamed for them.

“Well, I have to apologise. If I had known looking at my beautiful face would be the thing to get you out of bed after a few days. I would have arrived earlier.” Kol said. You shared a daring look together as Rebekah groaned and helped herself to some food. Elijah rolled his eyes and tutted while Klaus growled quietly from beside you. Trying to hide a laugh you opted to stuff your mouth full with the food that had been carefully set before you.

#kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #bonniebird #rebekah mikaelson x reader #the originals

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bookstantrash · 4 years ago

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A/N: Who’s in for more Nessian Pride and Prejudice? This is now going to be a multichapter fic so I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I do! This is also almost 4K (3.997 words to be more specific lmao), the most I’ve ever written, so you can tell how obsessed I’m with P&P.

You can check here Pemberley’s Lake , part one of this fic.

Once again, huge shoutout to the gc for always being so encouraging. I love y’all 🥺 and special thanks for @perseusannabeth for brainstorming this fic with me 💜

Hooked on you

“The baskets?”

“Yes, my Lord”

“And the refreshments?”

“Yes, they are cool and ready to be served”

“And the table was set in case the ladies prefer its comfort to sitting in the picnic towel?”

“The fluffiest and silkiest one has been chosen and is in place, along with the table, chairs and parasol”

“And what about—”

“My Lord,” Mrs.Potts firmly said, interrupting Cassian’s nervous rambling “Everything has been double checked and ready since my lord inquired about it during breakfast”

Cassian exhaled, running his hands through his hair. Nesta and her companions were to arrive at any minute now, and he had to make sure everything was perfect. She deserved nothing but perfection, and Cauldron blast him if he ended up offending her and her friends in any way.

“Forgive me Mrs.Potts,” he said with small smile “My nerves are getting the best of me”

“You have nothing to worry about my Lord, the staff and I will not disappoint” the elderly head maid assured him. All of Pemberley’ staff had noticed how much their master’s encounter with Lady Archeron had raised his spirits, and they had made their life purpose to make sure his smile never disappeared.

Cassian had to be one of the kindest masters Mrs.Potts had ever served, and most of the staff agreed with her. He always made sure to make all of them comfortable and inquire about how their family was faring, if they were in need of any assistance. He showed a care towards his personnel that went beyond the common care of a master towards his servants, but rarely appeared to be truly happy, wearing a mask that concealed a deep sadness and loneliness within himself.

They had taken upon themselves to organise the most elaborate picnic in the history of Pemberley, in hopes their lord’ smile wavered no more.

And that a certain lady decided to accept his heart.

“The guests have arrived, sir” Cogsworth, Pemberley’s major-domo and head of the household staff, announced “They are waiting in the parlor”

“Thank you, Cogsworth. I shall be with them in a minute”

The butler gave a small nod and left them, going back to tend to the guests.

“Mrs.Potts,” Cassian said, turning in his head maid’s direction “How do I look?”

“Quite dashing, sir, if I may say so” she replied with a motherly smile.

“You may. And the compliment is most welcome” he replied, a boyish grin on his face.

Cassian had taken the utmost care getting dressed that morning. His hair alone had taken him two hours to achieve its natural messy and ruffled appearance, he wore one of his best fitted clothes, and his shoes were so polished he could see his reflection on them.

He could not allow himself to ruin this second chance fate had given him. Even if Nesta had not accepted his heart, he would do anything and everything to be of assistance to her and make sure she had the most enjoyable time in Pemberley.

Cassian quickly walked to the parlor, possible dialogues with Nesta going over his head, from polite greetings to teasings and inquires about her sisters and trip.

But it all went flying from his head the moment he laid his eyes on her.

Nesta Archeron possessed a beauty that took Cassian’s breath each time he saw her, and her current attire did little to help him breath.

She wore a light blue one piece gown, but what had him mesmerised was its off shoulder design, allowing him a clear view of her clavicule and showing a little bit more of skin than the current fashion allowed. White flower shaped buttons added a nice touch to the design, and her elbow length gloves acted as the perfect element to balance the daring dress.

“My Lady,” Cassian greeted, boldly reaching for her hand to drop a chaste kiss on it, wishing those stupid gloves were not in the way “I hope you did not wait for too long?”

“Not at all, sir” Nesta answered, a slight blush in her cheeks “May I introduce you to Miss Gwyneth Berdara, Miss Emerie Carynthian and Sir Balthazar Oristian?”

Cassian looked at both ladies, greeting them as he had with Nesta.

“It is an honour to finally meet the most sought singer in all England” he said, raising the opera singer’s hand to kiss it too, her pale constitution allowing him to notice how much she blushed.

He had thought it better to greet all ladies in the same manner, for it would be impolite and could arise assumptions of his feelings towards Nesta.

Miss Gwyneth Berdara was a petite woman, but Cassian knew that once she sang one could not help but be drawn to her, who shined the most brightly on the stage. Her copper chestnut hair was free, pinned back from her face by a dark blue ribbon, allowing a perfect view of her teal coloured eyes and freckled face. He could not help but wish that Nesta had followed her friend’s example and let her hair down too, which was fashioned in a coronet braid.

Cassian had not been able to stop thinking of Nesta with her hair unbound, that look of surprise on her face in the back of his mind.

He was always thinking of that look on her face.

Miss Berdara held a dark green parasol — no doubt to protect her fair skin from the sunlight — and a matching dress in similar fashion to Nesta’s, although hers had long sleeves.

“And you must be the famous business woman who has been driving society mad with your beautiful designs” he eyed the lady in question and tried to hide his surprise as he greeted her.

Because Miss Emerie Carynthian was wearing high waisted black pants and a long sleeved white shirt with ruffled laces, her curly brown hair in a high updo.

She for sure was the one responsible for Gwyn’s and Nesta’s daring attire.

“How flattering, sir. At least one gentleman here knows how to talk to ladies” Emerie said, glancing at their only male companion with a smirk.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir” Balthazar ignored Emerie, quite used to his business partner’s teasing “I heard incredible stories about your feats in the War. Shame I was placed in a squadron so far away from your or else I could have seen you in action.”

“You participated in the Battle of Meinir Pass?” Cassian asked, surprised, shaking the other man’s hand in greeting.

“Aye sir, third squadron. After the War I invested some money in business, being fortunate to make a big deal. The unfortunate side being that said deal was with Miss Emerie here”

Cassian laughed. They were a curious group, with only Nesta actually having a place in high society, but still befriending those of different status. It was not something usual, and he felt even more wonder towards her.

“Shall we move on? There are refreshments and we were graced with wonderful weather.” escorting his guests outside, Cassian asked Balthazar about his time in the army, all the while keeping an eye on Nesta, that damn dress threatening to undo his sanity before lunch time.

~•~

Fishing was supposed to be a nice activity. Calming. Relaxing.

Harmless.

Except nothing was truly harmless if Nesta Archeron was involved, because Cassian could not care less about catching fish.

Emerie and Gwyn — she had insisted to be called Gwyn instead of Gwyneth, “We are friends now, you cannot call me Gwyneth, it is too serious” — had gotten bored of fishing after twenty minutes and were now eating strawberries in the blanket laid near the lake. Cassian was really glad they had liked the blanket and ditched the table.

It meant they were comfortable around him.

It meant that he was one more step away from ruining his plan to make today perfect.

Balthazar had promptly prepared his things and in no time had caught three fishes. Emerie had bet he could not catch ten until they left for their inn, so now he was making his goal to catch not ten but fifteen.

Cassian could only wonder how their partnership was if this is how they usually behaved around each other.

Nesta, on the other hand, had been busy reading a book, completely lost in her world.

Until Gwyn and Emerie thought it would be a good idea to splash water at her.

Cassian thought she was going to be angry to have her clothes wet — or to risk getting her book damaged — but he was taken by surprise when Nesta threw her head back and laughed, cheeks flushed and the sun shining in her hair.

It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and he was so mesmerized by it that he almost hooked his finger instead of the fishing bait.

Cassian lost all interest in fishing once they started splashing water at themselves, watching them play with a small smile on his face, no doubt appearing to be a fool in love.

Balthazar, however, was not so happy.

“This must be a plan from Emerie to ruin my fishing” he muttered a little annoyed “I was about to catch a big one but they scared it away”

“They will get tired soon, my friend” Cassian tried to assure him “It is quite hot today to be moving around, even if they are splashing water at each other”

The sun was indeed high in the sky, and Cassian could not help but wonder how the ladies managed to appear so composed and fresh despite the many layers they wore. He and Balthazar had long ditched their coats to stay only in their shirts, Cassian going as far as rolling his sleeves.

He had failed to notice how Nesta had been eyeing him as he rolled his sleeves, her eyes tracing every new piece of tanned skin being exposed.

“It must be the sun” she thought to herself as she felt her mouth getting dry looking at Cassian’s bare forearms “Surely I am not attracted to him. I am just thirsty because of the weather.”

Nesta had been feeling strangely anxious since they had arrived at Pemberley, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest when Cassian kissed her hand. Oh, how she had momentarily wished she was as bold as Emerie and Gwyn to not bother with gloves — Nesta had been offered by Emerie to wear one of her newly designed pants, which she politely declined, stating that the off shoulder gown was as daring as she would allow herself to be — so she could finally know how Cassian’s lips would feel against her bare skin.

She was not proud to have thought such an improper thing, and even more ashamed of the ugly feeling in her heart when Cassian greeted her friends in the same manner.

How delusioned she had been to think he was showing her some preference.

That his feelings had stayed the same since her sister’s ball.

Cassian was a gentleman, and as such was only showing proper courtesy by greeting them all in the most dignified manner.

“Oh, it is so hot” Gwyn complained, their water game interrupted to get some refreshments “Even your light designed gowns cannot keep it away, Emerie”

“If only we could go for a dive” Emerie sighed, eyeing the lake.

“It would not be proper” Nesta mumbled, still distracted as she watched Cassian.

“Proper” Emerie snorted, taking off her shoes and rolling her pants until her ankles “I almost regret wearing those pants, if only they did not look so good on me”

“Emerie what are you doing, for the Mother!” Nesta exclaimed, watching as her friend dipped her feet in the cold water.

“I am refreshing myself dear, what does it look like?” she waved her hand in dismissal. “Balthazar could not care less about seeing some skin, he is too busy trying to win our bet. Whereas Cassian is too polite to stare. Besides, I dare say he would not care either, as he seems to be used to female attention.”

Nesta found herself with nothing to say in face of Emerie’s remarks, except her annoyance that Cassian would have ladies falling left and right at his feet.

That strangely bothered her.

“Pardon me then, I will agree with Emerie on this” Gwyn declared, dipping her own feet in the lake and sighing in delight “Join us Nesta, please. You must be feeling quite hot”

“Oh well, stop rushing me” Nesta replied, faking annoyance. She promptly dumped her feet in the water, even going as far as taking off her gloves and unbuttoning the first two buttons of her dress, letting the fresh air cool her warm skin “There, all relaxed and improper.”

“Bravo!” Emerie exclaimed, and the three of them laughed loudly.

Nesta had to agree that the cold water was indeed very refreshing, soon not even caring about Cassian or Balthazar’s presence. It was good to let off some steam and forget proper etiquette for a moment. She imagined her mother rolling in her grave in ultrage at her eldest daughter's attitude, which filled her with smug satisfaction.

A fish came up to swim around Nesta’s feet, and she giggled at the sensation.

“Do not move” Balthazar said, eyeing the fish “I have my sights on this little fella”

“Balthazar! Let it go! It’s not bothering me” she exclaimed, feeling protective over her new aquatic friend.

“But Nesta, I have caught twelve fish already. If you let me— “

“I do not allow you to dare and hurt it. You have more than enough time to attempt and win yours and Emerie’s bet” Nesta declared, leaving no room for argument.

Balthazar cursed quietly, but he knew better than to try to go against Nesta. Even if it was over a small thing as a fish.

Nesta asked Gywn about her mysterious sponsor, which had made it possible to fulfill her dream of singing in the most renowned opera houses in England. Gwyn informed she had yet to meet her generous patron, but that recently she had been receiving flowers every new performance.

“You think they are from your patron?” Nesta inquired “Or from any of your mass of admirers?”

Gwyn blushed at her friend’s teasing. Her dressing room was usually crowded with gifts after her performances, be it with expensive jewelry, chocolates, dresses and even love letters.

“I do not know. All I have as a clue are the lovely ribbons used to tie the flowers with” she indicated the one currently tying her hair.

They kept talking about who possibly could be her sponsor, lost in their gossip.

If they had paid attention, both ladies would have spotted Cassian — a small blush that could pass as a result from the hot weather adorning his face — gazing at Nesta.

More specifically, at her ankles.

His hands were tightly gripping the fishing rod, his eyes moving from her ankles to her bare arms to the two open buttons of her dress.

Cauldron, the places Nesta Archeron made his thoughts wander to.

He quickly looked back at the lake, shaking his head to try and think of other things, glad they were too busy to notice his blatantly staring.

Only that Emerie had seen him and the way he looked at one of her dearest friends. She tucked that information for later, both to tease Nesta about it and to think of more scandalous clothing to make her wear.

She knew a look of love when she saw one, and she was sure Cassian held it.

Nesta, on the other hand, would need a little push to realise her feelings.

And to Emerie’s joy, it appeared that until the end of the day she would have plenty of teasing material.

Both Cassian and Balthar took a break from fishing to have lunch with the ladies — although the latter kept eyeing his fishing rod while he ate, no doubt wanting to get back as soon as possible. Mrs.Potts and the rest of the help had really outdone themselves, there was enough food to feed at least twenty people.

“This has to be the best chocolate cake I’ve ever eaten” Nesta declared, already in her second slice “Please deliver my compliments to the cook”

“I am sure Chef Ramsay will be most pleased to hear that” Cassian said, knowing his chef would most probably scream something along the lines of ‘Of course she liked my food, I am the one who cooked it!’ but be secretly happy with the compliment.

“Elain will be sad to hear that” Gwyn teased “To think her cooking talents are viewed in such poor manners in your eyes….”

“Hush now. My sister’s cooking is exceptional, but even her would have to agree with me on this”

“You certainly enjoy it, I have never seen you so unlady like” Emerie said laughing, indicating the chocolate sauce that had gotten on her fingers.

Proving that she could be even more unlady like — by that time her mother would be almost resurrecting to hit Nesta with a whip for her horrid attitude — and shock her friends even more, Nesta licked her fingers instead of using a napkin, promptly cleaning her hand. That action brought fake gasps from her friends, who feigned horror at her action. Even Balthazar got in the play, saying no man would now dare to court her after such behaviour.

Little did he know that Cassian was thinking of proposing to Nesta again. He had tracked each lick, each portion of the chocolate sauce being eaten, his heart beating faster and faster, feeling his body warming and his mind wandering to unspeakable places not for the first time in the day.

“Get a grip Cassian” he thought to himself, drinking some lemonade in hopes of calming down.

Nesta chose the exact moment to glance at him, wanting to see his reaction at her attitude.

Not that she was anxious he would find her repulsive or unworthy of having been invited to this outing.

Rather, what she saw was Cassian drinking lemonade, the sun making his dark hair shine like obsidian, her mouth suddenly dry as she watched him swallow.

“What sorcery is this? Why do I feel that way even with the smallest things he does?” Nesta asked herself. feeling her cheeks getting warmer and looking down at her empty plate.

She made her best to try and avoid looking at him again, jumping at the opportunity to make flower crowns with Gwyn while Emerie sketched some news designs in a small notebook she carried everywhere.

Soon she was lost in the calming motion of twisting and knotting the flowers together, all thoughts of Cassian momentary forgotten.

It was Emerie’s voice saying her name that brought her back to reality.

“I think Nesta may have something”

“What?” she asked, looking up to find both Cassian and her friend looking at her.

“I was wondering if any of you would have anything I could tie my hair with” he brushed his hair back, a few curly locks falling in front of his eyes “I forgot to bring my usual leather strap with me”

“I have a ribbon” Nesta said, fumbling in her purse for the spare she always carried.

Handing him the red ribbon, her heart skipped a beat when their hands touched. She could swear his touch lingered for longer than necessary.

She watched as he gathered his hair in a bun, failing again and again at tying it with the red piece of silk.

“Is the General Commander losing against a mere hair accessory?” Nesta could not help but tease.

“This is quite different from what I am used to” he sighed in defeat “I’m withdrawing from this fight. It seems I will have to bear with the sun for a little longer”

“I could tie it for you” she blurted out before she could hold her tongue back.

Cassian only blinked at her.

“I mean, if Your Grace allows and is not bothered by me touching your hair or—”

“I would be most honoured” he cut her nervous rambling, moving to sit in front of her.

"Pardon me then” Nesta breathless said, taking his hair on her hands.

His hair was much softer than she had imagined and she dared to wonder if had she accepted his proposal, Cassian would have let her brush his hair.

If her making those small braids to make it easier to tie his rebel locks would have been a frequent occurrence.

“Oh, how lovely Nesta!” Gwyn exclaimed and placed one flower crown on Cassian’s head “There! Now he’s perfect!”

“The General Commander of the British Armies wearing a flower crown and with braids on his hair! Ha! No one would believe me if I told them!” Balthazar exclaimed, having grown tired of fishing after his eighteenth catch.

Cassian’s land really was blessed with an abundance of fish.

“What are you laughing for? I also made one for you!” Gwyn said, dumping one crown with pink flowers in Balthazar’s head, making Emerie roar with laughter.

If Cassian appeared to be bothered, he did not let it show, and Nesta could not help but think he looked adorable, nothing like the famous Lord of Bloodshed, who had killed many enemies of the Crown in battle.

“Your friends are rather charming, my Lady” Cassian pointed out, watching Emerie and Balthazar bickering while Gwyn laughed at them.

“I hope we are not causing Your Grace much trouble”

“Not at all” he assured her “This is the most fun I have had in a long time”

Nesta hoped he was saying the truth and not being excessively polite.

The afternoon went on, the group deciding to call it a day and gathering their things. Nesta stayed a little behind the group, too busy trying to button her dress again to keep up with them.

“Those beautiful unpractical buttons” she muttered angrily, failing to put the flower shaped buttons in their place.

“Lady Nesta, is something the matter?”

Nesta almost let out a scream when she saw that Cassian had not left.

“I was just— “ her words died in her throat when Cassian got closer, his hands hovering over her dress.

“May I?” he inquired softly.

Nesta could only nod and pray to the Mother he could not feel her heart beating faster than racing horses. Up close and with his hair tied back neatly — the small braids suited him more than she would have liked to admit — she could pinpoint every scar he had, from the one on his left eyebrow to the small cut near his mouth.

Her fingers itched to trace them.

To kiss them.

To kiss him.

“There. All proper now” Cassian said, his voice a little hoarse.

“Thank you, sir” Nesta managed to say despite wanting to scream and melt inside.

They walked silently back to the main state, a comfortable silence between them.

Cassian desperately wanted to hold her hand, using once again the excuse of helping her get on the carriage to do just that.

“Shall you pay Pemberley a visit tomorrow?” he hopefully asked “I could show you the rest of the state”

“I shall be waiting for your call, sir” Nesta replied.

“And please accept this,” she added in a rushed tone, dropping a small object on his hand “ it is not much but I would like to show my gratitude for today.”

“I am most thankful” Cassian said, the carriage leaving before he could say anything else.

Looking at his hand, he realised he held a delicate daisy chain, no wonder made by Nesta while she and Gywn were making the flower crowns.

“I will treasure this forever” he said looking at the carriage turning smaller and smaller as it got away from Pemberley.

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @valkyriewarriors @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512 @darkshadowqueensrule @letstakethedawn @starlightorstarfire @city-of-fae @thalia-2-rose @nestaarcher0n @rowaelinismyotp @julemmaes @dontgetsalmonella @alinaleksanders @lysandra-tiara9 @inardour @hikari274 @fatimafares123 @angelina-figjam @castielspelvis @illyrianundercover @firebirdofscythia

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#nessian #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #pride and prejudice AU #sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic

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iphoenixrising · 4 years ago

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More on the Robinpile Soulmate au

You know, babes, people and their wonderful, encouraging comments on that work in progress are fucking beautiful, so.

I’m going to put a little snippet down that’s probably going to rip at your heart strings and spoil the story a bit for you if you decide to read this small bit. So, just FYI Spoiler.

But, if you’d like a little more on how that story is going to go, welp. here you are *bows*

Note: not formatted or beta read.

After so much careful planning and preparation, Plan C is a go.

Robin is running over rooftops, scanning every shadow for a hint of Red Robin in Gotham. Nightwing and the Red Hood, Black Bat, Batgirl, and Signal are all in crucial parts of the city, on the lookout as well.

He, Jason, and Dick have spent weeks preparing for this, hoping their last-ditch effort would be enough to convince Tim his time as Robin hadn’t been in vain, that he was still, would always be a Bat.

That is the goal tonight, not to try convincing him to give them a chance as soulmates because that is likely impossible, but they could start a much more important mission, to try in their own ways to give him back something they’d all taken. To try to show they knew what they’d done to him, and perhaps could start them on the road to make it right.

(He hopes there’s still a chance.)

Fabrication didn’t take long, but the coupe de gras certainly did.

Word Red Robin would be in Gotham on the down-low gave them a chance to finally act, and Oracle promised them she would do her best to stall their soulmate until Robin could get to him.

And it’s a pang of pain, a lightning strike, when he catches up with Red on the roof of the Wallstone Apartments. The memory of the cut grapple line in the foreground of Robin’s thoughts.

“Please help,” Robin makes himself fall off his grapple to his knees, bent over, panting. “Red Robin, please.”

(Not all of it is an act, not with how hard he was running to get to Red before he vanished into the city.)

The older vigilante kneels by him, out of immediate reach.

“Where?” Is Tim’s Red Robin voice, a hand almost reaches out, clenches tight at the last second to draw back, and Robin sees the aborted move, has a flare of hope.

“Cannery Row–” and Robin rocks to the side, looks up at that closed expression, dares to let the fluttering in his chest give him strength.

Hands and arms around him, steady him, pull him up on his knees. He thinks about the grip Red Robin has on his shoulders to hold him up, how tightly Tim is able to hold on. A finger taps his mask so the whiteouts slide up, taking away some of his nightvision. He’s not concussed, is perfectly fine, but through his research, an injured (seemingly) teammate in need is one of Tim’s weaknesses.

“Robin–”

“We need you, there is too much happening in the city tonight. We are all stretched too thin,” and there is nothing but the truth in his eyes, his demeanor, the way his gloved hand tightens in the cape over Red’s shoulder.

“All right, stay here, call Hood or N to pick you up–”

But Robin staggers to his feet, “I can’t. I must get you to the safehouse. Everything we need is there.”

He keeps himself from a triumphant bellow when Red Robin paces him to the edge of the roof, grapple already in hand.

Luckily, Cannery Row is close enough they don’t have to go far, just their past hanging between them, the connection that’s agonizingly cold and silent even when they’re side-by-side.

Robin lands it this time on the roof of the familiar warehouse. He taps the comm unit on as he touches down, hopes Red won’t notice.

They climb through a service elevator shaft, the two of them prying open the doors once they hit the underground floor.

“Give me the details,” Red’s whole body tense as they lower themselves down into the darkness.

“Black Bat is in the Central Business District, Hood is by the Iceburg Lounge, Nightwing is in the Diamond District. Father is tracking down leads for a case, Batgirl is on her way to the Steel Mill. We still have no coverage for the situation in the City Hall District, but you cannot go alone.”

When they get the doors pried open, when Red Robin was close enough for his cape to brush against his, the underground is revealed in shadows, just as he, Jason, and Richard left it a few hours earlier.

(This is a newer Batman Incorporated holding. Robin is banking on the fact Tim might not know this, his heart starting to beat harder, faster when they get closer to the first stage of Plan C.)

The lights kick on as planned, and in the large expansive floor, a drop-cloth-covered something waits.

That’s all.

Red Robin is looking around for anything, searching for traps, evidence, something to give him an idea of what he’s walking into, back pressed against the elevator before he starts to step out.

His vigilante instincts aren’t going crazy, but he stays close to the shadows as he sneaks out, leaving Robin behind in the elevator shaft to stay or follow.

(Where Damian has the next step in the plan waiting, a duffle bag he’d hidden in the panel of the elevator shaft. He’s fast and silent, throwing off his gloves, gauntlets, cape, and utility belt–)

His instincts still aren’t blaring dangerdangerdanger and his wrist computer isn’t picking up any foreign tech when Red Robin finally gets to the drop-cloth with a frown, wondering if they’ve come across a piece of shady tech or something.

Which is really the only explanation for why Robin would come to him at all, everyone else busy in Gotham notwithstanding.

He grips the cloth and pulls hard, muscles tense for whatever fuckey waits for him underneath.

When he gets an eyeful, his knees go terribly weak for a long painful moment as he stares at–

The Red Bird.

“Oh...fuck,” because his eyes are instantly hot and full, making him blink rapidly behind the whiteouts.

And it gleams in the overhead lights, red and black and shiny, looks like it did the day Bruce showed it to him in the Cave, ready to tear into the night.

His chest hitches and the possibility this could be a cruel joke hits him hard enough to choke.

(It’s because he rejected them. This sick shit is because he refused to let bygones be bygones.)

“Open the door, Tim. Everything you will need tonight is ready for you.”

It’s Dami’s voice echoing behind him, not Robin’s, and Red can’t bring himself to look away, too many things churning in his brain pan around the shock and anger and regret and grief. It might be stupid for him to reach out, to make his wobbly knees work, to open the door with a bigger hand than the last time he did this.

The inside is immaculate, even after years of disuse that Red Robin has to wonder how and why and what the absolute fuck is happening here?

But on the seat, folded neatly with all the bells and whistles, the shuriken R on the red tunic gleams bright in the halogen glow. His throat gets tight when he realizes it’s his original red, gold, and green–the colors of joy.

The colors from the best years, before it all started to go horribly wrong.

A noise comes out of him, something low and pained before he can rein it in, before he can remind himself he’s already moved past the point this should still mean something.

(But it does, it always has, it’s always meant so much, especially back when he was just a kid in a silent, empty house. It meant he had a place, a purpose, a presence at his back when things got to be too much, too overwhelming.)

And it’s stupid how helpless he is, how some part of him –small and weak as it is– can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to try to hold the fuck on.

(Not because of the name itself, never that, but everything he’d lost the second it had all been taken away. A final nail in the coffin, back to being that boy in an empty house.)

When he reaches for the suit, he holds it in both hands like he’s seeing things, chest stuttering on a breath when the scent of new leather and Kevlar proves he hasn’t been drugged or the sleep dep severely fucking with him.

Stepping from the shadows, no longer in Robin but a black suit of some nameless ninja, Damian Wayne is holding the hood and face covering he’s going to wear for the night, waits until he sees how his soulmate will react to this possibly disastrous plan.

He takes careful, tentative steps closer, taking in the hunched shoulders, bowed head, reaching into the Bond when it is ice cold in his chest.

“Wh-what the fuck is this?” Hoarse and painful from his, their Tim. And Dami’s hands automatically reach out in desperation to comfort before he remembers himself and hesitates.

Even if the Bond on his side is closed, cold, silent, Damian breathes in and attempts to send calming, soothing feelings, tries to let his own emotions, his hope, his affection, his protectiveness, his respect, his reverence for this man be available should the Bond at any moment open even slightly.

His soulmate’s rigid control to close himself off from them comes from years of training, of trying to protect himself is such a point of pain that some part of him thinks the three of them together could crash through if they tried, could break down those walls by force.

But he’s here tonight, had worked so hard with N and Hood and Father and Batgirl and Black Bat and Oracle to plan it all, set it all up, because he’s different now, has learned what his actions had cost him, has realized he can’t go back to the old ways.

Instead, he hopes they will have this last chance, will give Tim enough reasons to open up without fear, without pain.

(“It started with taking the cape,” Dick thinks aloud once the three of them are together after a long night, finding comfort, “he thinks he was kicked out of the family, so...this shouldn’t have been about soulmates in the first place.”

“I do not understand, Beloved,” Dami yawns, buried himself deeper against Jason’s chest.

“It’s not about gettin’ him like that, Sweets,” Jay replies, stroken a hand through his hair. “Might never happen…”

“But, we could give him back some of what we took. He could finally come home again–”

Dami’s eyes open, “we...could give him back his place in the family. Or at least try to do so. Is that what you are saying?”

“Hm,” Jay grunts out, arms stealthy when he wraps them both up, rolls to put himself in the middle, “sounds like we godda last resort, now don’t it?”

“We’ll call it Plan C since it’s our last chance.”)

Plan C, indeed.

“Tim,” and he gives them only a few feet of space, no domino, no hood, no face coverings, no masks, holds up both hands in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture.

Red Robin spins with a growl, muscles tense in fight or flight, ready to throw the fuck down because why fix up the Red Bird and bring it here of all places? What game is this? Haven’t they broken him enough?

But Damian isn’t in the tunic he was wearing less than ten minutes ago, and Red Robin stops cold at the obviously planned costume change. He takes a careful step away from the very familiar suit Damian is wearing now, one that looks crazily like B’s when he was Tengu, trying to get himself back enough to take the cowl from Jean-Paul back when shit was crazy but even then he still had Nightwing at his back and–and…

What is wrong with him? He hasn’t thought about any of this in years.

But still. But still, his eyes go to the gleaming Red Bird, and those better times well up from within, a place so deep, he’d convinced himself he’d left all of it behind.

(Nightwing and Spoiler, school and the Cave, new baddies in Gotham to throw more crazy into the Rogue Gallery mix, teenage angst and sidekick wins, people at his back and front even in the worst of times. Being Red for the Titans was good, so good, but not ever the same. Not like it was when he was that Robin.)

He’s still holding the tunic in both hands, fists clenching it tight like something would have to pry his hands open to take it away (again) when what he really needs to do is throw it back in the Bird and get the absolute fuck out of here. Because this isn’t his anymore, apparently never should have been if the last few years were any kind of indication on the Tim Drake policy.

“This is cruel, even for you,” is snarly and low, is simmering anger trying to cover up old pain, pissing him off even more because he’d finally gotten to the place where he could forget for a while.

(And he’ll get there again. Even after all this.)

He makes his fingers unclench, throws the tunic back on the driver’s seat, but none of that covers up how hoarse his voice is, how tight his chest feels.

Dami just moves one hand, slowly pulls out his phone, thumbs the pass code to unlock the screen, and turns the device around to show Red what’s doing on the main screen.

His brain doesn’t process the image that’s him, one of the few existing pictures from years ago when he was still with Young Justice, the one of the core four making stupid faces, torn up from whatever space battle they’d just come back from, half-insane with sleep deprivation and injuries, only back to the planet for moments to celebrate not dying with pizza and Zestis, arms thrown around each other with rips and bruises and blood still staining the uniforms.

Why the fuck it meant something to Damian is the real question.

“I was wrong, when I came to the Tower,” Damian takes a tentative step toward him, still holding the phone out like a distraction that was really a message. “I told you I wanted to know this man you are now. The man that is one of my soulmates. However...however, I was wrong, Tim. You were my soulmate even back then. You were mine, and even if you weren’t, you were already part of the family when I came to Father, and I did not even give you a chance. I did not see how important you were, what lengths you went to make that symbol your own. I was terrified, young, foolish, but that is no excuse. What I should have been doing all this time is learning who you were back then before I attempted to approach you. Only by knowing that boy could I hope to understand this man.”

Wait, what now? How is this happening right now? All the awful things he’d secretly wanted to hear from the blood son, another chosen one. Another crux of his tangled emotions.

“I already told you I don’t need fucking soulmates. I rejected you.” He bites out, trying to breathe, trying to shove those emotions back down where they belong, trying to pretend the sight of the car, the tunic, the things he used to call his own, can’t touch him anymore.

(But it still has power, so much fucking power to break him down to this, that scared kid in an empty house.)

After all these years, he’s moved on...right?

“I know, Beloved,” Dami puts his phone away, green eyes never leaving Red Robin’s tense form. “But this? Tonight? This has nothing to do with soulmates.”

Which is absolutely not what he expects to hear.

“Tonight is about my predecessor, Beloved, not my soulmate. This is for the Robin that stood in Gotham before me,” and it’s gentle in ways Red Robin never imagined Damian could be, not with him. “This,” and Damian sweeps a hand over the car, the suit, “is for the brother we never should have driven away. The one who gave this name his own brand of honor and power, the one who carved a place for himself in the family. Not as the third Robin in line, but as the first Tim Drake.”

Red Robin’s hands fall enough to be less of a threat. Other than that, he isn’t moving, is listening even if it’s grudgingly, even if it’s with disbelief, even if it’s with skepticism, and Damian smiles softly, so softly, at this beautiful, broken man before him.

“My place?” Is hoarse, a warmer edge that isn’t blank coldness, isn’t so much control. “In case you missed it, my place hasn’t mattered in the last few fucking years–”

“Hasn’t it?” And Dami’s eyes are so green, dark jade that catches in the light, easy to pick out. “Hasn’t it mattered?”

The obvious drawback is an opening, a misstep in the detective’s assumptions that Dami takes the opportunity for what it is.

“I know how it must seem,” and he makes himself stop stepping forward when every instinct in his body screams to approach, to reach out, to take this man in his arms, to whisper endearments, to apologize until the tears dry, until Tim’s arms can unlock, until he can start with the smallest measure of belief with splashes of powerful violet.

“I know the years we’ve let you draw further away. I know there’s been disdain and cruelty until that’s all there was between us. And I did not choose to acknowledge it, my wrongdoings. It was easier to hide, Tim, just as it was for Jason and Richard and Father. We were cowards, but not once in all these years have you ever been simply forgotten.”

And here is where preparation for their detective is perfectly done when Damian whips out his utility belt computer and quietly holds it out, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

The evidence is there in clips of Todd sneaking into a familiar penthouse apartment with a bag of coffee in hand or taking a First Aid kit from under the kitchen counter to restock it, it’s there when video shows Richard in the Batsuit, in Nightwing, in Officer Grayson, in workout clothes, in jeans and t-shirt with both hands always pressed to the glass case with Tim’s first Robin suit, it’s there when Father sits on the bed in Tim’s old room over the years with a familiar shining, shuriken R flipping over the fingers of one hand. It’s there in the attempted hacks of Titan’s Tower when the Batcomputer pings with alerts of a bad fight for the Titans. It’s there in all the protocols when Ra’s starts movement against Red Robin, when their worst enemies are cataloged to the nines and contingencies from each member of the Batfamily are so obviously ready.

(With some pride in himself, Dami is the one that came up with the plan to take down Brother Blood, while Jason’s shoot-now-ask-questions-later is crucial to dealing with The Light. Grayson’s experience with the Fearsome Five, Father’s methodical touch to deal with The Insiders.)

It’s there in the smallest details they’d silently done over the years (these things happening without the need to point out how necessary and does Damian ache with the knowledge how easy it could have been to reach out so many, many times), could be enough at a glance to start the seedlings of doubt in Red Robin’s firm belief his place has simply been forgotten.

And Damian hears it in the catch of breath, a soft inward draw. He can’t see behind the whiteouts of Red Robin’s mask, but he hopes, hopes there might be a spark of indecision.

“You were never forgotten.” Gently, Damian reaches out slowly, just enough to close gloved fingers over the screen. “But, you don’t need to hear it from me, Beloved, you need real proof and that we shall provide tonight. Get changed. You’re needed.”

Conflicted as fuck, Red Robin processes as much as he can in that few minutes, muscles in his shoulders unbearably tight. “I’m not going to just patrol with the Bats, especially under your name.”

“It is not as simple as patrol, I’m afraid. We have several Arkham escapees, a possible gang war, and several other take downs lined up,” which is the absolute truth. “I did not lie when I said we needed your help with the overwhelming criminal activity in the last twelve hours.”

Carefully planned twelve hours for one night they’ve been putting into motion for months.

With the computer in hand, feeling more vulnerable than he’s felt behind the mask in years, Red Robin grits his teeth because only the Bats can do this to him. “I can still help the hell out without the bullshit emotional manipulation. Let me guess, this is Dick’s idea.”

“All of us had a hand in it, actually. The Red Bird itself was my idea. Jason and Father helped to restore it to its former glory. Dick, however, had the idea to make it authentic with the suit.”

“Do you even know how messed up this is for me?” Tumbles right out when he wants cold fury, when he wants to snarl at the obvious manipulation at play–

(while being stupidly impressed they actually seemed to know him to put all the pieces in place, make him play right into their hands with a well thought-out plan. Fuck.)

“The point of all of this, Tim, is to give you one last Robin Ride.”

Cue being at a total loss here because what multiverse did he fall into? Seriously, this can’t be his world, not when those words popped out of Damian’s mouth, and along with it, so many possibilities looming right in front of him.

At the same time, dread crawls up his throat, spills bitter into his mouth.

“Even if you never want us, we will, as you said, learn to live with it.” Damian fights to keep it neutral as just the thought of continuing on in this way as they have for weeks, always aware of the empty spot where their fourth should be, makes him cold all over. Still, this cannot be for them, not if they are serious about setting things right in the only way they can. “Even if that is the case, Tim, I...we. We still want to give you this,” his hand sweeps over the Red Bird again.

Because it’s all so much in one go, things he never thought he’d hear, never could have thought would be offered. Unconsciously, his eyes go to the gleaming fender behind the whiteouts. “None of this is– I brought the Bird back years ago so B could remake it for you.”

And Dami chances one more step closer, “but it is yours, Tim. Father made it for you, to keep you safe, and it will always be yours, Robin or not. It should have been given back to you long before tonight, and for that, I apologize.” He tries smiling just a little, “but, better late than never as they say.”

Red’s got nothing for that, for any of this, stares helplessly while Damian pulls on the hood and face covering, only his green eyes visible.

Red’s jaw is tight, clenching down because he finally gets it. He isn’t going to wake up in the Tower, asleep at his workstation, thinking this is a terribly embarrassing message from his subconscious.

“You will need this,” and Damian holds out a hand again. This time, a Batcomm rests in his palm. “The others are waiting for you, Robin.”

“I-I can’t–” because this is fucking real, this is really happening. As much as he’s sure Damian is bullshitting him about this not being a soulmate thing, his eyes are still getting hot, his chest aching, his throat tight. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Damian counters gently. “We...I owe you this. Dick will argue he does also. Jason as well. We cannot give you the things we have taken, not completely. As much as I wish we could change things, overcome our own insecurities to remind you that you will always have a place…” Dami sighs, “we cannot go back, either. Not really, but in order to go forward, we can give you the proof you need to see you have always had a place. So, just for tonight, Tim, be our Robin again.”

Damian doesn’t give him time to formulate a reply while he feels like he just got fucking stabbed hearing that out of the current Robin’s mouth.

“This is wrong, this isn’t–”

Damian lays the Batcomm on the top of the car and slowly backs away, melting into the shadows.

“On the contrary,” echoes around him and the lights go out in the underground, only a section of them lighting up the Red Bird. “This may be the one thing we’ve gotten right.”

The flutter of paper he hadn’t noticed is on the ground from where he’d tossed the old/new suit.

The chime on his wrist computer is a surprising upload of locations in Gotham pinging his algorithm, indicating a little vigilante action wouldn’t be amiss. Damian apparently wasn’t lying about too many fires and too few Bats. But, there’s too much happening in hot spots, and he won’t make the most crucial if he’s swinging. He needs a Ducati or–

His eyes go back to it, another symbol of his best days. Back when he could call himself a Bat, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.

Under the mask, Tim Drake breathes out, shuttering through the old pain that lights up his brain pan.

He could turn right the fuck around and walk out of this warehouse with his heart still in check, with his emotions back under control. He could reject this attempt as sure as he’s been rejected for years.

But the tiny part of him that’s always mourned the loss of his tunic is a stronger voice this time, and his hands twitch in his gloves before moving to pick up the discarded suit again, to look at those short sleeves, the green gloves, the shuriken R that was his design – not Damian’s or Jay’s or Dick’s but his.

The suit blurs and Red Robin realizes it’s because his eyes are spilling over behind the whiteouts.

#winter writes #robinpile soulmate au #just a bit more #ANGST #be aware #this is how my life is going #chippon is really patient with me #please give chip your love

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years ago

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It's Just a Movie: Part 13 (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warning: slight nsfw, cursing

Word count: 1944

You couldn't believe it, but you supposed, if you had been watching this on a screen or something, you would've already assumed this. Made jokes about it. Probably have made jokes about how obvious the boys were being. Letting you stay at the cave, the constant gifts, the flirty comments, the affection- You could go on. Really, you were cursing yourself for being so oblivious. Seriously, the boys were already trying to have Michael stay with them for eternity after one night it was no surprise that they'd like you after two weeks. Though, one thing puzzled you, and it led you to asking,

"Is David, like, purposely mean to the people he has crushes on?" And it made the boy next to you laugh. He waved his hand, but he didn't try to argue with your suspicion. After a moment he said,

"He's," He paused for a moment. You guessed that, even though Dwayne was probably one of the people who knew him best, it was for him to find a way to describe the blonde. Finally, he finished with, "He's complicated. He doesn't like showing weakness and…" He left the rest for you to guess. You supposed it made sense. If David really did have a crush on Michael, it had made him weak enough to let him get killed by Michael. Or, at least, you were sure that was how David saw it. You imagined he wasn't excited to have one on you.

Though, the more you thought about it, the more the previous conversation made sense. While Dwayne was the only one that made a move, you now knew that all of them liked you. You didn't necessarily know how you felt about that, other than that if you didn't take this opportunity your friends would be screaming at you. You supposed that, to avoid arguments, perhaps David had the right idea. You didn't need them to get jealous, especially when they were blood-thirsty creatures of the night who could decide you weren't worth the trouble. But, you quickly swatted that thought away. If they liked you, really liked you, you had to stop thinking that way. You had to accept that, on some level, you could trust them not to hurt you. Not if it would lead to all of them getting pissed, at least. You sighed, and then said,

"So...how likely is it that Paul will have forgotten to tell David what I said?" You asked the brunette besides you. Dwayne sat back, using his arms to support him from falling back into the sand. He gave you a look, and said,

"While Paul is a dumbass, I'm pretty sure the others are gonna ask why you aren't with him." And you groaned. You knew that there was no point in hoping that he had forgotten, even if his mind was usually going a mile a minute. You and Dwayne decided that, after a few more minutes on the beach, it was better to face whatever was waiting for you as soon as possible.

When you got back to the cave, you could only describe it as awkward. Whether it was because of the fight you'd had with David the night before or because you knew that they liked you, you couldn't tell.

Marko was sitting on the couch, browsing through some comics. He refused to look up, so you barely paid him a glance. Paul had been messing with his guitar, but you could tell from the lack of headphones that he wasn't really focusing on it. He did his best to avoid eye-contact, but his baby blues flicked to yours for just a moment before retreating back to the instrument in his hands. David, however, didn't avoid making eye contact like the other two. If there was one thing you had learned about David, it was that he loved confrontation. He didn't even have to stand to make it clear that, if you were going to talk to one of them, it was going to be him. He blew a stream of smoke into the air and then asked,

"Have fun?" But the question had just the slightest edge to it. A bit of venom laced within. If you had been more naive, you might've not even noticed it. Dwayne gave your hand a small squeeze, but, to some degree, you knew you were alone on this. David was the judge, jury, and executioner. You knew there was only one way to win with him. At least, for now.

"Yeah, you?" You were going to approach the situation slowly. You watched the way a smile grew over his face, but it seemed to look more like a predator baring its teeth. But his voice was as charming as ever as he said,

"Oh, the boys and I had a great time picking off a bonfire. Shame Dwayne missed it." He said, and you didn't even have to guess what he was implying. Dwayne would have to leave that evening, at some point. It was a threat of even more confrontation, and this time without the comfort of the brunette. Even if you knew this conversation was between just you and David, you couldn't deny that the brunette was acting as your crutch. Without him, you didn't doubt that you'd crumble. In a second, you decided that perhaps slow wasn't the way to go with him.

"I'm sorry, David. I didn't- I didn't know." And you watched him pause. For just a moment, he seemed confused. You supposed he hadn't expected you to apologize. He probably expected another fight, especially after the words you'd given Paul to deliver. You didn't dare to continue. You placed the ball in his court, and you were going to give him a taste of his own medicine by waiting for him to reply. Even if the silence that stretched between you begged you to fill it. You watched how his eyes flicked to Dwayne, and you barely had to glance back to see the silent conversation floating between them. It was simple confirmation. Dwayne had told you, and, when you turned back, you watched David's face turn neutral. For a moment, you liked to think it was covering any possibility for embarrassment to peak through. Finally, after a moment, he stood. He walked closer, his coat fluttering behind him until he stopped just in front of you. You didn't know what to expect, though, with David, you hardly did.

"Does that change anything?" He asked, and, now, it was your turn to be momentarily confused. It took you a second to get what he was asking, but then last night's conversation flicked through your mind. You stared at him, weighing your options. Really, it hadn't changed much. You still couldn't control when or if you'd suddenly disappear one day. Even if you decided to pursue any of the boys. Though, you saw the way David was staring at you, like he was willing you to say that it did. You couldn't promise anything, so, instead, you said,

"We'll see." And, surprisingly, that seemed good enough for now. You didn't have a chance to dig into why he was letting it go before Paul was jumping up from his spot on the floor.

You would've liked to have some big apology from the blonde, and perhaps from the others, but you weren't surprised to say that the best you had gotten was a,

"We cool, babe?" From Paul before he was excitedly showing you the latest solo he had learned on his guitar. There was a silent agreement between the five of you. They wouldn't mention you staying if you didn't mention leaving. Dwayne was able to leave to feed with a peace of mind that night, and he returned to see that Paul was even quicker to pull moves than he was. The long-haired blonde seemed to still want to make the best of what he had thought was going to be his night with you, and he had wrapped himself around you as he showed you how to play a few chords to a song he had learned. You tried not to think about his breath on your neck, or how he leaned forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. When he pulled his hands away to let you play, his arms wrapped around your waist as he watched. You knew that when Dwayne appeared there was no chance in hell he was going to be able to pry Paul's arms off of you. Especially when he made a show of nosing at your neck. When dawn approached, you could feel tiredness pulling at your eyelids. You noticed it seemed to affect all of the boys the same, though instead of simply being awake for too long you knew it was the encroaching sunlight. Paul's movements stuttered and slowed, his energetic behavior slowly edging away as he became more and more tired. You caught him yawning, even if he insisted that he wasn't ready to go to bed. Finally, you offered,

"Paul, can you walk me to my room?" And, for a moment, the suggestion seemed to wake him up completely. He was quick to pull both of you up, and even quicker to ditch the others. Low-light filtered into the cave, and cast slivers of pale light into the darkness of the caves. He was practically back to his non-tired self when you got to your room, and he seemed even more jittery than usual. You couldn't help the smile that creeped on your face, and he even seemed to be hesitating. With your earlier reaction to him that night, you could easily guess why. He opened his mouth, and you knew either a flirty comment or a ramble was to leave his lips. So, instead, you stood on your tip-toes and pulled him down to plant a kiss on his lips. You had meant it to be a small peck, but the second your lips were on his it seemed that all the hesitation had slipped away from him.

You gasped when your back hit the cave wall, and his tongue was quick to flick against yours. You barely had a moment to process, or even kiss back, before his lips were leaving yours to favor your neck. His hands were quick to move down your sides, to your hips, and then to your legs. You tugged on his hair, listening to the growl that left his throat, as he kissed his way up your neck and then back to your lips. It was a flurry, and you found that it was hard to keep up. You barely had room to breathe, and you were pulling away to do just that when you heard footsteps down the hall. It seemed that, apparently, the sun had finally risen and the other three were coming to seek shelter in the darkness. Paul glanced over, and stole another kiss before he was pulling away and standing at his full height.

"Need me to tuck you in?" He teased, and you gave his arm a small slap. He laughed, leaning down once more to steal another. He pressed you against the wall again, his hands gripping your hips, before he finally pulled away for good. You whispered a quiet,

"Goodnight Paul." As he hesitated to pull away. He walked away a few steps, holding onto your hand, before he finally let it drop. You watched as his figure blended back into the darkness, how he side-stepped certain pools of light, and you slipped back into your room for the day.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys marko #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys

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jenomark · 4 years ago

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PART 3: XIAOJUN, THE EATER

➔Pairing: Lucas x Reader (Female) | Xiaojun x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: Hendery ➔Genre: Smut (+ angst, + fluff, + plot) ➔Warnings: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING for people with eating disorders or food issues. Food is mentioned a lot in this one, as food is Xiaojun’s kink. If that makes you uncomfortable, I would suggest skipping this part. Oral (female). Angst. Obsessive behavior. Honestly, I realize how uncomfortable this series is to read because it touches on a lot of serious issues involved around sex. Read with caution. ➔Word count: 4,656

➔Summary: You don’t know what you do. You don’t even know who you are. Some would call you a whore. Some would refer to you as a sex worker. All of your clients would say you’re damn good at your job.

MASTERLIST

“Yeah, right there...that’s good...keep going..yeah, right there.”

You set the couch down on your side with a thud. Lucas set his side down softly and stood back to get a good look at his new purchase. Well, it wasn’t just his purchase, but yours, too. To him, it was the family couch, the very thing that would bind the two of you together into holy matrimony land.

“It looks perfect in here,” he said. “Really ties the room together.”

You were on the verge of sniggering- and it was too late for you to retract any trace of amusement -when Lucas looked up and asked what you found so funny. He looked disappointed, which made you feel a twinge of guilt.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” you said, letting the humor slide from your face. “It’s just....Lucas, you never care about how the room looks. We’ve always made fun of people like that.”

“I do care.” he said. “Every time you walk into a room, suddenly, everything looks more beautiful.”

“Okay. That was really cheesy.”

Lucas laughed, dissolving any of the guilt you would have let fester. His smile was wide, his eyes twinkling and bright. “You’re right. I don’t know what has gotten into me.”

He had The Look in his eye. Before he could suggest that you break the couch in with a hot round of sex, you told him you were on your period. His face fell, and for just a moment, you began to feel bad again. The lies were getting easier lately, but there was something about this particular one that felt traitorous. He wasn’t the type of guy to root through the trash to find tampon wrappers as evidence. He was doing his part as the idiot boyfriend, but you, you were going to push things too far.

Fuck him on the couch, you tried to convince yourself. He’s your maybe fiance. Maybe.

An awkward silence passed. Lucas spun around and took a careful seat on the new couch. His big body sunk into the cushions in a way that hugged him better than you could. He groaned happily and looked so smug that he had made a good choice. Good job. Good girlfriend. Good couch. He patted the seat next to him and waited for you to join him.

“I should actually get going.” you said, wishing desperately that you sounded apologetic.

Expecting it, Lucas stood up. “I’ll drive you.”

His quick movements startled you. He stepped forward, as if it was already decided. You wouldn’t be able to convince him that you didn’t need a ride, which is how you ended up sitting in his passenger seat, your knees knocked together, and your bag clutched tightly to your chest. So, he wasn’t the type to root through the trash, but it seemed like he was looking through you, instead.

“Where am I driving to today?” he asked. He stuck his key in the ignition. He opened the window and inhaled the air, like it was the first time he was breathing. “I’m free. You could ditch your friends and drive around with me, like we used to.”

You smiled to yourself when all the memories resurfaced. Whenever you and Lucas got into arguments, you didn’t let it draw on for hours. He suggested you take a car ride together. He would drive, and you would sit in silence until he made you laugh like clockwork. You always wound up somewhere secluded, you sitting on the hood of his car and him apologizing for whatever he did. On the rare occasion, you were the one apologizing, offering him your body on whatever surface was publicly available.

“But we’re not arguing.” you said. “Why else would we need to take a ride?”

Lucas looked over at you. You could see all of the questions in his eyes, the way he turned his head so he wouldn’t have to ask them. “Right. I guess there is no need, then.”

He took your hand and held it between you and him. You thought of the couch being wedged between you, and now the console. If Lucas was able to read minds, he would read all of the things you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize for. About the job. About the ring. About all the walls you were building around yourself to keep him out.

Lucas dropped you off in front of a bakery. You said you were meeting an old friend, which was true, but it was the only truth.

You walked a few blocks away from where Lucas dropped you off. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. You kept looking over your shoulder, peering into windows of passing cars to make sure Lucas wasn’t in one of them. You probably looked as crazy as you felt.

As you arrived at your destination, you got a text message from Lucas. You looked around one more time before diving into your phone.

Lucas: Text me before you come home. I’d like to clean up the place before you get in. Love you so much.

You: Love you.

You stowed your phone back into your bag and looked up at the restaurant you had stopped in front of. The sign hanging from an iron hook was hard to read, but you had been coming there for a long time, and you didn’t need a sign to know you were at the right place. The door swung open, a little tinkling bell alerting everyone in the near vicinity that a customer had left. The person held the door open for you, so you did a little jog to get inside.

You didn’t normally like buffets, and you definitely didn’t like little hipster buffets nestled between chic coffee houses and insurance agencies. On the outside, it looked a bit like a cafe; it was so nondescript. On the inside, it was anything but. Besides the unsettling minimalism on the walls, everything else was chaotic. The first room, the dining room, was full of mismatched chairs: bean bags, beach chairs, stools of various sizes, and the random childs tricycle seat. Each table looked like it had been thrifted from different cafes and upscale restaurants. If you were a tourist looking for a place to eat and you had walked in, you would surely walk right back out.

“Is he here?” you asked the hostess waiting at the front. She stood at a podium made of discarded cutlery.

“Punctual as always,” she said. “Talking to the servers, no doubt scaring away the customers. You know how he is.”

You thanked her and glided through the dining room, avoiding the eyes of the people eating. It was rude to stare as someone ate, and if he saw you staring, it would turn him off. He was all about manners of every kind.

You found him at the serving station, standing between each table talking to the man who owned the place. His back was turned to you, his small frame handsome, even from behind. You gandered at the food on display. There were so many options gathered in one place; a taste of the city, if the city ate with childrens cutlery shaped like zoo animals.

You stood and waited for him to stop speaking. You looked down at your heels, the patent leather shiny and new. The dress you wore was skin tight and left very little to the imagination. Tan, so as not to hurt his sensitive eyes. You thought you looked like a cheap whore trying to look expensive, but it was always less about the clothes, and more about being able to see every curve of your body. With him, unlike with Lucas, nothing was hidden from sight.

You were surprised Lucas hadn’t asked who you were dressing up for, but he was so oblivious to fashion, that he probably assumed you and your friends were trying to out-pretty eachother. As long as you didn’t leave the house wearing designer clothes, your boyfriend would hardly notice a thing. Even if he did, you knew he’d never say anything about it.

As if feeling you standing near him, he stopped speaking and turned toward you. He searched your eyes, his lips wondering whether or not they should pull up into a smile.

“You’re late.” he mouthed.

You smiled apologetically, meaning it.

Xiaojun. If happiness was a face, it belonged to him. He was always smiling, always making friends wherever he went. Everyone loved him, and it was a genuine love. You started to believe that he collected people like one would collect hats, and that maybe you were one of those lucky people. He told you once that he had to smile and talk to everybody, or they would talk about him first.

Xiaojun excused himself and made his way across the room. You gave him your cheek, bending down a little because he was shorter than you, and he kissed it. Xiaojun didn’t love public displays of affection. He took your hand and started introducing you to the new foods the restaurant was bringing into their daily mix. For Xiaojun, it would be the highlight of his day.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

You nodded excitedly, but your insides felt like knotting up. You had purposely not eaten for this moment, knowing what was required of you. Yet, your appetite was anything but big.

“Good,” he said. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll whip you up a plate, love.”

You went and found a table surrounded by child-sized chairs someone would find in a doctors office. Xiaojun would find it funny to see your larger, adult body in a chair too small for you. You sat, checked your teeth in a mirror and pulled out your phone to check your messages. When you were with other clients, you would never dare check your phone, but Hendery’s texts were coming in so frequently that you didn’t have a choice.

Hendery: I miss you.

Hendery: I’m bored.

Hendery: Can we fuck later?

Hendery: I saw this program earlier and it reminded me of you.

Hendery: So, I was thinking.....

You put your phone away as Xiaojun turned the corner. He had three plates of food: one plate in each hand, and another balancing on his forearm. Like a pro, he set them down on your side of the table without spilling anything.

“Good choice of seats.” he said, sitting down.

There wasn’t any food in front of him. You looked down at the food in front of you and felt the knots in your stomach tightening. Xiaojun didn’t let any of the food touch, but the plates were still full of steak, fish, potatoes and rice. You took a napkin off the table and folded it over your lap.

“You look pretty today.” he said.

“Thank you.” you said, careful to keep your manners up to par.

You picked up your plastic shark fork and started eating. Rice first, veggies next. You ate slowly, chewing thoughtfully, looking up at Xiaojun after swallowing each bite. His head was leaning on his hand, and he had a dreamy look in his eyes.

“You’re quiet today,” he said, smiling. “Is it me? Have I done something?”

“No!” you were quick to say. You took a sip of water to wash the food down. “I have some things going on in my personal life.”

“Ah, it’s like that.”

“Yeah,” you said. “But this food is really good, and I can’t imagine sharing my company with anyone else in the world.”

“You’re just saying that to be nice.”

You shoveled more rice into your mouth, closing your mouth to mind your manners. You didn’t speak until it was all chewed and swallowed. “ I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Xiaojun, you know you’re my favorite.”

He didn’t believe it and neither did you, but it was the fantasy that kept you going. Xiaojun leaned back in his chair and watched you devour two full plates. As you got to your third, you could see the lust in his eyes. You turned to the side so he could see how bloated your belly was.

“Still hungry?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Yes, very.” you said. “I’m famished.”

You finished the third plate of food. Xiaojun went up to get you a plate of dessert, which meant that you didn’t have to pretend much anymore. You felt like vomiting from all the consumption. You sat back in your chair as much as you could and kicked your legs out until you were almost laying horizontal.

Eating. It was Xiaojun’s thing. He never ate himself, and in the beginning, you wondered if food was an issue for him. He opened up on the second date, eating a morsel for himself before feeding you the rest of what he had ordered. For Xiaojun, it was more about the care. If he fed you, he cared about you. He loved nothing more than to get you food (always paying for it, of course) and watch you pig out. Seeing you so stuffed turned him on, and if your belly was a little swollen, he would get an instant hard-on.

You never knew about certain kinks until you were welcomed into the sex industry. Someone like Xiaojun might have scared you off if you were still green, but meeting him as an experienced worker helped the both of you. Xiaojun became a client, as well as a friend. And your relationship was even better, because it was him who had introduced you to people like Ten. Deep down, you also liked to care for others.

Xiaojun came back with a chocolate lava cake made special by the kitchen. He set it down in front of you like he had set down a solid bar of gold. You looked at the cake like he might as well had. Xiaojun paid very well, so it was easy to keep acting.

“I didn’t think you were that hungry,” he said. “One is enough. I don’t want you bursting at the seams, love.”

He sat down in his seat. He clapped his hands excitedly and picked up a utensil with a dolphin on the end. He would be feeding you for the grand finale. Xiaojun picked up a chunk and watched the chocolate dribble out onto the plate. In other scenarios, you would have wiped your finger in the pooling chocolate and brought it straight to your lips, but he wouldn’t have liked that. You opened your mouth and kept your hands by your side. Xiaojun stuck the utensil in your mouth. You chewed the piece, the chocolate too rich for you to truly enjoy.

When he saw that you had a chocolate morsel hanging from the corner of your lip, Xiaojun got out of his chair and kissed you clean. It was the only instance where public displays of affection and good manners were completely forgotten.

You felt so full of food as you left the restaurant. You wobbled a little in your heels as you walked. Xiaojun had his hand on your back, and he was checking on you to make sure you were okay. He kept looking at the bloat in your stomach, which meant that he was ready for sex. A car couldn’t come fast enough for him.

“I know I ask too much of you,” he said. “But we should do this more often. I really like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you, too.”

You leaned down to kiss him. No tongue, just a peck. When you pulled away, Xiaojun had hearts in his eyes. You’ve always wanted to ask him why he didn’t just get a girlfriend who he could feed and fuck. He was a very attractive man, with a heart of gold. He didn’t have to be alone. You never got around to asking him because you began to understand why someone would live like that. What you and him did was an escape, and that escape was untouchable. Inviting anyone else in would change everything, and change is what you hated most.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you.” you said, feeling bashful.

You looked at your feet before looking down the street for the car. It should have been there by now. You inspected the area. People were going in and out of cars, some rushing to get inside buildings and out of the heat of the sun. No one was stopping to watch life, no one caring about anything other than their own busy lives. You kept searching and searching for some sign that life could slow down, and that’s when you saw him: Hendery.

“What the fuck.” you whispered.

Hendery was standing across the street. He was watching you with Xiaojun. He looked like his heart was being torn in two in real time, the agony on his face displayed for all of the pedestrians.. Before you could make a move, he was leaving the area.

You turned to Xiaojun. “Stay right here. I’ll be back. Please don’t leave without me.”

“Is everything okay?” Xiaojun asked.

“Yeah,” you said, walking. “Everything is just great.”

You didn’t know why leaving Xiaojun and chasing down Hendery seemed like the best idea. He looked so upset, which really shouldn’t have been your problem. Outside of the bedroom, Hendery was not your responsibility. But you had told him your whole life story, and you didn’t know how capable he was of tracking down a vet assistant named Lucas, and telling him all about you like he was some scorned lover.

“Hendery!” you called.

You could see him up ahead. You crossed the street. Once you hit the sidewalk, you started running as much as your heels allowed. Your feet hurt like hell, but you had to reach him before he did anything hasty.

“Will you just stop,” you yelled, coming up behind him. He was ignoring you. “You’re not making this easy for me, Hendery.”

Hendery stopped so suddenly that you almost collided with him. You turned to see if Xiaojun was watching, but thankfully, he wasn’t.

“Do you love him?” Hendery asked, spitting out the word love like it was dirty.

“What?” you asked. “Are you playing the part of the jealous lover now? I’m at work, Hendery. You know what I do for a living. You’ve hired me before, remember? ”

“You’re right,” Hendery said. “I’m sorry”

He started walking again. You followed behind, turning the corner with him. You didn’t have time to react before he was kissing you and pushing you up against the wall of a bank. His hands were all over your body. You pushed them out from going underneath your dress. You covered the bloat of your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “When I see you, I just…”

“It’s fine.” you said, trying to regain the upper hand.

A year or two ago there was a client who had fallen so deeply in love with you that he kept following you everywhere. He would show up when you were out with Lucas, which really made things complicated. You didn’t want to get the police involved, but Lucas insisted that no weirdo could keep harassing his girlfriend. Lucas never found out why the client did what he did, or that you had led him on for the sake of money.

“I think I should stop seeing you,” Hendery said. “You’re all I think about and it’s not healthy.”

Since taking his virginity, you saw Hendery multiple times. You never went back to your real home, but instead found hotels to fuck in. His sexual prowess had improved through practice. He was easily making you come twice a night when you were with him. It wasn’t the sex that had done it for him, though. You had started to relax your friendship with him, choosing to keep things business-only. As you did that, he started trying to get you to come a little closer again. The more you resisted, the more obsessed Hendery became.

“Sleep on the decision,” you said. “If you still feel the same way I-”

You didn’t know what else to say. There was part of you that didn’t want to lose the extra income that Hendery gave you. He was also easier to deal with when his emotions weren’t involved, and you really saw a future as friends with him.

“I don’t think I should talk to you again.” he said, his eyes avoiding yours. “I’ll never stop falling for you, and I should have known that everything you said was a lie.”

You thought about defending yourself, but Xiaojun had turned the corner and his eyes were going from you, to Hendery.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time.” Hendery said. “Take this.” He dug around in his pockets and pulled out a few bills. He stuck them in the collar of your dress, which made you feel lower than you had felt in awhile.

You were in Xiaojuns bed, and he was in between your legs eating you out. He was good at it, but your mind was too far away and you couldn’t appreciate how tender he was being. You reached down to touch his hair as he sucked on your clit. You blinked away your thoughts and moaned on command. Oral sex was all you and Xiaojun ever did together, so he was bound to realize something was awry.

“Is it the boy?” Xiaojun asked, coming up for air. He kissed your inner thigh. “The one in front of the bank? The one that treated you rudely?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m sorry I’m not responsive. If you want your money back, I’ll understand.”

Xiaojun set his chin on your lower tummy. Your legs were over his shoulder, and your body was propped up by a pillow so you could see everything he was doing. He said, “Watching you stuff yourself was more than enough for me, love.”

You were thankful when Xiaojun got up and handed you your panties. You slid them on and sat on his bed, your dress still sitting like a tight ring around your waist. No client had ever gotten to you so much that they affected another.

“He caught feelings?” Xiaojun asked. He looked down at his cock. He was still hard. “Not hard to do with you.”

“Something like that.” you said, feeling sorry for Hendery. For Xiaojun. For Lucas. For yourself.

“Don’t take it personally,” Xiaojun said. “He just likes the idea of you. You probably fucked him better than any of his girlfriends ever did.”

“He was a virgin.”

Xiaojun sighed. “That explains it. He’ll move on. You’ll see.”

But will I move on? You thought. You didn’t have feelings for Hendery, but in the shortest amount of time, he was so ingrained in your life that it was hard to let him go. Normally, when clients moved on, you counted your lucky stars. This time, you didn’t know which part to mourn first.

“He gave me money for talking to me, like I’m some whore,” you said. “I think that’s what hurts the most.”

“People do crazy things when they’re hurt.” Xiaojun said.

You laid back on Xiaojuns bed. He laid back with you, his face angled towards yours. His breath was sweet. You thought about kissing him then and there, but he didn’t feel like a paying client, and you didn’t want to make the moment any more weird than it was.

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat me out some more?” you asked. “Or I can fuck your face? You always like it when I fuck your face.”

Xiaojun laughed. “That, I do.”

Before going back to Lucas, you stopped at your apartment and changed clothes. You had finally found Ten’s blanket hidden in the hordes of laundry you still had to do. After putting on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, you walked around the apartment, thinking about how you should make it more inhabitable and finally move in, once and for all. You could cut one place out and make room in your crazy life for something else.

There wasn’t much distance between your faux apartment and Lucas’. You could walk there, which is exactly what you decided to do. Since it wasn’t that far, there was no reason you couldn’t make the lie more believable. Besides, you were getting tired of going to so many places at once.

You pulled out your phone and pulled up Lucas’ name. You took a deep breath before you texted him.

You: on my way home..it’s a beautiful night for a walk.

Lucas: You’re walking? I’ll come get you. Let me know where you are.

You: NO....clean like you wanted..knowing you, the place is a mess ; )

Lucas: Okay, but be careful. There are a lot of crazy people out there. A lot of freaks.

You walked the way home thinking about all your little freaks. Each one fit into your life in a box, stored away in your messy closet of a mind. Eventually, you figured they would either sort themselves out, or you’d be around long enough to watch every box tumble down to the floor, their contents spilling out for the world to see.

You hadn’t seen Ten since the last time. He mentioned how he had gotten a partner, said he would call you when they both wanted you around for a little fun.

Hendery texted you one last “I’m sorry.” after you left Xiaojun for the night. You stared at the screen for far too long, trying to think of something to say. Instead, you just deleted the message and kept it moving.

Xiaojun was so sweet after you left. He gave you the biggest hug and told you everything would work out if you let it. It all had to start with you. You wanted to believe it.

You made it to Lucas’ apartment in ten minutes, out of shape and out of breath. You stood on the steps, just listening to the life of the city, before going inside. You trudged up the steps to the sound of music coming from inside of the apartment. You opened the door and were met with candles and a record player, and Lucas on one knee.

“I know what this looks like,” he said. “It’s not what you think.”

“It looks like a proposal.” you said, your heart beating fast in your chest.

Lucas smiled. “Would you want to marry me?”

You didn’t answer because you didn’t know what to say. Lucas looked down at the little box he held in his hands. He got off his knees and stood up, his body casting shadows on the walls.

“I’ll take that as a no.” he said.

“We’re too young,” you said. “But I do love you, Lucas.”

You expected him to put the box away and break up with you. After all, what girlfriend rejects a proposal before it even happens. But Lucas just smiled and shook his head, as if your reaction was totally expected. He held the box out to you and opened it. Instead of a ring, inside was a silver key.

“I want you to move in with me,” he said.” And then, when you feel like we’re old enough, I’d like to make you an honest woman.”

Honest woman? How apt, you thought.

You looked down at the key. There were so many questions swimming in your mind: A key? Where is the ring I saw? What the fuck is going on? But they were all swept away with the tide when you nodded, a single agreement sealing everything. Lucas came and lifted you off your feet.

“Now,” he said. “Let's make passionate love on our new couch. I don’t care if you’re on your period.”

173 notes · View notes

ajeepgirl · 3 years ago

Text

Shut Up and Dance

Summary: Cat Grant is attending an event in Metropolis and insists that Kara Danvers go with her as her assistant. During the gala, Kara is awestruck by the most stunning pair of green eyes she has ever seen. She can't help but want to get to know the woman who's eyes are so alluring.

AKA: a fluffy little one shot based on the song Shut up and dance by Walk the Moon set in/around S1 of Supergirl.

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Kara was staring down into her glass of wine, wishing she was human so it would actually get her drunk. She grumbled to herself, annoyed at everyone in her life at that moment.

Annoyed with her boss Cat Grant for making her come to Metropolis with her for this conference, only to ditch Kara as soon as they arrive at the evening gala.

Annoyed that Clark couldn’t be bothered to make time to meet her for coffee, even in his own city. She thought he would at least make time to see her, but when she told him she would be here for the weekend, all he gave her was a half-ass apology, saying he was busy chasing a story

Annoyed that Alex wasn’t responding to her text messages in this very moment.

Kara sighed. She shouldn’t be mad at her sister. She knows how busy the DEO can get sometimes. She just hopes they don’t have any emergencies or need Supergirl. She can see her boss across the room, doing her thing with people that wouldn’t give Kara, Cat Grant’s personal assistant, the time of day.

But she also knows that Ms. Grant would immediately know if she dipped out of this gala. So instead, Kara sips her wine and tries not to eat all the food she can get her hands on. She takes in the scene around her. It’s like going to the Met Gala in NYC, except instead of being about fashion, this weekend is all about the Fortune 500 companies in the world. More specifically, about their CEO’s and CFO’s and whoever they think is important enough to invite. Of course, what is a party without a little intrigue? So, in addition, for the final event of the weekend, everyone is wearing a masquerade mask to cover their eyes and upper face. It is all very over the top, in Cat Grant’s opinion, since she knows everyone. To Kara, she thought it was adorable and cool, though she didn’t say so to her boss.

The gala is held in a huge ballroom that even has an area with people dancing. It is a gala, after all, Kara thinks to herself. Though what does she know about rich, fancy people? As Kara looks around the room, taking in the other faces, trying to see if she knows any of them, she spots a new arrival to the gala as they enter in a dark green dress, with a matching masquerade mask. Behind the mask are the most piercing green eyes Kara has ever seen. They have a shimmer to them, a pull for Kara, inviting her in. Kara is awestruck by the woman as she takes in the rest of her. Her dark hair is flowing down her back. Kara debates using her powers, but that would require dipping her glasses down a tiny bit, which are precariously placed overtop her own mask. She chews on her lip, intrigued by the woman as she makes her rounds around the ballroom. Kara is surprised to see the woman having difficulty interacting with the other people here.

Kara starts to use her superhearing to get a better sense of what is going on. How could anyone possibly not want to talk to this alluring person. She first picks up the tail end of a conversation with two men.

“You should have known better than to show up here tonight.”

“Exactly. How could you possibly think this would go any different?”

“It isn’t my fault you idiots cannot see me for who I am.”

Kara watches the woman turn and walk away after her statement, leaving the two men speechless. Kara goes on to listen to her next conversation.

“Hello, Bruce.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“We both know I need to be. It’s the event of the year for companies like ours.”

The man pauses at the comment as he takes a drink from his glass. “And is it yours now… the company?”

“Of course. It certainly isn’t his anymore. I’m taking over. I have full control and big plans.”

“Well, good luck with that.”

The woman gives this Bruce fellow a curt nod as he walks away, clearly not wanting to be associated with her.

After hearing a few more people completely tear down this woman, Kara can no longer stand by idly. She finds herself walking intently towards her. She catches her a few feet away from a small group of businesspeople that would surely treat her the same. Kara realizes as she takes the last few steps towards her, that she doesn’t actually have a plan on what to say. Instead, she says the first thing that comes to mind.

“The food is better than the people.”

The woman looks at Kara, head tilted, eyebrow raised, as she takes in Kara’s comment. A smirk slowly appears on her face.

“You know, that is an interesting theory. Perhaps I should test it myself.”

“Well, I happen to have an entire plate of food back at my table, if you’re interested.”

She looks just past Kara to the group of people she was approaching, and then back to Kara, who is giving her a bright, warming smile.

“Well, I’m never one to turn down food or science.” The woman offers her arm, which Kara gladly takes with her own, guiding her back to her table.

As they walk, Kara says softly, “I’m Kara, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kara. I presume like everyone else here, despite my silly mask, that you know who I am?”

Kara can feel herself blush under her own mask. “Well actually…”

As they sit down, the woman gasps in mock surprise at her. “That would explain your willingness to associate with me.”

Kara shrugs. “What can I say? I saw a beautiful woman who I want to get to know.”

This time, the woman blushes. “Well… Kara. If you must know then, my name is Lena.”

“What a beautiful name.”

The two spend the next hour talking and nibbling on the food and drinking wine, Lena forgetting about her purpose for coming to the gala tonight. It turned out to be a moot point anyway, with no one wanting anything to do with her since her brother tried to kill Superman. She finds Kara endearing and charming, her smile so bright and happy. It’s a change of pace from everything she has been dealing with since taking over the family company. So maybe, for tonight, she can be just Lena. She listens to Kara tell her all about Catco, working for Cat Grant, and living in National City. She talks a little bit about her sister. She talks a lot about Cat and how much she has learned being her assistant.

As the evening goes on, Kara becomes more and more enthralled by Lena. She can tell Lena is holding a lot back. She guesses it has to do with what she overheard earlier, but she can’t ask her about that, considering there is no human way she could have heard that stuff. So instead, she lets Lena tell her what she wants, and shares plenty about herself. After all, Kara knows she herself is also keeping some important stuff a secret considering they only just met this evening.

Knowing all that though, Kara doesn’t want the night to end, so when she can tell that Lena is starting to get a bit antsy and she thinks Lena is about to call it a night, she does the only thing she can think of to keep Lena around longer.

“So… Lena… want to dance?”

Lena’s eyes go wide. “Um… with you?”

Kara’s smile again broadens. “Yes, Lena, with me.”

Lena gives a sly smile as she holds her hand out. “Alright. Let’s go.”

As they made their way to the dance floor, Kara can again feel the eyes of many of the other guests on them. She looked to see Lena’s eyes darting around the room and found herself giving Lena’s hand a gentle squeeze. As Lena looked at her, she gave her a tentative smile. “Don’t you dare look back. Just keep your eyes on me.”

Lena smirked at Kara’s boldness, ready to give it right back. “Oh, just shut up and dance with me, would you?”

As Lena says it, she wraps her arms around Kara’s shoulders, sending a shiver down Kara’s spine as she stumbled to respond with words, but quickly finding her footing on the dance floor. Her hands touching softly on Lena’s hips as they began to sway to the slow music. Lena could feel the warmth radiating from Kara.

They danced in silence for a few minutes before Lena couldn’t help herself anymore.

“Kara, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but your eyes…”

Kara tilted her head as her forehead crinkled. “What about my eyes?” she asked dejectedly.

“No no,” Lena said putting a hand on Kara’s chest instinctively. “What I mean to say is that they are unlike any shade of blue I have ever seen. They are almost electric the way that they seem to glow. They are beautiful.”

Kara blushes under her mask as her head drops. “Oh… um… Thank you…”

“Sorry… if that was too forward,” Lena offers, not wanting to ruin things with the only person to treat her like a human this evening.

Kara looks back up in her eyes. “I’m glad you told me Lena. Your eyes were one of the first things I noticed about you when you walked in tonight.”

Lena’s eyebrow raised in the air suspiciously. “Really now?” Lena knows she is attractive, but her eyes? That isn’t something she often hears.

Kara smiles brightly. “Oh yes. They pulled me right in. I knew I just had to talk to you.” Kara doesn’t say it, not what she really sees when she looks into Lena’s eyes.

Deep in her eyes. I think I see the future.

Lena hides her own blush as she moves in closer, their bodies touching as she whispers in Kara’s ear. “Well, lucky for me that you rescued me from everyone else tonight then.”

Kara responds before she has time to think. “I will always save you Lena.”

Little did either know just exactly how true that statement would come to be.

Also on my AO3 page: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32377102

#supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor

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nordleuchten · 4 years ago

Text

La Fayette in Prison - Part 2 - Magdeburg

After Wesel, off we go to Magdeburg. Here La Fayette and his fellow prisoners stayed from January 4, 1793 until January 4, 1794. Just like Wesel, Magdeburg was and still is a prominent city in modern-day Germany (back then in Prussia). And just like Wesel, Magdeburg lies near a river, the Elbe to be precise. And again, the prison laid inside the city’s fortress. Large parts of the fortress are still intact and are the sites of numerous activities throughout the years, such as re-enactments, historic festivals, historic guided tour ... visitors are also free to request an individual guided tour, unrelated to any other activity. La Fayette is once more named as a noteworthy inmate by the Homepage of the organisation charged with taking care of the fortress. But he was far from the most prominent inmate – Germans at least will recognise the names of Fritz Reuter and Werner von Siemens (the guy who founded the company “Siemens”). Whoever created the Homepage either did not do their research or disliked La Fayette. It is stated that La Fayette attempted an coup d’état that failed and that he initiated the Champ the Mars massacre ... both statements are grossly oversimplified at best and utter nonsense at worst. During La Fayette’s stay Ludwig Karl von Kalkstein (then a Lieutenant-General) was the Governor of the prison and Otto Kasimir von Meerschneidt (then a Major-General) was its Commander.

La Fayette and is fellow Frenchmen were brought to Magdeburg by means of an open cart. What was in all likelihood intended to degrade them further, was actually a blessing for the prisoners. They now had fresh air and the open, blue sky in abundance, something that had been denied to them all those months prior. Something else happened as well. People recognized these august men and apparently also cheered for them. Where the Prussian and Austrian authorities had a keen dislike for La Fayette, the population was in large parts in favour of him (more on that in a bit). Though he may have been touched by the cheering, such outpours of affection did not help La Fayette endear himself to his jailers – not at all. Nevertheless, conditions at Magdeburg were better ... far from good, but better.

La Fayette was allowed to obtain some books. Among other things he read mostly about agriculture and this knowledge would later come in handy when he ventured into the farming business after his return to France in 1799. He was furthermore allowed to write and receive letter ... but there was a twist. You see, when a letter for La Fayette arrived, the authorities in Magdeburg would open it, read it and decide if La Fayette was allowed to receive this letter. If so, they would go into his cell and read the letter aloud to him exactly once. If he was allowed to reply, his letters were checked and if there was something in them that did not please his jailors, well, the letter then moved directly into the bin. Lovely!

Nevertheless, things were looking up for La Fayette and he started writing letters to the full extent of his possibilities. Although he ached to let his wife Adrienne know that he was more or less okay, he did nor dare to write her. She was still imprisoned in France and La Fayette feared that somebody there might recognise his handwriting and subsequently destroy the letter. Instead he tried to reach his English and American friends (both in America and as envoys in Europe).

La Fayette described his cell in a letter to an unknown friend in England:

“Imagine an opening made under the rampart of the citadel, and surrounded with a strong, high palisade; through this, after opening four doors, each armed with chains, bars, and padlocks, they come, not without some difficulty and noise, to my cell, three paces wide five and a half long. The wall is mouldy on the side towards the ditch, and the front one admits light, but not sunshine, through a little grated window. Add to this two sentinels, -- whose eyes penetrate into this lower region, but who are kept outside the palisade, lest they should speak other watchers not belonging to the guard, and all the walls ramparts, ditches, guards, within and without the citadel of Magdeburg, and you will think that the foreign powers neglect nothing to keep us within their dominions. The noisy opening of the four doors is repeated every morning to admit my servant; at dinner, that I may eat in presence of the commandant of the citadel and of the guard; and at night, to take my servant to his prison. After having shut upon me all the doors, the commandant carries off the keys to the room where, since our arrival, the king has ordered him to sleep. I have books, the white leaves of which are taken out, but no news, no newspapers no communications, -- neither pen, ink, paper, nor pencil. It is a wonder that I possess this sheet, and I am writing with a toothpick. My health fails daily (…).”

(I am a bit irked by the fact, that I can neither associated an recipient nor an exact date with the letter. The letter otherwise seems authentic and the content is similar to other letters by La Fayette that we have more information on – that being said, I gave the letter a pass although its provenance is not what I would like it to be.)

I have seen some people argue that La Fayette mostly managed to keep his spirits up, because he did not complained an awful lot in his letters – but when assessing such a statement, you have to keep in mind that La Fayette really could not complain a lot in his letters, otherwise they would never be posted. It is true though, that there were small betterments. I already mentioned the letters and books, but he and the other prisoners were also allowed to take regular walks in the yard of the prison. They walked separated from each other and were heavily guarded. But La Fayette fell ill again, this time with a fever. His illness was not as serious though as it had been at Wesel.

La Fayette also received some money from his friends in America. Some of his friends, such like Washington, privately send money for La Fayette to use. Thomas Jefferson, then Secretary of State, found a way for the Government to pay La Fayette some money. He argued that La Fayette had offered to serve in the Continental Army without pay but that there was no official document of the Continental Congress accepting this offer. It follows that the Treasury owned La Fayette six years of pay and furthermore ten years worth of interests since they had “forgotten” to pay him the money since the end of the war ten years prior. Jefferson wrote a letter to Washington on December 30, 1793:

“Soon after his captivity and imprisonment, and before the ministers had received our instructions to endeavor to obtain his liberation, they were apprised that his personal restraint, and the peculiar situation of his fortune disabled him from drawing resources from that, and would leave him liable to suffer for subsistence, and the common necessaries of life. After a consultation by letter, therefore, between our ministers at Paris, London, and the Hague, they concurred in opinion that they ought not in such a case to wait for instructions from hence, but that his necessities should be provided for until they could receive such instructions. Different sums have been therefore either placed at his disposal, or answered on his draughts, amounting, as far as we hitherto know to about twelve or thirteen hundred Guineas. This has been taken from a fund not applicable by law to this purpose nor able to spare it: and the question is whether, and how it is to be made good? To do this, nothing more is requisite than that the United States should not avail themselves of the Liberalities of M. de la Fayette, yielded at a moment when neither he nor we could foresee the time when they would become his only resource for subsistence. It appears by a statement from the war office, hereto annexed, that his pay and commutation as a major General in the service of the United States to the 3rd of nov. 1783 amounted to 24,100 dollrs thirteen Cents exclusive of ten years interest elapsed since that time, to the payment of which the following obstacle has occurred. at the foot of the original engagement by Mr Deane, a copy of which is hereto annexed, that a certain roll of officers there named, and of which M. de la Fayette was one, should be taken into the american service in the grades there specified, M. de la Fayette alone has subjoined for himself a declaration that he would serve without any particular allowance or pension. It may be doubted whether the words in the original French do strictly include the general allowance of pay and commutation. and if they do, there is no evidence of any act of acceptance by Congress. Yet, under all the circumstances of the case, it is thought that the legislature alone is competent to decide it. If they decline availing the United States of the declaration of M. de la Fayette, it leaves a fund which not only covers the advances which have been made, but will enable you take measures for his future relief. It does it too, in a way which can give offence to nobody, since none have a right to complain of the payment of a debt, that being a moral duty, from which we cannot be discharged by any relation in which the creditor may be placed as to them.”

Washington forwarded the letter to the Congress and on March 27, 1794 Congress passed a bill to pay La Fayette the money he had not accepted as a General during the Revolutionary War. To nobody’s surprise, neither Congress nor President Washington had any objections and the bill was approved swiftly.

Prisons in the 18th century (as well as today) often development into some sort of parallel society. Money and especially bribery could get you far in prison and La Fayette experienced that first hand. On November 18, 1809 La Fayette enclosed an account of his financial situation in a letter to Thomas Jefferson. It seems as if this lengthy report had been written by one of La Fayette’s secretaries. Here is a short excerpt of the English translation of the report:

“The expenses caused by his captivity were enormous; the prisoners had to pay their own way as long as their money lasted, and as General Lafayette was the only one with some money, he had to take responsibility for his fellow prisoners. But this was a small matter in comparison with all that his European friends did financially to save his life, to correspond with him, and to facilitate his escape. Some of them made great personal sacrifices, and the sums generously sent by the American government were swallowed up. General Lafayette’s family provided for its own expenses while living in Olmutz. So that on arriving at Hamburg after an imprisonment of five years he found nothing of what had been intended for him and only an increased debt to Mr. Gouverneur Morris up to the time when he was paid 68000.₶; to Mr. Parish former United States consul, forty three thousand Livres; to Mr. Bollman a contract reduced to 30000.₶”

(You see, a great deal of the financial troubles and transactions came after his stay in Magdeburg but since everything started in Magdeburg, I thought it convenient to discuss the monetary issue here in full.)

We see the United States taking actions to the best of their abilities and we see also more letters discussing La Fayette’s fate. News travelled slowly in the 18th century and it took the three months that La Fayette stayed in Wesel for the world to find out that he even had been arrested. But after the knowledge was out there, we see an increase in letters and also in newspaper coverage. So much so that Adrienne could read in the French newspapers that La Fayette was presently alive and in Magdeburg. We can further observe that people all other he world started petitioning the Prussian King for La Fayette’s relief. His friends, English Members of Parliament (although it would take a couple more years before the House of Commons would discuss the topic in full), Washington and his friends in America, Americas envoys in Europe, the list goes on. Some of La Fayette’s fellow prisoners, mostly unassuming secretaries and aids, had been released almost immediately and were now also trying to secure La Fayette’s freedom – some even returned to France to do so. We also see Prussians citizen petition their King. Most of these petitions were simple letters, but some petitioners had the money to spare and printed their petitions as pamphlets – many of them can today be found online.

Although the instructions for the guard were not less strict then they had been in Wesel, the guards in Magdeburg appeared to love to gossip. During his stay La Fayette was kept more or less up to date on the newest developments in France and the war. Eight months into his stay in Magdeburg he was also given some news about his wife Adrienne. La Fayette wrote Charles Pinckney in London on July 4, 1793:

My dear Sir,

Whilst on this anniversary my American fellow citizens are having their joy, I join in a solitary bumper with the happy remembrances, the patriotic wishes which are crowding upon us (...) Owning to your kind interference, my dear Sir, the crowned gaolers have consented after eight months to let me know that my wife and children were alive – be pleased to acquaint them that my health is tolerably good (...).

(Can we please acknowledge the fact that La Fayette took the time out of his day and remembered that it was the anniversary of American Independence?)

There is another letter that I want to give the spotlight. La Fayette wrote on March 15, 1793 to his friend, the Princess d’Hénin. In this letter he wrote that:

“I know not what disposition has been made of my plantation at Cayenne; but I hope Madame de Lafayette will take care that the negroes, who cultivated it, shall preserve their liberty.”

La Fayette had bought a plantation in the French colony of Cayenne and implemented a system of gradual emancipation. The plantation was later sold by French authorities and the people there re-enslaved. Although his endeavour ultimately failed I found it interesting to see that La Fayette, even during such a dark hour, thought about others as well.

Before we move on to the next prison, this time in Neisse, on last titbit. The Baron von Steuben, the absolutely legendary legend, was born in Magdeburg and as a man of military background probably spend some time in the fortress as well.

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Prized Cattle.

Word Count: 5.4k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Life on a farm is difficult. What’s even more difficult is life underneath a farm, or rather, life in the basement of a farmhouse, where your captor’s content to treat you like a prized, albeit unwilling, hen. At least Zacharia’s never been a terribly cautious man. It makes breaking out of your pen that much easier.

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader-Insert, Fingering, Dehumanization, Groping, Degradation, Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Past Abuse, Graphic Violence, Blood, and Phonetically Transcribed Southern Accents.

Somehow, it’d never occurred to you that captivity would be this draining.

Logically, you knew you should be glad Zacharia was too busy to deal with you. He was your kidnapper, for fuck’s sake, a man who took you away from your home, your life, and beat every reason you should hate him into you over and over and over again until you couldn’t possibly forget your distaste. You had the marks to prove it, the lovebites and the lasting scars that had yet to fade, that you doubted every would, if you were being honest. Your hands weren’t bound, not anymore, but there were still a dozen different deadbolts on the basement door, a sturdy layer of wood keeping every window permanently shut, a locked box that kept everything sharp and useful out of your reach. You were free to roam around the basement, free to read the novellas Zacharia was so fond of and immerse yourself the few luxuries he was willing to provide, but you weren’t free. You shouldn’t let yourself start to act like you were. You shouldn’t let yourself stop thinking like a captive.

You shouldn’t miss Zacharia.

And yet, here you were.

You let out a long, languid sigh, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your bedsheets. It’d been like this for weeks, you’d been like this for weeks. Zacharia wasn’t a diligent man. He had farm-hands to take care of most of the manual labor on his land, leaving him with all the time in the world to pull at your hair and torment you to his contentment. Thankfully, blessedly, tragically, when one of his prized dairy cows fell pregnant, he’d taken it upon himself to care for the poor thing, doting on the creature as if he didn’t have a girl locked up against her will. You’d been relieved, at first. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have as much time to ‘look after you’, as he put it. You wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells or mind your manners, not when he only came down for breakfast and dinner, and even then, he was too distracted to do anything notably unpleasant. You should be happy, you should be elated, but after two solid months of being left to your own devices, it was hard not to feel… insulted. Neglected. Bored, but not just bored.

Horribly, guiltily lonely. Regardless of how much you wanted to be anything else.

Mindlessly, you gaze strayed from the sheets, falling to something you assumed you’d think about twice. A doll, no taller than your calf and painfully hand-made, all rough stitches and patchwork clothes and big, pupilless, unblinking button eyes, one beginning to loosen from the hours you’d spent picking at it. You hadn’t thought much of it. The toy was more for Zacharia’s enjoyment than yours, a jab at the fact that he could be a gentle, caring man and decided he’d prefer not to, but the purpose behind his gift didn’t matter, not to you, not now. There were scraps of fabric in your room, and you could scavenge thread from your clothes or a soon-to-be mutilated pillowcase. A needle would be more difficult to find, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

You already had a doll, and any doll could be modified.

Zacharia could make it very, very hard to hate him.

It was only when he wanted to, of course. Between escape attempts and punishments and shows of his superiority, he was capable of navigating the calm, domestic tranquility most couples didn’t need a list of rules and a flaying knife to reinforce. When he pulled you into his side, taking a lock of your hair to spin around his finger as he rambled on about his day or his plans or something particularly memorable one of his chickens did, it was easy to lay your head against his chest, play with the hem of his well worn, button-up shirt and be thankful for the change of pace. You could forget why you needed the doll (currently tucked safely underneath your bed), and you didn’t have to think about the fact that he was only visiting you to make sure he didn’t come home to a starved, emaciated corpse when he wanted the affection of something with two legs, rather than four. It was easy not to hate him.

And thus, it was easy not to want him to leave.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” You mumbled, keeping your voice low, quiet, doing your damnedest not to make your complaint stretch into a whine. It was only half-successful, but Zacharia was in a merciful enough mood not to point it out, his ever-present grin only broadening slightly as you swung your feet off the side of your bed, pretending to be more interested in the bare, cement floor than you were in him. “I just don’t see why you bother coming down here at all if you have to leave so soon. It’s not like a couple of seconds is going to stop me from trying to break out, again.”

“If you’re gonna say you missed me, you’re gonna have to say it,” He teased, ruffling your hair, forcing you to bat his hand away like a frustrated child before he stopped. Even then, he paused, taking a moment to scan over you before he continued, or rather, to scan over your new ‘dress’, a flannel shirt he’d been kind enough to give you for a few weeks of good behavior. The sleeves were a little too long, falling just below your fingertips, and saying the hem came to your mid-thigh would’ve been generous, but it was more conservative than anything else he’d given you, so far. It was a step closer to a full outfit, to proper clothes.

A step closer to being allowed to go outside, if you were being optimistic.

“Just be thankful it ain’t one of the mares,” He went on, letting out the indignant huff of someone who’d spent much too time around far too demanding animals. “Last one took two years to pop, and even then, the foal was just a touch to the right of premature. Not that he cared, though, we spent weeks fishing the poor, simple thing out of every ditch on the property. Kinda like you, the first time you made a run for it.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. It was hard not to smile while watching a grown man shake his head over a horse’s pregnancy. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”

“Much, much longer, pumpkin. These sorta things don’t happen overnight.” Another non-answer, the kind you were starting to get used to. You could suppress your frown, but your shoulders were slumping before you could catch yourself, an undeniable pout forming in the place of a more respectable expression. Zacharia didn’t take long to notice, humming gently as he bent down, coming just close enough to press a quick, comforting kiss into the top of your head before he pulled away. For a second, a traitorous part of you dared to want something more, something substantial, but thankfully, he was at a safe distance before you could act on the impulse, and you were too busy cursing your own mind to mourn the loss. “I’ll be back by dawn, this time, swear on the nearest grave. Wouldn’t want you throwin’ another hissy fit just because I missed a meal or two.”

You didn’t respond to that, glaring at your knees, and Zacharia chose to take his leave with a smirk and a breathy chuckle. You didn’t look up, not when you heard him climb the creaking basement stairs, not when the door fell closed and an array of different locks clicked into place, and certainly not when you felt that dark, cold air of loneliness return, frigid and cryptic and unwanted. You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to come back and hold you and spend hours with you, dolling you up or making you feel weaker than you really were or doing anything, as long as he kept you company while he was at it. He’d left you alone, and you wished he hadn’t. He’d left you to suffer, and you didn’t want any pain he didn’t care enough to inflict by hand. You wanted him to--

No, you didn’t want anything.

You needed to get out of here.

It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted anymore. If your current thoughts were any indication, you had to get out of here. You’d been in the same room too long, in your own head too long. You’d let your intentions and your desires and your selfish, selfish wants mix together, and the results were little more than a muddled paint of confusion and uncertainty and more misplaced trust than you were willing to admit. Part of you was tempted to linger on it, to dwell in the space between what you desperately wanted to believe and what you knew better than to chase after, and you took the sign to push whatever remained from your mind and force yourself to stand, your fists curling at your sides as you bit down on your tongue hard, blood soon coating the inside of your mouth a second later. It stuck to the back of your teeth, its metallic taste heavy and unpleasant. It was refreshing, though, and it gave you the motivation you needed to push yourself to take a step, then another, and finally, you found the will to root through the pile of spare clothes and blankets and supplies Zacharia kept in the back of your closet until you discovered your reward.

A simple, black toolbox. Minimalistic and cheap, and the exact thing you needed to get out of this hell.

There was a lock on the latch, a dial meant to keep nosy children and curious captives out, but rather than aiming for that, you aim for the thick plastic of the lid, something that wouldn’t stand a chance against your preferred method of destruction - the one leg of your bed unbolted to the ground, just loose enough to be forced upward and just heavy enough to break through anything less sturdy than solid metal. The toolbox just barely fit underneath it, and when the foot first fell with a loud, unignorable thud, you almost held your breath, refusing to let yourself relax until the basement door failed to swing open and Zacharia failed to emerge with whatever awful, creative weapon he could scrounge up in less than a minute. It took three blows before the lid gave out, cracking down the middle and giving you just enough room to pry the two halves of the container apart, your fingers soon aching and cramping with the effort.

You were successful, though. In less than a minute, the fruits of your effort laid in front of you in the form of rusted tools and loose screws and wires, things that may’ve seemed unimpressive to anyone else but looked like small, disguised miracles to you. In hindsight, you should’ve been in more of a hurry than you were. You should’ve gotten what you needed and ran, as fast as you could and as far as you could, but freedom was a tricky thing. As soon as you got a taste for it, however small, all you wanted was more, even when real freedom was only a handful of rusted nails and broken boards away. You weren’t thinking about time when you grabbed the small, silver box-cutter, testing the dull blade against a lock of your hair, nor were you thinking at all when you decided what your next show of self-sufficiency would be. No, you were too giddy for that. You were too excited.

It didn’t take long to cut away the most visible mark Zacharia had left on you - your hair. He’d let it grow out since he took you away, refusing to cut it, letting every inch become another thing to tug at and wrap around his fist when he wanted something you didn’t know how to give. It felt good to rid yourself of it - no, it was more than that, it felt right. You couldn’t tear off the feeling of his hands on your skin or wash the memories away, but you could draw the box cutter through your hair until you no longer felt its weight pulling through your scalp, until the ends of it barely brushed against your shoulders. You weren’t a professional, nor was your impulsive haircut anywhere near even, but the deed was done and that was all that mattered to you.

In comparison, getting rid of the boards covering the basement window was child’s play. You’d done it a thousand times before, and Zacharia never bothered to upgrade his security. He wanted you to learn your lesson, he wanted you to be too afraid to try to run, but by doing so, he underestimated your tenacity and overestimated your will to recall all the bloody, grisly things he tried to teach you time and time again. The curved back of a rust-coated hammer did the trick, and within minutes, the two bottom-most planks had fallen away, giving you just enough space to haul yourself from Zacharia’s worktable to the edge of the windowsill and out into the darkened world, your eyes closing as you took in your first breath of fresh air.

It was a warm night, the kind of breezy, humid atmosphere you used to consider an unnecessary, juxtapositional nuisance. But, for all your opinion was worth, tonight was perfect, welcoming you as much as you welcomed it. You paused while you were still in the farmhouse’s shadow, looking out over Zacharia’s farm, the terrain you so often heard about but so rarely got a chance to map out, so rarely got the chance to see. It was bigger than you thought it’d be, but smaller, at the same time. Acres of crops stretched out in front of you, lines of yellow and green marching into the horizon, and to your side, only separated by a generous expanse of open field, stood a barn, all faded paint and sturdy wood and lights that were too bright and too harsh to be anything but industrial. It’d be a good hiding place, even if the woods surrounding his property would be your haven tonight. There were plenty of places to tuck yourself into, though. Full of empty stalls and unlocked doors and…

And a boy.

A boy with blonde hair, tan skin, a feed bucket in his hand and a smile too wide and too eager to belong to anyone you didn’t know.

You blinked once, then twice, and then you broke into a sprint, not bothering to stay long enough to hear Zacharia take off after you.

You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be chased.

All of it was so familiar, and yet, you could feel the forest getting further away every time the soles of your feet beat against the leaf-littered floor, every time your lungs ached and protested and every time you stumbled over a branch or a root and cursed your own body for being so useless. You knew what was happening. You were panicking, and thus, you were trying to distance yourself from the fight, the hunt, the sound of Zacharia getting closer and closer and closer until his hands were in your hair and his foot was colliding with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground. By the time he had you pinned, his body bent over yours as one fist kept your wrists trapped behind your back and the other pushed your cheek into the dirt, you could hardly hear Zacharia’s deep, labored breaths, feel the heat radiating from his chest. Even the pain was delayed, your mind going blank before a thousand different needles dug themselves into your skin, stabbing and burrowing and writhing, forcing out a scream you could barely bring yourself to hear.

Zacharia, meanwhile, didn’t seem to feel the tension. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he didn’t seem reluctant to draw out the experience, his teeth ghosting over the nape of your neck as he pushed a soft, airy kiss into your spine, the gesture as forgiving as it was fatal. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, letting the edges of his smile bite into your bare skin and muffling his chuckle, not that you needed anything other than the quick, almost unnoticeable squeeze to your wrists to know he was either amused, relieved, or so, so angry.

You had a feeling you knew which one, too. Not that Zacharia wasn’t happy to clarify.

“You fucked up.” It was a simple phrase, distorted only by the levity in his voice and his natural, charming drawl, making the words seem meaningless, disarming. You almost didn’t register his meaning, not until he let out an airy chuckle, the noise just low enough to make you flinch into the unforgiving earth. “You fucked up and you made me wait for it. This ain’t shapin’ up too well for you, honey.”

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t have time. As soon as he finished, you were being jerked upward, forced to your feet only to be pushed to your knees a moment later, your back now pressed against the thick, rough bark of an oak tree, Zacharia’s fingers entangled in the roots of your shortened hair to keep you grounded. You knew better than to try to fight him off, but you still winced when he spoke. “Wrists up,” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the length of rope at his belt. Already, you could feel the ghosts of past burns around your arms, your chest, and you hesitated without thinking, memories of pain warring with the knowledge that, if you didn’t comply, Zacharia would find a way to force you into something worse. It was a momentary reluctance, but that didn’t stop him from taking the excuse to drive the heel of his boot into your thigh, drawing both a pained cry and an instinctual shove, the former earning a tight, faux-sympathetic smile and the latter, a coil of rope, thick and heavy and so suddenly tight around your wrists, pulling your arms against your chest as Zacharia worked, restaining you against the sturdy trunk. “Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, don’t I?” He called, securing your restraints, leaving you squirming and shifting for a way out of his simplistic security. “We all know how much trouble you get yourself into, whenever I look away.”

“I don’t…” You started, but trailed off quickly, not sure whether to apologize, beg for mercy, or call him one of the many vile names swirling on the tip of your tongue. Any insult you might’ve conjured was quickly swallowed down, though, dissolved and forgotten as Zacharia came back into your line of sight, something long and silver in his right hand, and a similar shape now missing from the hip of his belt.

A thin square of leather, the pad wrapped around a handle made up of two intertwined steel rods. A fly-swatter

A fucking fly-swatter.

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve, but whatever sound made it through your lips was drowned out by a solid, quick snap, the noise catching you off-guard, silencing you before the pain kicked in. It was bright, sudden, firm, a spark to the side of your knee that spread over your skin, refusing to die until you let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. Zacharia only smiled, his sharp grin glinting in the moonlight as he reached down, fiddling with the first button of your make-shift dress. “It’s been so long since you acted up,” He muttered, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull it loose. You flinched in response, bringing up your bound hands to cover your exposed chest, but Zacharia flashed a smirk and shook his head, and you were left to avert your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek like a scolded child, letting him trace the shape of your collarbone. “Almost forgot why I don’t let my animals wear anything nice.”

You moved to protest, but with a clench of his jaw and a strong jerk, whatever defense your clothing offered fell away, buttons snapping or falling away and leaving you in little more than a blanket of red flannel and thin, lacy panties, neither providing much protection from the biting cold. An icy breeze ran over your skin, urging you to curl up and shiver yourself to a happier time, but Zacharia was nothing if not selfish when it came to your attention. His swatter crashed against your side, the bottom of your rib cage, and when that failed to satisfy him, your bicep, pure fire seeping into your flesh wherever the leather made contact. “Stop!” You cried out, mindlessly. “It hurts, Zach, it hurts. You have to--”

“Look at that, now she’s forgettin’ her manners.” He clicked his tongue, the noise accompanied by three strikes to your cheek, your head twisting to the side and your eyes clamping shut, this wound throbbing, aching, threatening to bruise in a matter of seconds. “You ain’t gonna tell me I’ve been takin’ care of an ungrateful bitch, are you? I don’t house brats, and I know I haven’t been treatin’ one of ‘em as well as I’ve been treatin’ you.” He paused, a ruthless growl crawling out of his throat as something hard and pointed rammed itself into your stomach. A kick, you realized, just in time for the second, this one forcing your eyes open as hot, metallic blood washed over your tongue. “Some fucking nerve. I should bridle you and send you to sleep with the damn horses, just for bein’ so goddamn rude.”

He was cruel. He was cruel and cold-hearted and evil, but more than that, he was persistent. Blow after blow rained down, your chest morphing into a patchwork of sensitive irritation and black-rimmed bruises, your nerves alerted and abused and your mind growing so overwhelmed, all you could think about was the pain, how it changed, how it got worse, how it never seemed to numb. Again, his heel dug into the inside of your thigh and again, you screamed, but it wasn’t just the pressure, this time. No, a thousand tiny needles seemed to burrow themselves into your skin and move, forcing themselves deeper whenever you shifted or bled or breathed, any action only driving the invaders further in. Nettle, you realized, green and thriving and happy to call your flesh its new home, but if Zacharia cared that your blood was staining his favorite boots, his concern was outweighed by his unadulterated, sadistic glee. His attacks became more focused, more aimed, determined to drive you deeper or bring you closer, to let the nettle tear you apart or persuade you to accept your kidnapper’s discipline with open arms. You didn’t know which you’d rather suffer through. You didn’t know where you were or how to leave. You didn’t care.

You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, and yet, tears were streaming down your cheeks before you could wipe them away, mixing with the blood pooling underneath you as they fell from your chin. Your lungs burnt, your chest heaved, each inhale becoming labored and each exhale turning into something desperate, something raspy and exhausted and barely human, as animalistic as he seemed to think you were. That was what satisfied Zacharia. Not your capture, not your pain, but your depletion and the emptiness that came with it. You didn’t look up when he dropped to one knee, cooing as he kissed the top of your head, and you didn’t stop mumbling your small, pathetic pleas until his rope dropped into your lap, falling to the ground as strong arms wrapped around you, looping under your knees and pulling you against a warm, welcoming chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter who it belonged to.

For a moment, you didn’t care that you shouldn’t want to be held.

The walk back to the farmhouse was a blur. Zacharia didn’t speak, not beyond a gentle hush whenever your sobbing grew a little too loud, but it was easy to fall into his heartbeat, his soft touches, the idea that your suffering was over, for now, at least. For the first time, you let out a sigh of relief when the basement came into view, but rather than dropping you into bed and leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity, you were carried to the ensuite bathroom, instead, left on the counter as Zacharia disappeared, searching for supplies and, hopefully, medicine.

You let yourself take a breath in, then let one out. It was easy, the easiest thing you’d done all night. Your pain didn’t reside and you were just as trapped as you’d been the night before, but you could inhale and exhale and you could convince yourself that you’d be alright, that eventually, you’d be fine. Zacharia couldn’t do anything worse to you, not tonight. He couldn’t humiliate you any further, you were sure of that. There was nothing else he could--

“Hey, baby, care to explain this?”

Instantly, you snapped towards the bathroom doorway, only to reel back once you saw what he’d found. In your manic escape, you’d forgotten about that damned thing, that terrible gift, that doll, its hair cropped short and its clothing sewn into something more specific, something boyish and so sickeningly obvious. Heat rose to your cheeks in a matter of seconds, but your embarrassment did little to stop a lazy smile from pulling at Zacharia’s lips, his satisfaction only becoming more apparent as he approached, throwing the ragdoll carelessly into the nearest corner as he settled in front of you. He got to work quickly, popping the lid off of some unlabelled, homemade remedy, but the soothing, oily balm soon being rubbed into your wounds did little to save you from Zacharia’s voice, the feeling of his teeth ghosting over your neck as he made himself comfortable in the crook of your neck. As you failed to fight back.

“If you missed me that much,” He started, his fingertips skittering over the shallow wounds on your legs and lower back, neglecting the bruises on your upper-body. He took his time, but he worked efficiently, letting his ointment smear your drying blood. Letting you feel the pricks of sterile, healing pain before something icy took its place and stuck around, making sure your injuries would stay in the back of your mind. Making sure you wouldn’t forget the lesson he’d cut into you. “You could’ve spoken up. I can’t have my little girl gettin’ this lonely, can I?” He barely tried to muffle his laugh, only kissing your shoulder hastily to stifle the sound. Even that came off as condescending - a consolation prize in place of his respect. “It looks like you’ve been coddling the poor thing half to death, too. You slept with it, didn’ya? Held it whenever I wasn’t around? C’mon, don’t keep me in the dark…” His left hand trailed towards the inside of your thigh, his thumb tracing over your covered slit. “You tried to fuck it, right?”

The question was so blunt, so out of place, you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid, but Zacharia was quick to take you by the shoulder, using a fraction of his strength to keep you in place as he slid your panties to the side, forcing two fingers inside of you without preparation, without ease, without love. The stretch was awful, the feeling of his gloves and his balm creating something slick and cold and unnatural, but Zacharia just hummed, kissing your temple as you let out a silent gasp, trying not to tremble as you fought not to collapse in on yourself. He gave you a moment to adjust, but only a moment, seeming to savor the way you whimpered as he began to pull out.

“Please, I’m not-” Your plea was cut short by another brutal intrusion, this one just as sudden, made worse when paired with the way his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you open with no plan or precision. No, you’d been through this before, you knew what he was doing, why he was doing it. He was trying to prove something, to force you into a drooling, blissful submission. To prove that he could make you unravel better and faster than you or anyone else ever could. “I’m not ready. Please, you can’t do this.”

“I don’t think I asked.” If he had any intention to make you feel something other than electric, invasive pleasure, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t favor your sensitive spots, he abused them, prodding and poking whatever made you stiffen and twitch and whine, his hips becoming the only thing keeping your thighs from snapping shut. “I’ve been treating you with nothin’ but kindness, but you’re awful mean to me, tryin’ to run away every chance you get then mouthing off without permission. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it. I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, not unless you’re ready to thank me for bein’ so forgiving.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth refused to form the words, your brain refused to work, your entire body somehow freezing and burning at the same time. Zacharia went on, but you couldn’t seem to listen, your own racing pulse and the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you soon filling your ears, making it impossible to take in anything else. It hurt. It was the best thing you’d ever felt. You wanted him to stop, and yet, you thought you might die if actually did. By the time he thought to actually consider your pleasure, the heel of his palm haphazardly grinding against your clit in rough, patternless motions, you were clinging to his shirt, mumbling out nonsense and begging him to stop, to keep going, to just get it over with. It didn’t matter though. Even if you had managed to speak, it still wouldn’t have.

Zacharia was too busy laughing to hear a word you said.

Your end came abruptly, too quickly but not nearly fast enough. His right hand fell, grabbing your waist and pinning you down as his left arched, poising as another digit slipped into you, giving you just enough friction and fulfillment to shove you over that desperate, messy cliffside. Your vision went white around the edges, your form tensing as your cunt clenched around him, the wave crashing as shakily as it’d formed. You didn’t try to resist your exhaustion, anymore. As soon as Zacharia pulled away, his now-unsanitary gloves easily discarded in the bathroom sink, you fell apart, crumbled, turned into nothing more than a pile of limbs and afterglow and shame.

“Poor baby,” He cooed, lifting you off the countertop as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t walk on your own. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up good ‘n proper tomorrow, a bath and…” He paused, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, evaluating your rush-job. “And a real haircut. We’ll see if we can’t get you somethin’ a little more effective than that doll of yours, too.”

You didn’t have the energy to retort. It was all you could do to stay conscious, and even that was a push, your eyes closing as he carried you past your bedroom and only opening again when your back hit something warm and plush, softer than anything in the basement. Blearily, you glanced around the new environment, but the plain ceiling and rafters above you did little to clear your confusion. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you might enjoy the change of scenery,” Zacharia explained, the mattress shifting as he sat down, leaning against the wooden headboard as he encouraged you to relax. You didn’t bother trying to resist, letting him guide your head into his lap, not batting his hand away when his fingers began to card through your hair. “The attic, sweetheart. There ain’t no windows up here, and you don’t have to worry about all the clutter in your last room. I made sure you have exactly what you need, no more, no less. Almost thought you weren’t gonna give me a reason to show it off.”

Dully, you noted that ‘exactly what you need’ probably didn’t include very much. “And you’re staying?”

“For as long as I can.” From anyone else, the sentiment might’ve sounded sweet, considerate. When the words fell from Zacharia’s lips, it just sounded like a warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was a fleeting concern. An immature one. Something you shouldn’t have cared about, but you clung to nonetheless. Like you were still coming to terms with the events of the past few hours. “What about your--”

Zacharia smiled sympathetically, pityingly, and you stopped talking.

Only then, with your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pants and his blunt nails scraping against your scalp, did you remember that Zacharia didn’t keep cows. He never had, and you doubted he ever would. He’d said as much himself, repeated it countless times prior to the past two months.

You stopped trying to keep yourself awake, after that.

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rosethornewrites · 4 years ago

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Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 7

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí

Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals, Near Death Experiences, Attempted Murder, Eventual Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Siblings, Protective Siblings, Soup, Triggers

Summary: Wei Ying has a panic attack upon waking. Jiang Wanyin makes an unpleasant discovery.

Notes: Life has been busy lately and it might take me longer to write. I get my second Pfizer shot on Wednesday, and I’m expecting it’ll make me useless for a couple days. It’s also nearing the end of the semester, so I’ll be busy with that, too.

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

AO3 link

---------------

It took a few moments for Wangji to remember where he was when he woke, and then a moment more to place what had woken him before mao shi—quiet sobs and a soft voice murmuring soothingly.

He had taken the bedding on one side of the bed, and his eyes adjusted to the dark quickly. Wei Ying was curled against Jiang Yanli, who had taken the last shift. It was close enough to morning, then.

“We’re here, A-Xian, and you’re safe,” she whispered, then noticed him sit up. “He had a nightmare.”

Wangji wished his guqin was here instead of the jingshi, that he had asked xiongzhang to bring it last night, that he could play calming music for Wei Ying; instead he levered himself to sit on the bed and hummed ‘WangXian,’ hoping it would remind his zhiji he was loved.

Wei Ying’s trembling eased slowly, and Wangji kept his movements slow as he reached forward to take his hand, squeezing it lightly. He was relieved when Wei Ying squeezed back.

“S’going on?” Jiang Wanyin murmured blearily, sitting up.

To his credit, he immediately moved beside his sister when he realized the issue.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, trying to be comforting, patting Wei Ying’s shoulder.

Initiating unexpected touch wasn’t the best idea for someone in the throes of a panic attack—Wei Ying couldn’t quite mask a flinch, and Jiang Wanyin’s hands fluttered in a helpless way before clutching the bedsheet hard enough his knuckles turned white.

Wangji continued to hum through it, not stopping even when his heart clenched at Wei Ying’s gasped apologies for the reaction.

“Not your fault,” Jiang Wanyin whispered insistently, clearly trying to keep his own reaction in check for fear of hurting his brother further.

“Not yours,” Wei Ying returned, equally insistent.

“Neither of yours,” Jiang Yanli cut in. “Neither of you should blame yourselves.”

Wei Ying’s breath hitched.

“I hate it,” he whispered. “I hate being afraid all the time. I hate that I can’t stop.”

Wangji couldn’t abide him blaming himself, and paused in humming, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of Wei Ying’s hand. .

“The past few days have been stressful. Too many events too quickly. Too overwhelming.”

“And some were unexpected,” Jiang Yanli added, clearly thinking of his talk with Madam Jin and the last minute ceremony.

“We should have just ditched the banquet,” Jiang Wanyin muttered. “The food sucked. A-Jie’s was better.”

Surprisingly, Wei Ying giggled at that, helpless in his laughter for nearly a minute.

“Jiejie’s food is way better,” he said when he caught his breath.

Wangji was relieved that his voice wasn’t tight and shaky anymore. The familiar joke among the Jiangs about Gusu Lan food, and particularly the food in the Cloud Recesses, had eased the panic attack.

Honestly, having enjoyed Jiang Yanli’s cooking, Wangji knew they had a point.

She reached forward and smoothed Wei Ying’s hair, down and mussed in a way that was unfairly attractive, then poured him a glass of water from the ewer the healer had brought before hai shi. He drank obediently, likely needing the hydration and something to rinse the taste of stale sick from his mouth.

When he finished the glass, she poured him another, and then maneuvered him until she could reach his hair. She carded through the tangles gently with her fingers before quickly braiding it and tying the end off with his red hair ribbon.

“How are you feeling, A-Xian?” she asked when she was done.

Wei Ying’s eyes had fallen shut during the process, and he hummed contentedly in response.

“Better,” he said after a moment.

He seemed to hesitate, as though he was about to say more.

“Wei Ying?” Wangji asked.

Wei Ying ducked his head and bit his lip.

“A bit hungry,” he admitted.

He knew Wei Ying often downplayed his needs, so Wangji translated that to mean he was very hungry.

“Well, you were sick,” Jiang Wanyin said, frowning. “It’s like you didn’t eat dinner, kind of.”

Jiang Yanli tutted softly.

“You’re still so thin, A-Xian. I can go ask the healer if they can provide something… Or I could go get something from our quarters.”

She started to rise but was stopped by Jiang Wanyin.

“I’ll go, a-jie. I wouldn’t want you to go alone in the dark, and one of us needs to chaperone.”

The Jiang sect heir turned to Wei Ying.

“I’ll stop by your rooms and grab fresh robes for you while I’m at it,” he said gruffly. “You were sick in those.”

Wei Ying smiled brightly, and Wangji wanted to thank Jiang Wanyin for bringing that light to the surface through his courtesy. If he did, it would undoubtedly fluster him, and he could almost see why his zhiji enjoyed teasing people so much, imagining it.

It was near enough to mao shi, and the purpose of Jiang Wanyin’s break of curfew was to help his brother and would be excused, so Wangji said nothing when he left.

Jiang Yanli fussed softly over Wei Ying after his departure, helping to straighten his sleep-skewed robes.

When he shifted on the bed, he nearly knocked Suibian off. Wangji kept the sword from falling and handed it to Wei Ying, who laid it against his thigh. The sword, he knew, was a comfort, despite having been made by the Jiang sect—it represented his ability to protect himself.

Wangji was content to watch Wei Ying as his sister doted on him, their gentle teasing—Xianxian is three; hmm, I think that’s too old—and the blessed calm that had found his beloved.

Jiang Wanyin’s expression, when he returned, was stormy. He placed a tray of fruits and osmanthus cakes on the end of the bed.

“A-Cheng?” Jiang Yanli asked.

He shook his head but looked at Wangji and gestured to the hall. Whatever had him troubled, he didn’t want to say in front of his siblings, which was immediately worrisome.

“Someone put lotuses in our rooms,” Jiang Wanyin said after the door was closed. “Ripped the petals off some and threw them all over.”

Rage filled him, icy and terrifying in what it might lead him to do.

This confirmed those delivered to Wei Ying’s quarters, the entire reason he had to spend the night in the infirmary due to the fear of qi deviation, the reason he was ill and had panic attacks… It had been intentional.

The culprit had likely expected them to take Wei Ying to the Jiang quarters in the morning, not expecting…

“I will wake shufu and xiongzhang,” he said, his voice more forceful than he meant it to be. “The mess will be removed.”

Jiang Wanyin let out a soft sigh, almost one of relief that it’d be handled immediately.

“I didn’t go to A-Xian’s quarters for fresh robes. And you might want to make sure they didn’t hit your jingshi.”

The rage he had felt dwarfed that which he felt now at the thought of his home being violated, the very place he had finally reached Wei Ying, whose well-being was now threatened by an unknown source.

That they had dared to harm Wei Ying… He knew not what he would do if he caught the betrayer.

“I will take care of it,” he said. “Protect Wei Ying.”

Jiang Wanyin blanched a bit, and he wondered briefly if his anger had shown in his face or voice, but he swept that aside, channeling his emotions into energy.

When Xichen answered his knock at the hanshi, the sleepiness fell from his expression immediately, and he knew his own expression revealed his turmoil.

“What happened, A-Zhan?”

It took him a moment to find his voice.

“Sabotage. Lotuses in the Jiang quarters.”

Xichen’s quick intake of air was almost a gasp, and he closed his eyes as he often did when emotionally overwhelmed.

“I will wake shufu,” xiongzhang said after a moment. “Please meet us there.”

Wangji tried to bow, but was kept from doing so by his brother, who instead pulled him into an embrace, one that left his eyes stinging embarrassingly, the emotions that were overcoming him threatening to escape in a way he didn’t want. If he gave in to it, he didn’t know if he would stop until all the grief and anger and helplessness he had felt over the last year was expelled.

It was a relief when Xichen released him.

“We will protect him, didi. We will make this right.”

He could only nod, turning to walk to the Jiang quarters, glad for the dark that hid the emotions he could feel roiling within him.

The Jiang quarters were worse than Jiang Wanyin had let on, though Wangji could now see the reason behind his near-wordless rage.

A large bouquet of lotus flowers dwarfed the table they had eaten at only hours before. Lotus blossoms were strewn about the room, petals on nearly every surface, and the smell was more than could be accounted for by the blossoms. It smelled as though far too much lotus incense had been burned. It was entirely possible the scent would prove difficult to remove, that the idea of Wei Ying staying with the Jiangs would now be impossible.

Knowing now how lotuses impacted Wei Ying, the smell made Wangji nauseous in sympathy. Had he come with them for breakfast in the morning to encounter this, after his own rooms had been similarly violated…

They had been here all evening, until shortly before curfew. This had been done after they left, purposefully.

Which made it clear neither this nor the bouquet left in Wei Ying’s quarters were innocent mistakes.

He dared not touch anything, lest he destroy evidence that might lead to a culprit.

Wangji felt the decorative silverwork on Bichen’s hilt start to cut into his fingers and forced himself to loosen his grip. He left the rooms, standing on the small patio, breathing in the cool night air and listening to the chirp of crickets in the dark until he felt some semblance of calm.

His uncle and brother arrived shortly thereafter, and the thunderous expression on shufu’s face told Wangji he had reached a similar conclusion.

“Wei Ying is being targeted,” he said, knowing it was unnecessary.

“Return to him, Wangji,” shufu ordered gently. “This will be investigated and dealt with, and he needs you more than we do.”

Truthfully, Wangji was grateful to leave it in their hands.

He felt as though he had been contaminated by the smell and stopped by the jingshi to change lest the odor upset Wei Ying. His home was undisturbed, and he was able to change without incident. He even ran his comb, scented with sandalwood, through his hair a few times to ensure it would replace any scent that had taken root there. He took Wangji with him when he left so he could play for Wei Ying.

He stopped by Wei Ying’s quarters on the way back to the infirmary and was relieved they had not been further adulterated. He selected a set of robes, one with some blue in them, then checked to be certain his hair oil had not been tampered with—still the scent of orange and cinnamon—before taking both it and the comb he had gifted with him.

Wei Ying’s smile was weak when he returned, his face lined with new tear-tracks, and the Jiang siblings were hovering over him. Jiang Wanyin had not kept the discovery from him, and though it hurt him to admit, it was the correct decision. As much as Wangji wished to protect him from this, Wei Ying deserved to know, to make his own decisions.

“Xiongzhang and shufu are investigating,” he told them as he hung Wei Ying’s fresh robes over a chair and set his guqin down.

He handed the comb and hair oil to Jiang Yanli, though he wished he could comb Wei Ying’s hair himself. It would be improperly intimate, and the courtship was important to show his value.

He did not offer platitudes, knowing it would not change the way any of them felt. That this had likely originated from his own sect rankled him, and even kowtowing didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough penance. He had been unaware of negative sentiment toward Wei Ying, had been blindsided by this act of violence against him, had failed him…

“It’s not your fault, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered, as though he could sense the guilt he felt.

His zhiji’s words, the love in his voice, saved him from the downward spiral of his thoughts. Wangji sat on the bed and took his hand.

Though he had not committed the crime, he felt responsible for his failure to protect Wei Ying again.

“We will be more vigilant,” he said, in lieu of worthless apologies.

Wei Ying offered a sad smile, then shifted closer and hugged him, leaning against his chest and tucking his forehead against his neck.

Wangji brought his arms around him, held him close, basked in the warmth of his presence, and was grateful when the Jiangs said nothing against it, allowing them this simple comfort.

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justonecitizenoftheearth · 4 years ago

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Destiel Secret Santa gift

Hej @notfunnydean ! This is your not-secret-anymore Santa from the @destielsecretsanta2020. I hope you like my story and merry Christmas!

Rating: T

Tags: case fic, fluff, even more fluff, a brief flicker of angst, Dean and Cas finally using their words, getting together for real, Sam is exasperated, Eileen is too

The Hunt before Christmas

Dean hummed a Christmas carol as he entered the kitchen. It was the 21st of December and the first year. The first year without a case, without an impending apocalypse, without grief weighing so heavy on his shoulders he thought he would suffocate. The first year to celebrate Christmas with his extended family. He smiled, gratefully and contentedly.

Sam sat at the table; a cup of coffee in one hand and the other on the keyboard of his laptop. Eileen stood behind him and had her arms wrapped around his neck. As Dean passed them by on his way to the coffee maker, he saw that they were browsing the same property agency´s site as the day before. Eileen pointed at a house and Sam clicked to read the details, both smiling softly and a little unbelieving.

Dean took a pan and started to make bacon and eggs, softly humming Metallica as he did so. When he turned around again, Cas stood beside Sam and signed a good morning to Eileen. A shiver ran through Dean as he saw the former angel so relaxed, in a T-Shirt and Sweatpants, a small smile on his face as he commented on the houses they were looking at. After he had pulled Castiel out of the empty, making him human in the process, he had told him that he loved him, too. He had pressed his lips to Cas´ in a desperate kiss and held him so tight he´d nearly crushed him. But after that, neither of them had known how to proceed. So, things had been awkward for a bit, neither knowing how to initiate another kiss or, god forbid, a conversation. They had continued mostly as before, maybe standing a bit closer to each other, hands brushing more often. Sometimes, when he felt brave, Dean pulled Castiel into a short hug when they were the last ones to go to bed after a movie night, or he´d ruffle his hair as he passed by in the morning. But Dean didn´t stay in range long enough for Cas to reciprocate, still too afraid of wanting too much, still too on edge about coming to terms with wanting Castiel to touch him. He stayed close, but not too close. With all the change happening, the pressure and purpose gone after god´s defeat, it was all he could handle.

Cas´ gaze met Dean´s across the room and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled at him. Dean had to hold onto the counter as the realization that Castiel loved him back hit him again, overwhelming, and scary, and euphoric. He cleared his throat.

“Cas, can you tell Jack that breakfast is ready?”

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean´s eyes followed Castiel as he left the kitchen and avoided the half annoyed, half pitying look that Sam gave him. He turned around to get plates and glasses for orange juice.

***

The five of them were almost done with their breakfast as an alarm went off on Sam´s laptop. He frowned and scanned the page. His frown deepened and Dean set down his fork. He´d seen that expression a thousand times and a giddy, exited part of him made way for resignation. Some things would never change and getting rid of god would not rid the world of monsters. Maybe it was time to leave the actual hunting to someone else, but not quite yet.

“What´s up, Sammy?”

“Several cases of murders in Manitowoc, Wisconsin. Apparently, four people have disappeared on their way home from different festivities. Two have been found later, with severe wounds, but it´s not clear what caused these.”

“Hearts missing?”

“Don´t know, it´s not in the report.”

Dean sighed. “I´m gonna check it out.”

Sam closed his laptop, nodding. “We´ll leave in 15?”

“No, I´m going alone. You lot stay here and prepare the bunker for Christmas. If I don´t have a sock and a Christmas tree and eggnog and cookies ready when I come home, I´ll be your personal spirit of Christmas Yet to come and kick your ass.”

Sam grinned, but opened his mouth to argue. Cas was faster.

“I´ll come with you.”

Dean shuddered at the familiar words. The last time he´d heard them was the day he´d lost Cas to the empty. What if something happened? It seemed like an easy hunt, but what if something went wrong? He couldn´t lose Cas again, and now he was human and could get hurt or sick or ki…

“I think that´s a good idea.” Eileen seemed serious, but her eyes sparkled. “You can handle the hunt together and Sam, Jack and I will handle the Christmas decorations.”

Dean stared at her, then at Cas. “No, it´s fine, I can handle it alone, no big deal.”

“Dean, that´s bullshit. You two go on that hunt and be back in a few days, and if you can´t make it for Christmas, you won´t be alone. It´s a good plan, don´t be a jerk.”

“Who are you calling a jerk, bitch?”

Both brothers grinned at the familiarity of the bickering, then Dean turned towards Cas.

“You really want to come with me?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course I do, Dean. I think I was pretty clear about that by now.”

Dean swallowed and nodded, ignoring that this was the closest they had come to actually talking about their, well, not-quite relationship.

“Well then, we leave in 30. Pack warm clothes, it´ll be cold in Wisconsin.”

***

“Did you not want me to come with you?”

Castiel´s blue eyes were so clear they seemed translucent, and Dean nearly drove them into a ditch as he lost himself in their openness yet again.

“Jesus, Cas. Of course I want you to come with me. I always do.”

Dean bit his tongue as the words slipped free. Awesome. Two hours into being alone with Cas and he already lost control over his mouth. This was going to be a long hunt. But the happy smile on Cas´ face when Dean dared to look at him again was totally worth it.

***

They arrived at the motel late at night. Slight snowfall and bitter cold greeted them as they left the car and Dean slipped on the icy ground as he made his way to the reception. Cas caught his arm and pulled him up again and for a second, they were so close that Dean stopped breathing. But Cas just smiled, asked if he was okay and took a step back when he was sure that Dean was steady again. He then walked up to the motel, his trench coat flapping behind him, snowflakes getting caught in his hair, and Dean could just stare dumbly, until a gust of wind reminded him that he was standing outside in the snowfall as well.

Dean hurried to catch up and they booked a room with two queens, at the far end of the motel. Dean went to get the bags while Cas went to check the room. They salted the windowsills and the threshold and Dean checked the news while Cas went to get dinner. While he was waiting, Dean checked the address of the next police department, the morgue and the names and addresses of the victim´s families. It was such a well-known routine that it calmed him a bit after the long drive and the constant flutter in his stomach that being close to Cas always caused.

Castiel returned and they shared pizza and beer while Dean explained their plan for the next day:

“We´ll get into our fed suits and check out the police department and the morgue. Also, we´ll check online and in the local bars if there are any parties planned tomorrow, if so, we´ll stay close and try to catch the thing, whatever it is, when it´s trying to attack again. We´ll salt and burn it, or behead it, or stab it, or whatever, and be home for Christmas.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

For a moment, they were both silent, munching on their pizza. But it was a comfortable silence and Dean relaxed into it. He heard the wind howling around the corners of the house and in the light of a lantern outside, he watched the snow fall. He smiled faintly. It could be worse.

“Do you like Christmas?” asked Cas.

Dean had to think about it and Castiel didn´t press, he just waited and scrolled a bit further on their news page.

Finally, Dean answered: “You know, we didn´t celebrate Christmas very often. When I was a kid, my dad wasn´t always there on Christmas. But the few times that we actually did celebrate were quite nice. When I was twelve, Sam gave me the necklace as a present. You know, the one that I gave to you when you”, he stopped there, suddenly remembering the purpose of the necklace.

“The one that can find god, I remember.” Cas just smiled; no tension suggested that the memory bothered him.

“Yeah, exactly, that one. Actually, that Christmas was pretty shitty, dad never showed up, I had to tell Sam the first bit about monsters being real, he was disappointed and cried the whole night before that… I actually stole a few presents, just so I had something to give to him, but they turned out to be girl stuff. He wasn´t happy.” Dean laughed and scratched his neck. “But I kept the necklace anyways.”

“I´m sorry it was like that. It wasn´t right, you two deserved someone to be there with you. You didn´t deserve the burden to be a parent to your brother.”

“Yeah, well”, Dean wanted to shrug it off, but again, his mouth had other plans. “I remember a bit of what Christmas was before, you know. Before our mom died. Nothing specific, just bits and pieces. A feeling of warmth and lights everywhere and just the general happiness that related to Christmas. I tried to give that to Sam later, but I was a kid and motel rooms aren´t made to be cozy and festive.” Dean gestured around him with a grin and Cas chuckled. Dean wanted to leave it at that, but again, he couldn´t.

“We had that one nice Christmas, even in a motel room. That was 2007, before… well, before I went to hell. Sam and I had a case and I wanted to celebrate, I mean, I thought it´d be the last time, you know. He didn´t want to at first, but in the end, we had a pretty decent evening. Eggnog and decorations and gifts and a game on TV. It was nice. Not as nice as Christmas with Mrs. Butters though.” Now both of them were laughing when they remembered the wood nymph, and the laughter left a warm feeling in Dean´s belly, that felt a little bit like Christmas, too. He grinned at Cas and the former angel grinned back, eyes sparkling and teeth showing, and Dean wanted to kiss him so badly it nearly hurt. But he didn´t dare to. But he lifted his hand and squeezed Cas´ shoulder before he leaned back and stretched his arms over his head.

“Let´s get ready for bed. Who knows how much sleep we´ll be able to catch tomorrow.” Castiel nodded, but as Dean got up to go to the bathroom to change, he caught his hand and held on. “This Christmas will be a nice one. And the next one, too. No more motel rooms or hunts or heartbreak. You still deserve that, Dean.” The hunter could only nod, the lump in his throat too big to talk.

Later, when they were lying in bed, Dean expected his thoughts to race and to keep him up for an eternity. But the sound of the calm, even breaths from the bed next to his lulled him to sleep faster than whisky had ever managed.

***

The police were very eager to help detectives “Hammet” and “Burton” and handed them the files without a second glance at their IDs. They also gave them the address to the morgue, where another helpful pathologist showed them to the victims and then left them to it. The monster obviously didn´t have a type, one of the victims was a woman in her forties who had come back from a working dinner that had taken longer and included more cocktails than expected. Another one was a seventeen-year-old boy who had come home from a LAN party in the early morning hours (there were obviously still people who did that). The other two had been a businessman who had been passing through this town and had spent his evening in the local bar, and a woman in her late twenties who had been born here and had been on a party at a friend´s house. They apparently had nothing in common except for the fact that they all had been at some kind of party before they died.

Dean checked their bodies and there were no hearts missing and the blood seemed to fit the wounds. There were bite marks, but it didn´t look like the attacker had killed them to eat the victims, there were no chunks of flesh missing. The teeth marks looked human, same size and same tooth marks. That was indeed strange, and he stayed silent, lost in his thoughts, while Cas and he ate lunch in the car. They turned up the heating and the radio and Castiel watched the people on the street, buying Christmas presents and decorations, sharing sweets, laughing and talking. Couples, parents with their kids and some people who roamed the streets alone, stopping every few steps to admire the shop windows. It was normal, and peaceful, and he suddenly felt a longing for a life like this, without the threat of injury and death looming over every job they took, without having to be ready to fight at all times, just the everyday worries of ordinary people. It was so strong he forgot to breathe for a second.

“Cas? Cas, are you okay?”

Castiel turned around and met Dean´s confused and worried eyes. His tone implied that he had been trying to get the former angel´s attention for some time.

“Yeah, I´m fine. I just … I just thought that it´d be nice to have a life like that.” Cas waved his hand in the general direction of the people outside the car. Then he huffed out a humorless laugh. “But I wouldn´t even know how that works. I don´t know anything besides … how to be a soldier. How to be violent. I don´t – “, Dean took his hand and cut short the self-deprecating monologue. “Cas, neither do I. But we will figure it out, okay? We´ll find something. Let´s just finish this job and then we´ll think about it.” Castiel just nodded mutely, his attention completely bound by “We will figure it out”, and Dean´s warm fingers wrapped around his own. Dean smiled and started the car, but after he pulled out of his parking spot, his hand found Cas´ again. Their fingers entwined, slowly, carefully, and Cas thought he could feel Dean´s racing pulse through his skin. But neither of them pulled away, their hands settled on the leather between them and when he glanced sideways, Cas saw that Dean smiled softly at the road ahead. Castiel leaned back and thought that he´d never been happier than here and now, driving down the snowy road, his thumb circling over Dean´s skin, the low hum of the Impala mixing with the sweet words of an Elvis song on the radio.

***

Questioning the relatives and colleagues of the victims didn´t provide them with any more leads on what kind of creature they had to deal with, or what the victims had in common, so they returned to the motel room and called Sam. The zoom call got accepted and they had a view of the war room. Fairy lights were wrapped around the handrail at the stairs and the columns in the room. Sam was breathing heavily, and he had fir needles in his hair, but his eyes were sparkling. “Hey guys, how´s it going? What are you up against?”

“Better question, what are you up against? And more importantly, will that fight with the forest spirits you´re apparently in finally make you cut your damn hair?”

Dean grinned and Sam rolled his eyes fondly. “No, jerk, I just carried the Christmas tree inside. You know, because someone threatened me with becoming the spirit of Christmas yet to come.”

Cas tilted his head, his forehead creased in worry. “But would you becoming a spirit not require you to die?”

Dean snorted. “Dude, no. It´s, uh, it´s a book reference. ´A Christmas Carol´. I thought Metatron uploaded all culture in your head?”

“Yeah, but my human brain can´t hold all of that information.”

“Oh. Yeah, I get that.” Dean rubbed his neck awkwardly. “I mean, it´s a movie, too, maybe we could watch it together?”

“Yes, I´d like that, Dean.”

They smiled at each other, until Sam cleared his throat and shook his head in exasperation. Dean filled him in on their case and the lack of specific details on the kind of monster they were up against. Sam thought about it for a while and asked more questions, but he didn´t come up with a clear answer either.

“I guess your best chance is to find out where the next party and/or festivity takes place and go from there. Take a little bit of everything; salt, iron, silver, holy water, maybe even dead man´s blood, and see what happens. I think you should be able to handle it. I´m gonna do some research, maybe I´ll find something.” Sam looked at someone behind the screen and signed: “Dean and Cas. I´m gonna explain later.”

Dean smiled softly. “Do some research if you want, but I think we´ve got it. Have a good time and say hello to Eileen and Jack.”

Sam nodded, but his smile faded. “Be careful.”

“Yeah, we will.” Dean grinned. “It´s not like I´m gonna throw myself on a rusty nail and really become the spirit of Christmas. And all those sons of bitches should know better than pissing me off.”

Sam snorted. “Sure, whatever.”

A moment before Sam ended the call, Jack entered the frame with his hands full of Christmas tree decorations and fairy lights wrapped around his shoulders.

“Sam, where do these g-“

Dean and Castiel chuckled at the black screen. Then Dean stretched and smiled softly at the snow that had started to fall outside the window again. “How about we find out where we can attend a party tonight and then we´ll actually watch ´A Christmas Carol´, whaddaya say?”

Cas smiled widely. “That sounds good.”

It didn´t take long to find out that there was a “Yule Party” at the bar in town, to celebrate the Winter Solstice. They didn´t need a ticket and could just show up, which gave them not much to do for the next few hours. Dean went and got pizza and some weird stuff named “Glögg”, which turned out to be pretty sweet, but good nonetheless.

Dean and Castiel settled on one bed and put the laptop up on the lower end. They had pizza and Glögg on their nightstands and were sitting so close that their shoulders and thighs were touching, but it was comfortable and familiar. The movie was up and when they finished eating, their hands inched closer. Dean´s heart was racing, a part of him wanted to draw back, but it had been so freeing to hold Cas´ hand in the car that he couldn´t make himself. Instead, he held his breath and took a leap again, wrapping his fingers around Castiel´s, who immediately relaxed. Dean closed his eyes for a moment and let out a long sigh, his attention bound by the warmth of Cas´ body beside him and his strong, solid hand in his. The former angel moved a bit up again, tensed, and then, as if he´d made up his mind, he let his head sink lower and laid it on Dean´s shoulder. A soft smile spread over the hunter´s face and he rested his cheek on top of Castiel´s head. His soft hair smelled of the shampoo that they shared and tickled a bit at his ear, but he didn´t move away and neither did Cas.

The movie played with low sound. the light was dim as it grew dark outside and the wind picked up again and threw snowflakes at the window. Castiel´s thumb drew soft patterns on Dean´s skin. It was heaven on earth.

Both of them dozed for a while, content in their warm bubble of happiness, but it got late and they still had a party to attend. With a sigh, Dean opened his eyes and looked down at their intertwined hands. Before he could chicken out, he pressed a lingering kiss on Cas´ head. Castiel´s grip tightened, and Dean heard his shuddering inhale, but he didn´t move for another few seconds. Finally, he murmured in the other man´s hair:

“We have to get up. We still have to go to this party.”

Cas voice was quiet as he answered: “I know. But I´d rather stay here with you.”

Dean lifted his head and Cas looked up. Dean got lost in these blue, clear eyes he´d spent so many hours daydreaming about.

“Yeah, me too.”

They held each other´s gaze for long seconds. Dean saw Castiel´s eyes widen in wonder at his words and then flicker down at his lips for a brief moment before they met his again. And suddenly, he didn´t know anymore why they had continued to dance around each other even after everything was already in the open. He loved Cas. And Cas loved him. And they both knew it. There was no reason to hide anymore. So Dean lifted Cas´ head with a hand and closed the distance between them, heart beating out of his chest. Castiel held his breath as their lips brushed against each other, soft as flower petals. The brief contact sent a shiver through Dean´s whole body. This wasn´t born of desperation as their last kiss. This was just made of love. And finally, their mouths locked together.

All air left Cas´ body in a long sigh as he finally felt Dean´s lips against his own. Their mouths started to move against each other, cautiously, but not rushed, not hurried. The first time that Dean´s tongue flicked against his lips, Castiel thought that his newly gained soul was about to leave his body. He arched towards Dean´s body and pulled his head close with one hand and kissed him at if he was drowning and Dean was his saving breath. Which he was. Dean groaned and pushed his tongue inside of Cas´ mouth and groaned again when the former angel started sucking on it. Suddenly, Cas was laying on his back, pressed into the mattress by the weight of Dean on top of him and Dean held himself up on one elbow and started to push Castiel´s sweatshirt up with the other one and suddenly they froze. Both men were breathing heavily, faces only inches apart, flushed, wide eyed, and neither had ever felt more alive.

“Now I really don´t want to go.”

Cas shuddered as he heard Dean´s voice so rough and low, desire obvious in his shaded eyes. He nearly said: “Then we won´t”, his whole body going hot as he imagined what would follow, but then the torn bodies of the victims flashed before his eyes. They couldn´t risk it.

“Neither do I. But ... lives are on the line.”

Dean sighed deeply. “I know. Let´s go.”

They got up, changed, and sorted out the weapons they were going to hide in their clothes. All the while, they shared glances, blushing and giddy. Cas had his hand already on the door handle when Dean gripped his hand and held him back.

“Cas, I”, the hunter bit his lip, but in the end, it was easier than he thought.

“I don´t want to hide anymore. I don´t want to pretend this didn´t happen. I – I want you. I want to be with you, for real.”

“Oh Dean.” Castiel turned to cup Dean´s cheek. “I wanted you since I pulled you out of hell. And I won´t stop wanting you, even when the last fiber of my being turns into dust and vanishes from this earth.”

He laid his forehead against the hunter´s. “I love you, Dean Winchester. And I want to be with you in every sense of the word.”

And it wasn´t harder than taking the first breath of fresh air after a long time underground when Dean answered. “I love you, too.”

It was Castiel who closed the distance between them and kissed Dean this time. Then he smiled more vibrant than Dean had ever seen.

“Let´s finish this hunt and go home.”

When they walked up to the Impala, they were holding hands.

***

The bar was full and loud and cheerful, and Dean enjoyed it more than he´d have thought. He held hands with Cas and ignored all dark looks about it. He drank three different kinds of beers and stopped then, before he got drunk. He played a round of pool just for the fun of it. He sat so close to Cas that their bodies touched and reveled in the glowing eyes and the easy smile of his – well, boyfriend.

They were sitting on the far end of the bar, with the wall in their back and the exit in sight. Cas´ fingers played with Dean´s and sent pleasant shivers down his spine. It reminded him a bit of the day they thought they´d die and he had taken Cas to that night club to get him laid. This night, he´d take Cas home. Well, he´d taken him home that night too, but now was different. Maybe they´d even sleep in the same bed. Maybe they´d… Cas´ voice interrupted Dean´s train of thought.

“Are you happy?”

The sentence took a moment to sink in, but then a broad smile spread on the hunter´s face. “Yeah. I really am.”

Cas squeezed his hand briefly. “I am too.”

For a moment they just looked at each other. Happy. Together. Finally. A nagging feeling filled Dean and he frowned. When were they ever allowed to be happy? The last time…

Castiel felt the change in mood. “What is it, Dean?”

“I don´t know, I”, Dean lowered his eyes. “I don´t want to lose this”, he whispered.

A gentle hand lifted his chin again. “You won´t. Everything will be fine.”

They held each other’s gaze, a thousand words said without a sound. But the mood in the room changed, a lot of people got up and were ready to go. Dean sighed and leaned back, only now realizing how close they had been. “The sooner we wrap this up, the sooner we´re out of here.”

Dean threw a bundle of dollars on the bar and they left, too. Outside the pub, they were met with icy wind. The snow scrunched under their feet. Dean shuddered and buried his hands in his jacket.

“Okay, what now? Should we go together or split up?”

“I think all of the victims have been alone, so it will probably be more effective if we split up.”

Dean nodded, swallowing the bad feeling he had. Cas was experienced. He´d fought more battles than Dean could even imagine. He´d be fine.

“Right. I´ll go down that alley, you go up towards the motel, we meet up there in three hours if nothing happens.”

Cas nodded briefly, but before he went, he pulled Dean close and kissed him once again, sweet and slow.

“See you later.”

Dean swallowed and blinked rapidly. When he´d regained his balance, Cas was already on the way. The hunter turned around, the feeling of Castiel´s lips still tingling on his.

It didn´t go smooth. It didn´t take long, either. Barely twenty minutes had passed when Dean heard a silent scream of terror in the distance, from the direction in which Cas had gone. It hadn´t been Cas´ voice, but the former angel would get there much sooner that he could and suddenly, his heart was in his throat. Dean took off, skittering over the snowy streets, smashing into walls, but he didn´t slow down. He heard a gunshot and some shouting only two streets away, running even faster, lungs burning, and stumbled around the corner just in time to see Cas getting thrown into a wall and sliding down. Unmoving. Lifeless.

For a second, the whole world stopped. Dean stared at the crumpled figure and a part of him laughed humorlessly. “I knew it. I won´t ever get to keep what I have. I destroy every good thing in my life,” whispered a voice from the darkest place in his mind. “No!” It took Dean a moment to realize he´d screamed the last word. This wasn´t supposed to happen! They were supposed to be happy; they were supposed to be free, they … Then his gaze turned towards the dark figure that had thrown Cas through the air like a rag doll. And his vision turned red.

He emptied his magazine into the body of the creature. It wailed, but still moved, so Dean took his silver and iron knifes and jumped into close combat. He sliced and stabbed and hit and kicked and he would rip this thing apart with his bare hands if he needed to, but it would curse the day it had taken Castiel away from him again. Dean didn´t feel the claws of the monster on his skin and the smell of the blood dripping from his face and he didn´t realize that his attacks were in vain. He just wanted it to suffer like he did.

Something wrapped their arms around his chest from behind and pulled him back. Dean panicked and tried to cut himself free, but then a very familiar voice shouted in his ear: “Dean, stop! This doesn´t work, stop!” Dean went slack and let himself be pulled away; all fight left him in an instant. He lived! Castiel lived! The creature hissed at him, glowing eyes staring at them for a moment before it vanished into the darkness.

Cas let go and spun Dean around, eyes skimming over his face and body to check for injuries. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Dean opened his mouth to answer and started crying.

Castiel wrapped him in a tight embrace and whispered wonderful, gentle words into his hair. Dean clung to him as if his life depended on it, sobbing into his neck and it took a long time before he realized that he repeated the words “you´re alive, you´re alive” again and again, and even then, it took a long time for him to stop. Slowly, his tears subsided and he felt slightly embarrassed, but not enough to let go. Castiel seemed to be happy to hold him. However, Dean started to feel his body tremble and his arms and chest burned. He drew back and winced. Castiel looked down at his arms and his eyes widened. “You are hurt!”

“It´s nothing. But you, I thought you – you weren´t moving and I” Dean hid his face in his hands. “Dammit, one might think I´d be used to this after a lifetime of hunting. Son of a bitch!”

Cas squeezed his shoulder. “It´s okay. It´s different now, I know. Please let us go back so I can take care of you.”

“But what about you? Are you okay?”

Castiel simply shrugged. “I´m a bit sore and my head hurts, but it´s not bleeding and I´ll be fine. I was mostly disoriented, and then you came and before I knew it, you tried to rip that thing to shreds with your bare hands.”

Dean blushed and looked down, but Castiel took his hand and he let his angel lead him home.

***

When they turned on the lights in the motel room, Castiel blanched. He helped Dean take of his torn, bloody jacket and ushered him into the bathroom. He sat Dean down on a chair and ignored all protests when he took a towel and the first aid kit and got to work.

Castiel wiped the blood from Dean´s face with gentle strokes and cleaned his wounds with careful hands. There were several long, deep gashes along Dean´s arms and some on his chest, too. Blood seeped out of them and Dean started to sway as the adrenaline subsided and the blood loss made itself known. Castiel´s eyes were bright with worry and he went out for a moment to snatch some water and a granola bar. He helped Dean lift the glass to his lips and take a bite, again ignoring the weak protest entirely, one steadying hand always on Dean´s shoulder.

“Do you want to lay down while I´m stitching these?”

“We´re gonna ruin the bedsheet.”

“I don´t care.”

“I don´t want to get up.”

Castiel took out the needle and the dental floss. “I´m sorry, I won´t be very good at it.”

“It´s okay.”

Dean closed his eyes and only hissed a few times when Castiel´s clumsy stiches pulled at his skin. Castiel apologized every time. When he was finished, he covered the sutures and wrapped the hunter´s arms and chest in gauze. Then, he leaned his head against Dean´s knee and stayed there.

Dean got dizzy when he looked down, so he kept his eyes closed, but started to pet Cas´ head with the hand that hurt less.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Dean tensed up and his eyes flew open, dizzyness be damned.

“What do you-“

“I don´t want to be scared to lose you all the time. I don´t want your blood on my hands and live in the constant fear of something coming and taking you away from me.”

Dean met Castiel´s eyes. They were shining in an astonishing shade of blue, wet with tears.

“I don´t want to hunt anymore. I will come with you, but I do –“

“Neither do I.”

They both stayed silent for a few seconds, the weight of the moment sinking in.

“I don´t know how else to live. But I want to try, because I´ve had enough, too. The world is saved, we are free, we´re no longer under Chuck´s control. Someone else can take care of the monsters now, there are enough hunters out there. Don´t get me wrong, I want to be in touch, I want to help. But I don´t want to fight on the front anymore. I´ve earned that. We´ve earned that.”

Castiel got up and took Dean´s face in his hands. There were still tears on his face, and the crow´s feet around the corners of his eyes wrinkled as he smiled. Dean had never seen him more ethereal, more angelic. More beautiful.

“Yes, we did. We did.”

Castiel helped Dean up and tried to steady him on his way to the bed without touching his wounds. He got another glass of water and the pain killers, swallowed two himself, made Dean swallow two and got out of his clothes. Dean still got dizzy when he looked down, so Cas took of his shoes and helped him out of his jeans. Dean was tempted to crack a joke about Cas finally undressing him, but the seriousness of the moment asked for silence. They lay down, both in one bed, without question, without talking, Cas behind Dean. He pressed his chest against Dean´s back, one arm under his head, the other wrapped around his waist, careful to avoid the covered injuries. Dean had thought he´d have trouble sleeping the first night in the same bed, but Cas´ closeness was incredibly calming and pulled him under before his brain could come up with even one reason why this was anything but good.

***

It took some time for Castiel to wake up. The first thing that he realized was the source of warmth before him and he pressed closer, a contended sigh on his lips. Hair tickled his nose and he rubbed it against soft skin. He dozed off again for some time, before the events of the night before caught up with him and he tensed. Slowly, Castiel opened his eyes. Deans head rested on his arm, which had gone a bit numb, but he could still feel the warm breaths ghost over his skin. Dean´s body rose and fell gently and suddenly, Cas felt like crying. Out of gratitude that he was allowed to be here and hold Dean in his arms. Out of sadness over the wasted time, over all the tragedy in their lives. Out of happiness. Out of love. He buried his nose in Dean´s neck again. His voice was raw with emotion when he whispered: “I love you so much, Dean Winchester.”

Dean tensed, but before Cas could say anything else, he answered: “I love you, too.”

Castiel let go so Dean could turn around and reveled in the sight of his sleepy eyes and tousled hair.

Dean smiled tiredly and caressed his cheek. “Did you sleep well? Does your head hurt?”

Castiel leaned into Dean´s hand and nearly forgot that he was supposed to answer a question.

“No. Well, it´s throbbing a little bit, but nothing that´d worry me. How are your injuries?”

Dean wanted to dismiss it, but he decided otherwise. “They sting. But I´m not worried either, doesn´t feel hot or infected or something.”

Castiel smiled, grateful for Dean´s honesty. With an insecure gaze, Dean leaned forward and hesitated, before he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Cas´ in an open-mouthed kiss. Cas melted under his mouth, body pressing closer and lips opening to let his tongue flick out. He was very careful to not put pressure on Dean´s injured chest and arms, but his hands were all over his face and back and Dean felt like floating, time and space and purpose just disappearing, until his whole world had reduced to this room and the warmth and scent of Castiel all around him.

It was a long time later when they pulled back to catch their breath, faces still so close together that they shared the same air. Dean thought he might explode from the magnitude of his feelings swiveling around just under his skin. When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw were Cas´ damp, red, parted lips and his heart jumped. Cas´ fingers played in his hair and he was so comfortable that he thought he might just fall back asleep, but his grumbling stomach obviously had other plans. Cas chuckled.

“Time for breakfast?”

Dean huffed. “Yeah. And a call with Sammy.”

“And some more painkillers.”

Dean didn´t argue. They got up and Cas got out to get coffee and breakfast while Dean struggled with his clothes, his injured arms hurting and stinging. With a curse, the hunter swallowed more pills and started his laptop. He dug through some of the databases, but nothing quite fit the profile of the monster. The date at the bottom of the screen seamed to double in size every time he dismissed an idea. The 23d of December. Two days until Christmas. If they didn´t manage to wrap this up soon, he´d have to stay here over the holidays with Cas. It would still be one of, if not the best Christmas of his life, but he´d been looking forward to celebrating with Sam, Jack and Eileen. And maybe visit Jody and the girls. The lock clicked and Dean´s hand flew instinctively towards his gun when Cas entered the room.

“Find something?”

Dean silently shook his head.

Castiel set the coffee and breakfast on the table and kissed the top of Dean´s head.

“We´ll make it for Christmas. Have you called Sam yet? Maybe he knows something?”

“Breakfast first.”

After indulging in coffee, sandwiches, some muffins and comfortable silence, Dean called Sam. It was Eileen who picked up.

“Hey Dean.”

“Hey Eileen. Is Sam around?”

“No, I´m gonna get – are you hurt?”

Her gaze swept over Dean´s gauze-covered arms and the bandages that peeked out from under his T-Shirt.

“Nah, it´s just a scratch.”

Dean´s eyes wandered over to Castiel, who threw Dean an incredulous look.

“What?”

“It´s not just a scratch, Dean.”

“I mean, I´ve had worse. Much worse.”

“That doesn´t mean that you should take this lightly.”

Eileen just grinned and went to the kitchen to get Sam. When they came back, Dean nearly threw himself off his chair with laughter. Sam wore an apron and wiped his hands with a kitchen towel, flour in his hair and dough on his forearms.

“Shut up, jerk!”

“No, forget it, bitch. I´m never gonna let you live this down. Man, you look like Mary Poppins!”

“Mary Poppins was a very wise and gentle…”

“Cas, I know. That doesn´t mean that I won´t tease my brother with it.”

Castiel held his gaze with a pointed look, until Sam cleared his throat.

“Guys, if you just called to insult me and bicker with each other, again, I´m going back to my cookies.”

Dean blushed and opened and closed his mouth a few times. Cas took over.

“We´ve encountered the monster and we can´t figure out what it is.”

Sam got serious immediately. “What happened?” Eileen tapped his shoulder and signed something. Sam´s jaw clenched, and his worried eyes turned towards Dean.

“You are hurt?”

Dean grumbled and waved his hand dismissively, which brought his gauze-wrapped arm into Sam´s sight and made him wince.

“It´s no- it´s not bad. A few gashes, nothing wild. Stop fretting.” He turned towards Cas. “Both of you.”

“Okay.” Sam and Dean stayed silent for a moment, a lifetime of shared trauma and injuries between them. Then Sam cleared his throat. “Okay, what happened?”

After listening to their story, minus certain parts that Dean and Cas kept to themselves, Sam rubbed his jaw, deep in thought.

“So, that thing attacks people who come home from celebrations at night. Nothing connecting the victims, human-shaped, not vocal, claws.” He stayed silent for a moment. “I have a hunch. I´m gonna call you later.”

They ended the call.

Dean sighed deeply and Castiel wrapped his arm around him. “What are we gonna do now?” Dean shrugged. “Hulu or Netflix?”

They were into the third episode of the Witcher when Sam called again.

“So get this. There is a creature in Norse mythology that fits your description. It´s called a draugr. It´s a kind of undead and it´s said that it attacks people who are making noise in the time around midwinter.”

“That fits! How do you kill it?”

“Well, it´s immune to most injuries, as you said. You have to behead it, lay it´s head at its ass and set it on fire.”

“We have to – lay it´s head at its ass? What the hell, man?”

“Look, I didn´t come up with that. Just do it, burn it. Or salt and burn it, won´t do any harm.”

Dean nodded. “Well, if we can get it tonight, we might make it for Christmas.”

“Yeah, burn that son of a bitch and come home.”

“Dean smiled softly. “Yeah, we´ll do that. See ya, Sammy.”

“Bye Dean, bye Cas.”

Both of them leaned back in their chairs as the call ended. For a moment, they were silent, then Dean covered his face with his hand and chuckled.

“Son of a bitch. A draugr. After defeating god, we failed to kill a goddamn zombie.”

Castiel laughed lightly. “Well, it failed to kill us, too, so I call that a tie. We´ll go and get it tonight and then we can go home to Sam, Eileen, and Jack. And celebrate Christmas.”

“Sounds good.”

Dean raised his arms to stretch the sore muscles and winced in pain. “Okay, so, it´s barely half past two, so what are we gonna do with the rest of the day? And will there be a party tonight that we can attend?”

It didn´t take long to find out that there was a Christmas-themed ball in the town hall. The tickets were already sold and there was a guest list.

“I don´t think we actually have to sneak in, we can wait outside until it´s late and people are leaving. Then we´ll go and get this bastard.”

“I agree, but with one condition.”

Dean lifted one eyebrow.

“We´ll not gonna split up again.” Castiel´s eyes were hard. “I won´t leave you to hunt on your own when you´re that hurt. We´re gonna stick together and I will fight. If something happens, you can still intervene. But I won´t leave you, no matter how much you´re gonna argue that you´re-“

“I wasn´t going to.”

Surprised, Castiel tilted his head.

“I would have suggested it myself. I think we´re better together. And I want to finish our last hunt together.”

Cas´ lip trembled and he gripped Dean´s hand tight. “Okay. Yeah. Our last hunt.”

None of them could tell who leaned in first, but suddenly their lips touched and then there was nothing else for a long time.

***

As it turned out, there was a small Christmas market in town. They took the car to town and wandered around aimlessly. The sun stood low and glittered on the snow. Dean and Cas looked at the goods that were laid out in the booths, choosing matching cups with printed moose for Sam and Eileen and a wood carving set for Jack. Night fell early and they got some mulled wine to warm them while they wandered around. Dean tasted every sweet food that he could get his hands on, until he felt slightly nauseous with all the sugar, but it was such a minor inconvenience that it was drowned out by the bliss of spending time with Castiel. They talked about the places they had visited, their favorite films and actors, which books they had read, and which bands Dean had seen live. Normal things. Everyday things. Dean could picture them living a domestic, calm, quiet life, just like this. He couldn´t wait.

In the end, they sat on a dock, looking out over Lake Michigan. They nursed their warm cups in one hand and Dean leaned his head on Cas shoulder. The reflections of the city lights and the half-moon glittered on the water. Dean sighed deeply and Castiel wrapped his arm around his shoulder. His voice was quiet when he asked:

“Are you happy?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Very.”

No more words were said. No more words were needed.

***

The ball was supposed to start at eight o´clock, so they returned to the car and parked it in sight of the town hall´s main entry. They shared a thermos with coffee and a blanket, huddling together against the cold. The radio played quietly in the background. For the most part they stayed silent, brief comments on the people entering the hall or about their plan the only conversations. When it got late, they left the car and lurked around the corner of the hall to be ready to go to work when the mood in the room changed and people left.

The music and chatter were audible, and they blew into their hands and stepping from one foot to the other to keep warm. Dean started to get tired and a bit cranky. The music had changed from lively rock and pop songs to something slower and cheesier and he was ready to complain when Castiel stretched out his hand. Dean stared at it blankly.

“Would you care to dance?”

“What? I can´t … Where did you learn to dance?”

Castiel shrugged. “I haven´t. But I´ve seen people do it and it doesn´t seem to be too hard. I don´t plan to dance a classic waltz, so, would you humor me?”

And he honest to goodness bowed down and offered his hand. Dean blushed and rolled his eyes, but he took Cas´ hand. The former angel smiled and pulled the hunter close. He wrapped his other hand around Dean´s middle and Dean placed his hand on Cas´ shoulder. They swayed to the sound of a slow, sweet song and Dean found himself immersed in the music and Cas´ touch and he closed his eyes. Castiel hummed along and they circled around with small steps. At some point, Dean leaned his head on Cas´ forehead and they stayed like that, dancing slowly and sharing the same breath, visible between their mouths.

“I love you.”

Dean felt Cas´ hand tighten around his. “I love you, too.”

They kept on dancing a while longer until the music genre changed again, indicating that people would either leave or stay until the early hours of the morning. Slowly, Dean pulled his hand from Cas´, kissing him chastely before he took a step back. He took a deep breath.

“I think it´s time.”

Castiel nodded. He pulled his machete and they set out to circle the streets around the town house.

In the end, it was fairly easy. They checked the dark streets, and kept an eye on several attendants of the party until they were home. It took no longer than an hour until they took a turn into a dark alley and were met with the sight of a tall figure with glowing eyes that growled at them, lifting clawed hands, and launching itself at them. Dean took a step back and Castiel charged with the elegance of a lifetime of practice. He dodged the draugr´s swing and beheaded it with a forceful swing of his machete. Afterwards, they stayed still for a moment. Dean´s heartbeat hadn´t even picked up that much.

“So, that´s that I guess.”

Cas looked at him with his head tilted, his bloodied weapon still in hand. “Our last hunt.”

Suddenly, Dean was scared. Hunting was familiar. Hunting was what he´d done for his whole life. Everything else had always felt like a farce, a charade, playing domestic because it was what he´d been supposed to do. He didn´t even realize how Cas came closer, to wrapped up in his epiphany.

“Hey, Dean, look at me. We´ll figure it out. And as you said, we can keep track and help other hunters. Not everything has to change.”

Dean nodded. “I know. We make it up as we go, huh?”

“Exactly.”

A deep breath forced its way out of Dean´s no longer constricted chest. “Okay. I´m gonna get the car. We burn that son of a bitch and tomorrow, we´ll head home.”

Dark smoke rose over the sizzling, burning body of the draugr. Dean held Castiel´s hand. They waited until only ashes remained. Then, they made their way to the impala, without haste. They had time.

***

Dean and Cas checked out of the motel at ten o´clock in the morning. They took turns driving, only pausing for gas and snacks. Castiel insisted on listening to a channel with Christmas carols when he drove, reminding Dean of the ancient rule he´d established himself:

“Driver picks the music, Dean.”

The hunter grumbled until “Driving home for Christmas” played on the radio. By the end of the day, even Castiel knew the lyrics by heart.

They held hands while driving and slept with their heads leaned against each other’s shoulders. When evening came, Dean cracked a joke about riding off into the sunset and they recalled their case in Dodge City. Castiel admitted how much he´d wanted to kiss Dean when he came back from the empty the first time. Dean admitted how long he´d been in love with Castiel.

When they parked the car in the garage, the clock jumped to midnight.

They smiled at each other and squeezed their hands once again before they left the car. Duffle bags over their shoulders, they entered the bunker and stopped in their tracks when they saw the library. There was a Christmas tree in the corner. Fairy lights everywhere. A sock for everyone hanging over the fireplace. A plate with cookies on the table, with a handwritten note from Sam: “Welcome home.”

Dean and Castiel took in the scenery. Then they turned towards each other. The lights around them glittered in their eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

#destiel secret santa #destiel #deancas #merry christmas

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